Fare thee well
Fare thee well
May your path be rocky
May your hills be steep
May you stand proud on the summit
Fare thee well
May your nights be peaceful
May your days be interesting
May you enjoy your dreams and from them waking
Fare thee well
May your knowledge never be complete
May your questions never all be answered
May you never stop seeking
Fare thee well
May your friends be true
May your lovers be also
May you be blessed with enough of both
Fare thee well
May your sun shine brightly
May your storms be fierce
May you always see the rainbow
Fare thee well
May your ship set sail
May your path begin
May you set forth with optimism and determination
Fare thee well
May your attempts not always be successful
May your adversities be surmountable
May you appreciate your successes and learn from your failures
Fare thee well
May your hunger for experiences never be sated
May your thirst for knowledge never slake
May you partake of life and never be full
May you succeed--
Fare thee well.
bring me your tired, your poor, your socially challenged
Current total: 6
Perhaps there is a scent, a pheromone exuded that draws them like mothes to flames. Perhaps there was a sign over our heads, inviting the occasionally dubious residents of the PDRB (People's Democratic Republic of B.) to come talk to us. Last count, six. Since yesterday. Maybe it's just the German, that makes us stick out.
1. "Excuse me, can you take my picture please? In front of the elk?" Okay, legit. A tourist. There are more than one of them, and having strangers photograph you is not unusual.
2. "Can you do me a favor? I just got a wierd phone call and I need to get your opinion on this, clear my head." Yeah, okay, shoot. "So, I have this friend who has a girlfriend, and this friend of mine still has contact to his ex from high school. They're just friends, but the girlfriend is jealous." Uhhuhh.... "So the girlfriend recently found a shoebox of pictures and love letters from the ex, and wants the boyfriend to burn it and not talk to the ex anymore." Errrr (brief conference in German) We think she's overreacting. If they're just friends.... (what are we, advice columnists?).
2.5. Mr. Smile-wave-howareya. Not to unique, except he stared at us for about half a block.
3 & 4. So my friend and I are having a debate. What you say could just change our lives (random guy comes up to us two, seated on one end of a bench). Um, okay (me). So do you floss before or after you brush (him). What did he say? (German, in german) (Attempt to explain flossing in German; limited success). I floss after, if you must know, she says it changes (me). Really? I thought you'd be a before-and-after-girl (him; do I look that uptight? do I detect a double entendre? isn't that a bit personal) (smalltalk: whoareya, whereyoufrom, howdoyoulikeboulder, howlongyabeenhere, whatsfunaroundhere, etc) (enter friend). So I just asked; she flosses after (him, meaning me), she says it changes (meaning German). Oh really? My name's .... (friend, shaking my hand; bald head, rings) (smalltalk: areyoustudents, what'dyoumajorin, yeahhikingisfun). So I'm going to sit down (friend) so scoot down (I don't move; for some reason, friend shakes my hand again). You can sit there (me, pointing to largely empty rest of bench) (friend sits on the--literally--ten square inches of corner. Intro to physical contact. I don't move. Becoming increasingly less friendly). Let's see how long you hold up (me; friend stands up). Are you a punk rocker? (friend, points to German's belt; considering we recently saw a man with purple mowhawk, four inch plarforms, and other articles of adventurous clothing, German looked decidedly whitebread). Let me sit between you (friend). No, you can sit down there (me, pointing at end of bench) (more hand shaking, don't know why). What, you're giving orders? (friend) Come on, I don't think we'll get much from these girls...
5. Scene: Conor's, for the football (read: soccer) match (read: game). Brother and Brother's Friends have left; only I and German remain. Enter: Bearded male, forties.
Stanger: You are having a German Party here?
Me: Er...
Stranger: I have seen you at other games before, yes? I am friends with Till
Me: (sigh of relief: I know Till, from having randomly talked to him in a bar, coincidently) (introductions)
Turns out he is Russian, speaks no German, friends with some Germans I met while watching another match in the same bar. Nice guy, offered us a ride home, didn't need us.
6. So we went dancing, at the Grizzly Rose (great place). I was looking for German, who was fending off the attentions of a slightly short black haired guy, with whom I ended up dancing. Who proceeded to do the onestep (for people who can't manage to twostep) while practically spitting in my ear in an effort to convey the fact that his name was Ivan, he came from Spain, was alone this evening, and found be to be beautiful/a good dancer/whatever else he thought I would like/make me more amenable to his dances. Tried to escape after the first dance, was unsuccessful. Made clear I had a boyfriend (sadly, no, but handy excuse) and refused repeated subsequent offers for uncoordinated swaying. Definately creepy, but as he was hitting up other girls, I don't feel picked out specially except for the fact I was female and not physically attached to a male for the evening.
Addendum:
7. Apparently as German was waiting at the mall to be picked up (by me, so I am no witness), some completely random kid came up and asked her for her cell number, so they could hang out the next day. She wasn't too sorry to inform him she already had a boyfriend and her cell number wouldn't do him much good anyhow, seeing as it's German...
Where do you see yourself?
1. in ten minutes?
probably asleep under the kitchen table. Our house is a bit crowded, and it's hard to find places to put people. And I've only gotten about four hours of sleep.
2. in ten hours?
watching the end of the Germany v Portugal game in a bar somewhere.
3. in ten days?
at my house in Louisville, trying to get organized and moving out.
4. in ten weeks?
good question. Somewhere between Heiligenhafen and Mainz, Germany.
5. in ten years?
Married with kids. Living in Africa, South America, Asia, Europe. Working on a boat. Teaching. Being a writer. Busking. Being transient. Doing something interesting.
...
Fuck.
This is starting to look like the end of something, and I don't mean Hemingway. No, this is the point where I feel the subtle weight of my departure like a handmade backpack full of organic produce. My weekend, interspersed with bouts of virgorous manual labor, included several meetings, lists: What to Bring, Documents You'll Need, Stuff to Take Care Of Before You Leave.
The next three weeks are going to be awesome. I've tons of plans, two different houseguests, no class (a first since last August!), hopefully no work, and summer in Colorado. Yet everywhere I go I feel an itch between my shoulder blades, like someone's watching me (I knew I never should've talked to that creepy guy!), making me feel constantly unsatisfied, as if I should be eking more out of my last Boulder moments.
It's not like it won't be here when I get back. It was after the last time. True, they bulldozed what seems like half my hometown to make way for another grocery store complex and the beginnings of a second, and the 42-foot hotdog that was a kitchy landmark and site of many childhood memories has moved to greener pastures. If course, it ain't Kansas any more. I know when I get back it'll be different, many of the people I knew will have graduated and moved on (hopefully). Such friends as I have will have changed--like last time, some friends will fade into acquaintences with whom I have a shared past and only a mildly similar present. My Europe stories will once again be stored for some undetermined appropriate future time, when I feel I can tell them without coming off as an egoist or an elitist. "Oh, that reminds me of this one time when I was in Italy..." does not endear me to people who do not understand that these experiences comprise the entirety of my last year.
And I still hold on to it. I still think about and talk about 'last year,' last year being the one I spent across the pond and not the 11 months I have spent in Boulder. I still hold on to, think about and talk about, this 'last year'. Partly because it's different, it's not Boulder and therefore unique; partly, it's because I'm still in 'this year' and in order for that to become 'last year' I need to move beyond; partly, these experiences play an important role in defining who and what I am.
I've changed quite a bit as a result of them. I'm proud of this, put in effort to 'improve' my life, wear these changes like badges of honor, distinguishing characteristics. I think they make me boring, too. I get brownie points from Grownups, equivalent to pinching my cheek, for 'living responsibly'. I take things seriously, I go to bed early, and maybe I miss out. And maybe not. Mostly, I'm happy that way, and am learning to entertain myself without constantly having to surround myself with other people (though sometimes I wish I had other people who would surround me).
Lately I feel sorry for myself--or better said, feel unhappy, because I am mourning Boulder. Already. I fear I will spoil my last weeks by saying goodbye too soon. I feel lethargic sometimes. I don't call people, don't bother to find things to do, stay home and watch movies. I don't want to invest myself in a place I will soon leave, as if by staying home I would be happier.
The next three months--perhaps longer; perhaps forever--I will be homeless. These months I will live out of a suitcase, and stay no longer than a couple of weeks in any one place. I will see many old friends, people and places, and hopefully meet new friends. I will be off on an adventure, this time not excluded on basis of language from fully enjoying Germany. I hope to see and do things I've not done before.... and I will enjoy it. And have new stories to tell, for those who wish to hear them...
Awkward.
I would consider myself reasonably athletic. Running, jumping, climbing trees (no makeup, though) don't cause me that much difficulty. What I am not, however, is particularly coordinated or graceful. Let's be honest: I'm awkward and clumsy. I usually don't make it entirely around corners and doorframes, instead catching my hip, shoulder, or elbow on said corner and bouncing off. My legs look like someone has been beating me with sticks. I usually have at least one bloodied knuckle or cut on my hands from catching them in doors, stuck between books, falling down. Sometimes I'll be bleeding and have
no idea why. Bit disconcerning.
Last week I ran myself over with a book truck (cart for books). It wasn't too bad, except for the part where I was bleeding into my shoe. But since then I have managed to step on my own ankle (in exactly the spot where I am misssing significant pieces of skin) at least five or six times.
We have chairs with attached desks. About every time I stand up I jostle either my desk or my neighbors, usually knocking something off, breaking something, or otherwise causing mayhem. I feel like a bull in a china shop.
So my goal is to learn to dance, somewhere, somehow. Then perhaps I won't be so uncoordinated. Dancers are supposed to be
graceful, right? Or else I can just get a dunce cap and (when not hitting it on the tops of doorframes) save myself the embarrsassment of constantly hitting things and looking like an idiot--I'll skip that step, start out looking like a tool and hopefully the clumsiness will be unnecessary...
Compulsive Repetitive Interjection Disorder
Compulsive Repetitive Interjection Disorder (CRID) affects nearly eight of ten Americans under the age of thirty. Characterized by frequent interjections of a specific, often irrelevant phrase (e.g. "like", "you know?", "right", "know what I mean?") into regular speech. Also known as "Valley Girl Syndrome," "Teenspeak," and "Irritating," this disorder is characterized by some researchers as a vocal manifestation of a fundmental lack of self-confidence, as most of said interjections tend to ask for affirmation or inject a degree of uncertainty or doubt. CRID differs from Tourette's Syndrome in that there is no medical or psychological basis for it whatsoever, although both may involve the interjection of obscenities, evidenced by the prevalence for "the F-word" among CRID sufferers.
Example:
"I think [like, you know?] the U.S. policy towards Europe has [like, you know?] been greatly [like] changed because of the European Union [right?]. I mean [like, you know?], we were used to dealing with multiple governments [like, you know, right?] and now all negotiations must go through [like, you know?] a single [you know?]authority in some instances [right?] and remain [like] bilateral or multilateral in others."
This individual has a severe case of CRID. He is unable to complete a normal sentence without the interjections, much less a complicated or otherwise higher-level thought. This disorder can have serious consequences for his future academic career, tending to set listeners on edge. For his personal advancement he should consider therapy which, though costly and psychologically taxing, may be the only solution to an otherwise socially debilitating condition. And since he sits next to me in class, I'm not exactly unbiased.
Sometimes...
...you wake up really hungry. Or at least I do. So you and your bed head, at some ungodly hour of the morning, James Bond your way to the kitchen, avoiding the sneaking floorboard, checking for enemy agents before entering the kitchen. You don't turn on the light, oh no, that would be too obvious. You have a craving of some persuasion, perhaps chocolate--though this affliction seems to have skipped me, though the rest of my family and friends suffer greviously--perhaps ice cream, perhaps pickles, cheerios, mayonnaise--the possibilities are as numerous as bacteria on room-temperature beef, constrained only by your imagination, the contents of your fridge/pantry/whatever and the fact that you actually don't usually know *what* the hell you want. So you take the Smorgesbord (which, incidentally, just means 'bread and butter' in Swedish) approach. Two pickles, a square of chocolate, a handful of granola, some leftovers, maybe a scoop of ice cream. If you're nice, you don't double-dip utensils, though in the end (assuming this is your house) you've probably exchanged so much bacteria with whomever else lives there that it doesn't matter anyways. But everyone knows, food tastes better eaten over the sink at 2 AM. Or is this just a personal problem?
Image courtesy of Mandy Burnham
10 simple pleasures...
Thanks
Sermina for the tag.
10. thunderstorms
9. music--preferably live, even more preferably if I'm playing
8. animals
7. meeting or talking with interesting people
6. foreign languages
5. running
4. good food
3. nature, specifically oceans and mountains
2. sunrises/sunsets
http://www.photohome.com1. enjoying the moment
I'll go ahead and tag
my dear Aldreas but I don't think he'll get it.
Confessions of a would-be trophy wife
My father and I went to see a concert together, and decided to grab something to eat before heading in. He went for the deli; I explained how it worked and headed off to get a salad (which I did eventually acquire, after an issue with my debit card and an attempt on my life by a ramakin of balsalmic). In my absence:
Deli man: ..and mustard and mayo?
Father: yes, please.
Deli man: and who was she? (waving in my general direction) Your wife?
(if I had been there, I would have been relatively uncomfortable at this point)
Father: er, my daughter.
Apparently this was followed by some sort of compliment, such as prompted my father to say, upon my return: "You should have gone to the deli. The guy thinks you're hot."
Definately an odd conversation...
