Tick-Tock

I have been home for almost a week now, and have been nothing short of busy. I don't know why it always needs to feel like I am racing the clock when I come home, or why I always feel so goddamn anxious, but I guess it's just the price I make myself pay for coming home.

Christmas was great, seeing everyone and playing Catch Phrase, it was a really solid holiday and I am really glad I didn't have to spend it alone. I think that's probably the thing that I have lost sight of over the last week, I have not had to be alone. The problem is there is also a certain level of alone time that I need to have in order to stay semi-normal. With all the visits and trips I haven't been able to really eat and have even only been able to sleep the last couple nights. I know it all sounds like complaining, but it's not, I am over joyed to be spending my vacation here, I think it's just the context of my visit that sometimes makes me feel a bit gray.

I think what it all comes down to is that "home," no longer feels like home. It feels like pulling at straws to stay afloat and get everything done and see everyone before I have to go back to the airport. Counting days, planning, praying that days will pass a little slower, all of that, I hate it. If I was able to relax, and just be on vacation I would be so happy, but I don't think it is even in me to do that. To just chill and let things be what they are.

This is the true definition of mind vomit, and am really only writing this so poor ol' Chung doesn't feel out of the loop.

Hope everyone had a great Christmas, and a great New Year to come.

I'm on vacation, this isn't proof read.

The Breakout

I've been up since two, and now find myself with about thirty minutes until I need to start the cold trek to the train station. I am wearing Harold, a wife-beater, my olive cashmere scarf, a pair of jeans and my well-worn gold loafers. The fondue is packed, as well as all the presents I have been rushing to make and buy. My apartment is a mess, but there are fresh clean sheets on my bed and that's the most important thing to me when I get home from a long flight, a fresh bed to let you know you are home.

Ok, it's time for a deep breath and for me to get ready to go. I really hope this goes well.

Precious Metal

So here we are, two days before Christmas and I don't even feel it. What I do feel is good though, very good. Today was my first day off after a sixty-five hour work week, and tomorrow I need to be up at five to catch my flight home. It all feels pretty odd, and in a weird way scary, seeing how everything is so last minute. At the same time though, it feels nothing short then amazing to be able to go home and see everyone and get out of Switzerland for a bit. Fate threw me for a loop last week, and I am grateful for it.

As I walked over the bridge and into Alt Stadt this morning, coffee in hand, all I could do was feel grateful and good. Grateful the opportunity to be with the right people this holiday season, and grateful for all the people who love me and let me love them, and grateful to have my life where it is.

A couple Christmas shout outs to those who I am grateful for:

• Dr. Sylvia, for footing a bill and finding the strength to tell me that she is excited for me to come home.
• Chef Doug, for saving my ass and bringing me home.
• My sister, Juanita, for being an actual sister.
• Chung, for coming to visit me yesterday, returning the sweater she bought me because it was itchy, and being my one and only Pony.
  
• Skipper, for always giving me what I need.
• My Carney, for always answering the phone whispering, "Hey Girl!" and representing the true meaning of family.

There are others that come to mind, but I don't want to over do it on the blog.

I am hoping to make it home on time and that my flight and connection go over well. I am hoping that being home goes well and resembles more of a vacation then a race against the clock, but mainly I am just hoping that I don't trip up and lose what I have got going.

I wish everyone a happy holiday season, and hope to be able to write a blog or two from home.

Like solid gold...

I Named My Sweater Harold

I'm only writing this in order to not fall asleep and forget to pick up my laundry. It's only Tuesday and I am dying, but hey, you won't hear me complaining (I am so complaining!).

Christmas is days away and yet I can enjoy none of it. Obviously I won't be purchasing the tree I was looking so forward to, but I am sure my parents tree will be fine (although they don't string popcorn and gum drop garland by hand like I do). I will however be naming my parents tree and have decided to christen it, (If you say it fast it sounds like Rubit-crotch-tree), in honor of my little pony, Chung. She has a B+ in English this semester and I am very proud of her.

I bought the most amazing silk-cashmere sweater at Zara on Sunday and for some reason I find myself needing to tell people about it (that, and I still have five more minutes until my clothes are dry). It's a brown cardigan, a grandpa sweater, long, and oh so soft. It's like wearing a snuggle!! I kid you not, I find myself at work think about putting on the sweater and watching some TV, that's my happy thought. I am wearing the sweater as I type and I can tell you it's like a warm soft nuzzle on my skin. All that and only $80!

Ok! My aprons are dry!

I'm treating myself to another Chung-shot! Because it's Christmas...

A Fist Full Of Chung

Between now and Christmas I have one day off. I don't want to keep complaining about how much I am working, but want to use it as an excuse for the lack of blogs. I am in bed at six and asleep by seven, which means I am up past my bed time. I have ten more days to get through, and after that an eighteen hour flight back to California. And I am doing all of this to make sure that I am home on Christmas morning, leading my team to victory at Catch Phrase. Just the thought of it makes me feel good.


Look, I am going to be honest with you, I have nothing to say. I am tired, and really just wanted to post a Chung-Shot. I love Chung's Commie mittens!!

The Golden Window

So plans have changed, I am going home for Christmas. I also find myself newly single and actually feeling all the better for it. It's just not in my character to want to be with someone who doesn't want to be with me. I've done that before and it just doesn't fit into my life any more. And really, it's hard to be all too sad when as a consolation prize I get to spend the holidays with people I love and love me. I actually feel fine, and although the first few minutes of the morning are a bit hard, that too will lessen, and soon the whole matter will be nothing but another story to add to my book. There just isn't any point in pining over something that ended along time ago. It's time to move on and I am grateful for the opportunity.

In less then two weeks I will be back home in California, and this time things are going to be a lot different. First off, I plan on spending a little more time with my parents, especially seeing how they paid for the ticket. I am not running around trying to see every part of home before I have to go, I plan on taking it easy, eating breakfast, getting coffee from Chuck's, going to San Gregorio, I am going on vacation. Seriously, things right now, in all consideration of the turn of events, not all too bad. In fact the state of my life, actually pretty good. I am excited to be turning twenty-five, and I am beyond elated to be spending the holidays at home with my family, where I belong. Everything just feels pretty good right now, aside from those few morning minutes.

The blog is going home...

Hello, Russia.

I wasn't going to post today, and I really probably shouldn't, but this blog is a representation of me, and as long as I am aware of the possible consequence of my words, I can post whatever I please.

I should have left the city forty minutes ago but I find my self sitting in Skippper's sweater, slowly starting to breath again. You see, I don't cry often, and when, it's usually more of a whimper then gasping for breath kind of cry. But every now and then, about twice a year, it happens. I cry, I gasp for air, my tears drip on to my shirt, I hurt and then afterwards I feel great. Maybe not great, but definitely better. It feels like a fresh start, that now that things got to their lowest point, that I heard the things I feared the most, everything fell apart, there is now nowhere else to go but up. It's the realization that I'm going to be fine. That my heart will not be the first in history to be broken, and that time and time again I get through the disappointment and hurt just fine and continue to still be loved by the people who know me best. For as shitty as I felt a short while ago, I feel clean and good, and know that I am going to be ok. Love can't feel that good without having the possibility to make you snot-cry all over yourself before the weekend trip you have been looking so forward to.

As the great Lady Chablly once said, "Two tears in a bucket, Mother fuck it."

Not everyone in the world is meant for each other, that I can handle, but I have to be honest, I was pretty damn sure about this one.

Politics, Religion and Love

This is going to be short, I was actually going to take a night off, but Olivia's comment made me think that without this, what would be the point of her going to work?

Last Tuesday night my Grossi (my Swiss grandmother) was sent to the hospital for really bad stomach flu, she is almost eighty-nine years old, and was hit pretty hard by it. Grossi didn't leave the hospital until Friday, and I didn't find out about any of this until a week from when it happened. You can imagin I am pretty fucking pissed.

If you are a regular blog reader you know that I try and visit my grandparents once or twice a month. I lived with my grandparents for nine months before I got my apprenticeship. They lent me money so I could stay in Switzerland, they put up with me coming home drunk at eight in the morning on several occasions, they welcomed my friends into their home and treated them like family, and they have loved me like a granddaughter unwaveringly my whole entire life (long explanation for that one).

I am especially close with Grossi. Aside from being the perfect grandmother, she is an amazing human being. We talk for hours when I visit, sitting around her kitchen table. We talk about politics, religion and love most of the time, but lately she has been prone to want to share my mother's history with me, or at least her version of it. These conversations are gems in their own right and the time I have been able to have with my grandparents is one of the greatest things I have gotten out of being here. Grossi obviously means a great deal to me, so you can imagine my anger towards the lack of notification on my uncle and aunt's part of letting me know she was in the hospital. Sometimes I wish family could just act like family, and not a bunch of self-serving assholes. I guess it wouldn't family then though.

The important thing is that Grossi is back home now with Grossvati, and is gradually doing better. For that I am beyond thankful. With that said, Skipper, it's time for you to start praying.

I'm holding off on Basel for the weekend and heading out of the city to an unknown destination Saturday morning and really glad for a moment to relax.

DO NOT FORGET TO SUBMIT YOUR TREE NAMES! (Carney Anne, don't think you don't have to!)

Oh, and if you are slowly breaking my heart, please stop.

Popcorn And Glitter

Do you ever have those dates you don't forget? The day you got your drivers license, the day you lost your virginity, the day you started school? They always seem to creep up on you too, all of a sudden it's December 5th, and I realize that it was three years ago tonight that I walked out on my last ex-boyfriend. Although, to be honest the only reason why I know that was on the 5th was because I tried out for my current apprenticeship the next day, the 6th. Breaking up with that heartless douche would warrant a date-saver in mind otherwise.

The sixth of December is a big deal in Switzerland, it's the day that "Sami Klaus" (their child-hating version of Santa Clause) goes around to all the homes giving good children mandarins and peanuts (talk about cheap) and stuffing the bad children in a sack which is carried out by three helpers in black face (all very P.C.). As much as I think that Sami Klaus is a wonderfully perfect example of what Swiss people find amusing, I find the holiday a bit too fucked up for my taste (and my taste can usually be pretty fucked up). Frankly, I think I would rather be stuffed in a sack by three young guys then have to accept the "gift" of fruit and nuts.

Here's the thing with the sixth though, since it is a national holiday and a very old tradition, there are a lot of different speciality baked goods that go along with it. Are you catching my drift yet? I am dealing with an INSANE work load and am having to make stuff that I have never made before, on my own, and it's suppose to be sell-able. Just today I made three different types cakes. This might not sound like a lot to you, but believe it or not, we rarely make cakes, maybe once a week and when we do it can range from ten to thirty of a certain type, not just one by one (remember that next time you take a bite of cake, that shit took work, so savor it!). Look, I'm not wanting to bitch about it, but that's exactly what I feel like doing. I have been asked out three times this week for drinks, and and to turn all three of them down. And for what? Laundry, cooking, cleaning, homework, Project Runway, books on tape (The Golden Compass)? I am actually ok with it this way for the moment, I am rarely busy and sometimes it feels good to be to busy to think about the bad stuff. I'm just really looking forward to Dr.Sylvia's visit at the end of January, it will be awesome to be able to have that women bring me cookies while I lounge on the couch watching DanceStar 2007 re-runs.

AND, today is also the day I reveal my Christmas list!!!! Dr. Sylvia, get ready!

1. A purple iPod Shuffle (it MUST be purple)
2. The Shaft trilogy (the original Shaft, not that bullshit they made back in '99)
3. The Superfly DVD
4. Trader Joe's Tar Tar sauce
5. Trader Vic's Mai Tai in a bottle (Check BevMo)
6. A big bag of Resses Pieces
7. The seahorse ornament from Interio (that's all you Chung!)
8. The new horse-bit silk scarf from Gucci's S/S 2008 line.

Oh, and in other fantastic news, I will be buying my tree soon (yes, it is real, people need to stop asking if I have a fake tree. Homie don't play that!) and with the purchase of the tree comes light,s popcorn, superior decorations, and a name! As you might know, last year's tree was named, aptly, "Elena." New year, new name and I am looking for suggestions. Chung already suggested "something Chung-oriented," so I thought everyone should get a say. I want names, so please leave them in the comments. If you read this, I want you to submit a name, ever the person in Henderson, D.C., I don't know who you are, but I want a suggestion.

Taco Tuesdays

Seriously, is it just me, or is this week dragging?

I had school today, nothing special, except that we chose our topics for our "Group Study" project. I had been having trouble with my group, which consists of two other girls, to come up with a theme, considering that they had no ideas, and any idea I put forth was shot down with a look of disdain. So right after having my idea of, "Swiss Modern Art," I asked the girls if maybe they would like thinking of a topic, they came up with "Fashion," "Beauty," and the ever so deep, "Models." Seeing that we were running out of time, and that the project consists of a third of our final grade, I suggested we go with Fashion. So our topic for a fifteen page report on anything we want is, "Women's Fashion Trends: Spring/Summer 2008." I can hear you laughing. Olivia!

Whatever. Please, at least we didn't go with one of the other topics groups have been coming up with such as, body language, the cigarette industry, Aids, teen pregnancy, and drug addiction. At least we will be bringing hues of pomegranate and translucent aquas, monochromatic silhouettes, and satin, lots of python print satin. I don't shit know about teen pregnancy, and could give a shit about body language (I prefer words), but I do know a thing or two about Mood boards and fabric swatches. That Summer at Fashion Camp wasn't for nothing (Tom and I spent hours at Neimans).

Here's where I smell difficulty (smells a lot like dead Easter bunnies), when we went in the computer lab to look for some information on the Internet, the girls next to me weren't visiting the Elle or WWD sites, but the site of a discount warehouse, the Swiss version of Sears. As I printed the season's color palette they were perusing rhinestone Lycra tops for the outstanding price of $12.95. I didn't say much and kept to myself. With time I will try and teach them, but it is going to take time and effort and probably some back issues of Vogue, and even then I can't make any promises.

I asked Sam and Dan what I should cook for dinner tonight and they said tacos. They were right on the money, and I am too full to proof read.

The Chung Shot of the Week, is titled "Fash-Chung." (Get it? Sounds like "Fashion!")

We Are Under The Same Stars

My weekend was pathetic. I had been invited out to this new club and had every intention to attend, I even went out and bought something to wear and picked out the fro. Problem was, I fell asleep at seven, and never woke up. That's just how I like to roll I guess.

This week is looking like a bitch, and it has just begun. I am scheduled to work fifty-five hours this week, and I am leaving Friday night for Basel. I work and I sleep, that's what my life is for the next three weeks until Christmas.

At four this morning Skipper called me and the subject of "happy thoughts" came up. I need a happy thought in order to get through my day. Without my happy thought I have nothing, and can be very unpleasant. My happy thought has to be ready by the time I wake up, the morning hours being the most crucial. If my morning lacks a happy thought there is no point in going on with the day. Previous happy thoughts have been anything from, trips I want to take or have taken, different happy memories, things I might be looking forward to, etc. It helps to have a couple constant happy thoughts though, ones that you can always revert to in emergencies. Some of the constants might be, my friends and family (as cheesy as that sounds, it is one of the best constants), driving Highway 101 and 280, San Gregorio, the Lumina, Berlin, etc. The funny thing is, just writing that list right now makes me feel awesome and good. If you don't have one, think of one. Everyone needs a happy though.

Three weeks. I am going to freak out.

Oh, and get ready, I am going to be posting my Christmas list this week hopefully!!!

Too Bright For Texas

I just received one of the best e-mails I have recived in a while. It was actually kind of like a blog, and if it wasn't of such a personal nature I would love to post it. It is by far better then anything I am going to be able to post tonight.

Now a days, the majority (there are some definite exceptions) of the e-mails I receive don't say much. It's usually a clarification, or making plans, or sharing link and sending files, but just like my mail box, it's rarely graced with the presents of something I want to read.

Tonight I was sent an e-mail that I enjoyed reading. It made me feel better about that goddamn baby zebra, it made me laugh and it made me feel better about being me. With all my heart, I love those who love me for me, and not for who they think I am (I'm sure that goes for everyone though). The e-mail was a perfect example of that love, and I was in need of it.

So there is a Carney out there that I would like to thank, whether or not you know it, it made me feel like everything is going to be ok by reading your words., and that's are hard feeling to come by. Thank you.

Magic Fingers

Today made me tired. It seems every night right around seven-thirty I get tired and start to lovingly stare at my bed. By eight o'clock the lights are out and by eight-thirty I am asleep. I then wake up at one o'clock, three o'clock, and four-fifteen. My alarm goes off at five. I hate this pattern but it's just what I am having to deal with at the moment. I am only telling you all of this so you understand the sometime lack of blogs.

A huge shout out to Big Dan and Lil' Sam tonight. Dan and Sam are the only two guys in my class, Dan just turned nineteen last week and Sam is seventeen. They are really good guys and I have grown pretty tight with Dan over the last two years. I often say that I don't have many friends in Luzern, and although I rarely hangout with them outside of school, they have been nothing but good to me from the start and I am really going to miss them when I leave. Dan has a huge heart and has prevented me from quitting more then a couple times, something I am extremly thankful for. Sam is a loud mouth and needs a lot of attention (if I ever had a son, it would probably be a lot like Sam), but gets the best grades in the class and is destined to become a big name in the industry within the next ten years. So, a thank you to my two boys, who in an odd way make my life here easier, and also flatter the shit out of me on a weekly basis.

Oh! I had a very Project Runway moment today. We had a test today in my cake decorating class. We sat down and our teacher handed each one of us a piece of paper with a large circle on it. We were given a theme, forty-five minutes to sketch our cakes, and then another forty-five minutes to do the decoration. The moment he explained the assignment I started looking around for Tim Gunn, if only! It seems a lot of the class new this was going to happen and started to take out stencils and clip-art, Lil' Sam went so far as to recycle an old design, which I called him on and was quite disappointed about (he's really my only competition in decorating, aside from this other girl, so it's no fun when he cheats). Our theme was "Dankeshön," and I had no idea where to begin. Whatever happened between that, and handing in our work, I'm not really sure, but with total lack of humility I can safely say that I got magic in these here fingers. Seriously, I scared myself. It was pure magic.

Ok, it's eight o'clock, I can hear the bells outside my window, time for this backer to get to bed.

Tea With Boris

I just got back to Luzern, and am nestled warmly under my goose down covers. It was a really good weekend, but I didn't sleep well at all, and find my self in need of a nap.

My weekend went just as I planned. I got up to the mountains around two in the afternoon on Saturday, checked for spiders (there were none... until this morning when I found one as big as the palm of my hand sitting in the sink), unpacked, turned up the heater, and then set out to find Boris.

If you are a long time blog reader of mine, you are probably familiar already with Boris, you probably just don't know it. If you aren't a long time reader, then you can try and catch up by referring to, this.

I had met Boris a little over a year ago, in my grandparent's village, Prattlen. Boris was working as a dancer, traveling around Europe with a group of drunk Russians. Boris looked extremely sad and lonely when the Russians made him dance for me in the park that crisp October night, with nothing but a vest and hat funny little hat on; I couldn't help but feel bad for the guy.

About two weeks ago I ran into a puppy, named Bunny. Bunny is a 6'4 red-head, who snowboards up by my parent's cabin in the mountains. I run into Bunny every now and then, and he is always drunk to the point where he usually ends up submerged in water. Bunny however mentioned the arrival of a Russian bear, who had taken a place behind Grey Rock Peak, deep in the Green Pine Forest. It wasn't the easiest place to find, which made it the obvious choice for a Russian dancing bear on the run.

The trek up Grey Rock Peak was a bitch. Luckily the majority of the snow had melted at that altitude and there wasn't a lot of ice. It was cold though and the wind kept burning my face. The real difficulties didn't come until the Green Pine Forest though. Bunny hadn't really known the exact placement of Boris' place, seeing how not even the locals go up into the forest. I was a little scared, the first two hundred feet in was a solid wall of branches and trunks, and the forest floor was frozen solid and in some places, icy. The branches and trunks slowly came untangled though, and soon I found a cleared path, which I thought to stick to. It was a good half hour before I finally came upon the small house, it had started to get dark and it looked nice and warm inside the little wood cabin.

I knocked on the door and pulled the bottle of vodka out of my Freitag. Boris slowly answered the door, he was wearing a warm red robe and slippers. I introduced myself again and shook Boris large paw. He invited me in and smiled when I gave him the vodka.

The cabin was extremely cozy and warm, and my body started to de-frost and relax. Boris took my coat and I took a seat by the stove as he made us some tea and brought out a box of Palvalovs.

Boris set down two cups and started to serve the tea, and I took a Palvalov to be polite. I asked Boris what had happened since the night we met and he told me the story of how he had escaped the drunken Russians one night in Prague when they had all passed out from too toasts. He had then sought asylum in Switzerland, and taken to the Green Pine Forest because of it's scenic views and quiet isolation. I told Boris that I was very happy for him, and that I was glad that he finally regained his freedom, but why hadn't he gone home to Russia? Wasn't he lonely? Didn't he miss his family?

Life is different for a dancing bear, he said. Yes, he is lonely, and he misses his family and friends very much, but Russia "iz just not home any more." I told Boris that I had just written a blog on that very thought, and that there are a lot of people dealing with that exact same problem. Boris then told me that his only way to deal with the loneliness was to seclude himself in it, and I told him I understood. I never thought I would come to such a level of understanding with a bear, but here I was sitting by a warm pipe-top stove, drinking tea with an Russian bear named, Boris.

Boris and I sat by that stove for hours, him telling me stories about growing up in a forest outside of St.Petersburg, dancing for Stalin, drinking with Tolstoy. His stories were amazing, and I suggested that Boris start his own blog, until I remembered he probably couldn't type with his long claws. The more stories Boris told, the sadder he became and it was with his final story, about the last time he was in his homeland, that he started to cry. I slipped a little of the vodka into his tea and handed him his cup. He drank and after a minute of me rubbing his furry arm he wiped his eyes and smiled sheepishly, this was the first time in years he had a chance to think on those times, when life was about living and not about trying to survive with the absence of friendship and love, he said. It all broke my heart, and as the sun began to break over the tallest mountain, we said out goodbyes. Boris gave a new meaning to the term "Bear hug," and I promised I would come visit next time I came up, and he said he would be looking forward to it.

I walked the path back through the woods, into the thicket, and out the other side. As I began my decent down the peak, the sun hit me in the face, and for the first time in weeks I felt it's warmth and it felt like being kissed by gold.

When I got back to the house I made my self an Nespresso and settled into my place at the kitchen table to type up more recipes for my book. I spent the rest of my time watching TV, movies and eating. It was a comfortable weekend and aside from the lack of sleep I feel pretty relaxed. Unfortunately this was also my last three day weekend for a while, and this is looking to be an insanely busy month coming up, meaning I won't be able to visit Boris for a while. It was really nice to make a new friend and talk in the capacity that Skipper made me accustom too, and it made it gave me a new found fondness for bears.

In Search Of A Russian

I am just about to head out of the city, sandwiches are packed, the book that Skipper sent me is in my purse along side four boxes of Nespresso, and I am ready for my journey up the mountain and into the forest. There is a rumor that an old acquaintance of mine lives up in the woods behind my parents cabin and so I am going in search of him this weekend. It should be an interesting couple of days and I am really looking forward to the adventure.

This last week and a half hasn't been easy, I am working eleven hour shifts, baking my ass off, haven't seen the sun in two weeks and miss my family and friends to the point of it hurting. This is Winter. Luckily the baby zebra left about a week ago, although the situation that bore it has not really changed. None of that really matters though because my main focus is my work and getting through the cold. This is my last Winter to get through in Switzerland and I plan on not only living through it, but doing it with style.

Ok, it's getting time to put on my coat and get out of here. I am really just looking forward to getting out of here and starting my weekend adventure.

Snuggle Starvation

Oh Sweet Lord, I am tired. Work was work, and afterwards I went straight to the gym. I have really been sticking to my workout, mainly for a lack of anything better to do with my time, plus they have TV. It was bitterly cold and windy all day and right before my shift ended it started to snow really hard. By the time I got home from the gym I put aside my trip to the post office and then Migros, all I wanted to get into bed and snuggle, have some soup, listen to This American Life. For the lack of someone to snuggle I settled for a warm shower and some macaroni. Now Sufjan Steven's, Seven Swans just came on. I some times wonder if my iPod's shuffle function is alive, it just really knows how to pick 'em.

I don't have much to say tonight. I am tired and need someone to rub my back as I fall asleep. If only life could be that sweet.

To make up for the lack of "umpf" in this blog I posted what I am now calling, a "Chung Shot" (Good Lord that sounds dirty!) Hope it makes up for it!

Shame On Ice

Well, we didn't go Curling, instead we played Ice Hockey, or better said, I stood outside the rink wearing skates and watching. At one point the teacher took me to another rink, it was empty and looked like it had never even been skated on. As much as I would have loved to have some sort of "Cutting Edge" moment, there was a group of teen aged boys on the side of the rink watching me hold on to the wall for dear life. Really, there is nothing like an hour and a half of P.E. to bring back feelings of shame from High School.

Aside from Hockey, the morning was actually really nice. Walking to the rink at eight this morning felt great. It was crisp and cold, blue skies and sun. Pilatus was covered in snow and made for the most amazing backdrop on my walk towards embarrassment. After P.E. Lil' Sam, Big Dan and I went and got breakfast and took the long way back to school. The rest of the day went just as smoothly, having gotten two really good grades on my last two tests. It was a good day, and although I couldn't keep the baby Zebra out of the back of my mind, I was able to work around it and still feel pretty good.

I woke up an hour early this morning and took advantage of the extra time by calling Skipper. Skipper isn't doing well. Adapting to life back in L.A. is not going as smoothly as I would have hoped for her, and it seems that she is wanting to come back to the 6003. I don't know what it is, but it seems to me that a lot of the people I have been talking to would rather be anywhere but where they are. Same story just different place. The search and desperation for "Home."

Home. The moment you move away is the moment that such a simple noun takes on a whole new meaning. It means various things for everyone. Whether home is where you grew up, where your heart is, where you are at this very moment, or back in Oklahoma, Kansas, Texas, beautiful California, etc. This one concept, idea, feeling, place, whatever, seems to have its hold on a lot of us. On one side, when you move away you get to experience the newness, the adventure, the excitement, and the fear of leaving "Home." On the other side, once you leave, you can never go back. It's the price you pay. You can go back to your home town, back to the house you grew up in, back to the place you were before you left, but it won't feel the same. Although the place might have not changed, you have, and therefor things usually won't feel the same.

So what are we to do? Keep moving? Go back to last place you felt at home? I have no clue, but it's something that I think about a lot. I use to always think that home was where my parents and sister were, and for the most part it's kind of true. They are my "Home." A lot of the time though, I think it is where I am at the moment, mainly my apartment. I will however be moving out of here in nine months, so then what?

So I am sitting here trying to figure out what to do about Skipper. While Skipper was in Luzern, we spent a lot of time drinking Cola Light and bitching about the city, gushing over California. Now, it would be easier to just brush it all off with, "The grass is always greener...," but the girl is hurting. The problem is, I can't give an answer for a question I myself am obsessed with (Skipper luckily never looks to me for answers, she smart enough to know better).

So here's what I have come up with: change sucks, it hurts and it isn't easy. Change can some times make you feel hopeless and alone and insecure, usually all at the same time. Change is also the thing in life that forces us to grow and puts us face to face with who we are and who we need to be. It forces us to find the strength we didn't know we had, pick ourselves up and continue to live. So let's suck it up, realize that the memories you might have from a place will always be better then the place itself, and that most likely there will come a day where you miss the place you are at right now.

Read the words for what they really mean,

We shall not cease exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

T.S. Elliot

You are epic, Skip.

Nashville 2008: It ain't going to be no Salzburg!

Snow & The Return Of The Baby Zebra

Saturday morning I got a phone call telling me that a huge snow storm was coming in, and that I should postpone my trip up to the mountains for another weekend.

Fifteen minutes before that phone call, I had just hung up on another. This first call didn't go as planned, in fact thinking about it now, I feel a mixture between feeling like I fucked up, and knowing that I also didn't want to feel like crap anymore. With that said, there was no way I was going to stay in my apartment for three days. I needed to be alone, I needed to get away from the Internet, my desk chair, and I really needed to watch some tv.

So I braved it. I packed sandwiches, and lasagna, and the makings for a pizza, bought a DVD player and ventured out into the sub-zero degree weather to Sorenberg. It took a train, a bus and a trek through ankle deep snow to get to the house, but it felt amazing to walk into the warm cabin.

I spent the first five minutes like I always do when I go up to the house. I took out a can of hair spray and took off one shoe and went looking for spiders. The cabin is made out of wood and sits between two big barns, so we aren't talking about Daddy Long-Legs, we are talking about RODENT size spiders that leave nasty stains when faced with my shoe. The hairspray is kind of new and I am not sure it works or it's purpose, all I know is that the new stuff I have been trying smells nothing short of rank, and leaves my fro plump and stiff. I figured it might at least slow them down, seeing how the bigger they are the faster they can run.

I am glad to report I didn't find any spiders, and I can say that my search was extensive, including pulling furniture away from the walls and yanking mattress off bed frames, I don't like to take chances. I then tried setting up the DVD player, and was really happy when it worked, but then disappointed because although advertised as "Code Free," it wasn't. Luck stacking up against me, the cable then went out due to the storm. Regardless of the lack of entertainment, I was happy to be there and happy to not have to wallow in my apartment.

To sum up my beautiful, yet totally uneventful weekend, I worked on my recipe book, ate dinner with some family friends, watched a lot of CNN and VIVA, and ate. It snowed and snowed, and from the inside, it was beautiful. Being alone, with no Internet, and nothing to do but stay inside and keep warm, it was one of the most relaxing weekends I have had in a very long time. So for all of you who silently pitied, or verbally felt bad for me, no need. I plan on going back next weekend with Frau.

Getting back this morning, I couldn't help but feel the funk of Saturday morning's phone call lingering in my apartment. I left as soon as I felt it and went shopping for Christmas ornaments and lights (Got to start early). On my walk I couldn't help but flip-flop from feeling like I might have just made a really big mistake and given up something I want, and reminding myself that I would be able to live through whatever consequences my words might find me in. I can't help but think that the state of my situation might be different if I didn't need the reassurance I am looking for. That things wouldn't be like this if I had the ability to just let go, walk away and breath for a second. Wondering why I was so bad at this, and why the hell do I need so much attention? And then my mind goes back to thinking that I meant what I said, and that waiting silently for things to just go back to the way they were, sucks and feels like shit. The baby Zebra has regained it's place on my chest, and I am doing my best to ignore/live with it. Words are almost always followed by consequences, a lesson I have been taught many times, yet has never seemed to stick. I guess I'll just have to see, and in the mean time try to find a way to live with the Zebra.

First thing tomorrow morning I am going Curling. Yes, Curling. It's for P.E., and I am kind of looking forward to it. It's either Curling or Ice Skating, which I really hate. I lack complete balance.

I am going to go to bed soon, and then I am going to tackle tomorrow, after that? Who knows?

I'm Fun

Time dragged this morning. I mean it felt like hours were disappearing into an abyss of chocolate and cookies. It felt like my shift at work was dragging on for days, nothing bad happened(in fact I got to try out my Dad's Coconut Macaroon recipe and it came out AMAZING), but time just did not want to push forward. After work I headed straight to the gym (it makes me feel good), only to then come home to a message calling me to the other side of town to buy five bags of gummy candy as a present for a co-worker. Time sped up, I had a meal I had already planned to cook, a call to a Carney that I had been wanting to make, and American Gangster to watch. I cooked, I called a Carney, and managed to watch the most recent episode of "Chuck" (I am saving American Gangster for tomorrow: a Friday night filled with, left overs, a movie, and Moritz. Lights out at eight!!).

We have this kid shadowing us at work this week. He's applying to be next year's apprentice, and is going through the joys of a one-week trial. We never have men work with us outside of my Boss (a tactic I recognize from Iceberg Slim's, Pimp), so it was a bit weird to throw a sixteen year old boy into the mix, the poor lamb. From the first moment he introduced himself I knew that this was going to be an interesting week. He is a combination of Napoleon Dynamite and Mika (not Straight-Salzburg Mika, but Famous-Is-He-Gay? Mika). It turns out he's Spanish, and has no future in baking.

Mika Dynamite LOVES America. I know this because it's the first thing he said to me and has been every third sentence in our interactions since. Mika D. has also expressed his yearning to learn "American English," and not the "Ughk! English English" they teach in school. Mika D. loves Hip Hop, Gangster Rap, taking care of his appearance; and hates cold weather and House music. Mika D. also like to tell everyone that "She iz FUN!" You can only imagine that I feel like I have found my long lost son. By the second day, I had asked Mika D. how he was doing. Mika D. grabbed me by the shoulders and said that he wished he could work more with me, that I was someone he could talk to. I thought this was sweet and told him not to worry, and went back to work.

A couple hours later, as I was getting ready to make Lemon Rolls, The Boss' Daughter sent Mika D. over to me so I could explain to him what my final exam is all about. Mika D. didn't really want to know about it though, and instead dove right into complaining how he couldn't relate to my co-workers and how I remind of his mother (we share the same first name). At some point it occurred to me that Mika D. would make an AWESOME receptionist at a hotel. I told him this, and he got very excited. He leaned over to me and said, "I knew you an I would get along." He then started saying how he would love to work in hotel reception and how he loves their nice uniforms. He kept asking if I thought he could come to America to work, I told him if he was in hotels, that yes, he definitely could. He looked so happy, and just kept saying, "You're great, why can't I just work with you?" Good Lord, I would be lying if I said it didn't make me feel good, he's a good kid.

I also can't lie and say I don't relate to Mika D. Mika D. has horrible grades, instead of academics Mika D. is interested in the social aspect of things. He is more interested in what he wears and taking the time and pleasure in making himself look nice. He is the 16 year-old me, including that we both like guys (except I don't think he knows it yet). And because of this I feel the need to protect him. He isn't going to get the job, my Boss could never have another man work in the store, it's him, he's "The King," but if you follow along with the blog you know what type of man my boss is. Not the smart type, and definetly not the sensitve type. I think that's what made me tell him to try as a Receptionist, put his people skills to use. You could tell he was so flattered that someone had noticed that about him. I would have felt the exact same way.

Tomorrow is my last day working with Mika D. I wish him the best, and am sure that although people find him a bit weird for his openness and friendliness, he's going to end up going far, or at least happy. Maybe that's just what I wish for myself though. Who knows?

Isn't This Darwinism?

I feel bad about this, but I am not doing to well focusing at the moment, so this is going to have to be a re-post. I went out with someone new tonight, in the effort to try and meet new people, and two Vodka Fizzes later, I am tired and ready to dive under those deep fluffy cover with Moritz and sleep, or at least try.

This re-post is honor of that eight-limbed baby that suffered from a successful surgery today. Get ready to be disgusted, I really am just that bad of a human being.

Nothing like a perfect Vodak Fizz, made be a Belgium, to ease an overly long Wednesday.

My man took the picture, thought it was fitting. Thanks, Lover.


Lucky Babies

Here's something I just don’t get.

I was reading in the paper the other day about a baby born in China with a third arm, and that some sort of special doctor would perform some sort of special surgery, and blah blah blah.

So, I recently moved and because I am hell-bound on making things harder I hand carried quiet a bit of my stuff from my friends house to my new apartment. And let me tell you, if I would have had a third arm I would have saved my self a lot of back pain. I would have been very upset if I was not given the choice to keep my third arm or not.

What is wrong with the world today?! Is this not evolution?! Who are we to take away this baby's arm? Was it not a gift?
If you bought a pair of pants and it came with an extra pocket would you cut it off because it was one too many? I think not.

And wasn't there a mermaid baby somewhere? Again, they performed some sort of miracle surgery to separate the baby's legs. I'm sorry, but do you know how many little girls want to be mermaids? They even have Mermaid Barbie. Does that not say something about little girls aspirations?

Aren't these the new X Men?

Sweet Sweetness

I feel really good right now, better then I have felt in weeks. I don't know if it was the extra fifteen minutes I put into my workout, or the fact that the burn on my face is finally going away, but I just feel right. It's been a while, and I am not sure how long it's going to last, so I am just going to ride this sweet wave as hard and long as I can. I am a firm believer that without bad days you can never fully appreciate the good ones. Can I get an Amen?!!

I just spent the last hour thinking up and drawing out the sandwiches, canapes, and individual desserts I have to make for my final practical exam, better known as the L.A.P. It's tricky because the ideas I come up with are usually things that my Boss and his daughter have never thought of and are therefore too scared to try. So I have been trying to dumb-down my ideas, but am still not to sure how they are going to feel about my Papaya Paradise, or Banana Volcano. The sandwiches and canapes I have come up with are not open to discussion however, I am the ultimate sandwich maker, no one fucks with my sandwiches.

To be honest, I don't have much to write about tonight. I would quickly like to address a comment left on my November 2nd blog, "Missing The Cliche." I love you too, Olivia. Nothing like waking up to a blog comment like that on a Monday morning. Simple, yet perfect. Maybe that's what made today so sweet. Thank you Olivia. Now that's a true Blog reader.

Oh, and as for the picture at the top of the blog, nothing like a bit of Chung to start your week off right. Isn't she a cute pony? I took that picture at the carnival a weekend ago, it makes me smile every time I look at it. Gotta love some Chung.

Seclusion And Cake

At the start of every November since middle school I have gone to bed as early as seven, it's just the way I am. I am not sure if it has to do with Daylight Savings Time or what, all I know is when it gets dark, I get tired, and will most likely be in bed the first chance I get. I like it this way, I need a lot of sleep and frankly, there isn't much else for me to do.

I worked yesterday until ten in the morning, my shift went fine and I was happy to come back to the solitude my apartment affords me. The only problem with solitude? It can get boring fast. I finished the last Harry Potter (shed a few tears in the process) and watched a not so interesting show called "Mad Men," about advertising in the 50's. At twilight I finally ventured from the four walls of my apartment and set out on a walk hoping to burn off some energy and frustration. Unfortunately the walk only made me sad about Skipper's absence, and for the first time brought me to her balcony, which is now occupied by some bitch's laundry (she obviously has no appreciation for the magic it holds). By seven-fifteen lights were out and I was snuggled deep into my feather comforter, Moritz pulled tightly to my chest. How people stay up and go out clubbing at eleven is beyond me.

The good thing about going to sleep early? You get to wake up early! By six o'clock I was seated in my desk chair, finally getting to some emails I had been wanting to send, and by seven I was enjoying a fresh chocolate croissant and coffee I had picked up from work. It might be nice to sleep until nine or ten, but I had already slept eleven hours, and figured that was more then enough.

The only thing on today's agenda was a walk with Frau, which wasn't scheduled until two. What happened between the hours of seven and two I am not too sure. There was a nap, a much needed phone call, a shower, and some pasta, but other then that, my apartment seems to act as some sort of time suck.

My walk with Frau was exactly what I seem to have needed. You can never under estimate a bit of human interaction, something I have very little of outside of work. Frau is going through a break-up at the moment, but was luckily in good spirits (the guy was a royal douche). We walked the back side of the lake this time, something Frau had never done before, and it was beautiful. I love Fall over here, the leaves turn gold and crimson and I get to wear my favorite emerald green coat. It was foggy and gray, but the colors that surrounded us in the small forest where we walked brighten everything around us. We talked about the concept of love and if it is meant for us, about how hard and pointless it is to try and befriend the ever illusive Swiss, and discussed our plans for a Winnebago road trip to The Grand Canyon in the Summer of 2009. After we made our way back to the train station and over the bridge we went and got cake and coffee and discussed the book, Pimp, by Iceberg Slim )Frau having just bought a copy in German at my referral). We then walked home with talk of Volcom and suede handbags and then said out goodbyes.

Overall this weekend has been good yet seclusive. I still have little idea what to do with my time, or better said, myself. Although things have gotten more colorful and sharp since I stopped smoking, time has also slowed and I am at a loss with how to fill it, musicals are the bane of my existence and are therefore not an option, although the suggestion was deeply appreciated.

Missing The Cliche

At the end of august I spent five days in Italy with my classmates. I dreaded the trip and could only bitch about having to go. The funny thing is, it has been all I have been able to think about this week, acting as my "happy thought."

For as much of pain in the ass as it was, me going down there, bunking in a room of 25 teenage girls, wanting to just be back in Luzern, or better said back in California, I only have good feelings when I think back on the experience. Cinque Terre was dirty and frustrating, but the day we spent in Monaco I won't soon forget. The ocean, the weather, just the art of seeing something new, seeing something I never thought I would. My man was also very much in love with me, and things hadn't gotten to the point they are now. Missing someone you love while looking out over a moon lit ocean, well, sometimes it's a beautiful thing to live in a cliche. It also gave me the feeling of doing something, experiencing life, living the life people expect you to while in your twenties and living in Europe.

My life slowed down a lot since then. It's no longer five countries in a week, but working The Grind, and wondering why I feel so lonely. Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's because I am not smoking, maybe it's the state of things with my man and I, maybe it's Skipper's absence, maybe it's just a combination. At the moment I feel very much alone, mainly because I am. I've made my life very small, and have no real interest in making it bigger. The honest truth? I don't have anyone to blame but myself.

I'm not in a funk, I am just putting my time in, waiting for my plane back to California. California. The more and more I think about, if it weren't for my family and friends I wouldn't be all that ready to go back. Not to say that I would want to Switzerland, my time here is up. When I really think about it there is no real place I even want to be, except three miles in to a deep dark wood where there is a small wood cabin waiting for me. It's funny what loneliness and November can do to a person. Ok, maybe funny isn't the right word.

I have to be up at 3:30 am to work the Saturday shift and want to finish my book before I go to bed. Excuse me for writing yet another downer of a blog. I guess I just don't have my marbles straight.

I Am A Whiner

I am laying in bed as I type this. I turned out the lights twenty minutes ago but sleep doesn't seem to want to come.

I have had the last three days off, I spent Saturday in Basel but came back yesterday, and have remained in my apartment due to horrible abdominal pain. At one point I took out my garbage (while gathering my garbage I managed to hit my head on the corner of the door and added a nice cut to my head to match my bruises and scratches left over form last week) and went to the store for Diet Coke and some food, but I haven't had much of an appetite so I didn't seem to really buy much. Mostly I have spent my time in bed reading, my Sheep, Moritz, by my side. In fact, in the last three days I have read over 670 pages, something I haven't been able to do since March of 2005. At the moment reading is the only thing I really feel like doing, it allows me to focus on problems that are not my own, something that I relish right now.

My time spent in Basel was split into three facets, talking about my mother's past with my grandparents, reading and then going to the carnival with Chung. By the time I got to my Grandparent's house my good feelings from the morning had worn off and I was left in a deep funk. Unfortunately for Chung, my melancholy mood played third wheel on our carnival excursion. None the less Chung cheered me up and I can recall laughing once or twice. She was very sweet given the state I was in, buying us Gluhwine and pointing out Crants and mullets. I left Chung at around seven, I was tired and wanted nothing more then to crawl into my twin bed at Grossi's and sleep off my mood. I woke up the morning not having realized that Switzerland had set it's clocks back for Daylight Savings. I left Grossi's soon after lunch and was in bit of a hurry to get back to my apartment and bask in solitude. By the time I finally got back I started to feel sick and got in to bed. I was thankful when it finally got dark out because I thought that maybe all I really needed to feel better was for the weekend to end, but seeing how sleep didn't come easily I just tossed and turned. When I finally did fall asleep all I could dream about was being on the run with Harry Potter. NEVER READ HARRY POTTER BEFORE BED. I was so tired but needed to wake myself in order to change dreams but there were no happy thought to latch on to so I opened my log and tried to read from my last entry only to find that June hadn't been a good month for me. I woke up at six this morning only to start reading again and did so until noon when I decided to take a nap. I tried to keep my mind out of where it has been but in reality I just felt like sulking the day away.

Thinking about it now, none of this makes for a very interesting blog, but I haven't been very interesting as of late. I also don't want to type what I really have on my mind because I have been flip-flopping all day. At one moment I am angry and the next I am sad. To many feelings, to much energy and too much time alone have turned me into what I am now, a whiny, self-absorbed, pile of mush. I tried going on a walk to straighten myself out but felt so sick five minutes in that I had to turn back and crawled back in to bed. Luckily Moritz was waiting.

And so now I just sit waiting for sleep to find me. I have school tomorrow, P.E. at the start of the morning and am actually glad to have a reason to not mope around my hole of an apartment. I hate feeling like this, I feel pathetic and lame, but it's the state of things. I hate feeling so much and it makes me miss The Haze for the simple reason that it allowed me to mute everything I feel. I am just antsy and anxious and I hate it. I miss being sedate and not thinking before I got to bed, this is just hard for me, but not the worst of my problems at the moment. I don't even want to think about any of it though, I just want to sleep and sleep and then maybe take a nap. I want to disappear into the woods and find a nice and cozy cabin and stay there for a very very long time, alone, away from what everyone thinks they know.

Ok, I am going to try this whole sleep thing again and hope it comes, I don't want to be awake any more, and I don't want to feel like this any more. Sorry this is so whiny and a downer, my mom keeps telling me to stop being so self-absorbed, but I wouldn't even know how.

Bitch Was Lucky She Didn't Get Smacked

Yesterday sucked, really, really, hard. Within the second hour at work I almost lost my shit. I take so much verbal and physical abuse, something that I am not happy about but take for the sake of my future. But here is my Boss’ daughter berating me for the stupidest thing (my not finding a piece of Brioche dough in the freezer) and not letting up. It was finally at her comment that “I am old enough” to find it. That’s when I was ready to punch her in chubby fucking face. She just kept going and going and even at one point my Boss told her to let up. I was shaking I was so mad, but I kept forming my Brioche and didn’t say anything. Atone point she complimented me on my Brioche, but then a moment later put her face right into mine and and said, “You don’t really like me today, do you?” My Boss was standing right next to me so I knew whatever I was about to say would mostly likely play a role in the next nine months. It was lame because what I wanted to say was, “Actually Bitch, I haven’t liked your fat ass since the day we met. You are subhuman to me, you are nothing, you’re family is nothing, you have made me life at times, and I wish nothing positive for your future. So, to answer you idiotic question, yes, I do not like you today, not get out of my face before I choke you with a Brioche.” But my sister sits in the back of my mind (she is my acting conscience, most of the time) and I changed my response to, “It doesn’t matter if I like you or not, I am here to learn and do my job, and not to be talked down to like a child.” That was it. It takes me so much to keep the fury in and not rip off the bitch’s face, but my Brioche came out perfectly and that was what was really important. That’s all I could give, but the rest of the day she was as sweet as sugar.

The rest of the day i was just tired and beat, literally. By the time I got home and got in the shower I noticed that I am covered with random scratches, welts, bruises and minor cuts I have been left with as memories from this week, baking is a dangerous business. Kind of looks like I was caught in some sort of street fight with a gnome. I spent my Friday evening watching The Office and a new episode of American Gangster. I turned the lights off at seven-thirty and didn’t feel too bad about it.

Skipper called me at around ten, I remember talking to her, but I don’t remember what I said, I was too out of it. It was just nice hearing her voice, all I had wanted the whole day was to be on the balcony, Cola Light in hand. Talking it all out, the whole day, the last two weeks, would have been able to put things in perspective, but it just wasn’t an option.

I am getting in the shower in a few minutes. I woke up at six and watched another episode of American Gangster and painted my nails. I haven’t had a morning like this in a while, one to just wallowing the dark and cold morning hours. It brings me back to last year. I am heading to Basel this morning, going to visit Grossi and Grossvati and go to Herbst Masse with Chung. Herbst Masse always makes me miss Dr. Sylvia. We have gone a couple times together and she always bought me a bratwurst and cotton candy, I miss that lady.

I hope everyone has a good and safe weekend.
I’m not proof-reading this because it’s the weekend.

Goodbye, Chronic

My thoughts are sparse. I finished off the last of the Dack this evening, and won't be purchasing anymore, for a while. It kind of sucks and I am not to stoked about it, but it's time. Just time. Too much time has been wasted of sitting in this desk chair staring at the walls. I am not mature enough to balance both, and when faced with the choice between The Haze or my future, well, I want money, so the Future it is.

There are some who are going to hate me writing about this, hate reading this, but I need to type this out, and seeing how this is my blog, I'll type what i like.

I have lived in The Haze for two solid years now, day after day. It was fine at first, but the hole I had been trying to fill had grown, after I had made a trip home for vacation. I started living alone and soon fell in to hibernation. The hole began to grow as opposed to shrink, as so many people had promised. It needed to be filled and The Haze filled it. Things were bearable, time passed! I had no reason to be awake and was fine not having to be. There was nothing I would smoke before, except church, I went to church with Skipper once and out of respect didn't smoke. But I thought about it.

I have an addictive personality, and that's not an excuse. I am not a good person when it comes to things like this. The Haze is nothing compared to the past, but it's just as bad. It's all about filling the hole.

Then I met my man, and the hole magically shrank. I had been lonely for a very long time and I had been looking for someone to ask me how my day was. I found someone I liked enough to maybe start considering the concept of sobriety. I'm not big on changing for other people and I wouldn't call my man the main cause, but he factors in, not to mention when I am with him (which is at the moment not an option) Dack isn't much of a thought.

My future plays the major role in my decision. I am going to be turning twenty-five in a couple months, and am nowhere near where I thought I would be, in fact if you told me this would be my life, living in Switzerland and baking cookies, I would have cried. Things are starting to get a bit more stressful and although I still have another nine moths, I have the feeling time is going to start to speed up. Often I have dreams about being put in situations I am unprepared for, I hate surprised, and if I don't stop smoking, well, I could potentially fuck up everything I have suffered for.

Lately when I go to bed, and I think of what I am thankful for and I think about what's wrong, I notice that the stress and frustration with not getting my shit done all has to do with this habit. It's a time suck, a motherfucking time suck, and I need time now. Good Lord, i shouldn't be posting this in a blog. But I hope by stating it, it will make it clear why future blogs won't be so hazed out.

TOTALLY not proof read, enjoy those typos!

The Color Purple (not the Oprah one)

Wait, I was just "surfin' the net" when I came upon a blog, properly titled, "The Purse Blog," a blog about purses. The latest entry starts with,

"Many of the handbag enthusiasts are raving about two things this season; patent leather and purple."

Now, if you have hung out with me in the last five months or so, you would have noticed my obnoxious purple bag (Pre-Paris purse) that I purchased for a solid fifteen francs ($12USD). I have taken a lot of shit for this bag, and would now like to say a hearty "F-U" to all the haters! I bought that bag FIVE MONTHS ago, way before this post, so chew on that!

So maybe you'll think twice for talkin' shit about my gold watch, The Chester and I might just be ahead of the game.

Goddamn, it feels so good to be right!


My purple bag, and my dirty Chucks.


Just you wait, The Chester wouldn't lie.

Running on Empty

Bare with me, I just don’t have anything to really say. It’s coming though; I have a weekend planned with Chung. God only know what could happen.

The Return of Small Pox

Hibernation has begun. I am sitting in bed, wearing Skipper’s over sized robe/sweater, waiting for it to rain. I haven’t left my apartment since I came home from work four hours ago, and don’t plan on leaving until it is time to go to work tomorrow morning.

I have spent the last four hours checking my e-mail (4 e-mails from my mother, father, mother and spam), watched three tv shows while doodling and filling out my recipe list for my practical exam, made and ate one of the best hamburgers I have ever had (I like to over salt my beef paddy), and am just about to write my man a long over due e-mail. It’s not much, but it is hibernation.

The only problem with hibernation is, I obviously don’t have a lot of outside blog material. This forces me to get creative and right now, I’m tired, and not all too creative. SO, although I have already gotten complaints from longtime blog readers about re-posts, they are going to just have to deal and continue you to love me because I know how they were able to “collect” so many rubber stamps.

Here is one of my all time favorites, taken from the original blog. Nothing like a blog before bedtime, I always say.


Small Pox

When I was twenty I took what little money I had, and walked in to the desert looking for the mind that I had lost.

College hadn’t worked out. I had wanted to be a graphic designer more then anything, but was finding out that it was for the wrong reasons. I wasn’t clear where my academic path was leading me, but I knew it was out of San Francisco.

So I packed a couple things, put on my sunglasses and started walking. My destination? The Grand Canyon.

The Grand Canyon is crazy. The fact that over billions of years the Colorado River just keeps cutting into the Earth like that is extraordinary. It’s desert all around and then the world just cracks open, ready to swallow you up.

It was the desert that had called to me first though. I had no idea what I was suppose to be doing with my life. Everything I had been planning for, the life I thought I was moving towards, had been wrong. As confused and stressed as I was I knew I had to get my shit together, and so I knew I had to get out and start walking.

I started towards San Jose, and that’s when I figured on going through the hills of Monterey down to Fresno, through Bakersfield, past the airplane graveyard to Barstow and then just took it easy, walking straight to The Grand Canyon. I had never been there before, and when I looked into the vastness of it I knew I was where I needed to be at that moment. It felt good. It felt good to be out of San Francisco and to just be by myself. To be by myself!

I took the little money I had and bought a second hand tent and a thick wool blanket from some Native Americans. (I could insert a Small Pox comment here, but I will spare you) I then made my way down into the canyon. Looking back it was pretty dangerous, but at that point in time I didn’t really give a fuck about anything. I made it down in one piece though and set up camp at the river’s edge. I pitched the tent and laid out my blanket, and then I got a fire going and cooked some hot dogs. The sky was clear, and it was hard to believe that so many starts could even fit into one sky.

I sat out long into the night, just trying to get my head straight and figure out what my next step would be. At first it didn’t come. I knew there were options but they wouldn’t be easy. I like easy, I like comfortable, and what was to come wouldn’t be any of that. So I sat there by the river and waited. At around four in the morning it hit me. The desert was far, but Switzerland was farther. That would be my next step. Who cared what I would do when I got there, I was desperate and this was a lot better then staying at home and going to the local community college until I finally figured my shit out. I needed distance, and I needed change, and more then anything I needed to figure out who I was.

I slept a few hours in the tent and then woke up and had another hot-dog. I packed my stuff up and climbed out of the canyon. As I stood on the edge of the western rim I thanked the canyon for what it had made clear to me. This had only been the preface to the adventure. This had just been the introduction. So, I grabbed my belongings, put my sunglasses back on, and started the walk back home. There were letters to write, and plane tickets to buy.

My Monkey Is A Winner

When I move back to America I want to either learn how to play the organ or the accordion. My grandmother back home owns both and I am signing up to inherit either one or the other.

I got the highest grade in my cake decoration class today. I deserved it, mine was better then the others. I made all of the kids aware of this fact, multiple times, verbally and then visually. I’m not going to even try to be humble about it, perfection is what it is.

A shout out to my lovely pony, Chung, for translating a paper for me for my Economics class. She somehow managed to not only translate my words from english to german flawlessly, but also was able to conserve the humor and wit in my words. Good work, Chung.

I am in a bit of an odd funk, Readers. I don’t know what to tell you, I am itching to disappear and hibernate without notice. To just fuck off for a few. Walk away from all the responsibility, the bitches and ho’s, monotony and emptiness of The Grind. To stick it to The Man. Something, just something.

God Damn Old People

I was in Basel for the weekend to visit my grandparents. It was a typical visit except for those five caipirinhas and the hangover that followed the next morning.

As I walked to the train station from my grandparents, I decided to take in the haze before my hour long journey home. I usually would just do it at the train station, but for some reason, decided to sneak into the back garden at the retirement home on the corner of Bahnhoffstrasse. I never would have thought to do it in that garden, but it was cold and foggy and still kind of early for a Sunday morning, so I figured I would be safe.

I took a place on a bench hidden from the main building by a couple of large bushes. I had my headphones in so I never heard the old man creep up behind me as I lit up. You can imagine the fear I felt for getting caught though, even by a man who looked to easily be in his eighties. I racked my brain for an excuse, a lie, I even thought to just get up and walk away, but then he sat down and told me to relax.

I could only sit there, I was speechless and my heart was racing, what could the consequence be? I felt like and idiot, what a typical “me” thing to do. Try to be a bit adventurous only to get caught. Crime was not meant for me.

The man introduced himself as Papa Franz, and asked me to pass him the pipe. He took out an old gold lighter and lit up. I just sat there, wondering if I might have actually lost my mind. I have witnessed some odd things in my twenty four years, but this was crazy. How did my life get to the point where I was hitting the haze with a man who insisted I call him “Papa Franz,” in the back garden of an old folks home? Papa Franz asked if I had any more on me, and I could only nod yes and hand over what I had.

He began to tell me how he had been suffering from sever headaches for the last week but that the doctors had no clue what was wrong with him. He talked about how he had a lot of family and friends who hadn’t wanted him to move into the home but that he had rather be able to decied his own fate, then have the decision be made for him. I understood the logic in that, but continued to just keep quiet.

He talked about the home, how he hated the smell, and how unfriendly the nurses were. He asked if I had grandparents, I said yes, that they were in their eighties and that I loved them very much. He asked their names but I gave him a fake name in case he decided to tell on me.

The old man continued to smoke, but I didn’t notice any difference. He went on to ask if I was scared to die, and it was then that he turned and looked me in the eyes. Never have I seen such a pair of brown eyes, they were clear and had a glittery touch of gold to them. I told him, no, that I wasn’t a friend of surprises and had only really thought to live until thirty. He chuckled heartily and called me a melodramatic liar. He said that any problems or bad feelings that I might have are of my own creation. Hadn’t I gotten exactly what I had wanted, if not more? Yes, I said, he was right.

He got up and patted me on the shoulder and told me to quit the haze, that it wasn’t helping me but only causing me to forget my purpose. This was fine, seeing how Papa Franz had just inhaled the last of my cake. Again he seemed to be right, god damn old people.

I watched as Papa Franz disappeared into the building, into the smell. I shook my head and kind of laughed, what does it all mean? I got up and swung my bags over my shoulder and went to catch my train.

Hibernation is in it’s beginning stages, get me while you can...

My Bad Hip

I have been experiencing my yearly dose of Fall hip pain. In honor of said pain, and in honor of the fact that this is a new blog, I am going to re-post from my MySpace blog. Sorry for those of you who have already read this!


Camp

No one ever believes me, but I have a hip problem.

Yes, I have a hip problem. Every single Fall is acts up and it's really painful. And every time I complain about it people laugh at me.

It all started when I went to D.A.R.E. "Star" summer camp the summer after 6th grad. Yes, D.A.R.E., "To Keep Kids of Drugs" summer camp. Even I hated me.

My sister and I weren't "summer camp" kids. We spent our summers in Europe or at the PCC swimming pool. So when I won an essay contest about "Why I Will Never Take Drugs,.. you could say I wasn't thrilled about the prize.

I begged my mom not to make me go. I hated being forced to hangout with other kids and not sleeping in my won bed. Even typing this right now, my chest tightens. I fucking hated the idea of having to go and for two weeks before, I would lay in bed just dreading it. And it's funny because there was another kid who had also ..won.. the essay contest and he would later be kicked out of his high school for trying to strangle another student with a telephone cord in class.

Anyway, I got on that forsaken bus and went to ..camp... It was a Boy Scouts camping ground. We brought our own tents and ate in a cafeteria. It was four days, and I was homesick the whole time. I remember that I started keeping my first book out of the misery that I felt there. It blew.

So, one day we are ..allowed.. to swim in their tragic cement hole that they called a pool. I jump in and swim a couple laps when I feel a ..click.. in my right hip. I swam to the side and got out and was in an insane amount of pain. I went to the camp doctor, who wasn't a doctor and they said they didn't know what was wrong, and so I had to sit out all the physical activities. Now I have never been the sporty type. I just don't get it. I don't know why you would want to go running when you can just take diet pills. Seriously. Beach Volleyball, Soccer, Tennis, Basketball, all spell EMBARRASSMENT to me. But at the same time, who wants to be the sick kid at camp?

Sure enough on the last night of camp there was a big Capture the Flag game the encompassed the whole camp, and each team had to go and find where the other team had hidden the flag on their side of the camp.
I sat on the bench between both sides with the rest of the cripples and losers. On that bench I thought to myself, ..if this is what not taking drugs gets you, I wonder what TAKING drugs must be like...

Every Fall I get the most wretched pain in my hip and I think about the embarrassment and humiliation and the loneliness of that god forsaken camp.

I got the pain for the first time today at work. I came home and smoked some weed and the pain went away. That's what D.A.R.E. camp gave me.

Blowup

I can’t believe this! I just went to my purse to fetch some Rahmen noodles I bought for dinner when I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye.

I can see right into the apartments in the complex across the street, and so it doesn’t even take the use of binoculars to get a full view of my neighbor’s lives. The is overflowing with colorful characters, but the man who lives in the apartment directly across from mine has always seemed mildly normal. There was one incident when he first moved in where I caught him walking around his apartment naked, but for the most part it seems we are rarely home at the same time.

I got home around six though today, about two hours later then I usually do. I have had to go to a candy/chocolate/decorating course for the last two days and didn’t get out until around five. From school I went on the fruitless search of finding a Skype compatible web cam, but came up empty handed and then got the above mentioned Rahmen (which is cooking right now, I am trying the “prawn” flavor for the first time).

So, it was as I was reaching into my purse for my noodles when I spotted the blowup doll in my neighbor’s window. At first I couldn’t believe it, then it made me think “This is a blog,” and I went back to my desk to get my camera.

I took a couple pictures through my blinds and then opened up my word processor in order to write the blog. It was as I started to boil the water for my noodles that I opened my blinds back up, and was greeted by a SECOND blowup doll. It was only then that I noticed that the first blowup doll had been male and this second one was female. The male is dressed in a jersey and yellow basketball shorts, and the female is dressed in skimpy red top, they seem to buy their clothes at Migros.

Even as I type this I can see the two dolls staring into my apartment, mouths gaping. It’s erie now because it has gotten dark outside and all the lights in the apartment are on so the dolls almost seems to glow. Like some sort of pervy, life-size diorama.


I can’t help but just sit here and be amused by the whole thing.

Here are the pictures I took through my blinds, just to prove I am not joking.


At first it was just the one...


...but he was soon joined by another.

Monday Mind Vomit

I’m sitting here in my desk chair sucking on the last of Skipper’s marinated Nupro, and it feels like tonight just might be the night to bring back Monday Mind Vomit.

Let’s see how far I get, shall we?

I’m listening to Brainfreeze, a twenty five minute scratch-off between DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist, it’s just a nice funk flavor to it, and it feels good, the right way to end a bullshit day.

My Sister recently MySpaced me, asking what she should be for Halloween. She takes Halloween seriously, it’s easily her favorite holiday, has been since we were kids. She use to make an adorable black sheep, and as the years went on, got only more creative and detailed with her costumes. By far her Oompa Loompa costume from Halloween 2003 was her best. She made such a good Oompa Loompa that upon seeing a picture, some people have actually thought she was a dwarf.
Here are the ideas I have come up with and I invite you to share your own suggestions as well, I have a feeling she needs some help.

1. Wendy from Wendy’s/Pippy Longstockings (She might as well use her red hair for something).

2. A fish stick (I came up with this about fifteen minutes ago as I made dinner).

3. Creed, from The Office (because he’s cool).

4. Our mother (because Dr. Sylvia has got some flavorful style and would be most likely willing to help her with her costume).

5. Me.

I started buying six-packs of Coke Light, I don’t even like Diet sodas, I rather get the sugar and full-bodied flavor of my beverage, but I miss Skipper and so I keep drinking this shit.

When I got home from school today, I was sitting at my desk when I heard the sound of something buzzing around my room. My window was closed, and I got worried that maybe a fly had flown into my room and I hate flies. I opened the window back up and didn’t hear any more buzzing so I pretty much forgot about it. It was only when it came time to lace up my Chucks that I noticed a FAT beetle sitting on the rim of my left shoe. Beetles are far worse then Flies. Surprisingly I didn’t freak out, I just picked up my shoe and shook it out the window. My Chucks are no place for wild life, I was doing it a favor really. The beetle would however not let go and after quite a bit of violent banging against the window the sonofabitch finally let it’s death grip go and fell six stories to it’s death or flew away. This is all due to my neighbor’s refusal to cut back the weeds in front of his living room window that have now pushed their way over to mine, allowing all sorts of insects and pollen to come over and hangout at my place. I am starting to hate my neighbor more and more, and find myself fantasizing about ways of getting him back for all of his late night parties and lack of garden maintenance.

I ran into someone today on the street that I don’t particularly like and who I can easily say I have talked a good deal of shit about. Upon seeing this person though, I took my ear buds out and actually said hi and asked how the person was doing. I can imagine this person doesn’t care too much for me either, but somehow we both smiled and joked and then parted with a wave. It might have been fake, but some how it made me feel better about the reasons behind the animosity. Funny how shit like that works.

This week smells funk and it is only Monday, am I the only person feeling this way? I have a three day weekend coming up, maybe that’s what it is? That’s the thing about long weekends or even half days, you get so excited about having the time off, that the week or day actually seems to go on for ever, longer then if I actually had to work the weekend or put in the full nine hours. Time is a tricky bitch, but I like it, so I continue wearing a flash watch.

I set three alarm clocks to wake me up. I don’t really need an alarm to wake me up, I have the annoying habit of always waking up fifteen minutes before I need to, and then not being able to fall back to sleep. I actually have never been late for work, seriously, I have NEVER over slept and I have to get up at around three or five depending on the day. I think it’s just the security, not to mention I do like to brag about never being late (I am now knocking on wood).

One of the things I like about living in Europe is the magazine selection. I have a thing for independent art/street style/graffiti/subculture/design magazines. Berlin for some reason puts out the best, Street Wear Monthly, and Lowdown are some of my personal favorites. They are both printed on heavy-high-quality-matte-finish stock, which is just a beautiful thing. I like to go to the Kiosk next to Inter Discount, in the basement of the train station and look at what’s new. They are usually a month or two behind, but I don’t always have the ten or twelve francs to one anyway. When I do buy a copy though I try to make good use of it. I have actually covered my bathroom door and kitchen cabinets with cut outs from both publications and they look pretty bas-ass.

I feel ok right now, like all is right in my world, which is probably one of the most frightening things to feel. Isn’t it always the moment where things feel right that life throws flaming bag of shit at you? I am trying to think positive though, so maybe tomorrow really could be fantastic?

A shout out to Professional Gun for taking the time to set up this blog exactly as I wanted it. Thank you. I am sorry I gave you so much shit, and you were right, this seems to be a much better place for my blog.