Martinis For Two

2010-08-09T15:07:00.000+02:00

Do you have a recurring dream? I do. Every six months or so, after I've fallen into deep sleep, I am taking back to the year 1986. I was 18-years old, just about to graduate high school, and a part-time announcer at the local country music radio station, WNLD 1290 AM.
Even now, as I type the words WNLD, I can't but hear one of the overly-produced, station ID sound effects --the one that featured a deep and booming voice of a man (unknown to anyone who worked at the station or lived in Franklin County):

"1290 RADIO-O-O...W... N... L... D..."

I loved the way that mystery voice enunciated the station call letters! Sometimes, I tried to imitate his power and technique, but I just didn't have the chops to do it well and, instead, sounded like a DJ-wannabee.

Of course, as a teenager with exactly zero prior broadcasting experience, that's what I was-- a wannabee, who happily manned the shifts nobody else wanted for a whopping 4 dollars per hour. On Sundays, for example, I worked the hours between the morning's Preacher Feature and NASCAR or ACC basketball, depending on the season. At the top of every hour during that 6-hour stretch, somewhere between the Voice of Shalom and Jefferson-Pilot Radio Networks, devoted listeners got to hear Diane Gregory, the Queen of Country, do her weather forecast, which, in reality, meant I had looked out the back window, read the current temperature from the thermometer, and decided whether to call the day sunny, partly cloudy, or cloudy.

Fun times, really.

But in my dreams, I am never taken back to the those good times--when working the controls was easy and mindless. Instead, I am taking back to my early days in radio, when I was just learning the ropes from station owner Donny Brook, and neither my attention span nor fingers were nimble enough appropriately organize and handle what seemed to be stacks and stacks of 8-track tapes of songs and commercials.

The problem was I never seemed to know when the song was ending or when the commercial break was beginning. As a result, I offered listeners the disastrous effect known in the industry as "dead air" --where for 2, 3, 4 or 10 seconds not a sound was transmitted from the tower to the listener's ear.

Really, Donny should have dubbed me Diane Gregory, the Queen of Dead Air, because I did it so well.

Now in my dream, it's always the same scenario. I'm sitting in front of the control panel with my head phones on, looking both cute and professional at the same time. Randy Travis sings I'm Gonna Love You Forever and Ever, but "forever and ever" only lasts three and a half minutes. Randy's sudden departure leaves me dumbfounded and without a single commercial to play. I'm left scrambling for something to shove into the tape player--usually a holiday commercial from last season or of something about the Leggett sale that ended the week prior.

Some people have recurring dreams about being chased, walking in public naked, or falling endlessly. Not me. Twenty-five years after leaving WNLD, I still dream about "dead air" even though everything about my current life is so very much full and alive.

I don't know what it means. I do know that whenever I have my recurring dream, sleep is not restful. And I always wake up relieved to know that on that particular night, REM, refers to my state of sleep and not a band I neglected to play during my shift.

Anonymously yours

2010-07-09T13:22:00.000+02:00

Toward the end of my 14-year stint, living and working in Small Town, USA I experienced lots of "Norm-from-Cheers" moments. It didn't matter where I went -- not only to my favorite hangouts, but also other places such as the grocery store, nail salon, bank, and even dentist office-- it felt like everyone knew my name and, in some cases, rank, number, and personal history as well. There were occasions, like during my divorce when it seemed my dental hygienist knew as much about the circumstances as I did, when being a familiar fixture felt more claustrophobic than it did cozy. But most of the time, I viewed those moments and feelings of familiarity as my reward for making efforts to be part of a greater community, an achievement that was only experienced after years of living and working in one place.

So when I moved away from it all, and lived for a time as a stranger in new and faraway land, I worried whether my newfound anonymity would feel bothersome and even lonely.

It didn't.

I discovered, with great surprise, that being unknown in a community, not only had its upsides (like not feeling obligated to get that biweekly manicure and pedicure to keep up an image), it was also downright empowering.

Without a known, personal, history to weigh me down, I could reinvent myself and be whoever I wanted to be. Not that I would intentionally deceive for nefarious reasons, but if I wanted to pretend to be interested in soccer to help secure a party invite, for example, there wasn't anyone around to point out I had never watched an entire game prior to moving to Europe. Or, when I found myself in the company of the chemists who worked with my husband, I could pretend that I understood a little something about their projects because no one knew that I had failed my high school chemistry course (along with ytping).

Without coworkers, friends, or family, I also didn't have any obligations. In fact, for the longest time, I didn't have to clutter my brain by memorizing a single digit in a phone number. I never had to attend a tupperware party or play a game at a baby shower because I didn't get any invites. In fact, I almost forgot I had a mailbox, so I never checked it. Yes, I experienced complete and total liberation.

Well, that's what I kept telling myself.

However, now that I've passed the one year mark of living and socializing in Barcelona, my anonymity is fading away. These days, I try not to walk Charlie down the street without wearing make-up or, at the very least, really big sunglasses because I will inevitably run into someone I know. In fact, I have met so many nice people that I am chained to an appointment calendar to keep up with all my engagements. What a chore, right?

And then there are those Norm-from-Cheers moments, which now come more frequently as work to integrate in my new home. Unfortunately, language barriers have prevented me from getting to know my new dental hygienist all that well. But I know, with just a little more work, it's only a matter of time.

Mistaken

2010-05-09T10:32:00.002+02:00

A couple margaritas with a shot of gran marnier in each certainly soothed my nerves before embarking on a 9-hour, transatlantic flight. Unfortunately, the cocktails also numbed the most important part of my central nervous system--the brain.

Max and I were walking through Dulles International yesterday when I spotted a man, who looked vaguley familiar to me.

"Hey!" I blurted out, just a tad louder than normal thanks, in part, to that last shot of liquid courage. "I KNOW you!"

The man paused, smiled wrily, but said nothing.

"Aren't you Joe's older brother Maceo from Franklin County?" I asked ever so certain I had this fellow pegged.

"Uh...no," he said walking away quickly and shaking his head ever slightly as if I had just said something inane and ridiculous.

Max looked mortified. "Diane, how could you not know who he was?!?"

"Huh?"

It was Taye Diggs.

And that, my friends, is how Diane Threw Her Groove Back.

I never had a reader from Iceland, anyway

2010-04-18T17:24:00.001+02:00

Cough, cough. Gasp. I am waving hello to all of those who responded to my last post through a thick, gritty fog, that has enveloped the Martini lounge. Thank you (and Google reader) for remembering me.

I thought smoke monsters only existed in the minds of the creative writers at LOST. Little did I know but, far from mythical, they are real, fierce, and nestled, deep within the Eyjafjallajoekull volcano in Iceland. (Is it just me or does the name of the volcano sound made up.)

I guess what I am trying to say is that volcanic ash from the far north has not only disrupted air travel all over the world, but also (gasp) the relaunching of this blog.

No, it's nothing so catastrophic. I'm fine. Charlie is fine. And Max, who is always flying the sometimes friendly skies, miraculously made it home with a no-name airline from a quick trip to Romania last Friday. However, friends and visitors in and around Europe haven't been so lucky. As a result, our home has become part staging area, part refugee shelter for friends and friends of friends, who haven't been able to return to their home countries. Until things settle down, I won't be able to even think about posting.

If you are reading this in the quiet comfort of your own home, please do a little rain and wind dance for Europe so that we can finally say goodbye to the nasty smoke monster.

The comeback kid?

2010-04-14T15:29:00.001+02:00

It's been almost a year away from the blogsphere and I am wondering whether it is too late to make a comeback. Is anyone out there?

End of the road...

2009-07-22T17:40:00.000+02:00

This probably isn't going to come as a surprise.

After four years, 714 posts, and many wonderful memories, the time has come to close down the Martini Lounge. When I started blogging, originally calling this site, Martinis For One, it was out of a need more than desire. Recently divorced and completely confused by the dating world, I used the blog as my primary emotional outlet and personal diary. I also created a virtual persona--Diane Mandy--because I worried what family and friends might think about the honest expressions and experiences.

Since then a lot has changed, but mostly that I have surrounded myself with a group of friends that love me regardless of my viewpoints and history. My blog is no longer a personal confessional. I also don't need a virtual persona any longer. I can just be me.

Along the way, many of you, dear and loyal readers, have helped me in this journey of self renewal. You have shared my adventures--from single gal to married woman to American expat in Europe. You have been there through all the happy times and a few struggles. And along the way, I never felt judged or looked down upon for being me.

And for this, I thank you.

I honesty feel some of you are more than just fellow bloggers. You have been my friends through all these years. And for those who want to stay in touch with the real Diana, please feel free to send me an e-mail (dmandy_5@hotmail.com) and I will provide you with alternate contact information.

Thank you again for being a part of a wonderful four years. It's been quite a ride. In fact, the only thing that stayed consistent was YOU.

Cheers!

My inner salsera

2009-07-22T11:25:00.006+02:00

I have a salsa lesson tonight--specifically a ladies-only, styling class, However, unlike my last, more traditional class, where a series of new turn patterns and footwork was taught, I am not looking forward to this session.

Ladies styling is a class that separates the men from the boys, or in this case, the women from the girls. It is the difference between someone who dances salsa and a bonafide salsera--the rare creature who turns even the most basic steps into art, interpreting the beat and rhythms using stylish arm and body movements that defy laws of nature.

Well, after only two classes the only thing my body is defying is the laws of how a 40-something woman ought to move. And it has become clear to me, every time I attempt to do a proper body roll and end up looking like Elaine from Seinfeld, that the only inner salsera I am going to find is in a jar with an Old El Paso label on it.

What does a rooster say?

2009-07-16T20:47:00.000+02:00

When learning a language, there are certain things you're never going to learn by sitting in a classroom.

For example, It completely escaped my notice that I had gone the inaugural concert of OOO DOS last month. I mistakenly had thought the band I saw was called EWE TOO (U2).

On another occasion, when a friend invited me to dinner by e-mail, graciously writing in English instead of her native tongue:

Hi!!! How are you? Do you have plans for tonight? Im going with some friends to have ....mmmmhhh dinner (or is it lunch?) jiji around Gracia.

I responded by saying I'd be happy to have lunch at Jiji around Gracia. Right?

Wrong. You can imagine my embarrassment when I discovered that

Jiji = Hee Hee

or that

"Ah ha!" is actually "ajá."

I could go on forever.

These are the little things that I would not have learned any other way than by living and breathing in a Spanish-speaking country. And all I can say is Wuau, err..uh.. I mean Wow!

The naked man of Barcelona

2009-07-15T00:31:00.003+02:00

The first time I happened upon Barcelona's most naked and notorious resident, my more puritanical American sensibilities felt shocked. And because of his well-placed tatoos, mere illusions to articles of clothing, I almost didn't believe what I was seeing.

But there he was-- casually walking down Rambla without either a care in the world or a shred of clothing--the naked man of Barcelona.

"Gosh, you don't see that every day," I thought to myself.

But after a saw him again the next day in Port Vell, and again as a participant in a cycling event a week later in Eixample, I realized that city residents do see him --every last dangling bit-- if not every day, then at least every week.

Oh, I know you're curious, but this blog is only PG-rated. I wouldn't dare post a picture of him.

But for those of you not of faint heart, I dare you to see for yourself. With moderation set to off, Google the words "naked man Barcelona" and you will see post after post, picture after not-so-glorious picture.

Still, it's amazing how the mind adapts to it's surroundings and that which once shocked now barely registers. Just the other day I was with a guest giving a tour of Barcelona's most famous places when we came across the one sight my friend was not expecting. She let out a little shriek, while I kept walking without even so much as a glance. To me, he is now just any old naked guy, fellow resident, and a right of passage to every Barcelona newcomer.

Absense makes the heart grow fonder

2009-07-14T10:32:00.003+02:00

This is the first day in three weeks that I have been alone and I have to admit I am loving every solitary minute. June (and half of July) flew by in a whirlwind. Half a dozen over-night guests, a series of dinner parties, and lots and lots of touring this fair city's numerous and famous sights made for a jam-packed month. I had a good time, but am ready for a couple weeks of quiet before welcoming a second wave of visitors in August.

Today, Max boarded a plane to Milan, our other home technically, but one that I have not visited since an initial house-hunting trip months ago. My husband and I had originally agreed that I would join him in Milan this week, but at the last minute I had a change of heart.

"Sweetie, would you mind if I stayed behind in Barcelona? The house hasn't been cleaned in weeks and I don't feel right leaving it in shambles."

(Translation: I love you, but need some quiet time.)

Max, always the easy-going half of our pair, let me off the hook without a hint of guilt. While many would think me crazy for giving up a trip to Italy and my mother actually berated me over the phone (with a "you should go with your husband as often as possible because it's bad for your marriage not to" snipe), Max understands my needs and encourages me to do for myself and be a little selfish when I feel the need. God, I love that man!

Roof-top party

2009-06-18T13:09:00.004+02:00

Max and I hosted our first shindig in Barcelona on the roof of our building. We ordered Lebanese food and hired a belly dancer. All in all, I think it was a success.

Died and gone to heaven

2009-06-15T16:41:00.003+02:00

Not really, but I am enjoying life in Barcelona that much. Being out and about, soaking up both the Mediterranean sun and culture is producing one bad side effect however. I'm not blogging, Twittering, or using Facebook. My virtual presences has, if not ceased, than at least taken a long holiday. When it is finally resurrected, however, don't let me forget to blog about the naked cyclist I saw riding the streets of Barcelona the other day. If only I had my camera with me!

Where in the world is...the 2nd anniversary edition

2009-06-01T11:22:00.005+02:00

Max and I are celebrating our 2nd anniversary this week by...

Staying here....

Visiting here...

And indulging in a little of this...

Diane's typical Friday afternoon in Barcelona (in pictures)

2009-05-29T00:55:00.000+02:00

Exhibit A: Tapas including Pimientos de Padrón (some sort of fried peppers and MY FAVORITES), as well as feta and tomatoes, and cod crochets

Exhibit B: Charlie, my usual lunch partner, beggin' for a little something something (except the peppers, of course).

PS. Look familiar to you, Headbang? Lunch certainly isn't the same without your company!

Sleep deprived

2009-05-28T11:32:00.004+02:00

What I heard from my balcony until 4a this morning.

Congratulations.

Now can I get some sleep?

Love is in the air

2009-05-27T19:16:00.002+02:00

When you think of famous, romantic cities, which ones come to mind?

Venice? Rome? Paris?

Based on my short time here, I am beginning to think Barcelona should be on the top of any 'Most Romantic Cities' list. Not that I would have much personal experience (because Max has traveled so frequently since I arrived), but it appears as though the inhabitants of this great city are in the mood for love--or at least sex. Everywhere I go I see people who can't seem to keep their hands (or any other body part for that matter) off each other.

I'm far from prudish, but still turned all shades of red when the woman standing next to me at the street corner felt impelled to perform some sort of tongue aerobics in the ear of her companion. Honestly, if this is not Olympic sport, it should be. And because this is a PG-rated blog, I'm prohibited from telling you what another man and woman were checking out as they stood in line at the supermarket. (Hint: It wasn't their groceries.) From taxi stands to automatic bank tellers--morning, noon, and night--public displays of affection are both daring and prominent.

I wish I could explain away this phenomenon. Perhaps it's the beautiful Spring-like weather of the Mediterranean? Maybe the southern European custom of leisurely, 2+ hour lunches give employees time for truly happy meals? Or, could it be Spanish wine producers are spiking the Rioja with some Funky Cold Medina? These are my working theories at the moment. The only thing I do know for sure is that I am very happy Charlie is neutered.

The new Mandy pad

2009-05-26T16:04:00.006+02:00

Is he or isn't he?

2009-05-23T17:25:00.006+02:00

No, I'm not speaking about the Glam rocker!

Rather, an American cocker, my personal Idol, who since his earliest days as a pup has displayed his own sort of ambiguity.

At first, I tried to rationalize away the signs -- how Charlie seemed to have an extra spring in his step whenever he emerged from the doggy day spay freshly coiffed and sporting a new bandana, his disdain for dirty surfaces, refusal to walk in the rain without his favorite fire-engine red jersey, his preference for squatting instead of hiking his leg up over the nearest hydrant, and how, when going to chew on my shoes, he always picked out the most expensive, if not bedazzled, ballroom pair.

"Charlie is a metrosexual," I thought to myself. "He is just a high-maintenance diva like his mother and nothing more."

When Charlie went head-over-heels for Mario, the neighborhood beagle, my instinct was to ignore the obvious and delight in their "close friendship."

And even after Max entered the picture and my dog, the one I had picked out and raised since puppyhood, was curled up at my boyfriend's feet whenever he had the chance (and would GROWL when I tried to relocate him near me), I was jealous, but never thought anything more.

But the trend has continued for years now. His little tail wags when he has the opportunity to sniff the butts of little boy dogs, but he barks at bitches that get too close.

What else can I think? Since Charlie was castrated at 8-months old, he seems to have developed a case of, what can only be described as, 'testicles- envy'. That's right, folks. Charlie prefers other...er...uh... cockers, like himself.

And, really, who could blame him?

Battle of the Bulge

2009-05-22T09:45:00.001+02:00

You can take the girl out of Germany, but can you take the hausfrau out of the girl?

Let's hope so.

When I became a stay-at-home housewife in Germany, I inadvertently adopted a low-maintenance lifestyle. "Low" as in subterranean, I-should-have-been-so-lucky-to-have-a- seismic-crack-in-the-earth-swallow-up-the-three-pairs-of sweatpants-I-wore-all-the-time, and remind-me-again-what-lipstick-is low.

I feel as though I became the stereotype German hausfrau--sans the knee high hose, of course. I let myself go because it was easier than continuing the high-maintenance habits from my days in the U.S. (And maybe because German chocolates and Rieslings really are that good.)

But since January, I've made it my aim to live a healthier lifestyle, lose "the expat 15" (as in dreaded extra pounds), and get back into a closet full of clothes that I haven't been able to wear since my honeymoon. There have been a few stops and starts over the months, but overall that which I have dubbed "operation hoochie momma" has been a success. I've shed weight, am favoring a well-balanced diet, joined, the gym, started salsa classes, and am taking a multivitamin daily. Today I even wore a skirt that hasn't seen the light of day since 2006. Thank you, stretch material. You made my day.

But to be completely honest, I think my body shape has changed over the last couple years and the numbers on the scale aren't exactly bringing me the measurements and sizes they once did. Losing an extra 5 pounds would make me feel more confident and, more importantly, help me to squeeze my 40-something derriere back into my favorite Guess jeans and "I (heart) fashion t-shirt from my 30s--which is really all I ever wanted anyway.

In other words, I ain't flying a mission accomplished banner over my wardrobe. I'm fighting hard, but haven't won the war just yet.

Why is losing weight and keeping it off such a battle?

Like a Blister on the Bun...

2009-05-21T10:00:00.003+02:00

Today I made it my mission to find a free and working, open wireless connection in Barcelona. You would think this not to have been a difficult task. After all, plenty of coffee shops and cafes throughout the city prominently display WIFI signs on their premises. But after ordering a cafe cortado at no fewer than three of these (including one called "iCafe") before establishing a connection, I was buzzing from too much caffeine and no Internet.

Note to self: Don't make yourself at home at a restaurant and order until you know the "open wireless" actually exists and is functioning.

I spent the day walking and searching -- down Rambla Catalunya, up Paseo de Gracia, across Gran Via and Mallorca--while making the vain mistake of continue along the several kilometers without the benefit of proper footwear. Sure, those cherry pumps looked cute with my floral-patterned Ann Taylor skirt, but by the end of the afternoon I had a berry-sized blister to match them. Believe it or not, at the ripe-old age of nearly 42, I am beginning to understand the flaws in my fashion-over-comfort mantra.

Maybe it was all the caffeine, but as I trudged along Barcelona's many sidewalks, a tune from Oleta Adams popped into mind serving as both the anthem and ear worm d'jour.

There are hills and mountains between us
Always something to get over
If I had my way, then surely you would be closer
I need you closer

Yes, I have issues. But an expat without Internet is worse than a floral-patterned Ann Taylor skirt without pumps.

And I have the blister to prove it.

Almost perfect

2009-05-20T10:27:00.008+02:00

Sometimes I think I ought to re-title my blog. Instead of Martinis for Two it would be called:

Living Almost Perfect
The search for good Mexican food in Europe

This is because with the exception a of a complete lack of spicy salsa and a decent bean burrito, my European experience has been nothing short of wonderful. I enjoyed my time (even though the vineyards of the Rhineland Pfalz were a little quiet) in Germany and found the people to be warm and friendly, which made up for the many cold and rainy days. And now that I live in the land of constant Mediterranean sun, I am basking in my new apartment, neighborhood, city, and life.

Now over one month into this first chapter, I still find no cause for complaint in Barcelona. Sure, there are issues. The governmental bureaucracy is maddening and utility service providers operate at a snail's pace (I do not have Internet access yet, por ejemplo ), but these minor annoyances do not take away from my good impressions of this marvelous city.

I love it here. And if it weren't for family and friends back in the United States, I would tell Max it was time put down permanent roots and make Barcelona home.

Part of my joy comes from my preference for city living. I like that Max and I can walk to our favorite cafes and bars on date night and that everything I would ever need for daily existence (with the exception of a good Mexican cantina) can be found within a 6-block radius of my flat. But it's more than just conveniences. I like the vibe here. It speaks to me. Now if only I could speak back.

Movin' on up

2009-05-13T08:24:00.000+02:00

I am writing to you from 35,000 feet up as I fly back from Ungstein, having successfully completed the first stage of a relocation to yet another country. Our German home now sits empty. And as I type, two trucks, loaded down with all our earthly belongings, are en-route to Barcelona, Spain.

I’m physically and emotionally exhausted, but the week has only begun.

Thursday, I’ll again meet up with the movers to unload and unpack. I am very curious (and a little anxious) to see how they are able to squeeze my super-sized, American-made furniture into the European-sized penthouse of a 19th century building.

More than likely, the furniture will be hoisted up from the outside rather than carted up a winding, 5-story staircase. If this is the case, you can bet I’ll be doing more wincing than watching until the move is completed.

Stay tuned for photographs of the new place just as soon as we can make it picture perfect. Hopefully, with Max and I working morning and night, we’ll have it ready sooner rather than later.

Platinum Diane

2009-05-05T19:28:00.001+02:00

Another new hair color. Why not?

I'm an idiot.

2009-04-29T15:57:00.002+02:00

The number of days from the time I purchased my mobile phone for Spain until I the time I lost it (and all the phone numbers I have collected)?

30

In fact, "idiot" might be to weak a word.

Good vibrations

2009-04-28T17:11:00.003+02:00

I've never been through SERE training-- the military program used to teach soldiers how to resist torture and now used as a basis for the CIA's own "enhanced interrogation" techniques--but I have had to sit through company required, and somewhat tortuous, cultural awareness training courses before taking on a new expat assignment.

Ok, so maybe "torturous" isn't a good word for feeling of sitting in a classroom, listening to hours of cultural stereotypes, learning about local customs and history, but at the time I had to endure the programs I honestly would have preferred root canal or maybe a good old-fashioned colon cleansing. Especially when it came to my training on Germany, the information I learned--about how the German people love to correct you and say no, how they might call the cops if your dog barked after 10pm--proved to be exactly opposite of my positive experiences in the year and few months I lived in the country.

So recently, when I was told in a cultural awareness training that the people of Catalonia are more reserved and hard to get to know, I filed the information away in my brain's "I'll Just Have to See for Myself" folder. This folder is a veritable storehouse of stuff-- from things I've heard in Sunday services, to idle gossip, to anything spewed from a FOX news personality. You listen politely and file it away for another day... or not.

But I have to tell you, once again, this generalization about a people has not been my personal experience. Granted, I've lived in Barcelona for less than a month. But during this time, I have experienced kindnesses from complete strangers all over the city.

My first week, sitting on a bench in front of El Corte Ingles (a popular department store) along Paseo de Gracia, I struck up a brief conversation (in my broken Spanish) with a Catalan woman, who was waiting for her mother to finish shopping. She learned I was new to the country. I learned her sister lived in California. But after only 5 minutes, the woman offered me her phone number. "If you have any questions at all, you can call me," she said. I thought this gesture a fluke at first, but Max and I had a similar experience last night as we walked Charlie around the neighborhood. A man, born and bred in Barcelona and also walking his dog, struck up a conversation with us. Before we knew it, names and numbers were exchanged.

Some people have gone beyond exchanging numbers and offering to answer questions.

During my very first night of salsa class, I met a local woman, who offered to get together with me to practice Spanish. And when I didn't take the initiative after two weeks, she called and invited me for lunch and shopping. I accepted, had a lovely time, and already feel as though I've made a new friend.

From the woman who tore off a piece of her bocadillo jamon (a ham sandwich) and fed it to Charlie as we waited to cross the street to the kindly man at the neighborhood bar, who buys me a single rose from a street vendor every time Max and I enjoy a cocktail before retiring to our apartment, I am struck by the friendliness of this city.

Perhaps things would be different and a little tougher if I lived in a small town away where Spanish isn't widely spoken and fewer outsiders settle down. But at least here, in Barcelona, my first impressions are that the Catalan people are open, friendly, and very helpful.

Where to dare?

2009-04-27T22:51:00.002+02:00

Max and I will be celebrating our 2nd--count 'em 2--anniversary in a few weeks and we would like to go away for the weekend. The problem is we have no idea where we'd like to travel. So I turn to you, my blogger friends, who I have so woefully neglected the last couple months, for weekend-getaway ideas. Would you help a sister out? Where should we go?

And PS: Don't even think about suggesting Mexico right now.

The business of starting anew...

2009-04-20T15:28:00.002+02:00

Over the last couple weeks, I've spent many hours walking the streets of Barcelona, not with an eye toward entertaining future visitors that have already reserved their spot at Hotel Mandy, but rather toward day-to day existence as I settle in to life in yet another new country. It's an almost laughable contrast-- to walk right past famous buildings of Gaudi's architecture and hardly blink, but almost break out into an all-out happy dance when I come across a store that carries Old El Paso Mexican products.

No. I'm not ashamed to admit this. When you've experience expatriation before, you understand that immediate priorities center around seeking that which makes you feel at home and comfortable over exploring the foreign surroundings. After all, there's plenty of time for touring once guests arrive (in four weeks).

Compared to the snail-like pace of my start in Germany, I have accomplished quite a bit in Spain. I've joined a gym, started salsa classes two times a week, gone to an expat-meet-up, and gotten on a first-name basis with some of the local business owners. I think I'm making good progress in establishing a home--which, for me, includes more than just a roof over my head.

This is not say the roof part isn't important. When Max and I visited our future apartment we were disappointed to discover almost no progress has been made on important building renovations. In fact, since we signed the contract in late January, the owners still have not acquired final permits for either the electrical or the elevator (and our apartment is on the top floor). Moreover, no work has been done on the private, roof-top terrace, which was a huge selling point for us. And even though we have verbal assurances we can move in by May 15th, I can't help but wonder if we don't have more bargaining power by holding out until we are completely satisfied.

Still, the inevitable relocation and logistical problems haven't put a damper on my mood. I can already tell I will enjoy this new life in Barcelona, which is complete with an elliptical machine, the makings for a decent burrito, and salsa dancing.

Really, could I ask for anything more?

Please leave a message after the beep

2009-04-07T11:35:00.000+02:00

You've reached the message center for Diane Mandy. I'm not here right now because of travel plans during the upcoming Easter holiday--first to Milan, and then for a five-day in-law visit in Cairo, Egypt. Sorry I missed you, but if you'd like to leave a message, I'll promise to get back to you just as soon as I've return next week.

Hope you have a great week!

What a sucker looks like

2009-04-03T19:36:00.001+02:00

Not Charlie...me.

(If your confused, see post below.)

From Pillar to Post

2009-04-01T22:45:00.010+02:00

Just as I am adjusting to a new life in Barcelona, Charlie is also facing a few adjustments of his own.

For a dog who was thoroughly immersed in Germany's dog-friendly ways, Charlie isn't taking very well to the Spanish culture--- where he is not allowed in stores, restaurants, subways, and most public places. Gone are the days when Charlie tagged along on our date nights at the local sushi restaurant or was greeted with a bowl of water at the neighborhood bar. Now he is forced to stay home, rather than come along on our daily adventures. But what's worse for the former "Prince Charles" is, now that we have changed residency, he is being forced to learn a few new "house rules."

The worst of these? No longer being able to sleep in the bed with us.

Ever since he was a little tike who so adorably grabbed his teddy bear up before heading to sleep, I got into the habit of allowing him to cozy up bed with me--a huge no-no in the world of professional dog training. And even though I haven't seen any negative behavioral problems as a result of my leniency, I know this routine could cause problems for unsuspecting pet sitters, who are called upon to watch Charlie when Max and I head out of town for vacations. And so, I've decided to kick Charlie to, if not the curb, than at least to our bedroom floor.

The first night in Barcelona was the toughest--a battle of wills between a reluctant owner and a dog, who wouldn't take no for an answer.

Charlie assuming his usual, nightly, position.

"No...NO?!? Excuse me, mom, but are you really talking to me?"

After I kicked him out of bed, Charlie tried every trick in the book to get back to his favored position.

Every half an hour or so, he would jump in the bed, thinking I had either been mistaken or had forgotten my strange, new command. Then, after he was ordered out again, he'd paced the floor, come back to the bed, flash his big brown eyes or, the ultimate ploy, lay his little stuffed toy at my feet for sympathy.

Poor Charlie! In the end, I won the battle.

But was it really worth winning (especially since the cat still sneaks in bed with us ever night)?

Sunshine above my shoulders

2009-04-01T00:01:00.002+02:00

Since January and especially after Max moved to Barcelona without me, I kept track of the Catalan weather through a customized, desktop widget. As I suffered through the grey, damp, German winter, my weather widget told me that Max was enjoy near spring-like conditions in Spain. Day in day out for nearly 90 days, I saw clouds, while Max soaked up the sun rays.

A good wife would be happy for her husband's fortune, but I was green with envy. It wasn't too long before I created another widget--a countdown until the move to Barcelona--which accompanied my weather tracker and gave me hope that I, too, would soon see the glowing orb which had eluded me through an especially harsh German winter.

As the countdown ticked down--5 days, 4 days, 3, 2, 1--you can imagine my excitement. Soon, so very soon, I would no longer need those Vitamin D supplements because I'd be soaking up fortified, solar rays.

Only now that I've moved, I haven't seen the sun. This week, Barcelona is having German-like weather including cool temperatures, clouds, and lots of rain.

Did I bring the German weather with me? Have I offended Mother Nature and didn't realize it?

What's a woman to do when she desperately needs a lift and the gloomy weather isn't providing one?

She creates her own sunshine by changing her hair style, trading tired, old blonde highlights in for an even lighter, brighter, all-over, blond hair color.

What do you think?

(PS. No comments about my purple and green pajamas, please!)

Passive aggressive?

2009-03-31T17:07:00.003+02:00

I'm trying to be a good little expat by working hard on my Spanish, but somebody is giving me a little resistance.

Barcelona or bust

2009-03-30T00:22:00.003+02:00

I'm happy to report we ALL made it to Barcelona. Safe and sound.

Last post from Germany!

2009-03-27T01:00:00.001+01:00

The only time measuring in pounds is better than kilos...

2009-03-26T22:40:00.005+01:00

I dared to step on the scale today and discovered I am down 10 pounds. Yey!

Trust me, I have more than a few to go to reach my completely realistic (wink, wink) goal of getting in hoochie mama condition by this summer. Nevertheless, this milestone gives me motivation and makes me smile.

The other thing that gives me hope and makes me grin?

This article, which seems to indicate that the 40s are the new 20s. Would you agree?

And, finally, here's another question for the day: If you had a body like Cindy Crawford's (pictured in the article) would you consider posing nude--not necessarily for Playboy (or any other magazine), but rather for your self? I'm just asking.

Amazing Pet Trick By Charlie!

2009-03-24T11:03:00.000+01:00

The Italian Job

2009-03-23T16:20:00.006+01:00

Max and I spent this past weekend in Milan, Italy looking for our second home away from homes.

I know it sounds glamorous-- setting up houses and living in two of Europe's most famous cities, Barcelona and Milan--but I do not believe it will be as exciting as it seems.

At the risk of offending any northern Italian readers, I will confess to not being impressed with Milan. With the exception of a small area around the duomo di Milano, I found the city to be drab, dirty, noisy, and confusing.

There. I said it. I have a poor first impression of the Lombard metropolis, famous for its ridiculously pricey fashion houses. After visiting the city, I am very happy our primary home will be located in Barcelona, which I find more beautiful and livable by any comparison.

Nevertheless, the weekend in Milan wasn't a total loss. Max and I found a lovely apartment--a spacious 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom, located just outside the downtown area and close the all-important public transportation. Perhaps with time and a little education of all things Milan, I will come to like the city more and if not, I'll still have my Barcelona retreat.

Ok, so the life may not be glamorous, but it's still pretty darn cool.

RIP Little Bear

2009-03-19T21:59:00.003+01:00

A valued member of the Mandy clan was laid to rest yesterday after being literally loved to death by his beloved, Charlie.

My heart almost broke when I tossed out Charlie's bear, the stuffed toy my pupster had literally carried to bed every night since as long as I can remember. But unfortunately, I had no choice. Bear had become hazard in his old age. Charlie managed to tear off his ears, arms, eyes, nose, and squeaker. I worried my dog might choke on all the stuffing that was being scattered throughout the house. Besides, I was tired of constantly picking up bear's remains.

While there was really no replacing Charlie's bear, I had to come up with a substitute and fast. My dog is sleeping over a friend's house a few days while I spend a weekend in Milan with the husband.

And so, last night I headed to the only store in Germany I knew would still be open at 8:30 at night.

IKEA

I carefully examined the toy section, scouring the stuffed animals in the hopes of finding one that might somehow be a suitable companion for Charlie. I sure hope I made the right choice.

I now present to you Charlie's new porcupine (at least I think it's a porcupine).

No Excuses Genes

2009-03-19T00:08:00.000+01:00

With the most common causes for my miscarriages having already been ruled out through recent tests, my doctor suggested that Max and I go in for a basic genetics test, one final hurdle before being given the all clear to try and have a baby again. Turns out, we both have pretty good genes.

Let the baby making begin? Not so fast. I want to take some time to settle in and enjoy a summer in Barcelona. I realize as a 41-year old, time isn't exactly on my side. But, I can't help but feel if waiting 6 more months is going to make it or break it for my fertility chances, then it wasn't meant to be. I need a little more time and distance.

Still, it feels good to know when I'm ready, I should be able because my chromosomes are fine, thank you very much

Embarrassing photo of the month

2009-03-18T04:59:00.000+01:00

Know this sad-looking child, who looks as if her photo was about to appear on a milk carton or, better yet, and FBI wanted poster?

This is my first passport photo, taken when I was 11-years old. My parents teasingly told me that the Greek authorites wouldn't let me enter the country if my passport photo showed a smile. I thought they were serious and worked very hard to make sure my teeth didn't show.

It is, in fact, the only photo I have in which I am not smiling.

I think I got a little better at having passport photos taken as time went on, don't you?

Dancing Queen

2009-03-17T00:00:00.001+01:00

I don't claim to be Ginger Rogers, but blare a little music and my feet can't help but move. Before marrying and moving to the rolling vineyards of Germany, where life hushes down to a whisper after 8pm, I spent many a lively late night shaking my bumba to a rumba or doing my thing to swing.

In all, I can carry my feet, for better or worse, to no fewer than 12 different dances: fox trot, rumba, waltz, east coast swing, west coast swing, cha cha, the two step, bachatta, merengue, mambo, rueda, and salsa. But of this not-so dirty dozen, my absolute passion is salsa. No matter what external forces have me down, the tropical rhythms of the clave make my spirit sing. In the pre-Max era, I spent years pursuing a goal of becoming a bonafide salsera. And even though a lack of natural talent would prevent me from ever winning Dancing with the Stars, I did become, at least, a competent salsa dancer.

But that was then.

Aside from a monthly night out dancing with Max, I hung up my ballroom shoes once I settled down, married, and moved to Germany. But to be completely honest, I've missed the opportunity to pursue my favorite hobby more vigorously. Fortunately, moving to a bigger city gives both Max and I both the chance to rekindle our love affair with Latin dancing. And so, with Max's blessing and after a little research, I located a salsa school only 3 blocks from where we will live and e-mailed the director about registering for classes, which start the day after I arrive. Sounded easy enough, right?

"You'll need to come by and dance with an instructor first," the school's director replied. "We will need to assess what your level is and what class would suit you best."

Don't get me wrong. Trying out for a class didn't strike me as a bad idea, but I haven't really danced with purpose in years. Suddenly, I felt pressure. My competitive nature got the best of me. I wanted to do well, place in a higher level, and prove to my self I could still keep to the beat with the best of them.

But could I?

I worked myself into a frenzy before tryouts and was literally shaking by the time my chance to dance with the first of three instructors came.

"Relax," the professor of Cuban-style salsa said. "Just enjoy the music and dance."

But somehow, I couldn't calm my nerves. I never did like being tested and couldn't shake the feeling that I was being rated. Still, I did well enough and landed in two higher-level classes, which will give me something to do every Tuesday and Wednesday evening for the next three months. For his part, Max opted for private classes because of his hectic and unpredictable travel schedule.

Regardless, we're both very excited to dance again and also hope to make a few new friends along the way. And, I'm already having visions of hosting "salsa by moonlight" parties up on our apartment's private, roof-top terrace this summer. Pretty cool, don't you think?

My favorite things

2009-03-16T00:01:00.000+01:00

Aside from spending time with Max, here is what I enjoyed most during my 5-day stay in Barcelona:

1. Meeting fellow blogger, Oreneta, and the unexpected (but very much appreciated) tour of the city
2. Fresh seafood 4 out of 5 nights
3. Walking through a mall (we don't have any near where I lived in Germany, and I actually missed the experience of it)
4. Finding In Style, Vogue, and Glamour in English at a nearby magazine stand
5. The energy and nightlife of Barcelona. Restaurants don’t even open till 8pm and most folks head for dinner after 10pm.
6. Siestas (see number 5)
7. Eating snails for the first time and discovering they weren't half bad
8. The experience of trying out for a salsa class
9. Walking around our new neighborhood and experiencing the feeling of confidence that we made the right housing choice
10. Max's new company car
11. Learning that Wifi is pronounced "wee fee" in Spain
12. Window shopping on Paseo de Gracia (sure to turn into actual shopping once I drop this stubborn 5 kilos)
13. Crema de Catalan (yummy)
14. Sunny, warm weather
15. That I get to return in 13 short days!!!

Virtual Tour: Our Temporary Digs

2009-03-15T06:36:00.001+01:00

Our temporary couch

Our temporary TV

Our temporary bathroom

Two temporary twin beds we pushed together so as not to live like Lucy and Ricky

Temporary kitchen-laundry combo. We also have three wine glasses, 3 forks, 3 spoons and knives, 1 frying pan, 3 pots, a wine opener (very important), two cutting boards, a handful of dishes, and a partridge in a pear tree (o.k., not really the last one).

That is all, folks. Small, clean, comfortable. I'm certainly NOT complaining.

"It's complicated"

2009-03-13T17:02:00.008+01:00

Perhaps it's a side effect of all the Vitamin D that I am soaking up through glorious Spanish sun exposure, but I actually have the urge to write.

All is well in Barcelona. I am enjoying a semblance of normal life as part of a couple again--waking up next to someone other than Charlie, preparing a real dinner as opposed to microwaving a Weight Watchers entree, and snuggling on the couch with my favorite fellow while watching a movie downloaded through iTunes. But I'm not only here to keep the home fires burning. There is actually a purpose to my brief Catalan adventure.

I had to be fingerprinted.

I sort of wish I had a tawdry tale to go along with with act of being escorted down to the police station and having all 10 fingers literally blacked with ink, because the worst thing I've ever done in all my life was to skip school one time with my mother's full knowledge and permission.

But sad to say, my time visiting the slammer, sitting in the waiting area with unsavory characters, and being escorted into a small CSI-like laboratory was for "official government purposes" only. It's part of what Max and I both have to do in order to get our visas to live in Spain permanently. Don't ask me why.

Getting through the maze of governmental requirements and documentation would be impossible without the help of a skilled professional. And after months and months of waiting, Max and I finally met with Alvero, a third-party contractor assigned to help us get moved permanently.

We had hoped Alvero might be able to shed light on what paperwork would need to be completed and, more importantly, how long the process would take, but this was not to be. With every question we posed, our skilled professional had only one response:

"It's complicated," he said.

It sure is. In addition to being finger printed, we also had to sign documents in the presence of a notary giving our permissions to have FBI background checks completed. While I attempted to sign the permissions with my best, most readable, John Hancock, I couldn't help but wonder if the time I skipped school would possibly show up on my profile.

This is not unfounded paranoia. I feel as though the slightest problem could cause a delay in this already painfully slow process. For instance, my name changes because of marriage and divorce have generated extra paperwork. And even though I've provided copies of expired passports, which document my series of failed marriages and ever-evolving name, I've been told that the U.S. consulate will be called to verify that name changes can and do happen because of marriage and divorce. This call, alone, will probably set us back a week or two--at least that is what it feels like.

But for now, I'll try not to worry about what is or is not happening and how long it will take before Max and I can truly get on to the business of life as normal. I'm here, enjoying time with my husband, and cooking a little fresh cod for dinner this evening.

It's better than nothing.

Happiness is...

2009-03-09T16:26:00.007+01:00

Spending your Monday afternoon packing for 5-day trip to Barcelona!

Can you tell I am in a better mood today? Your words of encouragement (and knowing I will see Max on Wednesday) certainly makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

Also, a few days away from solitary confinement to visit a blog buddy certainly helped my spirit as well. Thank you, G, for the invitation and a wonderful past weekend !

Confession

2009-03-06T18:47:00.004+01:00

I have a confession to make. My blogging drought isn't only a result of being busy. I'm also in a really bad mood.

This is hard for me to admit. Ordinarily I consider myself unflappable and impervious to many things. Winter blues? Nah. I like to think I create my own sunshine. Missing my never-present hubby? Heavens no! I'm so much more independent than that...

or, am I?

I really can't put my finger on any one reason, but the truth is I've got a case of the blues. I feel so uninspired--to blog, to diet, to socialize, to Twitter, to Facebook, to study Spanish, or to do any of the things I typically enjoy.

Must.Buck.These.Blues. Now.

But how?

Since writing tends to be cathartic, perhaps I should start by doing something unusual for me. RANTING. Excuse me for using this single post to get out all of the little things that are eating at me these days.

1. The economic gloom

Seriously, folks-- 24 hours of nonstop, economic doom and gloom has me tied up in knots. I haven't felt this way since the height of the Presidential election when all I saw on the news was political rallies being turned into forums for hate mongering. This time, however, my stress level seems worse. Even though I am not personally affected by the hard times, I hate feeling that no one really has a handle on the extent of the situation or how to fix it. At the same time, I can't help but wonder whether the presence of 24-hour cable news is making the economic mood worse than it is in actuality? I mean, really, should we be giving so much credence to the whims of Wall Street, which to me has seemed somewhat Bipolar, even in the best of times. Can anybody tell me where this is all leading?

2. The Octo-mom

Numerous bloggers have commented on various aspects of this story, so I won't go into a huge diatribe. But as news outlets shed even more light on the psychological, emotional, and economic situation of this mother, the one-time, bizarre human interest story becomes a greater and greater tragedy. I feel such sadness for the 14 innocent victims.

3. Chris and Rihanna

From the beginning, I believed she would go back to her abuser. This is one time that I am NOT happy I was right.

4. American Idol Wild Card Choices

Tatianna over Ju' not? Really?!?!?

5. Flap over Michelle Obama's Exposed Arms

Back in the day, when I was I gym rat and worked out 2 times a day, I NEVER had chiseled arms like Michelle Obama. And even though I am a tad jealous, I've got to support the First Lady in her sleeveless fashion choices. Really, why the fuss? If you've got it, flaunt it.

6. Language Learning

After 40 hours of language classes, I am very good with Spanish--ON PAPER. I can read a newspaper and understand it, send an e-mail that gets a response, and easily complete homework assignments until I develop a callus on the tip of my finger. But I still can't speak well. I realize part of this problem is caused by hesitancy and timidity, but part of it is also that my synaptic brain and nerve connections don't seem to be firing when I go to open my mouth.

You, who have learned to speak a second language fluently, what am I doing wrong?

7. Loneliness

Since January, I've spent 80 percent of my time alone because the company's HR department has been slow to handle of the legal and government paperwork necessary to get us moved. As a result, my spouse, who started his new job two months ago, must travel every week to get his work done.

I think I've reached my limit in the loneliness department. When you are happy to be with someone, it hurts when you are separated. And I am tired of hurting.

Fortunately, there is an end in sight. I've only got 25 days before I will join Max in Barcelona permanently. I've also got two trips planned--one to Barcelona and one to Milan-- to be with him in the interim. I just have to get through the meantime.

That's me. What's bugging you these days?

Present!

2009-03-02T22:39:00.002+01:00

I'm re-emerging in the blog world after an unscheduled hiatus last week. Nothing earth shattering kept me away. Rather, Iife has been a little hectic here at the Mandy pad. Between getting Max moved to Barcelona (as of yesterday) and my never-ending Spanish lessons, I've had little time for much of anything.

Doesn't sound like much fun, does it?

I can hardly believe I only have 26 days (not that I am counting) left in Germany. Bear with me, folks. I'm a little overwhelmed and not sure how long before I'll be in a business-as-usual routine.

Meow!

2009-02-23T20:15:00.001+01:00

Off to a party. How do I look?

I've come a long way, Schatzi

2009-02-22T21:04:00.003+01:00

Have you ever noticed, after weeks of dissatisfaction, how unusually good your hair looks the morning before an appointment with the stylist?

With one month and seven days left, I'm having a similar experience when it comes to life in Germany. Despite the cold, winter grayness, my ineptitude when it comes to the language, disdain for anything pork, and the fact that Max was gone 24 out of 30 days last month, I'm having some of the easiest and most memorable times in all my 13 months in this country. Aside from occasional communication difficulties, day-to-day living is relatively comfortable and, sometimes, even a little exciting.

After months and months of living like a shadow of the person I once was, today I prosper.

Don't get me wrong. Living in a foreign place is never easy when compared to being in your home country. But after the initial culture shock wears off and acceptance begins, a person can start to feel "at home" in a foreign country. I am happy I reached this state of mind before leaving Germany.

I also am starting to realize a few of the things I'll miss most once I leave -- taking Charlie on long walks through the vineyards, Tchibo (a unique coffee shop/ houseware and clothing store), Flammkuchen, castle ruins along almost every hillside, and, of course, the new friends I've come know and enjoy over the last several months.

Even though I am determined to look forward to the new experiences and change in scenery that await me and Max in Barcelona, I am also in the mindset to savor every minute of the time I have left here.

Fresh and clean as a whistle

2009-02-20T11:10:00.005+01:00

Thanks for all your happy thoughts! I have good news to report. The good doc says my basket looks perfectly capable of carrying an egg or two. Whew!

And speaking of best used dates...

2009-02-19T00:12:00.003+01:00

Food isn't the only thing that comes with a deadline.

With a limited number of eggs in their proverbial baskets, women have a predetermined expiration date for fertility. So it seems only natural that, after a very ripe 41-years, the best of my "best used by" years are behind me. But am I facing expiration?

What I am trying to say is the time has come for me to get a handle on my biological ticker, or at least some of its more important parts.

Friday, I'm going in to the clinic for a minor procedure to find out whether my basket has seen better days. After two miscarriages, it seems prudent to understand if there is something physically preventing me from carrying a pregnancy to term before ever considering the possibility of trying again.

Figuratively speaking, I am not keeping all of my eggs in this basket. If something is discovered, I'm prepared to weigh the options. But still, would you mind keeping your fingers crossed for a positive outcome?

Best used by...

2009-02-18T00:02:00.003+01:00

Max and I agree on almost everything. Our thoughts on spirituality, political persuasions, financial goals, and priorities seem so similar, I have, on occasion, wondered whether we share a strange psychic connection of heart and mind. However just the other day, I learned this cannot possibly be the case when my husband and I found ourselves in a rare, but serious, disagreement--the likes of which we have never before experienced.

We did not argue per se, but the events certainly put our live-and-let-live philosophy to the test--at least as far as I was concerned. In fact, I was so stunned by Max's view on this particular topic, it caused me to question his judgment in general.

What sparked such discord, you ask?

It was the "best used by date" inscribed on all the canned and pre-packaged foods, which I was getting ready to toss in the trash. Max, on the other hand, wondered why I was tossing away perfectly fine food.

To me, "best used by" is equivalent to the surgeon general's warning on cigarette packages. It's the skull and crossbones of the Food and Drug Administration, a creative euphemism for 'if you eat this after such and such day you will grow an extra pinky toe.' But to Max, the words "best used by" indicate suggestion only.

"It's best if the food is eaten by the date, but certainly not bad," he said.

"No, no, no!" I exclaimed. "It's no different than any other expiration date. Trust me, you don't want risk it."

Undeterred and to prove his point, Max decide to heat up a can of chicken noodle soup that had a best-used-by date of January 2009.

"You're not really going to EAT that?!?!" I exclaimed in a shrill and most dramatic tone! "You might DIE!!!"

But Max not only ate the soup, he chuckled even as he finished the last spoonful. "You see? It tasted perfectly fine," he insisted.

I was not convinced and am still keeping a watchful eye out for any strange growths on his feet. You never know.

Tell me what you think. Who's right? Are the words "best by used by" a helpful suggestion from food manufactures or an almost apocalyptic warning placed on cans to guard the health and well being of the entire world?

I blog, therefore I am.

2009-02-17T01:06:00.002+01:00

If you had to choose one

a) Facebook
b) Twitter
c) blogging

which would it be? Why?

Happy Self Love Day

2009-02-13T17:25:00.010+01:00

It doesn't take Valentine's Day for me to appreciate how lucky I am to to live such a happy life with a wonderful man, who loves me in a way I have never experienced before. In truth, the relationship Max and I share seems more a like a miracle because most of my adult life I didn't know love even though I had been married to another at a very young age.

I could write all about the horrible details of my first marriage to John--his jealous rages, intimidation tactics, emotional and physical abuse, even the murder of my dog. I might even be justified in using these words to blame him for the desperation and lonliness I felt those five long years we were together. But while it is true that I didn't do anything to John to justify his abusive treatment, I did share blame for marrying him in the first place.

How could I--the good-natured, golden girl who seemed to have it all-- end up with a loser like John? Why would I stay with a man who hurt me?

I spent years in therapy trying to figure out that one. But after much soul searching, I have come to a simple conclusion: I didn't love myself.

Don't get me wrong. Never a pessimist, I've always had a reasonably good feeling about who I was and what my future could hold. However, as a young woman, I always felt I needed to have a guy in my life to be truly happy. I wasn't enough for myself. I didn't feel I could create my own happinesses. And when my knight in shining armor didn't show up at first light to whisk me away to the land of happily ever after, I jumped at the first guy who came along.

Harsh, but true.

Sure, there were symptoms and signs of trouble early in the courtship, but I rationalized them out of my mind, unaware of how things would escalate as the years went on. Even though he wasn't "everything I ever wanted for myself," I compromised my standards because I didn't think I would ever do better and didn't give myself the time and space to find out.

And so, instead of love, I discovered the deepest sense of lonliness that comes when you are coupled with the wrong person.

For. Five. Years.

Yeah, I know.

So you might better understand why I feel as though I experienced a miracle in my life. It wasn't that I finally met a good man, who carried me off to a glamous life abroad. No. My miracle was learning to love myself, taking ownership of my own happiness, realizing I deserved everything I ever wanted, and, ultimately, not settling for anything less than a prince even if it took a really long time.

Why am I sharing this personal account of very painful memories? Because I have known friends and acquaintences who have settled for Mr. Right Now because they were tired of waiting for Mr. Right. I read blogs of many single women, who lament aspects of their relationshps, and I want to shake them. Why settle for anything less than what makes you completely happy? It doesn't matter if their stories don't turn out as extreme as mine was. When a person settles for less, he or she is showing a lack of self love.

Don't do it.

Happy Self Love Day to each and everyone. You deserve it!

Here are the rules is you want to participate.

HAPPY SELF-LOVE DAY!! Feb. 13th & 14th, 2009
Here’s how the whole thing works:
1.) You’re gonna grab yourself a banner at Hilly's site.
2.) Post banner and then tell us all something that you really like love about yourself (thus, the “self-love” portion of our program).
3.) Ask or beg your readers to post one thing that they too love about you!!! If your blog friends are nice, you shouldn’t have to beg…much.
4.) Enjoy yourself and spread the love by doing this on your blog! If you want to, drop me a line or a trackback so that I know you participated too!

Don't hit that button!!

2009-02-13T00:29:00.007+01:00

Here's my approach to blogging:

1. I wake up each morning with a nagging conscience because I haven't the foggiest notion what to offer you as a legitimate post. However, I know better than to even start to think about subject matter before becoming properly caffeinated. So, I drink one, two, or three cups of coffee before opening up my Mac and staring at a blank document.

2. This goes on 20-30 minutes before my fingers start to do their thing.

3. I read over the final post exactly one time before I hit the "Publish" button. I realize my post probably contains all sorts of ugly grammatical constructions and typographical errors. Still, I've never really considered blogging as a form of publishing anything. So, it really doesn't matter.

Or, does it?

4. I feel guilty about my laziness, go back to the site, and read it again. I spend the next 20 minutes correcting and editing my original post, all the while wishing you hadn't read the first draft. It wasn't worthy of you.

5. A few hours later, I get another nagging feeling about the day's post. It's still not right. I realize I made other blunders and decide to save myself from further embarrassment. I go back to the post and make even more edits, realizing all the while I am not a writer and my posts are never going to be perfect.

6. I close my Mac out of an utter feeling of pointlessness.

7. I wake up the next morning and repeat steps 1-6.

What's your approach to blogging?

Because there are some things you don't want to pantomime

2009-02-12T10:58:00.011+01:00

March 28, 2009 marks the first day of a new beginning and new adventure. On this date, I move to Barcelona, Spain, joining my husband who will be relocating a few weeks earlier.

Yes. I am so excited, I can hardly stand myself.

Because we won't be able to move belongings into our permanent residence until May, Max spent yesterday looking for a temporary apartment and found one only a block from where we will be living. This makes me even happier because it gives me early opportunity to get to know "the hood" a little better. First on the agenda? Finding a veterinarian, kennel, and dog groomer because Charlie is one, high-maintenance pupster. Second, locating a hair dresser, nail salon, and a place for waxing because momma is also a tad high maintenance. As far as the rest-- like knowing where to buy groceries-- this can happen, when it happens. Depilation first; eating second. A motto worthy of inscription, no?

Because of these needs, important topics such as waxing and pet grooming come up often during Spanish classes. I've learned from my mistakes of expatriation in Germany by focusing on only the really useful vocabulary first.

"How would you ask for a bikini waxing?" I asked.

My teacher, a native Spanish speaker from Peru, laughs at my questions, but also understands my needs. And, I was pleasantly surprised to learn many important words are the same or similar in Spanish. For those words that are not English conjugates, I have started making flash cards and am drilling them into my brain. I've only got 6 weeks left and there is so much to learn!

If you were moving to a foreign country, what would you want to learn how to ask for first?

Two days to go...

2009-02-12T00:01:00.001+01:00

It's almost time to share the love! February 14th is known as Valentine's Day for many in the western world, but it is also Self Love Day in the blogsphere. If you'd like to learn how to participate, head over to Hilly's site to understand the rules and learn more.

What's wrong with this picture?

2009-02-11T00:00:00.000+01:00

So says the barren woman

2009-02-10T01:14:00.001+01:00

Two months ago, I miscarried my second pregnancy within 6 months. It was a tough knock--a sadness that literally felt as if it was burning in my heart. I hurt deeply. Nevertheless, it was something I had to feel or else I might not have been able to move past it. And yes, I have moved past the loss. I did what I have always done in tough situations--picked myself up, dusted myself off, put a smile on my face, and moved on.

What else is there to do?

But sometimes I wonder whether there might be something wrong with me--that I am somehow in denial, too shallow, or don't want to be a mother as much as I think I would--because I don't seem to carry the weight of infertility like others friends, who find themselves in a similar circumstance and are haunted by it. I don't feel as though my life will have been less significant without the experience of motherhood. I am also confident that Max and I are, and would be, a happy and fulfilled family even if we never have children.

Don't misunderstand me. I know that being a parent is a life-changing, irreplaceable experience and one that I would like to have someday. But if motherhood doesn't happen for me, I do not feel as though I would be living an inferior life...just a different one.

Is this so shocking?

Jet setters?

2009-02-09T10:33:00.010+01:00

You understand #1 of my Things to Know post wasn't written about my husband, right?

I thought so. I just felt the need to make sure.

However, this statement sparked a lot of comment, and I've decided to share more about my experience having been coupled with, to put it mildly, the wrong person.

I plan to post it on Valentines Day. "Why Valentines Day," you ask.

Because February 14th is not just a day of hearts and flowers for those with a special someone. It is also Snackie's 3rd Annual Self Love Day, a day where we not only proclaim our love for those most important, but also for ourselves. I figure it will be an appropriate subject for Self Love Day because I got into that relationship, in part, because I didn't love myself enough. (By the way, I'll be posting the rules for Self Love Day in a few days, so stay tuned. )

Before I close this post, let me bring you up to speed on a few exciting developments in my life.

First, Max's company has agreed to provide us temporary housing in Barcelona until our new place is ready. So, I will be moving to Spain in just over a month.

We also learned that we might be able to get a small, corporate apartment in Milan, Italy because Max will be spending 50 percent of his time there and it might actually be cheaper than staying in a hotel. I already know a women, who has a place she'd like to rent. This might become a real possibility. We might have two places to call home, one in Spain and one in Milan. How cool would this be??

Things I Know

2009-02-06T00:15:00.004+01:00

As much as loath the notion of growing older, I do believe people gain, not only a greying crown, but also greater wisdom and understanding with every passing year. I'd also like to think I've learned a thing or two the last 42 years. And thanks to a tag by the lovely Charlotte, I will share a few through this meme.

1. There is no greater loneliness than when you are coupled with the wrong person.
2. Standing in judgment of others is a burden to your soul, so judge not. You'll be amazed at how much better you feel.
3. The reality and possibility of change can be wonderful, offering you the chance to wake up every morning with a sense of excitement because of new experiences, events, or people that might enrich your life.
4. Why waste time regretting? It zaps valuable energy and effort from you being able to reach your most important objective: improving the here and now.
5. Advance degrees don't necessarily mean advanced intellect or understanding.
6. God doesn't care which team wins the big game.
7. You can always make your point more forcefully without four-letter words.
8. Love and respect the person you see in the mirror. Work and do in order to keep it that way.
9. Don't overestimate the power of spandex.
10. Your happiness only depends on one person: YOU!

I can't remember which of you likes to be tagged and which of you don't. If you like to do a good meme from time to time, would you let me know through a comment?

That's what I call stimulating!

2009-02-05T00:06:00.006+01:00

Living abroad and so far away, I sometimes find it difficult to gauge what conditions are like back in my country. This is because I receive most of my information on the home front from CNN International-- the only English channel available to me other than Al Jezeera and the BBC. And because media outlets so often sensationalize in an effort to boost ratings, I find myself filtering the news, taking it all in with a grain of salt.

However after visiting the U.S on a recent holiday, I felt as though I got hit in the head with my salt grinder when I learned about the plight of the man who had sold it to me. When I lived in the United States just over one year ago, he owned an upscale housewares boutique--my favorite shop to browse for that perfect gift. On this day, however, we didn't meet at his store. Rather, I ran into him at the local Walgreens, while I was perusing the feminine hygiene isle and he was working.

"John!" I exclaimed with a hint of surprise. (Yes, John and I were on a first-name basis. I was a very regular patron.)

"Diane?! How are you? WHERE are you? Are you and Max still in Germany?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," I replied "I'm visiting. How are you?"

John's smile faded. He sighed quietly. "Well, obviously, I lost the store. People stopped buying. I couldn't get the credit I needed to buy Christmas stock and had no other choice than to shut my doors."

"I am so sorry," I said in all sincerity. "It was such a wonderful store."

John already knew how I felt. "Don't feel sorry for me, Diane. I own my house and, only a month after I lost the store, I found this job to keep me afloat. So many people can't find work or sell their houses in this market."

Seeing John, I realized the anchors at CNN hadn't been exaggerating reports about the U.S. economy. It's in bad shape--far worse than I imagined. Since returning to Germany, I have heard from several friends who have either lost or are in jeopardy of losing their jobs in industries that range from service to high technology, from entertainment to pharmaceutical. Other have cancelled planned visits to Europe until the economic climate stabilizes, which many experts believe will be at least a year, if not longer.

Given the economic free fall, it outrages me that government leaders from both parties are playing politics as usual when it comes to the stimulus package. Their behavior tells me they are more interested in scoring political punches, rather than working together to tackle the crisis. For this reason, I feel like taking my salt grinder and bopping a few congressmen on their heads.

While I recognize genuine philosophical differences exist, the vast majority of economists agree that the government needs to spend its way out of this problem, creating jobs through massive and varied infrastructure projects. That's right, infrastructure-- real, tangible structures, which take human engineering and labor to create, while leaving something for posterity.

It's not as if the United States isn't in need of some serious upgrades. Securing numerous, old bridges, which are in danger of collapse, building electrical power grids that can resist the yearly winter ice storms, creating a greener mass transit for cities, upgrading school facilities, ensuring every community has equal access to high speed Internet. These types of projects not only create jobs in the private sector and help the economic crisis in the here and now, they also bring a return on investment and leave something for future generations.

I am just a layperson, but this seems like a pretty simple concept.

Investing in America = Good. Playing Politics = Bad.

Really, people, is there something I am just not getting?

Could you ever be friends with your gynecologist?

2009-02-04T01:00:00.005+01:00

I always get a good feeling when I visit my gynecologist--obviously not in a physical sense, but rather an emotional one. The truth is, I really like my gynecologist as a person. He is a shy, unassuming older man with a dry wit and sweet disposition. Given any other circumstance, he'd be the kind of person I would choose as my friend. Even though our association has been limited to regular office visits, I believe my doctor could be someone Max and I would feel especially fond of. I can't explain my sentiment. I just know.

But in reality, could we be friends? Would it be weird to befriend your gynecologist once you ended your doctor/patient relationship? And if so, why? I have friends--ex-significant others--with whom I have been more intimately acquainted and managed to retain platonic relationships. I also have business associates--with whom I have not been intimately acquainted--that became good friends. So, why not an ex-gynecologist?

Riddle me this, please.

I wanna be a cowgirl!

2009-02-03T12:49:00.004+01:00

Admittedly, I've got nothin' to share with you today and am taking the easy way out by publishing another embarrassing photo and fashion faux pas from years gone by. I know it would be better if I came up with a deep-and-meaningful post, but you seemed to like last week's prom disaster well enough. Why not do it again this week?

This lovely, circa 1986, ensemble, featured western-styled, black lace trimmed blue jean shorts and jacket, which I accessorized with black hose and boots.

Yeah, I thought I looked cute.

Please tell me my fashion sense has improved over the years!

Change I can believe in

2009-02-01T18:21:00.005+01:00

Max attended his region's annual conference, the first since becoming its new manager a couple months back. The meeting provided my husband an opportunity to speak to employees from four countries. Needless to say, Max wanted to make a good first impression and not only use the forum to show his support for their work and present his goals for the year to come, but also to connect with people and provide them a more personal introduction to their new leader.

"So, how did it go?" I asked on the evening of his return home.

Max chuckled, "Good, I think. Some of my managers confided that people have started calling me the company's own 'Barack Obama.'"

Funny and flattering at the same time, the thought caused me to laugh out loud and spend the rest of the weekend mocking the compliment by making all the obligatory jokes. Instead of "Honey," I called my husband "Mr. President." Likewise, our bathroom became known as "The Oval Office."

Still, the employees' impressions of my Max got me thinking about the obvious comparison--a young, inspirational leader and Blackberry addict of African descent with an Arabic name, who was officially inaugurated into office the same week the new U.S. president. I suppose using these narrowly defined parameters, I could see the similarity.

But, more importantly, if Max was Barack, did this make me Michelle? As much as I would like to have thought so, reality kept me honest in my assessments. However, it didn't keep me from doing what I have noticed the First Lady does on occasion--finding ways to keep my husband humble in the face of accolades. And so it was in this spirit that I allowed President Max to assume a few household responsibilities-- changing the kitty litter, taking out the trash, and yes, cleaning the Oval Office--before flying off in Air Force One for his meeting in Rome next week.

That's change I can believe in!

Cat tales

2009-01-30T02:00:00.005+01:00

Meet our cat, Rascal. She's so quiet and undemanding (unlike her younger step-sibling, Charlie) that, most days, I hardly know she's around. But lately, she's taken to the unusual habit of sitting and watching television--especially CNN.

It's certainly a curious sight, but I am not sure what to make of it. Do you have any theories as to why?

Deep thought of the day or too much wine?

2009-01-29T14:01:00.012+01:00

So you don't have the misimpression that I am sitting at home wallowing in my Maxlessness, let me assure you all is fine. An excellent Spanish Rioja, scented candles, and X-file reruns made for a perfectly delightful Monday evening. Then for two nights in a row, I had dinner plans with girlfriends. Could it be after a year of this expat experience, I am actually developing my very own social life apart from my husband?

Awesome.

Life-- only as good as you make it. Wouldn't you agree?

On the street where we'll live

2009-01-28T12:35:00.002+01:00

We got it! We just learned the owner accepted our offer on the apartment in Barcelona. I wish I had pictures to offer, but I didn’t take any photographs because I never believed things would work out. Perhaps, I was being a tad superstitious?

The photo (above) was actually taken on the street near where we’ll live! Cute, no?

Prom dress or Grandma's Frilly Shower Curtain?

2009-01-27T17:33:00.002+01:00

Any of you got an uglier dress to show than this "slightly"-over-done creation, I wore for my 11th grade prom? C'mon! I showed my fashion nightmare. Show me yours!

Ladies, consider yourself tagged! Gents, if you've got any old prom photos, we'd love to see 'em.

Patience is a virtue, right?

2009-01-26T15:18:00.005+01:00

Max and I returned to Germany without a clear idea of where we might be living once we move to Barcelona. Negotiations on *the apartment* continue, partly because of the southern European sense of time--where no one seems to be in a real rush to close a deal-- and partly because of a 12th-hour revelation that the owner doesn't want to rent to a couple with pets. And since bringing Charlie to Spain is not negotiable, my desire to actually live there has been reduced to a philisophical "if living in this apartment is meant to be, it's meant to be." If not, Max and I have decided to continue searching rather than settle on something we don't absolutely love. We've got time to be picky--while Max has started his job, he won't be able to officially work in Spain until May at the earliest.

You ask: How does Max work as the company's manager of southern Europe without actually living in that part of the continent? Travel, travel, travel. This week, he is in Athens. Next week, it's Italy. The week after, my husband will return to Barcelona. Needless to say, his travel schedule is interferring with our family life. We only have all or part of the weekends together and, quite frankly, it isn't enough.

Still, I need to force a smile on my face and exercise patience. In the long run, Max's career move will be good for us even though, in the short term, it's a pain in the ass. Can you tell patience isn't one of my strong points?

The beat goes on

2009-01-22T10:47:00.003+01:00

The task of finding a new home continues in Barcelona. Max and I have looked at numerous flats through out the city as we continue to try to negotiate the one apartment, which captured our fancy at the beginning of the week. The owner is insisting on two things: the company's name on the lease and a 24 month guarantee--much more than the law requires. I suppose in the climate of economic downturn, the proprietor is looking security, but I am not sure Max's company will agree to to terms. We shall see.

For this reason, I have settled on a second and third choice. One is a more typical example of a Barcelona apartment with interesting old, architectural details. It's only downside is the kitchen, which looks to be at least 7 years old. Here in Spain, a renter must pay attention to these sorts of things. My understanding is that if something breaks down (including appliances), it is the renter's responsibility to fix it. And, I am not inclined to buy a new oven for the owner if something goes wrong.

So there you have it. We return to Germany on Saturday, with or without a new place to call home. Still, after the week I'm having, I'm looking forward to going back to a home at all.

PS. I'm returning to my top housing choices today for one final look-and-see. I'm bringing my camera with me, so stay tuned for a few pictures tomorrow.

What else is there to say?

2009-01-20T10:35:00.001+01:00

Thank you, Charlotte, for sharing the link.

When you just know

2009-01-19T18:50:00.000+01:00

I experienced something wonderful today--an instantaneous and overwhelming feeling of certainty. After visiting only two prospective homes this morning, I walked into an apartment and instantly knew it was *the one.*

It's perfect--a large and luminous dwelling with with top-of-the-line appliances, views of historic sights, and desirable neighbors including Escada, Hugo Boss, and Louis Vuitton.

And the best part is that Max felt its perfection, too. In fact, we've asked our agent to meet with the owner and iron out final details.

Wow.

Could we have really found our future home in only an afternoon?

The only hiccup might possibly be timing. Max learned it will take at least three months before he can get his work permit. Three months!!! I'm concerned the owner will not be willing to wait for us. So keep your fingers (and toes) crossed, won't ya?

Coming to you from Barcelona

2009-01-17T23:54:00.002+01:00

Max and I are spending a week in Barcelona to get a feel for the area and the housing market. Although I've only spent 1/2 a day here, the first impressions are good ones.

More later!

Puppy "love"

2009-01-15T14:12:00.009+01:00

During our three-week holiday, Charlie was taken in by a gracious German couple, who are debating getting a dog for themselves. After only a few days with the dog, they felt they had established a magical bond with him.

In the mornings, Charlie accompanied the husband on his 15-kilometer runs. In the the evenings, he happily kept the wife's feet warm. Charlie served as the honored guest at the extended-family breakfast on Christmas morning. He even helped count down to 2009 at a New Year's Eve party. By all reports, Charlie and the couple had become one happy family. And to be honest, I was a little worried my dog wouldn't want to return home.

I'd get pictures and e-mails of my dog on their family holiday, and all seemed to be going well. But after the holiday was over and the couple returned to work, Charlie would need to be cared for by the wife's grandmother until Max and I returned.

When the dreaded day came, I got this e-mail from the husband.

"Sabrina and myself are a bit sad... We had to give Charlie away to her Grandmum and Dad yesterday....

  And the worst thing is: He ISN'T   

We called them up yesterday evening, to ask how it is going. They said it took 2 minutes, then he seemed to be totally adapted to his new enviroment (and folks).   He spent the evening with grandfather on the couch in front of the fireplace.   

So, for humans it seemed to be disappointing, that he is not sad at all, but on the other hand, you can be glad, because Charlie doesnt seemed to suffer to much."

My deepest fear proved unfounded. Charlie didn't love these couples more than me and Max because, as it turns out, my dog is a player (or rather playa') preferring casual one-week stands to deep and meaningful relations. What a dog--literally!

Where do blogs go when they die?

2009-01-14T20:06:00.011+01:00

I'm so very sorry to learn that the Mack isn't coming back. One of my all-time favorite bloggers, karey m, has departed from our virtual world, but her words will live on in the hearts of her many readers. May she have moved on to bigger and better things in the other life...you know... the real one.

If you haven't done so, please go and pay your respects.

And if by chance you are out there, karey: Know you were one of those bloggers I would like to have met in person. I'm wishing nothing but every happiness for you and the girlies.

Resolution #137

2009-01-13T14:48:00.004+01:00

Oprah isn't the only one who has fallen off the weight-loss bandwagon. Like millions of Americans, I've made my resolution to shed those extra pounds through a combination of diet and exercise. And just to prove I was serious, I purchased something extraordinary, only found in the good U S of A, which was to guarantee I'd have fun, keep the motivation, and trim my waistline all at the same time.

Well, it seemed like a good idea when I was in the throes of making my New Year's resolutions.

BRRRutal

2009-01-12T17:24:00.004+01:00

The coldest winter in 100 years?!? Is this what I must come back to after frolicking in the balmy 80 degree temperatures of the Caribbean? Are the gods trying to get back at me or is this an example of the evil eye at work?

I can't help but feel a little grateful that this time next year I won't be dealing with the dreary winter of Germany. Although the temperatures do get cold at times, the weather in Barcelona appears to be consistently better than in Deutschland. At least I hope so.

Unfortunately, it's going to be a little longer before I find out for myself. Max has been informed it might take as long as three months before he receives the appropriate permits to work in Spain. We had scheduled a house-hunting trip for next week, but this might have to be rescheduled until we know for sure when we are moving. I feel anxious to begin this new phase in my life, but I suppose I'd better get used to the Southern Mediterranean concept of time.

I feel the sun and sand calling me. Any chance I could just fly back to the Caribbean? No? In that case, you will find me and Charlie huddled under the pile of blankets in my bedroom.

Call me went winter is over or when that damn paperwork from Spain shows up, ok?

Forgotten about me?

2009-01-07T06:28:00.005+01:00

I haven't forgotten about you! Max and I fly back from the United States tomorrow, attend a cultural awareness class about Spain on Saturday, show up for a 3-year-old twins birthday party on Sunday, and collapse on Monday.

But then I'll be back.

Promise.

Making a list, checking it twice

2008-12-17T11:31:00.004+01:00

We're in the final days--the run-up leading to the holiday season and the frenzy that surrounds it. For me and Max, the flurry of activity is all in preparation for a three-week trip, which includes a week-long Caribbean cruise next week, New Year's in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, and finally a quick stop at Madison Square Garden to catch a Knicks game. I've got only four suitcases and potentially three different climate zones. How will I ever pack enough?

This will probably be my last post of 2008. I'm not sure what sort of Internet access will be available to me in the weeks ahead, so I wanted to use this occasion to wish you all a wonderful holiday season and to thank you for being a part of my 2007. Your company, support and encouragement during the good and not-so-good moments of this past year have made a difference for me. Moreover, life as a new expatriate was a little less lonely and so much easier with the host of virtual friends around the world to cheer me on.

Again, thank you. I look forward to sharing in your 2009, which I am sure will be the best year yet!

This just in...

2008-12-11T16:12:00.002+01:00

I did it. I got the new haircut and LOVE it.

UPDATE: Per requests, here's a photo from just this minute as well as the look I was going for. Close enough, no?

New direction?

2008-12-10T15:24:00.004+01:00

Maybe it's because of the recent drama, but I'm beginning to crave change, perhaps a new direction in my life and lifestyle. The last 12 months in Germany have been a wonderful holiday. I've lived a slow-paced, leisurely existence, which was free from hustle, bustle, and any real commitments aside from feeding my pets and keeping a straight and humble abode.

It's been nice, but not necessarily good for me. I think I've become lazy, accustomed to doing what I want, whenever I want. I've let myself go a little because there hasn't been any real reason to...let' s say... get that regular manicure and pedicure. Most days, I don't see anyone except Charlie and Max, and they seem pretty ok with me sans the frills. And since I've been trying to get pregnant the last year, dieting hasn't been a viable option. Besides, someone told me at carrying a little extra weight was not bad, because estrogen is stored in fat cells.

Oh! Excuses, excuses...

Fortuntately, I need not look too far ahead to find the change I crave. Our move to Barcelona is only a couple months away. I could use this opportunity to shake things up in my life.

My first consideration is where Max and I might live. Do we look for housing outside or within the city limits? When I was pregnant, I felt impelled to look for a house with a garden in a neighboring town, not unlike where I live today. But I find when I live remotely, I don't make the effort to get out, explore, socialize, and do what I should to stimulate myself. And so, I am now contemplating life in the big, crowded, noisy city, where I must force myself to get dressed, get out, if only to walk Charlie to the elusive grass patch.

Is any of this making sense? I guess what I am wondering is whether I should listen to these urges and go for the life that I want today or do I continue to hold back a little and make decisions based on the life I hope to be living (complete with a baby and a white picket fence) someday?

Family of two

2008-12-09T12:04:00.005+01:00

A few weeks back, Max and I sat in quaint little lounge along the shores of Thessaloniki. My cousin, Penny, who was born and raised in Greece, joined us on our date. My pregnancy inevitably became part of our conversation during the course of the evening.

"Max and I hope that I can deliver a healthy baby " I said. "But if something goes wrong and I miscarry, we will be ok."

"We're a happy family, just the two of us," Max chimed in. "I married Diane because I wanted her to be my wife. To have children with her, would only be the icing on the cake.

"And there is always adoption," I added.

Penny's eyes welled up with tears. This sort of philosophy regarding children and marriage is almost unheard of if her culture.

"I like how you feel about this. You words are beautiful to me," she began. "But, to be honest, it's almost unbelievable to my ears. Here in Greece, most couples would say, 'if you can't give me a child, then what's the point?' And adoption isn't often considered."

I know Penny's claims aren't far from the truth. In countries like Greece and Egypt, having children is held with the utmost importance. My own Greek father, in the distant past, went as far as to question the femininity of a woman without a family. And while his viewpoint has softened over the years, he still doesn't quite "get" couples who say they are happy without children. I suppose it's hard to for him to break away from how he was raised.

Which is yet another reason why my husband amazes me. Even though he is an Egyptian man, raised in Greece, Max doesn't hold the same beliefs and cultural norms as others like him. I believe him when he tells me that he didn't marry me just to have his babies or that he is happy with his family of two. Moreover, unlike some of his relatives, Max is very open, if not enthusiastic, about the possibility of adoption.

Really, where did this guy come from? How did I get so lucky to snag him?

So while my husband and I are saddened and disappointed by our recent loss, we still revel in our love for one another, finding both solace and strength in the depths of our commitment. We've decided to just put any baby-making pursuits on hold for the next several months, and reevaluate only when the time feels right.

A Very Martini Toast: Vent

2008-12-07T15:08:00.006+01:00

If variety really is the spice of life, than Ron, a blogger who was "born with the soul of an actor" and has "had about a million occupations" including actor, holistic healing practitioner, teacher, make-up artist, retail sales vendor, would be the cumin, the pepper, and maybe a hint of dill. His blog, Vent, would be a masterpiece recipe.

A lifetime of diverse experiences no doubt provide the basic ingredients for Ron's writing, but it is his flair for the dramatic makes the tales all the more enjoyable.

From posts about the time Ron swiped Robert Redford's chewed gum out from under his friend to his feelings on Reincarnation, Vent is a veritable smorgasbord of entertaining tales. And even when he does uses his blog to do exactly what the title suggests, vent, he finds a way to humorously point out the amusing and absurd, rather then simply rant and rave.

Three cheers and a very Martini Toast to Ron at Vent!

2008-12-05T21:58:00.004+01:00

Your words of condolence, support, and encouragement have meant so much to Max and me. Even though I am still wrestling doubt and sadness, I am determined to find a positive and hopeful spirit again. Your words make me feel like we have a personal cheering section that is rooting for us, and this makes my heart beat a little stronger. Thank you.

The post I didn't want to write

2008-12-03T15:48:00.003+01:00

My doctor could no longer detect a heartbeat today. It appears I've lost another pregnancy. What else is there to say?

Hair woes

2008-12-02T17:18:00.001+01:00

I called to make a hair appointment for next week. I don't know why I am even bothering. It's not as if I am going to have a good hair day for some time to come. Blonde highlights, which lifted my natural shade and gave my fine, thin locks a little body will be whacked off and not retouched because color, like so many things I love, is potentially harmful to a pregnancy.

I thought fine wines and martinis would be the things I missed most during a 9-month stint, but I now believe it will be the sense of renewal I felt every time I emerged from my stylist freshly coifed.

To be honest, I don't even know what my original hair color looks like anymore. A month shy of 41, I am sure little grey monsters now rule the roost up on my crown, but I've never actually had to face the reality. Come next week, there will be no denying the truth.

And since I won't have the benefit of a little artificial boost, I'm thinking of having my lifeless locks cut even shorter than normal and have been scouring the Internet for a new, radically short, do.

Here is what I found.

Meet Desiree Rogers, President-elect Obama's new White House social secretary. Not only do I covet her new job responsibilities (how cool would that job be!), but I'm sort of digging her look.

What do you think? If you have any other suggestions, I'd love to see them.

Forget Mr. Clean

2008-12-01T20:02:00.001+01:00

In Germany, the well-known, confident bald guy boasts an even better designation: Meister Proper!

Cute, no?

Solitary confinement?

2008-11-30T19:59:00.002+01:00

"Have you ever had the measles?" This was one of the first questions my doctor ever asked me.

"No. I don't think so," I replied. "But I a was vaccinated as a child."

I didn't give the matter another thought, until a recent blood test revealed that I am, in fact, NOT immune rubella-- typically a harmless virus that can cause terrible birth defects in fetuses of infected mothers.

You might not think this fact should cause me alarm. I mean, really, when was the last time you heard of someone getting measles? While it is true a successful vaccination program has almost eliminated the virus in the United States, rubella is still a problem in much of Europe. This past year, outbreaks occurred in numerous countries such as Austria, Spain, Switzerland, and Germany--including a case in April that involved 151 school children in a state bordering my own.

"You must avoid rubella," the doctor warned three times in our most recent phone call. To be honest, he sort of freaked me out.

How do avoid it? I've notified my closest friends and associates to raise awareness of my plight. My husband has been tested to make sure he is immune and cannot pass the virus to me. But do I need to go ever farther in my efforts? Do I cancel my trip to the United States and our cruise in the Carribbean out of fear of exposure? Do I avoid public gatherings--even stores and restaurants-- until the end of February when I hit 20 weeks, an important milestone in fetal development and when the risk to my unborn child goes down to almost nothing?

These are the questions I have for my doctor on Wednesday.

Tis the...huh?

2008-11-28T00:22:00.004+01:00

Most folks where I grew up didn't observe Advent, so I am, admittedly, not completely versed in the observance. I do know it's almost here and the stores have been selling the popular advent calendars since October.

In fact, I found this calendar in Globus and couldn't help but snap a photo of it. But somehow, I don't think it represents the significance of the occasion. Right?

First Dog

2008-11-26T11:18:00.005+01:00

With all the hubbabaloo surrounding the promise of a new puppy in the White House, Charlie asked me to remind you today of who is really top dog. After all, we don't call him Prince Charles for nothing.

Lord of the Rings

2008-11-25T11:05:00.016+01:00

In my case, the old adage proved true: Love finds you when you least expect it.

I wasn't looking for my next great love because I mistakenly thought I'd already found it. I had taken up salsa dancing a couple years earlier and fell hard for its sometimes sensuous, always complicated, moves and upbeat tempo. It became my passion and addiction. I spent thousands of dollars on lessons ( a futile attempt to improve) and danced till the wee hours of the morning four nights a week.

On Thursday nights, you could find me at the Red Room, a tapas restaurant every other night of the week, but a Latin hot spot on this night. The thought of actually meeting someone, let alone a non-salsa-obsessed dancer, seemed out of the realm of possibility. I knew everyone who showed up on Thursday nights...

or so I thought.

I was dancing with one of my usual partners when Max walked in the door. Our eyes met, but he continued to his table, where a number of Latinas awaited him. I, on the other hand, continued dancing. Given the setting and his companions, I mistakenly assumed Max was also Latin, perhaps Puerto RIcan or even Cuban.

After a night of fierce dancing, I made my way off the floor to rehydrate. When I got to the bar, I looked down to find a cocktail menu and, instead, noticed a ring on a man's hand. The emblem carved on the ring, for me, was unmistakable--Alexander the Great, the young, famous Greek general, who had ruled the known world and led Greece to it's golden years until his untimely death at 34-year old. He was a Macedonian and hailed from the same part of Greece as my father.

"Oh, wow. Alexander the Great," I exclaimed. I looked up to see whose hand I was admiring, and there stood Max.

"How do you know that?'" he asked, clearly surprised to find someone who recognized his hero.

"Because I'm Greek."

"You're Greek?" Max seemed a little surprised that I, a blonde hair, blue eyed Salsera in North Carolina, claimed Greek origins, but he happily pounced on our common interest.

"I grew up in Greece," he continued.

And so, a new dance began...

Mixed Bag Monday

2008-11-24T13:03:00.000+01:00

Max and I just returned from the good doctor's office for my 7th week appointment. Using ultrasound, he saw "good progress" and a heartbeat with one of the two embryos. And while he says I can begin to feel optimistic I will have one baby, the possibility for two looks unlikely.

I'm happy and thankful for the good progress of one, but will not give up on the hope for twins. No, not just yet.

Oh no! Not that page 5

2008-11-21T17:42:00.000+01:00

Lavender & Latte tagged me for her first meme last week. I was so honored! And the best part is she gave me a choice. I could either

1. List 7 weird or quirky things about myself,

-Or-

2. Post the 5th photo from my 5th album for the whole dang world to see…

I decided to do the latter only because I haven't been able to put 7 quirky things (that I am willing to share) together in a post. But when I got to page 5 of my fifth album, I had second thoughts.

Oh, well. There's no turning back now!

Of course, this lovely image was in a series of three on the same page. So since I haven't embarrassed myself enough, I present the other two photographs.

I'm too cool, huh?

Mr. Blackwell turning in his grave...

2008-11-21T00:00:00.003+01:00

As a hausfrau, I am certainly not one to criticize other people's fashion choices. But this?? If you were worth 50 gazillion, don't you think you could afford to wear something a little better or at least hire a new style consultant?

Honestly, folks, I see this photo and I'm not sure whether to pity or mow her.

One very slow day at a time

2008-11-20T19:38:00.000+01:00

I'm feeling a tad perturbed at my husband's employer today. We've known about his promotion and our move to Barcelona for three weeks now, but we still don't know about the benefits package details or even what Max's new salary might be. You heard me right. Max had to accept a job without really knowing if the compensation made the change and aggravation worth our while.

In some ways, benefits and salary don't matter. The notation on his resume and the wealth of experience he will gain cannot be valued. This is a good career move for Max. And, what is good for him is good for us. Still, we are suppose to be relocating to a different country in short two and a half months (3 weeks of which we will be away for the holidays). Yet, human resources hasn't even scheduled our house-hunting trip or given us any idea whether we will get a housing allowance. Max had to hand in our lease termination here in Germany without knowing what our new address will be. Moreover, I can't begin to start deciding what to pack and what store without having an idea of where we will land.

Basically, our life is in limbo. And frankly, I don't like the feeling. All Max and I can do is wait--for calls and letters from the company or for my next prenatal visit--to get a glimmer of insight into our immediate future. I find the time in between, void of any new information, absolutely suffocating.

Living life one day at a time--it's easier said than done. Any advice on how I might make this phase in my life a little less difficult?

Glowing? Yes, but...

2008-11-19T20:40:00.003+01:00

I sure wish my imperfections could be airbrushed away right about now.

I know. Just wait, right?

Yeesh.

Pretty amazing

2008-11-18T17:49:00.006+01:00

First, thank you to everyone for your kind wishes and congratulations. As I am so very very far away from family and friends, you're support means the world to me.

Yesterdays surprise news finally sunk in at 4am this morning when I woke up out of a dead sleep and couldn't return to sound slumber. I have a hard time believing I could be a mother at all, let alone a mother of twins. When I let myself go there and visualize the reality of it, the images take my breath away--literally.

Max, on the other hand, is nothing but joyous, bursting into what I can only describe as some sort of "Walk Like and Egyptian dance" every time he thinks about our pregnancy. After all, this twin thing is all his doing, you know--a result of his super Egyptian, pharaohesque sperm.

Right now, aside from breast tenderness and a new penchant for afternoon naps, I feel great and would hardly believe I was pregnant if it weren't for the successive ultrasound images posted on my refrigerator. All I can say is we're feeling a certain sense of happy bemusement at it all, which has even seemed to lighten the serious demeanor of my doctor. When he saw the images on the ultrasound, all he could do was smile and say "life can be pretty amazing."

Pretty amazing, indeed.

Of course, all the caveats still exist. It's early. I'm high risk and, now, only higher. Some might think I should not reveal the secrets of my pregnancy so early, especially when the potential for problems is so great. But I find being open here, in this little space, with you a cathartic experience. And who knows? Maybe all of this--my diary of expat life, fertility challenges, and pregnancy-- might actually benefit someone someday. Especially after my first miscarriage, I also realized there is no shame in losing a pregnancy. It's no ones fault and, with the exception of purposeful or reckless behavior, totally out of the realm of human control.

I know the challenges and risk ahead. Trust me, I do. But for today, I choose to revel in the fact that I am the mother-to-be of two. And no matter, that's a pretty terrific thing.

1 +1 =

2008-11-17T22:29:00.002+01:00

TWINS!

Folks, seriously, I couldn't make this up if I tried.

Hope +1 Despair -0

2008-11-13T10:53:00.008+01:00

Despite my doctors gloomy disposition during our last visit, my test results were good. We're still being very cautious, and I am seeing the doctor again Monday for another ultrasound. Keep those hopes pouring in! It seems to have helped me tremendously.

I'm off to Thessaloniki, Greece tomorrow to visit my aged aunt an uncle. Now my dilemma is to try to somehow keep my secret from them even though I won't be eating gobs of Feta or drinking any ouzo. How am I suppose to explain this bizarre change in my behavior. Suggestions?