Scary Birthday

I thought now that I have become thirty, I needed to start coping with the idea that all the friends I have been gathering during these years are probably gone.
Not only works steals a lot of time, but on top of that some of my friends have to take care of children. And some of them have to take care of children in the opposite side of the globe, which makes it really difficult to meet up for a coffee from time to time and catch up in the small things.

So, it comes the time, I said to myself, when I might need to start counting co-workers as friends and rediscovering the joy of spending time with myself. It comes the time where self-aid books don't look so retarded anymore. It comes the time when you cannot stuff yourself with wine and chocolate without paying the consequences. It comes the time when make up is not a Saturday night thing. Maybe, I said to myself, maybe the time has come.

And then the day actually comes and my friends from the other side of the globe and my colleagues from university, whom I haven't seen in ages, find the time to write a line for me, my co-workers organize a surprise party and I stuff myself with two different kinds of cakes and I drink French wine with my lovely boyfriend who has bought thirty red roses for me (implicit marriage proposal, according to my aunt) and I think Wow. Seriously. I'm a lucky bastard.

And I know that it is thanks to facebook and skype that everybody knows I’m crossing that scary imaginary line and it is as probable as scary that all my real friends are becoming virtual. Even my mum said “the computer is telling me you are thirty now”. “The computer is becoming bit too clever, mum. Ignore it”. That’s why I decided to invest a bit more time this year to visit friends and get to share the small things, and maybe even get in touch with those little scary things they have decided to create. Yeah, it’s going to cost a lot of money too, but it is absolutely necessary. I’m thirty now! It’s scary! I'm sure they are scared too!

Paris

Ah, Paris!

C'est une belle ville, Paris. It's lovely, Paris, with such a friendly people and the language… so beautiful, so understable. It's my latest fascination, France and the French language. Why everybody hate French? Nothing bad can come out of a country that likes food so much.

Everything is lovely in France. We visited a lovely couple and their lovely flat that has a lovely view of Montmartre and the Eiffel Tower. They made me believe in American cheese movies, where you can see the Eiffel tower from every window of every hotel.

They are expecting a half Spanish half French baby and Cecile will make his/her clothes herself. She already made the furniture of the house out of cardboard and she made also dinner for us. If this wasn't enough, she speaks six languages, including Spanish, which they usually speak at home. Yeah, I would date her too.

Just to make it even more perfect it was sunny the whole weekend. I felt like singing "la vie en rose" while we walked along the Sena, Notre Dame a droit. I couldn't even get upset about paying twenty euros for a beer. Afer all, I spent the same amount for cookies.

And then we came back to Prague, and it was raining, and the way home from the airport didn't look lovely at all. I looked at Martin and for a second I wished he was French and I could understand his mum. But just for a second. then I thought I couldn't date a French guy, everybody hates French...

Easter Time

Yesterday again, he sighted “sorry, guys, this weekend I have to go to Spain”. Again, his friends didn’t really understand what was wrong with spending Easter in a lovely Mediterranean country full of bizarre traditions. I reminded him a lot of people save money the whole year to go a couple of weeks to Spain, you know? Again, he complained in the usual terms “Yeah, but we will just visit your family. It’s a lot of money for a few days of drinking coffee and eating ham. I don’t even like ham that much”. Don’t get me started with the ham. Seriously. How is that even possible? That’s like not liking the Beatles. Insane.

Anyway, there are some minor compromises a person needs to make to keep his partner happy. Going on holidays to Spain is way down the list of unpleasant stuff ever done because of being in a relationship. It’s a bit away from having to drink wine before it gets bad and accompanying your partner to a chocolate spa.

I don’t think it has anything to do with the fact that he will be missing the Easter celebration in his home town, which consists of course on getting wasted and beating young girls with a stick. That is likely to get a bit boring once you become an adult, and in any case, we will probably see some beating in Spain during the Easter celebrations too. Ha-ha. Ok. Not so funny.

So, in any case we are going to Spain and I’m sure that food and wine will be, as usual, enough to entertain him during the expected English-unfriendly conversations. And he will not dare to say to his buddies that is was horrible how my family forced sea food and Ribera wine down his throat. They would slap him.