Amsterdam: "I am so fucking high"

since no one has the patience to listen to the story, i thought i'd write it so it was at least out there

Day One
I woke up at around 6am to say goodbye to my dad before he left for home and went back to sleep until 7am when I woke up, took a shower, and had some tea and toast. By 8am I was at the bus station for the 8:30am bus to Heathrow while still having been able to stop and by a 10 pack of Marlboro reds. My ticket read the 171 bus line found at terminals 9, 10, 11. When 8:45 came around I took a klonopin. By 915am a bus came that stopped at the airport routes which I took to the wrong terminal at Heathrow. I got to the airport around 12:45pm for a 1:30pm flight to Amsterdam. Because I got off at the wrong terminal, the way the airport is setup meant I had to take a train from central station to terminal 4. I arrived at the gate at 12:55pm for a 1pm boarding time. Upon arrival, I find the attendants telling the passengers the flight was delayed 2 hours. Finding this out I find a smoking area not far from the gate and have a cigarette. There I meet a guy decked out in Yankees. He had the bag, the hat, and the shirt. The dirty kind who say there’re from New York City but really live in New Jersey. I then take advantage of this newfound time by visiting that restaurant that tries to make itself like if it were an actual restaurant and not some shitty place in an airport. I order sandwich and a beer and light another cigarette simply because I can. After making myself more comfortable I glace over to the gate and see no one waiting. Confused, I run over and see that the flight in fact was about to end boarding. I rushed back to the table and told the waitress what had happened and that I needed the check immediately and said I would pay for the food anyway. I quickly got on the plane and sat back. Upon reaching the city center in Amsterdam, I soon realized klonopin does not help reading a map and after wandering for some time I learned that standing in the middle of a square with luggage at your feet, a map in hand and a shirt that literally says “I am lost” tends to warrant attention from the local homeless population. Mistakenly I asked where the street my hotel was on, not realizing it probably wasn’t the best idea to give this guy where I was staying. He proved to be no help except he claimed to know where to get a joint for 2 euros. After some more wandering I found the hotel and checked in. When I got to my room I was hardly surprised to look out the window and see my favorite homeless Dutch man. I freaked out and changed my clothes and waited an hour or two before heading back out. I decided to do some more wandering before I went to a coffee shop so that I had some bearings should I get lost. This was a brilliant idea it turned out. When I got impatient with myself I found Café Sheeba which was one of the few coffee shops I was able find information on online before the trip and happened to be about a 1 minute walk from the hotel right around the corner. I went inside and approached the back bar to look at the menu but as soon as I saw AK-47 I knew what I wanted. “Moderation” I thought to myself as I half-filled the king size papers provided. 20 minuets later a fat old man with a huge white beard and a Hawaiian shirt (think Santa on vacation) walks in and lays a 50 Euro bill on the front bar and says “50 euros of marijuana please.” No wonder Santa loves milk and cookies so much the fucking stoner. Anyway, upon leaving it started to dawn on me how high I was. It wasn’t until 20 minutes later I realized that I had completely missed my hotel and had simply walked in a straight line since I left the coffee shop. At this point I figured I was too far gone and just kept walking forward, don’t ask me why. I eventually found my way to the ocean where I couldn’t go any further but due to my previous wandering I had found myself exactly where I noted how to get back to the hotel should I become lost. Of course before I made it back to the hotel I still managed to say “I am so fucking high” out loud, although I had originally meant to think it, I discovered I said it out loud when the person walking in front of me turned around, looked at me, and stepped out of the way. When I got back to the hotel I tried to write down my thoughts on a piece of paper but all I ended up with was a single curved line. I looked in the mirror and saw my eyes the reddest they had ever been, I mean completely red. I tried to take a picture but by the time I set up the camera I became distracted by something else and the picture never got taken. I majority of the night was spent in a circular thought pattern where no matter what I was thinking I would eventually return to the fact that I was “so fucking high.”

Day Two
 Since I was unsure about the complete legality of pot, I made one of my cigarettes a spliff to smoke when I got to the Van Gogh Museum. I did so and I can never look at a print of a Van Gogh again as the true color and textures of the originals are completely underrepresented in any print. After Van Gogh I went and saw Night Watch which was pretty cool. I ended the day by having a pint of Guinness at a hostel and a stop at a coffee shop where I picked up some Jack Herer.

Day Three
I chose not to smoke before going to Ann Frank’s house out of respect even though once I got there I never actually went it. There was a line all the way around the corner and I didn’t want to wait 2 hours just to be depressed all day, especially when I planned on doing mushrooms later. As I was passing the line heading back towards my hotel’s area some people in an apartment above the line threw some water out the window where it splashed on those below it. Feeling bad that I didn’t take any pictures of the house I took a picture of a sign that pointed towards “Homo Monument.” I thought it was funny. I got lunch and ate some pot cake then went to the wax museum. I got my picture taken flipping off Bush. I bought some mushrooms, went back to the room, and began to eat them. I slowly munched on them for about an hour, taking periodic smoke breaks (a smoking room was definitely a good idea). I made the mistake of calling my parents and started to feel the come up while I was on the phone with my mom. I immediately got off and smoked some more. The walls started to dance and I walked around outside for a while sitting in squares and smoking cigarettes. The red light district is fucking intense on mushrooms.

Day Four
 I woke up, took klonopin, and checked out. The person checking me out thought it was weird I didn’t order any skin flicks. I met some American girls on the train back to the airport, got back to England, and picked up glasses at the pub. It was a trip.