A bad day

Today, I’m having a Bad Greece Day.

These days don’t happen too often but when they do I find myself silently questioning the decision I made to move back here. These bad days usually happen more often during the summer months. I’m not a summer person and summer in Greece lasts a kajillion years. Tempers flare, older men and adolescent boys smell. On good Greece days, I’m happy to be here. I watch the absolute chaos with fascination. On bad Greece days, I want to throw my toys around and tell everyone else to basically  “Grow the fuck up.”

Yesterday, for example, as I approached my parked car the car parked in front of me reversed, crashed into me and was getting ready to drive off. I ran after him and almost flew my body on his body while screaming, “What the hell are you doing?”

He jumped out and his first response was, “What? Don’t tell me you haven’t done the same thing?”

I looked at him in shock while he continued.

“Don’t tell me you have never bumped a car while trying to get out of a parking space? Answer me. You have, haven’t you?”

I looked at him with an expression that I am sure was brimming over with disgust and said,

“First of all, I’ve never been caught. Second of all, bumping the car behind you is only acceptable when you have NO OTHER WAY OF GETTING OUT OF THE PARKING SPACE. Look at the space in front of you.”

My hand gestured to the obscenely large parking space his tiny car had previously occupied.

“I don’t care. You’ve done it, I’ve done it. There’s nothing we can do it about it.” he said as he began climbing back into his car; having seemingly decided on his own that this spat was over.

I swallowed my anger, for a moment and replied calmly:

“You know, we could all be better people. “

He all but gave me the finger.

I probably deserved it; if only for that fact that you can’t exactly reason narcissism with schmaltzy.

Regardless, his attitude, his conclusion that because parking spaces are hard to come by in Athens this gives him the right to crash into my car and not apologize for his behaviour because oh everyone does it .

This the reason that on Bad Greece Days I think that this country will never change and it just might not be the one for me.

Answer me this. Do you ever have bad [insert your country's/city's name here] days? Please tell me I’m not the only one and that Greece is not that special.

P.S Also, a huge, huge, huge thank you for all comments about your love of flying. Each time I feel a little nervous I go back and re-read them all.  I’ll be sure to do this until the day I leave.

Notes from a singleton #1

On good days and on good weeks and on overall  good months I feel extremely lucky that I’m single.

I’ve had the opportunity to discover–nay–uncover all my idiosyncratic behaviour. I have gone through the classic 20 something identity and existential crises and I’ve done it alone. Deep down, I know that a relationship would never have survived the roller-coaster of the year I have had. I’ve come out of it with a stronger understanding of myself. I doubt that I could have achieved that kind of growth with a significant other by my side.

As a perpetually single woman navigating through her psyche at every opportunity she can, I have also become incredibly aware of the mistakes I made in past relationships. As the perpetually single girl in my circle of girlfriends I have also had the chance to observe other people’s mistakes. I have seen the way good relationships function and I’ve seen the way unhealthy relationship function. I have also seen the type of communication strategies that ultimately sabotage all relationships.

The luxury of not being emotionally entangled and emotionally dependant on another person provides you with some incredible insight. Insight that I am certain I will forget the minute I find myself in love. To counter this effect, I have decided to put these thoughts down. Right here. In the hope that one day I can look back and have clear and level-headed advice from myself.

Without further ado, the first in my series:  Notes from a Singleton.

***

Dear Attached Hope,

Dude, do not attempt to express an important message to your significant other passive aggressively.

And if you do do it, don’t be surprised when your message becomes obscured like a ‘Chinese whisper’ and at the end of it all, you AND him have absolutely no idea what you were trying to say to begin with.

My advice?

Try to consistently be authentic.

If you feel angry, express anger. Proportionately. There’s no need to break his record collection because he forgot your tampons on his supermarket run. A simple “I am angry because I feel that you didn’t consider my needs. Give me a minute to calm down” will work. If you want X, tell him that you want X. Do not tell him that you want Y and expect him to understand that you actually want X. I mean, I’m already confused.  If you don’t like his behaviour do not accept it by hiding behind mean glances and out of the blue nonsecial retorts. A calm, rational explanation helps. “Please do not use homophobic slurs around me. When you do it it makes me feel like you don’t respect the attitudes I have.”

And if he insists on being the passive aggressive one? If he has absolutely no self-awareness of himself, his behaviour and his actions?

Get out.

He’s not the one for you.

Your alter ego,

Single Hope

Confession

I have not been on a airplane in over two years. I have not left Athens in over two years. Every time I go to Ikea–which sits directly opposite Athens International–I get thunderous heart palpitations.

It’s not a lot of fun.

As you now, in a couple of weeks I’m flying to a lovely island for a fabulous engagement party. Even though, I’ll be dutifully taking a Xanax, I think about this trip as if it will be the ordeal of my life. All 40 minutes of it. My therapist suggested that I visit the airport a couple of times before my departure as a type of exposure therapy.

Yesterday, armed with positive thoughts and my mother I made attempt number one. And you know what?

It was fine.

We walked around, I looked at the queues with interest, we shopped and then we sat at McDonald’s watching a dozen planes taking off and landing. It was exciting and part of me missed my flying days. When I travelled four times a year and could care less. A separate part of me was a little jealous. I wished I was the one going on some sort of an adventure. I looked over at all the people and I wondered: “Where are you all going? Are any of you frightened to your very core?”

So I ‘m still nervous. I’m not looking forward to the flight but it needs to be done. This particular fear stops me from doing all sorts of stuff. It needs to be faced, head on, right now before it gets worse. Before I become a hermit. Before I haven’t left the city in a decade and small kids stop in front of my window, point and whisper amongst themselves, “They say she hasn’t left her house in 30 years [Kids always exaggerate] but that she’s ridiculously adorable.” [OK. So they don't do it all the time.]

Would you like to help me?

I thought so.

Here’s what you can do. Tell me your happy travelling stories. Do you love airports? Why exactly? It can be anything big or small.  Where are you going this summer? Where was the last place you went to by plane? Do you adore flying? What part? Why?

I’m hoping your stories and your thought and perhaps even your quirks might help me once again be comfortable in the sky.

The reason I should stop going out bra-less

Dear Old Dude,

Hi there, I’m Hope. You don’t know me by name, but I’m the girl who flashed you her left boob this morning.

LET ME EXPLAIN.

See, I woke up this morning with a phone call from my sister begging me to get my ass to the pharmacy immediately because Nephew # 1 hadn’t done his Number 2s in several days. She needed me to get a suppository.

I jumped out of bed and slipped on the first dress in my wardrobe. A strapless, maxi and off I went.

On my way home, I decided to stop at Starbucks for my usual Chai. When I exited Starbucks I was met with a pretty regular phenomenon.  A car had parked right next to me  on the driver’s side. He had parked so close that I could NOT open my door. I couldn’t even fit between our two cars to get to the door.

Old dude, I am impatient and after five minutes I was tired of waiting.

I opened the passenger door and attempted to climb into the drivers seat. Of course, as I did this my foot stepped onto the hem of my dress. As a result the top dropped and VOILA!

BOOB EXPOSURE.

Of course, I did not realize this for at least one full minute as I made myself comfortable, put my drink in the cup holder and tried to find my keys that had fallen out of hand.

60 SLOW SECONDS OF BOOB EXPOSURE

Oh.

My.

Cringing.

God.

Anywaaaaaay, all I really wanted to say was thank you for not staring.

(As much as you could have done)

Much appreciation,

Hope in a Bra

Looking back: The first post

This post is a part of 20SB’s Looking Back Blog Carnival, and Ben & Jerry’s is awarding free ice cream to lucky bloggers and readers! I picked my first ever post on this blog for your looking back pleasure.

***

Anna Begins

The Greek word for a single girl is ‘eleutheri‘ sharing its root from the verb ‘to be free’.

Funny thing is that I do not feel free. Not. At all. After a certain age, being single comes with a ton of pressure. Try as you may to disregard the hushed tones and raised eyebrows, after awhile it begins to affect you.

It affects you from the way you shop to the trips you want to take. Lingerie stores become off limits. Why would I want to wear a lacy bra and panties when no-one will see them but my cat (For the record, I do not have a cat, which makes me ten times sadder). Going on vacation is tricky business. If you do not have a group of like-minded single friends, your only choices are to visit friends that live in cities around the world. (But I want to go on a real-stay-in-a-hotel-kind-of-holiday you say? Wait in line, find a man and then maybe it will happen!)

I have always enjoyed going for a Sunday morning coffee. But do you know who goes out for Sunday morning coffees? Couples. Smug couples that buy newspapers and read while sitting next to each other. Sure, I have tried going on my own, but in a country where ‘being alone=something must be wrong with you, you sad, sad person’ I try to avoid it. Now, I go to the gym and drink my coffee on my way home.

I thought being free had something to do with having the choice to do whatever you like. Sure, I can do whatever I want, whenever I want it, how I want it (watching bad T.V. and crying over every Grey’s Anatomy episode? Sure.) Because no-one will be there to stop me or judge me or roll their eyes at me to change the channel.

But, no-one is there either when I want to say “Hey! Isn’t this an awesome song?” No-one is there when you want to try out that new restaurant, no-one is there when you are miserable. And no-one is there when you are happy. No-one to hear the cute joke you made in your head or to hear you rant about the sales assistant that made you feel so small. A companion, a partner, a friend.

Someone to do all the things that being free allows you to do. Someone to share all the thoughts that being free allows you to have. Someone to be free with.

***

Changes:

I buy sexy lingerie. And the only person who sees it is my cat.

I have a cat.

Sunday morning coffee is overrated.

Other than these obvious changes, the most important change is my frame of mind. My philosophy on ‘freedom’ has changed. Hope of today says, “Blah blah blah. Whatever! Freedom is awesome. With or without a man. I have friends to share my jokes with and an audience of readers to share my thoughts with. That is enough.