Today at the staff meeting at one of my jobs, there was a discussion about whether or not we should be hanging art in the workplace, and what kind of art that should be.
Then, one of the people noted that the company could employ an SHK to take the pictures to and from a van and hang them. A previous SHK who used to work in the office with me (who now has a real job and thus recognition as being a real person) looked at me and a simultaneous headshake took place.
Those of you who know me will know this whole SHK thing is one that drives me crazy and that I choose to bitch about quite often. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the German system, an SHK is typically just slave labor, akin to an unpaid intern with a degree who spends their days getting coffee for higher-ups. Our bosses are pretty much convinced we do dick all, even though we often do tons of work that they get to take credit for later on. Oh yeah. And we get paid practically nothing to do it.
On the one hand, it's good "experience" to have on your resume, even if it doesn't technically count as "work experience". (Which, considering the amount of work most SHK's I know do, is laughable. I do more work here than I did at any of my previous full-time "normal" jobs.) On the other: we're stuck doing the lousy work that no "real" employee wants to take on; are not given keys to get into the buildings we work in because "we might throw parties" and thus have to hope the person manning the front desk will open the door for us when we get to work; and are treated generally like baby monkeys, even though enough of us are running around with Bachelor's degrees.
It's a half-win/lose situation, but we deal with it... Mostly because we have to. You can't be choosy when the best jobs out there pay 10€ an hour or (normally) less if you're a dreaded student, regardless of the vow you made to yourself at 17 that you'd never work for less than the equivalent of 13€ an hour again.
What drives me crazy, though, is the potential for exploitation. Of course, I'll do the grunt work! Of course, I'll unload a car! And then, of course, I'll be happy to go back to my regular work where -- were I a freelancer -- I'd be getting a cool 300 yoyos a day, but of course I'm DELIGHTED to take my 60€ before tax! Of course!
Are SHK's the new Yes Men? Yes!
As for my previous co-worker, he went from being a Yes Man to a "real" human being whose thoughts could be respected from one day to the next. As far as I've been able to tell, nothing happened that day to make him more "important" or better of a person (except for the fact he got a key to the building).
Grumble, grumble. Here's to hoping my day comes eventually.
Showing posts with label Stupidity Reigns. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stupidity Reigns. Show all posts
19 March 2013
14 February 2013
Survivor 26: Douchebags vs. Wingnuts
Survivor 26 Fan vs. Favorites Premiere: An Ode to Boston Rob
(How Fitting for Valentine's Day...)
I don't know what makes me feel older... The fact I distinctly remember drooling over love-of-my-life Colby Donaldson of Australia back when I was at swim camp in Arizona in those olden days when I was still an athlete, or the fact I'll soon be closing in on a decade of post-secondary.
So, anyway, I decided to watch the first episode. And because of the fact I'd actually be more in love (you know, in the way teenage girls are in love with celebrities... as in: not actually) with Boston Rob than Colby if he wasn't married to freaking hot Ambaaah, I couldn't get him out of my head the entire episode. For the obvious reasons, and also because it seems the only way them Survivor folk can keep people interested across the plethora of seasons is to constantly mention either Boston Rob as a HERO OF THE GAME, or Russell Hantz as the DEVIL HIMSELF REINCARNATED.
So, in an ode-to-Boston-Rob way, here are some Season 26 Episode 1 survivor dedications to him -- both intentional and not -- in the first episode.
1. Some crazy woman (they seem to only cast identical blondes, so please excuse me when I don't note her name until she's already voted off) noted the following the snogging of fire-fighter Eddie* and some other blonde who shall remain nameless:
"Romantic alliances do not work on Survivor."
Now, please excuse me, Nameless Crazy Blonde, but may I please direct your attention to the likes of Boston Rob and Ambaaah, as well as Ethan and Jenna. There are also websites for people crazier than me out there who document more of the Survivor-lovers. Maybe YOU do not work on Survivor.
2. Underwear Phillip running a tally of Boston Rob's rules. BR rule number one! BR rule number two! BR rule number three! Blah, blah something about cutting everyone's throats except for family and Ambaaah, because her body is slammin'!
3. Okay, this one is not so obvious, which pretty much means I just made it up, but Eddie's whole "This is like the cool guys at the table in the cafeteria in high school"... First, omfg shut up. Second, I'm pretty sure you were not at BR's cool table in high school.
4. And, in closing to a blog post that turned from cheeky to miserably stalker-obsessed, there's the whole tribal council thing where Jeff felt like reminding people that real players of Survivor know the game moves fast, and that things can even change at tribal council. You know, like how Boston Rob would put a hand on the person's shoulder who was going to be voted out. Because he was the ringleader of the cool guys' table at high school and all that.
Oh, and by the by, kudos to Brandon for pointing that out. After an observant comment like that, you didn't have to see next week's preview to know he's just as snakey as his devil-reincarnated uncle.
*By the way Eddie, props to you for having the aptly named surname of Fox. Also, you're 23. Please stop making me feel like a grandmother/cradle robber. Thank you.
Okay, I've stopped. You may now return to your regular scheduled programming... You know, about stuff you actually care about. And while you're back with your regular scheduled programming, could you please pray for me that I don't also start blogging about Germany's Next Topmodel in a couple weeks?
xthxbye
13 February 2013
The Good, The Bad, The Ugly: Yesterday After Work Edition
So, yesterday after work I went into the shopping district to buy some Salomon shoes. Why, you ask? Well, it seems that I'm giving in to the quasi-bullying I deal with every time I go to Allgäu. In a place where Salomon shoes are a way of life (For the grocery store! Work! Coffee!), my Vans encourage people to pointedly ask me when I'm just gonna give it up and get a pair of ridiculously expensive hiking shoes. (Because, apparently, were I to wear my hiking boots around, I'd immediately be marked as a poser-foreigner. Mountain-people can be so snobby.)
So, anyhoo, there's no fucking way I'm spending around 140 yoyos on shoes. I mean... If I was gonna spend 140 yoyos willingly and in one fell swoop, I'd spend it on books. If someone were to put a gun to my head and say "Buy shoes with your 140 yoyos," my first reaction would be, "Why are you holding a gun to my head and acting all serious saying yoyos, yo," and secondly, "Okay, then let's go to bargain Jumex and I'll go to town buying twelve to fourteen pairs of shoes for my hard-earned dough."
I have, however, decided to "give it up". I got my Salomon shoes all right... IN KID'S SIZE!
Here is the newest edition of "The Good, The Bad, The Ugly", where I would like to discuss my shopping experience of yesterday.
The Good:
Duh! Kid's shoes! I don't know who these ladies are who are buying their size 37 shoes in the women's department and not the children's. Yes, my shoes are that of a child's model. However, I fail to see how spending less than half of what I would were I to shop in the women's section is not f-ing amazing. Women with size 37 feet or smaller who are running around in women's shoes are not cool -- they're stupid. If they're so stupid they would rather spend an extra 100 yoyos on shoes "just so they're not the kids' version", they should probably spend another 100 yoyos on books.*
The Bad:
Don't get me wrong. I'm totally pumped that the days are getting longer. However, this whole dark-at-6:30 thing is weird. It's that weird in-between phase that makes me a little bit uncomfortable. It's like someone waving the carrot of summer in front of my nose, all the while with me knowing that summer is a long ways off. And, despite the extra two hours of sunlight, that it's still very much winter. This depresses me.
The Ugly:
Americans. I'm sorry. I'm even sorrier having to say this because I know most people who meet me or hear me speaking on the phone/to a friend in passing think I'm an American (PS, I hate you). You know what? I'd apply this to Canadians, too. We just sound so fucking stupid when we talk. Maybe I've just been living in the land of the disgruntled, direct German language for too long, or maybe it just stands out more in areas where English isn't the main language spoken, but frick we all sound like blundering idiots.
Exhibit one: Girl in a fur hat that made me think she was a twentieth-century channelling Russian at first glance. "Like, my parents paid soooo much for me to take the SAT's, you know? And if I, like, don't get into the top college that I really, reaaaaaaally want, I'll just be totally devastated. You seriously have no idea."
Exhibit two: Guys wandering behind me. Guy 1: "But, I mean, you probably don't have any problems fitting in here. You're a doctor for chrissakes." Guy 2: "I could totally just hang out with the expat crowd, but I really try to hang out with the locals. It makes the whole experience so much more authentic, you know?"
For some reason, when Germans talk about equally stupid things, it somehow doesn't come across so whiny and valley girl/surfer dude-like. It could be because everyone sounds so angry. Or because they don't speak so loudly.
Or it could be just me and the fact that, since I rarely hear English on a day-to-day basis, my ears pique to it immediately, only to regret it in about 3.5 seconds. (The ugliest fact of them all.)
*I'm not actually hatin' on people who can spend 140 yoyos on hiking shoes (which, unless you live in Allgäu or make monthly visits there, will maybe get used a maximum of three or four times per year tops). I'm insanely jealous. Those people should be saving their 200 yoyos (100 for what they saved by buying the kids pair and 100 for what I told them to use to buy books) and giving it to me.
So, anyhoo, there's no fucking way I'm spending around 140 yoyos on shoes. I mean... If I was gonna spend 140 yoyos willingly and in one fell swoop, I'd spend it on books. If someone were to put a gun to my head and say "Buy shoes with your 140 yoyos," my first reaction would be, "Why are you holding a gun to my head and acting all serious saying yoyos, yo," and secondly, "Okay, then let's go to bargain Jumex and I'll go to town buying twelve to fourteen pairs of shoes for my hard-earned dough."
I have, however, decided to "give it up". I got my Salomon shoes all right... IN KID'S SIZE!
Here is the newest edition of "The Good, The Bad, The Ugly", where I would like to discuss my shopping experience of yesterday.
The Good:
Duh! Kid's shoes! I don't know who these ladies are who are buying their size 37 shoes in the women's department and not the children's. Yes, my shoes are that of a child's model. However, I fail to see how spending less than half of what I would were I to shop in the women's section is not f-ing amazing. Women with size 37 feet or smaller who are running around in women's shoes are not cool -- they're stupid. If they're so stupid they would rather spend an extra 100 yoyos on shoes "just so they're not the kids' version", they should probably spend another 100 yoyos on books.*
The Bad:
Don't get me wrong. I'm totally pumped that the days are getting longer. However, this whole dark-at-6:30 thing is weird. It's that weird in-between phase that makes me a little bit uncomfortable. It's like someone waving the carrot of summer in front of my nose, all the while with me knowing that summer is a long ways off. And, despite the extra two hours of sunlight, that it's still very much winter. This depresses me.
The Ugly:
Americans. I'm sorry. I'm even sorrier having to say this because I know most people who meet me or hear me speaking on the phone/to a friend in passing think I'm an American (PS, I hate you). You know what? I'd apply this to Canadians, too. We just sound so fucking stupid when we talk. Maybe I've just been living in the land of the disgruntled, direct German language for too long, or maybe it just stands out more in areas where English isn't the main language spoken, but frick we all sound like blundering idiots.
Exhibit one: Girl in a fur hat that made me think she was a twentieth-century channelling Russian at first glance. "Like, my parents paid soooo much for me to take the SAT's, you know? And if I, like, don't get into the top college that I really, reaaaaaaally want, I'll just be totally devastated. You seriously have no idea."
Exhibit two: Guys wandering behind me. Guy 1: "But, I mean, you probably don't have any problems fitting in here. You're a doctor for chrissakes." Guy 2: "I could totally just hang out with the expat crowd, but I really try to hang out with the locals. It makes the whole experience so much more authentic, you know?"
For some reason, when Germans talk about equally stupid things, it somehow doesn't come across so whiny and valley girl/surfer dude-like. It could be because everyone sounds so angry. Or because they don't speak so loudly.
Or it could be just me and the fact that, since I rarely hear English on a day-to-day basis, my ears pique to it immediately, only to regret it in about 3.5 seconds. (The ugliest fact of them all.)
*I'm not actually hatin' on people who can spend 140 yoyos on hiking shoes (which, unless you live in Allgäu or make monthly visits there, will maybe get used a maximum of three or four times per year tops). I'm insanely jealous. Those people should be saving their 200 yoyos (100 for what they saved by buying the kids pair and 100 for what I told them to use to buy books) and giving it to me.
07 February 2013
Kölle Alaaf!
No offence to all you born-and-bred Rheinland people (or the "immigrants" who try really, really hard to fit in), but I just really can't take Karneval. I'm not a fan of loud, drunk groups of people in the first place, and those same loud, drunk groups of people take on a whole new dimension of crazy when they're dressed up.
Yes. Karneval is like mostly all the things I hate in the entire world mashed together into one week of debauchery.
Drunk groups of people making a ruckus? Check.
People dressed up like wackos? Check.
Schlager? Check.
Clowns? Also check.
I suppose I sound like a real downer (and I suppose I am), but the last time I dressed up for Halloween (which is as close as we Canucks get to this sort of clusterfuck), I was twelve. I mean, unless you count the time I went on a pub crawl when I was nineteen and put on a pair of shorts, a skimpy top and a cowboy hat to call myself a "sexy cowgirl". (See the link -- NSFW -- of other "sexy cowgirls" who highlight the fact that, as long as you're wearing a cowboy hat, you are a cowgirl. Full stop.) But anyway, I also don't like clowns. Or having to watch my step on the street to avoid vomit.
Normally I flee. Preferably to Canada. Really, though, I'd go anywhere. But, for a multitude of reasons, I find myself stuck here over the weekend.
So, after work at one job all day and then a meeting for my other job, I headed to the grocery store to stock up on provisions since I'm locking myself in my flat until Tuesday. Standing in line before me was a mouse buying pizza, and behind me were two dudes in bear suits buying a couple bottles of beer. Those were those same bears I saw on my walk home peeing on cars.
Ah, Karneval.
Yes. Karneval is like mostly all the things I hate in the entire world mashed together into one week of debauchery.
Drunk groups of people making a ruckus? Check.
People dressed up like wackos? Check.
Schlager? Check.
Clowns? Also check.
I suppose I sound like a real downer (and I suppose I am), but the last time I dressed up for Halloween (which is as close as we Canucks get to this sort of clusterfuck), I was twelve. I mean, unless you count the time I went on a pub crawl when I was nineteen and put on a pair of shorts, a skimpy top and a cowboy hat to call myself a "sexy cowgirl". (See the link -- NSFW -- of other "sexy cowgirls" who highlight the fact that, as long as you're wearing a cowboy hat, you are a cowgirl. Full stop.) But anyway, I also don't like clowns. Or having to watch my step on the street to avoid vomit.
Normally I flee. Preferably to Canada. Really, though, I'd go anywhere. But, for a multitude of reasons, I find myself stuck here over the weekend.
So, after work at one job all day and then a meeting for my other job, I headed to the grocery store to stock up on provisions since I'm locking myself in my flat until Tuesday. Standing in line before me was a mouse buying pizza, and behind me were two dudes in bear suits buying a couple bottles of beer. Those were those same bears I saw on my walk home peeing on cars.
Ah, Karneval.
20 December 2012
Things I Wanted to Know before Dying
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Here I go with the Mayan end-of-the-world drama again.
In case you haven't figured it out yet, I like making lists, and pretending I'm going to die tomorrow gives me a good excuse to make more lists. Plus, my penchant for trying to make things sound as exciting as possible (which I typically fail miserably at) means I'm a sucker for sensationalism.
So, if I pretend that I am going to die tomorrow, here are some things I would be sad about not ever finding out:
In case you haven't figured it out yet, I like making lists, and pretending I'm going to die tomorrow gives me a good excuse to make more lists. Plus, my penchant for trying to make things sound as exciting as possible (which I typically fail miserably at) means I'm a sucker for sensationalism.
So, if I pretend that I am going to die tomorrow, here are some things I would be sad about not ever finding out:
- Who is the mother of Ted Mosby's children?
- Was Django Unchained as good as it was supposed to be?
- Who wrote me that cryptic Facebook message before I moved back to Germany?
- Does Nicholas Brody ever make it to Canada?
- How much wood could a woodchuck really chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
- Why has my asthma been so bad the last year? / Why has a large percentage of my body flat-out given up on me?
- Where is the best place to buy a good mattress that is both affordable and will last me for many years to come?
- Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?
16 December 2012
Happy Last Week of Life, Everyone
So, how have you been spending the last week of your life?
I've been working on my Master's thesis as per normal, and plan to spend the week working my little tushie off to save enough overtime hours to enjoy a mini-vacation until January 7th. Which, of course, is all for naught since we'll all be dead by Friday.
Speaking of which, I have a question...
I live in Germany. My family lives in Canada. Does this mean I die eight hours before they do, or did the Mayans figure out some way for it to be December 21, 2012 in all the world at the same time to flip the switch? Or are we all gonna be blown to smithereens one time zone at a time?
05 December 2012
Leggings are not Pants
Well, it's a typical "winter" day in NRW today. Cold, rainy and dark. It's the kind of day I'd just like to curl up with some hot chocolate, a blanket and a good book. I've left out the obligatory fire in the fireplace mostly because I don't own a fireplace (electric or regular) and I've found that wishful thinking of something you can't have only increases your desire of it.
So: hot chocolate, book and blanket.
Unfortunately, just because the weather is crappy doesn't mean the world stops turning, which by extension means I have uni and work as per usual.
That said, my brain seems to have some desire to let me out of the house in sweats and a sweatshirt. Which, I mean, were I still in Canada, would be completely acceptable university attire. Since, however, I am in a land where sweatpants are normally not seen as acceptable wear for out-of-house (excluding for the Asis, I suppose), the mind automatically moves to leggings.
I mean, I understand that leggings are not pants.
Technically.
But that doesn't stop them from being my weekend wear since I won't get crazy looks for wearing them on the way to the grocery store or the post office like I would if I ran around in sweats.
So, I literally stood in front of my closet in my leggings this morning, trying for what seemed like quite awhile to decide on a shirt that would both cover my ass (leggings are not pants!) and would create an outfit acceptable to show up to work in.
Yeah. The only combinations I could come up with were pretty soccer-mom-esque/pulled straight out of the 80s.
I put a shirt on, all the while the "Leggings are not pants!" in my voice was getting louder and louder.
So, I gave up. Normal pants, but with the shirt I tried to combine with leggings just moments before. "But you wore this shirt with leggings dozens of times before!!!" says the little counter-voice in my head.
For a female who normally doesn't care too much about what she looks like (I know it shows), my battle with leggings sure makes me feel like a teenager again.
Bah.
I could use that blanket, hot chocolate and book more than ever right now.
So: hot chocolate, book and blanket.
Unfortunately, just because the weather is crappy doesn't mean the world stops turning, which by extension means I have uni and work as per usual.
That said, my brain seems to have some desire to let me out of the house in sweats and a sweatshirt. Which, I mean, were I still in Canada, would be completely acceptable university attire. Since, however, I am in a land where sweatpants are normally not seen as acceptable wear for out-of-house (excluding for the Asis, I suppose), the mind automatically moves to leggings.
I mean, I understand that leggings are not pants.
Technically.
But that doesn't stop them from being my weekend wear since I won't get crazy looks for wearing them on the way to the grocery store or the post office like I would if I ran around in sweats.
So, I literally stood in front of my closet in my leggings this morning, trying for what seemed like quite awhile to decide on a shirt that would both cover my ass (leggings are not pants!) and would create an outfit acceptable to show up to work in.
Yeah. The only combinations I could come up with were pretty soccer-mom-esque/pulled straight out of the 80s.
I put a shirt on, all the while the "Leggings are not pants!" in my voice was getting louder and louder.
So, I gave up. Normal pants, but with the shirt I tried to combine with leggings just moments before. "But you wore this shirt with leggings dozens of times before!!!" says the little counter-voice in my head.
For a female who normally doesn't care too much about what she looks like (I know it shows), my battle with leggings sure makes me feel like a teenager again.
Bah.
I could use that blanket, hot chocolate and book more than ever right now.
14 November 2012
"Leider keine Karte"
Alas, I grew up in a world where it was normal to pay for a purchase of $2.43 with a debit or *gasp* a credit card. I stopped carrying around cash around the time I was twelve or thirteen, and used debit for all my purchases.
Some people will tell you that carrying around loads of cash is dangerous, if for no other reason than that you have no real way of getting your money back if you're robbed at gunpoint. You'd think this happens all the time for how often this is used as justification for paying with a card.
For me, I don't own enough cash to warrant anyone robbing me at gunpoint. Even if I carried all the cash I have in my bank account with me, I'd probably get my face blown off for only being able to offer my robber a cool 2€. "SPINNST DU?!" *bang bang*
No, my reason is much more subtle.
I hate change.
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't just hate change for the typical reasons like all that coin weighing down my pockets or the fact Krauts have this awesome habit of taking twelve years to pay for their goods at DM because they need to count their seventeen cents out exactly. (Speaking of which -- why is that okay, yet me paying for something worth 4€ in 50c increments gets me a dirty stare?) Anyhoo, my reason is that I hate pennies. 5c coins are at least halfway useful. But 2c coins? 1c coins? The mere fact that both of them exist? The only time I'm pulling those puppies out is when I'm at the bakery and am buying a bun for 16c, and that's the last of what's leftover in my wallet before the first of the month.
Most annoying, though, is the fact I don't always get this far and often end up dumping the one and two cent pieces into a big jar a couple of times per month, letting them waste their copper selves into oblivion. Sure, that whole euro I've accumulated over the last year and a half isn't really that much of a waste. Nevertheless, every time I dump another six cents into that jar, I feel like crying at the fact that, had I been paying with EC card, I wouldn't have these First World problems.
*** As an interesting aside, I have actually been known to buy more than I need in order to bump my purchase up to an amount that seems reasonable to use a card for. It makes my fretting over that odd euro in my coin jar all the more laughable, really.
Some people will tell you that carrying around loads of cash is dangerous, if for no other reason than that you have no real way of getting your money back if you're robbed at gunpoint. You'd think this happens all the time for how often this is used as justification for paying with a card.
For me, I don't own enough cash to warrant anyone robbing me at gunpoint. Even if I carried all the cash I have in my bank account with me, I'd probably get my face blown off for only being able to offer my robber a cool 2€. "SPINNST DU?!" *bang bang*
No, my reason is much more subtle.
I hate change.
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't just hate change for the typical reasons like all that coin weighing down my pockets or the fact Krauts have this awesome habit of taking twelve years to pay for their goods at DM because they need to count their seventeen cents out exactly. (Speaking of which -- why is that okay, yet me paying for something worth 4€ in 50c increments gets me a dirty stare?) Anyhoo, my reason is that I hate pennies. 5c coins are at least halfway useful. But 2c coins? 1c coins? The mere fact that both of them exist? The only time I'm pulling those puppies out is when I'm at the bakery and am buying a bun for 16c, and that's the last of what's leftover in my wallet before the first of the month.
Most annoying, though, is the fact I don't always get this far and often end up dumping the one and two cent pieces into a big jar a couple of times per month, letting them waste their copper selves into oblivion. Sure, that whole euro I've accumulated over the last year and a half isn't really that much of a waste. Nevertheless, every time I dump another six cents into that jar, I feel like crying at the fact that, had I been paying with EC card, I wouldn't have these First World problems.
*** As an interesting aside, I have actually been known to buy more than I need in order to bump my purchase up to an amount that seems reasonable to use a card for. It makes my fretting over that odd euro in my coin jar all the more laughable, really.
16 September 2012
The Good, The Bad, The Ugly: Hiking
So, about a week ago, I was in Allgäu with the 'rents and my puppy.
Unsure of what to do on a Friday night, it was decided that we would all do an evening hike of a smaller mountain! Yay!
Why such a small mountain, you ask?
Well, to the chagrin of M., I always show up in Allgäu in non-hiking-appropriate footwear. You know, like the leather shoes that everyone runs around in over on my side of the country. To M.'s triple-chagrin, both of my travelling companions were in even less hiking-suitable footwear than me. (Read: Sandals and newer leather walking shoes.)
Therefore, we chose to hike a smaller mountain of around 200 metres or so.
And thus, I present to you an Allgäu hiking edition of "The Good, The Bad, The Ugly"!
GOOD:
Unsure of what to do on a Friday night, it was decided that we would all do an evening hike of a smaller mountain! Yay!
Why such a small mountain, you ask?
Well, to the chagrin of M., I always show up in Allgäu in non-hiking-appropriate footwear. You know, like the leather shoes that everyone runs around in over on my side of the country. To M.'s triple-chagrin, both of my travelling companions were in even less hiking-suitable footwear than me. (Read: Sandals and newer leather walking shoes.)
Therefore, we chose to hike a smaller mountain of around 200 metres or so.
And thus, I present to you an Allgäu hiking edition of "The Good, The Bad, The Ugly"!
GOOD:
- My dog cannot only hike mountains, he's f-ing amazing at it. Perhaps he didn't really tire because he's so low to the ground and thus doesn't notice he's going up a steep slope. More likely, he's just a tank and can handle jagged rocks like one of those mountain-running champions. My lovely trooper, I've never seen anything like that before in my life... I wish I had pictures of a Dackel manouvering jagged rocks triple the size of him like a champ.
- I used to hike a lot when I was 18. You know, backpacking, camping and that sort of thing. A nice combination of my asthma getting worse and a nasty break-up led to the fact I haven't done ANY hiking since then. Despite the fact I had to take my inhaler every five feet not because I was out of breath in the "I can't do this" way, but because my asthma is about a quadrillion times worse than it was a decade ago, I am very impressed at the fact doing nothing can still allow my legs to go, go go!
- Lots of nice dairy products come from Allgäu. This unfortunately means there are lots of cows in the mountains. I mean, I get this is an Allgäu thing, but I am used to hiking in the Rockies in silence, save a few animal growls in the distance, bear bells tinkling from passers-by, or people singing in the absence of bear bells. The whole "klang-klang" was not necessarily terrible, just a little off-putting.
- Of course, going up a steep trail in leather shoes is fine. I've worn those puppies in! BUT: Going up a steep trail of jagged rocks covered in mud in leather shoes without grips on the bottom is not really fine. So, what do I do? Pretend I'm a yeti and take off my shoes. Yeah, that's right. Barefoot up the mountain!
- As awesome as it was going barefoot up the mountain, going barefoot down jagged rocks while having a Max-who-just-couldn't-get-enough on the other end of the leash pulling me down was not included in my definition of a fun evening hike. Pray, what is better? Sliding down a mountain because of non-grippy shoes, or slicing your feet up? No worries, I did both!
22 June 2012
My Washing Machine
So... My new flat is just about perfect. It's in a nice, green location, it's close to the Rhein for Maxie, it has a balcony, and even a little nook for my bed which means it's not hanging out in the middle of the living room.
What is hanging out in the middle of my living room, however, is my washing machine.
Yes, I'm aware this is rather strange.
See, the thing is, aside from the big square living room, my flat is pretty awkward. My fridge has to go in the hallway because it doesn't fit in the kitchenette, and neither the kitchen nor the bathroom are big enough to hold my washing machine.
So, why did I put the washing machine in my living room, you ask? Honestly, my original plan was to just put the washing machine in storage in the basement and use the coin-operated machine, however annoying that is. Then I realized that washing my clothes in the coin-operated machine would not only be a ridiculous hassle, but also cost me 1,50-2,00€ for the pleasure.
You know, I spent a pretty penny on my washing machine, and I like the convenience of not having to wait for my laundry to be done out of fear someone will be waiting for the machine after I've used it, only to throw my clothes on the floor so they can snag the machine next. Rare, probably, but it's been known to happen. Plus, if you have your own machine, it doubles as a laundry hamper, which I think is super-fantastic.
Seeing as I couldn't fit my washing machine anywhere, I bought a Rollbrett (What is this called in English? It's a slab of wood with wheels under it. Dolly?) and put my washing machine on it. I now roll my washing machine to either the bathroom or the kitchen, take apart whichever faucet I'm using, hook up the machine, and once it's done, put everything back to normal. If I use the bathtub faucet, I have to awkwardly climb over the washing machine to get in and out of the bathroom to hook everything up. If it's in the kitchen, I have to move the fridge. This is oddly easier than climbing over the machine.
It's annoying either way.
My washing machine also looks stupid in my living room. But I guess it beats the heck outta saving coins...
(Or maybe not. This could just be my tendency to make things more complicated than they have to be, and then over-justifying it because I am aware how f-ing ridiculous I am.)
What is hanging out in the middle of my living room, however, is my washing machine.
Yes, I'm aware this is rather strange.
See, the thing is, aside from the big square living room, my flat is pretty awkward. My fridge has to go in the hallway because it doesn't fit in the kitchenette, and neither the kitchen nor the bathroom are big enough to hold my washing machine.
So, why did I put the washing machine in my living room, you ask? Honestly, my original plan was to just put the washing machine in storage in the basement and use the coin-operated machine, however annoying that is. Then I realized that washing my clothes in the coin-operated machine would not only be a ridiculous hassle, but also cost me 1,50-2,00€ for the pleasure.
You know, I spent a pretty penny on my washing machine, and I like the convenience of not having to wait for my laundry to be done out of fear someone will be waiting for the machine after I've used it, only to throw my clothes on the floor so they can snag the machine next. Rare, probably, but it's been known to happen. Plus, if you have your own machine, it doubles as a laundry hamper, which I think is super-fantastic.
Seeing as I couldn't fit my washing machine anywhere, I bought a Rollbrett (What is this called in English? It's a slab of wood with wheels under it. Dolly?) and put my washing machine on it. I now roll my washing machine to either the bathroom or the kitchen, take apart whichever faucet I'm using, hook up the machine, and once it's done, put everything back to normal. If I use the bathtub faucet, I have to awkwardly climb over the washing machine to get in and out of the bathroom to hook everything up. If it's in the kitchen, I have to move the fridge. This is oddly easier than climbing over the machine.
It's annoying either way.
My washing machine also looks stupid in my living room. But I guess it beats the heck outta saving coins...
(Or maybe not. This could just be my tendency to make things more complicated than they have to be, and then over-justifying it because I am aware how f-ing ridiculous I am.)
19 June 2012
September 19, 2011
Okay, let me just start with saying that I’m a human being. Shocker, right?
Because of this innate human-ness, I make plenty of grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. I proofread my blogs, posts on forums, papers for uni, etc. many times through before sharing with the world. You know, this is mostly so I don’t look like a complete jackass who can’t spell/write despite having the experience of two decades of education.
Errors for a native speaker with more education than a high school diploma, in my opinion, should be far and few between.
But, you know, life happens.
And the thing is, I realize life happens to other people, too. So, when other people make mistakes, I don’t get too hung up on it.
UNLESS… *drumroll please*
There is someone who decides it is pertinent (on Facebook, or wherever) to correct someone else’s English. In doing so, this person will inevitably make a good half-dozen errors in his or her own sentence(s).
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, if you want to correct someone else’s English, please do so flawlessly. Otherwise, you just end up looking like a muppet.
(Now, who’s searching my post for errors? ^^)
Because of this innate human-ness, I make plenty of grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. I proofread my blogs, posts on forums, papers for uni, etc. many times through before sharing with the world. You know, this is mostly so I don’t look like a complete jackass who can’t spell/write despite having the experience of two decades of education.
Errors for a native speaker with more education than a high school diploma, in my opinion, should be far and few between.
But, you know, life happens.
And the thing is, I realize life happens to other people, too. So, when other people make mistakes, I don’t get too hung up on it.
UNLESS… *drumroll please*
There is someone who decides it is pertinent (on Facebook, or wherever) to correct someone else’s English. In doing so, this person will inevitably make a good half-dozen errors in his or her own sentence(s).
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, if you want to correct someone else’s English, please do so flawlessly. Otherwise, you just end up looking like a muppet.
(Now, who’s searching my post for errors? ^^)
01 June 2009
Rain, Rain, Go Away
So, if anyone is having a particularly happy day that would be spoiled by a whole lot of complaining, maybe reading today's post isn't the brightest idea..
That being said, what gives?!
Where should I even start? How about with the weather? The weather is one of those stupid small-talk topics that people always complain about, right? Now, don't get me wrong -- I'm happy there's no such thing as a proper winter in Germany. Should I have to endure another Canadian winter ever again, know that I probably won't make it. You'll probably find me frozen onto the side of some tree muttering in German like a crazy person. Or something. So, as happy as I am that the winters here at their worst hit about -15c, I could do without the constant cloud cover and threat of rain. And I thought the migraines I got in Calgary because of the Chinooks were bad! Ha! It's a good day in Germany when I'm not in bed, clutching at my skull and begging for death. Besides, Maxie hates the rain. He won't go for walks in it. And when he's not going for walks, he's hyperactive. And THAT is annoying. Migraines + Bouncing Maxie = Anger. And who said I wasn't any good at math?
And in other news, I hate online classes. Okay, I'm lying a little. They're awesome because you can show up in pyjamas and fluffy socks to do your schoolwork. Oh, wait. I did that when I went to face-to-face classes, too. Never mind about the pyjamas then. Because not only do group projects in a real university suck; they suck online, too. They're even worse. Just imagine trying to co-ordinate slackers that are stationed across the globe who could care less about some history requirement. And then, there's me. History major, trying NOT to fail a stupid group project because some people have no respect for deadlines or capitalizing letters. There have been so many days this past week where I've wanted to throw my computer at the wall. And to be fair, my computer didn't do anything. If anything, my MacBook rules (chipping unibody aside).
And then there's Maxie. As if he's not hyper enough, he had to lick up a bunch of coffee grinds that I'd spilled on the floor. I was just grabbing a broom and dustpan to clean up when, BAM!, my mess had disappeared. I probably wouldn't be too worried if it weren't for the fact my dog is hyperactive on his laziest of days. Shoot.
Did you honestly think I was done complaining? Ha. No, I'm not finished yet. I still have a paper I have to write on Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises," which I had decided was the worst book in history before it was even assigned for my Literary Criticism class. But I'm writing on it instead of my other options because I was too lazy (errr.. I mean busy) to read a new 600-page novel and write a stupid paper on it. And, finals next week, too. If only that meant a break for me. Unfortunately, it only means that in two weeks, my next semester starts...
One year.. just one more year.
Oh, who am I kidding? In just one more year I'll find something new to complain about!
Bah.
I apologize if you actually read through that, by the way. That must've been painful...
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