Beyoncé Pad Thai Part 2

I am not Meg, I am a warrior and my warrior name is Zelda Stormcrow.

Advice on Advice

Although I haven't yet begun packing for my trip to Europe, I think a little advice to advisers and their advisees is in order.

When people learn you're going travelling, and especially when they learn it's in Europe, they have nothing but well-meaning advice. While it is usually very helpful, there are times when I've gotten advice and have had to imagine casually walking up to them and zipping up their lips like a cartoon. It's not that the advice isn't good or even helpful, but usually it's that the adviser in question is a mere acquaintance and is therefore only minimally qualified to suggest how my own personal experience in Europe could be improved.

For example. I'll be stopping by Dusseldorf, Cologne and Hamburg when I pass through Germany, but I decided I would skip Berlin mainly because it was a little too far east for the trajectory I had in mind. I even bothered to do a quick poll over Facebook before I began really planning my trip to see how crazy it would be not to include Berlin. All of my closest friends unanimously agreed that Berlin was not essential.

But, sure enough, anyone who doesn't know me very well that learns I won't be going to Berlin insists I rethink my itinerary. The people in question are unlike myself in many ways, including a tendency to go a little overboard on drugs, sex and rock n' roll. Now, I'm not saying that one should only go to Berlin if one is a party animal, but it does seem to trend in that direction.

As much as I would love to be, I'm not a rock star. The thought of snorting drugs makes my head hurt. I get queasy when I see a bad hangnail. When I started guitar lessons, one of the first songs I learned to play was by Taylor Swift - I would have learned Jann Arden's entire discography if she wasn't so damn hard to play.

No, I'm not a rock star. If I'm a star at all, I'm a folk star. I don't plough through city streets with my fellow hellraisers, I meander through forests and gardens by myself. I don't - usually - carouse until last call with 10 empty shot glasses and the promise of an afterparty, I get mildly day drunk with two pints and a book on a sunny patio.

So before you tell me not to book any hostels in advance, consider that the motto, "It's not a good night unless you've ruined your outfit," isn't exactly the kind of person I am. I'm not saying I'll spend the entire 5 weeks sipping tea in the park and home by 8, but I also won't wake up every morning on top of a bag of potatoes wondering why my hair is now purple.

NO MEN.

I have a roommate that lives downstairs. We are very close and I care very much about her, but I have to say, she can be a real pain to have around sometimes. So you can imagine my consternation when she insisted she accompany me to Europe.

“Listen,” I told her. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, or anything, but you will have absolutely no fun whatsoever in Europe. I’ll be constantly on the move, you won’t make any friends, and then there’s that thing where you get cranky for four or five days… I really don’t think you can handle it.”

This isn’t me being mean. She is, like, super high maintenance. Whenever she goes out, she has to be perfectly groomed to a ridiculous degree, and she actually needs pills to keep her from raging out something fierce every month.

But she stuck to her guns. She pointed out that I didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter, and that I would just have to accept that she was coming along no matter what I had to say about it. In the end, I basically had to give in.

Ever since then, she’s been bombarding me with questions about Europe. Should she bring a swimsuit? Should she bother with a razor or should she just do a quick wax beforehand? What if something bad happens to us, who will take care of her?

She’s kind of self-involved.

Yesterday, she asked about European men, and I kind of lost it.

NO. NO MEN.

Here’s the thing. I love this girl. She’s been in my life as long as I can remember. But when this girl meets a boy, she can be a total idiot. As the responsible one, it then falls to me to reason her out of whatever mess she’s created. I do not want that to happen in Europe.

We’re still fighting about it. I honestly don’t know who’s gonna win.

Beyoncé Pad Thai

I’ve been getting some serious cold feet syndrome over the past few weeks. The more people come to me with encouragement and advice, the more I hear the sentence, “You’re gonna have soo much fun,” the scarier Europe seems to become. What if I burn out after four days? What if I hate every minute of it and the whole thing was a big waste? What if I don’t meet a single soul and spend the entire five weeks huddled in the hostel bathrooms sobbing?

One of the funniest moments to date in a great show called The Mindy Project – created by The Office’s Mindy Kaling – happens after Mindy receives advice from a friend of hers to create for herself an inner warrior to whom she can appeal when she’s faced with a difficult situation.

In the middle of a trying moment, the camera zooms in on Mindy as she whispers to herself...

I choked with laughter, not only because of the great warrior name but also because the impulse to imagine a stronger, better me has always been present, and seeing yourself reflected back at you in such a hilarious fashion is always delightful.

I don't have a warrior name yet, but maybe I should figure one out before I leave for Europe.