Cogs can think.

Best. Weekend. Ever. Not in chronological order, and only a selection:

400 km. From Alkmaar, via Amsterdam, Eindhoven, Maastricht, to La Roche. 4 cars. 19 people. Near crashes. Speeding. Annemarie– a supergirl who drives more aggressively than I do (the ‘Annemarie-move’: cross four lanes from left to right in one full swoop while doing 135 on an overcrowded highway; and I swear, Annemarie is a supergirl in optima forma, muchos respectas, and thanks for looking after us). Marco– appearing all cool in his dad’s 2.7-litre V6′d SUV, but wasn’t all too comfortable while racing. Mustafa and his harem who ended up in France (or something), after Nadia left their routeplanner somewhere in the bathroom of a highway restaurant. And of course I couldn’t have done it without the help of Marloes, my own Loes Loes Navigator.

Alcohol. More alcohol. Martini, baby. Lots of Martini, baby. Drunk like fcuk. Twister. Me: “But tell me, if you Asians can’t handle alcohol, then why do you make Saké so fcuking strong?” Me and Lot (’Glot and Glhom’) getting kicked off of a graveyard at two in the morning (Lot, you’re a supergirl, you rock, I like you). Mustafa stealing my beer. Marco getting really bad news, but then 15 minutes later really good news. Mustafa having a seriously bad trip after mixing too many different kinds of alcohol (now we know why Muslims aren’t allowed to drink). Me and Lot carrying him outside for what seamed like an eternity– at one point, we really were in the middle of nowhere– then we had to go back, obviously. It was raining, I only wore a t-shirt (and jeans, obviously) and Lot had given most of her warm clothes to Mussy. It was cold. Back at the cabin. Everyone worried were we’d been. “We were puzzled, Thom, we knew Lot already had a boyfriend…” And thank you for the confidence in my and Lot’s conscience ;).

Me and Lot were really lucky not to have fallen off of that wall on the graveyard. It was… High.

Racing down the steep sloped road to La Roche. Me: “By principle, I am against pay-for-parking.” Lots of photos. Pancakes. More alcohol. Local bar. Dancing on stage with Lot. Me putting one leg a bit too far away. Me almost falling off of the stage. Puck going mental. Gleufie gettin’ some. Drinking games. Me: “I know a good drinking game: you fill your glass, drink it, fill it up again, drink it again, and so on.”

My memory is slightly blurred at some points. Couldn’t eat sunday. All I had was one side salad at McDonald’s. Passed on the wheel to Loes. Annemarie having a slight crash with another car the petrol station (it doesn’t matter honey, you’ve done so great all this weekend). Drove back to Amsterdam. Thanked Annemarie for her care and the weekend itself. Said goodbye, see you Tuesday to everyone.

Done the 60km home in a flash.