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.

Going Postal

An adorable, bespectacled elderly man, who works at the post office down the street from my apartment, has singlehandedly restored my faith in the friendliness of Germans.

To start with, he was considerate enough to ask me if the DHL boxes I was purchasing were for posting within Germany- since these particular ones couldn't be sent internationally. I gratefully replied that I was in fact attempting to purchase international boxes, and he then scurried to the back room and returned with two international packages. Then, instead of just selling them to me and waving the next customer over (which I expected him to do, since there was an epically long line behind me), he inquired as to where I would be sending them. Mind you, he picked up on the fact that my German wasn't from 'round these parts, and I noticed that he spoke much more slowly and clearly after the first couple of sentences that came out of my mouth. He didn't do it in a demeaning way though, the way so many people do without even realizing. He was obviously just trying to make sure I understood him, which made the whole interaction much more pleasant, especially on my end. So, I told him that one was going to the USA and one was going to Afghanistan. "Ach, Afghanistan!" He said with raised eyebrows. I nodded and tried to explain "Meinen Bruder ist einen Soldat, und er wohnt jetzt in Afghanistan." My brother is a soldier, and currently lives in Afghanistan. Not grammatically correct at all, really, and a little (ok, a lot) on the basic side. But, he smiled and said something along the lines of "Well, you're such a nice sister to send him a package. It must be for Christmas?" I nodded, and he then proceeded to write up a detailed list of how much it would cost me to send a package there, depending on how much it weighed. After that, he wrote me a few little notes on the back of the paper on what I should say to the person when I came back, depending on if I wanted to send it priority or not, and explained in detail how to fill out the customs slip. Finally, I paid, stuffed everything into my bag, and waved goodbye, thanking him profusely. As I left he said "Ich hoeffe deinen Bruder gesund und munter bleibt." I hope your brother stays safe and sound.


It was maybe a seven minute interaction, but I just can't stop thinking about how friendly this man was, in so many small ways. Not only was it more wonderful than I can say to understand EVERYTHING someone said to me witouth having to infer meaning while frantically trying to keep pace with them, it was great to encounter a person who really was just trying to help me and make my day a little better. He could have shooed me off after selling me the wrong boxes, or glowered at me when I spoke hestitantly in German- but he didn't. It's nice to know that there are some truly genuine and caring people left out there. This stranger was a tiny part of my day, but I'll remember him for a long time.


In completely unrelated news, I am obsessed with the new Lady Gaga song/video "Bad Romance." I honestly, honestly don't know why. I just can't seem to stop watching it, even though as my sister said when I convinced her to check it out, "It's pretty effing weird, and what's up with that hairless cat?"

I don't know! But I can't seem to get enough. So I'm foisting it on you fools! Buahaha. Enjoy.