Five Years In The Making: Neon Gold

In the beginning of 2003 my life hit rock bottom. I had been addicted to pain killers for over a year, had just had my heartbroken, dropped out of art school and couldn't see any sort of future worth living for. I could find no reason in my heart to keep going, none of the options that I had in California appealed to me, and I found myself pushed up against a very tall Wall, with no real way around it.

I sat crying in my parents rocking chair, in the apartment they were renting while they were remodeling their house, racking my mind for a way to save me from myself. Dr. Sylvia was there when I came up with the idea for Switzerland. In Dr. Sylvia's special way, she blew off the idea, not being able to see how, I, someone who had never liked Switzerland, who couldn't even last seven hours in a college dormitory and couldn't speak German, was going to be able to move to Europe, alone. Looking back five years, I understand where she was coming from. I was a weak mess and in no way possessed the figurative balls that I have today. No one was fully aware to the actuality of my state though, and therefore couldn't see that my heart was rotting and that my mind had been in decaying since I had left high school. By the time the end of March rolled around, it became evident to me that staying was not an option, and that the only chance I had for a future was to leave.

On April 22nd, while Dr. Sylvia and Chef Doug were in Paris, I got a letter from Dr. Sylvia's friends in Switzerland, inviting me to work at their hotel outside of Luzern for the Summer. I was to leave in a little over a month, which was good because it didn't give me much time to think about what I was doing. The night before I was to get on the plane I had one of the worst anxiety attacks I have ever had. I couldn't stop vomiting, I pulled out small chunks of my hair, and Dr. Sylvia had to sleep in my bed and hold me to stop me from shaking. By the time I got in the car to go to the airport I had gotten myself under control, and although I was still a bit shaky, all I could really feel was relief. The relief of getting away, and the relief of hopefully getting to start over. Getting on the plane I knew that if Switzerland couldn't save me, nothing would, but at least I would have tried.

The three months that I worked at the hotel in Sarnen were the best three months of my life. Sarnen was beautiful, I was financially independent for the first time in my life, I fell in love with one of the cooks at the hotel, I finally was able to breath, and I stopped having anxiety attacks. I was living life for the first time and soon realized that I wouldn't be going back to California for a while, at least not until I felt ready or was forced to. By the end of the Summer I had found another job that would allow me to stay through Spring, and I began to think that I might never leave.

Between then and now I have traveled all over Switzerland, worked many different jobs, met all sorts of people, and have lived a life that has been incredibly full. I can't help but choke up as I type this, because as much as I am ready to go back to California, these last five years feel a lot like the first five of my life. To this day I am surprised that I made it this far, that for once I had made the right decision, that I actually had taken the harder road, and most of all, that I am alive.

It took me five years to become the person I came here to be. I am nowhere complete, I am no where near what I want to become, but I like to think I have finally built a foundation of character and values that I am proud of. Dr. Sylvia said I wouldn't last two weeks, and as much as she was the only person to say it to my face, I know a lot of people felt the same way. I take great satisfaction in proving people wrong, so I can really only thank her for her doubt, everyones doubt. I didn't do this just to be right though, I did this for myself, and couldn't be happier to be leaving on my own terms.

I can't end this blog without giving a couple of shout-outs to those who have played a large role in my time over here:

Dr. Sylvia: If weren't for Dr. Sylvia, none of this would be possible. Dr. Sylvia gave me my introduction to Switzerland and it was through her that I was able to land the job that allowed me to come here. It was also through her doubt and fear that I pushed myself to prove her wrong, leading me to my current self. She never told me that she missed me unless I made her, but I know letting me go was never easy for her, and that she has in fact missed me more then anyone. I can say that because that's how it's been for me. I thank Sylvia for also letting me dig deep into her past, and ask a lot of questions she didn't want to answer. I am proud to say that through the years I have been able to get to know her not just as a mother, but as a woman. For that I will always be grateful.

Chef Doug: The Chef and I didn't leave on great terms when I first left to come over here. Over the years, through many a phone conversation, our relationship has changed. With the distance we were able to get to know each other, and through getting to know Doug I have been able to become a stronger and better version of myself. Through countless stories, confessions, and advice given with honesty and truth, and all based on his own experiences and flaws, I have come to see him also, not as a father, but as remarkable human being. Our similarities kept us at odds for along time, but with distance and time comes understanding, and I am proud that he's my dad. He has supported me throughout this experience, and any doubt that he might have had, thankfully never reached my ears.

My parents as a collective unit: I thank them for the countless plane tickets, and last three years of financial support. For learning to accept me for who I am, and loving me even when I made it hard to. For all the phone conversations, and trying thier best to help me become who I wanted to be, whether you understood who that was or not. For the support, love, and doubt. I get great satisfaction from having proved them wrong about a lot of things over the last five years.

My sister, Dede: Because she reads the blog every day, has always supported me even though she wasn't always sure I knew what I was doing, and for her amazing crocheting and scrapbooking talents. My sister has been my muse for a very long time now, and although we have been far apart for years, she is so deeply lodged in my conscience that I never feel I am without her.

Grossi and Grossvati: Without these two I would have had to go home before I even ended my first year. They took me in, fed me, housed me, and loved me as their own. My conversations with Grossi are one of my most valued gifts from my time spent here. She answered every question, and told every story. For the countless meals, and continual support. For the constant optimism, the love of a good fight, and endless generosity. I will forever be in debt for all that they have given me, and consider myself extremely grateful for the time we had with each other.

My aunt Elsbeth: A shout-out for being the first cool aunt I have ever had. She's the aunt I've always wanted: bohemian, an artist, an adventurer, firecly independent and stylish. When all of my other "aunts" went out of their way to make me feel like an outsider, she was the one to make me feel at home. One of the few people who never doubted me, and one of my greatest supporters. In her own right: one kick-ass lady.

My wife, MFP: It took me moving to Switzerland to mend my relationship with MFP. We hadn't talked in almost two years, and finally, a year after I had already been here we talked. A month later she was living with me at Grossi's and ended up spending two months with me in Basel. If any of my friends from home know what my life here is like, it's MFP. She is responsible for the second best Summer I ever had here (in hind-site), and through our friendship I have grown as a person. After thirteen years together, through all the love and all the fights, there is no one I trust more with my life then her. I call her my wife because we are bound together for life. She is my optimism, and through her love the hard times I have had here have been made easier. Claire Waterman, I love you.

Chung: Beautifully unique Chung. The only and last Swiss friend that I have over here. Chung is one of my best friends, and some of my best memories are from times we have spent together. We met while working at a factory, and by the second day of us talking I knew we would be friends for a very long time to come. From helping me schedule doctor's appointments, assembling my furniture, or doing my homework, Chung has helped me whenever she could. There is only one Chung, and I am glad she is mine.

Skipper: She didn't come into the picture until a year ago, and we only had nine months together before she went back to California, but those nine months were the best I have had while living in Luzern. Skipper made Luzern something more then just a beautiful city, she gave it life. When I look at the time-line of my stay here, Skipper's entrance into my journey stands out like the brightest neon. She's one of the few people who sees me for who I am, it not a bit better. When my life was in hibernation, Skipper woke me up. I thank Skipper for being Skipper, and for seeing me as gold before I saw it myself.

There are a countless amount of people who have supported me, doubted me and effected my time spent here, and to all of them I am thankful.

If there was ever such a thing as neon gold, I would be it. I love life and am thankful I get to live the one that I have. I feel like I left California dying, and am going back reborn.

Born Complicated

My co-apprentice at work, Schlumpf (Smurf, in German), got dumped Sunday. The douche had cheated on her Saturday night and then called to tell her, and then breakup with her, because "he couldn't look her in the eyes after what he had done." Schlumpf spent the morning vomiting in the bathroom and just looking miserable. I was on my way to the front of the store that she whispered to me, "he cheated," which then lead to a ten hour shift of us discussing the pain that is love. Not exactly a conversation I really felt like having on a Monday, but it was a slow day and we didn't have a whole lot to do.

Although I consider myself to be good at getting over breakups, my way of dealing with them is a lot different from most women. I have a tendency to turn breakups into more of a fresh start then the end to life. I get mad, I become bitter, I become more independent, I loosen my grip on my baggage and then at some point I fall for someone new. It's a circle of torment, but one that I have never been able to resist. I don't listen to sad music, I don't pine, I don't try and get back together. Instead, I take down the pictures, put gifts in a box with the others, erase phone numbers and any other sign of the love lost, get my hair cut, buy new clothes, tie a new color string around my wrist, go on a trip, and then whatever loneliness remains I smoke away. Like I said, my way, isn't the same as most, but I'm still alive, and sooner or later I end up falling for another compliment. If you are looking for a tissue and someone to watch The Notebook, I am not the one to come to. I will turn on the Gloria Gaynor and dance for you, I will share a bowl with you, and I will even hug you, but I will never sing you a torch song.

Luckily Schlumpf knows me pretty well, and she is a tough little cookie, so there were no tears, just vomit (which kind of made me wish for tears). It was a little too early to give her my breakup-pep talk (you need a good week before you can handle it without hating me, it's got a heavy dose of tough love to it), so I did what I thought I should, and just let her vent. Right after lunch I had made a comment about how the majority of my relationships don't last longer then six weeks, a "coincidence" that hangs over me like a curse. Schlumpf replied to this with, "Yeah, but that's because you're complicated." Thank you, although definitely not the first time I have had that be pointed out as the reason behind the "six week curse," it wasn't something I really felt I had signed myself up to hear while trying to make someone feel better (another example of why trying to make Swiss people feel better always ends up with being insulted).

Here's the thing with being "complicated," complicated is not like being insecure, or overly sensitive, or high-maintenance, because those things you can work on. Being complicated is a package deal, not easily unwound into simplicity. Take Webster's two definitions of "complicated:"

1 : consisting of parts intricately combined
2 : difficult to analyze, understand, or explain

See, that's me in a nutshell, I'm not going to deny it, but what the hell am I suppose to do about it? I always thought complicated = interesting, depth, and intrigue. I mean, that's what I look for in a guy at least. Uncomplicated translates to boring for me, and I like flavor, vivid colors, and deep velvet character. If being complicated is what has prevented me from having a long-term relationship, then I guess I am glad they only lasted six weeks. When Schlumpf called me complicated, I took it as an insult, but after a beer and quick reference check with my good pal, Webster, I can't help but take it as a compliment.

The main thing I came away with from a day spent talking about love and failed relationships: a renewed sense of freedom that comes with being single and twenty-five.

Smiling While Crying

So the pre-Bake-Off came and went, thirteen hours past, I lost a bit of my arm in a nougat accident, but can’t really feel much of anything at the moment so it doesn’t matter much. I just can’t believe I made it through alive.

Everything in The Bake-Off is timed to the minute. I have a three page time table, and there is very little room for mistakes. With that said, you can only imagine how I felt when I fell twenty minutes behind within the first hour. Overall, any of the stuff that I wasn’t sure about, or felt uncomfortable with, came out great. Everything that I have done time and time again perfectly, came out barely passing. It just sucked, and there were a couple moments when I wanted to walk out. I have no idea why I never walkout! Three years of thinking about it, but I still find myself here. No clue why, because this shit sucks.

So in a nutshell, today’s “dress rehearsal” didn’t go great, but I put my all in to it, and more then that I don’t have. Surprisingly I still kind of feel a bit golden in an odd way, the fact that I lived through today is amazing to me, a beautiful surprise.

I so need a snuggle.

Pushing The Grind

I am saying it now, come Saturday I am getting out of Luzern. I don’t care if I end up in Basel or Sorenberg, all I know is I won’t be going into work. I put in a little over twelve hours today prepping for tomorrow’s timed run-through of The Bake-Off (like a mock Bake-Off). I am in bed typing this now, and plan on blogging until the sleeping pills kick in. I have to be back to work at five-thirty tomorrow morning and will be baking until five-thirty in the evening. No clue where I am going to find the energy to do it though, I feel beat and worn-out and in need of a weekend somewhere warm and filled with snuggles. The only good thing about being this broken? I have no energy to even be scared/anxious/worried about tomorrow. At this point, all I can do is my best and be thankful that tomorrow is just a run-through and not the real deal. Thank God for that.

The only thing getting me through all this bullshit is time (and a lot of love and support from back home). No matter how long some days seem to go, time keeps pushing me forward, even when it feels like I am cemented in place. In a month’s time Skipper will be here, two days after she arrives Dr. Sylvia and Chef Doug get in to town, a day after that is The Bake-Off, a month after that I can tell my Boss’ to fuck themselves and will no longer be an apprentice, then I am off to Basel, then MFP arrives and we embark on the blog’s European Extravaganza (Vienna, Prague, and Budapest), and then a couple days later I fly back to California. And that’s all in the next three months.

I can’t wait to have a life again. I can’t wait to be able to write about something other then work and The Bake-Off. I can’t wait to just live! To have a good day, to have a day off, to be able to laugh.

I live a good life, I have a lot to be thankful for, and I have a lot of love coming at me from all over the world. Sometimes I just got to remind myself of those three things and that I have no reason to bitch and moan as much as I do.

Dark Gray, Almost Black

Today was my second to last day of school, so I told a lie and left an hour early to go check out a seemingly fierce purple scarf at Globus (sadly it turned out to be viscous, and therefore a disappointment). School at this point is more or less a charade, teachers pretend to give class and the students pretend to study. It's to the point now, that next week, our last week, classes will be held in a local bar.

Lately, as I go for my walks around Luzern, I can't help but look at things more. I stare at the buildings, at the mountains, at the lake, trying to somehow take a picture with my mind to save for later. I love this city like I would an old friend. I have always felt some sort of personal bond, walking it's streets in the very early hours of the morning, taking side streets, sitting on it's lake, swimming in it's water. Never in my life have I felt such a close connection to a place, and at the same time so distant from it's people.

I am seriously just treading here, with the blog, with The Bake-Off, with life. I'm grinding it out and my mind is decaying a bit more with each passing day. People keep saying that "it will all be over before I know it," but "I know it" right now, and it is far from over. All I know is that my heart is heavy with fear and anxiety, and I have absolutely no clue where the hell my life is going to be in six months, a fact that makes me sleepy and wanting to crawl under my goose-down covers and hide until the dust settles. I wish I could put a finger on when I became such a pussy, but I am too exhausted to even think back that far.

Good news, the number of hits on the blog are up. Bad news, the blog is deteriorating at the same pace my mind is.

Soul Decay

I feel like I am starting to rot from the inside out. I have been staring at my monitor for a half hour now and can't help but look around my dark apartment and wonder what the hell I did to my life. I am freaking out right now, terrified of The Bake-Off. The Bake-Off is suffocating my spirit.

Ok, another half hour has gone by and I now have to get to bed.

Of course the price of gold skyrocketed just a couple month before I'm finished up here.

Trading Tears For Beers

Today has been a better day, a long day, but a better one. I'm sitting in my desk chair listening to thunder and drinking a beer, and can't help but feel like days are dragging into each other. I also kind of feel like sparing you my whining for a blog and have decided to interject an excerpt from my book into tonights blog. Sorry for the repeat for those of you long time readers, but I got an episode of CSI to watch and some warm potato salad I just made to indulge in.

Slipper Dub

When I was four my parents sent me to go live with a large Jamaican family in Hamilton Pines, a bit north from Sumptners Peak. My mother had explained that our cat was allergic to me and, that since it was there before me, it was only right that I be the one to go.

So my four year-old self packed my little four year-old suitcase and a school bus pulled in front of our house and I climbed in.

I was greeted very warmly with a glass of punch and felt at home instantly. The bus was cozy inside, with grass curtains and a very homey feel. I slid on to one of the bright green vinyl benches and tucked my suitcase under me. I was a bit nervous but was soon calmed by a mellow herbal scent. I relaxed and slumped down in the seat to nap a bit.

We drove and drove and no one really noticed my presence. In fact the whole 7 months that it took until my parents found out that our cat was in fact one of my father’s old slipper and that there was no longer a problem, not one of the Jamaicans ever even spoke to me. I think that there was just so many of them, that I was just a part of the heard.

Hamilton Pines was in the middle of no where, but the Jamaicans had found themselves a large clearing down by Jokalona Lake and had set up a make shift beach colony.

They lived in hut made from tin and grass, the kind you would think they would have lived in if they were still in their village out side Turtle Cove, on the east side of the island. It was colorful and warm, and my four year-old self liked it there. It was a bit weird because no one really said anything to me or noticed that I was the only white kid there, but I figured if it wasn’t a problem for them, then it wasn’t a problem for me, and continued to sip on my punch.

We went to bed late and we woke up whenever it felt right. It was an easy life. I started walking barefoot, and my curls started to dread from not washing it as often, and my four year-old self felt good.

The food sucked. They were devout Rastas and followed a strict Rastafarian diet. No coffee, no meat, and vegetables were cooked at low temperatures. Sugar was also rarely used, but on birthday’s they would bake brownies and we would dance late into the night. Most likely due to being high on sugar.

I loved the music, and still really enjoy good reggae. They were loving and generous, and although they never really seemed to see me, I felt like I was a part of them. I think back on those warm nights on Jokalona Lake often when I feel anxious or stressed. It reminds me that things work themselves out. To just sit back and let time do it’s thing.

Looking back, my four year-old self was pretty cool. I just can’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if my parents would have never picked me up. Would I be happier? Would I have the same outlook on things? Would I have been a totally different person? Would I have found what I look for already?

Beware OF The C-Word

If you are a regular reader of this blog (or happened to read yesterday's post) you will most likely be aware of my beef with my boss' daughter. In previous blogs I had refereed to her as a "fat-ass bitch," or yesterday as a "heinous bitch," but none of those describe her true soul, so tonight I am giving credit where it is due, and I ask your pardon if this is offensive to some, but after the day I have had I could give a fuck about pretty much anything, the girl is a straight up CUNT (really, I am sorry to have to go there, but I believe that credit is due).

I dreaded going into work today for a couple reasons, mainly just for the fact that no matter what I seem to do, no matter how nice or courteous I am, I am always treated as the bake-shop retarded. The morning went seemingly fine for me, over the weekend I had brutally/accidentally cut DEEP slices into one of the stainless steel tables in the room where we make all of our chocolates, and I was more then worried that my boss had noticed and was going to tear me a new one. So the first thing I did after punching the time clock was go straight up to the man and apologize, even though he himself had not noticed. I figured it was the right thing to do, and although I have no respect or goodwill towards this man or his family, I fucked up, and felt that if nothing else my conscience would be a bit clearer. His reaction? He didn't even care, told me not to worry about it, and I went on with my work. As I walked home from lunch all I could think about was the fact that in three more hours I would have another day behind me. Oh how wrong and clueless I was.

Five minutes after my lunch break one of the sales girls from the front came back to give me a heads-up that my boss' daughter was angry with me and that she had over heard her saying to my boss', his wife and a co-worker, that she was going to "give me a piece of her mind" before I left for the day. I hate hearing shit like this, but I realize that it comes from working in an all female environment: that no matter what we gossip and thrive on drama. I however brew on information like that, practicing my argument before there is even an argument to be had, and I am almost constantly forming arguments against my boss' daughter (I really need to find her a nickname). Either way, I was more or less in pre-fight mode the rest of my afternoon, figuring that we would talk after work, I would most likely have to apologize for some sort of something I didn't do and would go home and study. Again, what an idiot I was.

I'm not exactly sure how it happened, I think it started with talk of sandwiches, but at some point she got extremely condescending, berated me for not having written something on my to-do list, I responded with "I know you want to fight with me right now, but I am not going to play along," and then she began to bitch me out in a more or less "yelling" volume. At that point I once again said I wasn't going to "play along," tried to walk around her and it was then that she put her hand on my shoulder to try to prevent me for moving. I should note that she didn't push me or use any real force, but she did try to prevent me from moving by putting her hands on me. BIG FUCKING MISTAKE. It was at that point that I started shaking and told her to never touch me again, that if she wanted to argue the fine, but she better keep her hands off me. Then the fight began. Look, I am not going to play innocent, we all know I am not, but never in my life have I been so provoked outside of my family. I couldn't even say anything, she just kept going and going and going. For the third time I told her that I wasn't going to partake in the fight, that there was no point, she is more or less my boss (to which she replied "I AM your boss") and finally I told her that I wasn't going to discuss anything further until tomorrow, because I wasn't in the right state to be saying anything I wouldn't come to regret. She however insisted, in fact demanded, that I stick around. I just stood there, trying to keep my fury in while she continued to provoke me yelling "answer me when I am talking to you!" in regards to why she gives me practice time during work hours, my hands visibly shaking, hoping that I could just keep myself under control and not say what I really wanted to, which was "You are nothing, and if it weren't for the fact that you are the boss' daughter you would be even less, in fact I wouldn't even acknowledge you as a living being."

I am not sure exactly when or even why I started to cry, but the moment the first tear fell I felt ashamed (not to mention a little pissed that all of a sudden I am turning into a crier). It was at that point that she softened and I gave up. What was the point? I couldn't win, if it would have been anyone else other then her I would have fucked her up badly with words, I would have made her cry and feel horrible about herself, probably to the point that she would have had to call her parents balling (kind of like what she did to me). But I didn't, instead I gave up, I took defeat and cried a bit more. By the end of the whole forty-five minute ordeal, with her mother and father walking past and witnessing the majority of the show-down, I apologized, repeatedly. I guess I figured that it was not just the only way to get out of the bake-shop and away from her, but that I had been stupid enough to fall for it, and had given her the last thing I would have ever intended, what she wanted. I apologized for talking to her the way that I had, that she was my "boss" and that I should have not forgotten "my place." I thanked her for all the time she has given me to practice for my bake-off, and that from now on I will try to work harder and faster and "show an interest in my work." She then made me shake hands that she in fact had not "pushed" or tried to prevent me from moving, and made me repeat it a couple times. I then came home and cried for two hours and then went to the store to buy a six-pack.

Never in the last ten years that I have worked have I ever had something like this happen, and whatever dread I was feeling towards going into work last night, has since multiplied by an insanely large number. No matter how in the wrong I feel she might have been, it doesn't matter, it's her word against mine, and at work my word doesn't mean shit. I feel like a pussy having stepped down and apologized, but know that that's just the way they do things in Switzerland. She is my boss, I am an apprentice, and therefore I am nothing more then cheap labor with little to no rights. The only way out was to give her what she wanted, and for the sake of my Bake-Off I gave it to her, yet another sacrifice I have made for this trade (I realize that rhymes).

A huge part of me is embarrassed, ashamed, pissed and disappointed. Embarrassed because I cried and obviously didn't act like the bad-ass that I always try and make myself out to be. Ashamed because I should have known better to attempt to reason with someone like her. Pissed, well that's not hard to figure out. And disappointed because it seems that The Wall still stands.Dr. Sylvia said I was being to hard on myself, but I don't see it that way.

I have no idea how tomorrow is going to go. At this moment in time I feel done with the whole Bake-Off and being here. It just doesn't seem like it's worth having to go through this much shit for, to cry over, to fight over, to stress over, to anything thing over. I know that's not what anyone wants to hear, but it is definitely how I feel right now.

I am going to spell check this, but I am definitely not going to proof-read, not because of my mood, but because my sleeping pills and beers seem to have finally mixed and I am starting to doze.

I would also like to request (not like it's even necessary) that no one leaves comments on this post. I needed to post this so that I don't have to re-tell today, but can just send people the link.

Also, I would like to send an apology out to Dr. Sylvia, I might have let some of my frustration and upset out on her and she didn't deserve it. Mom, I am sorry, and I love you.

Ok, I'm off to bed.

Bidding Time

It's been a little over a week now since I gave up weed, and as much as I would LOVE to tell you how great and fresh I feel, I can't. It's been fine, and surprisingly I am still alive and so are my co-workers, but the upsides of sobriety definitely don't out-weigh the downsides. Whether it's the techno-color dreams, swells of emotions, surplus energy, sleeplessness, lack of appetite and just over all feeling that I broke-off a pretty good relationship with an ever so mellow lover before it ever got bad. I know that I am doing the mature thing, I know that in order to make the most of my time leading up to The Bake-Off that it is necessary, but time moves a lot slower without the help of Cush. Go ahead and pass judgment, I almost couldn't care, weed has helped me get through the bullshit and frustration of my apprenticeship and giving it up right when things have started to get stressful makes the breakup only harder.

I skipped P.E. today and got an iced latte and walked around in the sun shine before subjecting myself to the monotony of school. We took some practice exams, some of which I passed and some of which I didn't, but as our exams draw near I begin to realize that all I can do is my best, and more then that just isn't going to happen. I didn't come here to learn economics, politics and laws in German, shit, I don't even know how well I would be able to do if it was in English, let alone a language I can barely write in. My politics teacher just stood next to me and laughed while I attempted to take the test, I didn't hold it against him this time, I could only laugh with him. The fact that I conned my way this far is pretty cool, now I just have to hope that I can keep it up for a couple more weeks and I am one step closer to gold.

I am trying to not dread going into work tomorrow, but I have the feeling that I am going to be walking into a war and I'm going to be treated as the enemy. I came to the conclusion that The Wall is what I make it, and therefore I am the only one who can take it down. My goal is to walk into work tomorrow and just work, if someone has beef then they are going to be greeted with a smile and patience. I get the feeling that the only way I am going to make it through these next six weeks is to suck it up and do my best, regardless of how much my co-workers want to fuck with me. By the end of July I will be free of the chains that have bound me to my cock-sucker of a boss and his heinous bitch of a daughter. All I got to do is keep moving forward and time will take care of the rest, or so I am hoping.

Ok, I am going to end this now, my last three posts have been ultra long and I need to make some tuna salad for lunch tomorrow.

Sweet Bitterness

Another weekend wasted. Today was yet again another religious holiday in Luzern, so everyone had off, and since it was really nice weather everyone was on the lake, except for me that is. For the first time in over a year I slept until noon, and then spent the rest of the day puttering around my small hole of an apartment. I left my apartment once, a couple hours ago to buy a six pack of the cheapest Mexican beer I could find and then came back and watched a movie. I don't know if I just didn't feel like wading through the crowds to get to my study spot on the water, or if I was hiding from The Bake-Off, I think it might have been a bit of both. To be really honest, in the last ten days I haven't had any sort of contact with anyone outside of work, a fact that makes me feel like I should worry, but I'm not. There will be a time soon enough where I will most likely be wishing for solitude, so maybe this is my chance to get my fill. Not to mention, I was able to enjoy to day without having to wear pants for more then a half hour, which makes me happy.

It seems that yesterday's blog made Dr. Sylvia cry, which makes me smile, because I, like the sissy that I am becoming cried the whole duration of writing it. I don't know what had me yesterday, I feel fine today, but it felt really good to break my candy coating for a moment. Skipper always jokes about my caramel center, something that I can't seem to easily share with most, and something I sometimes fear of losing. Bitterness can sometimes do that to person though.

Bitterness. A dear friend of mine admitted to being bitter the other day and it gave me the greatest sense of relief to hear, it allowed me for the first time in a long time to admit that I too am bitter. Bitterness in regards to what? Bitterness in regards to matters of the heart.

Every time in the past six years that a relationship has ended for me, I travel. Whether it has been to Switzerland, California, or even Paris, I just can't seem to stick around while the dust settles. With so many trips, and so many disappointments, I now know to start looking for tickets in advance. It has gotten to the point now though, that I find myself better at getting over a relationship then at being in the actual relationship. In fact, my last relationship took me a good fifteen minutes to let go of, and no tears came by the time we both hung up the phone. Some people called me cold, some were worried, quite a few judged me behind my back, but when it comes to love lost I rather just move on and keep searching. Unfortunately, I find myself up against another wall, this time a wall bitterness and doubt, and it has kept me from looking for a good six months now.

How many times do you have to get swept off your feet and then dropped on your ass, to start to look at love as a mere fantasy, contrived from films, music, TV, and books of fiction. Then you go deeper, what is love? Is it a feeling? Is it a word? Is it a connection, or a bond? Or is it an ability? I have been in love, or deep states of like or infatuation, I have told men that I love them, and have heard it in return. In the end I have come away with the feeling that love is a word as easily said as taken back.

Typing this does not make me feel happy, or strong, or proud. Typing this makes worry, and scares me a bit. I hate being bitter, I get no satisfaction from the negative feelings that have towards my exes, most of the time I wish I could go back to when I was eightteen, thinking that my love life, if I was patient enough, would turn out to be a lot like Sixteen Candles. I would never go as far to say that I have given up for the future, I haven't, not even through this barrier of bitterness I find myself incased in. Slowly as time passes, I find myself a bit more interested in the prospect of dating again. I no longer have the same hopes that I did five years ago, I think I am a bit more realistic, but as Summer nears and I am finally able to leave Switzerland (definitely not a place I would ever try dating in again) I find my heart defrosting ever so slowly. I don't mind single-hood, sometimes it can get a tad lonely, but never to the point where I forget that life is about more then just compliments and snuggling.

In no ways do I want this blog to come off as man-hating. Men are not the problem, certain men and the experiences I have had with them are, but not men in general. I am lucky to know quite a few amazing men, men that I admire and respect, just not ones that I am looking to date. The friend who had admitted their bitterness was also wise enough to state the obvious, that this just a phase, that sometimes after being hurt by someone you trusted and felt close to, your only way of protecting yourself is to avoid what once hurt you. I get the feeling that come August, my heart will be in a warmer state. That doesn't mean that I will necessarily find myself in a position to use it, it just means that I will be a bit more open to thought and prospect of those dangerous warm and fuzzy feelings. In the mean time I have come to realize that the love I have always wanted to find in one person, is actually given to me by beautiful and amazing family and friends, everyday, whenever I need it, and that in its self is nothing short of awesome.

Doctor's Note

I spent my morning writing a blog that I plan on posting in a couple weeks, before going into work to prep some stuff for my pre-bake-off. It's a special blog, one that left me crying on my keyboard and in a weird mood for the rest of the day. I don't cry a lot, maybe a couple times a year, and usually only when my parents come to visit. It felt good actually, to let my current frustration and past hurt leak from my eyes. Crying always leaves me feeling vulnerable and weak, two things that I don't usually allow myself to feel. An odd start to a Sunday, but necessary.

I have started to dread weekends, even though I have off from work I still go in, and when I am not at work, I find myself pulling at straws trying to fill the hours before I can go to bed and start the next day. I am fully aware that this isn't the way to live life, but it's the reality of the way things are for me at the moment. Just bidding time until Skipper comes and The Bake-Off is out of the way. I am not proud of the way I am knocking back days, but also know that right now it's the only way I know how to do things. If sacrificing my life and happiness for the next 42 days is what it takes to achieve my goal of finishing, then that's what I am going to do. It sucks to spend hour after hour, day after day, just waiting to get to the finish line, but I have lived though worse and know that sometimes on the road of life you just have to suck it up and smile to get where you want to go.

Seeing as today is Mother's Day, and that Dr. Sylvia reads every blog, I would like to give a shout-out to my mom. If you have had the great pleasure of meeting the good Doctor, you are already aware of the fact that she is extremely special, and not in the retarded sort of way. Dr. Sylvia is in fact one hell of a bad-ass and I feel extremely proud to be able to call her "Mom." I don't know a lot of other kids that can brag about their mom hitch-hiking through South Africa during Apartide, or surviving Polio, so even as a young child I knew that my mom was something more then special. A couple Summers ago I was at Saks in San Francisco and had wanted to buy her a gift to cushion her disappointment after I had gotten a new tattoo. I was at one of the cosmetic counters (Dr. Sylvia is somewhat of beauty supply addict), I had wanted to buy her a perfume, and when the sales woman asked me what type of woman my mother is, my reply was "ballsy," and it's true, Dr. Sylvia is what even she herself would call a "firecracker."

Dr. Sylvia doesn't enjoy talking about her life, so when I came to Switzerland I took it upon myself to fill in the very large holes in her story, and luckily Grossi was always more then ready to help. Over the last five years I have come to see my mother as an amazing woman, capable of nothing less then greatness. She is incredibly smart, fluent in five languages, has traveled all over the world, posses a sense of style that heavily influenced my own, has a tendency to make people laugh until they cry, and has an inner strength that I can only hope to one day find in myself. After spending a lot of time with Swiss people I have also begun to understand her short comings. I can freely say that by living in Switzerland, far away from my mother, I was able to get to know her as a person, and not just as a matriarch.

People have always like to pass judgment on my relationship with my mother. That we are too close and that I depend too much on her opinion of how I live my life. I have been judged for the fact that we talk on the phone at least four to five times a week, and I am as open and honest about my life with her as I am. My outlook on it has always been that, if something was to happen, if I fucked up in a major way, it would inevitably be Dr. Sylvia or Chef Doug that would have to bail my ass out (not to mention she no longer has the power to ground me or take away TV privileges). I have never and will never apologize for my relationship with my mother. I know from the outside looking in it must look like I am still very dependent on her opinion, and that I can't make decisions on my own, but from the inside things looks a lot different for me. Dr. Sylvia and I have been through some gnarly shit together, experiences that have caused us to become as close as we are, and when we both found ourselves alone and lost, we always had each other. We don't always see eye-to-eye on things, she is incredibly stubborn and has a very hard time apologizing or admitting when she is wrong, and sometimes I just want to drown her in a bucket, but at the end of the day, there is no one I rather smother in hugs. At this point in my life I have just come to accept that I am forever bound to this woman, for better or for worse, not just because she is my mother, but because she owns my heart.

So, I end this with a hearty shout-out to the baddest mofo that I know, Dr. Sylvia. I love you, even when you make that weird sound when your allergies act up (Dede, you know the sound I am talking about).

The Wall

Every Tuesday I got to school instead of work. At school I take politics, economics, current events, food science, a decorating class (cakes, marzipan, sugar, etc.), math relating to baking, and laughably, P.E. All my classes are in German, and my teachers give no leniency for the fact that I have never formally learned to read or write in the language. I am treated exactly like all the other students, a fact that from the beginning I have accepted although bitched excessively about. I have fifteen classmates, ranging in age from seventeen to twenty-one: thirteen girls, two boys, and moi. I loath Tuesday, especially now that we are close to the end. Every Tuesday I walk home on the brink of screaming and pushing pedestrians into traffic. Today was no better, nor worse, then any other school day: my classmates and teachers made fun and laughed German, I was subjected to close-minded discussion on a variety of topics, struggled through every subject and came home tired, frustrated and pissed off.

At lunch I had called my boss’ daughter (which by birth makes her my other boss), to apologize for leaving some cookies in the refrigerator that I had forgotten to finish yesterday before leaving. I had gone to Zug (twenty minutes outside of Luzern) to go and see Lil’ Sam’s (a classmate) bake-off, and show my support. Somehow in the rush to leave, the cookies had forgotten and it wasn’t until eleven last night, as I laid awake in bed thinking about crap (mainly how stupid I was to give up the Cush), that I remembered. It was an honest mistake, the cookies were fine, and in the end another apprentice was able to finish them and they were sold. So what’s the big deal? It seems that the daughter didn’t bother to listen to the voicemail and instead just called me back to see what I had wanted. After apologizing again, and explaining what had happened, the daughter began to guilt me that she had already spoken to my boss and was quite disappointed with my lack of interest in finishing the product, especially considering that it is a product that will be featured in my bake-off, and that I shouldn’t worry, she has more then enough work for me tomorrow, in order to remind me not to be so forgetful (I should state here that she is six months younger then I am). In return I told her that once again, I had not purposely forgotten the cookies, that it had been an honest mistake and that I had only called in order to apologize and tell her that it really had only gone forgotten by accident and not on purpose, wished her a nice evening and hung up.

Everyday for three years I have lived my life for this apprenticeship. I was ready to move back to California a long time ago, right after I had walked out on my ex and gone home for Christmas and realized that the people who love me and appreciate for who I am, aren’t here in Switzerland. I have stayed because Switzerland afforded me the opportunity to finish my education cheaply and in away that I felt I could live with (i.e. work four days a week, and school for only one), not to mention doing something that I felt I could actually end up being good at. I love to bake and am passionate about my trade, because if I wasn’t I would be at Vic’s right now with friends drinking Gun Club punch; or would have told by boss’ evil bitch of a daughter to take the cookies and shove them up her fat ass.

It bothers me that the people I work for (the people I have been around most in the last three years, more then my family or friends) can’t seem to ever see me in a positive light. That they can’t/won’t/never will appreciate the fact that an employee would actually call in their free time to apologize for forgetting twenty cookies that they were still able to sell. That tomorrow morning they will try as hard as the pathetically can to make me feel bad and miserable and even more stressed then I am right now. Why after three years, of working hard, actually giving a shit, and trying my best, they still can’t like or appreciate me, I have a hard time just excepting. I am clear on the fact that not everyone will like me, but still can’t help but want them to.

This is the wall that I keep bumping into. I have spent shift after shift, month after month, and now year, after year, after year, trying to find a way around the dread and bad feelings that follow me into work each morning, only to still not have found a way around it.

It’s easy to say that these people are miserable in their own right and therefore I could never make them happy or even like me. That there is no point for me to stress, dread or have bad feelings, that it will soon be over and to just “rise above.” All of that is true, and I am fully aware it, unfortunately though, the wall still stands.

Reading over this blog (I am now sober and therefore can concentrate enough to read) I can’t seem to find my point. Maybe I just wanted vent, maybe I am looking for advice, or maybe I just realized that the biggest thing I gained from this apprenticeship was not to provide myself with a future beyond retail, but to learn sacrifice. To sacrifice my social life, love life and the comfort and security that being in California with the people who actually appreciate me for me, for the sake of my education and future.

I greatly appreciate the comments and love that people leave on the blog in support of me finishing up here. There was once a time where this blog was just stoned ramblings, a time that provided much more interesting blogs, a time I miss. The day after posting I usually go back and read what I wrote, and am disappointed that the blog has now turned into my own glorified bitch-fest. That’s the problem with this wall in front of me though, I can’t seem to get past it just yet, and until I do I am left with this.

In the end it’s experiences like this that remind me that life and who I am are usually defined on how I react to difficult experiences such as this. I guess I just always thought that I would find away around/over/under/through the wall before now.

Heniousity

I just spent the last couple hours sitting out on the lake studying. It's beautiful outside, a breezy 70 degrees and sunny. Good weather in Switzerland is somehow always followed by a folly of comical fashion errors. Sundays are even more dangerous on this front because people like to dress a bit nicer, which has a tendency to yield even worse results. Everything from tan-orange pantyhose, to spandex biking shorts-baggy t-shirt combo's. My absolute favorite are the people who dress as if they are on the way to the club. Keep in mind I am living in Europe. Overly ripped, light-wash jeans, synthetic materials up to Wazoo, white snakeskin cowboy boots for men, and five-inch patent leather, knee-high boots, it's like they over slept and instead of going out on Saturday night, went out Sunday afternoon. It's absolutely beautiful in its heinousity. Granted, Luzern is nothing compared to to Basel. Basel is FABULOUS in its audacity. One of my most favorite things to do on a nice Summer's day is sit on the Rhein with a cold beer and watch the parade of polyester horrors. It's beauty in it's own right, and it's why I feel comfortable enough rocking a massive gold watch and a white girl-fro, Europeans know no shame when it comes to fashion.

Blogger's note: Today's picture is an example of Basel fashion, the woman to my right is wearing "crants," craft-pants, pants with an unnecessary about of craft supplies glued to them.

Coming From Afar

Ok, I am going to try and write this without vomiting. I think the stress is starting to seriously fuck with me now, I haven't been able to eat all week, I haven't been sleeping (instead I find myself spending hours uploading pictures on Facebook, it sooths me somehow), and now just feel sick, and I still have six weeks to go! I had today off, it's some sort of holiday, yet went into work from nine until four. I worked on my skull decorations and a bunch of chocolate decoration crap. I had to sit and talk with one of my boss' about all the stuff I have to prep for the Bake-Off. I am so over people trying to stress me out. I hate being nagged and pushed and made to worry about shit that I don't need to be worrying about. After I left I went for a walk to just get away from all the chocolate and marzipan that is rotting my mind. I love to walk, I love to listen to music and walk and just move. Somehow moving always makes me feel less like I am just floating in the abyss. That probably doesn't make sense to anyone else but me, but I am trying so hard to find away to get through this and still have nothing. I try to relax and breath but I am way more inclined to start screaming and throwing things at my co-workers. Oh, how sweet that would be.

It's seven o'clock and I am calling it a night. I promise that there will be a day, hopefully in less then two months time, that I stop bitching about all of this and have something interesting to actually write about.

This is not proof-read, not to say that the others are, but I just get a feeling this is worse then normal.