Liveblogging business school
Posted by: lucie
Listen, I'm definitely the kind of girl who, when she finishes her accounting and statistics studies a bit earlier than planned and faces a choice between doing another chapter of accounting or blogging, chooses blogging. I'm that kind of girl.
Plus I've been waiting for a chance to liveblog business school, and this is the first realistic opportunity that has arisen.
I'm also the kind of girl who says 'bless you' when people sneeze, even if it's in a quiet study room. I hate it when I sneeze and nobody blesses me. It makes me feel lonely. And then it makes me feel that the people around me are rude. Which is not a feeling, by the way.
One thing I've been thinking about a lot over the past few days is ego. Because there's a lot of it around here. And it's interesting to watch how debilitating it becomes for people. So many of my colleagues are wasting their precious study time and energy cavorting around in front of my other colleagues and trying to show how knowledgeable and experienced they are. It's really pretty pointless since there's nothing here to win except grades. Our fellow students won't be marking our exams or paper, and the people who will have seen all this MBA grandstanding before and are not, I daresay, likely to be impressed. You can really see the anxiety building. It's almost as if certain people's bombastic approach is exacerbated a bit more by each twinge of anxiety about understanding finance, fitting in marketing reading or getting a grip on ethics.
Basically, everyone is starting to bug out about the workload, but most are trying to hide it because they want to maintain these professinal networking fronts and look like they're on top of everything. Hence they are starting to act either stressed or just plain weird. I took a friend out for coffee yesterday and told him he'd better chill out because it's only week two and there is no time on this course for panicking. Block your time out, put your head down and read. Ignore the people who think they're here to show off; by exam time everyone will remember that we came to learn. At least for the first semester - at least for the foundation courses. Sometimes it seems that the most experienced business people might be freaking out the hardest. Perhaps it's because they came into this thinking it would be easy and it's rather humbling to realize that they're going to have to work their asses off to take in all the material.
Me, I'm studying like a madwoman. Luckily I kind of enjoy it. The material isn't rocket science, but there's a lot of it, so it basically comes down to being a time management challenge. I'm throwing myself in at the deep end in finance; they're splitting us into beginner and advanced classes, and I'm doing the latter. Everyone else in there will have a lot more finance background than me, and mine is just from a book I read over the summer, but I figure this semester is only 3 months and I'm ready to work hard to learn as much as possible. Economics looks ok; my summer fascination with development economics certainly helped. The ethics and organisational studies professor is a fantastic comedian. I often find myself wondering if he's drunk - but if he is, it definitely works for him. I like the marketing guy. Operations management seems like an incredible drag and accounting is dull, which is probably only natural. The stats lecturer is actually very sweet and amusing and seems to have a genuine desire to help us learn to love the material.
In home news, the situation with the flatmate is making me uncomfortable, bordering on resentful. I'm ultra cautious not to give him the wrong idea, but he sees what he wants to see. He looks at me with puppy dog eyes and hangs on my every word. The other day I said goodbye as I left for school and he said "See you later! I'll look after the kids!" He takes every opportunity to comment about how cute I am, or how such I'm a catch and guys here are going to love me. This would all be flattering if it didn't just feel like some passive way to convey interest and test the waters. He broke up with his girlfriend just a few weeks ago so he's understandably a bit emotionally strung out and needy, which is fair enough, but... I don't know. It's very awkward, and the proper, skillful way to resolve it has yet to dawn on me. The last thing I want to do is embarrass him by addressing it directly, but it is beginning to seem like A Talk might be in order. This is so not a talk I want to have. Being an adult is a drag. What happened to the good old days when inventing a fake boyfriend seemed like a reasonable resolution to this type of scenario?
Romance quote of the week from James, whose lines surely won't be snapped up for any romantic comedies any time soon, but are still quite clever: "I figure you should know more about the person than that they might intrigue you and that you keep having an impulse to kiss them - that's pretty thin info to go on for that kind of emotional committment."
This post has been brought to you by sparkling water and Speedblogging. Time for stats class.
Oh my heavenly pretzels
Posted by: lucie
Saturdays RULE RULE RULE. My sheets are drying in the breeze on the clothesline in the back garden and I'm eating one of those big fat German pretzels whose fluffiness defies all explanation, topped with organic blackcurrant and blueberry preserves made from nothing but fruit and sugar and packaged in a jar with a homemade printed label. The kitchen table is piled high with the reddest tomatoes, the greenest celery and spinach, a beautiful mix of wild mushrooms, organic sharp cheddar, organic German rye bread and some eggs brought to me by happy chickens who graze in small groups in open spaces and live the way the almighty Lord intended chickens to live.
None of which was excessively, wastefully packaged. Ah, my conscience feels so good today. I'm just a busy MBA student, and it can be hard to consume ethically, what with all the stress and study. (Case in point: last night's Pizza Hut.) Saturdays are such a blessing. Local farmers and producers peddle their wares just one street away every weekend, rain, sleet or snow (which is good, because there's going to be a lot of that)! Stalls overflowing with leafy organic greens and German baked goods and homemade preserves and organic eggs and cheese! A wonderland of ethically produced, preservative-free, conservatively packaged foods fit for human consumption. If only I were wearing a long, flowing dress and carrying my goods around in a big wicked basket on my arm it would have been a true picture of perfection.
Today I am going to make soup. I love making soup. There's something very grounding about it. Soup-making gets you back in touch with the essence of life. You can't get stressed about soup because it's basically impossible to screw it up. You chop up a bunch of things you like, put them in a pot of boiling water and let them cook until they're soft and their flavors are intermingled. If, when all is said and done, you taste it and say "this needs something," you just dump in a bunch of salt. That's all there is to it. If you haven't made soup before, I highly recommend you give it a go. I've got a kilo of tomatoes here crying out to be transformed into a beautiful tomato soup, and some wild mushrooms and greens asking to come back in their next lives as part of a beautiful community of vegetable soup with rice. I shall oblige them, freeze much of the finished product for future stressed-out exam-time consumption, then go see one of those Raymond Chandler films that guy was talking about earlier this week. Then I shall read until my eyes are ready to fall out of their sockets, because I am an MBA student and that's what we do.
There is still so much to say about the course, my professors, my fellow students, being a woman in an environment where women are in the minority and many students come from countries less progressive than my own, and the general vibe around here. The pace thus far has been very quick and I'm still processing. For now I'll just note that it's making me realize a lot about myself - which type of people I gravitate toward, what aspects of my personality this type of situation brings to the fore, what I'm feeling and thinking, what judgments I make and what's important to me. The study won't be anything too difficult; academically, MBA material is not rocket science. It's just a matter of discipline and devoting sufficient time to each subject. Time management is never an easy thing, but that's nothing new. I think the real learning will be in the people skills and our reactions to pressure. My personal aspiration is to keep cool, calm, focused and kind. Everything else will follow.
That's a full week gone
Posted by: lucie
Well, I won't try to lie to you guys - it's Friday night and I'm at home, completely worn out and happy to do little more than mack on some junky, greasy Pizza Hut "pizza" (if you can call such a synthetic concoction by its assumed name) and maybe watch a video. What a week - our full first week of classes. I stopped by at the "social event" (this means drinking at the pub) for a little while earlier this evening, but found myself in the middle of some conversations I couldn't really get into and soon noticed that people were, in the main, doing one of two things: 1) trying to show others how important / experienced / authoritative / worthy of respect they were, or 2) trying to get laid, or at least lay the foundations for getting laid. I do really like my classmates - a lot, in fact - but I looked around and realized all at once that I was just MBA'ed out for the week.
I don't know, I guess when you break things down that's just what a lot of people spend a lot of time doing. Trying to get recognition, trying to get laid - especially when they get a couple of drinks in them. And it's not like I necessarily expect to have deep conversations about metaphysics and the meaning of life with colleagues I've only known for two weeks, but... Well, you know, it happens from time to time, right? Tonight most of the chatter was about which finance stream people were going to join (there are beginner and advanced classes, but only one final exam), and who's going to try to get distinction (honors), and who's an overachiever who's used to getting great grades, blah blah blah. I care about those things too. I want good grades. I'm joining the advanced finance stream despite having very little background because I'm ambitious and want to get the most out of my year, AND because I know I'll learn more and do better on the exam. I'm willing to work my ass off for it. I'd like to get distinction and will probably, well maybe, aim for that if it doesn't seem to require that I sacrifice too much balance or well-being. But my self-esteem doesn't depend on it, and really, who's ever going to ask? Do people ask MBAs what kind of grades they got? Something tells me you just get the paper and wave it around like it means you know everything, end of story. Those of us who want distinction want it because we think we are The Type of People Who Get Distinction. Because we don't just want to pass - we want to know we're special. It's about self definition. At the end of the day it pays to remember that it's not really important. None of us is important.
Walking home from the pub I thought about Elliott, who is really a gem for conversation. We just sit there and marvel at how driven we are by our egos and feeling of self-importance, and how everyone is, and how we want to be less like that, and what it would be like to watch our minds from a completely clear-headed point of view. Then we talk about Thay, Plum Village, philosophy, Krishnamurti, and whether we should go to the free lecture in a few weeks about why the Scottish enlightenment happened (I'm going). We drink hot chocolate with marshmallows at the coffee shop around the corner and ponder what it means to be human. Or at least we've done that twice so far - once on Monday and again last night after the meditation group. Elliott isn't accustomed to going out much or having much of a social life, so I wouldn't want to freak him out by calling him too often, but I'd love to see him more than just the once a week we'll meet with the Sangha.
Next weekend is the national gathering of a certain organization that starts with "M." Matt and I are sharing a hotel room but I'm mixed on whether I actually want to take it back to old times. Somehow the idea of sobriety, or even relative sobriety (I've been allowing myself a drink or two on special occasions, though not more as I like my personality a bit less with each drink past two - I seem to think I know everything, I've noticed, and I don't know how to shut up), isn't conducive to the idea of flings. Alcohol always factored heavily in our little weekends, and without it... I just don't know. Anyway, I also think he's seeing someone. Nothing serious, obviously, or he would have changed the room booking to single beds or separate rooms, but we might have different definitions of appropriateness when it comes to such matters. Fate will decide. I'm kind of detached.
The other day I emailed James and it was "the guys in my study group" this and "my puppy dog eyed flatmate" that and Elliot the other, and I realized there is a distinct lack of women around me. I'm getting the same feeling now looking over my blog entry. The balance is way off. Next week I need to make an effort to get to know some of the girls.
Anyway, that's enough rambling from me for now. More on classes and such over the weekend, hopefully. I'm going to put the heat on and get cozy in my room.
Nonstop
Posted by: lucie
I must be getting a life or something, right? Kind of. School is busy as hell and I'm squeezing in as much culture and socializing as I can muster. Saturday Anna came up for a visit with some of her girls and we did a bit of touristing, including a climb to the top of a big towering monument (just a few hundred claustrophobic spiral steps to get to the gorgeous view from the top), saw a Ron Mueck exhibit and, of course, clocked a man standing on his head with his head in a bucket.
"That was a man standing on his head with his head in a bucket," Anna said after we'd rounded the corner and passed him. "You know, you're right - that's exactly what it was," I replied. "I guess we really should go back and take pictures." So we did.
Sunday I met up with a couple fellow students to catch Pedro Almodovar's new(est) one, Volver, at the awesome little international cinema down the street from my house. I have two very hip independent filmhouses within walking distance of my flat. It's very lucky. Anyway, it was incredibly beautifully shot and I highly recommend you see it. Also, Penelope Cruz's breasts are miracles of nature (I think. Unless they're not, in fact, natural miracles).
Monday evening after a long day at school I hung out with my friend Elliott, who I met on retreat in June. He spent the entire summer at Plum Village and it's amazing to see the transformation in him. He started off as a really socially anxious guy who thought people perceived him as weird or scary. He'd have panic attacks over lulls in conversations and his lower lip even quivered sometimes if you joked around with him too much. Now he has a real air of peace and confidence about him - even looks different. I went out to meet him for coffee remembering this nervous character from June and thinking I was going to have to be really careful with him, but conversation was actually really easy and enjoyable. It was a pleasure. We live just around the corner from each other, and just around another corner from where our Sangha meets, so I hope we'll be seeing a lot more of each other.
I confided in Elliott about the flatmate and the Southerner. He called me out on probably sending some mixed signals to the latter. If I'm being honest with myself, which I think I might as well be, that's certainly true and there's really no other reason to hang out with him besides the attention-seeking motive. All he does is try to edge closer to my bed. I'm perfectly aware that's what he's doing and I get a kick out of it, but it's not exactly going to amount to any kind of wholesome, fulfilling friendship. All said, I'd probably be better off hanging out alone. So I think I'll try to gently blow him off.
Anyway.
Last night I went back to the little filmhouse to hear some important film guy from London give a talk about Raymond Chandler, who wrote hardboiled detective novels and screenplays. It was a dramatic tale of alcoholism, strings of affairs with secretaries, tragic ups and downs, a failed suicide attempt and, of course, an ending that began with cirrhosis of the liver. There were clips and homages and exaltations of all the films with which he was involved, followed by a screening of Farewell My Lovely that I actually couldn't hang around to see. Too much reading to do - I'm up to my eyeballs. So I headed home to read business ethics and organizational studies and marketing books, vowing to at least catch The Long Goodbye this weekend. They're showing a bunch of Raymond Chandler films this week. They do that kind of thing. A girl could get a real film education.
More classes today, a meeting of a super elite study group comprised of some of the most smartypants boys in the class and yours truly representing the female population, then off to the posh library to hear a reading by Scottish literary hero Alisdair Gray. Mr Gray was most amusing but I must say he seemed rather drunk. He read from a forthcoming novel that he said would be his last, as he has already reached the ripe old age of 71 and does not think it feasible to consider another one after this. This one, he declared in a grand voice, shall be called "MEN IN LOVE." I put that in caps because each time he spoke the title it came out in a very grand, posh, silly, bombastic voice with an edgy spitty quality to it, as if to take the piss out of itself. It was most entertaining and you can imagine how silly I felt sitting in the front row, arm's length from the man, as he was introduced as a national hero of Scotland and his publisher said she was sure most of us in the room had read most of Alisdair's books. I haven't read a page, but you know, I intend to.
In October Martin Amis is reading, and Margaret Atwood in November. There are lots of cool things to do in this town.
Lots of cool things. But for now I must stick with my own dry reading. Operations management beckons, my friends. If I'm to keep up this schedule of cultural affairs, there's little time to sit around daydreaming. Straight from the culture back into the books - that's the way it's going to have to be. We rock a rigorous schedule these days. Even blogging feels like an indulgence.
all the wrong boys
Posted by: lucie
So I have two boys telling me how great I am all the time, complimenting "my look," telling me what a "catch" I am and looking at me with twinkling eyes. Sounds kind of sweet, right? Except one is married (open marriage, so I guess he's free to look at me however he likes and try to get me to sleep with him, but honestly, I'm getting too old for these shenanigans) and the other is my flatmate.
The married guy - let's call him the Southerner as he's American, from the South, and sounds like it 100% - doesn't bother me much. He'll keep making it clear that he's up for some fun and I'll keep blowing him off. The flatmate, this bothers me a bit. I wasn't even going to say anything about it on the blog, such was my confidence that he'd come to his senses and get over it before I even had a chance to think about it. Actually I think it's getting worse. In my first week I caught him looking at me in a certain way for a split second now and then. Yesterday I realized he basically looks at me that way all the time now.
A girl should be flattered, but honestly, a married guy and my recently-broken-up, emotionally-strung-out flatmate? No thank you and no thank you. I'm not going to sit here and claim there's no part of me enjoying the attention, but let's be honest - I've seen enough of life and enough of men by now that being the subject of silly games just isn't that exciting. In the meantime I've got the one guy I could actually imagine being with calling from thousands of miles away to have what is apparently, to him, just a friendly chat, and I want to scream down the phone that he's an idiot not to jump because we're totally perfect for each other.
I can handle the Southerner - he's funny. But the flatmate is a little bit emo and I do hope he'll pull himself together. I don't have the energy for these kinds of games in my own home. No thank you, no thank you.
Wouldn't it be funny if someday on this blog I wrote about a boy who actually had his shit together and wanted to get to know me better over coffee or something? Does that happen anymore in modern times?
Anyway, it's my first day of school today. We're off and running.
buckethead
Posted by: lucie
surfacing
Posted by: lucie
Dear blogland - I've missed you! It's been such a busy week that I haven't had time to write, and now I hardly know where to begin. Induction week is more or less over with just a party tonight to top it all off. After that the free lunches, wine and juice will dissolve to reading, lectures and homework. And all this just when we were really beginning to settle in.
Well, let's start with the basics. There are about 80 people on the course, two thirds are men, and we come from 35 different countries and myriad backgrounds. The last few people I chatted with before leaving school today, off the top of my head: a smiley Danish pig farmer, a Spanish solar energy specialist, a Sri Lankan IT entrepreneur, a Finnish financial consultant and a banker from Ghana. Quite a mix.
It's been a long week of mingling and asking a standard set of questions - what's your name, where are you from, what made you decide to come to this city, how long have you been here, where are you living, have you settled in okay, what's your background, do you know what you want to do after the MBA? There have been many free wine receptions, many fluffy talks (today we had four talks on innovation - one of them was good, the rest rubbish) and a few "team building" events. Those are always great for beginning to get a feel for who's who. You know, which ones fancy themselves leaders, which ones know how to listen, which only know how to talk.
Wednesday was my birthday, so I indulged in a few glasses of wine with some of my new colleagues. I even got a couple cards and presents, despite the fact that I'd only known them for three days, so that was very sweet. The Irishman got me flowers. James CALLED. Yes, called and sang happy birthday on my voicemail, then emailed to ask when would be a good time to call back. We chatted for an hour last night. Conversation is easy between us, and interesting and satisfying, but I have mixed feelings about taking it out of the realm of email when I'm really trying to get the boy out of my head. Something tells me he likes being there.
I have a new American friend who was on the course last year. His presence offended me wholeheartedly in the first few moments of our meeting - he marched up and shouted in his bombastic deep South accent, "Are you an American?" and proceeded to give me a slew of tips for the year. It was offputting. But we walked to the pub together, along with much of the rest of the group, and by the time we sat down at a table we were fast friends. He is truly obnoxious but funny as they come; the kind of guy you definitely want to hang out with but will always hesitate to introduce to your other friends because you know they'll either love him or think he's a complete dick. Halfway through the night I said hey, you wanna be my friend? We exchanged phone numbers and made plans to meet up soonish. He's off in France at the moment. For the record, he's married but has an open marriage and from the stories he tells he's a bit of a slut. Not for me, but you can't go wrong having a boy around who tells you you look good and texts you on your 30th birthday, "Remember, you're just as hot today as you were yesterday!"
Speaking of hot, you'd be shocked at a few of the girls on my course. At least three of them are stacked and flaunting it hard with tight and/or low cut tops every day. I guess if you've got it, that's what you do (I wouldn't know), but there does seem to be a danger of not being taken seriously. Conservative seems the way to go.
Boys, you say? No one in particular to report, I'm afraid. I wish to god someone impressive would come along and clear James out of my head, but he's a pretty tough act to follow. I suppose it's only been a week and I've hardly got to know anyone. There's one guy I find very funny and interesting, but I don't think I'm attracted to him. I guess those things can always develop, but... yeah, I don't know, not really feeling anyone yet. Probably best to fish outside the MBA waters anyway.
Anyway, anyway... I have to run again. So little time, so many things to do. There's a party tonight and my hair really won't do. Time to do some self snipping. Not with the swiss army knife this time, though - I've raised my level of class one small notch in honor of hanging out with some of these high rollers. You have to adapt.
More of an update this weekend, with any luck! Goodbye, blogland!
Say it with denim
Posted by: lucie
Nothing says "It's my first day of business school but I don't want to be a banker or a consultant" like jeans, a cute top, cowboy boots and funky jewelry. This is the conclusion I reached with the help of the Irishman after trying on several 'business casual' ensembles. "You won't be the only one wearing jeans," he assured me. "And the people with jeans will spot each other and make friends right away. You'll look entrepreneurial and creative. And boots are always cool."
I'm the kind of girl who wears jeans to the first day of her MBA course, I think. I'm also the kind of girl who goes shopping for a suit and comes home with two pairs of jeans, two cute tops and no suit. This is a problem as I really can't afford those things and a suit, but I must wear "business dress" on Thursday when they take my "marketing profile" photo. Time to start rocking the credit limit as only a student can.
So tomorrow we'll see what these people are like. Hm.
lucky girl
Posted by: lucie
I had a sneaking suspicion when all that university accommodation stuff was going so thoroughly wrong that the gods of housing might secretly be helping me out.
Well, it turned out to be true. The housing gods have smiled upon me. Big time. My room is huge, the back garden is enormous and quiet, I'm in the dead dead center of town with a castle almost in my backyard and my roommate is the nicest guy ever. I mean seriously sweet as can be. And we have loads in common. Basically, this is the ideal flat for me.
What a stress-free move. Anna picked me up from the train station, put me up in her comfy guest room, drove me to my new home and handed me over to the roommate. He got me oriented with a map, made me cups of tea, fed me, took me to the local pub for a welcome drink and told me all about his job, which sounds very cool. Yesterday he said the soup I made was the best soup he'd ever tasted, and that the way I'd set the room up made it look the best it had ever looked. He also says he has cool single friends. He gets lots of points for all those things.
I'm totally settled in. Prints on walls, books on shelves, new phone plan, sorted. Tonight I went to a two hour meditation session with my new Dharma group and left feeling totally grounded and peaceful. The accent in this particular region of the UK is adorable and I love hearing people chat to each other as I walk down the street. The sun was out today and I ate a sandwich in a grassy park. There's a theater down the street from me, a cinema specializing in international film just beyond that, four sandwich shops around the corner, three small supermarkets around the other corner, three pubs around various corners - I mean, I'm in the middle of everything.
Tomorrow I venture into university territory. Induction week starts Monday. I haven't thought about it too much yet. Life is just good.
Moving day
Posted by: lucie
It feels more like I've taken a train across town than a plane across Europe. "How does it feel to be back?" Anna asked as we drove from the station to her house, and the landscape was so familiar it hardly felt like anything. It might have made more of an impact if things had changed a bit, but nine months isn't enough time for even a mild transformation. It felt like I'd never left.
One good friend is enough to get you through even the darkest hours in the most unsuitable location, and Anna was always that friend for me here. We met shortly after the ex and I ended it, when I'd moved to a new town, didn't know anyone outside of work, and hardly ever met anyone I'd like to know anyway. She worked in a different department of my company, we got together to chat about one of her projects, and two hours later we'd covered everything from travel to culture to boys and marriage. The first night we hung out away from work I ended up crying to her about my ex. A bit familiar, but she was as kind and compassionate as anything, and has remained so to this day.
In the past few days we've been to pubs (nonalcoholic beer for me), shopped, cooked, watched tv and chilled out so well I've nearly forgotten that I was moving today. When you have a friend you can really count on, moving is pretty easy. She's taken the day off work, helped me get my stuff out of storage in her attic, figured out where the new flat is... I'm just along for the ride.
Time to shower, pack the last suitcase and get on the road. I leave you with these images of Anna's cat, either the fugliest or most adorable thing you've ever seen, depending on your perspective. You be the judge.
Goodbye castle, hello rain
Posted by: lucie
The castle at dusk has always been one of my favorite views in this city. It can't really be properly captured with a camera (at least not by me), which makes it that much more special when you see it again after a long time away.
Goodbye, Eastern Europe!
Update: 4.30pm British time: back in rainy England, uploading pictures from a train. Modern times, man. Modern living.
wake-up calls
Posted by: lucie
Woke up this morning to the sound of our skinny long-haired tattooed bartender boy and his "not my girlfriend, she's just good in bed" having a very good time in bed indeed at about 5... and at about 6. Then Becks' alarm blaring for 10 minutes or so at 7. I was just about to go down and repeat yesterday's freaky wake-up ritual when she wrested herself from her slumbers and turned it off.
Thus began my very last, my very very last full day, living in Eastern Europe.
At 10am the requisite first-day-of-the-month air raid siren test began; tinny voices bounced off the spires across the old city, announcing the noise to ensue. Proper movie-style old school commie air raid sirens followed for 30 seconds or so. They actually use this system on occasion. It was integral to evacuation of the city when the floods hit a few years ago. The echoing metallic sound is nearly impossible to understand even if you're fluent in the local tongue, but it does the job of conveying some sense of urgency. You might not get what it's saying, but you can be sure it's important.
Isn't sex a weird thing? I've been thinking about this today for god only knows what reason. Probably a combination of watching "The 40 Year Old Virgin" last night and waking up to some sex going on downstairs this morning. It's just a weird thing. It can get so complicated. Somewhere in the back of my head I've been trying to figure out my views on sex for a while. They are still up in the air, but basically I know three things: 1) won't be getting into any kind of serious relationship any time soon since I'm moving somewhere, who knows where, in a year, 2) not sure if sex without real feelings sounds particularly appetizing anymore, and 3) don't particularly want to be a nun. What's that add up to? Right now, not much. There's probably still a bit of room for Matt, who I'll see at the end of September as long as I'm still up for it, but then I just don't know.
One of my girls back in the States started stalking my roommate-to-be on myspace. Stalking his friends, really. She clicked voraciously, viewed profile after profile, filtered it down to the ones who were single and lived in the city and said (over iChat) "Look, this one's hot. Have sex with him!" I said I wasn't sure sleeping with my roommate's friends was the best idea. She said it was okay as long as I was willing to let him sleep with my friends in return. Not that it's any of my business, but couldn't that get awkward? I mean, what if your roommate was sleeping with more than one of your friends, and you didn't feel comfortable saying anything or keeping your mouth shut? Messy. See, sex makes life very complicated.
Anyway, I'm about to wake the lovers up with the sound of packing tape - easily the single loudest substance, per square inch, known to man. Then I'm going to wait for the freight people to come take my stuff away. And then I'm going to wander around the soggy city, because it's really, really my last day here.
