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'.