Poop Police

Ok yeah so I didn't quite make it back on the blog wagon (blagon?) after my last post. Between working a lot (and by a lot I mean A LOT) and getting sucked into past seasons of Grey's Anatomy (thanks iTunes), and B- being out of town for work, and me being generally disgruntled, I didn't feel like blogging. Sorry folks - I'll snap out of it.

B- and I are going through a "we hate it here" phase. All the expat books and magazines warned us that it would happen. One day you wake up and you just hate it here. It doesn't help that I can count the number of times I've seen the sun since October on one hand, and that it freakin' rains all the damn time, and that Dutch people aren't very nice and the only time they talk to me is to get in my face about something they think I'm doing wrong, AND that the BBC is running a month-long show about Brits moving to Australia where the sun shines all day every day and they have big, huge houses with lots of land. It also doesn't help that Nigel Beagle acts weirder and weirder every day - clearly he doesn't like it here either.

I don't blame him.

Yesterday a van pulls up along side me while I'm out with Nigel for his afternoon skull drag (he doesn't like to walk around our neighborhood for some reason). Two public servants jump out, one with an alarming facial disfigurement - you know the kind that you try not to stare at but what are you going to do? she's right there talking to you - accusing me of not picking up Nigel's poo. This is absurd given my views on the poop-leaving tendencies of everyone else in this country.

I tell her that he just peed, not pooed. She looks at me with suspicion. I show her my roll of poop bags, one of over 100 rolls that I smuggled in from the U.S. back in June, and self-righteously explain to her that I ALWAYS pick up the poo. It's disgusting not to. The other guy walks over from the van to back her up because I'm questioning her authority, and I explain to him that I didn't leave the poo because Nigel didn't poo. And he says, and I'm not kidding, "can we go see?" He actually wants to walk back over to where Nigel peed (Ok fine, he pees like a bitch. Seriously. Whatever.) to see if I'm lying or not.

What??? WTF is wrong with these people?

So, I march them over to Nigel's pee stain to examine the evidence. There's only but a puddle, just like I said. The woman says nothing and the guy starts apologizing. As we start back on our way, public servants pulling up the rear, Nigel does his little booty jiggle before he settles down to drop off a big one. The male public servant literally shouts, "Oh shit!" I turn and flash them my smuggest smile as I began to fidget for a poop bag. They hurry off in shame. Bastards.

A couple of weeks ago a bus driver accused me of trying to get out of paying the fare even though I'd just handed him my ticket. He actually told me that I didn't look like I knew what I was doing. Uhm, what? And that translates to me skipping a fare after I've already handed you my ticket how?

I picked up my new residence permit yesterday. As the woman handed it over to me, I had one of those Ally McBeal-type fantasies of going nutso at the immigration office, flinging residence permits all the while screaming about where they could stuff them. I assure you that I smiled graciously and thanked them for their time.

I'm not sure how long I'll last in these nether lands.