He who does not travel does not know the true value of an unlimited buffet.

Some people say, when things get rough, that it can only go up from where you are.  I don't know what type of encouragement they think they're giving me, because I clearly know they are wrong.  For me, when things are bad, I am fully aware that they can get worse.  I like to think that I have adopted a good attitude about it, seeing as I clearly can't do anything to avoid my luck, and have found many a creative way to improvise.  Also, I like to think that karma has a good hand in it all, as I have had equally as amazing of experiences as I have horrific ones.

Before I left Seville, while remarking about my past six day delay journey from hell with my very soon after Ex, a friend of mine tried to reassure me by telling me that this was indeed the worst it could get.  Travelling was going to seem like cake compared.  They owe me a beer.  I knew the moment I was in the train station at Sevilla Santa Justa, and I had forgotten my winter jacket and my glasses that I was going to need those improvisational skills that I had been honing over the last three years, little did I know that was only the beginning of it all.

I arrived to the United States purely on the kindness of good people, and a miracle.  There was no other way to possibly pull off what I did when making my way into the USA without some phenomenon.  I will spare you a super long work up of everything that happened and just give you the summary:

There was a problem with the train which they originally told me was the brakes.  When the police showed up with their guns pulled, I was pretty sure that was a complete lie, but never the less we were stuck.  After an emotional call to my mother saying I may not make it, the sympathy of the people on the train drove them to trap the conductor in my train car and coerce (bully) him into finding me a way to get to the airport.  They got me a free taxi which got me to the airport with two minutes to spare.  A lovely Irish family helped me into the queue and even got me some chocolate to make me feel better.  In Ireland I spent the night and woke up next to a Spanish girl who asked me if I wanted breakfast.  I wasn't expecting to wake up in the company of anyone, let alone a girl, but I went with it and I spent the day with her.  I felt better speaking Spanish anyway, it felt more natural.  When I finally got on a plane from Dublin to JFK, the plane was late.  I was given only fourty-five minutes to pick up my luggage at Terminal 4, take the air-train to Terminal 5, check in, and go through security again.  I only made it with the help of the German doctor who was so kind to me during the flight and made it possible for me to get ahead of the crowd, and speaking Spanish at security charmed them into letting me into the front.  I was the last to board the flight with one minute to spare.  I made it home.

Sadly, that was the summary.  I couldn't leave out any more information than that and still give the entire story.

The vacation was better than I had expected.  It was lovely to see my family again.  I spent as many hours with my baby sister and my best friend as I could.  It was great to see how their lives have grown and changed, and yet our relationships haven't changed at all.  It was easy to go back to just how things were when I left almost two and a half years ago.  I even got to see my brother, who lives in Boston.  

Now see, this is where karma comes in and rewards me for the journey here...

I met someone.  Well, we can't really say met.  I saw someone.

You know those romantic films where a man and woman see each other from across whatever form of public transportation and/or area they are in, and then through a series of events dictated by fate find each other again?  I lived that, in real life, and he hasn't filed a restraining order. yet.

Falling in love in train cars doesn't seem realistic, and I didn't think so while posting online that I couldn't stop staring at him and that I wished to find him again.  This is where fate comes in: he wished to find me too.  It only took a shocking three hours for us to be in contact.  What started as a joke about my orange line lover, quickly turned into the reality of a craigslist lover.  Who knew craigslist worked?  I still don't fully believe it does, but I have been swayed a little.

Maybe it was the magnitude of good luck that brought me to meet him that forced the hand of karma to give me what I can only describe as the most horrific trip back to Spain I have ever had.  I can't think of any other way that it was possible for things to suck as badly as they did.  It was one of those trips where nothing seems to go right, and you just can't take any more.  I can't even summarize fully the extent of how exhausted I was by day two.

Aerlingus sends me more mixed signals than all my ex-boyfriends combined.  I hate when they send me messages that say things like 'We regret to inform you that your flight has been delayed', but they won't give you any more information than that, leaving you to wonder if you should go and wait it out an hour, or you have to re-book your tickets.  I am pretty good at being blunt, and I don't think there was a lack of communication on the phone when I kindly explained that I had to take a flight from Portland to JFK, so I needed them to give me an idea of whether I should expect to go tonight, or if I should rebook for tomorrow. They wouldn't give me ANY information.  I don't know why they continued to respond 'I don't know' when what I was asking them had little to do with knowing anything, but rather giving me an idea of what I may be able to expect.  I took the flight to JFK anyway, and luckily, because the wait was only two and a half hours.

There was a lovely German girl who was going on the same flight I was on, JFK to Dublin.  She asked me kindly to use an American phone to call someone to say goodbye, but I didn't have one.  She looked like she needed company though, so I asked her if she'd like a bite to eat.  We both had $10 dollar vouchers from Aerlingus to buy some food through the wait, though that doesn't go far in the airport.  I will skip the details of what we ate, all you need to know is she ate the entire burger and plate of fries in record time and I was left in awe.  I have never been so impressed, nor have I ever felt so inferior as I stared down at my half burger, unable to eat any more.  She tried to console me by telling me that it was because she was German... What kind of excuse is that?!

She was lovely though, and we spent a few hours together waiting, and drinking.

When I arrived in Dublin, I had yet another seven or so hours to wait.  This is where things went truly badly.  I almost got kicked out of the airport.  For drinking.  In Ireland.  Did you get that?  Let me say it again.  I got in trouble for drinking in Ireland.  Don't sell it if I can't drink it.  They made me out to seem like a drunkard in the middle of the airport.  'Miss, I am sorry you can't drink wine here'.  Really?  Since when was Ireland against public drunkary?  Since when did I seem like a drunk??

They gave me a voucher for internet use in exchange for my wine bottle, which truly was only exchanging one 'addiction' for another.  All I did was go online to complain about Ireland suddenly becoming chaste about public drinking.

Luckily, not all of Ireland shares the airport's sentiments.  On the plane the lovely elderly woman next to me kept trying to feed me alcohol and cookies.  For free.  I accepted.

Anyway, I was lucky enough to find my way to a hotel for the night, where I was so exhausted by the journey that I immediately passed out in preparation for today..  It is currently day three of travelling, and as I write this I am still not in my house.  Soon though.  I will be soon.

Just don't travel with me if given the opportunity, it's the only advice I can give you if you want to maintain your friendship with me.

You're what makes New England so great.

Pad Thai.  I want to have Pad Thai with you.

I promise not to wear white to dinner, I am not so arrogant as to show off my hand-eye coordination so shamelessly.

It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.

I am charming.  Modest, not so much.

No but truly, I consider myself charming.  I read a quote not long ago that said charm is the ability to make both parties to the conversation think they are pretty wonderful.  It's true, there are people that you talk to who just warm you up inside, and make you feel comfortable.  I am one of those people.  I have the ability to make people ambitious and excited just by being near me. That is, unless, I have a crush on you.

I can be wooed, I can even play the cat and mouse game... but wooing?  That's an entirely different story.  When I try to woo, I am no longer bilingual, in fact, I fear I have no language.  I have no coordination, and I have no ability to judge.  I am not just talking about judging alcohol intake, which I also lack, but judging distances, judging social situations, judging how interested they are.  It's all magically gone, and I am left with some type of verbal deficit of a nature that I can't really explain.

In fact, I would say my abilities with men are so lacking, you should be more worried if I am charming you than if I am not.  Though if I am not, you may be tempted to leave, in which case I beg of you to believe me when I say I am not actually as retarded as I seem... and whilst the emotional scars of watching me in such a state may last forever, I will soon loosen up and I promise you, I am quite fun.

Don't expect poetry out of me normally. Seriously.

I loved you, and I probably still do, And for a while the feeling may remain... But let my love no longer trouble you, I do not wish to cause you any pain. I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew, The jealousy, the shyness - though in vain - Made up a love so tender and so true As may God grant you to be loved again.

Cynicism is the intellectual cripple's substitute for intelligence.

I don't even know where to begin on how much I hate this word.  Cynicism.  Not even the word, but the stigma that comes along with it.  And unfortunately, this word has been playing a more than desireably big role in my life recently.

I had someone say to me not that long ago that I am not as cynical as I pretended to be.  I am not sure what kind of backhanded compliment that was, because on one hand I would hate to be cynical so at least they don't think I am, but on the other, it's even worse to think that they think I would be so insecure about myself that I would try to pretend to be unhappy?  I can't fully grasp my head around that concept.  I wish I could say this wasn't the only time someone has come to me expecting me to be some sort of deeply angered person.  I don't remember ever being so deeply damaged that I became cynical..  I feel like I remember the opposite -- I always expected too much out of everything.

But moreso, what really drives me crazy is this idea that if you're cynical, it's because you have a deeper understanding of the world.  Thus, making naiveté the opposite of cynicism, which is an idea that I completely disagree with.  Going through life is an uphill battle, and no one is going to tell you otherwise.  Those who think that cynicism shows some deeper understanding of this battle are completely wrong.. It shows defeat.  Maybe I am not cynical, but not because I don't understand the world around me, rather that I haven't lost yet.

I may not be very strong as a person, physically or emotionally... In fact, I would say that I am quite sensitive. Sensitive is not weak.  I am resilient.  You can knock me down as many times as you want, it doesn't matter.  I will get back up.  You can say passively hurtful comments, backhanded compliments, or just downright insult me, and I may cry..  But at the end of the day, I walk away, and you're still just as hurt inside.  

I see everyone's eyes roll at me when I get excited about stupid things, and when I cry at baby orca shows, and when I use the same adjectives over and over again...  But who is the stronger of us?  The one who rolls their eyes at you for finding the beauty in the world despite how many people want to knock them down?  Or the one who doesn't get knocked down because they've already closed themselves off?

One of the saddest things that can happen to a person is to just become disengaged from life.. And that's what cynicism really is.  But not me, I have a non stop list of things that I can smile about.  And smile I will.

I see everything as a personal challenge.

Everything.

Before you jump to conclusions, and call me competitive, or childish, think for a moment and hear me out.  Everyone is taught to set goals for themselves right?  In fact, in weight loss programs, for example, they tell you to set small goals that are reachable and will make you feel good about yourself.  So why not do this in your real life?  Just don't tell anyone, lest you scare them out of being their friend (because of their clear inferiority, seeing as they have won none of these silent challenges).

We have already discussed my slight obsessions with buffets.  Let's look at it from another angle.  It doesn't have to be that strange lady who puts rolls in her purse and eats four plates of food while denying medical attention because she is sure that if she just lets it digest a bit she can eat more.  It can be that woman who is single-handedly taking down the man by decreasing profits and increasing a health care bill that she will pay for on government insurance.  Yet - as I lay there in the booth convincing whichever unlucky boyfriend (not for long) I have managed to coerce into coming with me, into getting me another plate..  No one thinks me a hero.

It isn't just buffets that I win at either.  I win at everything in my little world.  If we're walking to the door, and I am ahead of you, you can be sure that in my head I am thinking 'bahaha sucker'.  If we're talking on the phone, and I make a quick run to hang up, hanging up before you counts as a win in my book.  I am not crazy, I am self motivating.  I directly attribute my high self-esteem to my ability to win at everything.

Moreso, on the rare occasion that I lose, no one knows.  Recently, and I will leave names out of this so said competitor does not know he won, but I lost a pizza eating contest.  I was the only one participating in the contest, and I cannot even begin to tell you how much pizza was consumed throughout the 30 minutes I sat at the table, but I can say that I felt horribly ill for hours, and the other person continued to eat.  While it was shameful, seeing as not only did they clearly win the contest, but they didn't even know thus didn't try, I did not have to tell them they won and never had to put up with gloating.. Just a few awkward looks because I seriously ate an inhumane amount of pizza.  It's ok, I wasn't trying to woo them so there was no need to look feminine.

The long and short of this is..  Set personal challenges, win at everything.  Like a boss diva.

Love to me is a four-letter word.

I don't think there has ever been a time in my life where I felt comfortable to 'be in love'.  I would describe the feeling of love more as a symptom of a greater, and more terrifyingly terminal illness.  Don't worry, I won't compare it to cancer as that would be horribly insensitive and people might find it offensive.  Actually, no, I would equate the dread I feel for that feeling to the dread I feel for getting skin cancer. I'm realllllly white.

Don't get me wrong, I think it's beautiful.. For other people.  And I can fully understand the concept, and the desire, to fall in love.  I just can't go there myself.

Dare I explain how all of this got brought on?  Well, it all started with a memory box.  In this memory box I keep love letters, and cards I receive with flower arrangements..  So on so forth.  Lovey things, of which sadly I have many.

I know that often I joke about being a maneater, or a diva, but truthfully, I am only a fan of the 'have your cake and eat it too' take on romance because I can't eat a cake..  That is to say, in the matters of love, I am diabetic.  That is to say..  if love were cake, I would be the diabetic that sees the risks, admires the cake, but doesn't eat it..  Whilst most would take a bite just to feel it, and risk high blood sugar.. Which by the way makes you grumpy.  The more I continue, the more I feel that love is more like diabetes than cancer.

As I equate love to various illnesses, I realise why I am single.

I read these love letters various times over the course of a few months after having received them, but I realise I feel just as uncomfortable reading them now than I did when I received them.  It's that sense of dread, like they've offered some great gift to me and not only am I incapable of responding appropriately, but I know that by a lack of action, I am in fact responding.

Well said.

Please don't take me for a cynic, or try to over-analyse this post.  Clearly I have been near the ultimate 'love goal' once or twice in my time.  Once or twice too many if you ask me -- I spent many an uncomfortable year dodging the 'L' word, and many an awkward conversation mumbling out whatever I can find in the back of my mind trying to avoid saying 'you're cute'.  I am no farther from the sanity train than the rest of you if you ask me.. I'm just more honest about how comfortable I am to be riding solo.

All of that being said.  You can buy my love for a limited time with a starbucks mug.