a karass built for two

you may notice dear blog readers that i don't outright insult the bolshevik.  i mean, i may refer to him as an autistic robot but i'm not saying really mean things or calling him mean names.  and it is debateable if he may in fact be an autistic robot.  anyhoo, i state the facts as i see them from my perspective and i try to sort though all my emotions and feelings.  but i try to be fair.  ish.

so know that i'm saying this from the role of an unbiased reporter, rather than merely trying to be insulting.

it has come to my attention that most people didn't like the bolshevik.  of course there are the "he doesn't deserve you" and the "you can do better" type comments you get after every relationship ends. but i've been getting a lot of comments of people saying they never liked him, never understood what i saw in him, always thought he was odd and standoffish, didn't like hanging out with him, never would've wanted to spend time with him if i wasn't there, never considered him a friend, thought he was an aloof asshole, etc etc.

i have always known that the bolshevik was not everyone's cup of tea. but there are people who i thought had seen in him what i see in him, and had learned to like him. or at least have a stronger feeling than merely tolerating his presence.  but it turns out even the people who i thought were the ones who had appreciated him, really never thought too highly of him. all these people who surrounded us ... i thought they were ours, but really they were only mine.

and there is a certain satisfaction in that i guess. when facing the most devastating rejection in your life, i guess it's nice to know that you're the one everyone else liked all along. but none of that matters because they're not him. and he's the one i want to like me again. because he turned that switch and now he seems to hate me. or maybe it's just complete indifference to me. i don't know which is worse.

i had always seen a version of the bolshevik that no one else saw. with me, he was funny and goofy and clever and irreverent and adventurous and caring and kind and appreciative of all that i was. and we would have the greatest conversations where we would go off on ridiculous tangents or deeply examine the most meaningless aspects of pop culture or make up silly theories about children's gloves that change color in cold temperatures. or sometimes we'd record podcasts comparing book to movie adaptations, where we would pair each movie with a signature cocktail and then end the podcast with a review done in haiku form. only to leave each episode unpublished because podcasting is way more work than you'd think it is.

we were in a secret little club for two. and i adored every minute of it.

every. fucking. second. of. it.

there is nothing i loved more than being with the bolshevik.

in Cat's Cradle, one of my favorite novels, Kurt Vonnegut makes up this religion called Bokononism.  and in these fictitious Books of Bokonon, we are told "if you find your life tangled up with somebody else's life for no very logical reasons, that person may be a member of your karass."  and your karass is the group of people you travel through life with at one time or another, and you don't necessarily know you're in this group, but you've been brought together to serve some greater purpose. you may also never know what this purpose is, but it is all planned and it all happens "as it is supposed to happen."

and sometimes there is something called a duprass, which is a karass consisting solely of two people. "'A true duprass,' Bokonon tells us, 'cant be invaded, not even by children born of such a union." so there we were, dear blog readers, me and my bolshevik in a karass built for two. unable to be invaded by anyone or anything.

but now the boshevik has torn our duprass apart. and i am on the outside just like everyone else. now i see the calousness and the inconsideration and the affectations and the indifference and the inability to communicate.  i am like one of you now.

"bokonon tells us incidentally that members of a duprass always die within a week of each other." and maybe that explains why i feel the way i feel. because surely this is not "as it is supposed to be" and i should be back in my karass built for two.  but instead i'm on the outside, where i do not belong, and it feels like death.

thank you for being a friend

i have had moments of weakness, dear blog readers, as you well know. so knowing that the bolshevik's 40th birthday was coming up, i really struggled not to contact him. don't get me wrong, had i contacted him it would have been negative. i wouldn't be sending my love and best wishes for a prosperous year.

it probably would've looked something like this:
happy birthday.  i hope that you've gotten what you wanted because i feel like you have robbed me of all my hopes and dreams and life plans. and i would hate for that to be in vain. so yeah, i hope that this is your birthday wish come true.

see?  that would've been appropriate, right?

well i did NOT write any messages to the bolshevik since our last conversation.  if you can call that a conversation.

but sometimes when you are in need a great friend will step up for you. as the fabulous ms. fifi did when she gave a voice to the feelings i myself must not allow myself express to him anymore.

do androids dream of electric sheep? do autistic robots have the ability to feel sad?

earlier this week i had a moment of weakness dear blog readers. can you blame me? after being together almost ten years i deserve so much, and yet i've gotten so little.

i just want to ask questions and try to get answers. i want the great love of my life to treat me with decency and respect, as though this ten years meant something to him. as though he is remorseful and feels sadness that this didn't work out.  as though he feels regret that he never fought for us or tried to save all that we had. as though he feels a loss too.  as though he feels some sort of responsibility for my well-being. as though he has some concern for me in any way.

but i will never get these things. and now i must really stop trying. because the pain of trying, only to get nothing back, is so overwhelming awful. to be reminded that this is the new reality of a conversation with the one i used to refer to as "my beloved bolshevik" ... well that is possibly worse than the pain of never knowing why.

 - a "conversation" in text -

Friday: 12:02 PM

me:  was it weird to be on vacation in malaysia since it's where you proposed to me and we had so many adventures there?

me:  being in thailand without you felt so wrong.  and thinking about you in malaysia was fucking killing me.

me:  i was in paradise just wishing i was dead.

Monday 5:49 AM

me:  I gave you nearly 10 years of my life and you can't even write a text message. i don't know how you can just switch off everything so instantly and have such indifference to me and my wellbeing, but it is downright cruel.

Monday 8:50 AM

the bolshevik:  i'm sorry you didn't have a good time in thailand

me:  how was it being in malaysia, the place you proposed to me, without me there?

me:  because being on vacation without you was so painful.

me:  it's not that "i didn't have a good time" ...  it's that i'm fucking devastated

me:  so i was hoping you could answer my question

me:  was it hard, difficult, sad, to be in malaysia right after signing divorce papers knowing you proposed to me there? or did that not bother you. 

me:  because every single fucking thing in thailand reminded me of you. and it hurt like hell.

- end scene - 

and that my dear blog readers is all i fucking got.  and it's probably all i'll ever get. and it is destroying me.

it's because i am

• it's because i was sad that you cheated on me and i tried to talk to you about my feelings
• it's because i rarely stay out past midnight anymore
• it's because my underwear isn't sexy enough
• it's because even though i finished my novel i never got it published
• it's because i often get frustrated by mainland china bureaucracy
• it's because i really don't like the Captain America movies
• it's because i always have at least two currencies of coins in my wallet and often try to pay with the wrong one
• it's because i asked you to talk to a therapist
• it's because my hands and feet are always cold and then i think it's cute to try to warm myself up on you but really that's annoying.  no one wants that.
• it's because i calmed down as i grew up
• it's because i asked you to call me that night and that was asking too much
• it's because after dinner and a few post-dinner drinks i'm usually ready for bed
• it's because sometimes i am rude to customer service people if they are being unreasonable
• it's because i never successfully got a band going
• it's because i cannot walk in high heels and refuse to even try
• it's because i always have to get a popcorn at the movies even if we've already eaten and then sometimes i'll get a stomach ache because i ate too much popcorn
• it's because i called you and texted you too many times that one weekend
• it's because you lost a bunch of weight and i hadn't (but look at me now!)
• it's because i feel more comfortable wearing late 50s style one-piece bathing suits
• it's because i'm more cute and zany and eccentric and artsy and when you show a male friend my picture they won't be all "wow, she's hot" and that's what you want now
• it's because sometimes i'd send you recordings of me singing songs as a way of communicating my feelings when really i should've kept it to myself
• it's because i refuse to learn the metric system and ask you to tell me the temperature in fahrenheit
• it's because i get sick more than the average person and need to see a lot of doctors
• it's because i didn't want to spend new year's eve in the square and i wanted to drink wine on the balcony instead
• it's because i tried to make us work through our emotions
• it's because i wear too many bold-print dresses and i should dress more like one of those girls in shiny tank tops and tight black skirts ready to go out to the club
• it's because i lost my mojo

• it's because i couldn't compete with the women of shanghai who throw themselves at you
• it's because i couldn't convince you not to give up on us
• it's because i wasn't lovable enough for you to want to keep me around
• it's because i can't detach my emotions from everything like you can

• it's because i am

wherever you go, there you are

i was talking with my therapist ... yes i am seeing a therapist regularly which some people will say is a positive choice in dealing with my situation in a healthy way.  while i'm sure other people will tell me is highly inappropriate to discuss in a public place, because i will be judged on my mental defeat, and how dare i admit that i actually need help.  oh i just can't win.  where was i?

oh yeah, so i was talking with my therapist and she suggested that i need to take a break from work.  "just leave," she said, "you need a break.  go and chill out for a month in Bali or something."

while this is a lovely idea in the abstract, i couldn't help but wonder what the fuck would i do in Bali for a month by myself? this would be awful. i'd be in paradise. alone. with all my thoughts. with no one to talk to. with nothing to do. with no schedule. with no structure.  with nothing to distract me from it all. just me, myself and i thinking about how absolutely terrible everything is and how devastated i am and how i feel like my life and everything i hold dear has been destroyed.

i'd still have all that ... but in Bali.

then i remembered that i actually am going to Bali for easter, but i am going with the Fabulous Fifi so that's a bit different.  "you need to go somewhere NOW," Ms. Therapist said.  not in easter.  and then i remembered that i was in fact traveling to thailand the following week.  how this slipped my mind i really don't know. but she seemed pleased with the idea of me going to thailand for Chinese New Year.

she talked about how peaceful it would be and all the opportunities for mindfulness there would be. and she suggested that maybe my days wouldn't all blur together in such a meaningless haze if i pushed myself out of my comfort zone and did something different. maybe try rock climbing.

fine. i am a risk-taker, as they say. these are all good ideas. in my typical overzealous-bordering-on-OCD fashion, i will try all these things. i'll do the yoga and the rock climbing and the stand-up paddle boarding and the thai boxing and i'll take time out each day to do short meditations in a place of natural beauty.

i'll do all the stuff. because dear blog readers despite whatever you might think, i am actually doing all the right things.

so here i am in thailand. i am here. but i'm still me. the sad reality is that wherever you go, you're still with yourself. that's the only person you can never escape.

me pretending to be okay in Krabi

so i'm here and it's the first time i'm on vacation without the Bolshevik. and i know he's on vacation too, but without me. and that's how it'll be from no on. forever. that's how he wants it. everything reminds me of him: motorbikes, crab legs, beach-front tattoo parlors, sunblock, boat rides, street food, bars that sell low-quality cocktails out of plastic buckets, foot massages ... every single thing brings up memories of him and our adventures together. and it's killing me.

and where is he?  he's in malaysia.  he decided to go to the first asian country we ever visited.  where we climbed up hundreds of stairs to see buddhist shrines and we fed monkeys and we trekked through the jungle to see the largest flower and we ate fresh strawberries from a mountainside farm.  where we went to a tropical island and ate dinner at a little seafood shack on the beach and he asked me to marry him.

he. went. on. vacation. to. the. place. where. he. proposed. to. me. let that sink in dear blog readers.  because it fucking haunts me daily.

and i'm here crying because i did one of those fish foot spas and we used to do that together. meanwhile he is traipsing around a country full of our best memories without a care in the world.  that's how few fucks he gives about me and about what we had.

standing with a stranger

this all has happened at lightning fast speed ... the condoms, the 54 hour disappearance, the break-up e-mail, the shanghai talk, and then i'm in a hong kong court house signing papers to destroy the one thing that is most precious to me.

the bolshevik and i stand side by side on lines and hand in our papers and then a person behind a window hands them back with corrections that need to be made. over and over again for three hours.

why does the bolshevik have a full middle name on his passport but only a middle initial on our marriage certificate? this is unacceptable to the bureaucracy of the court workers.

they question if he's really the same person. i question that myself.  

he fills out an affidavit explaining how middle initials work in the united states. he finds every place where his name is mentioned in the pages upon pages of documents.  then he has to write "also known as" with his super confusing alias which is just his exact same name but with a middle initial.

we wait on more lines and fill out more papers. we're sent to different windows and more lines and more papers.

the whole time he stands there like i am nothing to him. i am no one. i am not the former love of his life. i am not his former partner in crime. i am of no consequence to him anymore. i am nothing but a burden he is finally ridding himself of.  as though i had somehow attached myself to him unfairly, like a tick he's finally able to burn off.

i use the time to ask questions for any hope of closure or some sort of explanation that makes sense. i get one word answers and useless platitudes.

waiting at a window, an elderly chinese man tries to interrupt and cut ahead of us as the woman behind the counter is explaining to us that a judge will contact us in 30 days. the elderly man hovers way too close to me, shoves his arm in front of my face and waves a form at the woman to get her attention. i turn to him and tell him he needs to "back the fuck up." he pretends not to understand what i am saying, but i think my tone is quite clear regardless of linguistic differences.

when it's all over i deliver the final lines i've rehearsed in my head:

i don't understand why you're doing this

i'm the only person in this world who loves you, who you confide in, who you even talk to

and you're pushing me away

so now you'll go back to your apartment surrounded by your air jordans

and you'll hang out with work acquaintances you don't really like that much

and you'll go out to clubs you don't actually enjoy

and that'll be your life now

that's what you want

well i hope that works out for you

i ask him if he has anything to say, and he tells me he's already said it all.  but he's said nothing.

and then we walk away.

the stuff of nightmares

in another lifetime, i had met a handsome ne'er-do-well in college ... i moved in with him too quickly, and thought everything he did was golden. turns out he was a compulsive liar and an alcoholic, but i only realized that after the fact. after being together four years he proposed, but luckily i had the good sense to say no. but during that four years i was blindly in love with the handsome ne'er-do-well. and due to my daddy issues, which i will not go into here, my biggest fear was that the handsome ne'er-do-well wouldn't love me back.

throughout the four years i had one recurring nightmare. the nightmare took many strange forms and transpired in various vivid scenarios, but each time it was the same ... one day the handsome ne'er-do-well would stop loving me for no reason at all, and i'd be left in the hellish aftermath of never understanding what happened, and not knowing how to "get him back."

and when i met the bolshevik it was the same thing. same nightmare, but recurring a bit less often.  maybe it was because i was older and stronger and more confident in myself. and of course i was so confident in this one golden thread that linked the bolshevik and i together.  because i knew one thing and one thing only: that the bolshevik adored me and would never hurt me. and this thread would just go one forever, leading us through our lives together.

sometimes the nightmare would be that the bolshevik met someone else and had instantly decided to be with that woman instead of me. this of course would be explained to me very matter-of-factly ... "oh hey ms. dewey decimal, meet so-and-so.  she's really awesome so i'm just going to be with her now ... why are you so upset? what's your problem?" so that was one scenario in my nightmares.

the other scenario was much more cruel ... the dream would begin and i was in this reality where the bolshevik had already explained to me that he didn't want to be with me anymore. but he wouldn't have a reason. he would just be done. and i'd be left roaming this dream world broken apart, not understanding how he could just turn on a dime and stop loving me.

of course then i would wake up and realize that it was all a nightmare and that it's impossible for people to just instantly stop loving you.

except this time.

because this time the nightmare that has haunted me my entire adult life has quite literally come true. i throw the bolsheviks lifelines so that at any time he could grab onto one and be led back to me. even the morning in family court when he flew to hong kong to dissolve our marriage, i gave him one last chance to tell me he loves me and that this is all some awful mistake.  but he never wants the lifeline.

and now i am left roaming this surreal dreamscape, completely broken and empty inside, not understanding how the bolshevik could just turn on a dime and stop loving me.  but this time it's actually real.

i'm just waiting ... an-ti-ci-pating

a brief history of waiting for the bolshevik

6 hours - i was looking for a scissors so i could trim our passport photos to the right size when i found the condoms in his drawer.  the same drawer he had stashed his wedding ring in.  he was at work, so i texted him and asked him for an explanation even though i knew there was nothing he could say to explain this.  he wrote back, "let's talk tonight."  and then i drank half a bottle of whisky. and i waited.

54 hours - we had said we were going to work it out, try harder, see each other more, go to couples counseling.  "you're worth fighting for," he had said.  back in hong kong for a week before school started, no one else was back yet so i was getting sad and lonely thinking about the state of things.  i texted him on a Friday morning that i was feeling really blue and needed some TLC.  i asked him to call me after work. he said he would. friday passes.  i wonder if he's on a bender.  saturday morning comes and goes and i wonder if he's at the apartment of another woman.   saturday afternoon passes and any bender should be over but he still isn't answering my calls or responding to my texts.  by saturday evening i'm convinced something has actually happened to him.  sunday morning i send someone over to his apartment to confirm the bolshevik is alive, and it turns out he is choosing not to talk to me.  i text and call and try to find out what the hell is happening but nothing.  then around 5pm i receive an email from Apple telling me i am no longer a part of the bolshevik's Apple Family Sharing Plan.  so to be fair, the bolshevik first broached the "divorce talk" through Apple.  fucking Apple.  then five minutes later the bolshevik emails me himself and says he doesn't want to be married to me anymore.  doesn't want to be a team.  it's too hard.  he can't do it anymore.  doesn't want to.

during this 54 hour period i drink half a bottle of champagne, six whiskeys on the rocks, and four glasses of malbec.

then i send an expletive filled text telling the bolshevik to be a man and tell me this to my face, because he still won't answer my calls.

25 hours is how long i have to wait to talk to the bolshevik about his batshit crazy email because talking to me that evening was too much for him.  i drink several more glasses of wine. and i wait. the following day is my first day back at work after the holidays and i have to answer questions like "how was your xmas break?  you and the bolshevik go somewhere special?"  i try to make it through the day but i am empty inside.  and i wait.

4.5 days - i convince the bolshevik to see me the next weekend to talk things out.  we can work this out, i say.  he is just really stressed and confused and couldn't possibly mean what he is saying.  we're so great together.  he can't possibly let that go.  i wait 4 days to fly to shanghai to see him.  i stay at a friend's place.  i want to come over straight away in the morning but he's hungover and asks me if i can wait until 2pm.  i tell him i will wait no longer than noon.

26 hours is how long i have to stay in shanghai after finding out that my marriage is over.  he doesn't want to try.  and i cry and i wait to go home, hoping never to return to the mainland again because it's all tainted with memories of him.

5 days - is how long i have to wait for the results of my extensive STD screening.

8 hours after i text him i am graced with a phone call ... actions have consequences but not any consequences that the bolshevik is willing to own up to.

11 days ... so he truly doesn't love me anymore?  well if that's the case then put me out of my misery. 11 days ago the bolshevik agreed to meet me in a hong kong court house so we can amicably dissolve our marriage.  11 days later he confirms that he really is going through with this.

4 days until "D-Day" ... it's weird to be waiting around for someone to divorce you.  especially when you're still deeply in love with that person and desperately wish you could stay married to him. but he's shown so little compassion for me.  such little concern for my feelings or my well-being. then he says he cares so deeply about me, but none of his actions through this process have been caring at all.  is he purposefully trying to torture me?  is it his plan to be as horrible to me as possible so i won't want him back?  or is he just so oblivious to the emotions of others that he doesn't see the purgatory he continually puts me in?

maybe i'll never know.  all i can do it wait.

girl you better try to have fun no matter what you do

but he's a fool.

everyone tells me how i'm doing so great. "you're doing so great!" they say. "i can't believe how composed you are!" they tell me "i can't believe how calm you seem!" or "i'm so impressed you're at work!"

and then i roll my eyes and think about how the hours would stretch out before me endlessly if i chose to stay home.  how it would be the worst form of torture to be in my apartment alone with nothing but the thoughts and questions of "how the fuck did this happen?" swirling in my head, and all the memories of 9+ years with The Bolshevik Who Shall Not Be Named haunting me.  so yeah, i'll be at work.  it's the only stable thing i have.  what else would i do?

my beloved mother once told me about a time when she hurt her knee and her doctor told her she had to walk with a cane.  not because she actually needed a cane, but to signal to everyone else that she was having a physical issue and that they needed to respond accordingly, treat her with extra special care.

i live my life without canes.

you will never see me cry.  you will never see me break down hysterically wailing with sorrow. you will never see me huddled in a corner clasping onto a bottle of booze while listening to portishead. you will never see the girl behind the curtain. i will hide this from you at all costs.

i am out in the fresh air enjoying a hike?

why? i have no fucking idea why.

the other day i went on a hike with two friends. it was beautiful and picturesque and i cried to myself when they weren't looking. and afterward we had a luxurious multi-course lunch at a seaside restaurant with wine and i even ate dessert.  and they took photos and said it was the best day ever. "BDE!" they said. and as i finished a glass of port and looked out at the rocky islands out in the ocean i thought to myself that by any normal standard this really was the best day ever. but for me it was actually just an exercise in distraction. it was just something for me to do until it was time to do the next thing and then the next thing until i finally get to take a sleeping pill and go to bed.

so outwardly i am doing great. just fucking great. i do all the "right" things, just like i'm supposed to. i am eating healthy (now that i can keep food down) and i am exercising every day and i go to work and i obsessively schedule activities for every waking moment outside of work so i never have to be alone with my own thoughts. and then eventually i tucker myself out until it's a reasonable hour and i finally get to go to bed and it can all be over for a while. rinse. repeat.

until one of these day when i can actually enjoy things again.

I've reached my "ideal weight" and so can you!

Hey ladies!  Let me tell you about an awesome new fad in weight loss!  It's called the Divorce Diet! Now, just like juicing and raw foods diets, there is some prep work that you have to do ahead of time before you can get started.  But luckily no fancy equipment or specials meals need to be purchased!

First, get yourself into a long-term loving relationship with a partner you trust who you feel has the potential to be your life-long companion.

Then be with this person for many years, maybe even a decade, living together, planning out your futures together, and enjoying all the great shared moments that your entwined lives have to offer.  Allow yourself to believe you have found "the one."

If possible, pick someone emotionally stunted.  This will come in handy later.

Then, when you least expect it (if you've made a proper emotionally stunted choice in partners) this person will out of nowhere tell you that they have cheated on you and that even though it was only once they don't feel like they are "in love with you" anymore.  And the emotional work of cleaning up the mess they made is just too hard and it's easier to just end it.  There will also be some contradictions like them telling you they love you but they don't ever want to see you again, but they deeply care about you, but could you just go cry over there because it's making them a smidge uncomfortable. The more contractions the better really, because the less it makes sense, the more you will suffer.

And that is when the weight loss magic will happen!  You will feel nauseous all the time.  Then, when thinking of these nonsensical contradictions or picturing infidelities, you will feel even extra nauseous.  You won't want to eat any food, even though you love food!  It's perfect!  And when you do eat food, you most likely will vomit soon after.  You may find that things that previously brought you joy, like a nice glass of red wine with dinner, will also leave you vomiting.  For those with gag reflexes, even mundane activities like brushing your teeth or trying to swallow the sleeping pills your psychiatrist prescribed you will also lead to vomiting.

And then you can watch the pounds just melt off!

You may be asking yourself, "Self ... what happens if I run out of food in my system and my stomach is completely empty?"  Well don't worry, there's always bile!  Bile be gone!  I'm sure you don't need it anyway!

So get going girl, and reach that ideally emaciated you!

Side effects may include but are not limited to: dizziness, fainting spells, hoarseness or sore throats, coughing, frequent heartburn, reflux, anemia, anorexia, complete shut down of your immune system, and possible death.

bye bye bolshevik

let's just pretend i've been here the entire time ...

it is with great sadness and true despair that i admit to you, dear blog readers, that my beloved bolshevik is leaving me.  says he's not "in love" with me anymore.  says if he met me now he'd only want me as a "best friend."

well what the fuck does that mean?

i have resigned myself to never contact him again so i cannot ask all these burning follow-up questions that have popped into my mind since that fateful saturday when he told me he doesn't want me anymore.

what does it mean to be "in love" with someone you've been with nearly a decade?  certainly we're not in those beginning stages of mad passionate love that feels almost like being on drugs.  no.  that only lasts a few months.  are we teammates and best friends and lovers and partners in crime?  i thought so.  isn't that what long term love is?  but i guess he wants the fireworks show.

if he met me now i'd only be a "best friend" contender?  what more could he possibly be looking for? or maybe it's that he is looking for less ... someone who expects less from him, someone who is less to live up to, someone who is less successful, someone who will settle for less emotional support.  someone who is lesser than me.  someone who will be less work.

i'm fucking work now??

how do you cope when the person you love grows into someone else?  we used to make fun of the expat guys in the foreign countries ... the ones who went out to the club and picked up an "exotic local girl" who didn't speak english and god forbid they had learned her language.  no need to impress, no need for being clever, no need to put the effort in ... no need for any work.

and in china no less, where porcelain doll types will "accidentally" drop something at his feet and then bend over to retrieve it and all he needs to do is stand there.  (actual real-life example)

pathetic.

is that who he has become?  how is that possible?  how could my beloved bolshevik have turned into that type of vapid asshole?

what happened to the freaky freezy principle?

could we start again please?

(subject headings: "animal encounters," "food we have eaten," "Peru," "the Bolshevik")

as you may have noticed, i have not blogged in some time.  i had all these delusions that i would write a whole bunch of posts about malaysia, and that i would be able to catch up before the next adventure began.  this of course did not happen.

then my computer crashed and refused to open iPhoto ever again.  but it is unfair to blame my old computer.

so here is an extremely brief recap to get you up to speed ...

1.  malaysia was awesome.  the food is delicious, and if for no other reason i highly recommend going there just so you can eat.  we also saw a whole load of asian temples, and i fulfilled my dream of being attacked by monkeys.  it looked something like this:
















2.  while in malaysia, sampling the most incredible food imaginable, the bolshevik finally proposed to me.  after carrying around an engagement ring for over two months, spanning several continents, on the 3rd to last day of our trip he asked me to marry him.  it looked something like this:

(dramatization)

3.  then in the following seven months i worked as an ESL teacher, went to an international job fair, secured a librarian job in Peru, finished my school media certification, finished my novel, captained a competitive jump rope team (we placed 3rd in the Punk Rope Games!), helped start a union, and planned what i am told was a pretty awesome wedding.  the wedding looked something like this:

















and that's what has happened since i stopped blogging back in november.  so we can just start from there, right?  cool.

so now the bolshevik and i are in a hotel room in Lima ... we just arrived last night and very soon someone will be picking us up and taking us to our apartment.  (the school found us what appears to be an incredible apartment).  then tonight the bolshevik is whisking me away to a secret honeymoon location.  you know how bolsheviks like to whisk people away.

i'm going to see how long i can go before i figure out where we're going.  i am wondering if it's possible to actually board the plane and still not know our destination.  we'll see.

to be continued ... (in a reasonably punctual fashion, i swear)

i love a parade ...

oh dear blog readers, it's been such a long time since we've seen a good old fashioned south american parade.  it used to be that we were welcomed to town by a parade wherever we went.  well, luckily the other night while we were walking around san telmo looking for a cheap parilla, we stumbled upon this parade of sorts.

so it all started off rather normal with music and dancing and shiny costumes.   good stuff.  then we noticed that there were a large number of precocious children running around spraying each other with what looked like white silly string.  fine.  i'm all for merriment.

soon the bolshevik and i were lost in the crowd and wound up getting split up.  it was around this time that i noticed men selling spray cans of nieve or snow.  what was this stuff?  was it like the fake snow people spray on christmas trees?  well, that's kind of charming then that a culture where no one has even seen snow wants to have a snowy parade.  how cute.

but it all got malicious rather quickly ... apparently the nieve is really just a special type of shaving cream good for spraying at people.  as soon as i entered the crowd i was getting hit everywhere.  at first by punk ass kids, and then later by adults as well!  wtf?!  i was just an innocent bystander!

the bolshevik covered in nieve
moments before spraying me

by the time i found the bolshevik again we were both soaking wet, covered in nieve.  as i approached him, thankful that we could finally leave this crazy parade, the bolshevik shot me!  enraged by what was going on, the bolshevik had bought his own can of nieve for self-defense.

so then we both re-entered the crowd, hoping to get our revenge.  but man, those kids were good.  ultimately, we left the parade having inflicted way less damage than we would've liked.

breakfast of champions

the bolshevik started this morning's
baked-goods-for-breakfast
before i could get a good picture
of all the cookies 

it is my belief that if you have fresh baked goods in your house, there is no reason not to eat them for breakfast.  and it is with great pride that i tell you dear blog readers that this morning i had homemade chocolate chip cookies for breakfast.  (i also recommend brownies and cupcakes as excellent baked-goods-for-breakfast)

now before you get all preachy on me, let me ask you ... is this really any worse than a bowl of sugary cereal?  especially if the cereal in question is cookie crisp?  (i was never allowed to have cookie crisp as a child.  obviously my baked-goods-for-breakfast initiative is some sort of rebellion)

moving on!

since many of you were concerned about my inability to bake here in buenos aires, let me walk you through how this was accomplished.

first i was finally able to find baking soda (bicarbonato de sodio) and baking powder (polvo para hornear)  you really have to do some searching to find these things since they are kept in these strange little packets, and aren't put in an obvious place.  then i found "brown sugar" or azúcar de fantasia negro.  it was difficult to tell if this was true brown sugar or if it was just regular sugar that had been colored brown.  but lo and behold this sugar of fantasy actually was legitimate brown sugar!

next i needed chocolate chips.  a key ingredient in chocolate chip cookies.  however, i went to two different stores and couldn't find any.  later i was informed that you have to go to a special party store to get chocolate chips.  so i improvised and bought a large chocolate bar and then smashed it into little pieces.

then we had the numberless oven problem ... so i put the dial near the "little flame" setting, assuming that it's better to underbake than overbake.

much like at an argentine parilla, my chocolate chip cookies were slow-baked to perfection ... much like re-inventing the wheel, i have re-invented the art of baking.

a chocotorta and two skinned knees

i don't like to think of myself as accident prone, but the evidence is stacking up to prove that maybe i am. as a child, i typically always had at least one skinned knee and there was probably a band-aid somewhere on my body covering a recent accident.  and now as an adult it's still pretty common for me to have black and blues from where i have accidentally walked into stuff or knocked into something.

since coming to buenos aires i have had the following "accidents" which have needed some level of first aid:

1.  i sliced the side of my hand on a broken glass while doing the dishes.  had this wound been on a different part of my body, it probably would've needed stitches, but since it was in such a weird spot there wasn't much to be done.  so now i have a nice v-shaped scar on the base of my thumb.

2.  while taking an outdoor fitness class, i slammed my shin onto the ledge of a concrete wall causing a large gash in said shin.

3.  and today, while the bolshevik and i were out on a pleasant saturday afternoon bike ride, i had a little biking accident.  you see, there are some lovely bike lanes here in buenos aires, but the problem is that they don't all connect properly.  so there's this area by the waterfront where the bike lane dies for a bit and all of a sudden you're left to fend for yourself in this shady industrial area.  first, there's a part where the bike lane actually spits you out into oncoming traffic.  great.  then after that there's this weird area with all these old trolley type tracks crisscrossing over the street.  so i was riding over the tracks and my tires hit the tracks the wrong way and my bike slid out from under me.  not cool.  and i did this little number to my legs.  (please note, there is actually one more bruise on the side of my right leg, but i couldn't get it into the picture. not only that, but i fell in a way that i actually re-opened the injury listed above in #2!)

so now i'm laid up in bed with a swollen knee.  grrrrr.

and of course, we were far from home when this happened so we had to stop by a pharmacy to get first aid supplies.  and then the bolshevik decided the best thing to do was to take break before riding back home, so we got some ice cream.  claro!

we got a chocotorta sundae from freddo ... it was divine.  for those of you who don't know, a chocotorta is a dessert typically served at birthdays, consisting of several layers of booze soaked chocolate cookies alternating with layers of a dulce de leche and crema.  the freddo's version has dulce de leche ice cream and big hunks of crumbled chocolate cookies. i highly recommend it regardless of whether or not you have sustained an injury.

this week on spare room: buenos aires edition

this week on spare room ...

miss dewey decimal and her bolshevik are forced to flee their all-in-white apartment and move into a friend's spare room.

say what?!

it's a long story dear blog readers, but basically my bolshevik lost his cell phone. (then he lost his replacement cell phone, but that's less important)  SO, even though we alerted our landlady that the phone was lost (since she is responsible for the bill, and we just pay her for said phone), she somehow believed that we were responsible for paying for the 500 pesos in calls which were made in the two weeks that followed.  apparently, telling someone that you lost their phone is not enough information, so she decided instead of calling the phone company and canceling the phone (which is in her name), she would do absolutely nothing.

good plan.

this is quite typical behavior for her.  it's quite similar to her reaction to the fact that we don't have cable (or even a television in the apartment) even though both are supposed to be included in the price of the rent.  or her reaction to the fact that the handle broke off our oven door while i was baking cookies, and then the windowpane of the oven door fell out, leaving us without a working oven for 5 weeks and counting. she is quite good at doing nothing.  

but when she came to our apartment screaming about responsibility and how we owed her 3,000 pesos (yes, somehow the price went from 500 pesos to 3,000 pesos all in the course of one argument), we decided that we'd had enough.

so we absconded in the middle of the night, in a "midnight flit" as it were, and are now taking refuge in a spare room.  this spare room also doubles as a storage room for various pieces of luggage and random personal belongings.  needless to say, adding the bolshevik and myself and all of our own crap has made the spare room quite snug.  

but fear not!  i believe we may have found a new apartment to move into next week.  tune in next time to spare room to see what happens next!

people i have kissed

here in buenos aires it is customary to kiss everyone you meet on the cheek.  everyone.  men, women, everyone.  and it does not matter what your relationship to this person is.  if you speak to someone for more than about 2 minutes, you are now on kissing-terms with them.  if you walk into a party, random people you have never met will kiss you first, then tell you their names.

although the bolshevik finds this highly uncomfortable (being a cold-hearted anglo-type), i find a sort of comfort in knowing that there will be no awkward  goodbyes, no wondering whether or not you are going to hug, shake hands, kiss, etc.  or worse, no going in to kiss someone on the cheek only to realize that they were planning on shaking your hand.  i like a good steadfast rule.

with that said, here is a list of random people we have had to kiss:

1.  our realtor - a woman showed us ONE apartment that we absolutely did not want to take, and then afterwards we had to kiss her as we tried to excuse ourselves from the situation.  uncomfortable.

2.  my students - i kiss all of my students both hello and goodbye.  it's just odd to be that friendly.

3.  our banker - the bolshevik had to kiss his banker after a fiasco with a lost ATM card.  i'm sure he had not expected this level of treatment when he became a premiere member of HSBC.  for a while, this was #1 in awkward kissing situations, but then today i had a winner with ...

4.  my gynecologist - yup, i had to kiss my gynecologist today, as well as her receptionist.  very strange.

although odd, i am kind of getting used to this level of affectionateness with everyone.  the other day, the bolshevik and i were watching an episode of mad men, and i was amazed at how stiff and unemotional everyone was.  at first i thought, "oh, that's what conservative late 1950s/early 1960s america was like."  but then i realized, no ... the reason everyone seems so uptight is because people are shaking hands and the entire office of Sterling Cooper aren't kissing each other hello.  (which i would imagine in a large office takes a long time ... it must be at least 9:30 am before everyone has kissed everyone and can commence with the work day)

boca, boca de mi vida, vos sos la alegria de mi corazon

the bolshevik in camouflage
at la bombonera

you may be asking yourself, "self, what has miss dewey decimal been up to recently?"  well, we've been quite busy.  in addition to teaching to the masses, impersonating men on the internet and writing their online dating messages for them, and some other odd writing jobs, sometimes the bolshevik and i actually get out of the house and do some fun stuff.

the other weekend we went to la bombonera for our first boca juniors match.  since it's a bit tricky to get tickets, we decided to go with a tour.  so about 20 or so expats from a variety of english speaking countries all went to the stadium with a loca tour guide who would protect us from the "virtually lawless" streets of la boca.

now, there are two sections of the stadium for "hooligans."  we were in the "guest hooligan" section.  apparently there are more "official hooligans" who get to be in a different section which was directly across from us.  due to safety reasons, we had to arrive to the stadium very early.  while we were waiting for the game to start, i snapped this shot of the bolshevik.  can you find him?  he blends in with the scenery so well here.


now, the bolshevik makes fun of me for owning so many dresses.  to be honest, i could wear a different dress every day and i wouldn't have to repeat for a fortnight.  (and those are just the ones i've brought with me to buenos aires) but my beloved bolshevik now owns enough sports-related apparel to put on a small futbol fashion show: track jackets, jerseys, scarves, hoodies, etc.  he is prepared for almost any sporting event.

anyway, once the game was about to begin there was a whole lotta spectacle.  first there was all this blue smoke that came from various parts of the stadium.

then came the confetti.  now, there is a certain amount of confetti which fans bring with them.  but then there were confetti canons which blasted confetti from the field.  within a few minutes, between the blue smoke and the blue and yellow confetti, we could barely see a thing.

then, across the field in the "official hooligan" section, all these people with blue and yellow umbrellas came marching down the aisles beating drums and playing horns (actual horns, not those annoying vuvuzela things).  soon they were lowering all sorts of banners and flags.  then they actually lowered a gigantic boca jersey that covered the entire section of the stadium.  it was rather impressive.  i can barely fold sheets with the rounded corners, and here a huge group of people were coordinating the folding and unfolding of a 3-story tee-shirt.

this shirt belongs to jugador numero 12, or player number 12.  it was explained that only 11 players can be on the field and that the "12th player" is the boca fans.  apparently, number 12 is never given to any player as it is reserved to honor crazy boca hooligans.  that's nice.

then after all this rigmarole, the game actually started.  i had almost forgotten there was a futbol match at hand.  for the first 15 minutes our boca juniors were playing a great game.  they were on like gangbusters.  they scored a goal pretty quickly and things were looking good.  but then all of a sudden the opposing team scored, and then boca just lost all their pizazz.  and yes, pizazz is a term often used in futbol commentary.  in the end, boca lost 1-2.  a sad sad day.

then, just when we thought we could drown our sorrows in the free pizza and beer that came with our tour, we were told that we had to wait 20 minutes before we were allowed to leave the stadium.  you see, for their own safety, the away fans need to be evacuated from the stadium before they let any of the hooligans out.

now, if you read my previous boca juniors post, you know that the away fans are penned into a special barbed wire "away" section.  as they were leaving this section, they were hooting and hollering, stamping their feet, and banging on the walls, making a very loud ruckus as they exited.  (stupid away fans always rubbing it in)

"official hooligans" quarantined in la bombonera

after about 15 minutes we noticed that the other sections of the stadium had been cleared as well.  you know, all the normal, non-hooligan types.  across the field we saw the "official hooligans" were the only other section (besides ours) which remained.  and of course, even though our team lost, they continued to play their horns and bang their drums, having a fine old time as we all waited to be released.  yup, we were quarantined with jubilant futbol hooligans.  just another day in buenos aires.

we continued to wait a good long time, wondering if they ever left fans in the stadium before.  but eventually we were freed from the stadium.  the end.

so many jobs, so little time

before we left nyc there was much debate over how the bolshevik and i could possibly live in a foreign country.  surely, we would be destitute within minutes of landing.  well, dear blog readers, i am happy to report that we are doing just fine.

to recap, here are a few of the potential jobs we had brainstormed before arriving:
english teachers
menu proofreaders
milk shake consultant
punk rope instructor
baker (they have a lot of mediocre bread here)
singing/basic piano teacher
babysitter (who will teach your child english!  or prevent your expat child from learning spanish!)
dog walker (this was not high up on the list as neither the bolshevik nor i like dogs)

even once we had gotten here, there were many naysayers who told us that it would be nearly impossible for us to find work, telling us that the market was flooded with expats trying to do just about anything for a few pesos.  well, they couldn't have been more wrong.

first, on a friend's recommendation i tried out elance which is a website filled with freelancers and freelance jobs for said freelancers to bid on.  it takes a bit of time to set up a profile and whatnot, but after a few days i was bidding on jobs, and even though i had no rating or references, i was quickly offered a project to write a gay blog.

that's right.  i'm not even gay, but i made quite a case for myself explaining how i am "a friend to the gays" and that i support gay rights.  in the end of my pitch i simply said, "i'm from new york city."  what else do you need?

after that, using my credentials as a punk rope instructor (i knew that certification would come in handy!), i landed myself a job writing a fitness eBook.  this eBook was a mash-up of pilates and boot camp.  now, i have never been a fan of pilates, having only taken a few classes and always been bored out of my mind (seriously, could exercising be any less exciting than pilates?)  anyhoo, i wrote the book, hoping to maybe see pilates in a new light.   in the end, i can honestly tell you that although pilates is good for building up your core muscles, it is a silly means of exercise.  just go out and do something active (jogging/aerobics/biking/hiking), and then do some crunches after!  it'll have the same effect, and unlike pilates it's more fun than watching paint dry.

moving on.

then i was commissioned to write 60 short articles on dating.  they sent me 60 titles, and i just wrote whatever i felt like about them.  pretty sweet.  and i learned that i am in fact an excellent source of relationship advice.  i highly recommend taking advice from me.

during this time, i was also hired by two different language schools to teach english.  i only have four students right now, but i meet with them once or twice a week for an hour or so and we go through different lessons.  i actually enjoy it a lot, although i still question my ability to teach anyone anything.

and finally, as a piece de resistance, last week i was hired as an online dating assistant.  what is that, you ask?  well imagine some wealthy businessmen who wants to meet a nice girl online, but just don't have the time to sort through all those pesky dating sites.  so instead, they hire out a company to write their profile, pick out women, write them messages, and arrange dates.  all the guy has to do is show up.  yup, so now my main job is as an "opener."  i go through the lists of all the candidates and send them messages as though i am mr. wealthy business man.  morally questionable?  probably.  interesting work? definitely.  so i'm outsourcing my elance jobs to the bolshevik, and now being an online dating assistant is my main writing job.

and that is all dear blog readers ...

bringing in the pesos,

miss dewey d
xoxo

biking buenos aires OR the escape from the beehive

i've been busy as a bee in a beehive.  this is truer than you think since everything i do is set to the background noise of those god-damned vuvuzela horns from the world cup.  anyway, i've actually gotten several writing jobs through this website called elance, writing eBooks and authoring blogs and whatnot.  so i have been spending a lot of time working from home. and during this time my beloved bolshevik has been quite busy watching futbol matches ... three a day!

anyhoo, i may have mentioned that i am a member of the south american explorers club.  needing to get out of the house and away from the sound of a million vuvuzelas, i decided to join them on a bike ride through buenos aires.

taking this bike ride has really inspired me to buy a used bike once we move into our "grown up" apartment.  turns out there are lots of bike lanes around the city.

before i describe the ride, please excuse the fact that i will most likely not use the correct names for any of these sites, and that all information given may or may not be factual.  i should be a tour guide!

we rode through palermo park and stopped at the top of a little bridge overlooking this famous large metal flower.  the flower opens its petals in the morning and then closes them at night.  kinda cool.

then we rode plaza san martin, where they are showing every game of the world cup, projected onto a large screen.  more about that later.  plaza san martin has this lovely statue (shown above) honoring one of the founding fathers of buenos aires.  sadly i forget his name.  maybe san martin?

then we rode through reconquista, which seems to be a combination of irish bars and financial looking buildings.  then we continued on to plaza de mayo:

 having been to buenos aires before, i had actually already visited many of these sights.  so i was very excited when we went through puerto maderno and onto the nature preserve, which i hadn't seen yet.  it was very beautiful, and it had that kind of central park type feeling to it where you feel as though you have escaped the city into another world.

 then we stopped by the river.  yes, this huge body of water is actually a river.  apparently, it is the widest river in the world, and separates buenos aires from uruguay.

 we went back through puerto maderno to take a look at the swinging bridge.  this bridge actually swings open to let ships go by. 

 then we ventured into dangerous "la boca"... oooh, dangerous.  apparently la boca is considered a bad neighborhood, but so far i think it's pretty cool.  i love a colorfully painted house.  and it is home to the bolshevik's favorite local futbol team, the boca juniors.

 the famous caminito ... birthplace of the argentine tango.

 and then as it began to get dark, our lovely bike tour came to an end.  i have to say, there's nothing quite like biking as a means of getting to see a city.  i have a new understanding of how the different neighborhoods of buenos aires are connected.  and of course i have a newfound desire to go buy a bike.

 the end.