The Nightway is going on a bit of a hiatus. We all need vacays, no? Berlin, see you in a few weeks. This girl is heading home for a bit sans laptop. (Gasp!) Which home would that be, you ask? Well, one home being her friends in NYC and another being the fam back in Wisconsin. And the third home? Next time, Milwaukee, I promise.
Time for some peace and tranquility under the country stars, a lots of laughter with old friends and a bunch of playtime with a certain adorable niece. I shall melt, contemplating those warm fuzzy thoughts once I actually pack and can think. Speaking of...
Bis bald.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Reflection
I think some of us keep journals and write blogs not only for the sake of recording our thoughts but also to reflect on where we've come and where we are going. I've also realized that reading past entries like this one can be a good reality check. It's so easy to get wrapped up in the stress of our daily lives and forget about the goodness that is present, even if it's tucked away in the back of our minds or at the bottom of our hearts. Likewise, when we are chronically worrying about work or money, it's easy to lose sight of what real tragedy is. Although I've had many rough patches in my thirty some years, I've had an overall pretty lucky existence. Of course, we are all quickly jolted into a sense of clarity when tragedy strikes others. Sometimes, perspective slapping you hard in the face is exactly what you need. And for me, along with perspective comes reminders to myself...
I am grateful that despite my current life stressors, I am safe, healthy, loved and loving of others. I am grateful that due to the kindness bestowed upon me, I know how to return it to others. I am grateful that despite having to say goodbye to wonderful people in my life, I've had the chance to know them in the first place, if even just a little bit. And I am grateful to know that true inner peace does exist even if so many of us are currently having a hard time finding it.
Peace, tranquility, acceptance...these are all things I'm constantly searching for but seem to continually lose sight of due to my incessant focus on stressful things. But lately, I've been hearing my mom's voice in my head a lot. During hard times, she always says, "This, too, shall pass." And for this gentle reminder, I think many of us are grateful.
I am grateful that despite my current life stressors, I am safe, healthy, loved and loving of others. I am grateful that due to the kindness bestowed upon me, I know how to return it to others. I am grateful that despite having to say goodbye to wonderful people in my life, I've had the chance to know them in the first place, if even just a little bit. And I am grateful to know that true inner peace does exist even if so many of us are currently having a hard time finding it.
Peace, tranquility, acceptance...these are all things I'm constantly searching for but seem to continually lose sight of due to my incessant focus on stressful things. But lately, I've been hearing my mom's voice in my head a lot. During hard times, she always says, "This, too, shall pass." And for this gentle reminder, I think many of us are grateful.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Well, Isn't This Handy?
Again, I'm not some lunatic fan but the excitement over here's been pretty fun.
http://www.marca.com/deporte/futbol/mundial/sudafrica-2010/calendario.html
http://www.marca.com/deporte/futbol/mundial/sudafrica-2010/calendario.html
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The Ausländerbehörde- Take Two!
Funny how I used to not be able to pronounce this word. Now after saying it approximately 382 times (usually with some time of foul adjective preceding it), I've got it down pat. So here's the deal. The Ausländerbehörde is the immigration office in Berlin. It's located in the middle of an industrial wasteland in the Wedding district. I was there a couple of months ago with a friend to find out which paperwork I needed if I secured a job with a company versus working as a freelancer. Not a fun experience but not horrible either. It was mostly just a whole lot of waiting only to have a stack of papers thrown at us.
Since then, I have been offered a job. (Yah!) I will be working as a Native English speaking teacher in a bilingual kindergarten. Although I have a work contract, I do not yet have a work visa. In order to obtain this, the government must agree with my new employer that this is a position a German cannot fill. (Seems obvious but you know, hoops). With contract in hand, I went back to the Ausländerbehörde to secure this part of the deal.
Oh, and once again, I brought a German speaker with me. Actually, this time I brought a German with me. One of my best friends here, she so kindly took time from her very hectic schedule to trek to Wedding with me to do all the talking. And thank Christ.
My friend asked the woman at the front desk where we needed to go and she said, "Down to the end of this hall."
At the end of the hall was nothing but closed doors so we decided to investigate what seemed to be the general waiting area further up. We found two lines going to two doors, one marked "A-K" and the other "L-Z". My friend knocked on the door of "L-Z" while cautiously walking in. Although we saw no one, a voice from the other side of a divide yelled that this side was closed and that we needed to go to the "A-K" line. Okayyyy.
So we waited in that line for a good twenty minutes or so. A worker even allowed some Australian lady to butt in ahead of us because she had supposedly been waiting for such a long time already. By the time we got to the window, the worker took one look at my passport and said, "Wrong line." Then commenced a heated, three minute conversation between this worker and my friend which soon involved an additional worker. They informed us that there was no way they could possibly help me, my name beginning with "N" and all.
"Please go to the other line," they said firmly.
My friend, seething: "This...is...ridiculous."
So back to the other line. Although I was prepared to ultimately be given a number and wait a good three hours for someone to simply collect my paperwork, I thought it best to make sure all my papers were in order right away. I had left a few gaps due to some random questions for my friend. How do you say "for employment and studying purposes" in German?
I quickly scrawled in the appropriate responses and made a stack of every possible document they might want. Visa application? Check. Work contract? Check. College diplomas? Sure, why not? Ahh, passport photo! Don't forget! However, as we were standing there chatting with other people, I learned that during the visa process, most people come in with their paperwork and hand it all in along with their passport. All of this gets sent to the "Job Center" in Bonn where they make the final decision. Then, if all goes well, your passport gets sent back to you in a few weeks with a handy little visa stuck right inside of it.
As I was told this by my fellow immigrant acquaintance, I began to panic.
"Umm, but I'm going back to the U.S. next week. I can't surrender my passport! I thought I could get this all done today!" I'm sure my eyes were buggy.
My friend who happens to not only be a mother of a toddler but also a psychotherapist was the absolute best individual to have on hand.
"It's okay," she said soothingly. "We will figure it all out."
Finally, we made it in and I'm not sure but I think the woman behind the glass was the same person who threw these forms at me two months ago. So I threw all the forms back at her (very politely of course) along with my passport as my friend began to explain.
"Work contract...passport...Wisconsin..." were things I could understand.
Contrary to what I had feared, this woman did not scowl or scream about what a stupid non-German speaking American I was. She paged through the papers, politely engaged in a brief discussion with my friend, and then gave us a number.
In minutes, we were walking out the door. Without my passport. Gulp!
"Okay, so she's going to take down some information from your passport and then for twenty euros, you can have a little form to give your employer to let them know that the visa is in process. We just have to wait a little."
Our number was 777. They were on 776. I couldn't believe it. Fifteen minutes later, we were called. The woman gave us something that reminded me of my meal card from college and instructed us to go to the Kassenautomaten to pay for the temporary visa thing. As to where this thing was, the woman pointed upward.
So up a flight of stairs through more masses of confused looking people. Some friendly soul in the same boat directed us to the money sucking machine which was located in a far corner of a vacant room. My friend deposited the card, I handed over twenty euros and out spat a receipt. Back through the maze of people, back down the stairs, and over to the side door where the woman had said we could find her.
Knock, knock. A few seconds later, she appeared. We handed her the receipt and she gave me the very official looking Fiktionbescheinigung. When we asked what would happen next, the woman jotted down my email address on a random piece of paper and said that she would email me when the visa came in, probably in three to six weeks.
"So then I just pick it up?" I asked my friend, skeptically as we walked away.
"Yes, that's it!" she said, smiling.
I looked at my watch. We had met at the S-Bahn at 9:30. It was now 11:00.
"Lunch??" I asked.
Later, as we dove into cake and frothy milch kaffees, my friend congratulated me. "You have a job! Here in Germany! That's not an easy thing to do!"
Throughout all of the stress of going to foreign offices and trying to fill out strange forms, I sort had forgotten that part. Yes, I really had achieved something and compared to many people, very quickly.
"You're right and I should be grateful," I said.
"Not grateful. You worked hard to make this happen," she said.
I stopped for a second, chewing on that thought.
"You're right, I really did."
Since then, I have been offered a job. (Yah!) I will be working as a Native English speaking teacher in a bilingual kindergarten. Although I have a work contract, I do not yet have a work visa. In order to obtain this, the government must agree with my new employer that this is a position a German cannot fill. (Seems obvious but you know, hoops). With contract in hand, I went back to the Ausländerbehörde to secure this part of the deal.
Oh, and once again, I brought a German speaker with me. Actually, this time I brought a German with me. One of my best friends here, she so kindly took time from her very hectic schedule to trek to Wedding with me to do all the talking. And thank Christ.
My friend asked the woman at the front desk where we needed to go and she said, "Down to the end of this hall."
At the end of the hall was nothing but closed doors so we decided to investigate what seemed to be the general waiting area further up. We found two lines going to two doors, one marked "A-K" and the other "L-Z". My friend knocked on the door of "L-Z" while cautiously walking in. Although we saw no one, a voice from the other side of a divide yelled that this side was closed and that we needed to go to the "A-K" line. Okayyyy.
So we waited in that line for a good twenty minutes or so. A worker even allowed some Australian lady to butt in ahead of us because she had supposedly been waiting for such a long time already. By the time we got to the window, the worker took one look at my passport and said, "Wrong line." Then commenced a heated, three minute conversation between this worker and my friend which soon involved an additional worker. They informed us that there was no way they could possibly help me, my name beginning with "N" and all.
"Please go to the other line," they said firmly.
My friend, seething: "This...is...ridiculous."
So back to the other line. Although I was prepared to ultimately be given a number and wait a good three hours for someone to simply collect my paperwork, I thought it best to make sure all my papers were in order right away. I had left a few gaps due to some random questions for my friend. How do you say "for employment and studying purposes" in German?
I quickly scrawled in the appropriate responses and made a stack of every possible document they might want. Visa application? Check. Work contract? Check. College diplomas? Sure, why not? Ahh, passport photo! Don't forget! However, as we were standing there chatting with other people, I learned that during the visa process, most people come in with their paperwork and hand it all in along with their passport. All of this gets sent to the "Job Center" in Bonn where they make the final decision. Then, if all goes well, your passport gets sent back to you in a few weeks with a handy little visa stuck right inside of it.
As I was told this by my fellow immigrant acquaintance, I began to panic.
"Umm, but I'm going back to the U.S. next week. I can't surrender my passport! I thought I could get this all done today!" I'm sure my eyes were buggy.
My friend who happens to not only be a mother of a toddler but also a psychotherapist was the absolute best individual to have on hand.
"It's okay," she said soothingly. "We will figure it all out."
Finally, we made it in and I'm not sure but I think the woman behind the glass was the same person who threw these forms at me two months ago. So I threw all the forms back at her (very politely of course) along with my passport as my friend began to explain.
"Work contract...passport...Wisconsin..." were things I could understand.
Contrary to what I had feared, this woman did not scowl or scream about what a stupid non-German speaking American I was. She paged through the papers, politely engaged in a brief discussion with my friend, and then gave us a number.
In minutes, we were walking out the door. Without my passport. Gulp!
"Okay, so she's going to take down some information from your passport and then for twenty euros, you can have a little form to give your employer to let them know that the visa is in process. We just have to wait a little."
Our number was 777. They were on 776. I couldn't believe it. Fifteen minutes later, we were called. The woman gave us something that reminded me of my meal card from college and instructed us to go to the Kassenautomaten to pay for the temporary visa thing. As to where this thing was, the woman pointed upward.
So up a flight of stairs through more masses of confused looking people. Some friendly soul in the same boat directed us to the money sucking machine which was located in a far corner of a vacant room. My friend deposited the card, I handed over twenty euros and out spat a receipt. Back through the maze of people, back down the stairs, and over to the side door where the woman had said we could find her.
Knock, knock. A few seconds later, she appeared. We handed her the receipt and she gave me the very official looking Fiktionbescheinigung. When we asked what would happen next, the woman jotted down my email address on a random piece of paper and said that she would email me when the visa came in, probably in three to six weeks.
"So then I just pick it up?" I asked my friend, skeptically as we walked away.
"Yes, that's it!" she said, smiling.
I looked at my watch. We had met at the S-Bahn at 9:30. It was now 11:00.
"Lunch??" I asked.
Later, as we dove into cake and frothy milch kaffees, my friend congratulated me. "You have a job! Here in Germany! That's not an easy thing to do!"
Throughout all of the stress of going to foreign offices and trying to fill out strange forms, I sort had forgotten that part. Yes, I really had achieved something and compared to many people, very quickly.
"You're right and I should be grateful," I said.
"Not grateful. You worked hard to make this happen," she said.
I stopped for a second, chewing on that thought.
"You're right, I really did."
Sunday, June 13, 2010
1-1
Let's get this straight. I pretty much hate sports no matter what package they come in. I remember those Sunday afternoons when my entire family would be huddled around the TV, screaming at the Packers while I would yawn, trying to rouse myself from my post-brunch coma to commence my English lit homework. Give me MacBeth over Favre any day. And a baseball game? Well, okay but only if it's a perfect summer day and you promise to hand me a beer and a hot dog at some point. Basketball? Just shoot me. Hockey? A little more my style but with all of that glass, I sort of feel disengaged, like I'm at the zoo. And soccer? Well, after scoring great seats at a Real Madrid game a few years ago, I have to admit that the pace and the action of it all was more my style. I actually found it a little fun.
Regardless, I'm not the type to get excited about the "big game." However, some friends here in Berlin could not understand how I wasn't getting even a teeny bit hyped up about the Americans playing the English in the World Cup. I hadn't at all considered sitting down and watching the game until last night when my roomie suggested going to the Lido with some friends (exactly one English lad included) to see it on some giant screen. Since it was 6:00pm on a Saturday night and I had no other plans in mind, I responded ever so nonchalantly, "Sure, why not? Could be fun."
People, I barely have any fingernails today.
I don't know what happened to me but I became engrossed. In a sporting event? Really? Yes, 'fraid so. I suddenly wanted to scream at those stupid people who kept getting up and blocking my view. I had visions of my Uncle Mike back home who now says in regards to Packer games, "Can't watch 'em. My ticker just can't take it anymore."
And even though the place was filled with a pretty good divide of American and English spectators, I got the distinct feeling that the Germans in the room bonding with the English over their distaste toward the Americans. Or was that just my own paranoia? And no, I didn't feel the need for my country to dominate (sheesh..if I have to defend myself and my country as a non-bully one more time...). I just didn't want to fade away with them in this sea of EU-ness.
But I guess we didn't fade away after all, did we? The English bloke and I even shook hands. Truce.
And now tonight, things will really get heated. The German flags have appeared. Although I'm sure it will be a fun time, I've decided to stay safely tucked in my apartment and go to bed early, that is if the requisite screaming and yelling in the very near future will allow me to.
Regardless, I'm not the type to get excited about the "big game." However, some friends here in Berlin could not understand how I wasn't getting even a teeny bit hyped up about the Americans playing the English in the World Cup. I hadn't at all considered sitting down and watching the game until last night when my roomie suggested going to the Lido with some friends (exactly one English lad included) to see it on some giant screen. Since it was 6:00pm on a Saturday night and I had no other plans in mind, I responded ever so nonchalantly, "Sure, why not? Could be fun."
People, I barely have any fingernails today.
I don't know what happened to me but I became engrossed. In a sporting event? Really? Yes, 'fraid so. I suddenly wanted to scream at those stupid people who kept getting up and blocking my view. I had visions of my Uncle Mike back home who now says in regards to Packer games, "Can't watch 'em. My ticker just can't take it anymore."
And even though the place was filled with a pretty good divide of American and English spectators, I got the distinct feeling that the Germans in the room bonding with the English over their distaste toward the Americans. Or was that just my own paranoia? And no, I didn't feel the need for my country to dominate (sheesh..if I have to defend myself and my country as a non-bully one more time...). I just didn't want to fade away with them in this sea of EU-ness.
But I guess we didn't fade away after all, did we? The English bloke and I even shook hands. Truce.
And now tonight, things will really get heated. The German flags have appeared. Although I'm sure it will be a fun time, I've decided to stay safely tucked in my apartment and go to bed early, that is if the requisite screaming and yelling in the very near future will allow me to.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Bad American
I am now in week six, I believe, of my Deutschkurs (which I probably just misspelled). Even though my teachers are awesome, my brain does not seem to retain a whole lot of information which means I can say little aside from "Das ist mein Kuchen!" (and you better believe that a statement about cake necessitates exclamatory punctuation).
Okay, so I'm exaggerating. I have actually learned quite a bit in a short amount of time. In fact, this afternoon when I sat down to make a salon appointment, I realized that my vocabulary at this point would allow me to just possibly make this request in (gasp!) German. I wrote down a few words as guidance and then boldly punched the numbers into my phone. But as soon as I heard "Guten Tag" on the other end of the line, I crumbled.
"Hallo!" I chirped cheerfully. "Sprechen Sie englisch?"
And of course, she did. This is Berlin.
Bad, bad American.
Okay, so I'm exaggerating. I have actually learned quite a bit in a short amount of time. In fact, this afternoon when I sat down to make a salon appointment, I realized that my vocabulary at this point would allow me to just possibly make this request in (gasp!) German. I wrote down a few words as guidance and then boldly punched the numbers into my phone. But as soon as I heard "Guten Tag" on the other end of the line, I crumbled.
"Hallo!" I chirped cheerfully. "Sprechen Sie englisch?"
And of course, she did. This is Berlin.
Bad, bad American.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
I Didn't Want to Go to Your Stupid Club Anyway
It's been an insane month. With intensive German classes, a whole lot of work, and a side of crap weather, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see the light of day (both figuratively and literally) again.
But la-dee-da! The sun has started to shine again! A big work project has now been completed and although spring was pretty much non-existent, we have recently been thrust into summer. The weather has been perfect and my mental health has much appreciated it. Yesterday, I was walking around like an idiot, a big dopey grin on my face. Ahh, to feel the sun on one's face is to feel human again.
To celebrate the completion of this latest project as well as the commencement of beautiful 80 degree (err, 25 degree?) weather, there was no choice in my mind but to get a little crazy on a dance floor somewhere. After a few beers on our balcony last night, some friends and I headed to this amazing bar/rec space/campground(??). After some recent hard core pangs of homesickness, this is exactly where I needed to go to be reminded of the awesomeness that is Berlin.
After winding through some hidden alley next to a car dealership, we found ourselves amongst people playing ping pong and pool in wide open, grassy spaces (yes, there was a pool table randomly planted under a tree) while others were chilling around smoldering campfires. A little further on, we were on the banks of the Spree alongside other people kicking back in low slung chairs, quietly chatting and sipping their beers. And if you ever decide to Kiki Blofeld it, don't forget to descend down into the crazy boat/deck area! While enjoying your drink, you might even notice some random dude undress down to his skivvies to take a little dip. Good times.
We should have just stayed there but there was a lot of curiosity amongst the group about Bar 25 on the other side of the river. Not exactly the caliber of Berghain, this place is still quite an institution amongst the Berlin club scene. Plus, another outdoor bar space? Sign me up!
We trekked across the bridge to the other side to find a significant line in progress. I was instantly annoyed. This girl has no patience for lines at 3 am. However, considering we had already made the journey, we decided to wait. The time went quite fast actually considering our entertainment, like the people next to us playing charades or the folks in full Renaissance gear falling out of a cab to join the party.
As we reached the front of the line, I also noticed an interesting array of door people. There was one particularly giant guy who somehow looked both wholesome and terrifying at the same time. The woman who seemed to be making the decisions of who was in or out was the epitome of all hipsterness. Ill fitting mesh truck driver hat, ugly non-matching shorts, ridiculous glasses, pretty much everything I loathe in the "fashion" world and was glad to leave behind in Brooklyn.
As we patiently waited our turn, a couple of guys who seemed to have escaped a traveling circus appeared out of nowhere and were allowed immediate entrance. I couldn't stop staring at one of them, his purple sequined pants and jacket (bare chested beneath), his coordinating derby hat, and loads of matching eye make-up. After he and hipster chick kissey, kissy-ed (barf!), he ducked into the club and she then turned to us, smiled sweetly, and said, "This way please" and chauffeured us to the side. At first, I thought she was showing us to a different entrance. But no, she was simply showing our way to the exiting line.
My friends and I were dumbfounded. Did our whole group seriously not meet the standard of Bar 25 coolness? I mean, did I just get denied entrance because I forgot my pink rhinestone pants and matching hat at home? OR should I have gone with the red velvet Guinevere get-up? Or wait...where's that hat that Grandpa used to wear on the tractor?
Honestly, though, I couldn't even be pissed because that kind of crap just makes me laugh. Wah, wah, so I didn't get into your fabulous club. Fine then. Take me back to the the campfire so I can toast a marshmallow and get on with my night.
The group then decided to head to one last waterfront bar, Club der Visionaere. But as we weaved through the throngs of people on the street and down the path to the bar area, I immediately noticed a line and halted.
"I...am...done," I said to no one in particular. I had to pee, the sky was lightening, I had dragged one of my friends all the way over there to have one last drink and was not about to wait in one more @(*%&! line to possibly be rejected.
So we headed down the street to a half empty bar for one last drink. Although I never found my way to a dance floor, I managed to have a nice, relaxed chat in a cozy little bar until the sun came up. Bummer that there was no cutting of rugs but I have a feeling I will have plenty more chances to dance the night away in this town. And thank you, Summer, it's good to see you again.
But la-dee-da! The sun has started to shine again! A big work project has now been completed and although spring was pretty much non-existent, we have recently been thrust into summer. The weather has been perfect and my mental health has much appreciated it. Yesterday, I was walking around like an idiot, a big dopey grin on my face. Ahh, to feel the sun on one's face is to feel human again.
To celebrate the completion of this latest project as well as the commencement of beautiful 80 degree (err, 25 degree?) weather, there was no choice in my mind but to get a little crazy on a dance floor somewhere. After a few beers on our balcony last night, some friends and I headed to this amazing bar/rec space/campground(??). After some recent hard core pangs of homesickness, this is exactly where I needed to go to be reminded of the awesomeness that is Berlin.
After winding through some hidden alley next to a car dealership, we found ourselves amongst people playing ping pong and pool in wide open, grassy spaces (yes, there was a pool table randomly planted under a tree) while others were chilling around smoldering campfires. A little further on, we were on the banks of the Spree alongside other people kicking back in low slung chairs, quietly chatting and sipping their beers. And if you ever decide to Kiki Blofeld it, don't forget to descend down into the crazy boat/deck area! While enjoying your drink, you might even notice some random dude undress down to his skivvies to take a little dip. Good times.
We should have just stayed there but there was a lot of curiosity amongst the group about Bar 25 on the other side of the river. Not exactly the caliber of Berghain, this place is still quite an institution amongst the Berlin club scene. Plus, another outdoor bar space? Sign me up!
We trekked across the bridge to the other side to find a significant line in progress. I was instantly annoyed. This girl has no patience for lines at 3 am. However, considering we had already made the journey, we decided to wait. The time went quite fast actually considering our entertainment, like the people next to us playing charades or the folks in full Renaissance gear falling out of a cab to join the party.
As we reached the front of the line, I also noticed an interesting array of door people. There was one particularly giant guy who somehow looked both wholesome and terrifying at the same time. The woman who seemed to be making the decisions of who was in or out was the epitome of all hipsterness. Ill fitting mesh truck driver hat, ugly non-matching shorts, ridiculous glasses, pretty much everything I loathe in the "fashion" world and was glad to leave behind in Brooklyn.
As we patiently waited our turn, a couple of guys who seemed to have escaped a traveling circus appeared out of nowhere and were allowed immediate entrance. I couldn't stop staring at one of them, his purple sequined pants and jacket (bare chested beneath), his coordinating derby hat, and loads of matching eye make-up. After he and hipster chick kissey, kissy-ed (barf!), he ducked into the club and she then turned to us, smiled sweetly, and said, "This way please" and chauffeured us to the side. At first, I thought she was showing us to a different entrance. But no, she was simply showing our way to the exiting line.
My friends and I were dumbfounded. Did our whole group seriously not meet the standard of Bar 25 coolness? I mean, did I just get denied entrance because I forgot my pink rhinestone pants and matching hat at home? OR should I have gone with the red velvet Guinevere get-up? Or wait...where's that hat that Grandpa used to wear on the tractor?
Honestly, though, I couldn't even be pissed because that kind of crap just makes me laugh. Wah, wah, so I didn't get into your fabulous club. Fine then. Take me back to the the campfire so I can toast a marshmallow and get on with my night.
The group then decided to head to one last waterfront bar, Club der Visionaere. But as we weaved through the throngs of people on the street and down the path to the bar area, I immediately noticed a line and halted.
"I...am...done," I said to no one in particular. I had to pee, the sky was lightening, I had dragged one of my friends all the way over there to have one last drink and was not about to wait in one more @(*%&! line to possibly be rejected.
So we headed down the street to a half empty bar for one last drink. Although I never found my way to a dance floor, I managed to have a nice, relaxed chat in a cozy little bar until the sun came up. Bummer that there was no cutting of rugs but I have a feeling I will have plenty more chances to dance the night away in this town. And thank you, Summer, it's good to see you again.
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