How is it possible that I always get stuck sitting near the most annoying passenger on the plane when traveling? I'm not anti-children by any stretch, but if there is a bratty, fussy or screaming child on the plane, he's sitting near me. For example, kids love to play with the meal tray which does nothing but bang and jostle the back of the seat of the person it's attached to. On the first leg of my flight to NY three little tykes sat behind my row while the parents sat together across the aisle from them. How lovely for the parents. They were not affected at all by their child continually flipping the meal tray up and down, up and down for four hours.
Siblings, when sat together in tight quarters for any length of time, e.g. school buses, church, planes, will inevitably begin to bicker, throw punches, taunt one another until tears begin to flow.
The man seated next to me promptly inserted ear plugs the minute he sat down. My own earplugs, I recall, were sitting on my night stand. I noted them as I did one last sweep through of my apartment before heading out to the airport. I believe that was one of those warning signs. One I unfortunately ignored. I hate when I do that! I was eyeing my neighbor's earplugs envious of his quiet, kid-free snooze as my own back was getting a workout. Apparently, the child behind him wasn't so intrigued by the meal tray.
On the final leg to JFK we were no sooner in the air when my seat back began to shift and bounce again. Okay, I've had just about enough of these kids messing around back there. I turn with a glare.
"Sorry," says a man with a thick Long Island accent. "I can't get this tray to stay up."
Ooops, not an obnoxious child at all. However, he turned out to be an obnoxious adult, his loud, booming voice in my ear the entire trip.
My return trip involved a woman who thinks the world revolves around her. I first notice this woman when she stood at the gate agent's desk arguing for twenty minutes about how she must have her seat changed so she could sit with her daughter (a minor). The agent politely and patiently explained numerous times that the flight was full. There was nothing she could do to change her seat. The woman was not going to give up.
"Well, you're going to have to get creative!" barks the woman. "Isn't there something in first class?" You've got to be kidding me. By now all passengers waiting at the gate are listening to her rant. Again, the agent explains there is nothing to be done.
While boarding the plane, I'm standing behind a man and his daughter. Suddenly I hear the woman's voice from behind the line somewhere. "Ely, do you have my bag?" she says. He reports that he does. "Ely, do you have my lunch?" Again, he says he does. So Ely is apparently this woman's husband, i.e. the minor daughter's father! To listen to this woman hounding the gate agent you'd have thought her daughter was being separated from her mom to sit alone with strangers. NO she is sitting next to her dad! After a few shouts back and forth, I suggested the woman move up next to her family in line so she could get her bag and her lunch.
As it turned out the woman is seated in the row behind me (of course she is). And her daughter and husband are in the last row...within shouting distance, however. Several times throughout the flight I hear her calling back to Ely for one thing or another. Several times she climbs over the middle and aisle passengers, because of course she had to have the window seat, so she can go back and talk to Ely. All the while she repeats to everyone around her "I'm sorry, my daughter is back there and we couldn't get seated together. Yeah, yeah, so we've all heard.
At this point I'm ready to stand up and scream at this woman, and I'm sure I'm not alone here,
" Why don't you just trade seats with Ely?"
And for the record, the guy in front of me was so fidgety my tray table was going bonkers the entire trip. Oh the joys of air travel.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
Weather Whiner
I may need to rethink my previous statement that I could live here...on Long Island. Why the sudden change of tune? Well, I think it comes down to the sudden change in weather! I had no idea it could be so cold in southern NY state in August! I actually think their summers are shorter than ours in Seattle (which is also currently cold and rainy, I understand). Didn't think it could be possible. My brother tells me in his town just north of the city, the peak of summer is July and then August starts to cool down. What? That doesn't sound right at all. I grew up there. I don't remember August being anything but hot and sunny. Is my memory failing me? Am I just remembering what I want to remember as a child? Hot summer nights, chasing fire flies, and roasting marshmallows over camp fires. I'm sure we did all that in August. Yes, of course we did!
I was certainly spoiled living in Greece and Turkey for three summers. Three really hot, dry, long summers. Yes the winters are just like here; cold, rainy, windy and miserable. But the summers are soooo much better and last for six months. Not TWO! After six months of 100 degree or so weather, you're kinda ready for the rain, cooler temps, hunkering down to a fire and watching the rain on the sea. But no sane person is ready for that after only two months of summer! Okay, I do know such people...but whether I'd consider them sane or not is still questionable.
My one friend is thankful for the rainy cold Seattle August because, as she claims, it will save her neck from looking 85 for a few more years. Sure, there's that. But my answer to the aging skin is slather on the SPF, wear a hat, sunglasses, drink gallons of water and enjoy! Believe me, although I crave the heat and sun, I am also a skin saver.
While visiting my brother in Callicoon for a few days, I met some of his friends. One couple lives up here for the summer and in the Florida Keys during winter. They rent their place out in the Keys during the summer months. Hmmm...I've never been to the Keys. I hear it's quite nice. Probably blistering hot in the summer. Not much work to be had since it's 'off' season for tourists. But still, I'm intrigued. Maybe if I lived in that climate for a summer I'd come to appreciate our more northern of the northern hemisphere summers.
The most interesting thing about these folks is that they are basically living the way I strive to live.
1. Very Simply (I think I've got that part down pretty well at this point)
2. Six months in one place and six month in another generally catching the best weather in both places.
3. Doing work they enjoy for the most part and earning enough to continue living the lifestyle they choose.
Well, I went out for a long walk along the beach and it was actually quite pleasant. No clothing was discarded. I wore layers of every bit of somewhat warmer clothing I brought with me....cropped jeans, sneakers, a lightweight hoodie and jean jacket. There were a few brave souls bobbing in the surf, folks sitting on the beach wearing shorts and tanks. These people must be from further north than me and find this 66 degree weather balmy. A few drops of rain fell with threats of more, but so far it's held off for today. Tomorrow doesn't look so promising. My last day here. A good day to get my nails done, read my book, pack my bags and prepare to head out west again. Look for work and keep working on where to next.
I was certainly spoiled living in Greece and Turkey for three summers. Three really hot, dry, long summers. Yes the winters are just like here; cold, rainy, windy and miserable. But the summers are soooo much better and last for six months. Not TWO! After six months of 100 degree or so weather, you're kinda ready for the rain, cooler temps, hunkering down to a fire and watching the rain on the sea. But no sane person is ready for that after only two months of summer! Okay, I do know such people...but whether I'd consider them sane or not is still questionable.
My one friend is thankful for the rainy cold Seattle August because, as she claims, it will save her neck from looking 85 for a few more years. Sure, there's that. But my answer to the aging skin is slather on the SPF, wear a hat, sunglasses, drink gallons of water and enjoy! Believe me, although I crave the heat and sun, I am also a skin saver.
While visiting my brother in Callicoon for a few days, I met some of his friends. One couple lives up here for the summer and in the Florida Keys during winter. They rent their place out in the Keys during the summer months. Hmmm...I've never been to the Keys. I hear it's quite nice. Probably blistering hot in the summer. Not much work to be had since it's 'off' season for tourists. But still, I'm intrigued. Maybe if I lived in that climate for a summer I'd come to appreciate our more northern of the northern hemisphere summers.
The most interesting thing about these folks is that they are basically living the way I strive to live.
1. Very Simply (I think I've got that part down pretty well at this point)
2. Six months in one place and six month in another generally catching the best weather in both places.
3. Doing work they enjoy for the most part and earning enough to continue living the lifestyle they choose.
Well, I went out for a long walk along the beach and it was actually quite pleasant. No clothing was discarded. I wore layers of every bit of somewhat warmer clothing I brought with me....cropped jeans, sneakers, a lightweight hoodie and jean jacket. There were a few brave souls bobbing in the surf, folks sitting on the beach wearing shorts and tanks. These people must be from further north than me and find this 66 degree weather balmy. A few drops of rain fell with threats of more, but so far it's held off for today. Tomorrow doesn't look so promising. My last day here. A good day to get my nails done, read my book, pack my bags and prepare to head out west again. Look for work and keep working on where to next.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
A Place To Call Home
After Europe, I only came back to Seattle to get myself organized. Retrieve my belongings from expensive storage, get what little finances I had in order, and say hello to sorely missed pals and family and then sail on outta here again. I didn't plan to stay in Seattle long-term- six months, a year max. I didn't feel a yearning to live in Seattle again. It no longer felt like 'home.' Although I started out interviewing for jobs and getting offers, nothing seemed quite 'right' so I only accepted temp work. I looked for an apt with a six month lease, but ended up settling for a year. This would give me enough time to research and decide where I would go next.
Portland? Nah, it felt still too much like Seattle. Although I love both places, I am looking for something new and different. San Fransisco? Too expensive. And the constant fog I hear about does not appeal to me. My friend, Steph, was really lobbying for her town, San Diego. I took a trip to check it out. Nope. Definitely not a California girl. I did not feel any vibe, culture or pull to San Diego once there. It's got nice beaches, sure. The weather is a plus, yes. But the many highways and flat desert just didn't do it for me. Arizona? No water. I need to be near water.
So then I started checking on the east coast. Since I spent my first month back in the states with my family in NY, this made sense. I thought I'd like being a little closer to them. Unable to actually visit the places that sounded interesting from websites made this task more difficult. I searched cities all up and down the east coast from Boston to Florida. What I finally discovered was 1. these chamber of commerce folks really know their business. The business of making even the biggest armpit in the country sound like the most charming and lucrative place to live. And 2. Seattle is a pretty fabulous city. One of my criteria is the public transit system. Although we berate the metro system in Seattle, it's far better than most US cities outside of NY, San Fran and DC. I'm not opposed to buying a car someday, I just want to have the option to use mass transit whenever I can. Seattle has a pretty reasonable cultural and music scene. The nightlife is a bit to be desired for anyone over the age of 25, but I seem to keep myself plenty entertained. I have a great network of friends and jobs to be had. The weather, for me, is the biggest drawback. I like my summers longer and hotter.
About eight months into this city searching venture I asked my brother, Jerry, what he thought about a few places I had read about.
"Sure, those are all fine places. We'd see you a lot more as they are each only a day's drive away," he said. Bonus. In the east everything seems to be only a day's drive away. "But I don't think you're moving. Seattle's a pretty good city as far as cities go." My thoughts exactly.
So I put aside this idea of moving ... just for now anyway.
This week I arrived in Long Beach, Long Island, flabby triceps and all. It's a great place. Cute beach homes walking distance to beach, bars, restaurants and shops. In the shadow of Manhattan, an easy drive to major airports. My brother told me before hand that I'd love it.
"You'll feel old, cause it's a young town," he said "but you'll love it."
So far I don't feel old. As a matter of fact, I think I could live here!
Portland? Nah, it felt still too much like Seattle. Although I love both places, I am looking for something new and different. San Fransisco? Too expensive. And the constant fog I hear about does not appeal to me. My friend, Steph, was really lobbying for her town, San Diego. I took a trip to check it out. Nope. Definitely not a California girl. I did not feel any vibe, culture or pull to San Diego once there. It's got nice beaches, sure. The weather is a plus, yes. But the many highways and flat desert just didn't do it for me. Arizona? No water. I need to be near water.
So then I started checking on the east coast. Since I spent my first month back in the states with my family in NY, this made sense. I thought I'd like being a little closer to them. Unable to actually visit the places that sounded interesting from websites made this task more difficult. I searched cities all up and down the east coast from Boston to Florida. What I finally discovered was 1. these chamber of commerce folks really know their business. The business of making even the biggest armpit in the country sound like the most charming and lucrative place to live. And 2. Seattle is a pretty fabulous city. One of my criteria is the public transit system. Although we berate the metro system in Seattle, it's far better than most US cities outside of NY, San Fran and DC. I'm not opposed to buying a car someday, I just want to have the option to use mass transit whenever I can. Seattle has a pretty reasonable cultural and music scene. The nightlife is a bit to be desired for anyone over the age of 25, but I seem to keep myself plenty entertained. I have a great network of friends and jobs to be had. The weather, for me, is the biggest drawback. I like my summers longer and hotter.
About eight months into this city searching venture I asked my brother, Jerry, what he thought about a few places I had read about.
"Sure, those are all fine places. We'd see you a lot more as they are each only a day's drive away," he said. Bonus. In the east everything seems to be only a day's drive away. "But I don't think you're moving. Seattle's a pretty good city as far as cities go." My thoughts exactly.
So I put aside this idea of moving ... just for now anyway.
This week I arrived in Long Beach, Long Island, flabby triceps and all. It's a great place. Cute beach homes walking distance to beach, bars, restaurants and shops. In the shadow of Manhattan, an easy drive to major airports. My brother told me before hand that I'd love it.
"You'll feel old, cause it's a young town," he said "but you'll love it."
So far I don't feel old. As a matter of fact, I think I could live here!
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Longest Drought In History
Five years ago this month, I contributed to the statistics and got a divorce. Many of my somewhat unhappily married pals looked to me as some sort of brave dare devil. "Gee, I wish I had the nerve. I just don't want to be back 'out there' at my age." Of course I thought they were crazy. Back out where? At what age? How old were we anyway? Thirty something. That was hardly some crazy age to be single and 'back out there.' There were plenty of dates just waiting to be had by little old me. And I was going to just enjoy the vast candy story after 18 years with the same fella!
I honestly thought a couple of my single girlfriends were joking one night at dinner during my separation period when they told stories of going sans sex for three months. "That's nothing," another friend said. "I've gone a LOT longer."
Oh, they're just trying to scare me, I thought. NO ONE could possibly go that long without sex. Certainly not these gorgeous and fun gals, who seemed to always have men in their lives. Nahhh, they're just exaggerating. Surely, they are, I thought as I squirmed a little in my seat shivering at such a possibility. I mean, yeah, I was divorcing my husband. But one thing we did have was a pretty regular sex life. Very regular compared to the stats I'd been reading about married couples in such literary periodicals as Cosmo and Woman's Day.
Two weeks after my divorce I boarded a plane and headed off to Europe for my next adventure. I was alive, feeling younger than ever and planned to participate in life. Yes, ma'am, I did experience what I call today my 'Eurotramp' days. I enjoyed men from a variety of countries - all 'safely' of course! I might have been a bit of a tramp, but I looked after myself at all times! It's normal for people to let loose a bit after a divorce. I was doing a Shirley Valentine and doing it up good. I was just finally sewing oats that had been left unsewn since I was 19 years old! It was time for heaven sakes. And it was also fairly short-lived.
I'm home now. And after five years, I'm ready for one of those boyfriend thingies again. Someone I can be with comfortably, safely, and enjoy really nice sex with. I don't necessarily need a man to DO things with. I have a golf partner, a yoga class and a boot camp group. I have plenty of wonderful friends to do things with if I don't want to do something alone. But sex. Yeah, I'm pretty much bored of doing that on my own. I've got a 'goodie drawer' but I basically just go for the same toy every time because I just really can't even be bothered to get creative with myself anymore. I need a partner to jazz things up!
I had the almost beginnings of a sort-of relationship last summer. Basically, I think he just wasn't really that into me. I was lonelier with him than when I was alone. And I as much as told him, "I'd rather be alone than in a lonely relationship." He just stared at me blankly. Nothing to say. We parted that day on the street corner and went our separate ways.
I certainly had no idea that it'd be TEN months later and I STILL wouldn't have met anyone I wanted to have sex with. Okay, sure I have met men who I'd give my eye-tooth to have sex with, but it was not reciprocal.
At the beginning of the new year, one friend made a comment that we were going to have get on it as we don't want the first of June to approach and not have had sex yet this year. She pretty much took care of her problem within the first week. Twice actually. June came and went and I had no prospects. She extended my deadline til September 1.
September 1, let it be known, is quickly approaching and I still have nothing in the hopper. Not one interesting prospect. Nothing in the pipeline. Not-a-one. Sure I could just go hop in the sack with any old Joe. But that's just not my style anymore. My Eurotramp days are over and I just am not that person anymore. I'm a bit more discerning. Picky maybe? Sure. But shouldn't we all be picky? If people were a bit more picky in the first place, the divorce rate wouldn't be 50%.
However, I leave for NYC in three days and I was thinking maybe I should bring my free lovin' fly by the seat of her pants self out again just for a brief visit. Shake things up a bit. But then I remembered, I am going to visit family. How am I going to have a fling with my five older brothers lurking everywhere? Ugh. This just gets more depressing as each day creeps closer to September 1. I'm sure my friend will grant another extension. But why bother. At this point I should just shoot for the wooden spoon and go an entire year sans sex. Oh the horror.
I honestly thought a couple of my single girlfriends were joking one night at dinner during my separation period when they told stories of going sans sex for three months. "That's nothing," another friend said. "I've gone a LOT longer."
Oh, they're just trying to scare me, I thought. NO ONE could possibly go that long without sex. Certainly not these gorgeous and fun gals, who seemed to always have men in their lives. Nahhh, they're just exaggerating. Surely, they are, I thought as I squirmed a little in my seat shivering at such a possibility. I mean, yeah, I was divorcing my husband. But one thing we did have was a pretty regular sex life. Very regular compared to the stats I'd been reading about married couples in such literary periodicals as Cosmo and Woman's Day.
Two weeks after my divorce I boarded a plane and headed off to Europe for my next adventure. I was alive, feeling younger than ever and planned to participate in life. Yes, ma'am, I did experience what I call today my 'Eurotramp' days. I enjoyed men from a variety of countries - all 'safely' of course! I might have been a bit of a tramp, but I looked after myself at all times! It's normal for people to let loose a bit after a divorce. I was doing a Shirley Valentine and doing it up good. I was just finally sewing oats that had been left unsewn since I was 19 years old! It was time for heaven sakes. And it was also fairly short-lived.
I'm home now. And after five years, I'm ready for one of those boyfriend thingies again. Someone I can be with comfortably, safely, and enjoy really nice sex with. I don't necessarily need a man to DO things with. I have a golf partner, a yoga class and a boot camp group. I have plenty of wonderful friends to do things with if I don't want to do something alone. But sex. Yeah, I'm pretty much bored of doing that on my own. I've got a 'goodie drawer' but I basically just go for the same toy every time because I just really can't even be bothered to get creative with myself anymore. I need a partner to jazz things up!
I had the almost beginnings of a sort-of relationship last summer. Basically, I think he just wasn't really that into me. I was lonelier with him than when I was alone. And I as much as told him, "I'd rather be alone than in a lonely relationship." He just stared at me blankly. Nothing to say. We parted that day on the street corner and went our separate ways.
I certainly had no idea that it'd be TEN months later and I STILL wouldn't have met anyone I wanted to have sex with. Okay, sure I have met men who I'd give my eye-tooth to have sex with, but it was not reciprocal.
At the beginning of the new year, one friend made a comment that we were going to have get on it as we don't want the first of June to approach and not have had sex yet this year. She pretty much took care of her problem within the first week. Twice actually. June came and went and I had no prospects. She extended my deadline til September 1.
September 1, let it be known, is quickly approaching and I still have nothing in the hopper. Not one interesting prospect. Nothing in the pipeline. Not-a-one. Sure I could just go hop in the sack with any old Joe. But that's just not my style anymore. My Eurotramp days are over and I just am not that person anymore. I'm a bit more discerning. Picky maybe? Sure. But shouldn't we all be picky? If people were a bit more picky in the first place, the divorce rate wouldn't be 50%.
However, I leave for NYC in three days and I was thinking maybe I should bring my free lovin' fly by the seat of her pants self out again just for a brief visit. Shake things up a bit. But then I remembered, I am going to visit family. How am I going to have a fling with my five older brothers lurking everywhere? Ugh. This just gets more depressing as each day creeps closer to September 1. I'm sure my friend will grant another extension. But why bother. At this point I should just shoot for the wooden spoon and go an entire year sans sex. Oh the horror.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Act II Scene I
So last week I was in a movie. Well, an Indy film. And, okay, so I was just an 'extra.' But still, I'm now hob knobbing with the stars. Or, potential stars, rather.
The whole experience was pretty interesting and fun. The film is called Miss Shellagh's Mini Skirt (Petal Films, LLC) directed by Terisa Greenan. When she asked me if I wanted to be an extra I said 'sure'. I don't have a lot on my plate these days. It'd be fun to be a part of a movie- or at least see the goings on on a movie set. Besides, I figured I would just be in a crowd scene. Not like I'd have to actually act or anything. No one will see my mug in this thing, right?
Wrong. There were only three to five extras in the two scenes shot that night. We were definitely in full view of the camera. Great. My already 10 lb excess will appear to be a 20 lb excess. At one point I'm shot walking into the bar wearing my knee length pink coat. It'll look like a giant pepto bismol ad in the middle of the film! But that aside, it was a lot of fun. It was a bar scene, shot at the Owl and Thistle down on post alley from 2 a.m. til about 7.30 a.m. I now have a better appreciation for all the 'takes', 'cuts' and 'actions' that it takes to make a film. At one point my co-extra got me laughing so hard I felt like a kid in church again with my mother giving me the evil eye. It was uncontrollable! I couldn't stop. We were both holding our hands over our mouths trying to stifle our guffaws! It seemed to go on forever before I finally heard mom...I mean the director say "Cut! Okay, good job everyone. Let's do it again." Sheesh. Ya think? I felt terrible, though, because it was five in the morning by then and everyone was getting tired and rummy.
So here are a group of people: actors, directors, writers, technical crew. Is this what they do for a living? How do they 'make it?' I mean, how do they make ends meet? Well, certainly most of them do something else for money. Most have what we'd call "real" jobs. But what's nice is when you ask one of them 'what do you do?' They will tell you, "I'm a writer" or "I'm an actress." I think we Americans are a little mixed up when it comes to talking about what we do.
If I want to know what someone does for their job, their daily grind, their income, I'll just ask what do you do for work? Or where do you work? But honestly, I'm more interested in what a person does for life. What is their passion, their hobby, their thing. As a woman transitioning in her forties, one of the hardest questions I deal with from strangers is the ever dreaded "what do you do?" and I know they mean career-wise. I often answer "as little as humanly possible." That kind of flippant and vague response usually gets the conversation headed into a somewhat different direction. A direction that veers off the 'what do you do' question.
What do I do? Well, I write. I write a lot. I write every day. I write at home, on the bus, at my temp job (when I can sneak it in). I take writing classes. I am an aspiring writer. I also read. I read everything. There is the hope that if I read a lot, I will write better. So I read. And then I write some more. What have I written? If you mean what have I published, well, nothing yet. But I'm working on that.
There is the misconception out there that it's easy to write a book. Sure it's easy to write the book...given enough time and persistence. But getting published, as you writers know, is a whole other story. I told one friend that I'd like do public speaking. Public speaking, teaching, writing. Something that incorporates all those skills. "Why don't you write a book?" she says. Gee...why didn't I think of that?
The leading actor in the film said often, when he is out in a bar or some place, people will ask him what he does.
"I'm an actor," he says.
"Oh really? What would I have seen you in?" they ask.
"Umm, yeah, if you had seen me in something, I'd be a star and I probably wouldn't be standing in this random bar talking to you." Yes, he was kidding...a little.
Last night was the wrap party. Even though I had no actual part, I went to show my appreciation and support to the director, cast and crew and cheer them on. Also, if you want to know the truth, I was hopeful of running into one of the cuties I met the other night. Of course, that didn't happen. BUT, I had a great time with the rest of the group and look forward to seeing them all again for the preview party! As for my acting debut, just maybe my giant pepto body will get edited out in the end! And the next time someone asks me what I 'do' I certainly won't say "I'm an actress." At least not yet.
The whole experience was pretty interesting and fun. The film is called Miss Shellagh's Mini Skirt (Petal Films, LLC) directed by Terisa Greenan. When she asked me if I wanted to be an extra I said 'sure'. I don't have a lot on my plate these days. It'd be fun to be a part of a movie- or at least see the goings on on a movie set. Besides, I figured I would just be in a crowd scene. Not like I'd have to actually act or anything. No one will see my mug in this thing, right?
Wrong. There were only three to five extras in the two scenes shot that night. We were definitely in full view of the camera. Great. My already 10 lb excess will appear to be a 20 lb excess. At one point I'm shot walking into the bar wearing my knee length pink coat. It'll look like a giant pepto bismol ad in the middle of the film! But that aside, it was a lot of fun. It was a bar scene, shot at the Owl and Thistle down on post alley from 2 a.m. til about 7.30 a.m. I now have a better appreciation for all the 'takes', 'cuts' and 'actions' that it takes to make a film. At one point my co-extra got me laughing so hard I felt like a kid in church again with my mother giving me the evil eye. It was uncontrollable! I couldn't stop. We were both holding our hands over our mouths trying to stifle our guffaws! It seemed to go on forever before I finally heard mom...I mean the director say "Cut! Okay, good job everyone. Let's do it again." Sheesh. Ya think? I felt terrible, though, because it was five in the morning by then and everyone was getting tired and rummy.
So here are a group of people: actors, directors, writers, technical crew. Is this what they do for a living? How do they 'make it?' I mean, how do they make ends meet? Well, certainly most of them do something else for money. Most have what we'd call "real" jobs. But what's nice is when you ask one of them 'what do you do?' They will tell you, "I'm a writer" or "I'm an actress." I think we Americans are a little mixed up when it comes to talking about what we do.
If I want to know what someone does for their job, their daily grind, their income, I'll just ask what do you do for work? Or where do you work? But honestly, I'm more interested in what a person does for life. What is their passion, their hobby, their thing. As a woman transitioning in her forties, one of the hardest questions I deal with from strangers is the ever dreaded "what do you do?" and I know they mean career-wise. I often answer "as little as humanly possible." That kind of flippant and vague response usually gets the conversation headed into a somewhat different direction. A direction that veers off the 'what do you do' question.
What do I do? Well, I write. I write a lot. I write every day. I write at home, on the bus, at my temp job (when I can sneak it in). I take writing classes. I am an aspiring writer. I also read. I read everything. There is the hope that if I read a lot, I will write better. So I read. And then I write some more. What have I written? If you mean what have I published, well, nothing yet. But I'm working on that.
There is the misconception out there that it's easy to write a book. Sure it's easy to write the book...given enough time and persistence. But getting published, as you writers know, is a whole other story. I told one friend that I'd like do public speaking. Public speaking, teaching, writing. Something that incorporates all those skills. "Why don't you write a book?" she says. Gee...why didn't I think of that?
The leading actor in the film said often, when he is out in a bar or some place, people will ask him what he does.
"I'm an actor," he says.
"Oh really? What would I have seen you in?" they ask.
"Umm, yeah, if you had seen me in something, I'd be a star and I probably wouldn't be standing in this random bar talking to you." Yes, he was kidding...a little.
Last night was the wrap party. Even though I had no actual part, I went to show my appreciation and support to the director, cast and crew and cheer them on. Also, if you want to know the truth, I was hopeful of running into one of the cuties I met the other night. Of course, that didn't happen. BUT, I had a great time with the rest of the group and look forward to seeing them all again for the preview party! As for my acting debut, just maybe my giant pepto body will get edited out in the end! And the next time someone asks me what I 'do' I certainly won't say "I'm an actress." At least not yet.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
44th Birthday Aftermath
Whew! Where does the time go? It's been almost a week since my last post. I can honestly say that I've done the research. It doesn't seem to matter if I'm frantically busy with household projects, full-time career, husband, family obligations and other activities, or just strolling the Old Town Square alone in Prague, sipping a cappuccino in Lisbon, writing in my daily journal, and basically doing as little as humanly possible, time still flies!
I've just been busy celebrating my BFG 44th B-day. Started with a kickoff birthday happy hour on Sunday the 22nd with a couple of girlfriends and continued on at a good celebratory pace with different friends and venues, wrapping it up this past Sunday with my brother and his family. His wife turns 44 today, so it was a duel celebration. Not all about ME. (Yes, I am a Leo, but I'm willing to share the limelight).
So here I am. Now in a state because next week I'm going off to NY for my nephew's wedding. No, I'm not IN the wedding so don't need to stress about wearing some obnoxious dress that no one looks good in. I am, however, staying at my niece's rented beach house on Long Island. My niece and her roommates who are 22. Yes, HALF this old gal's age. And I DO plan on basking on the beach in my bikini. Yikes. How come I didn't think of the repercussions of all the birthday celebrations before I got all caught up in them? Typical. Sure my clothes still fit. Nothing is too tight. But that's the problem - nothing is tight. Not my abs, not my biceps and certainly not my triceps! So now I'm in the countdown panic doing damage control. I'm not one to 'crash diet.' As a matter of fact, I don't really believe in 'dieting' at all. I just try to eat sensibly for the most part, most of the time...and exercise EVERY day. I'm chugging massive amounts of water, because you know we can just 'flush out' any of the bad things if we drink enough water, right? I walk everywhere, and really really fast. Spent the last two nights walking Green Lake. My bus pass expired yesterday and I won't buy a new one for this month. More forced walking. Using the exercise ball and arm weights. Yeah, this all has to work! I haven't seen my family for two years. Somehow, I'm just not sure I'm going to be able to make much of a dent in the next week. Cause as I mentioned, time flies and a week isn't really adequate to do all that needs undoing! And my co-worker just brought in fresh baked cookies! Arrrggh!
I've just been busy celebrating my BFG 44th B-day. Started with a kickoff birthday happy hour on Sunday the 22nd with a couple of girlfriends and continued on at a good celebratory pace with different friends and venues, wrapping it up this past Sunday with my brother and his family. His wife turns 44 today, so it was a duel celebration. Not all about ME. (Yes, I am a Leo, but I'm willing to share the limelight).
So here I am. Now in a state because next week I'm going off to NY for my nephew's wedding. No, I'm not IN the wedding so don't need to stress about wearing some obnoxious dress that no one looks good in. I am, however, staying at my niece's rented beach house on Long Island. My niece and her roommates who are 22. Yes, HALF this old gal's age. And I DO plan on basking on the beach in my bikini. Yikes. How come I didn't think of the repercussions of all the birthday celebrations before I got all caught up in them? Typical. Sure my clothes still fit. Nothing is too tight. But that's the problem - nothing is tight. Not my abs, not my biceps and certainly not my triceps! So now I'm in the countdown panic doing damage control. I'm not one to 'crash diet.' As a matter of fact, I don't really believe in 'dieting' at all. I just try to eat sensibly for the most part, most of the time...and exercise EVERY day. I'm chugging massive amounts of water, because you know we can just 'flush out' any of the bad things if we drink enough water, right? I walk everywhere, and really really fast. Spent the last two nights walking Green Lake. My bus pass expired yesterday and I won't buy a new one for this month. More forced walking. Using the exercise ball and arm weights. Yeah, this all has to work! I haven't seen my family for two years. Somehow, I'm just not sure I'm going to be able to make much of a dent in the next week. Cause as I mentioned, time flies and a week isn't really adequate to do all that needs undoing! And my co-worker just brought in fresh baked cookies! Arrrggh!
Thursday, July 26, 2007
My Big Fat Great Forty-Fourth Birthday
Yes, today is my birthday. Not a 'big one', but still big to me. I mean Forty-FOUR. Forty-four and dating (albeit, barely) in Seattle. Forty-four and an apartment dweller (although, more by choice these days). Never mind that I can't actually afford to buy a house in this town...I could somewhere...somewhere remote and probably unappealing??? But for now I choose to live here (we'll talk again when Nasty November hits).
I remember my 30th birthday. An older woman I worked with told me I'd love my thirties...said her thirties were the best years of her life. I entered my thirties feeling positive and charged...or IN charge...something like that. I figured if my thirties were that great (and they were!) I was going to love my forties (and so far I do!).
My fortieth birthday was spent on the island of Skiathos in Greece. I threw myself a big beach party and welcomed my 40's. I danced on a bar, bungee jumped from a crane and paraglided above the sea. It was an adventurous time and I entered my 40's with zest!
No longer FortyISH. I'm now in my 'mid-forties'. And not too far from 'late' forties. Forty-four is a good number though. It's one of those double number years...22, 33, 44...It sort of rolls off the lips easily...forty-four. And since 88 is considered lucky in Asian cultures, wouldn't it seem that 44 would be at least half as lucky?
Other than having to face my mother in my bathroom mirror more and more each day (she died 12 years ago! What is she doing hanging out in my medicine cabinet? Just lurking there to annoy me???) and dealing with some other minor aging signs, being in my 'mid-forties' isn't too terrible. In March I was fitted for glasses....never had to wear glasses. Always perfect eyesight...which I was quite proud of and bragged about (that'll teach me!) Dr. put me into a pair of progressive lenses. What the heck??? Now I can't see anything! They are useless. I have NO peripheral vision and I trip going down steps. Ugh...forget it...they are a mild prescription. I can see well enough without them! That was money ill-spent! I should have bought designer shoes instead. Maybe for my birthday :)
I remember my 30th birthday. An older woman I worked with told me I'd love my thirties...said her thirties were the best years of her life. I entered my thirties feeling positive and charged...or IN charge...something like that. I figured if my thirties were that great (and they were!) I was going to love my forties (and so far I do!).
My fortieth birthday was spent on the island of Skiathos in Greece. I threw myself a big beach party and welcomed my 40's. I danced on a bar, bungee jumped from a crane and paraglided above the sea. It was an adventurous time and I entered my 40's with zest!
No longer FortyISH. I'm now in my 'mid-forties'. And not too far from 'late' forties. Forty-four is a good number though. It's one of those double number years...22, 33, 44...It sort of rolls off the lips easily...forty-four. And since 88 is considered lucky in Asian cultures, wouldn't it seem that 44 would be at least half as lucky?
Other than having to face my mother in my bathroom mirror more and more each day (she died 12 years ago! What is she doing hanging out in my medicine cabinet? Just lurking there to annoy me???) and dealing with some other minor aging signs, being in my 'mid-forties' isn't too terrible. In March I was fitted for glasses....never had to wear glasses. Always perfect eyesight...which I was quite proud of and bragged about (that'll teach me!) Dr. put me into a pair of progressive lenses. What the heck??? Now I can't see anything! They are useless. I have NO peripheral vision and I trip going down steps. Ugh...forget it...they are a mild prescription. I can see well enough without them! That was money ill-spent! I should have bought designer shoes instead. Maybe for my birthday :)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Just A Bit-O-History
So I thought I'd just give a brief rundown on how I ended up here...wander woman and all... I mean, I'd never really wandered before, at least not that I recall. I'm the 'steady eddie' kind of gal. Dependable. Responsible. Level Headed.
I met my first husband (I like to refer to him as my 'first' husband even though there hasn't been a second, nor is any second anywhere in sight. I'm pretty sure, eventually, there will be a second. Surely there will be....someday...I think...) when I was a sophomore in college. Waaaay too young to be meeting husbands. I was nineteen for heaven sakes. I was pretty adamant about not getting married. Nope that was not me. Not going down that road yet. No ma'am. I'm waiting til I'm at least 30 to get married. Well, if only I took my own advice.
Anyway, we got married at 24...a good solid courtship later. I developed into quite the married lady. My husband was a chef at heart. Not his trade, but it should have been. He loved to cook, to watch cooking shows, explore with food, grow a garden, a fruit orchard...you name it. And he was great at it. He taught me everything I know about cooking (sorry, mom, it's true!). We entertained guests at our home frequently. I not only cooked, hosted fabulous parties and baked pies from rubarb and apples from our yard, I excavated soil, planned and formed patios (yes plural), poured concrete, even MIXED the concrete. Put up drywall, tiled, bricked, roofed, painted, gardened, mowed and chopped and stacked wood. My husband had a workshop and I had a 'craft' shop to do ceramics and dried flower arrangements. I sewed my own curtains and stenciled the walls. I was a regular Martha Stewart groupie. My husband and I watched and 'studied' all the home shows. Oh, domestic doesn't even begin to decribe my old life.
Then, one day, I suddenly realized "wait just a cotton pickin minute here. What happened to ME? What happened to the life I thought I was going to live?" I realized, as many women do in their mid to late thirties (sometimes earlier, sometimes later) I forgot about ME. About what I want? I forgot who I was and became someone I was molded into. It was subtle. I didn't even know it was happening. But there I was ... staring at a pile of gravel that had been delivered to the house thinking "what am I doing? This gravel money could be a weekend get-a-way." I was tired of spending my weekends 'enhancing' our home. Our home was lovely. Not a blade of grass out of place. I was living in the guilded cage. It was finally time to fly.
Of course it wasn't as simple as all that, but you get the gist. So I gave all that up...all the glamour (and security) of homeownership, the praise received for making pies that tasted just like my mother-in-law's (the ultimate goal apparently), the unsatifying job and constant stress. I gave it up to go teach and travel abroad. And that I did. It was a thrilling time. Entering into the unknown. Living out of a suitcase. Forging through language barriers and other challenges that traveling as a solo woman would bring.
Now I'm back in the states. I rent an apartment in the city. I bus everywhere. I am working as a temp...wandering from job to job. I am a pet nanny wandering from pet to pet...from neighborhood to neighborhood.... from home to home...a different bed every month.
Do I miss my old lifestyle? Not exactly. I tried baking bread last year when I unpacked my things from storage and found a bread pan. It came out over AND undercooked at the same time. What the &*$??? I was the master of pumpkin bread! What happened? It seems that in my effort to find my old pre-married self, I somehow lost my culinary abilities in the divorce along with the house, the nicer car and the silverware. I now eat standing over the kitchen sink. I have one plant in my house that was given to me and I am a bit skeptical of my ability to keep it alive. I've lived in my apt for over a year now and have artwork that still hasn't been hung. I wasn't planning on staying this long. I was sure I'd have wandered off by now. Maybe it's time to incorporate a blend of wander woman and that other person. Just a bit-o-balance.
I met my first husband (I like to refer to him as my 'first' husband even though there hasn't been a second, nor is any second anywhere in sight. I'm pretty sure, eventually, there will be a second. Surely there will be....someday...I think...) when I was a sophomore in college. Waaaay too young to be meeting husbands. I was nineteen for heaven sakes. I was pretty adamant about not getting married. Nope that was not me. Not going down that road yet. No ma'am. I'm waiting til I'm at least 30 to get married. Well, if only I took my own advice.
Anyway, we got married at 24...a good solid courtship later. I developed into quite the married lady. My husband was a chef at heart. Not his trade, but it should have been. He loved to cook, to watch cooking shows, explore with food, grow a garden, a fruit orchard...you name it. And he was great at it. He taught me everything I know about cooking (sorry, mom, it's true!). We entertained guests at our home frequently. I not only cooked, hosted fabulous parties and baked pies from rubarb and apples from our yard, I excavated soil, planned and formed patios (yes plural), poured concrete, even MIXED the concrete. Put up drywall, tiled, bricked, roofed, painted, gardened, mowed and chopped and stacked wood. My husband had a workshop and I had a 'craft' shop to do ceramics and dried flower arrangements. I sewed my own curtains and stenciled the walls. I was a regular Martha Stewart groupie. My husband and I watched and 'studied' all the home shows. Oh, domestic doesn't even begin to decribe my old life.
Then, one day, I suddenly realized "wait just a cotton pickin minute here. What happened to ME? What happened to the life I thought I was going to live?" I realized, as many women do in their mid to late thirties (sometimes earlier, sometimes later) I forgot about ME. About what I want? I forgot who I was and became someone I was molded into. It was subtle. I didn't even know it was happening. But there I was ... staring at a pile of gravel that had been delivered to the house thinking "what am I doing? This gravel money could be a weekend get-a-way." I was tired of spending my weekends 'enhancing' our home. Our home was lovely. Not a blade of grass out of place. I was living in the guilded cage. It was finally time to fly.
Of course it wasn't as simple as all that, but you get the gist. So I gave all that up...all the glamour (and security) of homeownership, the praise received for making pies that tasted just like my mother-in-law's (the ultimate goal apparently), the unsatifying job and constant stress. I gave it up to go teach and travel abroad. And that I did. It was a thrilling time. Entering into the unknown. Living out of a suitcase. Forging through language barriers and other challenges that traveling as a solo woman would bring.
Now I'm back in the states. I rent an apartment in the city. I bus everywhere. I am working as a temp...wandering from job to job. I am a pet nanny wandering from pet to pet...from neighborhood to neighborhood.... from home to home...a different bed every month.
Do I miss my old lifestyle? Not exactly. I tried baking bread last year when I unpacked my things from storage and found a bread pan. It came out over AND undercooked at the same time. What the &*$??? I was the master of pumpkin bread! What happened? It seems that in my effort to find my old pre-married self, I somehow lost my culinary abilities in the divorce along with the house, the nicer car and the silverware. I now eat standing over the kitchen sink. I have one plant in my house that was given to me and I am a bit skeptical of my ability to keep it alive. I've lived in my apt for over a year now and have artwork that still hasn't been hung. I wasn't planning on staying this long. I was sure I'd have wandered off by now. Maybe it's time to incorporate a blend of wander woman and that other person. Just a bit-o-balance.
Monday, July 23, 2007
I Am a Bus Person
I hear people saying all the time "naw, I'm not a bus person." What does that mean exactly? You're too environmentally hogish to ride the bus? You're too attached to your car? You'd rather sit in traffic, clench your teeth, drive around the block umpteen times looking for expensive parking and spend a ton on gas than ride the bus and get dropped off within a block (if not right in front) of your destination? (http://www.transit.metrokc.gov/)
I have a new friend who just moved here from California. She is 'not a bus person.' She says it's easier to walk. Well, that is commendable and I can appreciate that. Often it IS easier...as well as faster...to just walk. However, sometimes walking is just impractical. You're wearing your sexy new high heels for a night on the town...the bus saves your heels AND your feet. It's pissing rain and blowing sideways. The bus is definitely a better option than walking if you need to look presentable upon arrival. You're pressed for time...again...the bus is fairly speedy.
I'll cut my new friend a bit of slack, because she is at least making an attempt to avoid the unnecessary use of her car. But what about all those other non-bus people who are using their cars when the bus is just as easy, cheaper, relaxing (really, it is....the bus provides that time to catch up on reading, zzzz's, chat with a new person, or just veg staring out the window contemplating life.) No, these people don't see it that way at all. I think they actually have 'bus fear.'
Yes, fear of the bus. They don't know how to take the bus. It is complicated in Seattle, admittedly. It takes a good six months of using the system before one is an accomplished rider. There's the issue of paying. You pay when getting on when entering the city but when you get off when leaving the city. Free ride area (basically just downtown) is from 7 am - 7pm. After 7 pm the back doors don't open...enter and exit from front door only. Peak hours the fare is $1.50, off hours fare is $1.25...what are peak hours? There's a sign on the paybox...you'll figure it out. Some buses change number partway into the route. Yes, it's complicated business alright, but worth getting acquainted with.
Then there is the issue of the 'bus freaks.' There's always the sleeper whose head bobs like one of those bobble head dolls until it's on your shoulder. There's the drunk, the incessant talker about nothing (no, that is NOT me!), the political activist, the lady with the Great Dane and the other one with the dog in a bag. Sure you will observe many interesting folks (and smells) on the bus...especially through the free ride zone. But that's one of the perks of riding the bus. I could probably write a 'bus stories' blog and be busy writing every day of the week! I grew up in a family who supported bus travel (I think that makes a difference as well. It's in my genes.) I come from a long lineage of bus people. My dad used to come home every night from work and tell an unusual and interesting bus story at the dinner table. After college, when I landed my first job downtown, I too was able to join in on the dinner table bus story talk.
Now I didn't just go cold turkey with this whole bus riding transition. I sold my car before going to Europe. While there I had to learn the public transit systems. I became quite apt...in foreign lands mind you. When I returned to Seattle...jobless and homeless...I decided to find an apartment in a part of town with good bus service. I was going to attempt to bring a bit of my European lifestyle back into my American life. I did not want to race out a plunk down money I didn't really have on a car. No siree. I didn't know how long I could make this last, though. I mean, Seattle isn't known to have the best public transit in the world. But it's been over a year and I'm quite comfortable and happy with my bus riding lifestyle. There are very few instances when I feel I need a car. In those cases, I borrow from a friend or use flexcar (http://www.flexcar.com/) or if really in a jam, I take a cab. The amount I've spent on those other options over the last year is miniscule compared to owning a vehicle (the car, car maintenance, parking, the time spent looking for parking, gas, insurance).
So, again, what makes a person 'not a bus person?' I think everyone should at least give it a chance. There's just nothing like a day of good bus karma when you get to the bus stop seconds before the bus arrives, you make all your connections, always get a seat and get where you need to be on time. And if you ARE late...you just blame the bus. Everyone seems to accept this as a valid excuse for tardiness.
I have a new friend who just moved here from California. She is 'not a bus person.' She says it's easier to walk. Well, that is commendable and I can appreciate that. Often it IS easier...as well as faster...to just walk. However, sometimes walking is just impractical. You're wearing your sexy new high heels for a night on the town...the bus saves your heels AND your feet. It's pissing rain and blowing sideways. The bus is definitely a better option than walking if you need to look presentable upon arrival. You're pressed for time...again...the bus is fairly speedy.
I'll cut my new friend a bit of slack, because she is at least making an attempt to avoid the unnecessary use of her car. But what about all those other non-bus people who are using their cars when the bus is just as easy, cheaper, relaxing (really, it is....the bus provides that time to catch up on reading, zzzz's, chat with a new person, or just veg staring out the window contemplating life.) No, these people don't see it that way at all. I think they actually have 'bus fear.'
Yes, fear of the bus. They don't know how to take the bus. It is complicated in Seattle, admittedly. It takes a good six months of using the system before one is an accomplished rider. There's the issue of paying. You pay when getting on when entering the city but when you get off when leaving the city. Free ride area (basically just downtown) is from 7 am - 7pm. After 7 pm the back doors don't open...enter and exit from front door only. Peak hours the fare is $1.50, off hours fare is $1.25...what are peak hours? There's a sign on the paybox...you'll figure it out. Some buses change number partway into the route. Yes, it's complicated business alright, but worth getting acquainted with.
Then there is the issue of the 'bus freaks.' There's always the sleeper whose head bobs like one of those bobble head dolls until it's on your shoulder. There's the drunk, the incessant talker about nothing (no, that is NOT me!), the political activist, the lady with the Great Dane and the other one with the dog in a bag. Sure you will observe many interesting folks (and smells) on the bus...especially through the free ride zone. But that's one of the perks of riding the bus. I could probably write a 'bus stories' blog and be busy writing every day of the week! I grew up in a family who supported bus travel (I think that makes a difference as well. It's in my genes.) I come from a long lineage of bus people. My dad used to come home every night from work and tell an unusual and interesting bus story at the dinner table. After college, when I landed my first job downtown, I too was able to join in on the dinner table bus story talk.
Now I didn't just go cold turkey with this whole bus riding transition. I sold my car before going to Europe. While there I had to learn the public transit systems. I became quite apt...in foreign lands mind you. When I returned to Seattle...jobless and homeless...I decided to find an apartment in a part of town with good bus service. I was going to attempt to bring a bit of my European lifestyle back into my American life. I did not want to race out a plunk down money I didn't really have on a car. No siree. I didn't know how long I could make this last, though. I mean, Seattle isn't known to have the best public transit in the world. But it's been over a year and I'm quite comfortable and happy with my bus riding lifestyle. There are very few instances when I feel I need a car. In those cases, I borrow from a friend or use flexcar (http://www.flexcar.com/) or if really in a jam, I take a cab. The amount I've spent on those other options over the last year is miniscule compared to owning a vehicle (the car, car maintenance, parking, the time spent looking for parking, gas, insurance).
So, again, what makes a person 'not a bus person?' I think everyone should at least give it a chance. There's just nothing like a day of good bus karma when you get to the bus stop seconds before the bus arrives, you make all your connections, always get a seat and get where you need to be on time. And if you ARE late...you just blame the bus. Everyone seems to accept this as a valid excuse for tardiness.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Culture Shock
When I returned from Europe last year, several people contacted me wanting to get together for a coffee to ask me about my experiences teaching abroad. Total strangers....friends of friends who knew someone who knew me. What the heck? I'm no anomaly. I'm just a gal who took life by the seat of its pants and decided to live a little. Nothing special. Nothing unique really. I didn't just sail around the world solo for the first time or anything else remotely noteworthy. But people were acting as though I'd done something worth talking about. They wanted to know how I'd started my venture teaching abroad, how I found the course, how I found living abroad, what was traveling as a solo 40 something woman like etc... Okay, after 3 or 4 of these coffee "dates" I decided it might be more efficient to bring all these people together and give one comprehensive seminar on the subject of...well... me traveling, teaching and living abroad (www.discoverU.org/travel).
Through teaching the course I've met a number of interesting people, both men and women, eager to change careers, quit jobs, venture abroad. They've asked me questions that make me ponder as well. Recently, one student asked me if I had experienced any culture shock and how did I deal with that. Well, since my travel experiences on this particular journey was limited to European countries, I experienced very little, if any, real culture shock. And the things that were different were things I pretty much expected and embraced whole heartedly...or at least half heartedly, e.g. ALL shops and businesses closing during siesta hours. Once accustomed to that routine, I loved that part of life. I'm currently lobbying to bring the siesta to America. SLOOOW down. Take the afternoon off....go home...eat a nice lunch, have sex with your spouse....chiiiiillll. There is the misnomer that the Europeans then have to work late into the evening because they take those afternoon hours off. Hey, Americans are already doing that! Most people I know in the corporate world don't even take a proper lunch. They eat at their desks causing indigestion and poor eating habits! Or if they do take a lunch, they spend the majority of the time on the cell phone or blackberry not missing a beat.
Sure the language barriers were a part of the cultural differences. But that is why I went to a foreign country to live...to learn and experience a foreign language. Every day was a challenge. Every day was a success when I was able to communicate something to someone and get what I asked for. Ordering a piece of cheese at the deli was a huge achievement!
Sure, managing the "Turkish toilets" can be tricky when wearing jeans. The solar powered hot water can be touch and go (I had many a-cold shower...but at least I had a shower!). And doing laundry by hand and hanging dry in all weather requires planning. But these things don't cause culture 'shock.' They're just little inconveniences that can be adjusted to quite easily.
Men in other countries are much more bold than our American scaredy cats. They will actually sprint across the road to come talk to a girl if they are interested. Sure at first that is flattering. Then it becomes annoying. Then you just learn to deal with it in the most polite, yet firm, manner. But I come home and realize that men don't even talk to women in public anymore. I go away for a few years and find out the only way anyone is communicating is via the internet. What? You mean you have a conversation with a guy in line behind you at the Safeway...it seems like a good one...you are connecting....laughing and joking....and then nothing??? You have to go to your computer and look on the "missed connections" or "I saw you" site to see if he wants to meet again??? THIS is culture shock!
It's taking me longer to adjust to the whole internet dating/communicating online scene than it took me to adjust to peeing into a hole in the ground, that's for sure!
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