"The Amsterdam Horror." A true story

"Belinda-isms"

The Amsterdam Horror
A true story. Not BASED on a true story mind you, but a real, true story.

Long, long ago in a land far, far away lived a bi-polar housewife, her soldier husband and three very active, interesting and unique little boys. In this story Bobbie Van Wieringen, who is one of the best friends of my life and is on my FaceBook friend's list, agreed to watch those precious little hooligans; Patrick, Brandon and Quentin, so that Stan and I could take a little trip. All other names have been changed--or left out-- to protect the not-so-innocent.

In the last few days of January 1985 Stan surprised me with a trip to Amsterdam. That should have been my first clue that things were not what they seemed to be, but alas, I am a naive and trusting soul. We were living in Ansbach, Germany in military housing. We had moved from our lovely 150 year old haunted house in Mochenau the previous May. (The Mochenau Terror, A True Story copy right Belinda Clark-Ache 2007) and had spent a frigid winter on the Fourth floor across from the motor pool and playing a drinking game called "Captain Puff". I was due a break and foolishly, I thought that this might just be it.

The guys rented exotic local cars and three couples, plus a few GI's, headed out on the Autobahn, where there are no speed limits and idiots can drive as fast as they damn well please. Seriously; I'm lucky to have survived the trip. I was eating Valium like tic-tacs for most of the ride, having become terrified of cars, probably due to the Autobahn's having no speed limits and the idiots who could drive as fast as they damn well please, but also due, I feel certain, to little occurrences,  like when we shot past an exit we were supposed to have taken. Our Mercedes, Skull-Drag and Mrs. Drag's Ferrari and Mr & Mrs. Sadowski's Audi left smoking black tire tracks as they all screeching to a halt in the middle of the Autobahn, in traffic, to discuss, by screaming out the windows at each other, the fact that we missed our exit. Stanley, the genius I'm married to, backed up at tremendous speed dodging on coming traffic, while the Drag's executed a perfect U turn and drove the wrong way in to on coming traffic, so we could all take the aforementioned exit. I honestly can not tell you how the Audi rectified the situation of having missed the exit because I firmly believe I was stuck to the ceiling of the Mercedes by my finger and toenails like that cartoon cat and screaming in hysterical fits.

So after the 50 hour drive (I think it was 5 or 6 hours in real time, but then again time works funny IN HELL!) we get to Amsterdam. It is after midnight and before dawn (time having stopped having meaning after the GI riding with us, Doc,  gave me a flask of Jack Daniels to wash down my Valium Tic-tacs). Once there, we drove around for two hours, with the mental Olympian's trying to find where we were staying before they eventually stopped the cars. I got out, fell face first, prostrate with arms straight out; hugging the concrete, kissing the ground, weeping in joy to be alive: and refused to get back in the car. I'm pretty sure I told them, "leave me, I hate you," and "if I can ever walk again I am going to murder you all in your sleep."  Once I felt capable of getting to my knees I then crawled on all fours to a pay phone, called a Taxi and told my companions some creative new ways they could make love to themselves, before climbing into the Taxi, giving the driver the hotel address and screaming out the windows that the rest of them should consider forgetting they had ever met me.

They didn't though. The cars fell in to line behind my Taxi and followed me to our hotel where my companions fought each other for the privileged of paying for my room, no doubt hoping to appease my murderous spirit. I slept as if angels were with me, as I have no doubt they must have been and by morning I had not so much forgiven the mentally defective co-horts as decided they were not going to spoil this trip for me.

SIDEBAR: Ever have a real Continental breakfast? They are a far cry from a muffin and orange juice we get here! Meats and cheeses, fresh fruit, scrumptious coffee, croissants, clotted cheeses, marmalade.... I was feeling great by time we all left for a day of sight seeing.

Amsterdam is a beautiful city. I was surprised by how CLEAN the streets are, but thankful after recalling my make out session with the sidewalk of the night before. We shopped, and smoked pot in coffee houses, and walked the Red Light District, and smoked pot in coffee houses, and shopped and smoked pot in coffee houses for three days. I had almost smoked enough pot by then to have forgiven the imbeciles I had traveled with, when I sauntered; stoned and happy, in to the Sadowski's room: to over hear them discussing how they were going to smuggle the four suitcases of drugs they had accumulated back in to Germany...

Remember the cartoon cat? The one hanging from the ceiling from its nails with it's fur standing on end and that horrified look on it's face? Yeah. That was me. I launched myself at the biggest guy in the room, Skull Drag, who was this massive bouncer from Tennessee or Texas, I don't remember which. I did my 5 foot 100 pound best to rip his face off with my bare hands.

SIDEBAR: Bobbie and I had been on a starvation diet, no food; only Light beer and alka-seltzer and I had lost all my baby weight.

Looking back I should have started ripping them limb from limb with the littlest guy, Doc. I'm pretty sure I could have took him.

Anyway, suffice it to say that when I was done explaining to them how I was not having anything to do with their asinine plan (and if my husband ever expected to touch my lily white body again, then neither was he!) I had "explained" myself hoarse. Lost my voice entirely, in fact, which I am fairly certain was a dream come true for my dim witted traveling companions. Stan and I left the group, spent that day sitting in The Hard Rock cafe before we headed back to Germany, solo.

THE END

Except: Interesting side story: on the way back, some where near Illesheim, Germany we ran in to a blizzard. We couldn't stop because the Stan had to be in a convoy headed to Graff at 06:00. It was black as velvet and the snow was coming at the windshield. It looked exactly like when the Mellinneium Falcon went into Hyper-Drive. Coming down off that "hill" with a cliff on one side and a bluff on the other, Stan lost track of the road and we began to spin in circles. Time turned off. It had to, because the car began to slide and Stan looked at me and said, "Kiss that sweet ass good-bye, baby" ( I'll never forget that because I hadn't spoken to him on the entire trip, which made him pretty happy, as I recall, and I thought "Oh, how nice, he still thinks I have a sweet ass after I humiliated and emasculated him in front of his little friends!") which in real time should have been long enough to hit the wall or the drop. Instead I had time to undo my seat belt, mouth "I love you" (because I still couldn't speak), and climb into the back seat of the car where I hid in the floorboard, no doubt thinking that might keep me safe from the stupendous 3000 foot drop. Laying there, in the floor, I distinctly saw my sons as grown ups and we were drinking a toast with raised glasses in front of a Christmas tree. I heard all of us saying "Merry Christmas!" and then, just like that, the car stopped spinning in circles and we went on down the road where Stan had time to change into a uniform, grab his duffel bag and catch up to the trucks which were already rolling out of the motor pool across the street. I may be mistaken, but I think I kissed Bobbie ON THE LIPS when I saw her.

Ah! Good times!

COPY RIGHT 2010 Belinda Clark-Ache

Let's talk about Daytime TV, Part I "Fan Sites"

First of all, I've been asked what happened to me? Why did I quit writing my column "The Daytime Diva's View from the Recliner's Edge" forr EYE ON SOAPS now All My Writer's? Why did I disappear from Daytime Confidential ABC Podcast? Well, I'll tell you, but it isn't very interesting gossip!

About 3 years ago the economy tanked and life at Casa Ache went to shit. We struggled to keep the TV turned on, and lost cable for MONTHS on end. I had no choice but to stop writing the column because I could not update it as needed. We went without phone service and without internet services off and on since then, too, so staying in touch with the soap community was impossible. Daytime Confidential has asked me to be on podcasts since then, but until recently I wasn't certain at any given time if we would have internet services. Since then, well, frankly I don't have the equipment on hand anymore to get in on the recordings. Seriously, the dog ate my headphones.

That's it. No drama. No soapy falling out, no underhanded diva's trying to silence my brilliance (LOL) I am pleased that Katrina (AMW) even invited me back to blog for her, and that Luke & Jamie have said the door is open when I'm ready to give them a shout and be their guest. This little blog here is NOT intended as any kind of competition for them, as if it could be! This is no comment on them or their sites, ownership, nothing like that. I'm good with all of them as far as I know (and if you heard any different; don't bother to tell me, ignorance is bliss & what I don't know ain't hurting me!). AMW & DC are my go to sites for all my soap information. I barely read any soap commentary from anywhere else. I highly recommend them if you don't read them already!

Yes, I miss my column. I miss my regular readers especially. Those few fans who followed me from the days I wrote for that scope place for "he who shall not be named". I'll admit it, but leaving the game freed me up in a way I didn't realize it would. I went from watching the shows with the agenda of getting something decent out of them for the column to old fashioned enjoying them again; for the most part. Being offline for the biggest part of 3 years was an eye opening (dead dog boring) experience. For one thing I went spoiler free and got my joy in watching the shows back. Please don't think I am dogging the spoilers sites or specific columns or any of that; I'm not. For me though, the lack of all that really gave me back, in large part, the viewing experience I had been missing. The months I spent without TV really brought home what a huge and loved part of my life, TV in general and daytime drama specifically really are.

If...when I do make commentary on the shows, it is not meant as any kind of competition for the sites of my colleagues. It is not commentary on their sites or their work. This blog kind of snuck up on me. What I like about it is that right now it is practically private, I have no deadlines and I can mother f*ck anyone anytime I please. I'm not going to reflect badly on people with good reputations or mess up any soapy relationships by telling you my feelings. Not that I ever did before or ever dealt with any censorship; I did not. My views are my own and do not reflect on any other person or entity.

Feel free to share the blog if you like it or lose the url if you don't. I will be telling you my feelings about the end of the shows and the back stabbing rat that is Disney, but I will be talking about my life and the drama of  it all as well as about the paranormal field and things that go bump in the night. The supernatural is a part of my every day life so it will be hashed.

Other things your going to hear about are that I believe Marijuana should be decriminalized and made legal for medical use (at least) and the plant should be available for use in its many diverse ways. If that offends you; I respect your opinion. Don't read me.

I'm also hating the fact that the bitches running our country are FORCING me to become some what political. I don't want to argue politics. I hate politics, but I'm on a rampage and those fat cat, rich bitches who think they are speaking for me have another think coming. I want a #cleanslate2012. Vote every sitting politician OUT who has not supported taxing the wealthy their fair share. That's my hot button topic, people. Why should the wealthy get breaks the real people do not? Why should those who can afford it the least have to carry the burden of taxation and the priviledge class just keeps getting richer off of us? Yeah. You'll hear about that from me too.

Feel free to comment, share, whatever. I marked this adult because I don't want to have to water down my words. if you repost and some young one is offended or traumatized it will not be on me, so share wisely.

Oh, Monday, Thou is a cruel bitch!

Good gravy! The weekend spiraled past me in a blur induced by way too much Thursday happy hour. that is not a typo. Thursday evening I invited one of my best friends Diane W. to meet me for a cocktail and a little catch-me-up. We haven't hung out in a few years, probably my fault; I'm a terrible friend. I don't like all the clinginess of most friends and am simply not touchy-feely emotional enough to sustain most female friends. Not that Di needed all that, she is much like me in that a hug and a few drinks and some little news will hold her over for a long while too. Truth is we have very little in common and yet at a time when our children were in school and times were tough for us all we bonded hard and fast.

Fact is she saved my life, quite literally on at least one occasion. When one has a huge handgun cocked, loaded and about a centimeter from your head you never quite forget the Momma who slaps the gun holders hand says "Stop it." She saved my lily white rear figuratively many times over and during those lean years she states that I helped her through them too. See, I am the Queen of the Cinder Block Empire, reigning white-trash deity and about as unapologetic as Gretchen Wilson's Redneck Woman anthem implies I might be while Di was the Rodeo Queen, horse grooming, riding, State Fair going all around upper middle class (or better) girl next door... when the door next door was an actual brick & stone built home, not one they hauled in on wheels. Yet some how our kids were freinds and we became friends too. I'm glad whatever I did passed so we can be friends again. I've missed her.

Well, Thursday night was a very thirsty one. With years of catching up to do, I frankly drank too dang much. Friday I felt like Dante from "Grandma's Boy" (I'm way to baked to drive to the devil's house!) Then comes Saturday and we have an appointment down town St. Louis. I mean DOWNTOWN under the arch, then a party in Wentzville (hundreds of miles away) to celebrate Quentin's getting his GED (remember Quentin? We talked about him last blog.) and to top it off my hubby's work BFF had asked us to come by his house... in Cahokia. We took the Harley and my ass logged about 400 miles on it that day. I hurt in places I had no idea could hurt. Sitting with that unnatural spread for hours on end makes one aware of every inch of huge ass, I assure you. My hips and thighs are killing me and my knees! Holy mother of pearl. The hooker giving $2.00 blow jobs outside the unemployment office's knees couldn't hurt any worse! Suffice it to say, I had several frosty cold adult libations that night as well. Yesterday I had Harley head & ass! LOL.

So without further ado the wicked week is upon me. The house looks like Diane rode rodeo through it, except her horses stall is probably cleaner and no doubt smells better. I have to get out of this chair and DO SOMETHING. No, really; I HAVE to. I have P>Drake and his brothers, the redheads McMunn and they are going to be up and rampaging like conquering Romans any time now. I'll have to wash a dish to make them cups of coffee. Oh, quit. Of course I don't give the redheads cups of coffee; that would be grandma suicide, they don't have ADD. P.Drake usually has a small cup a day but he processes it differently and it actually will call him down if he is over stimulated. Give that kid a daytime cold remedy guaranteed not to make him drowsy and its like Frankenstein stumbling around in the dark, but coffee he can handle.

Best thing about it being Monday? One Live to Live on ABC today at 1 central time. I am looking forward to it like I haven't anticipated a soap in many a year. It is firing on all cylinders, hitting all the right notes. Soapy perfection! Yes, I  am going to address my feeling about the back stabbing Disney bitches who cancelled these iconic programs in this blog soon, but today I have to concentrate on not throwing up, cleaning this skank box and entertaining some delightful grand children until my soaps come on and I can loose myself in them. It's about time they were pulled out of the shitter enough we could look forward to them again!