And On To The Next

By all accounts, 2011 was a good year for me. I had some adventures, made new friends, caught up with old ones (hi!), traveled around Europe, and played with puppies. It was indeed The Year of Something.

But hopefully that wasn't my peak.

I can feel the second wave of my quarter life crisis encroaching. Things are changing. It makes me nervous. Although, unlike in 2009, this time I feel more prepared to harness my restless energy for a positive push forward. (At least I hope to.)

I see 2012 as a year of inspiration, of figuring out what I want and how I can accomplish it. I wish the same clarity, perspective, and motivation to you as well.

And if you're not interested in that, below are some pictures of my dog Jesse trying to make out with me as pay back for insisting he be in a picture.

To 2012: A Year of Getting What You Want.

Real attractive, I know.

Walk Down Memory Lane

I have said before, I had the best college experience imaginable. And while I made lifelong friends there, I was also lucky enough to go into it with The BFF by my side. Since we are both still in town for the holidays, she suggested we drive over to campus to stroll around to remember the good ol' days. (Or due to the onslaught of construction during the past four years, complain like old women about how everything has changed. And not for the better.)

First stop was our dorm where we were roommates freshman year. Hardin House is an all girls residence where boys are not even allowed upstairs. Which is how we sort of live in New York considering our apartment set up. Except now we don't have daily housekeeping. Sighhhh. Life is so hard. 

Our next stop was the bench where The BFF was once dumped by her boyfriend. According to Facebook, he is a super weirdo now, so she should have the upper hand but instead she likes to make (joking) comments about how one day they will be together. As you can see, she's still pretty broken up about it.

From there we walked to my other former residence where I was spoiled with chef cooked meals and housekeeping, reminding me that is kind of a miracle I turned out so awesomely well-adjusted as I did. By well-adjusted, I mean "able to keep myself alive." 

We walked around the main campus too, with views of the Texas Capitol in one direction and the UT Tower in the other. Although I might be biased, UT has the most beautiful campus. Also, "What start's here changes the world." Which is not biased, it is our slogan. Therefore it is truth.

And since Austin's (unofficial) slogan is Keep Austin Weird, I leave you with this iconic image. (Iconic why I am not sure, but it is definitely weird.)

It was a fun day. And the fact it was 65 degrees didn't hurt. God bless Austin "winter." And Hook 'em Horns!

Until Next Year

After being in the Christmas spirit for over a month in Germany, it was nice for it all to culminate at home with my family in Austin. The past few days have consisted of the staple holiday activities like eating, laughing and working puzzles. (I wish our society put a higher premium on the ability to work a puzzle, if so I would be the queen of the world, which is just what we all need.) There was also a multi-hour stint of baking, something I never do. (Mostly because my brain is censored with the "See dough. Put in mouth." instructions.) And then there were the presents. I am now the proud owner of an iPhone, hence the bounty of Instagram photos in the future. I know, you are beyond excited.

The cutest picture of me from child hood. Sorry I don't like you enough to share the one of me with a mullet. Maybe next year.

Thanks to our Aunt Barb, Christmas morning remains a time for playing and dressing up. I am channeling my inner Ron Swanson in this photo.

Hope y'all had a great Christmas too!

Seasons Greetings From Austin

I am alive, I know you were very concerned. After a wonderful last week in Berlin, I made it back to New York on Saturday. Literally as soon as I walked in the door, I was promptly whisked away by The BFF to a holiday party followed by three straight days of more catching up with close friends, eating, drinking and being jet-lagged.

Also, during that time I won BINGO at Tortilla Flats, where I was coerced into chugging a glass of warm well gin to win a free t-shirt. If you know me, you know I think gin tastes like trees. You are also aware of the fact I am not too mature to turn something tree-tasting down in the face of a crowd chanting my name. RACHEL! RACHEL! is practically synonymous with USA! USA! After being away for all this time, there was no way I was letting down my people. (It was a Christmas Miracle I did not throw up, and the t-shirt is totally awesome.)

Anyway, the last few days have been surreal. Hearing English wherever I go, following the same paths I've worn into the sidewalks of New York, talking with friends as if no time has gone by (this is primarily thanks to The Internet and the fact we caught up on a regular basis but whatever).

It has been great to be back. I miss Berlin, but I am excited to be in Austin for CHRISTMAS! And that is all I can focus on right now.

Well, that, and getting lectured by Dolo on the proper etiquette of taking a flattering picture while riding on a camel. "The mistake I made was wearing white pants."(As learned on the cruise she and my mom took following their visit to Berlin.)

It is good to be back.

Tschüs, Berlin

141 days.

20 weeks.

5 visitors from America.

4 European city mini-vacations.

3 Chelsea Handler books.

2 hairdryers that almost caught on fire.

1,000,000 hours spent watching American TV shows.

My biggest takeaways from my time here:

• Germans find me funny. Oh wait, that's not saying much.
• Germans can sound so gruff when they speak, but even the most macho guy's voice raises two octaves when he says tschüs (goodbye, pronounced like choo-ssss). It is precious.
• Germans do not think it is weird to include a lot of exclamation points in professional correspondence. More does not mean more sarcastic. It is kind of refreshing!
• Germans love apple juice. Actually they love all juice. I am not much of a juice drinker. Even as a child, it was not my beverage of choice. I find it a little unsettling, to tell you the truth. I was never going to fit into this society.

Yep that's about it.

I will miss having a flat with windows showing off the sunrise each morning. I will not miss having a flat behind a school where children wake me up with their "joyful" screams each morning.

But seriously, I have loved living in Berlin. The city, itself, is cool. "Sexy but poor." Part of me wishes I'd taken more advantage of it (only one night did I stay up until sunrise), but the more dominant, lazy-old-woman in me is happy with my choices. I mean, why leave your apartment when you have so many rooms to wander between, so many compartments to hole yourself up in, so many different places to sit! I was rich with chairs!

The experience of being here was far better than I expected. I worried I would waste it, that I would come back the same. But I've changed. I am so damn mature now, you won't even recognize me. (hahah. lolz.) But, seriously, though, while not exceedingly mature, I am at least different. My expectations for work, relationships and myself are exponentially higher. I've seen what life has to offer, and I realize what I deserve.

Maybe it wasn't all perfect, but these past five months were much needed. Forced to move somewhere without the security blanket of The BFF. Expected to elevate my professional skills. Required to get out of my comfort level and connect with people despite the language barrier.

I will miss Berlin. But I am excited to come home. Get the confetti and streamers ready. USA, USA.

Last Dance, Last Chance for Romance

During my first week of work in Berlin I was introduced to a guy whose office was down the hall from mine. There was an instantaneous GLLLL* moment.

*GLLLLL = a guttural reaction signifying some sort of combination of excitement/anxiousness/awkwardness. This term was coined in college with my friend Keaton, and it works well both out loud in discussion or as part of a gchat conversation. It can also be used as an adjective.

Okay on the same page now? I didn't think so. What else is new? The point is, from that initial meeting, I felt something. So needless to say I was extremely "GLLLLy" when he asked me to lunch a week or so later.

Once out in the real world, aka not the office, the conversation flowed, but with an undercurrent of hesitation. This might have had something to do with him out-of-the-blue sharing his resent resignation of a long-term relationship. Rot flag. (Rot means red in German. Language and life lessons, people!)

There was no way I was going to pursue something with him knowing he was in that mental state. I am only sometimes a dating masochist, and luckily being new to a foreign country was not that time.

Anyway, we had lunch once more after that, but then he went on holiday for a few weeks. I met The German. We both retreated into our own worlds, occasionally saying hi in the hall. Later on I moved offices to the floor below and never had an excuse to see him. And that was that. He was the cute guy who I once went to lunch with and nothing more.

And then, a couple of weeks ago, I went to dinner with my boss. She made a comment about how perhaps I should have given him a chance instead of The German. "Ummm, was there a chance to be had?" I asked. She had thought so. Apparently he would smirk every time my name was mentioned. Well it's too late now, I thought.

But then he emailed me for a final lunch date before I left. With this new found knowledge of his smirking tendencies egging me on, I decided to be bold. I suggested drinks instead. Weekend drinks. Suggesting weekend drinks to a professional colleague is like sending an email that says "We should make out. Best regards, Rachel."

We met at Cafe Luzia, a dimly lit bar at 7:30pm. We talked for seven hours. Seven hours. The length of time it takes to fly across the Atlantic. (I am really hoping my flight home goes by that quickly, but I doubt it.) There was something about us being there. All the previous awkward hesitation out of the way. Enough time has gone by for us both to be available. It was refreshing. It was fun. It was uncontrollably GLLLLy.

Nothing like making the most of a last week. On Sunday afternoon he met me at the aquarium because it's been on my Berlin Bucket List since I have the same interests as an elementary school kid. (Actual conversation: Him: "Maybe I'll take my niece here when she comes to visit." Me: "How old is she?" Him: "Six." Yep, real mature, Rachel.)

But apparently my childlike enthusiasm was appreciated because tomorrow he's taking me to dinner at a restaurant once patronized by Brad Pitt. And on Friday, my last night, I'm going with him to an 80s hip-hop concert.

Because why not?

If I've learned anything from this whole move-across-the-world experience it's that you never know what will happen unless you go for it. And, plus, who else can say they saw De La Soul on their last night in Berlin? Just Me, Myself & I.

(hahahaha.)

When The Saints Go Marchin' In........ To Berlin

Have you ever been curious about what it would be like to be surrounded by hundreds of Germans gettin' down to some good, old school New Orleans funk? 

Well, in a word, it was awesome. (Originally I was worried it might be another "a" word...as in "awkward.") But no. Trombone Shorty & Orleans Avenue killed it. They always do.

[via Trombone Shorty website.]

Every show I've seen has been nothing short of an experience. These guys are some of the most talented musicians around. I am allowed to make bold claims like this because even though I personally have a negative amount of musical talent, growing up in Austin, the "Live Music Capital of the World," has instilled in me a strong appreciation for the talent of others.

Needless to say when I learned the band was coming on a German tour and playing in Berlin, there was no doubt that I would be there. And luckily I enticed my American friend Rachel to come with me by promising her "the best concert ever." Her reaction afterwards? "That was THE best concert ever."

[via Trombone Shorty website.]

So, this holiday season, I am not going to get you a present. I am giving you your gift right now. It is the gift of knowledge. Listen to their music. Go seem them live. Here is a link to tour dates. (FYI: They will be in ATX, Houston and Dallas in February.)

If the Berlin crowd was any indication (young, old, gay, straight, making out in front of me, not making out in front of me), it was that this show is for everyone who loves fun and dancing. Is that you? I thought so.

[via Trombone Shorty website.]

If I haven't yet sold you on the caliber of their talent, let me just say that any band whose members can rotate instruments deserves some serious credit. Especially while seamlessly mixing in covers of James Brown, Snoop Dogg and Louis Armstrong.

Speaking of Louis, Troy "Trombone Shorty" Andrew's spot-on, gravelly impression of the King of Jazz brought down the house. And left me wondering for the rest of the night, "How did every German in there know all the words to "When the Saints Go Marching In"???

PS: My other two favorite bands to see live? Ghostland Observatory (Capes! Lasers! Dance party!) and Robert Randolph & The Family Band (Slide guitar! Gospel! Dance party!). (Brooklyn Bowl recap here.)

Where Did All My Money Go? Paris Edition

Me and Ellen in the scariest elevator ever.

Paris was the second stop on my Euro "backpacking" trip I took the summer before I moved to New York. And although it rained almost constantly, my boyfriend lost his wallet, and I consumed enough tuna kits to convince myself I might have mercury poisoning (they seemed like a good idea at 3am), I fell in love with the city.

The only downside was instead of lounging at outdoor cafés, strolling around the beautiful blocks, and spending loads of money, I was a poor college student surrounded by 40 other poor college students, all herded around like cattle from museum to museum. Not exactly très chic.

This time Ellen and I did Paris on our own time. Since we had both visited all the "must see!" attractions before, we did and saw and ate whatever we wanted. It was glorious. 

First, the food. Melt-in-your-mouth macarons from Pierre Hermé. Liquid heaven hot chocolate from Café Angelina’s (basically the Serendipity of Paris, minus John Cusack). Baguettes, cheese, more carbs, more cheese. Afternoon champagne and café au lait. Although it was all good, the culinary activity highlight for me was dinner at Le Relais de l'Entrecôte, “THE French restaurant” according to the friend we met there. And not just because of the steak smothered in "secret" creamy mustard sauce served with crunchy French fries.

You see, for approximately the length of time I have known The BFF, I have heard about her two best friends from Lebanon. One I met in New York a few years ago, and now, finally, I can say I've gotten to know her sister. She was just as sweet and fun as I had imagined. (And she has great taste in American entertainment aka got my Serendipity reference and loves Chuck Bass.)

And €20 euros later...

I find myself here.

Moving on to the shopping. The Champs-Elysées Christmas Market, although nothing compared to German Christmas Markts, was decorated with a million lights. Printemps (dressed up for Christmas by Karl Lagerfeld) was full of lust-worthy everything. Galeries Lafayette and its famous animatronic Christmas window displays drew the crowds. Les Puces flea market, which while in the middle of the least desirable Parisian neighborhood, had plenty of old charm.

I should note that Ellen brings out the worst in me shopping-wise. Okay, that’s a cop-out. My fiscal irresponsibility of late is my own fault. I can’t fight the urge to buy my own love! It’s totally cool, no reason to worry… (Dad, I’m talking to you. It’s all fine.) But being with Ellen, when I see a necklace, bracelet, trinket, ornament, original Babar the elephant print, Russian Doll toothpick holder, etc., is not good because she is clearly not a voice of reason. So I have returned bearing gifts (almost entirely for myself) since I am terrible and selfish. Sorry I'm not sorry.

Suit-case-inforced-self-control. (I NEED a GIANT clock, RIGHT??)

SANTA! OH MY GOD! SANTA'S COMING! I KNOW HIM! I KNOW HIM!

Finally, possibly my favorite, the city itself. There are plenty of great cities in Europe. I have been to many, I hope to travel to more. But there is something about Paris. Ooooh la la. I assume we can agree French buildings are totally the Ryan Gosling of architecture.

I fell even more in love with it all when we realized our hotel was a few blocks away from the heart of Montmartre, formerly the home to artists like Monet and Picasso. The evening we spent there, roaming through the stalls at the Abbessess Christmas market, stumbling on the café from Amélie, and trekking up the hill to the Sacré-Cœur Basilica, was what I would consider to be perfect.

Although I much preferred the blue skies we had on Friday, Owen Wilson’s character in Midnightin Paris wasn’t totally wrong when he said that Paris was beautiful in the rain. (He was wrong when he said it was the best because clearly fear of poking someone in the eye with your umbrella takes a little something away from the experience.) But still, it was lovely.

"Pinterest: Real Life"

Lights, camera, architecture. (ahhahah)

I hope reading this recap makes you feel as fat and poor yet equally satisfied as I do. It was a great trip, a last European jaunt before I leave The Continent. (Man I will miss writing such annoying sentences when I’m back.)

The 1% (Of Good Flight Stories)

Okay, I feel like I jipped you with one of my "false exaggerations." Now let me tell you a "real" story of "romance."

I boarded my delayed flight late to come home on Sunday night after not so much as talking to a single guy all weekend (and down-right ignoring the advances of a few creepsters at the train station).

Deeply focused on finishing up my trip photo editing before my computer died, I didn't even notice when the guy sitting next to me showed up. In English (I am assuming he thought I looked French and went with the common language) he explained that there wasn't room in the overhead bins for his (large) carry-on suitcase and asked if he could put it under my seat.

You know when you hear stories about a friend of a friend sitting next to the hottest guy ever and they totally hit it off? And you always think "Lucky!! That never happens to me!

Well I was that girl. And it was just as amazing as you can imagine.

More or less my soul mate.

My seatmate was by far the hottest German in the history of Germany. Sure, The German was good looking. But yeah, no comparison. I cannot accurately capture his handsomeness with words so I'm just going to say he was like a blue-eyed, much taller, more approachable David Beckham. I am getting weak in the knuckles just typing this. Swoon.

Not only was he gor-ge-ous, he was also charming with a capital C. And we had good banter about the bag situation. Had any other person tried to take away a square inch of my precious leg room I would have been full of hate. In this situation I was happy to oblige. I am so shallow.

Anyway, after great conversations about our mutual love for New York (he lived there for a few months), we landed. As we disembarked, I secretly regretted not giving him my contact info. I mean, why not, right? What do I have to lose? Well, forgetting what a POS airport Tegel is, I no sooner found myself forced to squeeze in next to him on a bus taking us to the terminal. HOORAY!!! LIFE IS FULL OF SECOND CHANCES!!

I seized the crap out of the carpe diem and offered him my name in case he wants to Facebook me. (I really had to hold my self back from offering to marry him for his green card so he could live in New York like he wants to. Seriously.)

I recognize there is a miniscule chance I will ever see him again. But who knows, maybe I am the 1%?

(In terms of meeting your soul mate on a flight, not monetarily, unfortunately.)

Paris Is For (Imaginary) Lovers

BIG NEWS: I saw Ryan Gosling in Paris!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I spent an hour and a half with him!!! He was soooooooooo cute. Totally Sexiest Man Alive material. He looked just as good as he did in Crazy, Stupid Love. Smokin' hot. Except I had no idea he had so much pain boiling up behind those steely blue eyes. Like, I swear his gaze was massaging my soul. I know it sounds weird, but it was powerful stuff. I mean, maybe you just had to be there? But I don't know if you could have looked past all the blood. So much blood.

Oh, I saw him in the movie Drive, did you realize that? Are we not on the same page? God I am such a confusing writer. MY BAD. But either way, Team Ryan!

Our encounter took place at the end of an exhausting day spent wandering around the streets of Paris. Ellen and I had stumbled on a theater showing American movies with French subtitles and quickly capitalized on the opportunity to sit down out of the rain and drool at Mr. Gosling. When we pulled the trigger on movie choices, we knew very little of what to expect. As in, I had no idea there would be lots of literal trigger pulling directed at peoples' heads.

When the movie opened stateside a few months ago, my Facebook Newsfeed was littered with "Woah, Drive is intense!!" status updates. I honestly thought it was more like "Woah, Ryan Gosling is really good at maneuvering a vehicle!" or "Woah, Ryan's piercing eyes can put you in a trance!" (I believe what I want to believe.)

There was a point in time when I fancied myself quite the Quentin Tarantino aficionado. Now I am an old woman who can barely stomach the sight of blood. (Even dripping down the work-of-art canvas that is Ryan's perfect face!) Long story short, I had zero idea that I would be watching Ryan bash in a guy's head with his foot in an elevator. (Don't worry, I'm not spoiling the movie - there are plenty more scenes of gratuitous violence in store.)

So yeah, I saw Ryan Gosling in Paris. Which almost made up for the fact that our dreams of eating at Chipotle were shot.

Pre-Paris Anticipation

Paris has been packed with celebrities during the past week or two. Including Ryan Gosling, who, I'll admit, I used to not get what the big fuss was about. I mean, sure, he was cute or whatever, but kind of not that special?

And then one day I opened my eyes. He is stunning, I realized. How could I have been so wrong? Why did I wait so long to make this discovery? My life could have been so much better had I known from the start. From now on, Team Ryan all the way! He was robbed this year, People, robbed I say!

This isn't the only thing I've been so blindly wrong about. For years, decades even, I made the ridiculous claim to hate sour cream. No thanks, I'd say, none for me. And then, after a life-time of rejection, I tried it. It was love. Taste bud magic. Why had I deprived myself of its wonderment?

Speaking of sour cream, there is a Chipotle in Paris. YES. You read that right. This is only the second location in all of Europe so it is prettttty big news. Sweet, glorious Chipotle, oh how I've dreamed of our reunion. (FYI Ellen and I booked our trip before learning about this if that somehow makes me seem less pathetic.)

Either way, this weekend's itinerary: Fantasize about Ryan Gosling walking the streets of the City of Love while consuming as much sour cream as humanly possible atop my burrito.

I must make up for lost time, after all!

(Don't judge. Okay, maybe just a little bit. But we're all entitled to our own priorities.)