New friendships

Nowadays, I am just as excited about the prospect of new friends than about the prospect of a new love when I was a teenager.

Once you leave a university background, or start working, it's hard to meet new people, and especially hard to meet new people you like.

So when you do meet that special someone, when you click almost immediately, when conversation flows and witticisms crackle, it feels...It feels completely unexpected, magical, perfect.

Biological clocking it

I'm that old it seems. All the women around me are talking about babies. Getting married. Settling down.

Not all actually when I think about it. The ones who are not planning the family are complaining about the fact that they should be thinking about it.

My problem with this is that I don't want children. I KNOW I KNOW. I'm only 24. I have about a decade in front of me to reevaluate. And maybe I will. For the time being I just express how I feel-I do not want to procreate.

Several reasons, some silly, others more deep-rooted. I think there are already too many people on Earth... I'm afraid that depression is hereditary and I would never willingly transmit my illness to another living being...I'm not crazy about babies and toddlers.

It's scary to think that these are decisions my friends are considering. My girlfriends. Men, of course, don't have to think about it as soon.

There is the whole work thing too. In France we have amazing day care facilities. In Germany not at all. My Kollegues discuss whether it's better to jeopardize your career by being a stay-at-home mother or pay someone your entire salary to raise your kids. It's a different environment here.

Why am I rambling like this? What, exactly, makes me so uncomfortable about having to choose a life, childless or with children, job-orientated or family-orientated?

Is it my grandmother's death? Am I thinking about generations renewing themselves?

When does the biological clock start ticking?

Sex in Berlin

I know why people read this blog...Because of the sex. Well, I am here to pander to those so-called baser instincts. I visited the Museum of Eroticism in Berlin, and boy have I learned stuff.

The museum is mostly about pedagogical information. Confusingly, it also presents a collection of antique erotica and paraphenalia. There's a sex shop on the ground floor with very nice and helpful salesladies, in case you didn't understand the exhibition section on toys.



An 18th century dildo, in ivory. It's very decorative!



The BDSM section was not very informative. It was mostly a photo op ploy, with sniggering tourists taking pictures of themselves within or around the contraptions. I didn't like the way this was shown at all.




As usual, my photos are atrocious but to be fair, the lighting was bad.



The two great things about the informative sections were how homosexual sex was always included in the videos, not as a separate thing. So for "kissing" or "erotic massage" you would see gay couples as well as straight ones. There were interracial couples shown as well. A whole wall of plaster molds of penises and vaginas was titled "every size is right" which I also thought a good message. Surprisingly the snickering tourists usually went silent in front of the wall, maybe busy comparing themselves to the different models.

A safe sex video was well-made, with STD descriptions and a catalogue of symptoms. Very non-judgemental.

Finally, a bit of hands-on action with the following photo where you can see a German incitation to look for and feel the G-spot. Two mannequins with realistic inner body parts were shown, one for women and one for men. I enjoyed how sheepish the tourists look when looking for where the prostate was. For all their swagger, they seemed very ignorant.






This was about how nature looks sexual. Cue pictures of rocks.

Finally, a bit of information on how to understand men and women. The museum really went against the usual clichés, and refusing the submissive woman/aggressive man dichotomy.

All in all, I thought the museum was odd but useful in its way. People go there for the giggle factor but will probably leave slightly less clueless.

Office talk: what makes a relationship work

Oh look, a sweet strawberry stand. They are all over the place in this season. Just give two euros to the nice strawberry people, and eat your Erdbeeren in the subway. Sommer in Berlin!

Let me rephrase that.

What makes a relationship work?

First of all, I'm never quite sure how you're supposed to understand the word "work" in this context. Is a working relationship one that lasts forever? Doubtful, no? Because I'm sure that we've all had relationships that did not last but which could be defined as having worked.

(Just typing the word relationship makes me think about my sister who mocks my "serial monogamy" and I miss her so much even summer strawberries can't really compensate)

I've been thinking a lot about this topic because ever since I've become a German working girl, I've been listening to my co-workers chat. And boy do they chat. And they chat about relationships. Men. Break-ups.

It's like a wave of stereotypical oestrogen; it's like I've become one of the GIRLZ: braid my hair! tell me about how your boyfriend encourages you to diet! und so weiter!

So all they do is complain about their relationships. None of them work, yet they stay in these apparently miserable unions, bitching and bitching about how boring/predictable/slobby/bad in bed their Männer are.

So once in a while I'll open my trap and ask the question: why do you stay?

Maybe what makes a relationship work is realizing that nothing is perfect, as one co-worker told me. "Of course, it's not perfect. But it's better than many other relationships I know. At least he respects me."

Or maybe it's shared passions, like the co-worker who is a photography geek like her boyfriend.

Or maybe just fear of the unknown.

I have no idea what makes a relationship work. I know what worked in all my past relationships: learning how to become an adult with someone you trust, discovering adventure and passion with someone you admire.

When the nosy and nice co-workers quizz me I can tell them about my past. I like remembering the funny, teenage years with H and the thrilling, rollercoaster years with X.

So I can talk about that, but not about my boyfriend. Not about how I feel, how it feels. Because it's all so fragile for the moment. Life is so fragile at the moment.

On my bicycle

I bike to work in the morning; in the nascent heat wave. 98°F at 8. The road looks fuzzy because of my dirty sunglasses. The world is incredibly perfect when you're on a bike, swift, efficient, slightly sweaty, perfect. It smells like trees and brown bread.

I watch the Berlin girls in their shorts, long bruised legs, perfect skin, black tattoos on their shoulders. I watch the men, tall, square, casual.

I'm a watcher on my bike. I forget my sadness. I forget how hot it is, how I can already feel my heart beating between my ribs because the heat makes me nervous.

And I want to tell you that I'm OK. I'm not lost, I'm just biking around because I like feeling free.

I know where I'm going.

After the funeral

The funeral was beautiful. My aunts had conjured up seemingly in no time at all flowers to decorate the church, flowers on the casket, flowers billowing down to the floor. My grandmother, who was a garden writer and a garden designer, would have loved it. Around 400 people arrived. Most of them had known her well. People had flown in from America, Tunisia, London. She was a very loyal friend.

We did a very simple ceremony. A string quarted played some Beethoven, excerpts from Mozart's Mass in C were sung. I was relieved no Wagner was on the program. She had loved the Ring. My mother said a few words, as did the priest and some of Gramama's friends.

I read Saint Francis's prayer.

She had read it to us many times aloud when we were children. I'm glad I read that.

We praise You, Lord, for all Your creatures,
especially for Brother Sun,
who is the day through whom You give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor,
of You Most High, he bears your likeness.

We praise You, Lord, for Sister Moon and the stars,
in the heavens you have made them bright, precious and fair.

We praise You, Lord, for Brothers Wind and Air,
fair and stormy, all weather's moods,
by which You cherish all that You have made.

We praise You, Lord, for Sister Water,
so useful, humble, precious and pure.

We praise You, Lord, for Brother Fire,
through whom You light the night.
He is beautiful, playful, robust, and strong.

We praise You, Lord, for Sister Earth,
who sustains us
with her fruits, colored flowers, and herbs.

We praise You, Lord, for those who pardon,
for love of You bear sickness and trial.
Blessed are those who endure in peace,
by You Most High, they will be crowned.

We praise You, Lord, for Sister Death,
from whom no-one living can escape.
Woe to those who die in their sins!
Blessed are those that She finds doing Your Will.
No second death can do them harm.

We praise and bless You, Lord, and give You thanks,
and serve You in all humility.

And then we all gathered in terrible heat to talk about her and mourn.

My grief will come soon, when I have time. For now I am stunned. And tired. Thank God for my sister.

Writer's block

First of all, thank you for your sweet thoughts.

I'm going to Paris this weekend for the funeral. My sister and cousin are coming back from New York and Boston respectively.

I have to read an essay in the name of the grandchildren. I cry at the drop of a hat. I feel so nervous about writing the damn thing, striking the right note between funny and sad. And then I have to read it.

I have total writer's block.

Funeral

My grandmother died on Saturday.

I miss her