The Daily Bagel

Valentine's Day evening, while sitting in a crowded room, surrounded by self-righteous, artsy expatriates and several wannabe Romanians, staring at a blank screen...

I look to my right: Creepy Alex who tends to stare at my chest.  I look to my left: Ale is text messaging and yawning intermittently.  I look next to her: Alina is laughing with Boyfriend over a joke that I didn't hear.  This is not exactly the Valentine's Day I had envisioned.  "Come to this movie the British Council is screening," he said.  Little had I known that two other girls would be tagging along.  My kinda-date was turning into an aboslutely-not-date. 

The lights dim, the chatter ceases, the movie begins.  It's mostly in French, and as Romanian is a parasitic language and has fed off of my fluent French until it is no more than a shadow of its former self, I'm lost.  The subtitles are passing the screen much too quickly for me to understand the entire plot.  I give up.  I take off my glasses and begin to massage the bridge of my nose.

This is silly.  Mainly because I hate watching foreign movies without English subtitles.  Also because this boy that I am extremely attracted to is seated next to another girl on the most romantic day of the year watching a movie that was filmed in the most romantic location on earth.  You win, Universe, I say to myself.  This obviously wasn't meant to be.  I hereby give up.  I lay my unrequited love non-affair on the proverbial altar of disappointed hopes.

The movie ends and we all head for the exit.  At the door, some of the artsy expats and their Romanian counterparts are offering up paper bags to passersby.

"What's this?" I ask one of them.  She's wearing heavy eye make-up, a Che Guevara t-shirt and a kaffiyeh wrapped around her neck as a scarf.  I wonder if she realizes that militant communism and Pan-Arab Nationalism (aside from the militant aspect) don't really have much to do with each other.  I'm sure she wouldn't care, as long as she thought she was making a "statement".  She blows cigarrette smoke in my direction.

"Just something the Council thought of," she answers.  "Happy Valentine's Day."  I reach into the offered bag.  I pull out a tiny slip of paper and look down.  It's a single character in what I suspect is Japanese.  As I frown, puzzled over it, Boyfriend comes up behind me, looking over my shoulder. 

"Hey," he exclaims.  "I submitted this one."

"Oh yeah?  What does it mean?" I ask, remembering that among his other amazing qualities, he also speaks fluent Japanese--his parents are missionaries (squeal!).

"Love," he says simply.  "You hungry?  We're thinking of going to that clatita place near Central."  I nod aquiescence.  The others in the group exclaim over theirs, written in various different languages, saying many different things.  In the end, they toss them in the trash as they walk out the door.  I fold mine up very small and put it deep in my coat pocket.

The next day, I head into the country to my roommate's home town.  It really is the epitome of a Romanian country sat.  The houses are lined up against the road, encased by metal fences that hide courtyards filled with poultry, cows and horses, and backyards filled with scrap metal and the occassional pig sty.  Children race through the muddy, unpaved streets, playing simple games of soccer and hide and seek.  Farmers' wives gab at the compound gates about the price of corn and who's getting married next week.  Now and then, trains rumble through the center of the village, reminding everyone briefly of the bigger cities that they wish they were in.  The people are friendly, the minds are rather closed, but the experience is once in a lifetime. 

This trip into the country was occassioned by my roommate's mother asking for help pulling potatoes in their fields.  This crop of potatoes was supposed to last them the entire year, so it was important that they got them all in in a timely manner.

Roommate's mother was up at four, arranging the household.  I followed her, along with seven of roommate's 19 brothers and sisters--nope, not kidding--around nine and prepared to meet a long day of potato-pulling.  I was excited: it wasn't often that I got to do back breaking work in the country.  My last time out here had been filled with shucking corn.  That's right, shucking.  It's not a dirty word.  Anyway, as I prepared to head out the door, I heard my phone ringing.  "Hello?" I answered.

"Hi, Bagel, it's Boyfriend."

"Hey, what's up?"  Heart flutter, heart flutter.

"Well, I figured we'd have that American Awesomeness night we were talking about (referring to one of our earlier IM conversations).  I'm gonna make tacos!  Jake's mom mailed him a bunch of taco seasoning, I already bought the beef, it's gonna be great.  You game?"

"Oh, well," I reply, stomping my foot in anger.  "Actually, I'm out of town, right now.  Can I take a rain check?" 

"Oh, sure, sure, you can," he says.  "But I'm going to be one American short.  It's really going to take a lot to make it up to me.  Where are you?"

"In Valea, near Oradea," I answer.

"Isn't that out in the middle of nowhere?  What the heck are you doing out there?"

"Uhm...pulling potatoes."  He laughs.

"THAT is AWESOME.  I hope I get a chance to do that before I leave.  Well hey, I better get going but I'm gonna hold you to that rain check, okay?  Keep next week open!  Bye!"

I hang up.  Free tacos?  I'll take that.  Hours alone with Boyfriend?  I'll take that, too!  Yes, little-niggling-voice-at-the-back-of-my-brain, I realize that nothing will ever come of it.  I realize that he's probably decided that getting into a relationship here is unwise, and he's right!  I'll follow the same philosophy.  It's a good 'un.

But as soon as I met him at the bus stop in the center that next week, my philosophy was thrown out the window.  Tune in next time...

Nay!:

¬...NOTHING.

Yay!:

¬ Jillian Michaels and her awesome but scary "Make the Cut" book

¬ Dropping gas prices

¬ Diet Pepsi and ranch Wheat Thins

¬ Cool artsy movies from the library with happy endings

¬ And, most importantly, MY ISLAMIC CIVILIZATIONS CLASS!!!!!  I am so, so, so, so, soooo excited for this class.  I need to take one class in order to take a Romanian language challenge exam, and just when I thought I would have to settle for some boring workshop or the cultural anthropology class (which is interesting, of course, but which I already took in Cluj), what's this?!  There're several openings in a special subject class, titled Islamic Civilizations?! 

Surely, you jest. 

No, I'm serious...and don't call me Shirley!

...Sorry.  I'm so excited...my third step on my way to a degree in Middle Eastern studies/Arabic/whatever they'll give me concerning that area of the world. 

And they say there's no such thing as divine intervention!  SCORE.

::Cabbage patch-ing, robot-ing, the sprinkler-ing, the monkey-ing, the swim-ing::

A few days later, as I idled away the hours on Yahoo Messenger...

I hadn't heard from Boyfriend since that late night text message a few days earlier.  I was hooked and I knew it.  And what was worse, HE knew it, thanks to a slip of the drunken tongue.  The thought of speaking to him again filled me with apprehension.  So when he suddenly messaged me, I was reluctant to reply.  But reply I did.  And he never alluded to it, perhaps out of mercy, perhaps out of having forgotten the incident.  Either way, the topic was avoided, and we settled into a comfortable conversation.  It was like talking to a friend I hadn't seen in awhile; a friend who knew me intimately and could read my thoughts before I even fully thought them.  We often finished each other's sentences, and then laughed at the weirdness of it all.  We talked about music, stripper name generators, our love for God, our families, anything and everything.  Four hours of incessant IMing later, I told him I had to go to bed.  After we bid each other good night and I settled into my bed, I heard a buzzing coming from my phone on the dresser.  It was from Boyfriend.

"Listen, I don't know if you're free or not, but my friend told me about this awesome bazaar on the outskirts of town.  Wanna go?"  Be still, my beating heart!  I replied in the affirmative.  "Good.  See you Saturday morning at 8!" 

As little as the prospect of getting up before noon appealed to me, I couldn't sleep for excitement.  Was this a date?  No.  His friend was going.  He probably even asked Alina.  Probably others.  And it was an outdoor market, how was that a date?  Be reasonable, I told myself.  He's not into you.  He's just being nice.  You'll see.

Soon, Saturday rolled around, and oddly enough, I was up well before I needed to be, picking out an outfit, applying make-up, practicing conversation topics.  I was very afraid that without the presence of a computer or alcohol, we might have nothing to say to each other.  Without these two middlemen, he might discover how truly bland and uninteresting I am.  But I comforted myself (if you can call it comfort) with the fact that others would be there, and whatever gaps there were in the conversation, they would fill them up.  I calmed my nerves by telling myself I had a long, fun-filled day of watching Alina fawn all over him.  Hurray.

I got to the piata a little before eight, and therefore had the opportunity to practice my opening line.  "Hi, Boyfriend," "G'morning, Boyfriend," "Buna dimineata, Boyfriend," "Servus, Boyfriend"...Gah.  They all seemed so rehearsed, unnatural.  Crap.  I hate my life, I thought.  At eight sharp, the subject of the practice lines rounded the corner and I waved excitedly at him.  Calm down, I told myself.  It's too early to be this chipper.  

"Hey," I greeted him.  Perfect!  Nonchalant, slightly disinterested, completely un-obsessed.

"Hey," he returned, a big smile on his face.  "Ready to get your shop on?  Bus 47 will take us all the way out past the airport."

"Nice," I say.  "Where's the rest of them?"  He looks at me questioningly.

"The rest of them?  Uh..it's just us, today.  Is...that okay?" 

And there was great rejoicing!

"Oh, sure, that's cool," I reply.  I figure it probably wouldn't be a great a idea if I said anything in the next five minutes.  I was already having a hard time suppressing a glowing grin.  If I opened my mouth, something truly insane could come randomly pouring out, to the tune of, "I love you, marry me".  That, or a high-pitched squeal of delight might shatter the surrounding windows, not to mention Boyfriend's ear drums.  With these sobering thoughts in mind, I hopped on the bus and took a seat next to Boyfriend.

There were parts of the (amazingly, gloriously fun!) afternoon where I seriously wondered if it was a date.  He bought me lunch.  Date behavior, right?  He laughed at my jokes.  Definite date behavior--I'm not that funny.  He complimented me, once or twice.  If that's not date behavior, then what is? 

But it didn't feel like a date.  Not that I wasn't hanging on his every word, blushing under his glance and being in all around exstacy that he chose me to share this experience with him.  But we never had any embarassed pauses, or dull moments.  We always had something to share, to comment on, to laugh over.  I didn't feel awkward around him, and I knew I didn't have to pretend--I could just be myself.  Definitely a new feeling for me.

The bus home was crowded, and it had started raining as we left.  Boyfriend and I were standing in the aisle, in extremely close proximity to each other...because of the crowd!  Sure, I could've stepped back about a foot and been perfectly comfortable...but the gypsy guy behind me looked like he was having a hard day! 

Boyfriend looked out the side window.  "Wow, this is really close to my house.  I think I'll get off at the next stop."  My face fell, imperceptibly, I hoped.  "So, what are you doing next Tuesday?"

"Nothing," I answered quickly.  Even if I'd had open heart surgery scheduled for that day, nothing was getting in the way of me spending more time with this amazing guy.  The bus began slowing and pulling to the side of the road.

"Great, well, the British Council is showing some movie about Paris, of all things.  You should come.  Can we meet at the same place, say around six-ish?  PM, this time," he smiled as he saw my shocked face.  "I'll text you later with the details," he said as he headed down the stairs.  "Ceau!"

"Ceau," I replied, absently.  Tuesday...why did Tuesday seem so important...hmm...what was on Tuesday?  No classes, no fixed appointments, no birthdays or major holidays.  Wait...holidays?  Holiday!  Oh my gosh, it's Valentine's Day on Tuesday!

I walked home, plagued by my thoughts.  Okay...today was not a date.  Decidedly not.  Decidedly.  Don't try to turn it into something it wasn't, I told myself.  But now he's asked you to do something on Valentine's Day?!  That's like the international date night.  Well he didn't seem to know it was Valentine's Day, it seemed like it was just another day to him.  Little did he know that to all single 20-to-40-something girls in the universe, Valentine's Day was one of dread, of loathing, of horror.  Was my Valentine's Day going to be turned upside down?

As soon as I got home, I settled in on the computer, willing him to get on.  After about an hour, he did get on, and I quickly messaged him to get more details. 

"So," I ask casually.  "What movie are they showing?"

"Some wonky French movie called, Paris, Je T'aime.  Apparently it's Valentine's Day on Tuesday.  Did you know that?  Time flies..."  Oh..balls.

"Really?  Wow, I'd totally forgotten it was Valentine's, yeah I didn't even realize, wow..."

"Okay, so, Piata Mihai Viteazul, 6:15, Tuesday night.  Cool?"

"Yeah, that sounds great," I say, my spirits lifting slightly.  Hey, at least I had a kinda date for Valentine's Day.

"Awesome.  Alina and Ale might get there before me.  You know how Alina is--she loves to be early.  Anyway, I'll see you there!  Ceau!"

How did my Valentine's Day go?  We'll see....

That's right, Part 2.  And in under 24 hours.  Why?  Because I have waaay too much time on my hands.  Parts of this story are extremely hazy in my memory, as will become apparent, so you'll have to forgive me for leaving out some details.

We rejoin our heroine (me) a few months later, after my return to the freezing Transylvanian hills from Christmas in Canada...

Once again, I find myself waiting for Jake and Mara.  This time, I'm waiting outside Cinema Republica.  Twinkle lights still adorn the telephone polls and shop windows downtown.  My breath is sucked out of my body by the icy wind that's been blowing steadily the last couple of days.  I'm getting over a devastating cold, so I occasionally pull out a tissue and wipe my sopping nose.  I'm not in a good place, right now.  I've just gotten back from a nightmare of a "vacation".  After being deported, being robbed blind by stupid Austrian Airlines and spending a sleepless night on the train from Bucharest trying to avoid the wolfish conductor who was intent on getting into my jeans (each a separate, insane story which I'll tell another time), I'm drained, exasperated and nihilistic in the extreme.  And Jake and his posse being late is not helping my mood.  A few minutes later, I see Alina, Ale and Razvan coming up the street.  I wave them over and we huddle together in a group just outside the door.  I'd only very recently met these people, so the conversation was slightly awkward on my part.  Alina, probably my favorite of the group, is cursing under her breath about the cold. 

"Hey, guys," someone calls out.  We turn and see Boyfriend walking toward us.  I'm a little taken aback; I didn't know HE would be coming.  I hadn't seen him since the interesting tequila bar incident a few months earlier.  I definitely hadn't forgotten about him, and had worked up the courage a few times to ask Jake about him.  I felt my cheeks getting hot as he got closer.  Come on, I tell myself.  He's just a boy!  Neverthetheless, I reach up and smooth my hair, try to clean my front teeth with my tongue and straighten my scarf, all while trying to be as nonchalant as possible.  Alina walks over and grabs his elbow, bringing him into the circle.

"You are so late," she gushes.  "You're absolutely horrible.  I haven't seen you in ages!  How have you been?"  I quickly take in her body language.  Apparently she and Boyfriend are pretty close.  Crestfallen, I shove my hands in my pockets and look away, casually.  He obviously doesn't remember me, I tell myself.  Why am I being so silly?  Who cares if he remembers you or not?  Still, I'm a little saddened.  After a few minutes, Jake and Mara show up and we enter the theater.  When we're all safely inside and standing in a group next to the entrance as Razvan and Alina get the tickets, Boyfriend, whom I've been watching intently from my peripheral vision, looks in my direction.

"Bagel?" he queries.  Recognition dawns and he breaks into a grin as I turn toward him.  "Hey!  I didn't recognize you outside.  How are you?  What have you been up to?"  My stomach does a flip flop and I silently rebuke it for being so flighty.  We make some small talk, and after awhile, Jake and Mara, who are standing a few steps away, turn back to us. 

"Listen," Jake whispers.  "I think...we should pre-game it."  I raise a brow.

"Pre-game it?" asks Boyfriend warily.

"Yes!  There's a magazin alimentar just across the street.  I say...Grape Fanta and vodka?  And Bagel, you're drinking tonight I presume?"  I look at the floor.  I'm feeling slightly peer-pressured.  I sigh, then nod resignedly.  "Allriiiiight, rock on, Bagel!  Let's get you loaded!"  We make the trip to the corner store and head back.  The pre-game drinks procured, we head into the theater.  I end up sitting next to Boyfriend.  He turns to me just before the movie starts and whispers,

"I hope this doesn't make me seem like less of a man, but...I really hate scary movies.  If I scream like a little girl, please disregard it."  I melt.  I assure him that I will disregard it, but that he will open himself up for endless taunting.  I rest my arm casually on the arm rest, my shoulder occasionally grazing his arm.  I'm surprised at myself--I never flirt!  Never!  I'm way too shy!  I tell myself that tomorrow I can blame it on the alcohol...even though I haven't had any yet.

After the movie, we head to the bar.  Jake, Mara and I decide to walk to the bar, while Boyfriend accepts Alina's offer to hop in her car.  I'm slightly put out, without exactly knowing why.  It's not like he's anything to me; hardly even a friend.  Why should I care if he gets a ride from some girl, who he's obviously very much into?  Nonetheless, I steal the bottle of Fanta/vodka and down half its contents before we reach the bar.  I follow that up with two Cuba Libres and a beer, all eagerly supplied by Jake, who is excited to see me drunk.  At this point, I'm flying pretty high.  Being drunk is fun, my slurred, disconnected brain tells me.  This same befuddled brain gets me up on the dance floor at some point, doing the robot and other such graceful moves with the posse.  I then notice Alina moving over to Boyfriend, who is standing on the edge of the floor, laughing at the posse's antics.  She drags him up onto the floor near her and begins dancing closer and closer.  Yet again strangely put out by her (perfectly acceptable!) behavior, I head back to our table.  I join a couple of my school colleagues in our booth.

"Zoly," I tell my red-haired Hungarian friend.  "Zoly, Zoly..Zoltan...dear, dear Zoltan.  Were you named after a magician?  Never mind.  Not important, at the moment.  Do not let them let me drink anymore," I slur.  "I mean...I love you, Zoly.  And Ioana," I turn to his be-spectacled, dark-eyed companion.  "You...you're just so pretty.  I mean, do people tell you that enough?  You're just so beautiful."  She watches me, her cigarrette dangling from her fingers, an amused look on her face.  "God bless you kids!" I say, and make the sign of the cross over them.  Some movement on my right catches my eyes, and I observe Alina leaving the bar, giving Boyfriend, who has followed her to the door, a squeezing hug.  I slip into a pouty silence and stare at the ice in my glass, feeling the sudden urge to order another.  Just as I've decided to head over to the bar and inebriate myself a little more, I feel someone slide into the booth beside me.  It's Boyfriend.

"Are you okay?" he asks, concern in his voice.  I slap him reassuringly on the back.

"I'm...I'm...really fine."  I can feel a goofy smile pulling across my face and my eyelids are drooping dangerously.  I lay my head down on my arm.  He laughs.

"I think you've had enough," he says.  I grab his arm.

"Don't let me drink anymore, Boyfriend!  Jake is evil.  He's gonna make me drink again and...no more drinks...please."  He promises me that he won't.

"Awww! " I yell wrapping my arms around his neck.  "You're so nice!"  With that, yawning, I release him and (I find out later) pass out on the bench.  Some time later, I'm not sure when, I'm shaken awake and informed by Boyfriend that we're leaving the bar.  He helps me to my feet, taking my hand and leading me gently toward the exit.  He gives me verbal directions, as my eyes are drooping closed again.  I stumble a few times, but he's always there to keep me in balance.  As soon as we get outside, I'm refreshed.  The cold air wakes me up and I feel the fog slowly lift from my head.  I do a couple of turns on the sidewalk, like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.  The hills are very alive, I find, and I trip and land flat on my butt.  Boyfriend, who hasn't left my side, quickly reaches down to help me up.

"You," he says, laughing.  "Are drunk, little lady."  I start the twirling again.

"I know!  I've never done this before, this is so wrong.  I'm so ashamed!  I feel...purple!"  I feel myself leaning dangerously to the side.  Thankfully, Boyfriend steps in, pillar-like and strong, to prop me up.  I grab his arm, and as we walk slowly forward, I put my hand in his.  He doesn't resist, and I allow myself a small smile.  It's for balance, I assure myself.  Nothing more.  Mara and Jake are ahead of us, Mara intermittently singing the refrain of "Material Girl," and both of them looking slyly back at us.  I blush deeply several times.

"Well I guess I'll have a pretty hard time getting up for church tomorrow," I say, as I feel more and more of the fog lifting.  Though the absolute inhibition hasn't completely left me, and I'm talking in a very loud voice and adding emphasis to every word with a hand gesure or two.

"Really?  Where do you go to church?" he asks.  "I've been trying to find one around here.  I've been to a few of the old-school Romanian Baptist ones, but I haven't found one I'm really comfortable in."

"OH!" I exclaim.  "You should come to church with me!  It's great; it's in English!  Come tomorrow!  That is, if you're not too hung over.  Well actually...I might be, so whaddya say we make it next week?"

"Hey, I told you I'm not a big drinker.  I just had one beer.  You, however, pretty much cleaned out the bar  The shoe's on the other foot tonight--you're the lush, this time."

"I'm so embarassed," I say.  "I never do this.  I hope I don't make this a habit.  I hope you don't think any less of me...you know, drinking like a college girl and then asking you to my church."

"Nah," he says.  "I'm just glad I found another American Christian in this city.  Slim pickings here, as American Christians go."

"I know!" I say.  "I'm so glad I met you.  I mean, I really am.  You know...I had a huge crush on you when I first met you."  I blush and am so happy it's dark out.  That's the first time I'd admitted that.  "Oh crap," I rejoin.  "Forget I said that."  I lapse into an uncomfortable quiet as he laughs nervously.  We continue on toward the opera house near my home in silence. 

"Well, I guess this is it," he says.  "I live in Piata Ciupariu, so I better get walking."

"What?" I exclaim.  "Why didn't you say anything?  That's gonna take at least an hour to get there on foot!"

He shrugs.  "Yeah, but...I didn't like the idea of you walking all that way alone at night."  I decide not to tell him that I've got another quarter mile to go before I'm actually home.  "You know...girls in general...alone at night...not good.  So anyway," he says, changing the subject.  "Better get going."  He turns to leave.  "Oh, wait.  I should get your number, you know.  To coordinate where to meet you for church."  I'm surprised.

"Oh..sure."  I give it to him.  He smiles and waves. 

"See you around," he says, turning away.  I watch him walk down the street and then I turn towards my house.  I unlock the gate with difficulty, shouting several explitives into the darkness as I drop my keys, numerous times.  Getting into the house was easier, and I collapse on the couch after grabbing and chugging a bottle of water.  Suddenly my phone starts buzzing.  I pick it up and squint into the light, alerting me to a new text message.

"It was so nice seeing you tonight," it reads.  "I'm really excited to go to your church.  Do you have Yahoo Mess?  We should chat sometime.  My screenname is _________.  Have a good sleep and make sure to hydrate, haha!"  I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

What happens next?  Tune in next time...  

You've all wondered about it, I'm sure.  You've lain awake at night thinking about it.  How did Bagel meet the Boyfriend, you ask your ceiling.  The ceiling does not answer you.  Usually.  Today, I will answer you.  Lucky, lucky you.  Well sit down, kids, and grab a cookie and a blankie--it's story time.  (The asterisk* indicates names that have been changed, because I felt like it.) 

It all started one cold, rainy night in Romania....

I had shown up in Piata Unirii extremely early, as per my usual.  And as was per my American friend Jake's* usual, he was running extremely late.  We had struck up an odd friendship since the moment we heard each other speak English.  We didn't have much in common, but stuck together more out familiarity than being fond of each other.  He was a fun guy, though, being a frat boy, and when he heard I'd never drunk a drop of alcohol in my life, he promptly invited me out with his posse.  I stood under the statue of Matias Rex, hopping from one foot to the other, trying to keep my circulation going.  Suddenly my phone starts ringing violently.  "Hello?"

"Hey, Bagel, where are you?"  I can see the green glow of Jake's cellphone some 100 yards away.  I wave.  "Oh, there you are," he says.  He sidles over, accompanied by his adorable girlfriend, Mara*, who was attired in a very tiny skirt, which made me self-conscious about under-dressing.  I don't stress too much.  I played my ever present shy card as we were introduced, and Jake explained their lateness away with how they'd been caught on the tram with no tickets.  We chat idly until I eventually ask upon whom we were waiting.

"Well, there's Gal...Alina...Ale...Hunor...Bogdan...Razvan...oh, and there's another American coming."  Thank God, I think to myself.  This means I won't have to try to talk to Mara and Jake in between their snogging sessions.  There'll be someone else there I might be able to relate to.  A few minutes later, we hear a shout and see three tall figures running toward us.

"Sorry we're late," one of the guys says.

"Where's the rest of the gang?" asks Jake. 

"They all have exams tomorrow," he says.  "Speaking of which, so do I, so let's get drunk fast and then I need to go home.  Hi, I'm Gal," he addresses me.  I strategically withhold my hand.  Eastern Europeans get weird about shaking a woman's hand.  I still have no idea why.  I introduce myself, and he introduces the other two guys with him.  "This is Hunor," he says.  I nod politely to the grinning Hungarian guy standing next to him.  "And this is Boyfriend*," he gestures to the other guy.  Boyfriend quickly reaches out to shake my hand.  He's tall, good-looking.  As he talks to the rest of the group, I find out he's also polite, kind, funny and extremely interesting.  I haven't said more than a few words, taking up my usual place of wallflower, observing everyone else.  Eventually, we set off for the bar.  I walk silently, Boyfriend is up ahead, joking with the guys.  After awhile, he slowly drops back to my side.

"So," he says.  "Where are you from?"

"Idaho," I say.  "Not much there, really.  Potatoes...llamas..."

"Llamas?  Get down.  What do they do with the llamas?

"Shave them," I say, without missing a beat.  He guffaws and I start nervously giggling at my own odd answer.  Great, I think.  One more person ho thinks I'm an idiot.  I don't talk after that, and he draws someone else into conversation.  

Eventually, we arrive at this seedy, hole-in-the-wall completely Hungarian bar that's pumping early 90's grunge rock music.  I'm reluctant to touch anything and am having a small asthma attack as my lungs are ransacked by clouds of cigarrette smoke.  Almost as soon as we sit down, Jake flags down the waitress and orders a meter of tequila.

"A meter of tequila?" I ask Mara.

"Yeah...it's basically kerosene.  But it's super cheap.  You having any?"  I decline.  I'll save drinking flammable liquids for another night.  The tequila arrives, along with various other alcoholic drinks and everyone settles into a drinking game with the tequila: five shots apiece, first one done wins.  I'm excited--I love watching people get drunk.  It's hilarious.  I love watching them stumble down streets and barf in alletways...I don't know why.  Call me a sadist, you'd probably right.  So everyone is our booth is halfway through the meter of tequila and feeling no pain.  In a pause in the shouted conversation, I lean across to where Boyfriend is sitting and shout,

"So where are you from?"

"Virginia."

"Really?  I lived there for most of my life."

"Oh yeah?  Where?"

"In Nor--"  Suddenly Mara, who is not a heavy drinker and more than three sheets to the wind at this point, stands up.

"I LOVE THIS SONG!" she yells as Wheatus' "Teenage Dirtbag" comes on the radio, and proceeds to do the air guitar.

"So where in Virginia did you say you were from?" he asks, again.

"Near Norfolk.  You?"

"Near Richmond.  In fact, I go to school at--"  Gal, who was sitting next to me starts tapping me urgently on the shoulder.  I turn to him.

"You know, I think Bush is a real moron," he says.  He proceeds into a tirade that lasts a couple of minutes.

I see Boyfriend get up from the table, grab his coats and go out the back door.  I thought he had an early morning, and though I was slightly disappointed to see the only person I had at least attempted to connect with leave early, I was more concerned with silencing Gal and getting Mara to not crush my feet with her calf-high boots.  I drag Mara back down onto the seat beside me.  She drapes her arm around me, the other around Jake and says breathily, "I love Cluj.  I love you guys.  I love..."  etc, etc.  Jake, sensing that this is gonna be an easy night for him (gag) starts making out with her.  I turn away, looking to my phone for the time.  After a few minutes, I see Gal ushered out of the seat next to me, to be replaced by Boyfriend.

"Sorry," he says.  "Gal likes to talk.  I figured I'd fake a restroom break and rescue you before he got into his love of Lord of the Rings."  I laugh and thank him.  "OK...now...Let's start the conversation over.  Hi.  Where are you from?"  We start over.  We talk only to each other for the next three hours.  We talk about everything--politics, religion, how we both aren't big drinkers (though he ends up coming in second in the tequila game...his face gets redder and his smile gets goofier as our conversation continues), hobbies, interests, movies, our experiences in Romania, travel...everything.  I am glued to his every word.  However at one point, I also have to tear myself away to get to the bathroom, as the two waters and a Coke are having their effects.  When I return, I see Gal occupying my seat, babbling on to Boyfriend about who knows what.  He smiles at me apologetically and I take another seat.

Overall, we have a grand ole time and the end of the night was rounded off by everyone singing "Teenage Dirtbag," which was replayed on request.  We leave the bar in different directions, everyone teetering off home.  Boyfriend, who, not being a great drinker as aforementioned, is walking slowly and at a slant with Jake, Mara and me down Eroilor.  Mara is continually running into walls and complaining about her heels.  Only Jake and I are unaffected, me because I didn't drink anything and him because he's a bottomless pit of a frat boy.  We part ways at the statue, me watching a drunken Boyfriend head to a taxi.  He turns back to me and grins, waving, and proceeds to crash into the side of the car.

We lived on opposite sides of the city, we had one mutual friend who I tried to avoid hanging out with at night, we studied in different colleges, so I didn't really think we'd see each other again.  Hmm...I guess you'll have to find out if we did.  

I'm sorry to post another YouTube vid...I know you're probably sick of them.  But I couldn't find a picture.  At least not one good enough to illustrate my indignance. 

This is a video of the new "artistic" fountain in Cluj that they just built on Piata Avram Iancu, right in front of the big Orthodox church.

Oh, wow, you say?  So pretty, you say?  NO. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.  This is an abomination.  It's hideous.  It's loud.  It's annoying.  AND it was built by an ITALIAN company.  What, the architects aren't good enough in Cluj?  Romanians are just too incompetent when it comes to "art"?  Didn't stop you from hiring cheap labor from the poor countrysides, now did it?  Jerks.  Secondly...it plays music.  Seriously.  The Ode to Pink Floyd laser show wasn't enough?  But Bagel, it plays classical music, so that makes it ok, you say.  Yeah.  It does.  Until it plays rock, jazz and elevator music, randomly, throughout the day.  COME ON.  Seriously?  I mean, the city just wasn't tacky enough, with that lovely "fantana" in front of the Republica movie theater that hasn't worked in 30 years.  And let's not forget the one in Piata Garii (spewing a few misdirected streams of water into a dank and dirty pool) right next to the Information booth that never worked.  Give me a break.  This is a freaking medieval city, ok?  It's got old churches, old buildings, old streets, old people (and I admit, one hideously modern Banca Transylvania), and it should keep to that style!  It should be criminal to disrupt the historical setting of the city.  Shame on you, Domnul Primarul!!!!!!!!

OH, the indignation.  I feel better now.

Share a song that gets you psyched to exercise.  

Smiley's "Preocupat cu Gura Ta".  This feels like a nice, smooth, loping run song.  Not that I run.  I kind of struggle along for around 10 minutes then stop, gasping for breath.

The Postal Service's "Such Great Heights".  L-O-V-E The Postal Service.  Brilliant.  Another song I would run to, if I could run.

Erik Prydz' "Call on Me".  The slightly less raunchy video for this song.  I love this song.  I mean, this song literally makes me WANT to work out.  But putting desire into action..eh...it's a struggle.

Hmm...still bored. 

I love this song...actually, this video is crap, but the song is just so uplifting.  At least it is if you understand it:

. O lume-ntreagă stă-n nepăsare
Şi caută adăpost când vine-o-ncercare
Dar eu nu mă tem, dar eu nu mă tem,
În ceasul cel bun e stăpână pe toate
Când Domnu-i vorbeşte i-e frică de moarte
Dar eu nu mă tem, dar eu nu mă tem.

Refren:
Dar eu nu mă tem,
Chiar dacă cei din jur mă părăsesc!
Eu nu mă tem, orice-ar veni.
Viaţa mea e-n mâna
Celui ce-a murit pe lemn,
Cu mine Îl chem şi eu nu mă tem!

2. Ades vine-ncercarea năvalnic ca marea
Şi norii negri întunecă zarea.
Dar eu nu mă tem, dar eu nu mă tem!
Se spulberă gândul şi orice speranţă
Şi nici măcar o clipă nu e siguranţă,
Dar eu nu mă tem, dar eu nu mă tem!

3. Când oamenii cei răi mă-nconjoară cu ură
Din cupa lor să-mi dea să beau o picătură,
Eu nu mă tem, eu nu mă tem!
Cu Domnul meu eu trec biruitor peste toate,
Din apă şi din foc să mă scape EL poate,
Eu nu mă tem, eu nu mă tem!

Numele tau Iisus il inaltam!!!

Show us something (or someone) you're sick of.

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I don't really know who Edward Cullen is.  I know he's from the Twilight series.  I know he's a vampire.  I also know that if I see his name one more time (usually coupled with something like, "Lyke, OMGah!  I totally wish Edward Cullen was my BF!") I'm going to choke a bitch.  This is not a metaphorical statement.  I will literally reach through my PC, grab the 13-year-old girl by the throat and proceed to strangle her.  No one would blame me.

Right now, I'm sitting in my dad's old offices, answering phones while everyone else is upstairs in a company sales meeting.  I feel strangely like Pam from "The Office."  I shamelessly flirted with one of the sales blokes.  I answer the phone, "Company Name, this is Bagel."  I've played solitaire 4 times just to watch the cards flick all over the screen.  I'm considering playing a prank on my deskmate (but only to fit in with the other Pam characteristics.  My deskmate is upstairs and is actually a very friendly, cheerful person).

Bored.  Cold.  Hungry.  Ate a lot of Jolly Ranchers.  Wanting to bite my nails.  Missing a certain someone.  Boo.  Come on, Vox.  You're supposed to embalm to my soul (hehe, Serena), but now I'm out of things to write and must go back to the monotony of office life.  It's not nearly as glamorous as they make it seem on TV.

I love to clean.  Not all the time, mind you.  At 5AM on a Saturday, I'm not prone to get up singing, happy to start a day of cleaning.  And sometimes, of course, I get in anti-cleaning funks.  But generally, overall, I really do enjoy scrubbing, washing and organizing.  That is the subject of my Friday the 13 (that I'm actually doing on Saturday): Things I Do While Cleaning and/or Preparing to Clean:

1) Put on the radio.  The station shouldn't be too awesome--I shouldn't need to stop what I'm doing in order to hear the music and lyrics to "Sexy Back"...don't judge me.

2) Make a list of the things in each room I need to do: wash windows, vacuum, scrub toilet, etc.

3) Place an icey drink on the counter, for when it gets a tidge too hot.

4) Get out all cleaning supplies I might possibly need and place them in an accessible place.

5) Start cleaning in the cleanest room.  It helps me be optimistic.

6) Have a trash bag handy.

7) Pick up all bits of paper, plastic and other forms of trash and stuff them in said bag. 

8) Place different objects in their correct places: books on the bookshelf, dog/cat toys where they belong, cushions on chairs, etc.

9) Pick up all things that look even remotely important and stack them together.  Put them in a place I'll be sure to remember, and write a note to myself to tell the person to whom they belong exactly where they are.  It may be necessary to divide into different stacks--electronics, bills, office supplies, whatever. 

10) Begin straightening things, like askew sofas or tables.

11) Pull out the vacuum and give the room a once-over.  Repeat if necessary.

12) Take a long drink from the icey cup while deciding which room to do next.

13) Cross room off of list.

Am I a neat freak?  No.  But this week so far has been filled with cleaning other people's houses and work spaces, and it's generally been a jolly good one, too. 

A few days ago, I spent a few days with some friends who own a carnival--no, I'm not kidding--and I spent a good deal of time in their air-conditioned office, where there were papers and office supplies and small coins all over the place, not to mention stains on the tiles, dust and grime on the windows, and many other things that nearly drove me up the wall.  Normally, stuff like that doesn't get to me at all.  For example, right now, my house is a pig sty.  But as I had a few hours of nothing to do but stare at the stained walls while munching on horribly delicious carnival food and contemplate getting on the Ring of Fire for the n-th time, my strange alter ego, Anal-Retentive Bagel, kicked into high gear.  So cleaning other peoples' houses has been oddly cathartic.  Yay for catharsis.