The past week has been a terrible rollercoaster ride. Terrible because instead of soaring highs and then steep, sharp drops, it's just been feeling a lot like I'm nosediving into an abyss. Melodramatic? Definitely. But being 24, single, unemployed with few job prospects and living with your family tends to make you not so optimistic about the world around you. Mostly because being 24 means you're still quite self-centered and focused on what you don't have instead of what you do.
And frankly, there's a lot that I do have to be thankful for. Like a loving family, a roof overhead, money for frivolous things like tall black tea lattes, Netflix and clear plastic bags full of Juicy Pear and Pomegranate jelly beans. A shopping bag full of books I need to re-read, money in my bank account, and, for the most part, my health.
So despite the fact that I'm really actually pretty depressed at the moment, I'm going to try a little bit harder to be hopeful about my future and thankful for the things I have.
I'm going to take ballet classes, join a French speaking group, apply for jobs, visit friends and family members in far flung corners of the country, take more long walks in the rain, buy flowers, garden, build things, take Flash classes and hope that somewhere, there's a job that's just right for me.
I'm going to be 25 soon. While that's still pretty young, I think it's time for some self-reflection and taking stock of who I am right now and what I hope to become. I feel lost all the time because I don't know what I want from life and it's high time I sort that out.
This will be my theme song:
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Updates! For all...3 of my readers :)
I haven't written in a long while, mostly because there's not anything particularly noteworthy or interesting going on in my world. But then I realized that the point of this blog had very little to do with life-altering, earth-shattering events and more to do with the banalities of everyday life and my working my way through this odd little life of mine.
In any case, I will soon be unemployed. Not because I've been laid off, but because the contract for my current position expires next month. The behemoth company I work for has actually gone through a pretty sizeable round of layoffs, and I'm pretty sure if my contract didn't end when it does, I'd have been gone in January. My two officemates were brought on after me, and both of them saw their contracts abruptly cut off. And by abruptly I mean their bosses told them on Monday that their last day was Friday.
My days have now taken on a thick and relentless monotony. I come to work, make a cup of tea, check my mail (where there isn't anything for me to do because no one wants to start me on a new project if I'm going to be gone soon), check the blogs, apply for jobs. Repeat for 8 hours. There is absolutely NO REASON I should be exhausted at the end of a day like that, I chalk it up to the emotional toll sitting around doing nothing when you know you could or should be doing something takes on you.
I've been applying for jobs since December and I've gotten 1 interview. I'd feel worse if the economy wasn't so poor, but I just know that this is the way things are going to be for a while. All that I can do is keep trying and hoping for the best.
Ugh. The point of this entry was NOT to be depressing, but rather to offer an explanation of the changes I hope to make over the coming months. Because I'll be unemployed for a while, I plan on writing a lot more. In part because writing is what I love most in the world, and in part because I won't have anything else to do. There are probably 30 or so half-written entries waiting to be finished and posted, and I'm hoping to do a little bit of commentary regarding my job hunt.
In any case, I will soon be unemployed. Not because I've been laid off, but because the contract for my current position expires next month. The behemoth company I work for has actually gone through a pretty sizeable round of layoffs, and I'm pretty sure if my contract didn't end when it does, I'd have been gone in January. My two officemates were brought on after me, and both of them saw their contracts abruptly cut off. And by abruptly I mean their bosses told them on Monday that their last day was Friday.
My days have now taken on a thick and relentless monotony. I come to work, make a cup of tea, check my mail (where there isn't anything for me to do because no one wants to start me on a new project if I'm going to be gone soon), check the blogs, apply for jobs. Repeat for 8 hours. There is absolutely NO REASON I should be exhausted at the end of a day like that, I chalk it up to the emotional toll sitting around doing nothing when you know you could or should be doing something takes on you.
I've been applying for jobs since December and I've gotten 1 interview. I'd feel worse if the economy wasn't so poor, but I just know that this is the way things are going to be for a while. All that I can do is keep trying and hoping for the best.
Ugh. The point of this entry was NOT to be depressing, but rather to offer an explanation of the changes I hope to make over the coming months. Because I'll be unemployed for a while, I plan on writing a lot more. In part because writing is what I love most in the world, and in part because I won't have anything else to do. There are probably 30 or so half-written entries waiting to be finished and posted, and I'm hoping to do a little bit of commentary regarding my job hunt.
Friday, November 7, 2008
YES, WE CAN
Before my first trip overseas, my mom urged me not to be "the ugly American." I brushed up on the French I had learned that year in 8th grade, and I pulled any items with USA emblazoned on them out of closet. When we arrived in Paris during the summer of 1998, the French people we met were generally pretty kind to us. Maybe there was a wee jab here and there about cowboys and what not, but there were no outright discussions of politics or the wrongs America had committed recently. It might've been because I was so young (I turned 14 in Paris that year), but people seemed to respect America.
Seven years later, I embarked on a study abroad trip to Paris. This time, even I didn't like my country very much. We'd elected someone who was literally the embodiment of everything that is the "ugly American," not once, but twice. And when I went, it was just months after Bush's re-election. My, what a difference a President makes. I lived in an international house, and anytime I opened my mouth, I was sure to hear about my country's failing foreign policies, how our culture was taking over everything, how much people resented America. People were comparing us to the Roman Empire and seemed to be rather gleeful as the glow of America's formerly shining beacon of hope, change and prosperity seemed to be dimming. I enjoyed my time in Paris more than words can express, but the political discussions I had left me truly ashamed of what my country had become.
Yet, even as I lived there and listened to people complain about what my country had become, I knew that my story was one that could never happen in any other place but America. I am a black woman from a middle to upper middle class background. Both my parents attended college and have good jobs, I attended college, travelled abroad and had access to amazing opportunities and experiences. Two generations ago, my family members were sharecroppers in the deep South. And through the hardwork and perserverance that personifies the American experience, we achieved what our ancestors had hoped for us. But when I looked around me in France, I didn't see my experience replicated. There were NO people of color at the university I attended, and the only people of color I saw on television were athletes and singers.
So even though the American star had fallen considerably, it could be argued that there was something still there that made us completely capable of turning things around and regaining our former glory.
Two successive extended trips to Europe showed me that people seemed more disappointed than anything else. America has long been the "land of opportunity," yet for the past 8 years, we've been nothing more than a charicature of our worst selves. Warmongering, ignorant and discounting the voice of the world around us. The rest of the world isn't really so different than we are, we all want to believe that America can be better, that we are better than our current situation and that we have been. That for all our boisterous talking, our little bit of arrogance, we are a hopeful bunch who deep down really want to do what's best. Consumption of American pop culture abroad led me to believe that though our star had fallen, many people still wanted to believe or be exposed to the American dream.
And I think that Tuesday night, we became what we were before. There was a reason people were dancing in the streets, wrapped in American flags and singing our anthem. And not just in America, but overseas as well. Because deep down, we all wanted to believe that America is better than what we've been. That we've been down for a long time, but surely, the America that existed before hadn't died completely. People were ready for change.
For the first time in 8 years, I'll go abroad with my head held high, unashamed of my American accent and demeanor, proud that we're living up to our potential and that we collectively are ready to change the direction of the American journey.
Seven years later, I embarked on a study abroad trip to Paris. This time, even I didn't like my country very much. We'd elected someone who was literally the embodiment of everything that is the "ugly American," not once, but twice. And when I went, it was just months after Bush's re-election. My, what a difference a President makes. I lived in an international house, and anytime I opened my mouth, I was sure to hear about my country's failing foreign policies, how our culture was taking over everything, how much people resented America. People were comparing us to the Roman Empire and seemed to be rather gleeful as the glow of America's formerly shining beacon of hope, change and prosperity seemed to be dimming. I enjoyed my time in Paris more than words can express, but the political discussions I had left me truly ashamed of what my country had become.
Yet, even as I lived there and listened to people complain about what my country had become, I knew that my story was one that could never happen in any other place but America. I am a black woman from a middle to upper middle class background. Both my parents attended college and have good jobs, I attended college, travelled abroad and had access to amazing opportunities and experiences. Two generations ago, my family members were sharecroppers in the deep South. And through the hardwork and perserverance that personifies the American experience, we achieved what our ancestors had hoped for us. But when I looked around me in France, I didn't see my experience replicated. There were NO people of color at the university I attended, and the only people of color I saw on television were athletes and singers.
So even though the American star had fallen considerably, it could be argued that there was something still there that made us completely capable of turning things around and regaining our former glory.
Two successive extended trips to Europe showed me that people seemed more disappointed than anything else. America has long been the "land of opportunity," yet for the past 8 years, we've been nothing more than a charicature of our worst selves. Warmongering, ignorant and discounting the voice of the world around us. The rest of the world isn't really so different than we are, we all want to believe that America can be better, that we are better than our current situation and that we have been. That for all our boisterous talking, our little bit of arrogance, we are a hopeful bunch who deep down really want to do what's best. Consumption of American pop culture abroad led me to believe that though our star had fallen, many people still wanted to believe or be exposed to the American dream.
And I think that Tuesday night, we became what we were before. There was a reason people were dancing in the streets, wrapped in American flags and singing our anthem. And not just in America, but overseas as well. Because deep down, we all wanted to believe that America is better than what we've been. That we've been down for a long time, but surely, the America that existed before hadn't died completely. People were ready for change.
For the first time in 8 years, I'll go abroad with my head held high, unashamed of my American accent and demeanor, proud that we're living up to our potential and that we collectively are ready to change the direction of the American journey.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
I am failing miserably at keeping this updated. But I figured that like millions of other people, tomorrow means that I should write an entry about that day.
I was a senior in high school. And the day began like any other...every school morning since I was in 4th grade, I woke up and turned on the The Today Show (I haven't watched that show since 9/11). That particular morning, I was watching it and whinging about a lost boot. I remember seeing Katie Couric reporting on what was happening, I remember going in to tell my mom that a plan had crashed in the World Trade Center.
I went to school, and in all but my Broadcasting class, we were prohibited from accessing the Internet. My classmates and I crowded around the editing computer and read updates on CNN.com. At lunch, someone had turned the TV on, and we all sat in stunned silence as we watched people jump from the windows of the burning buildings. Shortly after the footage aired, someone shut the tv off and in a room full of 200 or so adolescents, you could've heard a pin drop.
It's almost impossible for 17 to 18 year olds to put their lives into perspective without a catastrophic event serving as a catalyst. 9/11 accomplished that. This happened the 2nd week of school, and all of the giddyness that typically accompanies the beginning of senior year faded quietly into the background as we all realized we were on the brink of war. But this was not the type of war fought by our grandfathers; it was something deeper, stronger, more menacing and infinitely more mysterious. How can you combat a state of mind? How can you fight an enemy that isn't isolated strictly to the borders of one country? The weapons that were used against us weren't bombs or guns, but commercial jet planes. The victims were unarmed; they were passengers on planes, men and women going about their work day. They were civilians. This sort of thing happened overseas, to other people in far off places like Israel. But not in America, not to us. As a country, we had to learn to strike a balance between caution and paralyzing fear. Between recognizing a specific threat and making swift, blanket judgements.
I will never discount just how much that day in September changed the lives of everyone in this country in one way or another, and it is a day we really should never forget. But it frightens me that our leaders, the Republicans in particular, have been unable to move beyond that day in terms of creating policy.
Later in the evening on September 11th, at my mother's urging, I changed the channel to MTV, which had begun airing music videos non-stop. One of the songs I heard was called "Stuck in a Moment" by U2. I was never a U2 fan, but this particular song has always reminded me of 9/11 because I heard it that day, and I felt the lyrics were strangely appropriate. And maybe not so much on that exact day, but now, 7 years later, we as a country still derive much of our foreign policy not from current events, but from that day. We collectively are "stuck in a moment," and until we learn to take lessons from that fateful day, we cannot possibly respond to the threats we as a nation face today.
I was a senior in high school. And the day began like any other...every school morning since I was in 4th grade, I woke up and turned on the The Today Show (I haven't watched that show since 9/11). That particular morning, I was watching it and whinging about a lost boot. I remember seeing Katie Couric reporting on what was happening, I remember going in to tell my mom that a plan had crashed in the World Trade Center.
I went to school, and in all but my Broadcasting class, we were prohibited from accessing the Internet. My classmates and I crowded around the editing computer and read updates on CNN.com. At lunch, someone had turned the TV on, and we all sat in stunned silence as we watched people jump from the windows of the burning buildings. Shortly after the footage aired, someone shut the tv off and in a room full of 200 or so adolescents, you could've heard a pin drop.
It's almost impossible for 17 to 18 year olds to put their lives into perspective without a catastrophic event serving as a catalyst. 9/11 accomplished that. This happened the 2nd week of school, and all of the giddyness that typically accompanies the beginning of senior year faded quietly into the background as we all realized we were on the brink of war. But this was not the type of war fought by our grandfathers; it was something deeper, stronger, more menacing and infinitely more mysterious. How can you combat a state of mind? How can you fight an enemy that isn't isolated strictly to the borders of one country? The weapons that were used against us weren't bombs or guns, but commercial jet planes. The victims were unarmed; they were passengers on planes, men and women going about their work day. They were civilians. This sort of thing happened overseas, to other people in far off places like Israel. But not in America, not to us. As a country, we had to learn to strike a balance between caution and paralyzing fear. Between recognizing a specific threat and making swift, blanket judgements.
I will never discount just how much that day in September changed the lives of everyone in this country in one way or another, and it is a day we really should never forget. But it frightens me that our leaders, the Republicans in particular, have been unable to move beyond that day in terms of creating policy.
Later in the evening on September 11th, at my mother's urging, I changed the channel to MTV, which had begun airing music videos non-stop. One of the songs I heard was called "Stuck in a Moment" by U2. I was never a U2 fan, but this particular song has always reminded me of 9/11 because I heard it that day, and I felt the lyrics were strangely appropriate. And maybe not so much on that exact day, but now, 7 years later, we as a country still derive much of our foreign policy not from current events, but from that day. We collectively are "stuck in a moment," and until we learn to take lessons from that fateful day, we cannot possibly respond to the threats we as a nation face today.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Back from Blighty
I sort of let this thing slip to the wayside. Not that I had any real devoted readers, other than people I sent this link to, but still, I shouldn't have let it go entirely.
In December, I left the country. Which sounds dramatic and like something amazing happened, when really, it was just another step in my seemingly never ending search for fulfillment. I left, ended an almost 2 year-long relationship, encountered all manner of housing and financial troubles, and after 4 soul crushing months, found myself hauling 3 half empty suitcases up the steep stairs to a room in my dad and stepmom's home in rural suburbia. My years old battle with depression reared it's ugly head and for about a week, I lurched from room to room feeling a failure. I got a job, new clothes, replaced most of what had been lost or stolen in the Big Smoke and began my new position.
Truth be told, I never enjoyed graduate school. I tried to like my classes but I never did. I was never fully engaged and in hindsight, I think I knew deep down from the moment I stepped onto the Eastbound plane that what I was doing, where I was going and what I wanted were either not meant to be or weren't going to be found in the manner I thought. I knew that on December 27th in the same way I knew that on April 20th. But I always have to learn things the hard way. Always.
And for a while, the constant nagging voice in my head that tells me this isn't what I want to do, that what I want to do is over there was quieted. I was content. I found a boy who meant the world to me, my job was satisfactory, I had money, I was getting along with my family. But a couple of days ago, something clicked. I don't know what it was or what brought it on, but I felt the need to go.
So I'm back. Searching for something, I don't know what exactly, but looking. I know though that what I want more than anything else is to write. And of the things I learned about myself over the past several months, it's that writing is something I need present in my life. This blog will still be a lot about the awkwardness that is corporate America, but it will also be about the struggles of the uber-cliche but too true rite of passage that is the quarter life crisis.
In December, I left the country. Which sounds dramatic and like something amazing happened, when really, it was just another step in my seemingly never ending search for fulfillment. I left, ended an almost 2 year-long relationship, encountered all manner of housing and financial troubles, and after 4 soul crushing months, found myself hauling 3 half empty suitcases up the steep stairs to a room in my dad and stepmom's home in rural suburbia. My years old battle with depression reared it's ugly head and for about a week, I lurched from room to room feeling a failure. I got a job, new clothes, replaced most of what had been lost or stolen in the Big Smoke and began my new position.
Truth be told, I never enjoyed graduate school. I tried to like my classes but I never did. I was never fully engaged and in hindsight, I think I knew deep down from the moment I stepped onto the Eastbound plane that what I was doing, where I was going and what I wanted were either not meant to be or weren't going to be found in the manner I thought. I knew that on December 27th in the same way I knew that on April 20th. But I always have to learn things the hard way. Always.
And for a while, the constant nagging voice in my head that tells me this isn't what I want to do, that what I want to do is over there was quieted. I was content. I found a boy who meant the world to me, my job was satisfactory, I had money, I was getting along with my family. But a couple of days ago, something clicked. I don't know what it was or what brought it on, but I felt the need to go.
So I'm back. Searching for something, I don't know what exactly, but looking. I know though that what I want more than anything else is to write. And of the things I learned about myself over the past several months, it's that writing is something I need present in my life. This blog will still be a lot about the awkwardness that is corporate America, but it will also be about the struggles of the uber-cliche but too true rite of passage that is the quarter life crisis.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
What's your e-mail address?
I have, almost since the time I began attracting the attention of adult men, an uncanny ability for getting all manner of freaks. The last time I dated someone normal was my junior year in high school, and so maybe there might be normal guys who find me attractive, but they never make their intentions known.
My ability to attract strangeoids became painfully obvious to me during my semester abroad. I, like many of my female classmates, was accosted by men all day long. On trains, buses, while walking through parks, buying groceries or waiting in line at the post office. Everywhere. And it is the kind of flirting that American men only get away with when they are extremely drunk. My response to awkward situations is often to giggle or smile nervously, which to many men is also a sign of flirting (but my kind of flirting usually involves verbal abuse, intense sarcasm, avoidance of eye contact, etc. You know...the opposite of actual flirting) so this almost always ended badly for me. I was once followed through a subway station by a man who insisted I go home with him. But along with potential stalkers, I attracted a lot of bored married men who called me "exotic," "exciting," and complained that their wives no longer found them attractive.
I returned to college with a newfound appreciation for the descendants of Puritans that I call my countrymen, and was happy to be able to safely walk down the street without fear of having someone grab my hand and tell me how beautiful I am. But only half my problem was solved; I still found myself attracting men in committed relationships and actual married men who were drawn to me for the same reasons that British, French, Italian and Irish men had explained to me on the other side of the pond.
After realizing that men are the same all around the world, I decided to just ignore the flirting that happens daily, and only when it gets really, really awkward have I taken notice and complained. And that brings us to last night. Last night was every awkward encounter I'd ever had with the added bonus of my being unable to escape. Because I was in a moving car. Every evening I take a shuttle from my building to a park-n-ride. Most of the shuttle drivers are semi-retired older men who flirt with me in a cute, harmless sort of way. Some of the shuttle drivers don't talk to me at all, but there's one shuttle driver in particular who I appear to have struck a chord with. On previous shuttle trips, I'd learned that he'd moved to America 8 months ago and worked as a shuttle driver in the evenings and as a help desk tech during the day. He also took it upon himself to chide me for being single, and cooking, eating and living alone, and insisted to me that this was a sad, meaningless existence. Which is of course what every single woman likes to hear.
Last night, when the shuttle pulled up, I immediately recognized him and gave my best cheerleader grin to help me get through what was sure to be a slightly awkward ride. I got into the car, and he began telling me how excited he was that he got to see me. "So excited! I have wanted to see you since last Friday!" he exclaimed. There were two other passengers and so whatever else he needed to say couldn't be uttered until they weren't in the car. When the couple had gotten out at their stop, he locked the doors and turned to me saying "You are single, yes?" I replied that I was, laughing softly to myself and recalling with a certain fondness the time that I sat in a park, hunched over an insanely overpriced blueberry muffin, racked with homesickness, when a man approached me and asked me out on a date.
The shuttle driver, undeterred by my giggling and the look on my face, shook his head thoughtfully and said "You are so beautiful. So appealing. Why are you single? It makes no sense." I cringed a little inside, mostly because I could tell where this conversation was going. I surveyed my surroundings and tried to see where I could get him to drop me off so I could walk the rest of the way. Several unreasonably long stop lights later, the driver turned to me and said "I have philosophical question for you." Knowing that this was going to be a doozy, I said "Go for it."
"In America, what is difference between 'lover' and 'boyfriend,'" he implored. I struggled to hold back laughter, and explained as delicately as I could what I understood the difference to be. He nodded. "I am looking to be one of those for you."
And I began laughing.
"Why do you laugh?" he said to me, looking deeply shocked.
"Oh...I don't know," and then, having caught a glimpse of his left hand, offered up "Don't you have someone waiting for you at home in Romania?"
Without a second of hesitation, he replied, "Yes, yes I do."
"Excellent!" I said. I mean really, my luck is amazing...there I was trapped in a moving car with a married man (who later told me he had a 9 year old child) who wanted to be my lover AFTER I'd defined what the word "lover" meant to me.
"You don't like?"
"No," I responded, "I don't. Married men are off-limits."
"You are sure?" He looked at me with wide eyes.
"Yes."
The car pulled up to it's appointed destination. He switched on his hazard lights, put the parking brake on and looked at me. I reached for the door and realized that it was still locked. I turned to look at him, and in one incredibly deft motion, he grabbed my hand and looked at me and said "What's your e-mail address?"
The sheer ridiculousness of the past half an hour had now been increased ten fold with this inclusion of technology in his pursuit of...a lover.
My ability to attract strangeoids became painfully obvious to me during my semester abroad. I, like many of my female classmates, was accosted by men all day long. On trains, buses, while walking through parks, buying groceries or waiting in line at the post office. Everywhere. And it is the kind of flirting that American men only get away with when they are extremely drunk. My response to awkward situations is often to giggle or smile nervously, which to many men is also a sign of flirting (but my kind of flirting usually involves verbal abuse, intense sarcasm, avoidance of eye contact, etc. You know...the opposite of actual flirting) so this almost always ended badly for me. I was once followed through a subway station by a man who insisted I go home with him. But along with potential stalkers, I attracted a lot of bored married men who called me "exotic," "exciting," and complained that their wives no longer found them attractive.
I returned to college with a newfound appreciation for the descendants of Puritans that I call my countrymen, and was happy to be able to safely walk down the street without fear of having someone grab my hand and tell me how beautiful I am. But only half my problem was solved; I still found myself attracting men in committed relationships and actual married men who were drawn to me for the same reasons that British, French, Italian and Irish men had explained to me on the other side of the pond.
After realizing that men are the same all around the world, I decided to just ignore the flirting that happens daily, and only when it gets really, really awkward have I taken notice and complained. And that brings us to last night. Last night was every awkward encounter I'd ever had with the added bonus of my being unable to escape. Because I was in a moving car. Every evening I take a shuttle from my building to a park-n-ride. Most of the shuttle drivers are semi-retired older men who flirt with me in a cute, harmless sort of way. Some of the shuttle drivers don't talk to me at all, but there's one shuttle driver in particular who I appear to have struck a chord with. On previous shuttle trips, I'd learned that he'd moved to America 8 months ago and worked as a shuttle driver in the evenings and as a help desk tech during the day. He also took it upon himself to chide me for being single, and cooking, eating and living alone, and insisted to me that this was a sad, meaningless existence. Which is of course what every single woman likes to hear.
Last night, when the shuttle pulled up, I immediately recognized him and gave my best cheerleader grin to help me get through what was sure to be a slightly awkward ride. I got into the car, and he began telling me how excited he was that he got to see me. "So excited! I have wanted to see you since last Friday!" he exclaimed. There were two other passengers and so whatever else he needed to say couldn't be uttered until they weren't in the car. When the couple had gotten out at their stop, he locked the doors and turned to me saying "You are single, yes?" I replied that I was, laughing softly to myself and recalling with a certain fondness the time that I sat in a park, hunched over an insanely overpriced blueberry muffin, racked with homesickness, when a man approached me and asked me out on a date.
The shuttle driver, undeterred by my giggling and the look on my face, shook his head thoughtfully and said "You are so beautiful. So appealing. Why are you single? It makes no sense." I cringed a little inside, mostly because I could tell where this conversation was going. I surveyed my surroundings and tried to see where I could get him to drop me off so I could walk the rest of the way. Several unreasonably long stop lights later, the driver turned to me and said "I have philosophical question for you." Knowing that this was going to be a doozy, I said "Go for it."
"In America, what is difference between 'lover' and 'boyfriend,'" he implored. I struggled to hold back laughter, and explained as delicately as I could what I understood the difference to be. He nodded. "I am looking to be one of those for you."
And I began laughing.
"Why do you laugh?" he said to me, looking deeply shocked.
"Oh...I don't know," and then, having caught a glimpse of his left hand, offered up "Don't you have someone waiting for you at home in Romania?"
Without a second of hesitation, he replied, "Yes, yes I do."
"Excellent!" I said. I mean really, my luck is amazing...there I was trapped in a moving car with a married man (who later told me he had a 9 year old child) who wanted to be my lover AFTER I'd defined what the word "lover" meant to me.
"You don't like?"
"No," I responded, "I don't. Married men are off-limits."
"You are sure?" He looked at me with wide eyes.
"Yes."
The car pulled up to it's appointed destination. He switched on his hazard lights, put the parking brake on and looked at me. I reached for the door and realized that it was still locked. I turned to look at him, and in one incredibly deft motion, he grabbed my hand and looked at me and said "What's your e-mail address?"
The sheer ridiculousness of the past half an hour had now been increased ten fold with this inclusion of technology in his pursuit of...a lover.
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