You've come a long way, baby

Saturday is my birthday. On Saturday I will head to New York's West Village to ring in my new year with my closest friends, some pumpkin cheesecake and a karaoke mic. (I mean, let's not kid ourselves here).

Last year, I was in a much different place mentally, emotionally and physically. I had just broken up with the Ex, had just lost my father and had just moved to Switzerland.

In a matter of a few weeks, my entire self-identity completely disintegrated.

Happy birthday to me.

It took a while, but I rebuilt my life. I grew a lot closer to my mother, bravely faced a new culture and learned to put the past behind me. In other words, I've come a long way.

When I least expected it, I was called to make a new life, to move steadily onward even as the world spun beneath my feet. A year later, I'm surprised at the amount of strength and bravery it took just to get out of bed every morning.

Looking back now I can see how brave it was to pick myself off my bedroom floor after having cried myself to sleep on it; to walk out of the apartment knowing that each day was going to be just as hard as the day before, but facing it anyway; to allow a new unexpected friendship into my life; to not take the Ex back when he asked just because I missed him; to have faith, no matter how seemingly impossible, that somehow things would get better; to find something to laugh about everyday and not feel guilty about it; to mourn a death and a future that would never happen simultaneously; to let both of those things go and move on; to keep on living even though it often felt like I had little to live for.

Life called me to be brave and resolute and I rose to the occasion.

Happy birthday to me.

I'm proud of where I've been and I really can't think of a better way to express that pride than with a Bon Jovi song in a dimly lit karaoke bar.

Homecoming

Well hello there.

I want to tell you why I dropped off the face of the planet, if you still want to hear the tale.

(I hope you do).

A few days after my last post I was enjoying a round of drinks with a candidate for my job (I was helping the X's find a replacement tutor) when he laid his gorgeous blue eyes on me (seriously he was beautiful) and said, "I enjoy reading your travel blog."

I almost spit my beer out, but didn't (beer is sacred, yo). I looked at him and in my best faked sincere voice insisted that I didn't have a travel blog and that I had NO IDEA what he was talking about.

However, he was as persistent as he was beautiful and said, "I googled you and your blog came up."

At that point I hit the internal panic button (on the outside I was still calm and collected. What can I say, I'm a professional), but was determined to figure out how that was even possible.

What I said: "Oh, really? You googled me and I popped up. Huh, that's strange. That blog is completely anonymous or mostly is. It's even attached to an anonymous email account."

What I was thinking: "Holy $@*^%#!!!!! I'm applying for jobs. What if the X's see it!? What if a future employer sees it!? I mean, I don't always paint the Swiss upper crust in the most loving light, but now my sassiness could put my whole livelihood at risk! I mean... Ahhh!!!! Must abort mission now.

While I was panicking internally, I realized that since he read my blog, he suddenly knew a lot of somewhat embarrassing information about me (like the fact that I dance without pants) and in that moment I felt naked.

Part of the joy of writing is having a relatively incognito identity. For me at least. Suddenly it was gone.

And so I did something I'm not proud of: I hid. I dropped off the face of the blogging planet, feeling rather stripped of my voice.

I'm sorry. I left you and I didn't even leave a note. That was uncool.

However, I can hide no longer. I'm back and better than ever.

1. I've got a new job (I'm working for a private school and with a family that is seriously wealthy. Like 4 times as wealthy as the X's).
2. I moved to New York and am about to move to Russia because of this job.

See? This is what I'm talking about. You can't make this stuff up.

My life = stranger than fiction.

I'm not keeping it to myself any longer. Plus, I miss you. Friends, I've been missing you for about four months.

I swallowed the fear, bullet proofed my identity and I'm back.

(If you'll have me).

Let's just pretend like this never happened.

This week has been filled with some exciting craziness.

First off I was house sitting for the X's this past week. (I know, the glamorous life of a house-sitter).

I kicked the week off with a little something I like to call a Pants-Off-Dance-Off. (It's as awesome as it sounds and it looks a little something like this):



(I love Risky Business).

The Dance-Off usually occurs right before I'm going to bed, when I'm already in my pajamas. I turn on some loud 80's music and dance around, making sure to make the most of the space.

Truth be told, I'm actually pretty shameless about it. No jumping, singing into hairbrushes or air guitar move is beneath me. They are all arsenal in my Dance Off repertoire.

This is week, I was in my little pajama shorts and tank top, when I decided to blast "Jump" by the Pointer Sisters and replicate Hugh Grant's dance moves from Love Actually. In a moment of dance party bliss, I leapt onto the balcony and continued to dance around when I saw the neighbor, the poor, innocent Swiss neighbor, watering his flowers and staring at me with the most bewildered look on his face.

I stopped dancing (obviously) and we both sort of awkwardly waved at each other, then I went back inside.

Being caught in the middle of your Pants-Off-Dance-Off? Total buzz kill.

"I don't speak 'English'" and other things you shouldn't say to customs agents

I am a frequent traveler. I have been fortunate enough to have traveled to many places and have been able to see many things in my life. I have a great job that affords plenty of travel opportunities and have been privileged enough to travel privately as well.

I'm not saying all this to brag, but rather to illustrate for you that I really should know how to act at Airport Customs by now. It should be a no-brainer.

However, I have a problem: when I get really nervous I can't stop talking.

(You may recall a little incident I had with the Zurich police on April 1).

I still get really nervous every time I have to go through customs. It doesn't matter what country I'm in, even if that country is my own, as soon as I see the signs for customs and passport control, I immediately break out into a nervous sweat. My palms get all clammy, I start to fidget, my face gets flushed and droplets of perspiration form on my brow and upper lip.

In other words, I totally look like I have something to hide.

I can see the guards checking me out, which only makes me more nervous (and sweaty), so that by the time I get to the counter, they are just about ready to give me a full body/cavity search because no one as nervous as I am could be a mere tourist.

(I mean, can you really blame me? The florescent lights, sterile white floors and people lined up like packing animals is hardly a warm welcome to any country.)

However, being sweaty, fidgety and clearly nervous is the least of my concerns because I know that as soon as I get to the counter, I'm going to start talking. Incessantly.

Last week when I arrived in London, I was super tired and I knew I was going to babble. I just didn't have the strength to fight it. Seriously, I'm shocked they let me in the country. To my shame, here is a brief transcript of my conversation with the customs agent.

Customs Agent: How long have you been in the United Kingdom?*
Me: [nervous laugh] About 5 minutes.
Customs Agent: [looks pissed and says something in an accent so thick, it made Sean Connery sound like the Queen]
Me: I'm sorry, I don't speak "English." [Yes, I actually made air quotation marks]**
Customs Agent: What are you doing here?
Me: I have an interview, but I also came to see if I could make Prince William fall in love with me. [Wow, internal monologue just came out. Oops]
Customs Agent: When are you leaving?
Me: Tomorrow.
Customs Agent: So soon? [says this while smiling]

*I thought that is what she said, but I was probably wrong.
**I lost some respect for myself when I did that.

Sometimes there really is no excuse for me.

London was gorgeous and I would definitely go back again, but next time, I'm taking a boat. No more airports for me.

Sometimes I dance around in my apartment

Sometimes for no reason at all, I like to dance it out (kind of like Meredith and Christina on Grey's Anatomy).

Let me tell you, nothing puts me in a dancing mood more than craziness like this:



He's the man.

Go ahead, turn it up and dance. Feel inspired by the mullet.

Or this:



Come on, you loved that movie too. Don't lie.

If that doesn't put you in a good mood, maybe this will:



Although two things, as a wise friend of mine pointed out:
1. Why did no one think George Michael was gay before 1990?
2. Life is tough. Just ask the guy in Wham who wasn't George Michael.

And if that doesn't do it for you, try this old standby:



Yes. To all of it.

Enjoy the dance party. I'm off to London for a few days. Don't worry, I'll let you know all about the barmy Brits.

Na, it's cool. I get groped by multi-millionaires all the time.

Last night started out like any other. Boy X and I were working on his science project, intermittently asking one another important questions like, "If you were a member of the X-Men, what super power would you have?" or "Would you rather poke a sleeping bear or spit on a rattlesnake?"

(For the record: I would definitely be the first X-Men member to control time and I'll take my chances with the snake).

There we were constructing his experiment, listening to Boy X's new favorite song (He acts like that song the hottest thing out right now. I don't think he's realized it's 20 years old), when we got a call from Mrs. X that we should come over to the Doctor's house for some post project/after dinner drinks.

(The Jag/Porsche owning doctor who loves to remove moles? Yeah, that one).

We managed to get to the top level of the Doctor's house without me gawking too much at the Porsches (drool) or the priceless works of art hanging on the wall. At the top we were greeted by soft jazz music and a small band of Zurich elite.

The Doctor was overjoyed to see me and greeted me like he was reuniting with a long lost friend. "Oh, how NICE to see you. It's been SO long. Please sit. NO! Not there. Sit next to me!"

A little exaggerated. I mean, I barely know this guy. However, that seems to be the trend in the superclass--greet all acquaintances in this kind of happy, over-the-top manner, even if you don't know them or can't stand them.

Seriously, I can't tell you how many times I've seen Mrs. X greet someone she hates in this same sugar sweet way.

Welcome to the Jungle.

For as much as I rag on the Doctor, he is actually a pretty cool guy. When he is not offering to remove my moles, he is often complimenting my intelligence (a move sure to put him in my good graces) or debating politics or historical events with me. He is brilliant and enjoys good discussion, even if he lacks tact occasionally.

Hey, nobody is perfect right? (Well, except for Brad Pitt. If he hadn't started getting wrinkles this year (probably because he has 6 kids), I would have started questioning whether or not he was actually human).

The Doctor was the least of my troubles; he had a friend over. This friend, whom we'll call CO for Castle Owner, was an interesting character. (By interesting, I mean a little pervy and egotistical). He kept winking at me the whole night and everything he said was a kind of innuendo. Not so much because of what he said, but because of how he said it.

CO: {In lower than usual tone of voice} "Would you like to see my castle? It changes color in the dark."
Me: Uhhhh....
CO: *wink*

Seriously, how do you even answer a question like that?

The CO really does own a castle. Under normal circumstances (not after 3 glasses of wine), he might even be a nice guy. However, he was definitely coming on a bit strong last night and he was acting like a total creeper.

When we said good-bye, he went in to give me the standard 3 kiss departure, but instead of kissing the air, he totally kissed me for real and came dangerously close to my lips once. And instead of just shaking my hand, he pulled me into a full embrace and placed his hand on the small of my back. Really. Low. To the point where it almost wasn't my back anymore.

Not cool, CO. Not Cool.

Note to self: Would you rather build science experiments with Boy X or get groped by millionaires on the sly?

Just call me, Bill Nye the Science Guy.

Hey! There I am. I was looking for me.

How did it get to be Monday already? Scratch that. How did it get to be Monday night already?

The older I get, the faster time seems to move. Time used to move so much slower when I was younger. I remember after unwrapping all my birthday presents and blowing out the candles, being saddened by the thought that I was going to have to wait a whole year before I could celebrate again.

(A far cry from this past year when I actually forgot my own birthday).

Now the days seem to move by faster than I can count them. I get to the end of another week and think, "What did I do yesterday? Did I go to grocery store? Was that yesterday or the day before? I can't remember..." The only thing I can remember with any kind of certainty is that I was very busy.

Busy doing what, I haven't the slightest idea.

(Not that I'm complaining; I don't feel excessively stressed or anxious, I'm just trying to accomplish my goals by making the most of the daylight hours). In other words, I'm busy with good things, but even in the midst of all this productive goodness, I can still lose sight of the bigger picture.

Sometimes I get so lost in the small, petty issues that consume my days, that I often forget what these issues cover, who they cover.

What is the point of achieving your goals if you can't quite remember why they were so important in the first place?

So yesterday, when I went to pick up something for the X's in Germany, I made a conscious decision to enjoy the ride and make time for some quiet self-reflection. I rolled the windows and the top down (hooray for convertibles) and drove to Germany. Without music.

(A first for me, I assure you).

I let the wind roll over me and let all the tangled thoughts that have been rolling around in my mind unravel themselves. It was wonderful.

Just before I reached my destination, I pulled off to enjoy the most breathtaking view: rolling green hills dotted with yellow flowers, tiny villages tucked in valleys and, oddly enough, a group of swallows flying in low formation just in front of me.

They started to fly in my direction and rather than duck for cover I spread my arms out, tipped my head back and felt the air flutter as they flew around me.

There in that moment, between opening my arms in a German field and the leaping of my heart as swallows flew close enough to touch, I saw myself.