So, today on Toytown, I saw a thread reminding users that, hey, since the world is ending in three weeks, it's time to evaluate our bucket lists to see what's doable in that period of time.
Considering I'm a compulsive list-maker who has at least four or five lists hanging around at any given time, you'd think one of those lists would be a bucket one. Although I did have a similar sort of list I made (what to do by 30) a few years back, I have yet to have a true bucket list.
Sure, there are things I'd like to do, see or accomplish before I die. High on my list of to-dos are getting my PhD one day, actually becoming trilingual (which means I'll actually have to end up sticking to another language long enough to move past the advanced beginner/intermediate stage), finally being able to converse in Russian and creating my own mini-library. I'd also like to actually go to Russia (China, too), live in another foreign country and maybe give marriage another shot some day. I'd also really love to publish a book, if only anyone would find my musings awesome enough to be worth their hard-earned dough.
The chances of me checking these things off some list before the world ends are pretty slim to none. I guess I'm really a sort-of long-term planning kind of gal.
Still, I was curious to see what other people put on their bucket lists. So, since I'm entirely unoriginal, I went to bucketlist.org to see what people think are awesome things to do.
I admit that there are a lot of things on there I haven't done (errrm... trying shrooms, for example), or would never, ever do (hot-air balloon ride, anyone?).
Still, I feel lucky to have done/experienced some things that other random interwebbies-strangers feel important enough to include on a bucket list.
I've learned to bellydance, have seen the Northern Lights (about a gazillion times, mind), have seen a sunrise in the desert, seen some Mayan ruins, swam with dolphins, moved to a foreign country, learned a new language, visited the Eiffel Tower, been in a helicopter, gone to a foam party and had a headbanging competition.
Since (obviously) the world is about to end, take some time to consider -- are you happy with the experiences you've had so far, and are you cool with not having done the things you always wanted to do?
If not, you have three weeks! Looks like it's time to buy that ol' PhD from one of those diploma mills I've seen advertised on the interwebbies!
30 November 2012
23 November 2012
Reason #1652 the Christmas Season is Awesome!
Christmas oranges.
Also known as Clementine or Mandarin Oranges, but more generally referred to as Christmas oranges by us Canucks since they appear in stores in the month leading up to Christmas, these little bundles of delights ensure I get more than enough Vitamin C. (This is particularly good since I'm sick right now.) They also ensure my fruit and vegetable intake remains extremely one-sided for a month as I power through ten to twenty or so of these lovlies per day.
Easy to peel, no mess, no seeds... Just little round pieces of wonderfulness.
The Christmas season is awesome.
Also known as Clementine or Mandarin Oranges, but more generally referred to as Christmas oranges by us Canucks since they appear in stores in the month leading up to Christmas, these little bundles of delights ensure I get more than enough Vitamin C. (This is particularly good since I'm sick right now.) They also ensure my fruit and vegetable intake remains extremely one-sided for a month as I power through ten to twenty or so of these lovlies per day.
Easy to peel, no mess, no seeds... Just little round pieces of wonderfulness.
The Christmas season is awesome.
17 November 2012
My Christmas Crutch
*spoiler* -- sappy loser alert!
For an atheist, I'm awfully into Christmas. (Don't be fooled by the fact I run around at work proclaiming that "Gott ist groß." I am just following the lead of a certain co-worker... Hello, co-workers!) Although I'm not one of those weirdos who insists on singing Christmas carols in July, November is the hardest month for me as it's the month that's almost-but-not-quite the Christmas season. If I wouldn't be as socially ostracised as I already am, the tree would totally be up on November 1st. As it is, I try to wait until the end of Rem Day. Considering I barely make it to the eleventh of November, imagine how hard it was for me to be married to an American to insist I had to wait until Turkey Day to put up the tree! (Alas, not Canuck Turkey Day, but the American clusterfuck more commonly referred to as Thanksgiving... at the end of November.)
Anyhoo, my obsession with Christmas didn't always used to be this bad. My first Christmas away from home when I was 20 included a threadbare tree with ornaments I purchased at Walmart. (My mom tried unsuccessfully to hide her disdain considering she uses top of the line Christmas decorations handmade from Germany that she inherited from my grandmother.) The year after was my first Christmas in Krautland, and my first completely alone. I decorated a potted plant (and a fake one, at that). It was sad.
For my first Christmas with my ex and my second abroad, I was determined to nest (as most housewives seem to do), and decided that I was going to do a proper Christmas with a proper Christmas tree, full of proper Christmas ornaments I purchased at the Weihnachtsmarkt in Stuttgart. Aside from my mom's taste in German ornaments, I also seemed to inherit her crappy mood while decorating the tree. By crappy mood, I mean get the fuck out of the way because she is gonna rip your head off while she hangs the garland. (There's a reason I forgo garland more often than not. Hanging lights is bad enough as it is.) The only thing I didn't inherit is her love for real trees. Actually, that's not true. I love real trees (particularly the scent), but there is no way I can keep a tree alive for eight weeks while I can barely keep my houseplants alive. Fake it is.
Believe it or not, though, my frustrations whilst decorating the tree and tree preferences weren't actually supposed to be featured in this blog post.
The thing is, I've spent the majority of the last five Christmases either completely alone or without family. It's a normal occasion that only one or two people (if anyone) see my Christmas tree, and that's saying something, since it goes up mid-November.
One of the reasons I'm so crazy about Christmas is that Christmas is my expatriate crutch.
People don't expect expatriates who don't fly home for Christmasto be well-adjusted.
People expect expatriates to be lonely at Christmas.
People expect lonely expatriates to drink a lot around Christmas.
People expect lonely expatriates to be homesick during the holiday season.
All of these things suit me just fine.
Don't get me wrong -- there is little better about Christmas in Germany than Glühwein at the Weihnachtsmarkt with the Mädels or browsing through the booths trying to find something interesting to send my parents back in Canada. The only thing that's better is setting up and taking down my tree in private (usually mid-November and on New Year's Eve, respectively).
Call me sappy, but my Christmas tree does a good job of telling some stories of the past nine years since I first started collecting ornaments. I have ornaments from my mom, my dad, my ex. Ornaments from when I was happy, when I was trying to make a home for myself for the first time, or when I was crushed. I turn on either Snowed In (don't judge -- it's a childhood thing) or the Christmas album I got from one of my best friends last year, open a bottle of wine, and for those hours when I'm either putting up or taking down the tree, I'm with family and I feel like it's finally okay to just miss the life I gave up.
I don't like Christmas because I believe in God or because I like consumerism. Actually, the second one is a lie. I like buying things, normally for myself. Around Christmas, however, I get my rocks off on buying things for people. Consumerism all the way.
I like Christmas because it represents a feeling that used to be so important to me as a child, youth and young adult that I don't have any more. So, for one month of the year (plus two weeks, if you count from the time the tree goes up), I can pretend that things are good, that I don't second-guess my choice to come here (twice) every day, and that the people most important to me aren't so fucking far away.
Anyhoo, my obsession with Christmas didn't always used to be this bad. My first Christmas away from home when I was 20 included a threadbare tree with ornaments I purchased at Walmart. (My mom tried unsuccessfully to hide her disdain considering she uses top of the line Christmas decorations handmade from Germany that she inherited from my grandmother.) The year after was my first Christmas in Krautland, and my first completely alone. I decorated a potted plant (and a fake one, at that). It was sad.
For my first Christmas with my ex and my second abroad, I was determined to nest (as most housewives seem to do), and decided that I was going to do a proper Christmas with a proper Christmas tree, full of proper Christmas ornaments I purchased at the Weihnachtsmarkt in Stuttgart. Aside from my mom's taste in German ornaments, I also seemed to inherit her crappy mood while decorating the tree. By crappy mood, I mean get the fuck out of the way because she is gonna rip your head off while she hangs the garland. (There's a reason I forgo garland more often than not. Hanging lights is bad enough as it is.) The only thing I didn't inherit is her love for real trees. Actually, that's not true. I love real trees (particularly the scent), but there is no way I can keep a tree alive for eight weeks while I can barely keep my houseplants alive. Fake it is.
Believe it or not, though, my frustrations whilst decorating the tree and tree preferences weren't actually supposed to be featured in this blog post.
The thing is, I've spent the majority of the last five Christmases either completely alone or without family. It's a normal occasion that only one or two people (if anyone) see my Christmas tree, and that's saying something, since it goes up mid-November.
One of the reasons I'm so crazy about Christmas is that Christmas is my expatriate crutch.
People don't expect expatriates who don't fly home for Christmasto be well-adjusted.
People expect expatriates to be lonely at Christmas.
People expect lonely expatriates to drink a lot around Christmas.
People expect lonely expatriates to be homesick during the holiday season.
All of these things suit me just fine.
Don't get me wrong -- there is little better about Christmas in Germany than Glühwein at the Weihnachtsmarkt with the Mädels or browsing through the booths trying to find something interesting to send my parents back in Canada. The only thing that's better is setting up and taking down my tree in private (usually mid-November and on New Year's Eve, respectively).
Call me sappy, but my Christmas tree does a good job of telling some stories of the past nine years since I first started collecting ornaments. I have ornaments from my mom, my dad, my ex. Ornaments from when I was happy, when I was trying to make a home for myself for the first time, or when I was crushed. I turn on either Snowed In (don't judge -- it's a childhood thing) or the Christmas album I got from one of my best friends last year, open a bottle of wine, and for those hours when I'm either putting up or taking down the tree, I'm with family and I feel like it's finally okay to just miss the life I gave up.
I don't like Christmas because I believe in God or because I like consumerism. Actually, the second one is a lie. I like buying things, normally for myself. Around Christmas, however, I get my rocks off on buying things for people. Consumerism all the way.
I like Christmas because it represents a feeling that used to be so important to me as a child, youth and young adult that I don't have any more. So, for one month of the year (plus two weeks, if you count from the time the tree goes up), I can pretend that things are good, that I don't second-guess my choice to come here (twice) every day, and that the people most important to me aren't so fucking far away.
16 November 2012
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.
07 November 2012
MUSLIM AFRICAN RE-ELECTED TO RUIN CHAMPION OF THE FREE WORLD *cough*
Thank you, majority of Americans, for giving me good news when I woke up. My liver thanks you in advance since I no longer have to start a rape-baby-gift-from-God-and-no-longer-in-the-binder-because-I'm-standing-in-the-kitchen drinking campaign.
PS -- I am fully aware of Obama's shortcomings. I don't actually like him as a president in the first place. But, in comparison to Mittens, well...
PS -- I am fully aware of Obama's shortcomings. I don't actually like him as a president in the first place. But, in comparison to Mittens, well...
04 November 2012
Back "Home"
As I've mentioned about a million freeking times, the word "home" is awfully fraught with complications and hidden meanings for a word that is a part of one's basic English vocabulary.
This evening, like every time I return from Allgäu, Stuttgart, or anywhere were they speak a dialect I can actually stand (don't judge, you), I exit my tram, walk down my inevitably rainy street, and wish more than anything that I was back south. The more often I complete this ritual, the more clear it becomes to me that I shrug on NRW like a heavy coat laden with issues that I just can't wait to take off again next month.
So, in a meek attempt at protest, I now text family and friends with "I'm 'home'" to let them know I'm safe and sound, at least physically if not emotionally.
PS -- I don't know when or how often I'll be posting in the next little while. Should you know me personally, you know I'm going through more than one crisis right now, the biggest of which is occurring this week. Maybe I'll talk about it one day when I'm ready to speak publicly about it, but probably not. If my grammar and spelling is worse than usual, it probably means I'm blogging drunk. This will particularly be the case if Romney starts ruining America (which, crisis itself, is unrelated to my shiznat).
This evening, like every time I return from Allgäu, Stuttgart, or anywhere were they speak a dialect I can actually stand (don't judge, you), I exit my tram, walk down my inevitably rainy street, and wish more than anything that I was back south. The more often I complete this ritual, the more clear it becomes to me that I shrug on NRW like a heavy coat laden with issues that I just can't wait to take off again next month.
So, in a meek attempt at protest, I now text family and friends with "I'm 'home'" to let them know I'm safe and sound, at least physically if not emotionally.
PS -- I don't know when or how often I'll be posting in the next little while. Should you know me personally, you know I'm going through more than one crisis right now, the biggest of which is occurring this week. Maybe I'll talk about it one day when I'm ready to speak publicly about it, but probably not. If my grammar and spelling is worse than usual, it probably means I'm blogging drunk. This will particularly be the case if Romney starts ruining America (which, crisis itself, is unrelated to my shiznat).
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