You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July 2008.
So, its hotter than… what? Hell? Texas? A Michigan summer? I don’t know, it’s just really freakin’ hot.
I just tried to pour myself some refreshing crystal light. Let’s just say it’s heavy on the crystal. Everything in the fridge is frozen. Everything.
Why? Because of a little thing called marriage.
Sparky and I have vastly different ideas on how cold a refrigerator is supposed to be kept. For me it’s more about how cold food should be kept and for him, well, its just not how his mother does it eco-friendly.
I have had food poisoning on several occasions, one of which required me to take a bus home from work and walking past a Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles (there was one in Oakland for a while). While delish as hangover food, it is very bad for food poisoning. This made quite an impression. I keep my food very cold.
Sparky on the other hand, has a stomach of steel or asbestos or something completely impervious to illness. He doesn’t care. He leaves meat out in the sun for two days then eats it. He might belch after, but frankly, he says, the maggots added a certain flair.
I noticed the other day the fridge was having a problem keeping things cool. I did what anyone would do, I turned it up, meaning cooler. What I didn’t know was to be more like his mother eco-friendly, Sparky had turned it down, meaning he made it warmer.
It took a few days, but now I have frozen veggies… in my fridge. I have frozen mayo. I have frozen salad and milk and lunch meat. My jam is frozen. So is the yogurt. The Cheddar cheese and Monterrey jack? Yep, frozen. My bell peppers could function as bells. The romanesco that I snatched from an old lady’s hand at 7 am at the weekend market is frozen.
I don’t know, is all that food still good? How’s that for eco-friendly, Sparks. I’m going to have to replace all those bottles that cracked because you’re on crack and can’t leave well enough alone.
Next topic: Lights - Sparky was raised as a mole child. I was allowed to see my food when I ate. Conflict ensues.
Friday afternoon, Sparky was interviewed by ZDF for the Heute program as an expert in his field. I’m very proud of him. I think it’ll be on sometime this week. I was put in as a background person and hopefully that part will be cut as I was not prepared for such a thing. I won’t go into the part where I totally embarrassed myself by having a feminine problem all over my gorgeous linen pants, walking around in front of the journalist, film crew and Darmstadt and not having a clue nor having a husband that might have let me know such things. Humiliating experience number 1,236,947.
In other somewhat obvious news, still not pregnant. I was going to skip a month and take off for California in August until I checked the airfares. Let’s just say i can pay for the fertility drugs AND a first year of diapers and still have cash left for a new pair of shoes with the money not spent in going to Cali this summer.
I usually pay anywhere from $750-950, round trip, non-stop. Uh, yeah. Has anyone heard of a gas price thing because my tickets went up to $3400 round trip with a layover in either Philly or DC or Atlanta. I am so not doing that. Not the price nor a layover in the US anywhere but Los Angeles because I have to go through customs and re-check my baggage when I touch down stateside and I would rather change in the EU and let them do it.
I miss my family terribly, but I can’t justify the cost.
So we’re purchasing our tickets now for Christmas. They are mildly better, but if I have to sell my blood to get to California in December, I will do it.
So given that I’m not flying to Cali, I’m doing the drugs again. I’ve kinda gotten hooked on giving myself daily injections. I can play out my junkie fantasy except I’m not 94 pounds and I have all my teeth. And even though there have been times I have sworn to give up my eye teeth to be 94 pounds, I wasn’t serious. I like my teeth.
Dude, is it hot and humid where you are? The cats are laid out on the bathroom floor as if they’d been shot. I think they’ve got the right idea.
Dude. I’m sick and feverish and not wanting to do more than bury my head in the pillows and Ollie keeps hiding grapes in my bed. I only find them when they squish. Today its grapes. Sometimes it’s plants or leaves or cherries or q-tips or bugs, but only the big big bugs because he eats the little ones right away.
I know he’s hidden something when he starts digging at the blankets. His digging drives me nuts because I’m totally waiting for the punchline.
Why am I bothering to write this if I am so sick I want nothing more than to curl up with Gilmore Girls on in the background so I can sleep?
Because the little fucker wanted to cuddle too.
On the remote control.
The volume went up and up and up. Once ear splitting level was reached, Fuzz Butt freaked out and using my head as a launch pad, flew off the bed. Problem is that his paws are so fuzzy, he doesn’t have a whole lot of traction/brake power. He totally face planted into the wall.
Hilarious.
I love cats.
My sister left last Thursday. I’ve been recovering. This past weekend was the first time Sparky and I had a chance to rest in over a month. It was lovely. We tried cleaning out our DVR, but we both fell asleep. Like all weekend.
While Mim was here we had a funeral, an ovulation, a meeting with financial advisers, insurance guy and tax man, kid duty and sister entertaining. The ovulation and the funeral took place at the same time. It was rather awkward to be hearing the clock ticking on my ovum as we were burying a very young, 33, and good friend of Sparky’s. Natural causes – his heart just stopped in his sleep. It was awful.
Which brings me to the next topic. People, I hearby propose an addition to the black of typical funeral wear. Sunglasses. I don’t know why I was the only one wearing them, but I shouldn’t have been. Mask your grief, people, mask your grief. Between my very California shades and my black A-line dress, heels and currently blond hair, I stood out like Anna Nicole Smith.
After the funeral, Sparky’s grade school teacher had coffee with Sparky’s mother and our attendance was required. Sitting between the two women, I tried to figure out a way to skedaddle as I had a job to do that required Sparky’s uh, participation. It was tough finding the desire to reproduce as his teacher told stories of a 7-year-old Sparky and his mother patted his ass. Very confusing for the old plumbing. Not to mention my sister waiting at home. That was really nice for all three of us.
Seriously, if I hadn’t just gone through 9 days of hormonal hell at the tune of 1500 euros in fetility drugs, and a previous dud cycle, I would have said screw it. Or not. And it was a perfect follicle. My doctor was so pleased. It was like I brought home an A+paper. I couldn’t just waste it, right? God, the pressure!!
Sparky, having just buried one fo his oldest childhood friends, had his own obstacles. And really, this is his part. He was the one with the pressure. If this one took, it is by the grace of the goddess because it was freakin’ work. Not like our romantic trips to Paris or Treier.
A few days later we met with our financial people. We have people. It’s not how I imagined it. When I thought about having people, I thought it would be a bunch of sycophants telling me I was pretty and a fashion icon in my Lindsay Lohan leggings. But no, that’s not how it works. Our people instructed us and spoke to me as if I were back in 9th grade algebra. Sadly, they needed to.
No, no, our people are not sycophants. They are the Financial Adviser, the Tax Man and the Insurance Guy. I have never felt more adult than that day. We discussed interest rates, life insurance, retirement and mortgages all within a 6 hour period with a tax man meeting the next day. When did I get that old? Seriously. All I wanted to do was skip school or throw a temper tantrum. Anything really to regress to the point of not having those conversations. I needed more wrinkle cream by the end of those two days. I could see myself aging as quickly as our retirement account isn’t growing. I mean, really, it was just yesterday when the only bills I had were rent, utilities and yearly car insurance, right? Apparently not.
So all that is in the past. Mim is back in Cali. The commander is currently doing his duty in the bedroom and I am back to my routine.
So I wore the mini to the concert, Big Finn. You were right, he was most appreciative, especially since it was accompanied by a pair of high heels. The concert was fabu, great seats and an overall wonderful night.
Fast forward to Saturday. Sparky left for Koeln and Angel Baby was dropped off.
Can I just say that there were no tears at drop off? I have never felt so complemented.
Angel is doing what she always does with me. She is being absolutely perfect. She listens to me, she talks to me, she sits when she’s eating and she goes to bed without a whole lot of crying, just enough to let me know she hasn’t been brain damaged by spinning she loves so much.
I really don’t know what all this fuss is about. Kids are a breeze.
Then Sparky called at 1 am from a strip club to let me know he was not knee deep in stripper juice. Sleeping, key word here – SLEEPING, on the sofa so Angel Baby could go to bed at 8:30, I had to run around the house, half asleep looking for the phone before it woke AB.
I failed.
She woke up. Angel Baby took 30 more minutes to go to sleep. Then Olli came in to check her out and purred. I’m not sure if it was the motor boat decibel level of his purring or the licking of her forehead, but it woke her up again. Another 30 minutes.
Let’s just say I was a leetle cranky with the Sparkster.
I woke up this morning and gave Sparky a call, just to remind him how much I love him and miss him and hoped he had a good time and as the supportive wife that i am, hoped he had gotten a lap dance and really enjoyed himself.
Well, hmmm. I guess he was asleep at the time so i left a voice mail. Oh and i must have forgotten that if he doesn’t pick up and I leave a voice mail, his cell phone rings and rings and rings until the message is picked up.
Hehehehehe.
I am so freakin’ tired. This kid might be an angel, but she requires non-stop attention. Getting her to eat at the table is a long process of showing her food, but not letting her have it unless she sits on the three books I’ve stacked so she can be at a normal height. And the bath? You would have thought i was pulling each one of her toes off and then starting on her fingers and let me tell you marble was a really bad choice simply for the acoustic properties alone.
I can’t wait until Tat comes to pick her up because I want a nap. I love her dearly and she is such a sweet babe, but man, she has worn me out.
Happy Fourth of July.
I’ve officially been in Krautland for five years. Yay. Can you feel my excitement?
Jeff called this morning to wish Mim and I a Happy Fourth. He asked me how I felt being in a country not celebrating my independence and all I could think about was how appropriate that question was. I really do want to move back to SF. I miss my family. I miss my dad. I miss my hair guy.
In other news, Mim flew in last night. I was so concerned in making the red room into a perfect guest room I forgot to check which airline she was flying in on. A brilliant move on my part. Didn’t even occur to me until Sparky asked which terminal as we entered the airport round-abouts. Good thing she had a cell phone.
She and I are celebrating by doing ab-so-lute-ly nothing all day. When Sparky gets home, he and I are going to a concert and that should be very nice. He got us great seats. I might just wear a mini-skirt for the guy.
Mim will skip the concert and play with the cats, watch TV and do laundry. It only takes four hours a load so she should be done by tomorrow.
Have a good one, American Expats. Remember the times when America was great. We’ve only had Bush in office for 8 years. That doesn’t erase all the good stuff. We just celebrated the Berlin Airlift and that was goddamned brilliant and awesome and really, so American.
You know, I was trying to write a post about my weekend coming up and it was all so treacly about babies and whatnot. I might as well give up and go post on those infertility boards. Man, I never wanted to be one of those women.
Here’s the gist of It. Tatiana and I set up a babysitting Saturday for her two-year-old who I am using, unapologeticlly, to allow Sparky the joy of hands-on kid herding. And I want him to change a poopy diaper because I am mean like that.
I am also planning on using said two-year-old as a baby-proofing expert. I have lost most of my Sharpie pens. If anyone can find a permanent marker, she can.
This particular kid is perfect for the job. She can talk when she wants, understands perfectly, but is still firmly controlled by her Id and she really does not give a rats ass if the sofa came from Ligne Roset because she is having fun kicking it. Baby doesn’t know who Peter Maly is, but she thinks he designed a great bed for jumping on. Did I mention she has very powerful lungs to boot?
(She calls me “Jee” so I’m pretty much a goner. Funny how she can break my ear drums on a continuous basis, but the the moment she recognizes me with a vague resemblance to my actual name and I forget about my permament hearing loss and smile at her.)
Basically, I want Sparky to feel what it is like to have another Id in the house that does not have a tail. A sort of flooding, if you will.
Did I mention diapers? Because that was going to be the most fun part for me. It took him four years to clean a cat toilet and I promise, if/when we have a kid, he’s not gonna have that amount of time to get used to it.
Tatiana has selflessly offered me her kid for this overnight learning experience. She and her husband will have to find something to do all by themselves since their 10-year-old will be gone too. See how selfless they are? I’m sure they will be bored.
I have reminded Sparky for the last three weeks. Every couple of days I tell him, get him used to the idea of sticky hands and temper tantrums and poopy diapers. He just nods and says “Great!”
That was until Monday.
“Sparky, do you remember what we’re doing this weekend?”
“Uh, Yeah. Axel’s bachelor party in Koeln. I’m leaving Saturday with the guys and it’ll be strippers and table dances all night. Wooot! Wooot!”
I won’t continue with where that conversation went, but I’m pret-ty sure you can guess.
So, this weekend? Yeah, I’ll be babysitting a two-year-old and Sparky will be knee deep in, well, knee deep in something.
Nice.
