Coming Around the Corner, Here She Comes

Men search: Tepid.

Job search: Warm.

Trip search: HOT!

Yes, I’m off on another adventure soon. A close friend is getting married in Lörrach, Germany, near the Switzerland border at the end of March. Although I was hesitant at first since Germany was never high on my list, I’ve long ago established taking travel chances when the fall into my lap. Next thing I knew, I had wrangled two new Austin friends to joining me and our trip snowballed from traversing around southern Germany and some of Switzerland into Germany, Switzerland and Austria in ten days.

But then my flight stalking proved fruitless when the flight went up $120 right when I hit purchase to confirm. Ten minutes later, we made the crazy idea to fly out of Budapest because a $797 flight (especially out of Austin) is too hard not to grab.

Tentative itinerary:

Basel > Lörrach (wedding) > Interlaken (adventure!) > Munich > Vienna  > Budapest.

In twenty minutes, I purchased a flight after the last moment Budapest addition, sprained my ankle when I literally slammed into a co-worker running to ace a phone interview with HR for a job prospect.

So despite the fact my ankle is swollen and I have to miss the gym and tennis for a week, I’m gloriously happy because on two months, I’ll be off to my happy place.

 

This is Dating?

I’m not used to being liked. 99% of my history with guys consists of very stupid choices with not so great (usually drunk) men. These decisions are even worse since I don’t drink and don’t have alcohol has a legit excuse.

When I started this dating thing, I figured I would get what I put into it, which at this point, is still not a priority. The most recent guy, Mr. Reporter seemed to hold so much potential. For some reason, I ignored those silly numbers; I don’t remember why. Probably because he was one of the very few attractive guys to message me.

After a slightly strange, but flirty meet-up one night before New Year’s, we finally went on a first date. And it was awesome. Sushi, good conversation, cute nudges, flirty winks. I wasn’t over the moon about him and there was no hot lust that I was used to from previous guys, but it was a warm feeling of affection. So this is dating?

We hung out again the next night and we seemed to be past the first date politeness. When he offered for us to hang out somewhere or watch a movie at his house, I was quick to nix the latter. That night, he ranged from being incredibly sweet to being rude. He slipped strange little barbs that almost came off homophobic. Other jokes were patronizing comments about anything I did or said. The little feeling in my gut was starting to grow. The night ended with a few kisses, but nothing to get weak about. Actually, they were pretty subpar.

But hey, I’m keeping an open mind, right?

Long story short, we hung out again the next day and his jokes and attitude got ruder, stranger and possibly more homophobic. He may have called me a prude somewhere in that time. Needless to say, I left, thinking the situation was pretty over. No guilt, no sadness, nothing. I was relieved my gut was right and when looking at those silly numbers again, discovered we were only 50% compatible and 25% enemy. I guess the numbers do have a point. I deleted his from my phone right after.

To my surprised (but not shock), he popped up again today, wanting to hang out. And I ignored. And continued to ignore. But later on in tonight, I started to get a pinch of guilt wrapped up in loneliness and boredom. I suddenly had an urge to text him back, make out with him and feel that feeling of being wanted. He was a terrible guy and not a great kisser! Why the hell would I even entrain the idea? Yes, there are tons of fishes in the sea, but that nagging feeling kept bugging me. I was finally forced to call a guy friend over to watch a movie to keep me distracted.

Is this what will keep on happening? Dating is exhausting!

Oh, 2012

Happy New Year! 2012 came out of nowhere, huh?

The dating thing has been relatively quiet. I get a few messages a day, most of which I ignore because no matter how open-minded I’m trying to be, I need to have some standards and feel some kind of attraction! There’s been a few back and forths, but nothing substantial yet. So as of now, it’s a pretty dead lead, but I’m staying open to the idea and keeping on with my life.

What doesn’t help is the continual flurry of weddings. In 2011, I had six. This year, I have ones in February (Vegas), March (Germany), April (Houston), May (Missouri) and November (San Diego). Among that, three or four babies will be born (if not more). Sometimes, I wonder if I’m doing something wrong with my life, no matter how many people tell me I’m doing just the right thing.

So here are my resolutions, outside of the standard “save money for travel” and “exercising”:

1. Date.
2. Find a new job.
3. Learn another new skill.
4. Treat myself well and know what I deserve.

I feel like 2012 will be a great year for me, but don’t I think that every year?

 

There She Goes

For everyone that’s known me for a short time knows I haven’t really “dated” ever in the traditional sense. Apparently this is not normal.

I’ve avoided online dating for as long as possible. First and biggest reason: fear. Maybe it’s due to never really having dated. Maybe it’s due to never actually having one single good experience with a guy in my life. Maybe it’s due to just putting yourself out there for people to judge.

I’ve heard every case for it: You’ll meet new people. Don’t take it too seriously. You can filter. You can say no. It boosts your self-esteem. It’s fun. Makes for good stories. Free meals!

I’ve heard every reason why I should just go for it: You’ve tried every other hobby possible. You’re cool. You like sports. You’re fun.

So I gave in, but every time I went to set up a profile, I had a panic attack. I genuinely found it terrifying. After a lot of goading and hand-holding, I let go the fear and did it.

A week later, it’s an old hat and I’m already bored by it. It’s funny how much advice you get when you start this dating thing. My closest guy friends told me to never ever reply back to men that I’m not attracted to. They’re experts at this dating thing and are like little birds on my shoulder, making sure I’m not going out with losers with no jobs. My first date Sunday morning to watch football didn’t go great; no chemistry and a lot of red flags but I found myself completely okay after it. It was like a tiny bleep on the radar.*

The most interesting thing I discovered is I rated very compatible with my guy friends that were on there. This isn’t a complete surprised because we’re friends, but I’ve realized I really honestly want someone who’s just like my close guy friends (personality-wise) that I’m actually physically and sexually attracted to. And here, I thought I was trying to avoid dating friends after such bad experiences. Ladder theory, anyone?

This experiment has also really forced me to think about what I truly want. I’ve always thought college education was mandatory, but is it, really? I believe in God (even if I’m a shoddy Catholic) but do I require the same of someone I’m dating?

No matter what happens, I’m pretty proud of myself for taking that giant step. I hope 2012 brings wonderful things; 2011 has been pretty epic.

 

*Update: Oh geez, let’s call him Mr. Cook (not a chef, mind you) just messaged and asked if I wanted some turkey  noodle soup because he made too much. And he’ll drop it off at work (he used to cook in the building that I work). Huh.

Rich People Problems vs Me

“Well, we were in Paris, so I HAD to go to Chloe and get two or three items. Two weeks later, I found my daughter wearing what I got. I mean, I was just furious!”

I sit there quietly, thumbing through the newspaper, pretending to read and trying to ignore the conversation. The CMO of our company is a pretty cool lady from DC. Tough, successful, pretty and rich. Very rich.

The nice thing about working for a small company is the top honchos are as very much part of the every day culture as any other employee. They’re accessible, eat lunches with us and are to a certain degree, the every man. They’re work at our levels, pitch big ideas and are at every step of the way for projects. The one difference? They’re rich, as indicated above.

There were two Forbes magazines on the lunch table. One is about travel so I excitedly flip through it to find there’s a special about travel in Africa. But, their version is Tanzania was on the complete opposite spectrum of mine (I’m not complaining; just comparing). Beautiful lodgings, first class flights, the best of the best.

Today, the CMO has returned from a long client trip to Vietnam. She regals the lunch group with her adventures and shows us a picture of a squatter. I shrug; squatters are completely normal to me and personally, a little cleaner than regular toilets. But she is completely horrified. And equally horrified at the “dirtiness” that is the streets of a very beautiful country. We all know Asia is a very different region from America. In fact, most countries are very different from America, but that’s why we travel, isn’t it?

The conversation is making me claustrophobic and I can feel irritation clawing inside me. I gracefully slip out and catch up with the office manager, who also had escaped.

“The price tag for her to fly first class was $32,000. She insisted because there may be ‘goats and sh*t’ in coach.”

I have no words. I can practically feel my heart drop and my brain try to compute. The price tag is so ridiculous that I’m speechless for five minutes. That kind of money would get me around the world for a year and she (well, I guess the company) spend it in a blink of an eye. Now, no one likes coach. I always said if I won the lottery, I would travel the same way I do now, except for flying. But 28K for a first class flight for a person that is “one of us” is one the most ubsurd things I’ve ever heard.

So the job search continues. Obviously, the rich aren’t the reason I’m leaving, but in the last year and a half I’ve been here, I’ve felt claustrophobic about the “whiteness” and “first world problems” the people here represent. For them, ordering pad thai is culture. I stand at this blurry line of wanting nice things for myself and appreciating everything I have from growing up in America, but also anger at those that think America is the only and best country and everything outside of it is dirty or crazy.

Next up: my ridiculous fear of dating, especially online.

Explore. Dream. Discover

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.— Mark Twain

In May 2010, when I took this job, I knew it wasn’t my dream one (does that even exist?) or that it would be much longer than a year. Now, at year and a half, I know it’s time to go.

I was never that happy here from the start. Most of the people are nice, but there’s the occasional few that are just outright bullies to me. One particular team member has been out for my blood since I began. From a mixture of anger and resentment, he has waited for me to slip up at every point of the road. He’s obese, much older, been at this job for seven years and a terrible designer. Oh, and he’s a jackass. Let’s go ahead and call him Cranky Bully. Another co-worker is a twerp with short man syndrome that got beat up in high school and is now a condescending wears-too-tight-little-pants hipster.

I don’t run to my boss every instance of disagreement. Maybe it was reflex from my old job when nothing ever got fixed and my old boss managed to lose 15+ people walking out during a recession. My two wonderful co-workers tattle at each instance so by the time my review comes around, I look like the jerk. There’s even been situations that Cranky Bully has manipulated to set me up so I would get in trouble. There’s been witnesses to his generally assholeness to me, but no one says anything, so I fight alone.

But I’m done. I’m so tired of other people dictating my life. With boys/love, with jerk co-workers, with friends that use me. I work at a small office and a small team, so yes, if I was going to say, I would report it, but there’s no point any more. This isn’t my future and it’s not worth my breath (until my exit interview) to keep complaining.

So my job search begins. And my quest for surrounding myself with good people that I don’t have to chase after. And maybe it’s time I finally start dating…

Here we go.

Head in the Clouds, Feet on the Ground

The problem with traveling is it makes you want more. I have this innate problem with always wanting to be traveling, but also desperately needing my feet to be grounded and that occasional structured schedule. Is it possible to have both?

Peru really was quite splendid; as my first South American country, it opened an entire new world of possibility. As much as I love Europe deeply, there’s something about Central/South America that truly brings out the essence of wanderlust. It’s a mixture of adventure, authenticity, grit and earth.

watercolor dust at Pisac market

I found Cusco everything I imagined South America would be. Altitude kicked me in the ass as I barely slept the second night. I genuinely thought I was dying for a few hours and was forced to stay in bed and rest as the group ran off to tour the ruins of Cusco. Altitude and I will never be friends; I thought I would give it a chance after it crushed me in Kilimanjaro, but we remain enemies.

Food, on the other hand, and I will always be lovers. Peru did not disappoint! I have a love affair with potatoes as it is (except this strange dislike for sweet ones). Between lomo saltado (marinated skirt steak), all of Cusco’s famed hearty sopas and fresh ceviche, I really can honestly say I could eat this forever. Now, of course, the famed topic is cuy. Yes, I ate the cuy. And the alpaca. Both, I’m glad I tried but think I’m okay not trying ever again. At least, the traditional way (more on this later). The cuy’s skin was incredibly tough and rubbery; the meat was weirdly thin and boney. Alpaca tasted like a tough smokey lamb (which I love).

As for the trail, the food was nothing short of incredible. Having experienced what cooks can do at high altitudes in Kilimanjaro, I wasn’t as shocked as the others, but I will easily admit, the food was even better here. We had chocolate-covered bananas, crepes, delicious warm soups, drumsticks and even a giant cake on Thanksgiving.

Cake! On the Trail!

The views on the Salkantay Trail were stunning. A part of me felt jaded since I had already seen Kilimanjaro, but the good thing about always being the last slowest hiker is getting to truly appreciate your surroundings and the journey. We even saw an avalanche at lunch! I can’t recommend the Salkantay Trail enough; we were there off season already, but we were the ONLY group on the trail. Getting to play soccer with the local kids in Lucmabamba was such a highlight. It was shocking to the system when we got to Aguas Calientes.

I also very much loved our tour guide, Juve, from Inca Trekkers. Unlike many tour groups, this one actually all locals and Juve is the owner. How often is the owner actually part of the tour? He was passionate about his country, his people (he’s a descendant of the Highland people) and truly does what he can do show us his world. He taught us phrases in Quechua, the native dialect that is dying, so that we could thank our porters and cook properly.

Alfredo, the horse that saved my life on day 1

Of course, the post can’t go out without talking about Machu Picchu, the goal. I’m so very grateful we didn’t climb up that mountain at 5am that morning. The bus was waiting for us and we were the first group in. By that time, I had sprained my right knee from the use of poles and downhills and my legs felt like lead. It was extremely painful to even turn in bed. But when I saw the clouds clear out and reveal it all, I knew all the pain, altitude sickness and nose bleeds were worth it. It’s an incredible place and it’s nothing short of breathtaking.

Whoa

view from halfway up Waynu Picchu

On one last note, I will return to the controversial topic of cuy.

We spent some time in Lima (eh) the last day and somehow got a table at the very famed Astrid y Gaston, somewhere I would usually never go to. But this place was supposed to have amazing food and was world-famous. Since reservations were completely booked, we were first in line and crossed our fingers. Surprisingly, we got in and behind us, a string of backpackers, also.  I always assumed places like this were snobby and looked down on backpackers and stragglers (we were definitely dressed as such), but they treated us so incredibly well that it made me re-think my views on doing an occasional nice thing during backpacking. We even got an appetizer and dessert on the house. Perhaps warmed by our enthusiasm and happiness to be there, they treated us like they would any other patron. Or maybe this is just South America; part of me can’t imagine this happening in America.

As for the cuy, it reappeared on the menu here, but in the form of peking-style (as in peking duck). We instantly ordered it (they even gave us extra pieces to accommodate our big group) and fell in love. But did we love it because we love peking duck? It pretty much tasted like a fattier version of it. Whatever the case, cuy in peking style with hoisin sauce and wrapper was delicious.

Peking Cuy

One last note: I spent a good 20 hours in Lima airport due to weird flight times. It’s a pretty freaking nice airport to sleep in (which, by the way, I’m finding is harder to do as I get older).

Where to next?!

Gobblegobble Year #3: Peru

Bad news: altitude still got me.

Good news: I’m alive and successfully made it to Machu Picchu.

Peru was a whirlwind. It was every emotion possible, just like Kilimanjaro. The hike felt like deja vu most of the time…until the part I actually successfully made it to Machu Picchu! Unlike most people, we took the Salkantay Trail, which was pretty incredible for numerous reasons:

1. We were the ONLY people on the trail. No other tourists or groups. Just us and some locals.
2. Hard to easy: the first day was brutal but got easier with each day.
3. We got to walk through tiny villages and even stay in one.
4. We rest and ride the bus to MP the fourth morning. Thanks to this, I still have some energy to climb around the ruins.

Day 1 of the hike was brutal; I felt like I was back on Kilimanjaro, dragging my feet with a raging headache. This time, a beautiful horse named Alfredo was along for the ride and gave me and a friend rides the couple moments we were at our worst. Needless to say, the three guy we were with had no problems with altitude or strength and literally ran ahead. We took so long that it was pitch dark our last hour as the rain came down and we sloshed into basecamp.

Day 2 started off badly. 10 hours projected. I couldn’t figure out why I was going SO SLOWLY. I’m couldn’t be that out of shape! I had been training! Day 2 was so much easier than the previous day, but I just couldn’t catch up! After lunch, Alfredo was going to meet up with us and take me but suddenly, I got better. And clarity to why I had been so slow the day before and on Kili: the freaking hiking poles. I ditched them after lunch and I was flying. I would have been even faster if my toes weren’t in so much pain and my right knee screaming at every downhill (apparently, I use the poles in a way that I land too hard on my heel). We stay the night in a tiny village and get to play soccer with the kids the next morning.

Day 3 was a breeze-ish. We took a bus to the power plant, ate lunch and bid farewell to our VERY wonderful chef (he made us a giant cake the night before!). Took a little hike up a small steep hill and then it was completely flat along the railroad tracks until Aguas Calientes, where I proceeded to drag my feet b/c it had been 3.5 hours. Aguas Calientes was a shock to the system. After not seeing tourists for days, we were suddenly surrounded by them.

Day 4: early early morning bus ride to MP! Which was incredible. Perfect weather which made all the hiking around easier. Jenny and I made a half-way attempt up to Waynu Picchu before smartly calling it quits (the guys ran ahead of us). Officially, our time in the books are faster than them.

All in all, Peru was pretty amazing. I made six new friends (one who I’ll honestly be happy to never see again b/c he was an arrogant nerd that liked to show off his running stamina). The food was just simply delicious; any country that has potatoes as a staple is very okay in my book!

On to the next trip!

#Winning

Life has been #winning this last week. This post will mean nothing to 99.99% of the world. That .01% are girls in STL that understand most of the below:

• My dragon boat team FINALLY wins 1st after 3 years at this hellish race. It was a glorious win.
• Saints win 62 against the Colts. Kinda pointless seeing they lost horribly to the Rams the next week.
• I got to go to a World Series game: a big dream for me. Even though it was Arlington and my team lost and I got no sleep making the drive to and from Arlington in one night…
• And of course, my beloved Cardinals won the World Series after a thrilling, heart-stopping Game 6 and domination in Game 7.

But most importantly, I think I may be in love with NLCS/MVP World Series David Freese. No, I am in love. Baby blue eyes, hell of a hitter, humble guy and of course, he’s in a Cardinals uniform! Oh, and he’s single and my age (and only 2 days younger than me). Anyone? Anyone?

Catholic Guilt + Exercise

Ah, Catholic guilt. It has yet to leave me. It’s similar to Jewish Guilt and Chinese Shame (lucky me!) and it’s always lingering in the shadows, waiting to remind you of everything you’ve done wrong.

Yes, I’m 28 years old and I still have Catholic guilt. Everyone who’s ever been Catholic and has gone through the school system knows it doesn’t even have to be involved with religion. Eat too much? Catholic guilt. Spend too much money? Catholic guilt. Said one snippy comment on a bad day to a friend? Catholic guilt.

Mine is pretty rampant, which is probably 35% of the reason that I’m relatively a good person. Or you could just call it being really hard on myself for no reason.

As anyone who knows me, I detest working out. I think it’s horrible, boring and frankly, torturous. I only do it to continue to eat the way I do. I prefer activities like rock climbing or paddling or tennis over doing push-ups (barf) and running (ugh).

With Peru/Machu Picchu coming up, I know I have to exercise. Granted, it’ll probably be much much easier than the pain that was Kilimanjaro, but I still worry. So I force myself and then skip a few days to “rest” and then the guilt sets in. I’m also surrounded by size 0-4 girls that are blonde and beautiful and young. They work out at lunch or after work with big smiles and bouncing ponytails while I’m holding onto dear life to the treadmill on a 12 incline.

Please please please let me get through this hike as a fun adventure and not a “What the F am I doing?!” mindset!