La Entropista

This the view at Bornholmerstasse 1 and Schoenhouser Allee. Note, you urban planners, the crossing of three various modes of public transportation, just outside my front window. We have bus, street car, and subway (that happens to be elevated at my stop- quick pop quiz- which are the only two American cities that have an elevated rail system?). While the public transportation system here is great, it is also very expensive, about 2.20 euro for a ride, which, at the current exchage rate of 1 euro to 1.34 dollars, is, um, a lot.

Also note that the streets are quite wide, allowing for uncongested car traffic that most european cities suffer from. So, between the car-oriented streets and the expensive public transport, most people (44%) end up driving to work, even though parking is a bitch. Interestingly, less women than men drive to work- why is that?

So, I spent most of this afternoon at the photography museum looking at Helmut Newton exhibits. Staring at all the 80’s-era nudity and excess only served to make me forget about being dumped for like, half an hour. I pouted my way through the stupid museum, then went to Potsdammerplatz to eat more salty food and see a film- the Grey Zone, about a group of prisoners at Auschwitz who manage to blow up part of the gas chambers before they were all killed. What a day, what a day.

Oh, I promised a story. Here it is:

“How to get a guy to fly half way around the world to see you and then somehow drive them to break up with you immedaitely afterwards

….or….

Canadians sure are polite, even when they’re kicking your sorry ass out the door.”

Lets start at the very beginning: I met someone on Nerve.com, home of the ridiculoulsy fashionable yet intellectual ironic-t-shirt-wearing single guy who still can’t get a date. Had fabulous dinner with him - god, do I have to spell it out? okay, if you insist… Fois gras with grilled pears, frisee, sauterne, diver scallops, asparagus at right angles, bearnaise (who makes bearnaise, anymore?) haricot verts, creme brulee. He had the duck of course, it will become a theme. We were at Pinot Provence. I said “hey, fois gras isn’t from Provence, its from Alsace.” He said, “what do you think is going to happen to Cuba after Castro dies?” It was love at first sight. Okay, maybe not. But a pretty good date. He drove me to my car in his bomb-ass little Mercedes hard-top roadster blasting hip hop (he’s an attorney representing the music types). He saw my car. He didn’t laugh. He spoke french to me. Bonus points.

Fast forward, he comes to my luau, takes stupid prom picture with me in my chicken hat, tells me I’m very beautiful, but won’t sleep with me cause he’s religious and shit, not to mention Republican, and Canadian to boot. Okay, whatever, the important problem is solved later on one night when I guess God wasn’t awake, and things progress.

Was supposed to see him the night before I flew off to Berlin for three months, but couldn’t  (mainly because I had another nerve “buddy” helping me with moving, and he had already brought in his SLEEPING BAG, so what could I do, really?) I was terribly bummed out/feeling guilty, but after a few days of email, he decided to schedule a trip to see me the first week I was in Berlin. WORD.

Okay, so I’m completely wound up from the excitment of it all, and sailed into the weekend full of french tulips, Moet Chandon and giant bath tubs. More great food, you all have heard it by now (four hours, eight courses), shoe shopping, museum blitz-krieg, bad german fake mtv, but little conversation. I chalked it up to jet lag. He goes home. I steal soap. Weekend over.

A few uneventful days go by, I hit smoky post-communist regime night clubs, he goes and gives speeches and heads up committees in SF. Then, yesterday, got this nice message from him:

“You’ll enjoy London, make sure you see the Tate Modern… So, I don’t really know how to say this but I am kind of feeling that something is missing between us…  (BLAH BLAH BLAH, more polite breaking up talk.) But, hey, can we be friends and continue to hang out if its not too uncomfortable for you? What do you think? Don’t forget to check out Holland.”

AAAH. WHAT?!?!

What was that?  I’m breaking up with you, make sure you go to Amsterdam??? Huh?

So, there’s something missing between us. Yeah, you know what’s missing? Your EMOTIONAL AVAILABILITY, that’s what’s missing, Mr. “I have to move to a new apartment to get my ex to get her shit out of my space cause I don’t want to actually confront her about it.” Oh, man, I could go on and on with the mean stuff, it’s endlessly entertaining, but in the end he’s an okay person and I’m truly afraid he’s going to sue my ass, so I’ll shut up about it, but DUDE.

Okay, I kind of knew deep down it wasn’t right, but it was NEW and FUN and INTERESTING and I really did my best to conscientiously separate who he was from all the shiny sparkly stuff that he surrounded himself with, and thought if he can look beyond politics and religion and see core values, then I could too. That was a valuable lesson. I guess when he said that he was trying to reevaluate his life and get back in touch with God and his personal trainer and all, he really meant, “I don’t need transition booty anymore.”

Well, there it is, my first electronic hookup-break up. I guess it beats G-Money and his “Thanks for inviting me to Thanksgiving and lets go to each others Christmas party” and then never calling again. That was a HUGE bummer. Or Big’s “I’m hot for you let me tie you up, please (but after I get back from Korea trying to get Jesse Ventura his career back).” I’m still reeling over that one (there are things older men just KNOW).

I guess it’s good that I’ve got bacon on the side and stuff on the back burner so that I can move on in virtual-dating land cause SHIT ain’t happening here in Berlin, but that’s another story entirely.

What’s the dating mantra of women in their thirties? “NEXT!”

Okay, first of all, this is the third blog site that I have used, and the only reason I’m at this one is because I neglected to bookmark the others. So, I’ve got fabulously insightful stuff about my experiences in germany floating around out there somewhere, but where the F it all is, who knows?

Mostly this will be about the urban landscape of this great and sprawling city, the shitty produce, the over salted food, the fabulously stinky unpasteruized cheese, and my love affair with grafitti and mid-century modern design. Oh, and of course, my misadventures in love and the  advice I can dole out from my many experiences here, including: “How to entice someone to visit you from halfway around the world, and then drive them to break up with you immediately after,” and “Why is it that only the doner guys are nice to me, and how can I get the arabic dude from following me ALL the way home?”

So, off to yet another museum, because it is colder than crap out there, but ridiculous to stay in here all day, too.