I've been in Berlin for over two months, can you believe it? I mean, clearly you sit around all day wondering how I am doing, thinking about how exciting and anxiety-ridden it must be. This of course, is if you are my mother. The rest of you don't care, I totally understand.
The truth is, it's been great but hard. The lack of close friends and family is difficult, but luckily even that hasn't been too bad thanks to The Internet. Although it doesn't help me when I'm in the mood to have someone to pal around with, but in that case I just import them from home. House guests = problem solved.
But my real hang-up with living abroad is the small fact that, you know, I don't really speak German. If anything, my German language skills have regressed since I've been here. But, Rachel, how could they possibly have gotten worse? Oh maybe because I am a Horrible American who refuses to practice and totally takes for granted that she can find someone to cater to her language-barrier needs. Like I said, I am the worst.
My insecurities in this area (which I totally admit I bring on myself), have caused me to become kind of a hermit. (Although I am also convinced I suffer through periodic agoraphobia considering I went through phases in New York where I would get stressed about leaving my apartment. Then again, this could also probably be chalked up to 'laziness.')
Anyway, this week I was forced to overcome my fears and figure out what the F to do about my increasingly out-of-control hair. For someone who loves to plan, I cannot for the life of me make a hair-altering decision more than 48 hours in advance of pulling the trigger. This is because I completely block out all normal signs that something needs to change (e.g. the bottom two inches of my hair felt like I had gotten straw extensions), but then all of a sudden, the thought invades my brain. I HAVE TO GET IT TAKEN CARE OF IMMEDIATELY. Luckily there are like five salons on my street, one of which had great online reviews (five stars translates to any language).
I immediately booked an appointment once I learned they spoke English, obviously a necessity considering I have a really bad tendency just to nod and say "Ja" when I don't know what people are saying. "Do you want to chop it all off?" "Ja....OMG NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"
Luckily, though, I dodged a bullet and it was a great experience. The actual haircut was fine. I went in with ridiculously long hair, and I left with less-ridiculous-but-still-long hair. Nothing too exciting. But the shampoo chair. That is the totally non-important thing we need to talk about it. It was like the most luxurious massaging pedicure chair ever but with a leg rest like a dentist chair to prop you back. Basically it was heaven. And now I need to know: Have you seen this before? Is this a common thing? HAVE I BEEN MISSING OUT ON THIS FOR YEARS??? ARE ALL THE SALONS I'VE BEEN TO TERRIBLE? Or ARE GERMAN SALONS ON THE FOREFRONT OF THE SPA EXPERIENCE?? AM I LIVING IN THE FUTURE?? WE NEED TO FIGURE THIS OUT RIGHT NOW!!
I know what you're thinking, pretty bold move, asking such important questions on a Friday afternoon. I agree. I personally will think it over while continuing to live up to the Horrible American stereotype and promote the use of English as the universal language. And possibly while also justifying to myself the need to have weekly blow-outs. (Practically free when you factor in the fact you're basically getting a massage as well!) If only I could be as good at learning languages as I am about falsifying the importance of spending money.
Sigh. Something to work on next week.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
A Possible Source for Inspiration (Or: The World Makes No Sense)
My amazing college experience was no doubt due in part to the fact I had great roommates. I always lived with my closest friends, escaping the dreaded possibility that the random I'd be matched up with would turn out to be a psycho. (Such was the case for Ashley, who was once forced to endure a semester living in close quarters with a spell-casting Wiccan who believed she had successfully persuaded the universe to break her teacher's wrists. Cozy!)
Anyway, upon moving to New York, I lost total control over my domestic bliss. Here's a recap of the arduous apartment hunting saga, but suffice to say, after sleeping on our amazing friends' futon for two weeks, The BFF and I had to take whatever we could find.
The apartment itself was newly renovated, in a convenient location, and just what we needed at the time. We immediately found two other people to take the additional bedrooms, and just when we thought we had it all figured out, it came to our attention that they were terrible.
More about our challenges with Brandi can be read about in the Psychoface Dieting Guide here, but before her pal Ruby came into the mix, we co-habitated with a guy named Kris (name changed to a more hilariously feminine/Kardashian spelling to protect his identity. Okay fine, it's just to make me giggle.)
Anyway, Kris started out fine. He had a job working at a big bank, which led to introductions to his cute FJO friends and a spot in a Hampton's share house. (Both of those things turned out to be, um, learning experiences.) But at the start, it seemed great to have a live-in guy friend who I could hang out with at home (he secretly loved the same tween-appropriate shows I did) or go out to bars and clubs, especially considering The BFF had already landed herself a boyfriend. I probably should have known things weren't going to end well when he started suggesting we go to Tonic, the bro'iest (read: worst) bar in Murray Hill (or ever).
And boy did things start to unravel soon after. By unravel, I mean, I got to know the real him. All of a sudden every female face that graced our TV had to be evaluated on whether or not he would "hit that." I'm sorry, did I ask you how attractive you found the reality tv star? The mom schilling toothpaste? The NY 1 news reporter? Little Jenny Humphrey? That's right, no.
Luckily that I grew to tune out, but his temper was another story. My "favorite" memory was how exasperated he reacted when I had the audacity to start a DVR'd episode of Gossip Girl while he was "still cooking dinner." Mind you, our kitchen was literally a wall within our living room full of appliances. And he was 26. And straight. But this didn't stop him from walking over to the TV to manually shut off the screen until he was ready to sit down "so he wouldn't miss anything." Oh the humanity.
Although I guess I should have been happy that he was at least cooking his own food for dinner that night, because more often than not I would come home to find a little pile of my string cheese wrappers all over the couch. I will go ahead and offer full disclosure that I am not the best roommate. I am not the tidiest, I leave dishes in the sink, and if you have something delicious taunting me in the fridge, I might sneak a bite. (Or in the case of The BFF's trailmix, I will tear into it like a squirrel.) BUT at least I have the decency to hide the evidence!
His overall immaturity was magnified by the fact that he slept in a glorified fort. Having no choice but to take the smallest room, he decided to "make the most" of his real-estate and loft his bed. Did I mention it was a queen sized mattress that touched three of the four walls? It was no small loft job either, he needed a three-level step ladder to get in it. Whenever I had friends over and he wasn't home, I would open his door to show it off. "Can you believe this?" I would cackle. It was the worst. And it suited him perfectly.
Finally, though, toward the end of our lease, he made the (smart) decision to move out and get a place with a friend. Since it was his responsibility to find someone to take over for the last month, he held an open house, forcing him to clean for the first time since we moved in. Up until that point he had:
1) Never touched a broom.
2) Never took out a bag of trash.
3) Never bought toilet paper ("You girls use way more than I do, it's not fair for me to have to buy it.")
His complete inability to be helpful, courteous, or respectful made my blood boil. When he left, I told him that *IF* he ever found someone stupid enough to marry him, I would WARN her of her future hell she no doubt faced.
And I had my chance. Soon after heescaped the prison sentence moved out, he started seriously dating a girl. Of all the bro-fest-douche-bag things he had done while living with us, I could not fathom how this had happened. (Only proving that even the worst guys can land girlfriends due to horrible NYC ratio!)
I haven't spoken to him in years except for awkwardly running into him at the 2009 PGA US Open event with my cousin, aka the time I made the bold statement that dating a professional golfer would be way better than any other athlete because you get to travel to beautiful places and, more importantly, they don't have groupies, could I have been MORE wrong?
Since then I have only seen updates on Facebook, including cliche Central Park engagement shots that made me question my faith in the world. How could this overgrown, Play Station FIFA game blasting frat boy find someone to settle down with?? Howwwww?? Whyyyyyy??
And now, as of last weekend, he is married. From my stalkerish observations, the wedding looked quite nice. They make a cute couple, and although this little shuffle down douchebag memory lane might not make it seem like it, there are no hard feelings...
But boy are there so many unanswered questions, including, but not limited to: Maybe he matured? Maybe in the proper environment it is possible to retrain a guy to live like a normal human being? If so, how do you do it? Maybe I might find someone? Would it be a nice gesture to send a gift? Perhaps some trash bags? I wonder if you can get them monogrammed?
Anyway, upon moving to New York, I lost total control over my domestic bliss. Here's a recap of the arduous apartment hunting saga, but suffice to say, after sleeping on our amazing friends' futon for two weeks, The BFF and I had to take whatever we could find.
The apartment itself was newly renovated, in a convenient location, and just what we needed at the time. We immediately found two other people to take the additional bedrooms, and just when we thought we had it all figured out, it came to our attention that they were terrible.
More about our challenges with Brandi can be read about in the Psychoface Dieting Guide here, but before her pal Ruby came into the mix, we co-habitated with a guy named Kris (name changed to a more hilariously feminine/Kardashian spelling to protect his identity. Okay fine, it's just to make me giggle.)
Anyway, Kris started out fine. He had a job working at a big bank, which led to introductions to his cute FJO friends and a spot in a Hampton's share house. (Both of those things turned out to be, um, learning experiences.) But at the start, it seemed great to have a live-in guy friend who I could hang out with at home (he secretly loved the same tween-appropriate shows I did) or go out to bars and clubs, especially considering The BFF had already landed herself a boyfriend. I probably should have known things weren't going to end well when he started suggesting we go to Tonic, the bro'iest (read: worst) bar in Murray Hill (or ever).
 |
| You can tell just from the sign font that it is terrible. |
And boy did things start to unravel soon after. By unravel, I mean, I got to know the real him. All of a sudden every female face that graced our TV had to be evaluated on whether or not he would "hit that." I'm sorry, did I ask you how attractive you found the reality tv star? The mom schilling toothpaste? The NY 1 news reporter? Little Jenny Humphrey? That's right, no.
Luckily that I grew to tune out, but his temper was another story. My "favorite" memory was how exasperated he reacted when I had the audacity to start a DVR'd episode of Gossip Girl while he was "still cooking dinner." Mind you, our kitchen was literally a wall within our living room full of appliances. And he was 26. And straight. But this didn't stop him from walking over to the TV to manually shut off the screen until he was ready to sit down "so he wouldn't miss anything." Oh the humanity.
Although I guess I should have been happy that he was at least cooking his own food for dinner that night, because more often than not I would come home to find a little pile of my string cheese wrappers all over the couch. I will go ahead and offer full disclosure that I am not the best roommate. I am not the tidiest, I leave dishes in the sink, and if you have something delicious taunting me in the fridge, I might sneak a bite. (Or in the case of The BFF's trailmix, I will tear into it like a squirrel.) BUT at least I have the decency to hide the evidence!
His overall immaturity was magnified by the fact that he slept in a glorified fort. Having no choice but to take the smallest room, he decided to "make the most" of his real-estate and loft his bed. Did I mention it was a queen sized mattress that touched three of the four walls? It was no small loft job either, he needed a three-level step ladder to get in it. Whenever I had friends over and he wasn't home, I would open his door to show it off. "Can you believe this?" I would cackle. It was the worst. And it suited him perfectly.
Finally, though, toward the end of our lease, he made the (smart) decision to move out and get a place with a friend. Since it was his responsibility to find someone to take over for the last month, he held an open house, forcing him to clean for the first time since we moved in. Up until that point he had:
1) Never touched a broom.
2) Never took out a bag of trash.
3) Never bought toilet paper ("You girls use way more than I do, it's not fair for me to have to buy it.")
His complete inability to be helpful, courteous, or respectful made my blood boil. When he left, I told him that *IF* he ever found someone stupid enough to marry him, I would WARN her of her future hell she no doubt faced.
And I had my chance. Soon after he
I haven't spoken to him in years except for awkwardly running into him at the 2009 PGA US Open event with my cousin, aka the time I made the bold statement that dating a professional golfer would be way better than any other athlete because you get to travel to beautiful places and, more importantly, they don't have groupies, could I have been MORE wrong?
Since then I have only seen updates on Facebook, including cliche Central Park engagement shots that made me question my faith in the world. How could this overgrown, Play Station FIFA game blasting frat boy find someone to settle down with?? Howwwww?? Whyyyyyy??
And now, as of last weekend, he is married. From my stalkerish observations, the wedding looked quite nice. They make a cute couple, and although this little shuffle down douchebag memory lane might not make it seem like it, there are no hard feelings...
But boy are there so many unanswered questions, including, but not limited to: Maybe he matured? Maybe in the proper environment it is possible to retrain a guy to live like a normal human being? If so, how do you do it? Maybe I might find someone? Would it be a nice gesture to send a gift? Perhaps some trash bags? I wonder if you can get them monogrammed?
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You...Except If You Live In Berlin
Growing up in Austin sans any professional sports teams, Longhorn football reigned supreme. And then I had the privilege to go to the school there and had the best college experience of all time. No seriously, it was. I was there for the Vince Young National Championship days. You cannot compare. (This is the greatest video ever if you want to watch the highlights mixed to a Longhorn rap song, which you obviously do.)
Anyway, in New York I was grateful to find a bubble of fellow football fans to enjoy my Saturdays with at Hill Country Barbecue, a little piece of Texas holed away in Manhattan. I mean, I went to Hill Country Middle School. How much more 'home away from home' can you get? Oh right no one cares. I would know since I have literally told someone that every time I go there and they literally could care less. Anyway, knowing I had that Southern oasis a few minutes away to grab some brisket, a Shiner Bock (makes me think of my dad!) and some Blue Bell ice cream kept me from ever getting too homesick.
Unfortunately I don't even have a tiny sliver of that in Berlin, forced to solicit game info from Facebook status updates and ESPN.com. So when I received a message from The German, who is still in America, about how great it is to be able to watch college football on Saturdays, it was like a knife in the heart.
He has no idea, though, how fun the true game day experience can be, particularly in Austin. Specifically at my friend Meredith's parents' legendary tailgates, hands down some of my most favorite college memories, and a reason in itself to end up back in Austin. Sigh. Now I'm looking at old pictures to torture myself.
And reading gchat and Facebook status updates about the OU game in Dallas this coming weekend isn't making it any better. Luckily the distraction of my house guests will keep my game-watching-depression at bay, but it doesn't make my State Fair corn dog craving any less severe.
Thanks for indulging this trip down memory lane. Hook 'em.
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| Vintage game day circa 2007. |
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| Me and my madre last year at Hill Country NYC. |
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| Our first post-college OU in New York. (PS The next time I see Lauren (right) will be at HER WEDDING!!!!) |
Unfortunately I don't even have a tiny sliver of that in Berlin, forced to solicit game info from Facebook status updates and ESPN.com. So when I received a message from The German, who is still in America, about how great it is to be able to watch college football on Saturdays, it was like a knife in the heart.
He has no idea, though, how fun the true game day experience can be, particularly in Austin. Specifically at my friend Meredith's parents' legendary tailgates, hands down some of my most favorite college memories, and a reason in itself to end up back in Austin. Sigh. Now I'm looking at old pictures to torture myself.
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| Unfortunately this does not even come close to doing the tailgate justice. |
And reading gchat and Facebook status updates about the OU game in Dallas this coming weekend isn't making it any better. Luckily the distraction of my house guests will keep my game-watching-depression at bay, but it doesn't make my State Fair corn dog craving any less severe.
Thanks for indulging this trip down memory lane. Hook 'em.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Guide to the Perfect Long Weekend
Ever find yourself sneak-attacked by a long weekend with only a few set plans? Probably not, and as you can imagine, Planny McPlannerson was not super psyched about this development. (Mostly because my mom and grandma are coming NEXT weekend. Oh well.) Mid-last week I found out that Monday was a national holiday. Germany Reunification Day, "the German Fourth of July," and from the fireworks I watched from my window last night, I can attest to that. Having missed out on live fireworks in Austin this past 4th due to the burn ban, I was pretty excited (after I got over the initial fear that there was some sort of rampant shooting spree going on in my neighborhood).
Anyway, on the off chance you face this in your own life, here are a few suggested activities:
1. Play dress-up. I did this on Friday night when I had dinner with my American friend who I met for the first time when Ashley was in town. When I initially packed in New York, I had the wherewithal to separate my clothes in giant vacuum bags by season, and now when I dig into a new bag it's like opening a present! That's not totally true, but I was psyched to find a ruffly J.Crew skirt I forgot about, and a sweater I never realized kind of went with it. On Saturday I took advantage of the warm weather and put an outfit to wear while I ran errands. Including this little foray into scarf head-band wearing. Not so sure I can pull it off, but what better things do I have to do?!
7. Make your own happiness. No matter what city I'm in, I'm hard pressed to find something I love more than strolling around soaking up the sunshine, stumbling on outdoor markets, and literally taking time to stop and smell the flowers.
Anyway, on the off chance you face this in your own life, here are a few suggested activities:
1. Play dress-up. I did this on Friday night when I had dinner with my American friend who I met for the first time when Ashley was in town. When I initially packed in New York, I had the wherewithal to separate my clothes in giant vacuum bags by season, and now when I dig into a new bag it's like opening a present! That's not totally true, but I was psyched to find a ruffly J.Crew skirt I forgot about, and a sweater I never realized kind of went with it. On Saturday I took advantage of the warm weather and put an outfit to wear while I ran errands. Including this little foray into scarf head-band wearing. Not so sure I can pull it off, but what better things do I have to do?!
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| I might look like a cross between a trendy pirate and Rosie the Reveter. 2. Buy your own love. I was on the hunt for guest towels (so exciting, I know!), when I indulged my window shopping and went into an Italian shoe store having a massive sale. I've been lusting over a pair of Euro leather boots for awhile, and I fell in love with these bad boys. Considering the amazing deal I got on them, I never would have forgiven myself for passing them up. And we couldn't be happier together. |
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| FYI: They are not shiny. And you are really missing out by not being able to smell the leather. |
3. Have an emotional breakdown in a public place. There are articles (and a How I Met Your Mother episode) about how New Yorkers inevitably cry in public (I have at least twice), but I don't think it would be acceptable to do in Berlin. Especially not in an expansive department store in the heart of Alexanderplatz while roaming around staring longingly at plastic, mass-manufactured Halloween decorations. Costumes, goblets, fake spider webs. America at its finest. Legitimately homesick for the first time, I choked back tears (..also I might be PMSing) as I debated buying an overpriced, glitter-covered styrofoam pumpkin. After feeling the weight of the aforementioned purchase on my arm, I pulled myself together enough to get outside where I could put on my sunglasses and sniffle like a civilized person.
4. Embrace your inner-Martha. Have you ever read blog posts that are all "Oh, just go outside and collect some beautiful fallen leaves to create a centerpiece with!" and you're like oh my God what loser has the time and energy to do that? Well friends, I have become that loser. And I'm super excited about it! After the incident above, I realized buying real pumpkins from the supermarket was a way better use of my money. German pumpkins are like a weird love child between a sugar pumpkin and a squash, but I'm embracing it. They also sell "Halloween Kuerbis" aka traditional pumpkins, which I plan on buying after The German comes home and can help me carry some big ones home. He will be rewarded with learning the amazing art of American pumpkin carving, probably one of the greatest gifts I have to offer. While I was domesticating, I also tried a few new Pinterest recipes - research for my upcoming house guests - and have to say the baked chickpeas and the red pepper egg-in-a-hole were a big hit... with myself.
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| The start to my masterpiece. 5. Find a new addiction. Because clearly I don't watch enough television, I decided I should get hooked on a new show. People have been loving Parenthood since it started a few years ago, and now I know why. (Plus it is way healthier than when I was devoting hours to learning about the Meth business in Breaking Bad.) 6. Move it. I have been shamefully bad about exercising since I've been here, mostly because after 3 1/2 years of diligently going to the gym I am sick of it. I've loved coming home straight from work to do nothing, but I've reached the point where that has to change. Marshmallow is not an acceptable body type, and to combat this, I've started doing yoga and some Tracy Anderson-esque workouts at home, but cardio has been another story. Then, for some reason on Saturday night around sunset the perfect running route - along one of the canals passed the train station toward the government buildings in Mitte - popped into my head. It was by far one of the most spectacular views I've seen in Berlin and definitely on the list of places to take my mom and grandma (along with a camera). |
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| I haven't been able to look at hydrangeas the same since this Madonna video. |
Go forth and have a great week.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Deep Thoughts On My Favorite People
Updated: Up All Night with Will Arnett, Christina Applegate and Maya Rudolph is really funny too. And you know what would be even better? If Will Arnett and his amazing wife Amy Poehler had a reality show about their lives. OMG can you even imagine how amazing that would be???
Don't get too excited, I don't have any real friends to write about. Last fall I decided to share with you a list of my favorite shows on the off-chance you gave a damn. And now I find myself in a similar situation with nothing exciting to blog about either! Woo hoo life progress!
Here are some updated thoughts:
Ron Swanson: You know when I was 12, my brother shot me in the pinky toe with a nail gun. Granted it was a hilarious prank and we all had a good laugh, but I avoided going to the doctor. I hate paperwork. After a few weeks the toe just kind of fell off.
Leslie Knope: You only have 9 toes?
Reasons why I love this:
It's great banter. I use the phrase "hilarious prank" regularly. I too hate paperwork and it is a frequent barrier to me seeking medical treatment. And the message that you really shouldn't run from your problems is true. It is exhausting and stressful. And as I get older, running has really started to hurt my knees. If only you could elliptical machine from your problems, then I would endorse it... But seriously, good message. Man up and face your problems. And start watching this show. And come visit and entertain me in Berlin.
Don't get too excited, I don't have any real friends to write about. Last fall I decided to share with you a list of my favorite shows on the off-chance you gave a damn. And now I find myself in a similar situation with nothing exciting to blog about either! Woo hoo life progress!
Here are some updated thoughts:
- I still love 30 Rock. I assume they are on hiatus due to Tina's real life pregnancy so I GUESS I can get over it, but these German political ads are not filling the Jackie D void in my life. Please come back.
- Modern Family is the true meaning of fantastic. You should be watching it (specifically looking at you, Ashley), everyone on the Emmy voting committee agrees.
- I've been trying out some new shows because I don't have much better to do, and based on two episodes of each, I like 2 Broke Girls (cheesy, but funny) and New Girl because how can I hate quirky girls? Oh and I'm pretty sure I've met the inspiration for her dbag bro roommate four or five times in Murray Hill.
- Last but not least, my newest true love: Parks & Recreation. I have written before about how my not-so-secret dream involves me, Tina and Amy Poehler being best friends. But now I have a new dream. It involves Aziz Ansari, a fellow lover of puppies, food, and the East Village, being my soulmate. I know, I would also have never guessed a petite Indian guy might be The One, but what can I say, he is amazing. (If you are a fan and haven't seen TomHaverfoods stop what ever you are doing immediately. Now I say!)
Anyway, I really want you all to start watching it so we can talk about it. In an effort to do so, when I saw the following scene last week, I stopped what I was doing and typed it up to share with you. Because I have no life it is that great. Brace yourselves, it includes an inspirational message!
Ron Swanson: You know when I was 12, my brother shot me in the pinky toe with a nail gun. Granted it was a hilarious prank and we all had a good laugh, but I avoided going to the doctor. I hate paperwork. After a few weeks the toe just kind of fell off.Leslie Knope: You only have 9 toes? Ron Swanson: I have the toes I have. Lets just leave it at that. The point is, the doctor said if i had come in right away, they might have saved the toe. You cant run from your problems
Leslie Knope: Especially if you only have 9 toes.
Reasons why I love this:
It's great banter. I use the phrase "hilarious prank" regularly. I too hate paperwork and it is a frequent barrier to me seeking medical treatment. And the message that you really shouldn't run from your problems is true. It is exhausting and stressful. And as I get older, running has really started to hurt my knees. If only you could elliptical machine from your problems, then I would endorse it... But seriously, good message. Man up and face your problems. And start watching this show. And come visit and entertain me in Berlin.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
All I Have to Offer You
I warn you now, it's not much. Following an early Saturday morning brunch with my friend Uli (who hosted the party where I met The German), the majority of my time since then has been work-focused.
After being alerted to the fact that my Amsterdam hotel rejected all of the meeting materials shipped to it by my US colleagues ahead of my arrival (don't even get me started), I spent the rest of Saturday running around Berlin trying to track down office supplies (not easy) and making copies. Then I woke up early Sunday to fly to Amsterdam and spent the next 24 hours in and out of meeting rooms. I was in charge of logistics (not my normal role) and to be honest the pressure was killing me. I am the lame kind of person who dreams about work (according to Ashley I was sleep talking to my boss in my "professional voice") and this conference infected my slumber almost every night for the past week.
Luckily everything went smoothly thanks to the beyond-accommodating nature of the Dutch staff who helped me meet a few of the Devil Wears Prada demands placed on me while I was there. I have not had to be that charming and effusively appreciative in a long time but it was worth it since everyone seems happy with me.
Unfortunately I was too overwhelmed in the moment to take any pictures, but Amsterdam is actually an incredibly beautiful city. Although it has an, um, different reputation (whores! drugs!), the Dutch architecture is so charming. So yeah, google some pictures if you want to know what I mean. Worst.blogger.ever.
And that brings us to where I am now: Completely worthless on my couch. I just cannot motivate myself to make an effort to be social this week. Also I have a new addiction. Everyone got on the Pinterest train months ago, but I held out. What was I thinking? It is amazing. If you want to see what kinds of disallusions I have about my future, feel free to check out my boards. I deserve your judgment, it is getting out of hand.
What else, what else can I offer you? Oh I've been doing some online shopping and shipping the packages to my parents' house so my mom can sherpa the goods across the Atlantic to me. Genius! Hope she didn't plan on wasting suitcase space on her own clothes! Today J.Crew announced an extra 30% off on sale (hands down the greatest time to shop J.Crew) and I got this jacket, this tortoise bracelet, this scarf in saddle and a red leather gold-studded belt. Get them too! We'll be twins!
Okay fine, that's enough, I'll leave you alone. If anyone needs me, I'll be decorating my imaginary bathroom and planning parties with the most creative appetizers ever.
After being alerted to the fact that my Amsterdam hotel rejected all of the meeting materials shipped to it by my US colleagues ahead of my arrival (don't even get me started), I spent the rest of Saturday running around Berlin trying to track down office supplies (not easy) and making copies. Then I woke up early Sunday to fly to Amsterdam and spent the next 24 hours in and out of meeting rooms. I was in charge of logistics (not my normal role) and to be honest the pressure was killing me. I am the lame kind of person who dreams about work (according to Ashley I was sleep talking to my boss in my "professional voice") and this conference infected my slumber almost every night for the past week.
Luckily everything went smoothly thanks to the beyond-accommodating nature of the Dutch staff who helped me meet a few of the Devil Wears Prada demands placed on me while I was there. I have not had to be that charming and effusively appreciative in a long time but it was worth it since everyone seems happy with me.
Unfortunately I was too overwhelmed in the moment to take any pictures, but Amsterdam is actually an incredibly beautiful city. Although it has an, um, different reputation (whores! drugs!), the Dutch architecture is so charming. So yeah, google some pictures if you want to know what I mean. Worst.blogger.ever.
And that brings us to where I am now: Completely worthless on my couch. I just cannot motivate myself to make an effort to be social this week. Also I have a new addiction. Everyone got on the Pinterest train months ago, but I held out. What was I thinking? It is amazing. If you want to see what kinds of disallusions I have about my future, feel free to check out my boards. I deserve your judgment, it is getting out of hand.
What else, what else can I offer you? Oh I've been doing some online shopping and shipping the packages to my parents' house so my mom can sherpa the goods across the Atlantic to me. Genius! Hope she didn't plan on wasting suitcase space on her own clothes! Today J.Crew announced an extra 30% off on sale (hands down the greatest time to shop J.Crew) and I got this jacket, this tortoise bracelet, this scarf in saddle and a red leather gold-studded belt. Get them too! We'll be twins!
Okay fine, that's enough, I'll leave you alone. If anyone needs me, I'll be decorating my imaginary bathroom and planning parties with the most creative appetizers ever.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Managing Expectations Out The Window
I have a real problem setting myself up for emotional failure. Blame it on high personal expectations. Blame it on the fact that even though I know what I want, I'm still willing to overlook glaring, obvious issues (unemployed in California!) because maybe if the timing was better we could have had something. Or, more realistically, blame it on too many episodes of poetic soul-mate waxing on Dawson's Creek at a young, influential age. My father loved to lecture me and my brothers about how drinking/smoking when you're a teenager would stunt your growth, and I'm fairly certain that this principle precisely illustrates how Pacey left me with the emotional maturity of a freshman in high school. Just say no, kids.
Anyway, the reason for my disappointment doesn't matter, it's the result of it: Whatever I thought we might have fizzles, caustically eroding away my faith I have in finding someone special. (I know, I am such a drama queen.) I won't totally blame New York because guys are letting women down across each of the 50 states, but I will blame the city for making it so freaking difficult. New York is notoriously competitive.
Jobs are hard to come by, acceptances into schools are a struggle, finding a serious, healthy relationship is next to impossible. Navigating the levels between "talking", "dating", "seeing someone" all the way to "being in a relationship" requires perseverance, a dictionary, a game plan, and pure luck. Aka you might as well spend your effort going to med school. "Oh I'm in my fourth year of residency at Beth Israel." "Oh, I'm in my fourth year of dating that guy I can't refer to as my boyfriend because it makes him nervous." It'll totally be worth it in the long run, honey.
This is not to say that I am above any of this. There is no mistaking the fact that I have not been in touch with reality for the past three years. I mean, I only feel comfortable actually liking someone if I also have someone else around to balance out my CGS. Because heaven forbid I come off too available. WHY CAN'T I BE AVAILABLE TO THE PERSON I AM DATING? See what I mean? I'm disgusted with myself. (But at the same time, kind of proud, because I've come a long way from being so bad at dating! I AM COMPETITIVE TOO!) I tried explaining the idea of all this to some friends in Berlin, and they looked at me like I was insane. "So, you don't just get a boyfriend?" YOU DO SPEAK ENGLISH, RIGHT?
Clearly this whole post has gotten completely out of hand, but it was just a long way of building up to my point: It gets better. I am not trying to be an jackass by repurposing the teen-gay motto, I am simply re-instilling the message that it doesn't have to be like this. There is happiness out there. Just the other day I was eye-rolling-up-a-storm watching a couple on the subway being really cutesy together. And then it dawned on me. I have sort of become that person.
Last week I had three perfectly wonderful dates with The German. Two home-cooked meals (one at my place, one at his) and a night of live bluesy jazz at a swanky underground cocktail bar. (Blues is my favorite music genre so this earned major points, he didn't even know.) There was laughing. There was hand-holding. There was him helping me with my jacket. They were the kinds of nights that remind you how fun dating can be.
And the big takeaway is that I can say without shame that I like him and he likes me. I'm not sure where things will go but just knowing that and saying that makes it miles ahead of places I've been in the past. To think, we've only known each other a month. After dating someone a month in New York, I might change his name in my phone from whatever nickname I've been referring to him as to his real name. Maybe.
The German (don't worry, he is in my phone with his real name) is on holiday in Florida (USA! USA!) with his family for two weeks. We'll see how that bodes for everything. But at least, if nothing else, I have a little of my faith back in the practice of dating. And that's no easy task, unless of course Joshua Jackson has something to do with it.
Anyway, the reason for my disappointment doesn't matter, it's the result of it: Whatever I thought we might have fizzles, caustically eroding away my faith I have in finding someone special. (I know, I am such a drama queen.) I won't totally blame New York because guys are letting women down across each of the 50 states, but I will blame the city for making it so freaking difficult. New York is notoriously competitive.
Jobs are hard to come by, acceptances into schools are a struggle, finding a serious, healthy relationship is next to impossible. Navigating the levels between "talking", "dating", "seeing someone" all the way to "being in a relationship" requires perseverance, a dictionary, a game plan, and pure luck. Aka you might as well spend your effort going to med school. "Oh I'm in my fourth year of residency at Beth Israel." "Oh, I'm in my fourth year of dating that guy I can't refer to as my boyfriend because it makes him nervous." It'll totally be worth it in the long run, honey.
This is not to say that I am above any of this. There is no mistaking the fact that I have not been in touch with reality for the past three years. I mean, I only feel comfortable actually liking someone if I also have someone else around to balance out my CGS. Because heaven forbid I come off too available. WHY CAN'T I BE AVAILABLE TO THE PERSON I AM DATING? See what I mean? I'm disgusted with myself. (But at the same time, kind of proud, because I've come a long way from being so bad at dating! I AM COMPETITIVE TOO!) I tried explaining the idea of all this to some friends in Berlin, and they looked at me like I was insane. "So, you don't just get a boyfriend?" YOU DO SPEAK ENGLISH, RIGHT?
Clearly this whole post has gotten completely out of hand, but it was just a long way of building up to my point: It gets better. I am not trying to be an jackass by repurposing the teen-gay motto, I am simply re-instilling the message that it doesn't have to be like this. There is happiness out there. Just the other day I was eye-rolling-up-a-storm watching a couple on the subway being really cutesy together. And then it dawned on me. I have sort of become that person.
Last week I had three perfectly wonderful dates with The German. Two home-cooked meals (one at my place, one at his) and a night of live bluesy jazz at a swanky underground cocktail bar. (Blues is my favorite music genre so this earned major points, he didn't even know.) There was laughing. There was hand-holding. There was him helping me with my jacket. They were the kinds of nights that remind you how fun dating can be.
And the big takeaway is that I can say without shame that I like him and he likes me. I'm not sure where things will go but just knowing that and saying that makes it miles ahead of places I've been in the past. To think, we've only known each other a month. After dating someone a month in New York, I might change his name in my phone from whatever nickname I've been referring to him as to his real name. Maybe.
The German (don't worry, he is in my phone with his real name) is on holiday in Florida (USA! USA!) with his family for two weeks. We'll see how that bodes for everything. But at least, if nothing else, I have a little of my faith back in the practice of dating. And that's no easy task, unless of course Joshua Jackson has something to do with it.
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