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A friend and I were talking and it somehow came up that German men tend to have large… well, large lap rockets in comparison to other men we’ve uh… witnessed.
My experience is not based on one nether rod, however, I have not slept with the entire German population so I really couldn’t make anything more than an anecdotal argument.
We figured it wasn’t just us, right? We weren’t just the lucky two girls of the population to marry Thor and Thunder the Wonder Horses, right? Who else could we ask?
Who else indeed. See, she’s a little more polite and modest than I am, so I’m asking. According to my sources, many readers of this blog have experience with the German whoopee stick. So leave a comment and add your two cents.
**Thank Bloodhound Gang for the vernacular
Remember when I said I was going to have a bit of a rest? I lied. This week all the repairs to our newly constructed house have started and insomnia has come to visit. I’m tired and cranky. Sparky is in Hamburg for the rest of the week and truthfully, this does not bother me. I’m dying for the alone time.
Water damage from above and faulty door frames have resulted in massive bathroom work. Its officially out of commission until possibly Friday, more likely Tuesday.
After the TV was purchased, Sparky needed the hateful cords hidden in the wall. Only after our guy cut open a four inch channel 2 feet long, did our architect come over pissed. Something about a weight bearing wall. I’m sure its not that important. Not nearly as important as hiding offensive cords, right? I have never seen that man so angry before and it really is keeping me up nights. We had no idea that it would be a problem because the same wall, different room has the same size channel cut for the same type cords for the same purpose. Did I mention he’s also our neighbor?
Then the TV cabinet broke and needed to be repaired as did a kitchen cabinet. The kitchen cabinets need to be fixed by the kitchen people and the TV cabinet by the TV cabinet people who are also the new door frame people. The bedroom curtains are ready, but as they are red silk, they have to wait until all the sanding and painting is completed.
Throw in an impromptu drive to Munich and you have a pretty full week. Next person to tell me that I don’t do anything all day is going to be kicked in the baby maker.
People I’ve seen this week, thus far:
Dry wall builder – to cut and paste dry wall into various spots
Painters – 8 am everyday this week
Electrician 1 – brain dead knuckle head
Electrician 2 – way hot, too bad I’m not a bored housewife, oh wait…
Carpenters – second set of awesome craftsmen who actually listen to Sparky when he
complains of small scratches in the TV furniture. If you’ve ever been to our house, you will know what I’m talking about and I am truly sorry.
Brazilian waxer – I think I might be a masochist, but I’m not real sure. What do you think, Ace1?
Kitchen Installation Guys – one little cabinet thingie and all hell breaks loose.
Interior Designer – They have really cute stuff even by American standards.
Good thing I haven’t had a chance to put away the air mattress because, sweetheart, that’s where I’m sleeping. The one that leaks no less. I guess I’m the knuckle head.
Pictures below. I’m leaving out the waxing one for all our sakes. However, I can say that the wax place in Munich employs supermodel type waxers and its rather intimidating.
After a weekend of sisters in circumstances, my sister in blood showed up. there was not a moment to spare and now I’m spent. My march has been fantastic. Lucky girl to have a trip, a girlie weekend and a sister week. However, I’m exhausted and I feel old.
I’m going to have a bit of rest now that the house is empty.
I just want to thank all the wonderful women that came to the Girlie Weekend. We all come from different places, live in different places and experience our lives differently. However, what seemed to be the common thread for the weekend is that we gave up what we knew for the possibility for something better and in doing so, we’ve missed the companionship that women offer.
The days and nights were full of conversation and laughter. They were filled with language, both verbal and nonverbal. They were filled with support and validation. Not in a hippie-dippy-look-at-our-vaginas type of way, but in a very no-nonsense, direct “we rock” sort of way. Seriously, we do rock. We are some mighty fine women.
The ghetto-blaster-in-the-sky was in full force, thanks the Jessica, B and Christina. I appreciated it. All of you. It might have been at my place, but you all helped with the hosting. Thank God, because again, I am no Martha Stewart and like gabbing far too much.
Sparky REALLY appreciated the clean-up crew this morning and I mean really. He’s talked about it all afternoon. Well, I assume he talked about it because it was the last thing I heard before I fell asleep shortly after making the last HBF drop off. The sound of his voice combined with the subject matter of household cleanliness is better than Ambien any day.
You guys made it a fabulous couple of days. Thanks.
Cast of Characters 2nd Annual Girlie Weekend
Kim
Mausi
Jessica
Chrisitna G.
Brigit
Penny, not a blogger and has a wicked sense of humor
Ann
Tatiana
Claire
Christina W. – not a blogger but I wish she would.
Maria
Here is the next post. Bullet point-ish because tomorrow is the beginning of the girlie weekend and I am running around preparing and cooking.
We went on a trip last week. Sparky and me and a mystery friend MF(er). Three planes and a ferry in five days. It was hard and fast, just the way I like it. It was fabulous. I have two new countries and have officially left my siblings in the dust, country count wise. However, the MF(er) kicks my ass without even trying.
We hit Stockholm, Helsinki and Tallinn. The MF(er) coined the term “Jen Blockers” for earphones. I think my brother can relate. Hell, anyone in the same room with me for longer than 10 minutes can relate.
Stockholm: Gorgeous, friendly, they have Cat Walk Shampoo and I almost knocked over a 400 year old ship when taking a picture.
Helsinki: Colder than a witch’s tit. Great ambience for a really cold spy city. I hear the Finnish all carry knives. Saunas are my new best friend. And give me reindeer carpaccio, liver pate and a vodka cranberry ANY day.
Tallinn: Tallinn was my favorite. This requires another post. It was super fast but so full. We met the most beautiful people. Tina – intelligent, mysterious; the kind of lady that keeps you wanting to know more. I think we all left with a little crush. Her guy was fascinating, animated and hysterical. I haven’t had such a good time in years. And let me tell you, they must have some VERY good bras in Estonia. That’s were I’m going next time I need one. Sparky was more impressed with the legs. And the rum. Oh my, the rum. MF(er) and I were still “Happy” boarding the plane the next morning. He was less happy. It was more of a Britney Spears except he was wearing panties. Oh and the snow! It snowed a really great snow. I had to go to Estonia to get snow this year. See how great our hosts were?
We got back Sunday morning and it took me until Tuesday morning to recover. I’m getting old as MF(er) kept telling me. However old I am, I got to recover in bed, while he had to recover at work. Ha.
So enough for now. Girls, can’t wait to see you. Those who couldn’t make it, we’ll do another next year or before if someone else wants to host. I’m so not Martha and haven’t figured out how to pull things together drunk. And I need the chef juice.
I have a problem. And I’m not quite sure how to approach it at this point. See, baring domestic violence, I’m about to go fucking mad.
It’s about one bite, one sip and it’s about one dish.
One bite left in the ice cream carton. One sip left in crystal light pitcher. One bowl left in the sink.
Sounds like a little problem, huh? Well, its not. It’s a big problem and it’s driving me crazy and there is nothing I can do. I feel there might be a little passive aggressive aggression here, like when Cleo would pick out my favorite pair of jeans to piss on if I had been gone too long.
I can’t tell you how many times, I was sitting in my car, late to wherever it was I had to be, only to smell cat piss and have to go back and change. Cat piss is one of those scents that doesn’t ever really wash out or off. And it worked. Cleo got a ton of attention out of it. Usually it would start with a “CLEO!!!!!” as I ran back inside to change. She would just sit there, under the bed, out of arms reach (she was a very smart cat), content that I was back in the house and I swear I could see her smile, just a little.
Now, Cleo was the best cat in the world, but she didn’t have opposable thumbs, a feature that could have enabled her to rule the world. She wasn’t magic (well she was, but in a different way). She didn’t pull my jeans out of the closet with her razor sharp claws. She’s sniff out my jeans on the floor. My jeans were always on the floor. Most of my clothes were on the floor or in my handbag. I was single and I could do whatever I wanted with my stuff. My shoes were always by the door or artistically stepped out of as I walked down my hall. There were days that I would completely undress as I walked in the door, leaving my entire outfit on the floor one piece at a time. Those were the days, man. Being able to find my shoes or bra because it was in the exact place I left it.
But as I’ve married and live with someone who is driven nuts by this habit, I have changed, stifled my natural tendencies to organize my belongings horizontally. Why? Because I love my partner and want to make his life as comfortable as possible so we can live in communal bliss.
So when I asked said partner to finish off the ice cream so that when I see the container sitting there in the freezer and think that perhaps I might be treated to more than the tiny little bit, and there’s not and I’m sad. You know what he said? He said, “Hmm. Tough.”
What????? Tough? Tough is not smelling the cat piss until you’re at work and your co-workers start wrinkling their noses. Tough is not a response to finish the damn ice cream you perverse knucklehead.
And the bowl, the bowl! He eats; he takes it into the kitchen and leaves it on or in the sink. Then he starts polishing the shiny surfaces around the sink. WTF? He is compelled by a nasty case of OCD to clean the kitchen counters and metal parts and at the same time he can leave a bowl in the sink. With an empty dishwasher. Why can’t he just stick in the dishwasher? Why? Why do I always find one bowl and one spoon in my sink?
Because, and I’m going to say it, he’s used to his mother doing his dishes.
Argh. I’m going out of my mind and there just so many times I can wish him “kindness and many causes for kindness”* before my head explodes.
He’s gone today and I am tempted to throw my entire unmentionables drawer around the house. Strew bras all over our tree lamps and leave a trail of Vickie’s through the bathroom.
But you know what? It wouldn’t bother him. It wouldn’t register in his brain at all. OCD is his autopilot. He’d just pick it all up and shove it somewhere out of sight and I’d be out of panties. I’d ask him where he’d put it all and he’d have absolutely no memory of picking it up. I’d spend then next hour looking and I’d find everything in the freezer, right next to an empty ice cream container.
*In an attempt to lower my stress level, not flip out at the world and encourage kindness, I’m attempting to stop calling bad drivers and Krauts cows or morons. I’m trying to smile when I want to scowl and I’m wishing people kindness and many causes for kindness rather than telling them they need to get their ass/cart/car/child/dog/bike out of my way before I knock them down. I’m inviting peace and love and kindness into my life and let me tell you, its fucking killing me.
When in Rome, do as the Romans. So when in Fucking, do as the Fuckers?
Let me tell you, we did our best.
if Sparky ever kicked the bucket.
Well, if blogger actually deigned to function there would be a picture of a woman with 91 cats in a 2 bedroom apartment in the Ukraine. If sparky kicks it, i think I’ll move to the Ukraine. I hear the Ukraine is strong.
91 Cats
In other news, we,(Sparky,I and brave mystery friend), leave for a mystery trip for five days. I can’t tell you where because its spy related and I don’t want to jeopordize my contacts.
P.S. I hate blogger and this new beta thing sucks ass. Wish me luck trying to put together wordpress. Maybe then I can publish a picture and have it stick. Damn blogger.
