The cleanest dirty post EVER! (as well as the usual swearing, which you will of course have come to expect by now.)

...and speaking of image and archetype!
yes, I know, the bounty of the internet has rendered the following information a bit dated. anyway, I wish someone would have told me this stuff; chances are I wouldn't have been such a nasty little cow._____________
I've been visiting a website primarily devoted to rants (yeah, Best of Craigslist.) One of the rants I come across most often-and I suspect it's all by the same woman- is usually a variation on the theme "Why in the hell can't men figure out how to screw?"
Gosh, it must just suck so bad to be so very, very bitchy and insensitive sophisticated and difficult to please, dahling.

Despite claims to the contrary, most men have not had a whole bunch of partners. Oh you know you haven't. Please. If they are kind, decent, hard-working men, that possibility becomes a probability. It could well be that the partners they have had were very inept or repressed. Or bitchy and insensitive very very sophisticated and difficult to please, say. Of course any given man might be an insensitive lout himself. Still, any woman who goes into a new sexual relationship and right off the bat starts whining about the sex needs to consider the fact that you have to cut people a certain amount of slack at first.

Luckily for you, I am here to set everything straight at last. And there'll be pictures too!

Anyone who's been to an art museum pretty much knows what to expect from the male of the species (nude, stone, deciduous.)Not so women. Not at ALL.
You can view the entire collection of Western Art on display in any major museum of the world...and I can guarantee that you will not fine one single representation of flying taco.

Womens' junk is mysterious. It's interior. Plus theres a 'surprise!' factor involved as well.

The packaging is cute and adorable!

The contents are...a kind term would be....DRAMATIC.




....each in it's own unique way.



You didn't know that? Go grab a hand mirror. I'll wait.

If you're the average young guy, all you've ever seen is mainstream porn-'tang (if that.) That's generally well-rested 'tang thats been lying around in nothing but a robe for a couple of hours, cooled with ice packs and combed and fluffed and plucked and shaven until it looks more like it should have a 'Precious Moments' tag on it.






Understandably then, those first few encounters with real 'tang that's been standing around all day wearing nylons has got to be quite a shock.



School? Please do not make me laugh; it puts strain on my ostomy site.
Come on. They don't show guys hi-res photographs of scarlet tuna in health class either, ladies; they get the same crap we did - drawings. Antiseptic medical renderings:


and then they go out in the real world and they see this:


...and that ain't got a 'Precious Moments' tag, Paco.

Perhaps you think I'm being too hard on Mr. Shallit here, but face it - if you're going to be totally honest with yourself you have to admit that fully deployed vag, even the cutest and palest, looks at best kind of like an eviscerated trout. And neither 'eviscerated' or 'trout' are images you want in your mind at that juncture but if you've done any fishing it's gonna crop up and that probably doesn't help either.




Furthermore, if theres been a lot of kissy smoochie going on prior to this point, this whole issue here to the right is going to come as something of an unexpected event as well.









Once again, ladies, guys DO NOT get this stuff in health class. They don't even show it in most mainstream porn. Even if they have some dim awareness of the dampening issue, they have no idea that they have to...that it was gonna be like....




oh shit, here:




and, just, yeah.

Second of all, guys figure - and its a logical assumption - that they can handle your parts with the same kind of devil-may-care insouciance they handle their own parts. This is WRONG, of course. But how in the hell are they supposed to know that? Their stuff is used to a certain amount of daily wear and tear because it STICKS OUT. I mean, come on; I've seen a guy actually tie his dong into a knot. Someone who's mastered that as a party trick is simply not going to have the same idea of what 'foreplay' means.

But once again, most men do NOT get this kind of detailed information. Remember, sex education in America is still about preventing people from having sex.
The instructors have to keep Johnny and Cindi's religious right parents happy and voting pro-education. Sex education isn't there to provide detailed instructions on how to fuck. It's there to show movies about blind babies and pregnant women with gonnorhea all the way up to their chin, and dicks turning into objects of crawling horror.
Pass the popcorn!

So what have we all done? Learned from looking at porn.

Yeah! Good idea! Because porn is ALL ABOUT real life, right?



If you've ever read any porn that was written by a straight man trying to assume a female character, you'll realize that they really have no clue whatsoever what it's like to own a vagina AT ALL. And how in the fuck WOULD they?

No two sets of parts could possibly be any more different. Every other part of our bodies is the same. Have you ever considered that? They have nipples (and boobs are just nipples with a lot of fat deposited around them, you know,) they have faces and livers and hair and toes. We share everything in common all the way down the line. The only parts that are dissimilar are the genitals..and BOY ARE THEY DISSIMILAR. You simply cannot cross that gap intellectually; its like trying to compare a sandwich and a helicopter.




We HAVE to communicate. After all, chances are that you don't know what you're doing EITHER. We HAVE to TEACH EACH OTHER. NICELY.
Stopping in the middle of the proceedings and snarling 'Oh my God, just forget it, ok?" IS NOT NICE. Neither is shoving, flumping, sighing dramatically, sarcasm; none of these things need to come into play at this time. It's abusive. It leaves a mark.



The only time you EVER get to go full on Prarie Bitch is when you run into the person who simply and steadfastly REFUSES TO FUCKING LEARN. I mean the type of person that either completely ignores all suggestions, or stops and gets all pouty when you politely and kindly make a suggestion or guide them to a place that feels better. That person can go step in front of a train. So can Mr. 'Losing it totally and acting like a chihuahua on meth'

...particularly when he tries to play it off as your fault for just being too damn sexy.

No, what it usually comes down to is this: most women are still trying to play the 'I wasn't taught to be a sexual being' card so they can avoid taking responsibility when things end up being less than perfect. That's weak. You better take some damn initiative and learn. You better know enough about yourself to teach someone else how to do the same things. If you can't do that then don't even DARE blame it on the man. It isn't his fault.


It's yours.

Jung is, like, OMG, so rad

this one goes out to danator, who gave me a reason to re-visit one of the most influential books in my life.
_______________


I had originally planned to review lots of books in this here blog, but upon giving that a few tries I became horribly introverted about the whole effort. My main purpose in doing a review is generally to praise a particular book and convince other people it's worth reading.

The problem is, I'm the one doing the review. Whatever the finished product is, I fear that what I've actually achieved is to put something out there that might cause others who read it to think "Yeah, right. Thanks for the warning. No way in Hell am I going to put myself in your league sister." Kind of a 'tarred with the same brush' thing.

The other reason is, I get overwhelmed by, I guess, hero worship or something. I mean, really...who do I think I am? How am I

qualified to comment on something like 'Man and His Symbols'? I'd probably come off like some kind of a presumptuous, lame, sadass damn jejune American who thinks they can just go around and say stuff like they're all smart when actually they look really really stupid and everyone knows it. (Anyone cringing? Good. You're the person that was aimed at.)

I suppose what I really mean to say is, stick it up your ass if you can't hack it. I'm reviewing 'Man And His Symbols'.

___________________

Man And His Symbols is good

by FirstNations

The best way to summarize it is 'Jung from many angles'...a collection of different articles written by Jungian practitioners, detailing their experiences using his theories. This suited the way I learn down to the ground (there are lots of purty pitchers and lots of repetition...the same general subject being approached from many different angles. I'm a little ADD.) I got more useful, relevant information out of that book, page for page, than I was able to glean from the remaining number of other psych texts I've ever read combined. This is not to say that I totally buy into Jungs' theories because he goes rampaging pretty damn far afield; face it-but he nails the structure of the creative unconscious dead. He defines it. He maps it out. It's fucking amazing.

Now, I read this book with my Tabers Encyclopedic Medical Dictionary at one hand and my ancient copy of Van Nostrands open at the other. I took notes. I put bookmarks in so I could go back and check passages, and I shamelessly dogeared the index. This is not a light read. Too bad. It still absolutely belongs in every creative persons' reference collection-no matter what your particular medium might happen to be.

For me, seeing this part of my odd brain defined, studied, explained and taken seriously, was an experience of the most profound awe. To re-use an awkwardly-worded image, this is the clearest view you may ever get of the "map of an underground river of story" that we all carry printed on our minds...and it's an incredible introduction to Jung.

The pictures are cool, too. At least the ones in my edition are.

I always thought it would be a particularly excellent book to own if you're the kind of person who gets wasted and then becomes really, really focused . If you like to get blazed and do mazes, or stare for hours at your M.C. Escher poster of a guys' hand drawing itself drawing a hand drawing itself, this may describe you! It certainly can't hurt, and it will impress more people than the 65 foot bubblegum wrapper chain you made last time.

So, yeah. Man And His Symbols. There ya go. Read it sometime.

The Green Barn, Lynden, Washington

In a region of the United States known for the discriminating tastes of its inhabitants, why

THE GREEN BARN
8858 Guide Meridian Rd, Lynden, WA
PHONE (360) 318-8869

isn't overflowing with customers every minute they're open is a mystery to me. This place is simply

THE BEST SHOPPING EXPERIENCE TO BE HAD IN WHATCOM COUNTY.

You know how when you go to, say, the local Co-Op, and everyone there has this big attitude problem and they're all wearing Guatemalan hand-woven sashes and half the white people have nasty dirty old dreadlocks and all the produce is tiny and everything is overpriced?

THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN AT THE GREEN BARN.
AND THE PRICES ARE LOWER THAN ANYPLACE ELSE IN WHATCOM COUNTY.
PERIOD.
8858 Guide Meridian Rd, Lynden, WA
(360) 318-8869

How do I love thee?

THE HELP IS UNFAILINGLY HELPFUL. (Not to mention straight-up adorable!)
They know their products, they're polite, they will help you load your car ...it's like something out of the 1950's. They know your name. They smile. THEY CAN BE FOUND. They will take suggestions. They will special order for you and then CALL YOU WHEN THE ORDER COMES IN. You can RELY on them. I wanted to put up some okra, I mentioned it; damned if they didn't have okra in stock for me the next time I went in. GOOD okra too-even though it's unusual for this area.

THE PRODUCE IS GLORIOUS. RIGHT DOWN TO THE LAST GRAPE.

THE PRODUCE IS HONESTLY AND BEAUTIFULLY MARKET DRESSED.
What this means is, first of all, the stuff is CLEAN. Secondly, that you get trimmed, stalky white leek-you aren't being charged for a bunch of green and roots that you won't use. Head broccoli that isn't mostly stem. Stripped and topped onions. Cheerful asparagus (you can tell) standing happily in fresh, clean water, not stacked on its sides like New Orleans flood victims. Potatoes that do not look as though they went though the World Series. Clean, thriving greens. Cukes that are not coated in lard.

THEY CARRY A SELECTION OF EVERYTHING. This isn't the chain supermarket where you only get one type of tomato and one onion and that's it. When they can possibly obtain a selection, they have it. And it is always GLORIOUS.

THEIR PRODUCE, when at all possible, is GROWN LOCALLY. Much of it is ORGANIC. The culture and spray details are posted clearly.

THEY HAVE A DAIRY CASE! (Of course they had to fight the city of Lynden best two falls out of three to get a permit for the damn thing. Hey City of Lynden- support local farms and small business or quit whining about the demise of local farms and small business, OK???)

The dairy case carries LOCALLY AND ORGANICALLY GROWN DAIRY PRODUCTS...things that are sold on the specialty market in other parts of the world, kids! CHEAPER THAN ANYPLACE ELSE IN THE COUNTY!!! The only other places you can get this stuff is right from the supplier direct (and then you have to hope someone is at home when you drive up) or at the Co-Op...and the Co-Op jacks up the price and makes you bag it yourself.

GREEN BARN BAGS YOUR PURCHASES AND LOADS THEM INTO THE CART FOR YOU. FOR CHEAPER THAN ANYPLACE ELSE IN THE COUNTY.

Green Barn carries a selection of LOCALLY PRODUCED SUPPLEMENTS, HERBS AND SPICES. The 'Flora'' marque isn't widely known, but it's good stuff, and once again, it's a local business and uses local products.

DID I MENTION THAT THE HELP IS ADORABLE?

YOU CAN PURCHASE IN BULK.

THE SCALES ARE ACCURATE, CLEAN AND EASY TO FIND.

THEY PROVIDE GOOD QUALITY BAGS AND TAGS. Not the crappy ones that are cloudy and too small and tear; the GOOD, STURDY, CLEAR ones. And quality paper bags too, in different sizes. You can also buy a canvas re-useable bag from them.

THE WHOLE PLACE IS CLEAN.
Surgically clean. The sales floor, the bathroom, even the parking lot! I cannot imagine what kind of effort this must take on the part of the staff; they're literally in the middle of a cornfield in a (very snazzy, be it told) barn. But irregardless of the fact that the place is hanging wide open half the time, it is SPOTLESS. Not even the chain groceries down the street can say that. Believe me. I KNOW.

THERE IS ALWAYS PARKING.

THEY CARRY (in season) LOCALLY AND ORGANICALLY GROWN ORNAMENTAL AND VEGETABLE PLANT STARTS.

They carry ORGANIC, LOCALLY PRODUCED HONEY AND BEE PRODUCTS.
You can buy organic beeswax here! That may not mean much to many folks, but I go through a lot of the stuff sewing and I really, really appreciate being able to find exactly what pleases my heart.

THEY CARRY CANNED AND PACKAGED STAPLE GOODS.

Despite the fact that they are in Lynden, they are NOT DUTCHY-WUTCHY. Although they do carry Dutch products...Asian, Hindi and Mexican ones, too.

THEY HAVE DIFFERENT KINDS OF SHOPPING BASKETS. You can shop with a carry basket or with a variety of rolling carts in different sizes, some of which have child seats. These are ALWAYS CLEAN AND IN GOOD REPAIR.

If you are a lacto-ovo vegetarian this place is your NIRVANA. You can comfortably rely on this place to supply all your food needs ethically without ever having to do research or think twice about what you buy.
Period.

Now, I do anyway because I was a lacto-ovo vegetarian for many years; it's become a reflex. I'm not just guessing when I say all this stuff. I know that what I'm getting here is the best of the best because I've already done my research independently, and because I am a food nerd. We make the same decisions time and time again, they and I....in fact, they've taught me things about local supply that I never knew. If I were starting out again with little kids, this is the place I would feed my family out of EXCLUSIVELY. This place right here, at 8858 Guide Meridian Rd, Lynden, WA(360) 318-8869

SUPPORTING YOUR NEIGHBORS IN THEIR EFFORTS TO FARM SUSTAINABLY AND PRODUCE A SUPERIOR PRODUCT IS A GOOD THING.
It is a political act, not to mention an ethical act, to choose to spend your money this way. When it also saves you money? When those politics also mean that the quality of your life improves immediately-the next time you pick up an apple and bite into it...how can you beat that? You honestly don't have to put up with underdeveloped produce and suspect European cheeses, overpriced canned goods and under-packaged staple items through which unknown fingers have been running. You have the option of spending ECONOMICALLY, LOCALLY AND RESPONSIBLY for SUPERIOR GOODS.

DO THE RIGHT THING AND MAKE YOUR LIFE BETTER! SHOP AT THE GREEN BARN!

8858 Guide Meridian Rd, Lynden, WA

(360) 318-8869

_____________
here's a lovely mappal view of how to get there from Canada!! both of these maps will benefit from being enlarged. 'A' is the correct new location...they're now on the corner of Badger and Guide Meridian straight down the road from the Lynden Border Crossing. Going south, on the left just as you pass the light on Badger.

View Larger Map


..and here's how to get there from Bellingham! remember, they're on the corner of Badger and Guide Meridian now, on your right as you head north.

View Larger Map

RERUN: profoundly and intensely nsfw.

This is a rerun of an article I had published about a year ago. It is arguably the filthiest thing I've ever published on this blog.
Why am I rerunning it?
Because I can.


NEW PEOPLE READ THIS:
1. If reading about vaginas, lesbians or my husband's new job (which I never mention) is going to offend you, then you'll probably want to hit that 'next blog' button up there on the extreme upper right hand corner jiffy quick.

2. If you intend to read on, but then you get all offended because you just read about nasty lady parts then you'll probably want to ask me if I give a fuck.
I don't by the way.

Ok? You have been warned and you're lucky you got that. Really. Ask anyone who regularly visits here. They'll tell you.






______________________________________________

Take care of your poontang, and your poontang will take care of you.

Now I don't mean to echo the sentiments of big Mama Thornton here, whose'If I can't sell it, I'm gonna sit on it because I aint givin' it away" are words many an enteprenurial dyke has taken to heart....no. I do mean to impart some basic operating instructions to those of you who might be new to the game.

Girls, those of you who have strayed into the boys side of the sockhop have doubtlessly noted that their congratulatory juices smell like chestnut trees in blossom...that, and the last meal they had. Or, the cigarettes/cigars/chewing tobacco/bong last mouthed.

This goes for cooze too, my darlings.

If this surprises you, remember that Sappho noted the same thing centuries ago in her lyric "Just because it has a cute expression on it's face doesn't mean it won't tear off your arm and club you with it."

If you smoke, whatever you smoke, be assured that it will end up making your cooter taste as though you store it in the ashtray of a cab. Just because you yourself detect no smell does not mean that you are the magic exception to the rule.
THERE ARE NO EXCEPTIONS.

For shame. Your sweetiepie should be nicely flavored of freshly showeredness, or at least Wet Wipedness. It should not smell or taste like whats' in that coffee can your Uncle keeps in his truck*. (Unless your partner also smokes/chews/tokes. In that case bust out the Mrs. Butterworths, try not to scare the horses, and skip down to 'Part Deaux: Hair'.)

Alcohol is fun and can lead to heavy petting, true, but it does tend to make your snatch smell like you douche with Muscatel.

Onions are to be avoided before a night spent taking turns on the lube rack-and I mean avoid them like you'd avoid Gary Glitters' application for a daycare license. Anything from the allium family, in fact...garlic, ramps, offramps, Dale Evans, her horse, chives, leeks, all that oniony type stuff. Don't. Eat. The. Onion.

And while I'm on the subject of aromas...
Sex, my darlings, jostles the lower torso.
This produces gas.
Farting cannot be avoided.
EXCESSIVE farting can.
Avoid farty foods. Simple.
So simple a caveman could do it.
(By the way, Beano really does work. It is a particular boon to vegetarian carpet munchers everywhere. God bless you, inventor of Beano. Your place in heaven is assured. )


Part Deaux: Hair
If you're picking pinecones out of it after you jog, for the love of God trim your pubic hair back. Likewise if people down at the pool keep calling you 'Buckwheat' and you aren't a little black kid, it's time to dig out the hand mirror and the scissors. Otherwise it's all part of the natural landscape.

However:
Face facts. You have a vagina. You cooze. When you get horny you cooze even more. In fact you cooze to a greater or lesser degree all the time; it's our automatic self-cleaning feature; like a Jenn-aire only without that barbecue deal on top with the really loud fan.

This means that you will and do develop dreadlocks, which is why you should always carry one of those travel-sized packets of Wet Wipes. Lifesaver? Oh. My. God. They fit right in the breast pocket of your Carharts with room to spare for the keys to your backhoe. No shit; it can save your entire evening when those unexpected 'away dates' occur. Otherwise, at least have a quick spritz under the bathroom faucet. Be extra stealthy and pat dry with the cuff of your Levi's (do not attempt if you're drunk or you'll end up in the tub. Never mind how I know that.) If no other choice presents itself use her mom's bathrobe. It's right there, see? Hanging behind the bathroom door? Be considerate; use the hem, not the sleeve.

Vigorous sweat-producing activity, like dancing, or skinning elk, will also leave your cooter with an unfortunate resemblance to a Jeri-Curl marinated Michael Jackson back in his 'Thriller' heyday. This is not a face you want to see in any situation but particularly NOT when you haul down some hot chick's drawers. (In fact you probably don't want to see any faces unless you invited company. Faces can indicate an obstetric emergency or the presence of a hithero unsuspected conjoined twin.)

Now, current fashion would seem to dictate the total eradication of pubic hair. If you feel that the nadir of sexy is to present with the hot body of an adult woman outfitted with the mons of a three year old child you are a sick dog and I do not want to know you; but of course, that is your choice and none of my business you creepy icky potty person.

But let's say you have what you feel are good reasons to keep the trails clear. Maybe you look as though you are transporting the decapitated head of Gene Shallit. Perhaps you have wandering bush that grows over the river, through the woods, down your thighs, and tickles the tops of your hiking boots.
Or perhaps you know that to occasionally rock the Mr. Bigglesworth look is an assurance of perpetual semi-arousal until the fur comes back in.

That's right.

It is a fact. No I am not lying.

It's SCIENCE.

In any case, if you must depilitate, suck it the fuck up and wax. Wax, wax wax.

Why wax?

Because cream depilitories have a tendency to not stay put. Believe me, if you happen to get even the tiniest particle onto your inner labial regions, or your barking starfish, or GOD FORBID the clitoris, you WILL REMEMBER IT. And you'll have time to recall it in detail because you'll have to soak your ass for a WHOLE WEEK in a Mr. Turtle pool full of icecubes, and that means time off from work, at least in this town.

Shave it? Those first few times- lemme tell you. Setting firmly aside for the moment the psychological sugarplums that putting a MANUAL razor in proximity to your tender parts will inevitably cause to dance in your head, using a blade, even an electric, even with lube, will leave Miss Kitty all red, irritated and bumpy for days afterward. This makes Marshal Dillon cry. It'll make you cry too. IT HURTS. Not in a good way. A burny, salty, bleedy way.

And as if that weren't inconvenient enough, once shaven, those little hairs grow back fast; why, I have no idea. Nature is said to abhor a vaccuum. Ask your mom (she's downstairs washing her robe.)

Tell you what, though, in what seems like a matter of hours everything will emerge all at once, SPRONG! in the form of #40 grit sandpaper.

Ok fine. If you 're smoothing Bondo, this might save you some cash. It could even earn you a raise if you use this method in a professional autobody setting. But if you're planning on having sexual relations you're both going to end up with bad razorburn in really inconvenient places.

It should be needless to point out that butt stubble isn't particularly attractive either. It is in fact decidedly grandfatherly in appearance and texture.

The last image your partner wants to have come to mind when she is munching your muffin is kissing her grandpa. And not the nice one, either; the skeezy Parkinsons' one who smells like horehound drops.

If you decide to go for the 'Ami James' look, then, for that first time I suggest you visit a competent salon. Yes, I am asking you to pay money to have a complete stranger daub creepy sticky axlegrease-looking hot crap all over your cringing poontang, slap a page of the Herald on top and then rip the bastards out by the roots in one brief hellish explosion of pain. Why: because it pleases me to imagine it. That, and the fact that it just might possibly be worth it in the end. So to speak.

THE GOOD NEWS: because you chose to wax, you won't see any regrowth of hair for weeks. Why? Because it is AFRAID. When it does return, it will come in fine and soft, not stickery.

THE BAD NEWS: Now you have to wait a few days before resuming sex. Or doing anything besides lying in front of a fan with your legs spread (have one of those Glade Scent-Story things going; this can attract gulls.)

Chances are you ain't gonna feel much like exposing your nethers to the public anyway, nethers which are asking you 'Why? Was I bad??' in a trembly little voice and will be for at least a day or so.

Trust me, your patience will pay off ; and I mean pay off like a Bally slot. What was once a weedy pasture full of discarded farm machinery is now pouty, bouncy, breezy-bare and almost supernaturally sensitive!

Don't believe it? Sit over the motor next time you ride Transit and just see if I'm not right.
Don't blame me if you miss your stop.

Caillou Halloo! CAN YOU SEE IT NOW????

When last we met, our intrepid friend, the Baby Jesus (cleverly disguised as the ultra-aerodynamic Holy Infant of Prague) was searching far and wide for poor, lost Calliou!

Time was a commodity that none could waste! As the scope of the search grew ever larger, other fearless foes of felony joined forces!

The Friendly Infant of De Kalb!

The Cthulhu Infant of R'lyeh!

The Not Terribly Bright Infant of Shreveport!


Together, these intrepid exemplars of infancy ranged far and wide!
Their goal: to restore Caillou to the bosom of his family!

If you ain't Dutch....

Wow you guys! The votes were just OVERWHELMING! You could have asked to see lots of interesting places, say, strip clubs, breweries, libraries...but you wanted to see Lynden! You wacky wacky folks! Well OK then, lets go!!

Here we are just outside city limits. Those loops are dormant raspberry bushes caned over for their second year of production.

And here we are coming up Vinup road going through the 'Homestead' development. Seven years ago this was Hereford pasturage. No street, no pinoaks, no houses, nothing. Now it's clone housing. I know, I know, we're almost there! It's exciting, isn't it?

And here we are on Front Street!YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Oh, I know what you're thinking..."Nations, I thought you lived in America! But this looks EXACTLY LIKE HOLLAND!"

No, really! It's not anywhere near Holland! I know...spooky, huh? It's DOWNTOWN LYNDEN!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, Lynden... final destination for hundreds of immigrant Dutch for some reason that's never been explained fully ('mass deportation' springs immediately to mind here) the early Nederlandische remade this peaceful little town on the Nooksack River in their own image. Which in this case seems to mean scattering lots of windmills around. Because everyone knows that windmills MEAN Holland!
And Greece. Holland and Greece.
And Brittany.
So, Greece, Brittany and Holland.
Windmills. Yeah.


You can stay overnight in this windmill. The propeller spins around, too. Inside the little shopping center it's attached to there's a huge 'canal' full of enormous koi fish that will put their heads out of the water and beg for food, which is cool. There is also a huge wooden shoe you can sit in. The last time I was there I got my butt stuck in it, which was both intelligent and stylish.

I think this windmill is just for decoration. Now truthfully there could be windmillish activities going on inside there but I've never been in it so I don't know. Another thing I don't know is why they need a windmill in a mini mall.

When the wind blows from the right direction the entire town lifts off the ground a couple of inches. No really.

and more.

This one used to light up like there were people living inside. Presumably tiny Dutch people. Living tiny Dutch lives.

And here's something else that Lynden is famous for:

Welcome to America!
Hey, why aren't you stopping? Hey! Hey stop! Spend some money!

Why aren't you stoppi-HEY! HEY STOP!

No really, we're really-WHY WON'T YOU STOP? IS THIS CREEPING YOU OUT OR SOMETHING? GOD SAID WE COULD DO THIS!!!! We have permission! Hey!


You see why I write all that stuff about womens rights, folks? Are you beginning to get the picture here? Good.

Now go wash up and then we'll all go skin pop some heroin, ok?
OK!