Confessions

I am completely addicted to Facebook.  I mean, COMPLETELY addicted.  I love seeing the new status comments.  I love seeing pictures and having the picture comments come in my news feed so I can see what everyone else is saying.  I love the Lil Green patch, because I can sit on my fat ass and believe I am saving the rain forest.  I love the fact I have found old classmates I haven’t talked to in 11, yes, 11 years.  I love seeing updated pictures of my friends and families children.  I love being able to “hug”, “poke”, or “throw a chocolate cake” at people.  I mean, did they make this program with some kinda special internet crack or what?  I can’t decide if I am in fact hip or just truly pathetic, but the fact remains that I love the immediate sense of being connected when I am so damn far away from everyone.

I Have Tickets!!

I just paid an insanely large sum of money to go see a concert. The largest ever to date actually. I can remember back in my 20’s having a discussion about how ridiculous it was for groups to charge over $30 a ticket, since they obviously made plenty of money and there were always plenty of fans packed into a venue to ensure a fat paycheck. Of course this was back in my Grateful Dead days where they allowed their fans to come in and tape shows, (Great for us, especially now!) I was young and broke and a little bit more idealistic about how things should be shared. Regardless, I just paid 144 Euro per ticket to go see Madonna. (That’s $211.6 US dollars for those that are interested.)

Yet oddly enough I think it’s worth it. I will be 8 months pregnant when I go and will have a seat when I need it. From what I can make out they are decent seats, and you know Madonna is not going to disappoint. I have wanted to see her in concert ever since I heard stories about her apparently raunchy performance of “Like a Virgin” in an over sized bed so many years ago. I used to want to BE Madonna as a kid. I can remember putting on an outfit made up of tights, a mini dress, black jelly bracelets and an over sized lace bow in my hair. Granted the mini dress had cartoon walrus’ on the front since I was about 10 or 11 at the time, but I thought I was so cool, so “Desperately Seeking Susan”. I used to record songs off the radio and sing and dance to them in my bedroom, and even pretend to be like, the coolest EVER radio dj. (I’m pretty sure my mad dj-ing skills at the time sucked.)

Now, I’m not like the hugest Madonna fan ever. I don’t follow her every step or collect every album and useless trinket available. But I have enjoyed her music over the 20 plus years I have been growing up. I admire her immensely for insisting on being who she is and for going out and getting what she wants. She has re-invented herself countless times to stay on top in a rapidly changing world. I will agree that I think she goes too far for my taste in certain areas of life, but she does so with belief, conviction, without looking back and never apologizes for being who she is, and for that alone I will always love her.

So the other day she had a birthday and of course the radio stations played Madonna songs in her honor. The funny thing was I could sing along with them all: old, very old, and considerably new. I can’t wait to see her live!! I’m so excited it’s almost comical!

Happy Anniversary

I celebrated my first wedding anniversary yesterday.   Alone.  This is of course the down side to being married to a man who travels for work.  He is in Canada and I am in Germany.  I don’t think we could have possibly been further apart on this day.  Even though we do speak to each other every day we enjoyed a longer lazier phone call than usual.   He also had someone bring over a card he had written for me and a dozen and a half long stemmed red roses, which was really sweet of him to coordinate since he wasn’t going to be here.  I am typing right now to the smell of fresh roses, which is heavenly.

What did I do for him?  Well, knowing that he has spent about 3 days in Germany in  the last 5 months I sent him a care package with German magazines, his favorite candies, favorite mustard in a tube and two jars  of his favorite frankfurters,  which are the equivalent of hot dogs in a jar.  I haven’t heard that he has gotten the box, however, and I’m starting to get worried that he’s not going to get it at all.  I’ve had my issues with the Deutsche Post before, and am starting to get worried I’m going to get busted by Canadian customs for importing jarred frankfurters.  I didn’t list them on the packing list, but I have no idea how they check such boxes.  I feel like such a hoodlum, sneaking banned sausage into the country and all!

Waiting for the Formula 1 Race

Yes, I just said that and yes, I really am sitting here waiting for a car race to come on the telly.  It’s funny really, since I am not a car girl.  I can pump gas and that’s about it.  I have never been interested in NASCAR back home and really could never understand the fascination.  I talk about shoes, hair, outfits, books, and foreign countries.  NOT Formula 1.

Yet, as I sit here for the 2 o’clock race to start in Budapest I wonder how it will turn out.  Lewis Hamilton is on pole position again.  Now, in a former life I would be cracking jokes about smoking pole, pole dancing etc. because let’s face it, that’s just the kinda girl I am.  However,  after watching Hamilton win a bitter sweet victory in his native Great Britain (he was struggling a bit for a few races), and watching him win again here in Germany I wonder how it will play out.  Will he win the Grand Prix?  Or will Kimi Rikkonnen be able to defend his championship?  Technically Felipe Massa is in second place.  With 7 more races after today I guess you just can’t say.  Am I really talking about this??

So I wait today for the race to see what’s going to happen.  How did I become so interested, you ask?  Well, my husband is a HUGE Formula 1 fan.  I started watching with indifferent curiosity with him on the occasions that he was home.  Then I wanted to see the crashes.  And now I am actually  picking favorite drivers based on performance and how much of an ass they make of themselves.  (Being a primadonna does not score points with me.  That means you Alonso!)  Today, however, I will be sure to watch so I can give my husband first hand highlights and immediate results since he is unable to watch the race.  I am such a good wife!

Gotta go!  It’s almost race time!

This and That

Quite honestly I haven’t had much of anything to say lately.  This has effected not only my various avenues of writing and daily conversations, but also my long distance phone calls, where one would assume there is much to say in order to catch up.  I’ve explained it like being stuck in the movie “Groundhog Day”.  Each day I wake up and basically the same things happen.  I eat.  I clean up.  I might go shopping.  I might do some yoga, take a walk or swim.  I might sit out in the sun.  I might attempt to read or write.  I read the celebrity tabloids, study a little German, maybe I watch TV, and then go to sleep.  In the bigger picture, however, at this very time last year I was struggling with language, making friends, and finding new activities while riding the emotional highs and lows of pregnancy.  I am in the same damn position today, and as special as  it is to actually be pregnant the 16 months of pretty much continuous pregnancy is wearing thin.  I’m really ready for the next step.

Friends and family have gently pointed out that my world I complain about is quite luxurious in comparison.  And it is.  I have to admit that I am a lucky woman.  There is no rat race.  There is no work.   There is nowhere I really have to be except for the few appointments I make.  I have to admit I am enjoying the lack of chaos in my life right now.  God only knows there has been enough chaos to live through lately!  Yet I have to admit I miss a busy social schedule.  I miss having places to go and people to see.   I miss having a meaning in life.    My own special purpose.

So I’ve created a few.  I’ve always been taught throughout University to start with where I am and yet again I am starting with what I have.  I have been swimming three days a week and taking walks in the mornings, where I am able to wish the neighbors I see in passing  “Morgan”!  Of course many of these walks end up at the local bakery where I buy my fresh daily bread and have another mini local interaction.  My limited vocabulary allows me to place my order and comment on the weather.  The shop ladies now recognize me as a regular customer, and as simple as it may sound it feels really good to be a part of things here in my small village.

In other generally mundane news, I have painted my bedroom and struggled through the cultural learning experience of buying German bedding.  (Which was different from anything I have experienced in the US or Taiwan.)  I have been infuriated by German customer service.  (In my opinion, lack of any type of customer  service what-so-ever.)  My favorite special purpose however, was the day I went and got a haircut.

They just don’t make em like they used to

When did this happen?

This whole realization of mine might come across as really silly.  Stupid to some.  Obvious.

Regardless, I have moved to three different locations in the past three years.  Two within China, and now Germany.  In Taiwan and Hong Kong, I was lead through the process of obtaining a work visa.  It really was no big deal.  I was an ex-pat, there to work for a little bit of time and then would plan on moving on to the next destination, where ever that might be.  Taiwan gave me a medical exam to make sure I was arriving on the island nice and healthy.  Hong Kong just cared that I was breathing and could fill out the correct paper  work.  There was no fuss.   There were no requirements other than proof of documentation.  If I wanted to extend my work visas all I had to do was show up at the offices again with proof of employment and re-process the paper work.  Simple.

I am in Germany now, married to my very wonderful German husband.  I have a visa that allows me to remain in Germany for a continuous two years.  However, as a stipulation for my next visa re-newal all foreigners are required to enroll and attend 600 hours of German Integration courses.  600 hours?  That’s like, college!!

Things were all fine and dandy for a while.  I could slag this responsibility off indefinitely it seemed.  You know, because I travel a lot and wasn’t in the country for a little over 5 months and couldn’t take care of it.  And as I sat there on my privileged little perch I received a letter from the government telling me I had to sign in by a certain date, otherwise they could refuse my visa renewal the next time around.  What?  They’re going to threaten me with being DEPORTED? The nerve!  I was down right indignant!  How could they do this to little ol me?  I am not a drain or a menace to society!  I’m not bleeding the German government dry of their resources!  I will work and pay taxes and be a functioning citizen once I am not pregnant!  AND I have to pay 600 Euro for this crap!  (That’s $952.08 for you dollar fans out there.)  AND I have to pass a German test.  AND I have to prove I can hold a conversation in German IN ORDER TO GET the next visa.  For God’s sake!  I am NOT giving up my American passport; I am simply asking to live in Germany with my husband!!  What do you mean I have to do this?!  And then I thought, well wait a minute.

Shells

This is the place that started it all for me. The Shell Shop in Morro Bay.

I can remember marveling in awe over the hundreds of shells in the store. The variety of shapes, sizes and colors each shell came in, and most importantly, all of the exotic places they came from. I can remember trying to imagine the Sulu Sea as a 5 year old kid, which of course at the time conjured up a picture complete with Mermaids. I had committed to memory the South China Sea as a magical place based soley on the types of shells I had seen in a shop. And I have been overly excited as an adult, much to the bewilderment of my friends, to find these much coveted shells along the beaches of places such as Costa Rica and Penghu.

Oh! Oh!

I went to the doctor’s today. Now, I have been to the doctor in the US while I was away, and he was very good. But coming home to my own doctor was so much better. German doctors take their time and answer questions, AND WAIT to see if you have any more. They don’t brush you off with an authoritative tone when you have further worries, and there is no such thing as a 12 minute in and out rule.

I take it back.

I just talked to my brother in law about a ride home from the airport.  I’m excited to get back into my own home, despite the fact I will miss this old home of mine.  Anyway, it’s time to see just how much damaged our poor little car has after the freak hailstorm they had in Germany.  Fingers crossed please!