About last night...

So last night I went out to this bar: 't Oude Pothuys Muziekcafe. Yes that's its real name. My "other", Dustin Diamond, was with me. Yes, Dustin Diamond who played the character "Screech" on Saved by the Bell. Don't ask how we met, it's a long story.

Dustin and I were having a good time, listening to the Dutch play covers of bad American music seemingly straight out of Florida, or trying out their own folksongs; those I-write-my-own-folk-songs-and-perform-them-at-open-mic-nights-girls span the globe. But the beer really snuck up on Dustin.
1:30am: We made it out of the bar (barely) and began the half hour walk home. Along the way Dustin gave all his money to a "homeless" guy. He was "half-American", you know, so I guess he deserved some economic support from the international community.
Finally we made it back to the military complex/dorm complex (I'm not kidding about either of those descriptions) where we live. Unfortunately it was now 2:20 am and the main/only gate was locked. They have some kind of fascist curfew that must work on the undergrads. But not us -- we climbed the fence. That complex is not very secure; I had no problem breeching the wall. Neither did Dustin, although the way he kind of rolled himself up-over-down the fence was a little scary. He was also carrying my blue purse at the time and I was a little nervous he would fall on it and smoosh something. BUT, all was well.

UNTIL

We got into the apartment. At which point Dustin announced that he "didn't feel good" and quickly proceeded to the bathroom. Meanwhile, I got out some leftovers and got online. Ate the leftovers while Dustin threw up (really loud, by the way -- it was like the yelling version of throwing up). I kept telling him to have some food and that it would make him feel better; I chatted online with my friend Gergoro. Meanwhile Dustin was still puking, with breaks to roll around very dramatically on the floor by the toilet. Fortunately because we live in the Netherlands our bathroom is excessively clean. We have been disciplined by the Dutch.
Dustin was trying to tell me something (I think he might have been disagreeing with my suggestion to eat? I really wasn't listening) but was having problems articulating the finer points. At one point he flung his wallet from the depths of the bathroom into the living room as what I can only imagine was some kind of primitive attempt to communicate.

It all ended OK, don't worry. I helped Dustin into bed and left the flung wallet on the floor as an eloquent remembrance of our wonderful evening.

Dustin, in better spirits