It’s been quite a while since I’ve blogged. Noted.

I have come to a realization during recent cash foraging.

Am I the only one who scavenges through the house (well, in my case, the apartment) looking for change, cash, hoping to be lucky? If I am, then I shall explain the process.

You open drawers. You look between mattresses. You check in little jars on the kitchen counters, under couch cushions, in laundry pockets (times can be desperate).

I only did this in the States when I was little, for,er… sport. Only when I moved to Europe did I do this out of need. I’m actually allowed to leave the house now and use the money at school, unlike in Houston, where I was in danger of being mugged if I stepped over 5 meters from my lot’s boundaries. For example, I just angrily raged through my flat looking for money to go buy a sub, a slice of cheesecake, and some folders for school. I can’t wait until my mom gets home, because all of these items’ places of purchases close at 5:30 pm. Which sucks, by the way. In case you weren’t inclined to that particular knowledge.

I had no lunch. Not that I had money to buy it with anyways. I spent the bus ride home assuming those 50 € bills my mom had on the counter were still in place, only to discover that they weren’t. I raged around my house looking for money, screaming in anger about my hunger (like the civilized teenage girl I am), and eventually gave up and plopped on the couch, refusing to do my homework until I had eaten. After sending my mom a pouting email and tweeting about my “misfortune” (I’m spoilt, obviously) I had a solution. Mom had dominoes on the way.

The Euro/€ is such an awkward currency (in my opinion, as an American resident for 14 years prior). We have five cent coins (the one cent and two cent coins aren’t accepted in the Netherlands), ten cent coins, twenty cent coins, fifty cent coins, one euro coins, and two euro coins. For the bills, the average European will have fives, tens, twenties, and fifties. The Italian mobsters have 100 €, 200€, and 500€ bills, but those aren’t accepted anywhere (occasionally excluding the 100) and can only be changed at currency exchange centers.
Anyways, I had a few disadvantages on the hunt for money. First of all, I’m living abroad. I have American money sprawled at random around my house, but fortunately it’s all one color and size, and most of the coins are silver (and thin).

But it’s still quite an obstacle. I travel quite a bit, so I have MANY currencies tosses around. During my search I came across:

• Mexican Pesos (which very much resemble the 1 & 2 € coin)
• Croatian Kuna (the bills are similar to that of euro, but about a 5^th of the worth, so finding a few twenties is pretty disappointing)
• Swiss Francs (It’s a waste that I have about 40€ worth. I should get that changed)
• US Dollars
• Swedish Kroner (gold, like euro coins. )
• Japanese Yen (still an obstacle, but not resembling of any Euro at all)

  and

• British Pounds (I’ve never even been to the UK!)

This made my search increasingly long and stressful. It also reminded me to go get my swiss francs changed back into euros.

There’s the majority of my boring blog. I guess I should let you all know that I’m in school now (LOL HIGH SCHOOL NOW OMG) and that I’ve had less time to work on the site. Also, I have Cinnastix that will be here in 15 minutes and you’re jealous.

AND you just lost the game.

Tata for now.

It’s funny, the places where inspiration may originate. Before, it often got me in magazines or catalogues- PB Teen, Teen Vogue, Elle Decor, National Geographic. But for some magazines, this is the intent. To inspire! To build hopes, to broaden ideas, to educate in a conventional way. This is such a… common, unoriginal source of inspiration. Inspiration, as I’m sure you know, can sprout from other places as well. Places that deserve credit! Whether it be Inception, Shakira, a pack of ramen, the weather, Canada (haha, just kidding), or antique markets in the relatively famous pottery town of Delft. These are (almost) all contributors to the wonderful phenomenon of INSPIRATION. (I swear, I’m not writing a blog about inspiration because I’ve seen Inception twice. )

Such a market is where I got inspiration. Every city I’ve been to in the Netherlands (which, fairly, is about three: Amsterdam, Delft, and The Hague) has had a market of some sort. In Amsterdam, I call it the “Hippie market”. They sell things like Obama T-Shirts, red-light district duds, long floral skirts, and Che Gueverra messenger bags (see last blog). Here I bought vintage postcards (increasing my collection all the time!) and a daisy bead “hippie” bracelet for about 2 e. In The Hague, the market is mostly antique-related. Here you can buy mink scarves (which my cousin did, as a gift for his PETA-obsessed friend. It had feet. He bought it for 30 e. Claimed it was worth it.), antique postcards (which I buy weekly), and Nazi propaganda books. So far, all I’ve personally bought here (I’d prefer not to waste my e on mink scarves) is my postcard collection. However, when in Delft, I made an unexpected purchase.

Read more of Inspiration- the Totally Random Kind.

Some travelers are embarrassed to be a tourist—after all, who likes tourists? Nobody, even I don’t. They are so clueless and out of place from a general “local” view. I often dislike them, especially the American ones. They are always the loudest, and it makes me wonder If I’m that loud as well, being an American myself. This is admittedly hypocritical.

This week I was treated as a proper tourist. In reality, I was the tour guide. But my father is in town and he’s a tourism extremist. He tries to make conversation with the locals (DUTCH locals who can’t speak English too well), and often embarrasses me (after all, he’s my dad). But I know I am viewed the same way as he is- a common tourist. I take after my father, after all, and I can’t speak Dutch. So even though I’m a resident, I get treated like a tourist. Telling people you moved here from Texas doesn’t help much, I’ve realized. It’s a lost cause. This week I was especially not-local. Yet, this is only part one of the deception.

Read more of Tourist Deception Week.

I was walking along the boardwalk in Scheveningen, when a funny sign at a beach club caught my eye.
Since I recently (7 months ago?) moved to the Netherlands (which explains my long absence), I had no idea what the sign said. I just said, “Ha, more marketing fails for Holland. ‘Dip your feet in the water as you dine!’ and they put a picture of feet surrounded by minnows. Doesn’t look quite appetizing, really.” But my cousin was glad to inform me, and I soon realized as I walked further along, that these people weren’t dining.

Read more of Garra Rufa Feet Eaters.