Not so much met as stared at him admiringly. Oh, the excitement! Well, actually, I’m far from still being excited about this because between the time I decided to blog about this and had more or less written the complete entry in my head already and the time I am now finally sitting at home, my nerves have been tormented like they haven’t in quite a while.

J didn’t come right back home to Aachen with me today because her dad is here from England and they went out to eat in Maastricht and so I literally ran to the bus stop to catch the early one. Of course, around 4pm on a Friday, it is always packed. I had to stand the full one and a half others it takes to get to the Aachen inner city bus stop and just in case you weren’t aware of this, public buses go and stop and go and stop and people keep getting in and out and it is not fun to have to stand through the whole brakes-gas-brakes-gas hell ride. Plus, I had planned to read the first part of the literature for Tuesday’s class because as I found out only today, I have to read Descartes and hand in a paper on him on top of the regularly insane preparation for class. Yah. I’m just as thrilled. And since I’m going to see my friend N on Sunday, I need every free hour to read. But I couldn’t because the bus was so fucking full and it smelled like sweat and when I finally got to Aachen, I had to run to my apartment and get some of my precious birthday money and run back out to the grocery store because Saturday is a holiday around here and I definitely didn’t have enough food at home to get me through Saturday and Sunday. So now I’m finally home and I’m so dead tired. I didn’t even turn on the lights because this place is such a mess and when I look at it I may be reminded of how I can’t handle all of this. Today, again, was proof of how much I can’t do this. Attending uni, I mean. I feel as though I am simply too stupid to keep up with everybody. I’ll wait until we get back the first exam. I’m pretty sure that I failed and if that should indeed be the case, I may consider quitting because this makes no sense.

Anyways, back to the exciting thing. There were a couple of people at today’s class meeting who hadn’t been there the first time around. One of them was this guy and from a distance I could already tell that he was American. Can’t we all tell certain nationalities from afar? I also heard him talk a few seconds later and I totally recognized the way he talked from how my host brother always talked; with this sort of too-cool-to-speak-up, don’t-have-to-enunciate attitude. Also, his statue was like my host brother’s; that of a football player who’s exercising as hard as possible but never reaches the strength of the real big guys. And he was dressed rather simply as compared to guys from around here, had a short easy hair cut and was incredibly tan - but the kind of tan you only get to be from working outside during long American summers.

I had so hoped for Americans to even be at Maastricht University and I was told that there aren’t many. If they come here - just like any other students from abroad - they only stay for one course, usually less than a year. I hate that. But now there is one in my class! And it’s a guy! And he has the best. voice. ever. And sure, British and Australian accents can be nice but I guess I just have a weak spot for American talk. But that’s not the best part!

Chest Hair Guy said something about how in today’s world some governments still try to suppress people with scare tactics, misdirect their power and so on (referring to how the church did the same in the Middle Ages) and then he kinda looked in American Boy’s general direction who sort of smirked and Chest Hair Guy was all like, Oh sorry, I didn’t necessarily mean the States, I just meant in general, there are other countries, blah blah… And then American Boy just grinned, said cooly that it was okay, and flipped over his notebook for everyone to see which had a big Obama-Biden sticker on it. That the class didn’t start applauding him was all; everybody started laughing and nodding appreciatively and it seemed as though American Boy was thinking to himself, Wow I didn’t think it was going to be this easy to win this crowd over. It was somewhat inappropriate, though, that Chest Hair Guy started a small anti-George Bush monologue as soon as he found out that American Boy agreed with the general European judgment of Bush and the Republican politics.

But seriously, how great is this? He’s American but he’s interested enough in the rest of the world to come check out Europe - Maastricht of all places - and he’s a proud Obama voter and, by the way, did I mention how clever everything he said was? By the way, the whole Obama thing - just because somebody votes for the Democratic ticket this year obviously doesn’t automatically make them an entirely good person. But for me, in that moment, it was kinda the cherry on top.

I’ve been pondering what the first sentence should be that I say to him email him when, stalker that I am, I found information about him online.

I reckon MARRY ME! would be appropriate.

December 10, 2005 is one of those days I will never forget, probably because for me it was filled with so many different emotions, good and bad. I only ever had two fights with my host family, none of which was truly bad, but I am a very sensitive person (and I would think that anyone who’s away from their childhood home for this long a time is a bit testy when attacked). One of those fights happened on said day in December and it was also the day on which I was introduced to one my host family’s holiday traditions and when I think about what this year’s Christmas is going to be like - what with my brother and I being all grown-up now - this day immediately comes to mind.

It all started with my host mom Andrea announcing that we were going to go see The Nutcracker in Louisville. I had never been to a ballet and I didn’t know what to expect but I had been to the theater with my parents a few times and I never really liked it because it was so excessively conservative. However, I liked the idea of this Christmas tradition because my visits to the theater had also been to see Christmas related plays for children and the glamor and excitement of it all was something I gladly wanted to experience again.

I picked dark grey jeans, a regular top and my then proudest possession: an Abercrombie&Fitch jacket (mentioned here before). I was nervous about what I was supposed to wear but I figured nothing ever really wasn’t casual in America (obviously a very false presumption - I know that now). My host mom was accordingly appalled. Did I think I could walk inside the Louisville Ballet with my belly showing?, she asked harshly, and Who did I think I was? Didn’t I see how inappropriate it was to wear these jeans? - At least wear regular blue jeans.

This may not even seem like a small argument to many but I felt like somebody had punched me in the stomach and I felt my face redden. I remember standing before the doorway from the living room to the kitchen area and how there’s the little step there, how Andrea completely over-towered me and how my host dad stood behind her eyeing the scene suspiciously. We had never disagreed on anything and since I am generally a very mellow person, they never had put any rules on me. I don’t talk when it’s not necessary and so I think, especially during the first half of my stay, we lived more among each other than with each other. We only discussed facts or shared pleasantries. This and my self-consciousness factored into the way my stomach suddenly twisted into a weird knot and my mouth couldn’t form any words when Andrea so bluntly told me that she found my decision unacceptable. I just nodded and trotted off to my room. I finally put on blue jeans, black pointy high-heeled boots and a soft, knitted cotton-colored sweater which, looking back on it now, was obviously a better choice.

Linn and Viktoria came along to see the ballet and while they were taking silly pictures on the way there (see above) I fought the tears. Viktoria was wearing an Abercrombie&Fitch jacket but on her it still looked classy because, damn her, she’s got the body of a goddess and everything looks elegant on a blonde, hot Norwegian chick so Linn was good to go, too - and I just couldn’t help but feel as though Andrea was incredibly disappointed in me for not looking as good and for not knowing what to wear to a ballet. I felt like a child among Andrea and my friends Linn and Viktoria, a child who needed to be told what was appropriate and what wasn’t. I can’t really explain it now but it was horrible at the time. On the way to Louisville, I also got madder at Linn and Viktoria for thinking of me as a lesser person, although of course I was in fact excluding myself and they were simply looking forward to the ballet too much to notice how I was blinking away the tears, wanting my mammi.

Of course, the ballet was amazing. It certainly isn’t the finest ballet ever made but standing by the river in downtown Louisville at night while it was snowing and the stars were out and I saw the black shape of the G. R. Clark Memorial Bridge and tail lights in the distance and of course Linn jumping around as though her cup of happiness were now full (that’s a quote; name the book) - I couldn’t help but feel good again.

I felt anticipation about Christmas coming up and such complete happiness about standing in that lovely city with some of the most amazing people I have ever met. I had seen a beautiful ballet and it was snowing and I had a long, gloomy drive back home ahead of me where the three of us girls would cuddle up under blankets in the back of the van. We would come home to my host dad Steve who had probably fixed some sort of delicious mid-night snack (because, in case I had never mentioned this, he is an a-ma-zing cook) and I would fall into my king-sized, super comfortable American bed with the heat on high and the ceiling fan spinning without ever tiring and in the morning I would wake up and tell my anxious host sisters about how perfect the night had been.

I like December 10. It’s a good date because it was a perfect day. I know I use the word perfect a lot which ultimately never does the event any justice anymore because it becomes such a random word but that’s a tendency of mine anyway, I just run out of words to describe the completeness of a situation and the happiness I literally embodied on almost every single day during my stay in Kentucky.

I want to come up with a Christmas tradition of my own, one I can share with my family because now more than ever - now that I have moved out of my parents’ place - do we see less and less of each other and going to see a Christmas play at the theater every December or something like it would be… close to perfect.

(For those if you who don’t know yet: UM = University of Maastricht, or actually Universiteit Maastricht in Dutch.)

Well, the two new courses have started. One is called Knowledge and Criticism which is going to be interesting because it critically discusses the complete history of science and its relation to today’s modern (Western) culture. The second one is called Reading Philosophy and basically teaches students the skill to really read original texts by Descartes, Hume, Keats, Kant and others which I’m pretty sure I’ll despise.

We had the first lecture on Monday morning and this guy shows up, he couldn’t have been older than thirty-five. Which, I’ll admit isn’t that young but I always expect lecturers to be these crazy old professors. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s gay which makes him even more awesome because it doesn’t fit the stereotype. On top of that, he was dressed very well and spoke the prettiest English I have heard in a while. Anyway, he wanted to show us something online during the lecture but no one could see anything on the screen because the morning sun shone almost aggressively. Then, this ensued:

Pretty English Prof: Oh shoot - you know, I really really don’t want to close the blinds. [lecture hall begins to errupt in mumurs] The sun is so beautiful today. I’d hate to shut it out. We’ll just have to do without the beamer. [looks admiringly into the blazing sunlight] I’ll just describe to you what you would see here if the blinds were closed.

So of course we were all like, DUDE JUST CLOSE THE FRIGGIN’ BLINDS ALREADY. SUNSHINE AIN’T NO SHINIER TODAY THAN ANY OTHER DAY. We never did see what was on that screen.

(I found his Facebook profile, by the way. He has a Dr. title, for Pete’s sake! What’s he doing on facebook?)

Then, I had the first class meeting for the Knowledge and Criticism course and it wasn’t yet time and a few people were sitting in the room already when, again, this guy comes in. He seriously couldn’t have been any older than 25. He had the wildest beard which made him look all scruffy and a little older but he wore a purple sweater (a v-neck, by the way, which totally could not contain the heaps of chest hair he didn’t even try to cover up) and these cool boots and he just kinda walked in all casually, just like all of us had before - anticipating what the new group’ll be like. Then, the following occured:

Girl [to Chest Hair Guy]: Do you know the teacher?
Chest Hair Guy: I AM THE TEACHER.
Class: What. do you. mean. [blinks in disbelief]
Girl: Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. You don’t… look it, mister…?
Chest Hair Guy: Just call me Fabian.

(I found his Flickr account which then again is kinda cool. Take a look. And, oh my God, he also has a Facebook profile. Seriously, what kind of uni tutor has a Facebook account?) But this university is just full of young people trying to pass for legitimate tutors and profs, it seems. Although so far they did great jobs. It’s not like they’re less qualified than teachers of higher age. It’s just - I had always pictured uni to be all about grey haired, wise persons of authority who(m?) you truly looked up to. After these two encounters, I figured that maybe the coordinator of the Reading Philosophy course embodied said type of man. However, the fact that we were going to watch the movie Matrix (which I absolutely hate, by the way - it bores me to pieces) during the first lecture should have maybe been my cue to just give it up already.

Because - I was sitting in this new lecture hall, way in the back, all sleepy and ready to start hatin’ on philosophers, when - and I shit you not - the dead-on impersonation of Chace Crawford walks in. He was the cherry on top in a merit of ways. The prettiest, the youngest - but hopefully the last. Honestly, he came in wearing a handsome black coat and a fancy scarf and his hair all tousled with architectural precision and his cheeks subtly flushed from the bike ride (JUST LIKE CHACE CRAWFORD’S ALWAYS ARE) and I just couldn’t help but think, yeah okay, I don’t mind some eye candy randomly thrown in every once in a while BUT WHERE ARE ALL THE REAL PROFESSORS? Chace Crawford wannabe’s real first name is Amadeus, by the way, which gives you a pretty good impression of the kind of insanity and humor I’m dealing with here. Who names their kid Amadeus anymore? (And yes, he of course also has a Facebook page.)

Also, please, God, make sure that no one ever finds out that I’ve been googling my profs. That would seems weird and stalker-esque to an outside person. And myself. And the profs.

Now: off to do more reading to possibly be able to contribute anything to what these profs (insert McCain quotation marks) call university (insert McCain quotation marks).