Grow Up? Not me. Well...

Fear is an interestingly subjective matter. I have wandered the middle east, been lost and stranded in the ghetto of Paris alone, and been hit on in dodgy areas of Moscow just to name a few. I sometimes forget these things happened when I find myself almost paralyzed by the decisions of everyday, normal life.  The most recent of these decisions is scary notion called "establishing roots" which I have recently found myself thrown into. This includes things that most young adults do when they move somewhere, and it involves investing in things that require longevity in order to be worthwhile. I would rather face the middle east, ghetto, or metro all over again than, say, sign a year-long contract for an apartment. I decided to start small with a gym membership (although I kept it to a three month contract and made sure I knew the consequences of cancellation). Then I moved up to my very own library card, rather than borrowing my friend's. After that things got crazy. I actually registered as a voter and applied for a new driver's license. This was followed by buying a car. I'm not sure what's gotten into me. I'm just not thinking about it. This being a grown-up stuff is rough. Perhaps that's why I've put it off for so long. I still haven't worked up to finding somewhere to live, but look at me, I'm unstoppable. And who knows, maybe I'll get wild and crazy and actually buy a pillow. Although that might be too much of an investment... I'll have to think about it.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

Always a Foreigner

I've decided to live like a foreigner. It's not nearly as boring to stay somewhere when I ask "What would I want to see and do if I were just taking a short trip here?" Plus I'm not even sure where I'm from anymore. So I am now finally having the American experience. I suppose it started a few weeks ago with my day off. A day off? What? Can't pass that up. So I got up early and went on a hike that a friend and I had found online. The pictures showed that the destination was a gorgeous frozen lake. I was a little disappointed that the lake wouldn't look like the picture, but I figured it would still be a nice hike with some good scenery. How silly I was. Yes it was beautiful and the journey wasn't too difficult. But the lake was definitely still frozen and the knee-deep snow on the last one third of the hike provided a nice central air conditioning for my shorts-wearing legs. I used my best ninja skills to walk on top of it though and came out only with wet shoes and a very slight tan. Which is another noteworthy point that I'm sure no one cares about but I'm going to mention anyway. I am terrible at applying sunscreen. Streaks like nobody's business. And when one in particular finally turned into a "tan" (I use that word very loosely when applied to my marshmallow skin) it just looked like a permanent bruise by my knee. I'm sure it felt quite at home with all the real bruises all over my legs from running into things an other generally clumsy behavior. Anyway, sorry for that entirely useless information. So after I got back and cleaned up and whatnot some friends and I proceeded to pick up some American Mexican food and continue to a concert that we had free tickets for but didn't really know anything about. Something a Capella. But it sounded like fun. And it was free. Hello? Little did we know, the main act was a group that performs a Capella country music. What? A Capella country?! I doesn't get much more American than that. But I'm not gonna lie, I didn't mind. Not even a little. 

A few days later I topped it off with a rodeo. Yes, you read that right. A rodeo. I have never felt so much like a European or a city girl as walking into that stadium surrounded by hats and boots and belt buckles (which, I'm told, you have to win), listening to the accents and experiencing the national pride of the opening ceremonies. It was also a rather educational experience for me. I learned what makes the horses and bulls buck, that left-handed riders take the barrels the other direction, and that such cow-wrangling skills aren't actually necessary when working on a farm or ranch. But I definitely had a blast and warmed up enough to the experience to wear my cowgirl hat in the car for the ride home. And to what I'm pretty sure was my first ever food truck which, thankfully, was delicious and not at all the disease-ridden black hole I had feared. Whew. I may be beginning to approve of trying new things. Maybe.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

There goes that career option...

I don't remember if I was a good napper as a baby, but if I wasn't, my parents should have just gotten a plane. Some babies are out as soon as the car starts. Well that is me in planes. In my full adult (yes, this is as big as I'm going to get) form. I don't know how it happens, I look out the window and suddenly we're in the sky and I have no recollection of getting there. This last time it took losing all control of my neck and being awoken by my head meeting the wall with a thud. Or I am suddenly brought to consciousness with wheels hitting the ground. Usually I just want off at that point. Off to the next thing. That's what I love about airports and flying. They're always the beginning of something new and bring back floods of memories of other new beginnings. Even when I'm just flying home, I'm flying home changed by wherever I'm coming from and ready to start up life again with my batteries recharged. And I wonder where the other people are going and why and how they're related to the people they're with. But I do not approve of the prices of airport food. And the fact that the little convenience store things don't always post prices, so you just pick up what you need and wait to get to the register and be robbed. I also did a brave thing and for the first time ever pushed the flight attendant button. She was not very helpful. But it seriously felt like the whole plane was looking at me when the beep went off. I wonder how I never spot anyone else when they push it. But speaking of flight attendants I officially understood why I could never be one as I struggled to blindly squeeze my bag in the compartment which was well above my eye level and optimum angle for my arm muscles. There goes that for a random future job to take for a spin. Also, one time I saw a person taking their dog between terminals wearing a diaper. I mean the dog was wearing the diaper, not the person. Well, they might have been but I didn't notice and I honestly don't remember anything about the person other than that it existed. I have since asked other people who travel with small canine friends if this is commonplace. I have been informed it is not. But it seems sensible and efficient. Not to mention it gives solo travelers like me something to be entertained by while awaiting their flights.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

Get a Hold of Yourself

It was one of those days. The sun was shining. Work went well. Blah blah blah. On the way home I decided to stop at a little shop that I had heard sold German chocolate actually brought over from Germany. It was heaven, I'm telling you. Now I don't have to ration what I brought back with me quite so much. This could do bad things to my waistline and my wallet. So I went into this store and lo and behold they had a whole German section. And my favorite chocolates were there (unfortunately the girl working there didn't think they had Schorle but I suppose nothing's perfect). I looked on in wonder and finally picked up a few vastly overpriced schoko bons to tide me over and assured the girl working there that I'd be back. I came out elated and unlocked my bike. I was pretty much on cloud 9. The path from the patio area made a pretty sharp turn back onto the sidewalk. I turned my handlebars and noticed an attractive guy walking down the sidewalk in my direction. I started to ride. My bike disagreed. Next thing I knew I was on my hands and knees straddling the bicycle. Should have seen that coming... And guy got to me just in time to have a front row seat.
"Are you ok?!" He asked as I took a moment to process and bow my head in shame. I picked myself up and laughed awkwardly.
"Only my pride's hurt." I replied with a smile and another chuckle. He reach down and picked something up and handed it to me.
"What's that?"
"One of your reflectors."
"Oh... I don't even know... how..."
"I think you can just screw it back on."
"Yep. Ok. Thanks."
As I started to leave he asked again if I was all right and wished me luck.
Thank you sir. And I continued on my way, laughing under my breath to myself. At least the chocolates were safe in my bag.
I got home and pulled out my phone, which had apparently been playing music silently in my pocket the entire time.
And what, might you ask, was the song title displayed across the top of my screen? "Get a Hold of Yourself". Thanks for that.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

Flashback Friday: About Teeth Whitening...

One time a friend of mine informed me that Americans all whiten their teeth. I replied that this was a ridiculous and false stereotype resulting from the survey sample being taken from airbrushed Hollywood and other media sources. Their retort was that I must at least use whitening toothpaste. Well duh. Doesn't everyone at least sometimes? I don't think that is that weird, or unique to Americans. But rather than quitting while I was ahead, I added, "I don't need to go get my teeth whitened. I can just buy Crest whitestrips." Ah. Yep. Shot myself in the foot with that one.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

Maybe a little too friendly...

I have been told that Americans are stereotyped as extremely friendly. I was never sure if I believed it until I starting frequenting Target and the bus here. Let's just look at Target for now. The other day I grabbed a snack from the deli/food court thing. The woman paying before me seemed quite frazzled as she searched for something. She kept saying something about how it wasn't a diamond but it was still a couple hundred dollars. I finally asked what she was looking for, and she said it was her engagement ring. The cashier asked if it had just now fallen off and the woman started talking about doing the dishes earlier. I was confused as to how she came to the conclusion that it was here with us rather than, perhaps, on her kitchen counter, but I felt bad for her. As she pushed her stroller forward my X-ray vision caught something under the counter. I asked her if that was it. Indeed it was. The woman was elated (or gassy-somewhere in that zone) as could be expected. She was talking in a rather constant stream, as could also be expected, I suppose. Then she reached out and hugged me. I saw it coming as if in slow motion. Stranger's arms coming toward me. I braced myself. After completing her hug she continued talking and thanking me. Then she said she'd kiss me if it wouldn't result in a lawsuit. I was ok with the gratitude stopping there. I'm certain I would not have taken legal action, but I won't lie, if she wants to use that reason to not kiss me, then I shan't argue with her logic. I guess people are just friendly here. Maybe a little too friendly. Minus all the lawsuits.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

It's called Realism

I had to work pretty hard to convince myself to come back to my old stomping grounds. It felt like defeat, walking away from my crazy adventures and unpredictability. I assured myself that it would only be temporary and made lists in my head of reasons that "it'll be great". But I didn't know if I actually believed me. But I was right--at least, the voice inside that made those lists was. And here I sit, utterly content with exactly where I am right now and, for possibly the first time in forever, not needing to run away. I've never been known for my optimism. In fact I've been called a pessimist (although I vehemently argue that "realist" is the appropriate term). But the reality is that this time it seems like all the ordinary goings on of life are adventures.
I have a job. A steady, same-schedule-all-week, weekends-off kind of job. And I love it.
I have to use an alarm to get up in the morning. And I love it.
I'm learning the need for a reasonable bedtime. And I... am getting used to it.
I'm busy all day and exhausted at bedtime. And I love it.
I can go out on the weekends. And I'm getting used to it.
I've had to learn a particular life skill that I skipped in my human development-it's called asking for help. And I'm starting to not dread it as much. 
I bike when I need to get somewhere, and when I get tired I just remember how fit I'm going to be by the time I leave here. And then I love it.
I remember how lucky I am to have a job to go to and a body that is capable of riding a bike. I'm lucky to have people around to ask for help and hopefully return that service to. I'm now torn between the two lifestyles that I've come to appreciate. And I can actually say that the grass is green on my side.

Curveball? Bring It.

Bicycles. Until recently, you'd be hard-pressed to find someone more opposed to being on one. Not because I never learned to ride, or because I had a traumatic experience. Just because I'm stubborn. But Germany got me to give them a shot, and they weren't as bad as I remembered. So, when I returned to good ol' suburban USA and the harsh reality that I couldn't hop on public transportation at every corner and at any time of night hit, my stubborn side decided I would just have to use my own two legs. And a bike I borrowed from a friend. And there I found myself, biking what google maps said was 8 miles. I disagree. It went on forever. Back roads, cow smells, sidewalklessness, railroad tracks, and a trailer park. Yes a trailer park. Things I had no idea I lived so close to. And yet there they were. And other than them it was just me and the darkness. And the mountains. There's something about the mountains that always cheers me up. Maybe they give me a sense of protection. Maybe it's because they're constant and reliable. Maybe they are a reminder that the world is so much bigger than me. Maybe it's just because they're pretty. Maybe I'll figure it out some day. Maybe I won't. But there they are and there they were. I road past the "sites" and it gave me a lot to think about, in spite of the fact that, upon my arrival at home, I crawled up the stairs and declared my inability to do that again.

I was wrong. Not too long after that I made the trip again. Although this time I did not heed what google maps said was the appropriate path for a bike. Down main roads and past road construction I rode. I had forgotten that in order to go downhill I'd have to make it uphill first. I got way too close to some roadkill on the side of the road. And the mountains were still there cheering me on. And this time I marched triumphantly into my house with cold toes and rosy cheeks being my only battle wounds. I tell you it gets easier every time.

The next time I was certain I smelled skunk and cautiously looked about, bracing myself for the horror. I survived. Barely. Ok fine, I never actually saw it.

By the fourth or fifth time I managed a total of 17ish miles throughout the day. The end is when the dreaded snow hit. "There's no way I can do this," I thought as it started. But I did. And it actually kept me cool as I was going. What can I say, I like a good challenge. And then my tire went flat. Luckily it wasn't while I was riding.  I couldn't help but chuckle to myself as I realized that there is a lesson that I have no choice but to learn. I will continue getting thrown curveballs until I learn my lesson. And this one was that I can't do everything, and that sometimes it's ok to ask for help (although I still stubbornly hold out as long as I reasonably can). And a new adventure came along-learning to fix a bike. I stubbornly insisted upon figuring it out on my own. It sent me back to the good ol' days of working maintenance. I pulled out the tools and watched my hands get black with grease that doesn't all go away with just one wash. And after a little while I may or may not have had to ask for help. Just a little. But I'll know how to do it myself for next time. Until something new is inevitably sprung upon me. And I have just two words: Bring it.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

Last Place on Earth

Here I sit, in the last place on earth I thought I'd be living. It's like a blast from the past. And I'm not gonna lie--I like it. The first two weeks were an adjustment. It was a surreal feeling--as if the last two years never happened to me, and I had just gone home for Christmas and come back to same old-same old. But you know what? They did happen. It's not the same as before. It's much better. And this travel junkie hasn't been to a new country in a month and a half. You read that right. I've passed the withdrawal stage and settled in--in to a normal life. I always know exactly how to ask for what I need in the store or on the street without having to practice or look up words, and almost everywhere I go I find public bathrooms and magical things called drinking fountains, which I have to be reminded exist. Things really do always work out. Never as I expected, but always for the best. And when life seems to get a little stale I can still find the same Dipper I saw at night out my window in Germany and the same hot pink sunset that helped me out in Moscow, only this time it's held up by snow-capped mountains instead of skyscrapers. So here's to a normalcy. For a least a couple more months...

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin.

Culture Shock: Back in the USA

Now that I'm starting to settle in I've mostly managed to re assimilate into American culture. In spite of having lived in this country for the first two decades or so of my life, I noticed that some other things rubbed off on me and, in just the short time that I was gone, changed the way I do things and interact with other people.

For instance, if I thought people in Germany were friendly, I must have forgotten what it's like to live here, in this particular part of the country. Strangers smile at me as they pass on the street and restaurant employees are so friendly that I get confused. It's not so bad, but it takes a little getting used to.

I paid in exact change at walmart. There was no one behind me and I didn't take very long. But the man behind the register still seemed a little... put off. (This was before I reached my final destination of super friendly) I guess I'm too used to being evil-eyed and yelled at in Russian for making them give me change.

What I might miss more than anything (other than the people, of course) is the Autobahn. It's a glorious place where people don't pass me on my right, coming out of nowhere and going ridiculously fast in the slow lane, which I am trying to get into during bad weather. And I miss the changing speed limit signs which often turn off, allowing me to safely reach my destination as fast as my little heart and engine desire (in the FAR LEFT LANE, of course).

Coat check now seems commonplace to me, but leaving anything-I repeat ANYTHING-in the pockets of a checked coat is beyond unwise.

"I'll just take the bus" results in curious and sympathetic looks. And then the reality slap comes when you look on the schedule and see just how rarely it comes. And how expensive it is, if you're even in a town lucky enough to have any public transportation at all. It surprisingly makes me sometimes miss Moscow. The wonderfully scary yet convenient metro. And maybe even the Marshrutki. Maybe. I might color my memories better than they actually were (the grass is always greener on the other side, after all) but there's a certain charm once you realize the driver isn't going to sell your organs to the black market and will get you to your destination with zero regard for any sort of traffic rules.

I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.

Flashback Friday: What's this 'Married'?

Let me just start with a disclaimer by saying that I have nothing against marriage or motherhood. It's a fantastic plan at whatever time or age a person is prepared and in a position to take on such responsibility. But since I was on the subject of motherhood yesterday I thought I would continue with this little anecdote.

While I was in Russia I did some babysitting, and a particular five-year-old girl kept wanting me to play dolls. Here's the thing: I don't know how to play dolls. I thought maybe I had just become a Scrooge in my old age, so I asked my mother. Nope. I didn't play "mommy and baby" even as a child. And twenty something years later I still don't know what exactly one is supposed to do during such a game. Anyway, the child put the doll under her shirt so as to "have the baby in her tummy". I was Doctor (Doctor Who? I asked and chuckled at myself). This seemed like a straightforward task which I thought I could handle. I was wrong. When I tried to simply pulled the doll's foot which was already sticking out, the girl scolded me and said I was supposed to do something to her tummy. I poked a few times. Wrong. I asked if I'm supposed to give her medicine. Wrong. I asked her what I'm supposed to do, and she said, "You're the doctor. What do you do?" I still had no idea what she was getting at. I told her that I'm not a very good doctor and don't know what to do. She said, "Well what did the doctor do for you?" Umm... "What are you talking about?" I asked. "What did the doctor do for your baby?" she clarified.
Eeeeh... Excuse me?
"I don't have a baby..."
"Why?"
Ok. Let's pause here. I actually like the "why" game. Except when it's "why should I... (eat, go to bed, etc.)" I think it's fun to come up with explanations for kids. So. Here goes.
Unpause.
"Because I'm not married?"
"What's this 'married'?"
"I don't have a man."
"Why not?"
Oh. What a loaded question. I scrolled through the possible answers in my head. Answers depending on my mood... Answers depending on the time I have to answer... Answers depending on the asker. But how to explain to a five-year-old who is not speaking her native language...? I settled on:
"Because I'm not old enough."
I'm not sure if she remembered my age. But it worked. And the world continued--until the next time she brought up the subject, and I had to come up with another explanation. After clarifying that I like boys, she concluded that boys just don't like me. I should have seen that one coming. Well, played, little Russian girl. Well played.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

2.5 kids, a Dog, and a White Picket Fence. And Butterbeer.

Three forty rolled around, and there I was. Awake. For no real reason. After a couple hours of failed attempts to cash in on just a couple more precious hours of sleep I finally gave up and appeased my grumbling tummy with some oatmeal. Then weird things started to happen. I got dressed and read the news for a little while while I waited for my mother to get ready so I could chauffeur her to work (so that I could commandeer her vehicle). I loaded up my mother and dog, and off we went. Then I came home, made sure that my brother took the trash bins to the street and declared, "Hurry! You're going to be late for school!" He jumped into the back of the minivan, solidifying my role as chauffeur, and off we went. When we arrived at the school I pulled up to the curb and shouted out the closing door, "Make good choices. Learn something."

A little later I drove my mom-mobile to meet a friend at Starbucks (where I ordered my first ever butterbeer which numbed my tongue with the massive quantity of sugar but did not deter me from patting myself on the back for that decision) and shot the breeze until it was time to do pick up. I even tried out some of my mom's soap opera and learned some jargon. I got filled in on the juicy back story and scolded my brother--in my best mom voice--for interrupting "my soaps" when he came home from school. In the evening I made the drive to after school athletics and Wal-mart (for the second time in one day).

And that was my stereotypical white picket fence adventure with my 2.5 kids and dog. Sigh. A glimpse into the future. Well probably not my future. Even when I am a mom. I don't go to Starbucks very often and soap operas just aren't really my thing (although if you changed that to... say... Doctor Who... or Psych then you might have an argument)  And most of the moms I know (and many of my friends/acquaintances/peers have reached motherhood--good for them) don't bask in such luxurious relaxation. But if TV were for real (and by TV I mean nice, old TV, not reality, or aforementioned soap operas, or really most of the trash being aired these days) then this would be "the image", right? Ok I actually have no idea. I just feel like if you mix a mini van with pretty much any errand, you instantly get maternal points. Now if only I had done something Pinteresty.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.