September/October: Superclass, Trevor Gets Married, "Are You Sure You're Not Pregnant?", und Freiheit.

When I have a lot of material to cover, I find subtitles to be extremely helpful. I hope you do too.

Superclass
My class this year is, in a word, unbelievable. We just finished up the seventh week of school, and I'm still in a state of bliss most of the time at work. I am convinced now that karma does exist, and that this is the universe's way of saying "Hey, I realize you had some serious shenanigans and hijinks to deal with the past two years. I see now that I used up almost all of your patience and made you feel like you were taking crazy pills most days. So here you go. Have these kids. They'll make up for it."

All I can say is- thanks for throwing me a frickin' bone, universe. These kids do, in fact, make up for every second of insanity I've dealt with the past two years. They're all sweet, hilarious, happy little people. I love being around them, I love teaching them, I love working hard for them.

I like to refer to them collectively as Superclass....I have big plans to get them all matching Captain Planet save the earth rings. It's gonna happen.

Trevor Gets Married
My older brother, Trevor, was married to the lovely Maureen McGinty about two weeks ago. I flew back to the US for six days to be in the wedding....and it was insane. In a great way. First of all, flying from Germany to Oregon just for a wedding SOUNDS kind of glamorous. Let me tell you- it's not. 20 hours of travel, US Airways (they suck...hard), a nine hour time difference, a weekend of working twelve hour to prepare for a substitute teacher before leaving, and lack of sleep all made for....insanity. However, I was so pumped for all the festivities that it didn't even matter all that much. There were so many people to see, so many things to do, dresses to wear, wine to drink, American food to eat...that I powered through the jet lag to have a fantastic time.

The rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, wedding and reception were all ridiculously fun. Everything went pretty much according to plan and I only cried a little bit. My brother looked pretty sharp in his Army uniform, Maureen looked smokin' hot in her gorgeous wedding dress, and my fellow bridesmaids and I looked fabulous in our blue dresses. Also, the Crystal Ballroom in downtown Portland? Best reception venue EVER. Don't dispute me. It's true.

One of my favorite parts of this wedding trip was an evening/afternoon that had absolutely nothing to do with the wedding. The day after I flew in, still three days before the wedding, I was visiting my friends in Portland, thinking my brother was still in Washington. Then that night I get a call from him, demanding I meet him at the T Room. The T Room, for those of you who don't know, is the loving (ish) name used by all University of Portland students for the Twilight Room, a dive bar in North Portland. I deliberated for awhile about whether or not I should go (thanks for putting up with that, Jeff), because I was exhausted, was supposed to be driving back to Salem that night, etc. I ended up going, and it turned out to be a great decision. My brother's two old buddies Garth and Joe were there as well, and it was so fun to hang out with them again. They featured prominently in some of my early college days, so it was just like old times...only better, because I could actually get into the bar legally now. We had a couple beers, made fun of the...unique individuals doing karaoke, and then went on a walk to the gas station and back. This sounds pretty lame, but hilarity ensued. Then the next day I met up with Trevor and Garth for lunch at our favorite sushi place, which was something Trev and I used to do in Portland all the time. I can't find the words to describe how happy these simple things made me, but I just felt like I was bursting with joy and contentment. I have a suspicion it was mostly because I was spending time with my brother again- but I think going back to some of our old haunts had to do with it as well.


 I still can't believe my one and only brother is married, but I couldn't be happier about it. I'll remember his wedding and the fun that we had together throughout the whole thing forever. 

All four of us, one now a married man.

"Are You Sure You're Not Pregnant?"
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would hear this phrase uttered in a professional workplace setting. Turns out my dreams just aren't wild enough.

Wednesday, I woke up and was feeling nauseated, but figured it had to do with the enormous dinner I ate at a South African restaurant the night before. I went through my morning at school feeling ok, but skipped lunch because I still had some rumbly going on in the tumbly. I had parent conferences starting at 12:30, and at approximately 12:20 I had that twitchy feeling in my throat that has always been a signal that vomiting is imminent. I ran to the bathroom and puked my guts out for about ten minutes, cursing South African food, the fact that I had a parent waiting for me, and the universe all at the same time. I managed to stumble out of the bathroom about ten minutes later, and decided the best course of action was to just get through the conference with the woman who was already waiting for me, and then see how things went from there. In retrospect, this logic seems flawed, but I'd like to see how well you reason things out when you've just emptied the contents of your digestive tract and then have a stern German woman sitting in your classroom, staring you down and judging you for your smudged mascara.

About 20 minutes into said conference, I got that twitchy throat feeling again. Trying to hide my panic at the thought of tossing my cookies all over this pristine and perfectly dressed woman, I wrapped things up while clenching my teeth and smiling like an insane jester. I heard somewhere that this fights the gag reflex, and I think it worked...long enough for me to shove the mom out into the hall and run to the bathroom again. Cue vomit session number 2.

By this time I was able to accept the fact that I might have to go home. I wobbled back out into the hallway, and ran into the next mom on the way. She cheerfully inquired as to her appointment time. I looked at her with watering, bloodshot eyes and tried not to breathe too much of my puke breath on her as I said "I just threw up. I think I need to cancel." Could I have said this more eloquently? Most definitely, but I was going more for "get the point across before I lose my lunch again all over the hallway floor." I did explain that I thought I had food poisoning and really needed to go home for the rest of the day.

The mom expressed her sympathy, and then gave me the old up and down once over and asked "....are you sure you're not pregnant?" SHE WAS COMPLETELY SERIOUS. I laughed uncomfortably and said something along the lines of "Oh no...ha ha....yes, I'm sure...ha ha...." Very convincing, I know.

The next morning, I was back at school, feeling much better. All the kids were coming in, getting started on their morning work, the moms were milling around in the hallway doing their usual morning chat thing. The mom who I nearly barfed on the day before came inside to ask me how I was feeling, and as I assured her I was better and it was most likely something I ate, she WINKED AT ME and said "Well, you know there is something else that can make young women sick like that as well..." I'm pretty sure she also wiggled her eyebrows at me.

 Needless to say, I won't be eating South African food anytime soon. Thanks to some terrible chicken, who knows how many parents at school now assume I've got a bun in the oven?

Freiheit
Freeeeeeeeeeeeeeedooooooooooooooooooom! I find this William Wallace-esque bellow to be only appropriate, as I'm leaving for bloody Scotland tomorrow morning at 5 am. I'm on fall break for two weeks, and plan to enjoy the land of the Scots to the fullest.  My three friends are coming along with me, and there's been much talk of whiskey and hagus tasting. It should be epic.

Thanks Germany, for being so centrally located, and thanks, employer, for giving me so many holidays. Shazam.

Back in the Saddle Again

Do not worry, avid readers. I am alive and well, and still living in Germany. I didn't flee the country at the two year mark- rather, I decided to stay for another year. So here I am, back in Dresden after six weeks in the US, three days into the new school year, and once again listening to the booming of a summer thunder storm. 

A real update will follow soon. For now, it's bedtime. Love you all.

More Awesome Than an Acrobatic Hamster

Three day weekends are so awesome. They're more awesome than a hamster performing acrobatics. And if you have any powers of imagination at all, you understand just how awesome that would be.

Three day weekends reach their full awesomeness potential if you have absolutely nothing you have to do on said weekend. If the only thing required of you is to laze about and eat peanut butter, pickle, and miracle whip sandwiches while reading the sequel to Pride and Prejudice, (I am obviously not speaking from experience here. It's a purely hypothetical situation. We all know I totally hate peanut butter and pickle sandwiches and Jane Austen.*) then prepare for the awesome to straight up slap you in the face.

If you have things you need to do on your three day weekend, it can still be totally awesome. It can be totally awesome if you're one of those people who is...what's the word...ah yes. Efficient. If you possess any level of efficiency and/or the ability to gauge how long it will take you to do things, then the three day weekend will treat you well. The awesomeness might not slap you right in the face, but it will still most likely give you a serious shove.

If you have things to do on your three day weekend and are one of the unlucky people out there who are Never Efficient (there are literally dozens of us), then the three days off from employment/school/contributing to society in some way will play out something like this. You'll make lofty plans to accomplish things in small increments throughout the weekend, so it doesn't seem like you have so much to do. "I'll just do one small thing at a time," you think to yourself "It's such a simple solution, why didn't I think of it before?!" The problem is, you DID think of it before- many a time. And it's never worked out. Alas, part of the curse of the Never Efficient is to forget about their past efficiency disasters as soon as they've finished.

So you go home on Friday night. You decide that the small things you had planned for Friday night should definitely be postponed until Saturday, because you've just finished a long week at work.... and who doesn't deserve an internet TV marathon followed by a 9 PM bedtime after five days of actually doing stuff?

You get up early on Saturday morning, and congratulate yourself on waking up before your usual weekend time of 10 AM. Because you are up so early, you're lulled into a false sense of security and tell yourself that you definitely have enough time to sit on the balcony and read. For two hours. Then you remember you have to actually go somewhere today, and have approximately one hour to shower, dress, catch the tram, and be on time for the thing you have to do. Much scurrying and swearing follows, and you barely make it out the door on time. You spend Saturday doing whatever thing it is you had to do. You get home late that night, exhausted, and fall asleep vowing to attack that to-do list tomorrow.

Sunday morning. The day of rest. You take this a bit too literally and somehow manage to spend the day alternately napping, reading, and watching useless things on YouTube. You are comforted by the fact that you have all day tomorrow- an entire day you normally wouldn't have- to do stuff. Then your friend texts you about that party you said you would go to, and you realize you've spent about six hours in a semi-comatose state. More scurrying and swearing ensues. You run out the door, again barely on time. You arrive home from said party at a respectable hour, but too tipsy to do anything of use. "Tomorrow's going to be SUCH a productive day! I can feel it already!" These are your final thoughts before you fall into a red wine induced slumber.

Monday arrives. You wake up early out of a sense of obligation and shame. You think back on the past two days and scold yourself for your lack of productivity. You start to get a little bit stressed out about all the stuff you have to do still.
You see that really great book you spent much of yesterday reading. You think to yourself "Ok, I'll just read for an HOUR and then that will be it! Then I'll do so much stuff!"
Next thing you know, it's 8 PM. You've put a real dent in the book, but not in much else.

This may or may not be loosely based on my own personal experiences over the last three days. I may or may not be dealing with the consequences of my extremely serious procrastination problem by writing a blog post.

I just remembered that I was supposed to be writing about Germany related things. Well, the reason I had to go to a party last night instead of accomplishing anything worthwhile was because some German friends of mine got married. AND it's only a three day weekend because today is the German public holiday of Pfingsten. Go look it up.
Also, having a real job seems to have severely impacted my ability to be productive on weekends. All I want to do is go drink beer with my friends or sit around and read while listening to show tunes (no judging!). I know what you're all thinking. I used to do these things BEFORE I had a real job. Yes, yes I did. But before this job got all up in my grill, I could do these things during the week too. I could spread the fun out over the course of seven days. Now I've got two sad days in which to do all the enjoyable things that I want to do everyday. This is Germany's fault, obviously, because it is the location of said real job. So there. Germany reference, shazam.

I think I need to seek counseling to deal with this problem. It's plagued me all my life, and the problem now is that as I get older, my ability to pull all nighters lessens. The all nighter is a key component to still being able to get shit done while suffering from Debilitating Procrastination Syndrome. Maybe hypnosis would work.

My one coping mechanism is to make lists of every single thing I need to do, because in addition to putting things off until the last possible minute, I'm also what some might call extremely forgetful. I prefer absent minded. This only becomes less of a coping mechanism when I forget to write the things down that I'm not supposed to forget. Like on Friday, I remembered that I needed to buy bean seeds for my class, since we're studying plants and need to actually PLANT something rather than just reading about it in books. Then I forgot to write it down in my day planner, the sacred vessel that contains all my lists and do-not-forget notes. So I forgot it. Until about five minutes ago. And this being Germany, EVERY store is closed on a public holiday. So now I'm up a creek without any bean seeds.

I feel this chart created by Allie Brosh, author of the HILARIOUS blog Hyperbole and a Half, expresses my lack of efficiency and serious procrastination perfectly.

Seriously, that's me. Add in a box about obsessively listening to the acoustic version of "Poker Face", and it pretty much sums up my weekend. Who am I kidding- it sums up my life.


Balls.

*I actually have a deep and abiding love for both peanut butter and pickle sandwiches, as well as Jane Austen. And slightly smutty Pride and Prejudice spin off novels.

The Almost Two Year Retrospective

I've realized two things. Thing the first: I haven't posted in awhile. Sorry, masses of readers, to disappoint you. Thing the second: my recent posts haven't had much to do with being in Germany. I started this blogging (ugh, I still hate that word) business as a way to let my dear and far-away family and friends know what life was like in my new country. However, I've taken to writing about lots of other things, that really don't have much to do with being a foreigner. Time to rectify the situation!

Due to the impending two years in Dresden mark, I've been thinking a lot about how certain things in my life which have become routine are so different to how I lived my life in Oregon. Small things really, but they add up to a slightly altered lifestyle.For the first few months I lived here, I despised these small things. Every time I had to take my own bags to the grocery store, or walk twenty minutes in the rain to get somewhere because I don't have a car, I would rage silently to myself. Often this raging involved me cursing Germany, it's people, it's language, and it's penchant for treacherous cobblestone streets.

I sometimes still rage. Occasionally, I reach the boiling point and just wish I could transport myself back the the US for an hour or two. But I've gotten used to these differences. I usually don't even register them as differences anymore- it's just my life. I wake up in the morning and shower with my hand-held shower, enjoying the fact that I can aim the hot water any old way I please, instead of cursing the fact that I don't have a normal hands-free-stand-underneath-it shower. I race out of my apartment to catch the tram on time, or I wrestle my bike into the elevator to get it down ten flights of stairs and out onto the street for the bumpy, cobblestone-y ride to work. I spend the day at school with a classroom full of mostly German kids, trying not to actually go nuts while attempting to explain American phrases such as "You're driving me nuts!" After school, I stop at the grocery store and whip out my handy dandy cloth bags that I keep folded up in my purse when I get to the check out. Then I hoof it home lugging the groceries along with me. When I get home, I stuff the groceries into my mini, smaller than a dorm fridge fridge and put some laundry into the washing machine. That's in the kitchen. Have to make sure the output hose is in the sink, otherwise the dirty laundry water will spray around the kitchen like a geyser. This may or may not have happened before. When it's done, I only grumble a little bit about not having a dryer, and hang aaaaall my laundry (including socks and underwear) up on my little drying rack.

All these things are small, daily rituals that I've always performed. Showering, getting to work, going to the grocery store, doing laundry. When I moved here two years ago I was constantly frustrated by how different these little rituals had to be. Each time I had to lug my groceries home from the store I dreamed of the roomy trunk of my little Honda Civic, which could hold bags and bags and baaaaags of groceries. When I tripped on the ridiculously uneven cobblestones that pave the streets around my apartment, I thought so fondly of the ugly but BEAUTIFULLY SMOOTH asphalt streets I grew up surrounded by. These things all seem so tiny, and unimportant if you're in a familiar setting. But once you've been transported to a new place, with a new job, new culture, and new language to deal with, these things become monumentally important.

I make these angry, frustrated comparisons less and less these days. Part of living in a foreign country is accepting the differences and unfamiliar situations you encounter. At least, I think so. I'm probably never going to rejoice at the fact that I can't fit more than three days worth of groceries into my impossibly small refrigerator. I can honestly say I'll never wish for someone to speak to me in ultra-fast, heavily accented German. The longer I live here though, the less upsetting these things are. They've become a part of my new life, and I like to think I've become better at adapting to new situations because of it.

Now, myself and the German language- that's a whole different story. One for another post. Perhaps several.

This week, I've been reading a book loaned to me by a fellow teacher. It's called "Almost French: A New Life in Paris." You've probably never heard of it- I hadn't before she gave it to me. It's written by Sarah Turnbull, and Australian journalist who has lived in Paris for the past ten years. It's the story of her decision to move to France, and the subsequent acclimating and fitting in she's been doing ever since. So many of the things she writes about have made me laugh out loud while reading, because I feel like I've been in the exact same situation myself. I'm going to end this long and slightly disjointed post with an excerpt from the book. Honestly, substitute Germany for France, Dresden for Paris and America for Australia, and she could have been reading my mind while writing it. Her version might be slightly more eloquent than mine.



The old Greek on Samos island had warned me. "It's a bitter-sweet thing, knowing two cultures," he'd said. "It's a curse to love two countries." Well I certainly don't think of living abroad as a curse- I don't think the Greek believed it either. He was just dramatising his dilemma, the feeling of being torn between two places. And this is something I now understand. For an expatriate, the whole matter of "home" is an emotional conundrum riddled with ambiguities and caprice. Paris is my actual home: its' where I live. It can pull at heartstrings with a mere walk down our market street in the morning. But Australia is the home of my homesickness and my history- a powerful whirlpool of family and friends, memories and daily trivia that I used to take for granted but now seem somehow remarkable.
Although I understand the French better now, the reality is in France I'm still an outsider. There seem to be so many contradictions, so many social codes for different situations that make life interesting but also leave you feeling a bit vulnerable. Living in Paris requires constant effort: effort to make myself understood, effort to understand and to be alert for those cultural intricacies that can turn even going to the post office into a social adventure.

(Turnbull pg. 166) Lamest citation ever, but I don't want to be a plagiarist.

I really couldn't have said it better myself. And as it's way past even my weekend bedtime, goodnight from Dresden.

Ich habe so viele Probleme

Direct translation: "I have so many problems."

I'd like to clarify that when I say "problem" I mean bad habits or really weird tendencies. I understand that compared to a lot of people, I really don't have any serious problems. Reality slapped me (hard- it was more of a sucker punch, really) in the face a few weeks ago, and let's just say that I'm really trying hard to be more grateful for the amazing life I have, and am attempting to count my blessings.

All that aside, I've had a bit of a strange day, filled with my weird little habits. Sundays either bring out the best or the worst in me, because as far as days of the week go, they're typically pretty empty and obligation free. So I either get down to business and get shit done, or (more often) I sit around and do weird stuff and then end up scurrying around at 9:39 PM trying to get ready for the upcoming week.

Here is a list I've been mentally compiling, all day, of my strange habits. I'm doing this as a favor to all of you, so that you can take a look at yourself in the mirror and say "Self, we've got it pretty good compared to that certifiably insane Bri." You can thank me later.

1. I always let my dishes pile up in the sink until the sink and surrounding counter area have become a safety hazard. One misstep or wrong move anywhere in the vicinity and the precariously stacked Leaning Tower of Dishes will come crashing down. Yes, this has happened before. WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF?! That IS the question.

2. I do the same thing with my laundry.

3. When I find a new song I like, I listen to that song exclusively for anywhere from 1-4 weeks at a time. I found a new song I liked last night. So yes, I'm listening to it on repeat right now. In case you want to get sucked in to my insanity, the song is "Make You Feel My Love" by Adele. She's British. And awesome. And one of her songs costs $1.29 on iTunes which makes me think she might be a bit of a tool, but I'm willing to withhold judgment until I get the whole story. It better be a good one, Adele.

4. I drink coffee with my dinner semi-frequently. This sometimes makes my daily goal of a 10 PM bed time unattainable. I curse myself for my foolish beverage choice the next morning when I'm bleary eyed and grouchy....but then I just do it again.

5. I've developed an addiction to pineapple juice, and it's all I want to drink. This wouldn't be so bad, if I didn't also have frequent heartburn. I think it's genetic because my dad and brother take some sort of intense medication for theirs. None of the women in my family have it.....I wonder if I have too much testosterone....although, the size of my, shall we say, decolletage would refute that whole theory. Anyway, I'm in the midst of a passionate pineapple juice love affair. I can't be bothered to use a glass either, and the juice carton is very strangely shaped, so I keep dribbling on myself. But I keep doing it. I'm starting to see a pattern here.....

6. I do the same thing with TV shows that I do with new songs. When I find one I like, I become obsessed for awhile. I'm currently obsessed with Flight of the Conchords. Bret and Jemaine are so sassy, I can't seem to get enough.

7. I always think there's some sort of supernatural shenanigans being played on me when really normal things happen. I was about to fall asleep for my second nap of the day today, and my half open balcony door SLAMMED shut in a light breeze. I jumped, yelped, and was immediately convinced some type of spirits or other forces were trying to send me a message. The only message I could come up with was "Don't take another nap." I chose to ignore said message and went to sleep anyway, after firmly closing and locking the offending door.

8. I like to go for walks. This is perfectly normal. While on my walks, I like to look into any open or lighted windows, check out what's going on inside, and make up stories about what I IMAGINE is really going on inside. This, I think, is not normal.

9. I really enjoy putting my name inside all of my books, and then sorting them into their proper places on my bookshelves. And then re-sorting them following a new organizational system. They're currently sorted by genre, and book height within each genre.

10. I enjoy sitting back and admiring my bookshelf after it's been sorted to my satisfaction.

So there you have it folks. I've got problems. I'd like to think they're more quirks than problems though. Now I'm off to drink some more pineapple juice and tackle the minefield of dishes awaiting me in my miniature sink.

I hope you all have tiny problems like these to fill up your days, and don't have any bigger or scarier ones to worry about.

Cheerio.

The Silent Spin

Just call me Macgyver. I have conquered the unbalanced washing machine, and it was a sweet, sweet victory. For the past couple of months, every time I do laundry my machine jumps and rattles like a badly maintained twin engine plane attempting to take off on a very bumpy runway. It's quite possibly the most jarring sound I've ever heard (well, maybe number two to my door buzzer), and for the life of me I couldn't figure out WHY the machine was pulling these shenanigans. The absolute worst part of this situation was during the spin cycle- I honestly thought the tile floor underneath the machine was going to crack. I'll confess that I've hefted myself up to sit on top of it, more than once, in order to suppress the jumping and shaking. Given that I don't have a dryer, the extra-long spin cycle is essential in keeping the drying time to a minimum. So, wocka wocka wocka, I explain all of this so that you can understand my feelings of triumph when I FIXED IT TODAY. All by myself! The jumping and shaking was hardly evident, and the machine was virtually SILENT. I just stood in the kitchen (yes, my washing machine is in the kitchen, it's another flaw in this apartment and reason I want to move) for a few minutes, staring at the machine and enjoying the little whirring sound it made. I can neither confirm nor deny that I muttered "Take THAT!" to an inanimate object.

I bet the people that live below me are even happier about this than I am.

I'm a Pro

I know I don't have to say it, since everyone already knows. But- I am. A pro, that is.

Do not dispute me! The truth lies in the name of my NEW LAPTOP....MacBook PRO. Obviously used by professionals, and professionals only.

The area of my professionalism has yet to be determined...teaching? My level of professionalism is debatable, considering the fact that I mutter "jerks" under my breath when my kids are annoying me. Essentially, I'm extremely excited to have this new piece of machinery at my disposal. Here's to hoping that this piece lasts longer than others in my home, as NO ONE wants to re-live (hyphen or no hyphen?!) the iPod falling in the toilet crisis of 2008.

The one problem is that I can't figure out what to do in place of the "right click" option that my good old PC offered. I'm a right click fanatic, so it's been a bit rough. If any Mac users out there have some advice, I'm all ears.

In other news, Christmas break came and went much too fast, and I loved having my sister here, even if she did hate London. I love her enough to forgive her for that. I'll admit to being slightly mopey after she left Dresden to go party with her friends for a couple more weeks, leaving me here having to return to work in a few days. I can also neither confirm nor deny that my Christmas tree is still up in the corner of my living room, due to the overwhelming melancholy I feel at the thought of taking it down by myself. Oh, it's a fake tree. That's why it's still standing and hasn't spontaneously combusted already. I've decided that tomorrow is the day though. It has to be done- I'd be more than slightly embarrassed if someone stopped by in mid January and my tree was still up in all it's glory. And yes, it is glorious.

Dresden is a snowy wasteland these days. I'm seriously considering investing in a dogsled along with a pair of matching Huskies as my means of transportation. I've never been exposed to THIS much snow for such an extended period of time, and I'm starting to understand why my dear friend Kristin Ourada always referred to it as "white poison."

What do you know, it's 2:28 AM. How time flies when you're fiddling around on your new computer. I do believe that's my cue to hit the sack.

Tschussie.