Berlin, tampons, and handshakes

If you follow me on Twitter (do it), or paid attention to previous posts, you may know that I have family in Berlin and have just been to visit them for 10 gloriously tiring days. Although my time there is mainly spent doing the school run, going to playgrounds (they have sand, it’s cool), eating ice cream, playing with Lego and yelling at small children, I occasionally also manage to get out. I am fully aware that I in no way take advantage of being in probably one of the best cities ever to go out in, and I know it’s a pathetic excuse, but those kids are fucking draining. Every time I feel like I want a baby, I just think of them and my tubes literally try to tie themselves.

Don’t tell their parents I said that.

Anyway.. 

A trip to Berlin wouldn’t be complete without heading back to Prenzlauer Berg. And a trip to Prenzlauer Berg wouldn’t be complete without heading back to Duncker Club to make me feel like I was 16 again. 

Duncker is dark and grimey and alternative and gothic. To me, now, this is a logistical nightmare. All my band t-shirts have been relegated to pyjama status and I enjoy wearing big earrings and a bold lip out. I left the apartment in denim shorts, a plain black t-shirt and flats, and my uncle told me that I was overdressed. Fucking Duncker. When I was 16-18, I didn’t wear make up and I dressed so grungey that I fit in perfectly there, but I have evolved since then, as people do. My other issue is this: how the fuck do you dance to that kind of music? I tend to just sit the fuck down, sway a little, and drum my hands on my thighs. THAT’S NOT A NIGHT OUT.

I hadn’t been to Duncker for about four years, and I really didn’t want to go. Throw in that it was, like, a million degrees that night and I had just started my period and a four year old had told me that I would never have a boyfriend like John Smith, it’s safe to say that I was in a dark place. But, it was our last night in town and my sister really wanted to go out. What a bitch. So I sucked it up and we set off to meet The Travelling Welshman at the club.

Basically, Duncker sucked. The band sucked and drove everyone out. They sounded like they were 15 and playing in their bedroom, though their abundance of facial hair signified otherwise. I felt a little bit bad for them to be honest, but I felt even worse about the fact that I was sweating out of my fanny. It was time to leave. 

We ended up walking ten minutes to the Welshman’s apartment so that we could pee, he could roll a joint, and I could have horrendous flashbacks of losing my virginity (not to him) in his apartment. When I went to the bathroom, though, I noticed that he had a little dish-like bowl full of assorted tampons and pantyliners. Weird, right? I came out and asked him if he had a steady female night-time companion who kept them there, or he just kept them there for lady visitors to borrow. The answer was the latter. That’s weird, right?! My first point was that it made him look like he had a girlfriend, that girls he brought back would definitely think he had a girlfriend. He didn’t care about that. My second point was that it’s just weird. Like, I appreciate it when a guy has shit like face wipes or something that I can take my make up off with if I’m staying over, and I get that women aren’t always armed with an emergency tampon in their bag and it’s useful and considerate to have – but to have it out on display? WEIRD! What do you think? Let me know!

So, anyway, we ended up at Kaffe Burger, which always tends to be a good night. It’s a pretty well known place – Russian Disco, and that – so it tends to attract a lot of expats and tourists. Again, it’s crazy casual, and fairly run down, but nowhere near as grimey as Duncker Club. Due to said large number of expats – which Berlin is literally so full of, by the way – I didn’t have to wait more than 30 seconds alone at the bar holding my vodka cranberry and my sister’s Campari and orange (weird, right?) before an American decided that my resting bitch face wasn’t going to deter him from striking up a conversation.

He was really lovely. He was 32 and a freelance animator. He’d moved to Berlin for a girl (like literally half of the men there), and ended up staying for 7 years. He was like a taller, slightly darker version of Donald Glover with the stupid hipster glasses and so much energy I couldn’t keep up. I genuinely enjoyed talking to him; he was funny and interesting and attentive. He bought me drinks and would help me look for my sister when I got worried that I hadn’t seen her in a while. He told me that he really liked me – what do you say to that? – and that he wanted to kiss me. Naturally, I laughed and downed my drink. I told him that I needed to talk to my sister and the Welshman as it was miraculously two hours later and 4am, and I needed to check when hometime was. I came back and told him that I had to go, and gave him a handshake. A HANDSHAKE. That’s not a euphemism, either.

Like I said, he was really lovely; I just didn’t fancy him. I didn’t want to kiss someone just for the sake of kissing someone. Had I been more drunk, I probably would have been all over it, though. And, considering I remember next to nothing about the boy who fingered me on the streets of Schöneberg the week before, I was more than happy to be sober enough to make this choice.

Am I growing up?

Things to be left in 2013

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! Mine was lovely; I spent it running after a two year old boy who has a penchant for smacking me on the bum, making up secret languages and playing hairdressers with a five year old princess, dancing to Beyonce with a 6 month old baby boy in my arms, and trying to stay sober enough not to tell anyone that the ‘friend’ my uncle had brought was actually his psycho fuck buddy who keyed his car three years ago.

my Christmas nails

my Christmas nails

I’m sure you are all obviously aware that a new year is almost upon us. Now, it’s no secret that we all like to associate the new year with new beginnings, new goals and expectations, and that these are rarely ever met. So, instead of the pressure of reaching for something new, I’ve decided that I will instead just leave things behind, because that has to be easier, right?

  1. W – it just has to be done. The time has come to stop relapsing, break the pattern, and move on. He was such a bellend.
  2. Cake – I fucking love cake. I already know this one’s not going to stick, but I’m going to try anyway. The 20 year old told me I would easily lose weight if I just cut down my calories. I don’t really remember the context of this conversation, so don’t quite know if he was being rude or offensive, or not so subtly hinting that I could lose a little. He still wanted to see me naked, though, so I’m not that bothered. Anyway, obviously his advice makes sense, and I’m too lazy for exercise, so we are left with no more cake. Note: this isn’t me setting out to get skinny, it’s just leaving behind cake. Another note: birthdays don’t count. 

    best birthday cake ever

  3. Vomming – induced by alcohol, that is. Obviously the horrific bug type can’t be avoided. Being a state on nights out, however, can. I’ve definitely gotten sloppier with my drinking in 2013. I think that after university, I thought I could drink the same way I used to, just far more sporadically. Wrong. You can’t. Tolerances do adjust. Beware. No more being sick and kicked out of clubs! 

    loving my 23rd birthday

  4. Unsafe sex – because, quite frankly, I’m bloody lucky I’m not knocked up or riddled with diseases. My heart flutters a little every time I feel a searing pain across my abdomen as my ovaries ready themselves to commit mutiny against the rest of my body, my eyes smile in relief every time I lie on the floor in the foetal position to keep myself from being sick; despite the fact that periods are ridiculous, I do look forward to them every month. I used to get yelled at regularly by friends for never being safe, and they were right to yell. It was dumb – being drunk isn’t an excuse! The many, many sober times were even dumber – don’t let anyone convince you that pulling out is an acceptable form of contraception. It isn’t. Though, it seems that even when I do try to be safe, it backfires on me. Life’s funny like that.
  5. Unemployment – it’s time. Although I still have no idea what I want to do, it is time. Suggestions for life choices are more than welcome. Environments that tend to be inhabited by hot, single men would be preferred.

I feel like leaving these things behind will make positive, constructive changes to my life. Obviously this means I shall partake in all five on January 1st.

Are you making New Year’s Resolutions? Is there anything you want to leave in 2013?