Amanda Blog and Kiss

One woman talking to her friend: “She did jack shit today, like sweet fuck all.”

This really tickled me and I couldn’t help repeating it over and over in my head afterwards. “jack shit, sweet fuck all…..jack shit, sweet fuck all”. I’ve got a pretty bad potty-mouth, but this beats anything I could have come up with. She used two great phrases to say that her colleague was a bad worker.

I think I will have to add it to my Swear Word Dictionary.

Now that Easter weekend is drawing to a close, I’ve found some time to ponder the meaning of it all, from several viewpoints.

Easter used to be about celebrating the rebirth of Christ with a big family dinner, and an egghunt and easter baskets and the whole Easter-bunny thing.

But when you are not religious, are not living in the same country as your family, and said country does not have the Easter-bunny tradition, nor are there children in your life to dye eggs with, then what is it all about?

Well, I’ll tell you.

It’s about working in a busy bar on a big tourist and sports weekend, going out for a dinner with a group of friends instead of family, and forgetting that Easter is even happening to those with a normal life around you. It’s about looking up during dinner and realizing that you are surrounded by one representative from each of five different English speaking countries, yet you are the only American that you know in this strange city. And it’s about noticing that the concept of just where “home” is gets blurrier and blurrier by the day.

There were neither eggs nor dye on my Easter. There was no Easter bunny, no Easter basket, and certainly no trip to church. There was a movie, a dinner, a few nights out celebrating a birthday, a few days working, and a few random thoughts, but no Easter egg hunt.

Is this what its all about then?

Well, this is the beginning of the end. I have officially passed the point of no return, and bridges are being burned.

I am not taking this lightly. I am not the kind of girl that is frivolous with my plans for the future. It is both scary and relieving at the same time. I find that the older I get, the more my path changes and changes, and so making plans for the future is just really stupid, full stop.

If you had asked me five years ago “Where do you think you will be when you are 25 years old, young 20-year old Amanda?” the answer would most definitely not be where I am right now.

Which, funnily enough, is not where I will be tomorrow.