LMo’s blog

You know what I hate? That moment of uncertainty when you like someone but aren't sure if they like you back (how middle school does that sentence sound?). I also hate the self-doubt and roller-coaster emotions that go along with that moment. And I hate the questions I ask myself: who should pursue? do I seem desperate if I call first? What if he doesn't call? Does it mean he doesn't like me much, or is he just not a "phone person"?  What if he doesn't know how to pursue? Don't I deserve a man who knows how to pursue me and acts on that knowledge???

WELL? Emotional dilemmas trouble me.

My anxiety dreams are always the same: I start something that I just can't finish. I start getting ready for class but can't finish because I can find my shoes (contacts, school books, etc.) anywhere. I start delivering a presentation or speech but I can't finish because I forget my words. You get the idea. These dreams don't SOUND bad as I type them, but when I'm actually dreaming them, I'm so frustrated/angry/panicked that I wake up feeling those things...frustrated, angry, panicked...ultimately, anxious.

Last night was a new one: a family came into the restaurant where I work to order drinks. Two little girls order milk, the grandparents order coffee...easy enough. Then the two parents order drinks I've never even heard of. Some type of fancy blended drinks with ingredients unknown to me. So the couple has to explain to me how to make the drink, and then they stand there and watch me make failed attempt after failed attempt to create these special drinks for them. By the end of the dream, I am sitting on the restaurant floor (that is no doubt covered in milk, espresso, frappucino powder, caramel and chocolate), utterly frustrated and embarrassed.

And then I wake up...and realize that I have to work for 8 hours today making coffee drinks. Ugh.

This summer has been harder for me than I generally like to admit (because I generally do not like to admit my inherent weaknesses). I've been struggling with all sorts of negative emotions and feelings: loneliness, boredom, apathy, frustration, irritation, resentment, pain, etc. That's basically a laundry list of nearly everything shitty going on in my head over the past couple of months, and for a while there, I had no idea why I was having such a hard time with my own company (and everyone else's company as well). . I've done some serious reflecting (and praying) over the past couple of days, and I think I've started to uncover why I've been feeling the way I've been feeling so yucky.

My life this summer has lacked passion and direction. I mean, I came home from studying abroad with no real plans other than work. Nothing to look forward to...just a vast emptiness between two awesome things: my semester abroad and my senior year. I guess that down times are necessary to make the good times so good, but still, they SUCK.

Anyway, you might say that working gives life direction and passion, but in the case of my summer job, this statement wouldn't apply. Not to knock the restaurant business or anything, but I derive no real pleasure from my job, mainly because I don't feel like I'm really helping anyone or bettering the world around me. Since  I started college, this has been the first summer that I've not worked for a nonprofit or in an empowering/feminist environment. Two summers ago I worked for Men Stopping Violence, an organization dedicated to ending men's violence against women, and last summer I worked for Metabolic Research Center, a weight-loss company that aims to educate women about nutrition and the emotional and psychological sides of weight loss so as to allow them to control their weight rather than letting their weight control them. I don't even need to explain why my summer working as a waitress has been altogether frustrating, mind-numbing and draining.

But today I picked up a book that I bought a while ago: Manifesta. It's basically a mission statement for the third wave of feminism, and a lot o the information is stuff I've already learned in women's studies classes and through my affiliation with feminist nonprofits, etc., but just reading the words kind of lights a fire in me that hasn't burned in quite a while (after all, I have been kind of removed from my network of friends and mentors since January). Although I can't really act on any of  my passions right now, reading this book is helping me to focus and fine-tune my plans for senior year - ie: what I want to be involved with on campus, who I choose to spend my time with, etc.

Basically, I've begun to infuse a little passion and direction back into my life, and needless to say, I'm feeling much better...and much less irritated.

My new weight-loss plan:

1. Keep baking delicious cookies for friends. Since they are so delicious, no one can say no to second or third helpings.

2. Watch my friends get fatter.

3. Watch myself appear smaller when I'm with said friends.

(Ok, so it isn't a REAL weight-loss plan, but you have to admit that it's clever and it makes everyone--myself included--happy).

When I'm working, I absolutely HATE it when people blow me off, act like I'm invisible, or treat me like I'm unworthy of their time and attention just because I'm their waitress. It doesn't happen often, but occasionally I'll take out food or refills and the people at my table will either stare at me blankly, give me a rude once-over and a roll of the eyes, or fall silent immediately and glare at me for "interrupting" their "important" conversation.

The super-sensitive part of me wants to cry when this happens (because it really does hurt to feel that someone just doesn't like you...for NO reason), but the sarcastic and tough part of me thinks it's hilarious. I rationalize a rude person's behavior this way when I'm serving: this person must be miserable. They must feel like they lack significance and power in life, so, by treating me like I'm nothing, it only makes them feel better and more important. When I think of it that way, I just pity the customer, and it makes my job a lot easier.

But yesterday, as I was washing the millionth dirty salad plate, I had an epiphany. I get PAID to deal with these miserable, unhappy people, but they do NOT get paid to be miserable. Ha. I win. I have a feeling my 8-hour shift will fly by today.

Maybe snob is a harsh word, but I've noticed lately that my attitude about being home from Europe is not a positive one. My main thought is this: I'm in North Carolina for the summer; nothing exciting or fun will happen to me this summer because I'm in North Carolina...not Europe.

Part of this thought is dead-on: I AM in NC and not Europe. And the two places are incredibly different. Of course, there  is so much more to do and see in Europe, and (understandably) there is more culture and excitement in Europe than in small-town North Carolina.

But also intrinsic in my thought is the idea that I can't have an enjoyable summer because I'm not somewhere exotic and out-of-the-ordinary. This is just ignorant and snobby. And on top of ignorant and snobby, my mindset is riddled with inattention to small detail. As I think back on the past two months, I realize that tons of bizarre/funny/exciting things have happened to me; I was just too busy pouting about not being abroad to actually enjoy these small pleasures.

Take for instance the other night: I took my first (and probably only) ride on a motorcycle. This is something I NEVER EVER thought I would do. Ever, seriously. I've heard one too many horror stories of wrecks and deaths, and riding a motorcycle is something I haven't ever had the desire to do. But the other night,  my family went to dinner with some family friends -- the Bakers. The Bakers have a really nice bike, and by really nice, I mean that the bike is almost like a car. Anyway, over dinner, we'd been talking about the bike, and my brother and his girlfriend both made comments about how they'd never get on a bike...they were too scared or just not interested. After dinner, we all go to the parking lot and look at the bike, and the Bakers ask if we want to go to their house for cocktails. We all say yes, and of course, the next question that follows is if any of us would want to ride with Dave on the bike. My brother and Cassie immediately say no way, my parents politely decline, and out of nowhere, I hear myself say, "I'll go" (even as I'm thinking to myself Why am I doing this? I don't want to ride a motorcycle...I'm terrified of them.) But the words had already come out, and I couldn't back down.

And so I took my first ride. It was such a thrilling thing: almost like a speed boat ride on the concrete.  At first I really was terrified...I was clinging to Dave almost violently - my arms were wrapped around his waist, and my thighs were gripping the bike so SO tightly. But eventually I calmed down, let go of Dave, and just enjoyed the ride. I leaned when he leaned, and at the end of the ride he told me that he didn't even feel me on the bike. Supposedly I'm a natural.

Anyway, the point of all this is to say that things in NC have been pretty great, despite my snobby attitude. I'm slowly getting over it and learning to pay attention to the small, subtle details and excitements in my life. And my attitude adjustment is making North Carolina a lot more enjoyable.

So yeah, it's been about a month now since I've written anything, and I would love to give you some amazingly awesome excuse...but the truth is...I have no excuses. Sure, I've been busy, but not busy enough to keep me from writing. In fact, I've been thinking about writing something for a while (or when something funny/weird happens to me, I say to myself, Wow, I really should write that down...). But each time I've opened up the Compose page on Vox, the words just seem to fly away and I can't work up enough motivation to post anything.

Now I'm thinking that I may  not have anything spectacular to write about, but I am just going to write to get out of this rut. But not at this moment. In a couple of hours! I promise. I have stories about crazy wedding weekends, riding motorcycles (eek!), and all the drama that comes with working in a small-town coffee shop. So come back tonight and something worth reading should be here :)

Day two in Amsterdam was, as the British would say, chockerblock full of things to do. First thing though, we rode 15 minutes away from the capital to a small town called Edam, famous for its delicious cheeses. Of course, I trip to the

Netherlands wouldn't be complete without a leisurely bike ride through a small village, and so that's just what we did in Edam. We met up with this crazy lady named Claudia (who Dean swore was high during our ride), and she led us on a slow, relaxing ride around Edam...and it was absolutely gorgeous. Even though the water in the canal looked pretty dirty, it also looked peaceful, and when we stopped and saw a huge windmill and dike, I experienced the side of the Netherlands that I was looking forward to: the rural, unassuming side. Definitely a nice change from the evening before.

After biking, we made our way over to this little cheese and clog factory where a younger guy named Philip showed us how Gouda was made (and we got to sample a ton of cheese), and then he proceeded to carve a clog shoe right there in front of us. It was pretty fascinating...definitely an art-form that must take tons of practice.

Then it was back into Amsterdam, and we all split off and did our own thing. Deanna, Ryan and I went over to the Anne Frank House, the house where the Frank family hid from the Nazis for 2 years. The house has now been turned into a museum. We stood in line for about an hour, but the wait was worth it because the museum was amazing. I loved it because it was simple...there was no furniture, and there wasn't a ton of pictures or words explaining anything. Instead, I think the people who designed the concept of the museum wanted visitors to stand quietly in the empty house and reflect on the importance of where they were. The tactic was effective; I was utterly humbled knowing that 8 people lived in fear in this tiny space...certainly makes you grateful for all that you have. And also a cool thing about the museum: In the gift shop, there are copies of the diary in several different languages.

After the house, Deanna and I met up with Erin, had lunch at a pancake restaurant (Holland is supposedly famous for pancakes and waffles?) and browsed around the flower market. Basically, we rested up because all of us had signed up to go on a canal cruise later that afternoon. The cruise was awesome. It's funny how you get a totally different perspective of Amsterdam just by looking at it all from the water. Everything seemed much prettier...and hazier because they served us a ton of alcohol on the cruise, but that's a whole other story.  Booze cruises do seem to be quite a nice way of ending the day.

First, I need to apologize for my extended absence from Vox. When I returned home from London, I was in a perpetually grumpy mood and had little motivation to do anything other than sleep (I did A LOT of sleeping!), eat, and watch a ton of DVDs (mainly season one and two of LOST; toward the end there, the people who work at Blockbuster's and me were on a first-name basis...sad, I know). And the weirdest thing is this: I didn't have any desire to do the things I did in London, like blogging. I didn't even feel like getting all my pictures developed for a while there. I guess I was just mourning the fact that my semester abroad was over, and in a bizarre way I was distancing myself from those four months so I could reminisce on them only when I was in a better mood.

Which is now, I'll have you know. I've had this dilemma over whether or not I should even continue this blog as there is nothing huge and exciting going on in my life, but at the urging of some friends and my parents, I will continue it...mainly just to practice writing and get back in the habit of writing (for fun!) daily. So here I am...back, and ready to tell you stories about my round-Europe adventure. I believe we left off in Amsterdam...

So, the first night in Amsterdam was a little insane. We had a quick dinner at the hotel, and then we headed straight into the Red Light District, of course. What else would we do!?!? Earlier on our drive, Dean had given us a big lecture on how to behave in the RLD, which meant that we weren't supposed to take any pictures of the prostitutes (or taunt them, for that matter) for fear that their pimps would come out and throw our cameras (or us) into the canal. Also, he advised us to stick close together as a group because the streets of the RLD are lined with drug dealers, and these drug dealers are often involved in schemes with the cops to catch tourists buying drugs. And I'm not going to lie; I was pretty nervous about going into the district. I had this vivid idea of what I thought it would be like: dilapidated gray buildings with heavily (and badly) made-up prostitutes loitering in the doorways, calling out to the passing men; trash littering the ground, and creepy, dirty men hunched up on the corners, whispering to you about buying crack. I had a feeling I was about to be corrupted.

But actually, the RLD was entirely different from what I imagined. For one thing, it was cleaner than I expected, and I didn't spot one drug-dealer or dilapidated building. The buildings were actually beautiful (but the red neon lights on them weren't so pretty). And the way prostitution was run threw me off as well. For one thing, all the girls were behind glass. You couldn't hear them calling out or anything like that. Each prostitute had her own little room, and when she wasn't having sex with someone, she was standing in the window, showing herself off to people passing by. When she was in business, the curtain on the window was closed. And all of the girls were wearing white bikinis and standing under black lights. Just by walking through, it was clear that prostitution is a business endeavor in Amsterdam...everything is so...unified. And interspersed with the prostitution buildings were the numerous sex shops, museums, and theaters (you can actually pay to watch live porn in Amsterdam...bizarre, huh?).

Let me interject here that I was pretty fascinated while walking through the RLD, but I was also greatly saddened. I couldn't believe how these prostitutes stood in windows with men literally walking by and judging them based solely on appearance and sexiness. It sickened me slightly.

Anyway, that first night we all just walked around. Some of the wilder travelers made their way to Coffee Shops to buy marijuana, but Alicia, Deanna, Sophia, Erin and I hung out for a while at a pub. And I turned in early. At that point, I had zero voice, my throat was throbbing, and I felt like complete crap. So I caught the early taxi home and went to bed relatively early (12). I was so exhausted and knocked out that I didn't even hear Deanna and Erin come in an hour later.