Castles and Trust Issues.

My oldest friend got married in Austria. I was the Maid of Honor in a country that doesn’t really do Maids of Honor. The night before the wedding, her brother got incredibly drunk on schnapps and was stupidly hungover the next day.

“Do I have to go to the wedding?”

“Alex, did you just ask me if you have to go to your only sibling’s wedding? Yes. Of course you do.” I gave him essential oils and made the trek to get my hair done with the ladies. 

The wedding day was going really well until we actually got to the venue. I had to sign the marriage license and practice the song that I was going to sing while the groom played guitar. Suddenly, I couldn’t find the bride. Anywhere. No one could find the bride. Eventually they came strolling up, twenty minutes late. You cannot be angry. You cannot show that you are angry. The wedding starts. It’s starting? Where are her parents? I was sitting on the stage with the bride, groom and one groomsman, Armin. Even the other bridesmaid, Kate, was in the audience. No procession, no bells and whistles. One could partly like that. Look up, her mom and dad are standing in the back of the hall. They didn’t even get seats to their daughter’s wedding.

Afterwards, a giant party. Austrian tradition is that the groom’s friends steal the bride and the bride’s friends steal the groom halfway through the seven hour long reception to go to a bar for a few hours and come back for the sausage and cheese afterwards. Bride said no way in hell, she paid for a reception, she’s getting the whole thing.

Kate and I aren’t really having fun. Sitting in the few available seats with her mom and dad. A man named Kristoff comes up. Tells the bride’s mother with a whiskey in his hand that he’s stoned. She’s alarmed, but it’s funny enough. Innocent enough. Eventually Armin comes up and asks me to dance. I don’t know these Austrian dances and he’s laughing at me the whole time. Not feeling great. I’m going to Paris tomorrow and I’m ready to go to sleep for my 5:30 wake up to catch a train to Frankfurt. 

Kate and I dance together, trying to keep the secret that the stupid Americans don’t know these dances. Kristoff keeps trying to break in and get me away from her. I find a way to extricate myself. The bartender sees this happen and gets him away from me. 

Watching the band. Kristoff keeps trying to get onstage. To flirt with the lead singer. Bartender gets him away from her too. 

Grab a glass of wine with Kate. Heavier things are being poured, but I just want wine to make me sleepy. She gets to talking with someone else and I’m talking to Armin. Kristoff comes up. Eyes solely on me. On my body. On my chest. Eventually he’s grabbing me. He’s touching my chest and attempting to get under my dress. He’s grabbing me in front of Armin and no one is doing anything. No one is helping me. I’m a VIP at this event, at my best friend of 17 years biggest day in her life. You can’t make a scene. I get his hands off of my body and I ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Finally Armin takes me to the bar, away from Kristoff. His eyes are also solely on my body. 

Eventually I find the groom and tell him what’s happened. I can tell from the purple stain on his lips that he won’t remember in the morning and he doesn’t really seem to care now. He dances with me and I can see the bartender watching the dance floor, watching for this predator that moves through it. Keeping him away from the band. Keeping him away from me. My only friend in this entire castle. 

I find Kate. I tell her what happens. I’m texting my boyfriend an ocean away, telling him what’s happened. He’s concerned about me, but doesn’t seem too worried about what happened. Kate is worried. She can see the look in my eyes, that I’m about to crack. Just before midnight, she convinces me that we can go. We’ve made our showing, I have a train to catch in a few hours. 

The tram back down from the castle won’t be running until about 2:00 when the party starts to wind down. We walk down the stairs, trying to make the best of a bad situation, our shoes in hand because we never fully broke them in. Taking pictures of each other like Cinderella escaping the ball.

We get back to the hotel and I say goodbye to her. She’s helped tonight more than my best friend.

The next day, I get on my train to Frankfurt. I sit in a compartment with an Indian man who lives in London. We talk about American politics and how stupid we look to the rest of the world. Crossing the border into Germany, the police ask for his passport and say that I don’t need mine. American politics are apparently also alive and well in Germany. 

I board my flight from Frankfurt to Paris. I arrive, get on a bus to my hotel and wait in the circus themed room for Tory to also land. She arrives, we grab her key and we laugh about the ball pit in the lobby. We get to the room and laugh about the fact that there’s a king sized bed and full sized bunk beds, hidden behind a theatrical curtain. She asks about the wedding and I break down. I’m sobbing in this circus themed hotel and because of the way that everyone else has treated this, I apologize. My boyfriend didn’t seem worried. My oldest friend didn’t seem worried. Her soulmate didn’t seem worried. Kate didn’t seem worried. Tory looks worried. Tory tells me that I am a victim and fuck the bride for not worrying. Fuck this family that I’ve known, loved and essentially been a part of since I was seven years old. And I have no fight in me. I cannot fight this. I couldn’t fight for myself then and I wouldn’t be able to do it later.

I look down at my phone. I’ve received a friend request from Kristoff. 

I was recently told that guys flock to me.  That I bring out qualities in people around me that they didn't even know they have.  That I'm a city girl, stuck being born and raised in the suburbs.  That I am so uniquely me that other people become more themselves when they are around me.

I wish I believed it.

Symbolically, dreaming that you are paralyzed means you are feeling helpless or pinned down in some aspects or circumstances of your waking life. You may feel unable to deal with a situation or change anything. Alternatively, the dream suggests that you are feeling emotionally paralyzed. You have difficulties expressing your feelings.

To dream that you are immobile signifies feelings of being trapped. Alternatively, it shows that you are too rigid in your attitudes and decisions. 

Maybe they'll stop soon.

I'll never learn that they all say the things you want to hear.
Then four in the morning rolls around and they detect your fear.
I'm right here, I'm right here.

No, you're there.
I'm here.
I'm trying hard to contain my heavy heart and heavy eyelids,
but timing has never been your strong suit.

I'm different than I was six months ago.
How could I have known?
Falling in love at a coffee shop.

Aidan or Logan?
I'll end up with neither,
both will want to marry me,
and I'll fuck everything up.

 Apropos.

Butter Cake (mmmmmm) 3 cups all-purpose flour 2 cups sugar 1 tsp salt 1 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp baking soda 1 cup buttermilk 1 cup butter 2 tsp vanilla extract 4 eggs Preheat oven to 325ºF (165ºC). Grease and flour a 10 inch Bundt pan. In a large bowl, mix the flour, 2 cups sugar, salt, baking powder and baking soda. Blend in buttermilk, butter, vanilla and eggs. Beat for 3 minutes at medium speed (seriously, this step is important or your cake will fall in!). Pour batter into Bundt pan. Bake in preheated oven for 60 minutes, or until a wooden toothpick inserted into center of cake comes out clean. Prick holes in the still warm cake (I used a wooden spoon handle but I recommend something smaller. My skewers are MIA or I would have used those). Slowly pour topping over cake. Let cake cool before removing from pan (also incredibly important!). Topping 3/4 cup sugar 1/3 cup butter 3 TBSP water 2 tsp vanilla extract In a saucepan, combine all four ingredients. Cook over medium heat until fully melted and combined, but do not boil.

Death.

Like everyone else in the goddamn world, I am dying.
I am also a hypochondriac, a narcissist and a performer, but I suppose that comes with the territory.
When I stand in the spotlight alone, I am strong. I am vulnerable. I am invincible. I am mortal.
Then the lights dim and I return to my dark sanctuary in the wings.
I am not afraid of death.
The dark naturally comes after the light, just like on opening night or any night.
An afterlife seems like a nice idea, but I more believe in reincarnation, because that is all I have ever experienced.
One month, I’m a maid, the next I’m a teenage assassin, then an animal, then a tree.
Everyone says that theatre models life, because emotions are so readily available and one has to be so susceptible to any and all outside stimuli.
But really it models death.
And that’s okay too.

This relationship is different.
For as childish as we are, it just feels so grown up.
Like this is how it would be if we had our own place.
He'd lay on the couch reading, I'd sit on the floor drawing.

When I relayed this thought, he kissed me, agreed, and told me
that it was because he could be himself around me.

That's exactly what it is.
Even though I want to impress him, I don't feel like I have to.
And that's a first.
He has flaws, and I don't want to change them.
And that's a first.
We don't have to constantly be together.
We don't have to sit next to each other everyday of our lives.
We don't have to hold hands.
We go dutch sometimes because I know that that's a burden in a relationship.

I always wanted to be like Peter Pan and never grow up, but
now that I'm out of Neverland, I like this world too.
More, even.

And that's a first.