How a Liter of Milk Ruined my Day

Every time I think I'm coping and being awesome, European, and modern, culture shock punches me in the ovaries.  It particularly loves to do it just as I think I'm totally over culture shocking.  It started today with some milk, followed by some Host Dad, (who has been looking at me recently like he's wanted to say something), and ended with some Something being said.

I drink milk like a fish.  I'm sorry, I don't mean to, but I figure since I don't drink coffee, wine, beer, OR most juices and teas, my milk-drinking is a pardonable offense.  But apparently we were running out of milk today, because Host Parents at dinner said, "Tina, can you make a point not to drink any more milk?  It's running low, and you didn't buy any or tell us so we could buy some, and the child needs the rest for his breakfast tomorrow.  When it runs low, you need to buy milk"  It went in one ear, buzzed through the American translator like a lightning bug on speed, and came out the other ear as: go buy some milk.  I said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I can run to the supermarket after dinner."  And they said, "No, that won't be necessary."  Buzz buzz goes the translator.  Verdict: Yes, please, that would be great!

So, right after dinner, I headed out and bought some milk.  "Look!" I said triumphantly, "milk purchased, problem solved!"  I congratulated myself for my quick-thinking and skillful bike-riding, that saw me screeching up to the store just before it closed.  I patted myself on the mental shoulder for single-handedly saving my family from osteoporosis.  I was the fucking MAN.  Except the fucking man was really confused when the Host Parents got a little pissy about her super-human milk-buying exploits, and said, "You didn't have to do that, that's not what we meant."

Later that evening, Host Dad made a general announcement and said, "Can we all try to keep a little more order in this house?"  Buzz buzz: Tina, you're the only non-German in this room, so you need to get with the German Ordnung Programm.  "Oh, I'm sorry," said I, "where did I make a mess?"  And that was it.  Host Dad went off about how I'm always defensive, take things personally, and don't do things around the house for fear of making a mistake.  Buzz buzz: Tina, you suck, so try not to cry.  "Oh, I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't know what you were looking for.  And you told me to go buy milk."  "No we didn't."  "You said we were running low on milk and I should have bought some."  "That doesn't mean go buy milk now."  "Yes it does!"  "No.  It doesn't."  Buzz buzz: ERRORERRORdoesnotcomputeERROR.  Then I got to hear all about how if I keep assuming indirect meanings, Germany is going to eat me and I won't be able to study or work or walk outside without the entire country rising up to poke me with sharp sticks.  Buzz buzz: fail at life.

So where does that leave me?  In my room, eating my way through the last box of Cheez-Its my mother sent me, watching America scroll by me on Facebook. Land of the free, and home of the people who, reassuringly, never say what they actually mean.  I miss it.

I'm back from Denmark!!

I'M BACK FROM DENMARK.  And as much as I enjoyed the trip, I'm so relieved to be back in Germany it's almost obscene.  Last night I stared at the ceiling for three hours, unable to sleep, hating everything and wondering why on earth I thought moving to Germany could ever have been a good idea.  Then I realized I wasn't in Germany, I was in Denmark, and I was culture shocking over the retarded food products, lack of internet, and cold beaches.  When we got off the ferry and I could understand the signs around me again I was so happy I didn't know what to do with myself.

In other news, what the fuck, Wells-Fargo.  Charging me for using my debit card abroad?  Fuck you too.

In other other news, the IIGOIIDanish consensus was for Danish.  Really?  I was ready to bet my soul on his gay-ness, which just goes to show you how out of whack Europe has thrown the gaydar.  So in summary, the scoreboard reads:

German: 1
Crazy and Homeless:  1
In Denial:  1
Danish:  1
Gay: ...0

Not a single gay guy?  Really?  Shit.

DANISH INTERNET!!

Internet at last, internet at last, thank God Almighty, I have internet at last!

Shamlessly corrupting the worlds of MLK Jr?  Check.  Not on the Bucket List, but it should have been.

Hello friends!  Look, I found the internet!  It took me 3 days, and I had to bike a grand total of 61 kilometers to find this stupid place.  That's 38 miles.  38 miles I biked for internet.  Jesus Christ, I have thigh muscles like fucking Goliath.  I battled insects, unmarked roads, and the setting Danish sun, and I also ran over a small frog, that's how much I love you.  And I am so glad I finally found it, because after nine days I have learned that without being able to talk to/facebook stalk you, I am really lonely.  So lonely I almost put socks on my hands and talked to them.  But not quite.

However, because upon arrival I anticipated not finding an internet cafe, I'd already prepared something special for you.  So I won't give too much away here, but I will hit you up with some interesting facts.

For starters, by virtue of my sheer and utter isolation on the Baltic Sea, Claire has somehow become my main source of American news, a fact which both saddens and highly entertains me.  But it's thanks to Claire I know you guys have all just survived an earthquake and a hurricane.  From the sounds of it, God is clearly punishing the east coast for something, my guess is the Tea Party.  If I were you, I'd start shaving the sacrificial goat's throat or something.

The weather here was beautifully hot at first.  I got sunburn and my year's worth of Vitamin D.  But I've recently come to the conclusion that I don't want wrinkles when I'm thirty, so I've liberally been applying sunscreen to my face, minimally applying it elsewhere.  This has had the unfortunate side effect of making my face a dramatically different color than the rest of me.

I thought Germans were blond, and then I came to Denmark, and then I was surrounded by sunburnt albinos.

My German language reading level is up from that of an 8 year old to that of a 12 year old.  Not bad in two months!  If this trend continues, I will be up to speed in no time.

Fun Danish keyboard letters!  å!  æ!  ø!

Last night I had a dream that Justin Bieber lost his Canadian citizenship.  Analyze that, bitches.

We have also hiked to waterfalls, climbed around castle ruins, and toured a round church, interesting only because it is round.  Biking through the Danish countryside is beautiful, but I'm ready to get abck to Germany.

And now...

Is It Gay or Is It DANISH!!

The scenario:  A guy in his mid-forties.  Tight, dark-wash jeans.  Really white shoes with hot green soles.  A pale yellow undershirt.  V-neck blue and pink striped polo, collar popped.  Jean jacket, collar popped.  Shell necklace.  Mustache waxed into two perfect curls.  He looked fabulous.       

My 30 Danish Kroner of internet time is ticking away, and I've still got to check Facebook.  I'll be back to the internet on Saturday, so hang in there my friends, and try not to die in any natural disasters! 

First day of School/ Denmark

Today was Favorite Six Year Old's first day of school (ever), and it is a really big deal in Germany.  Usually, according to host mom, first days of school involve church services, concerts, and plays staged by the older kids, but FSYO goes to a really small school, as in, there are six kids in her class.  So first, we all gathered at the school where lots of pictures were taken, and children received their Schultüten--giant cone-shaped thingies filled with candy and school supplies.

Then we all went inside, where the teaches put on a short play about a cat who can't find her C.  Really a Katze who can't find her K, but I translate for you.

This was followed by a buffet lunch, and then we all went to FSYO's dad's house for more food.  FSYO was very pleased with her Silly Bandz gift, and also the pile of loot she got out of her Schultüte.

So tomorrow we're getting up at 4 AM to be in Denmark by the early afternoon.  We're staying in a rental house near the beach, that is, sadly, minus internet.  That means for the next two weeks, I have to find other things to entertain me besides facebook. Mostly I'm just sad I'm going to miss the Glee Project finale, which is tomorrow night.  Amy, DON'T TELL ME WHO WINS.

But!  Because I love you, I will hit up an internet cafe at least twice to blog about (read: make fun of) the Danes.  So please, all twelve of you that regularly read this, don't completely abandon me for the next two weeks, I promise I will get something up here.  See you for real again in September!

General Life Updates

Quick Updates:

So yesterday I was off to Hannover to take the test that qualifies me to take the test that qualifies me to study in Germany.  It cost 20 Euros, lasted half an hour, and I got the result B2.  The German language levels go: A1/A2 (Beginner/Advanced Beginner), B1/B2 (Intermediate/Advanced Intermediate), and C1/C2 (Really Good/Mother of God You Might As Well Be A Native Speaker).  Host Mom is pleased with my results, because it means I'll at least be let in to take the main exam.  I am not so pleased. Two months I've been here, and I'm just a B2?  Shit.

On the plus side, I made friends with the guy giving the test, who was from Kyrgyzstan, which, if you count the Y's as consonants, has 8 of them in a row.  When I asked him where he was from originally he said "Not China," which I imagine he has to say that a lot.  Then he told me he was Kyrgyz, which is just fun to say.  Also, his native tongue is Russian (and Kyrgyz), which he demonstrated for me, and it's a bit weird seeing an Asian guy speak Russian.  I haven't even gotten used to Asians speaking native German yet.  That's not meant to sound racist, it's just that whenever I see minorities, I assume they're native English speakers, and then they turn out to be native Germans and it blows my mind.  Host Parents were disappointed that Kyrgyz friend didn't ask me out.  Sigh.

Favorite Six Year Old has her first day of school tomorrow, which is a huge deal in Germany, and we are invited because she loves me.  I am giving her the gift of Silly Bandz and my mom's pigs in a blanket.  I'm also super excited, because this is not a tradition I've ever had the chance to see.   

I took a look at my blogs stats for the first time today, and there is a Spanish-speaking blog about au pairing in France that links to me.  Hey, Spanish-speaking France au pair!  How's it going!

While I was on the page, I hit the audience button out of curiosity.  As of today, there have been 1483 views of my blog from America (that's you guys), 455 from Germany (that's me, Marina, and Dirk), 66 from Canada (that's the mounties), 32 from the UK (rioters/Shane), 24 from India (that's awesome) and 23 from Bermuda (I see you, Michael!).  There's also been quite a few from Italy and Russia, a few more from Argentina, the Ukraine, Australia, Switzerland, and Pakistan.  1 from Colombia, 2 from Singapore, 0 from Kyryzstan.  Where are these people coming from, and how are they finding me?  Hello, all you world people!  I think you're awesome!

In other news, I've recently had a couple of comments/emails/offhand remarks about my writing "style," which made me really happy because I always just assumed I was being obnoxious, but it's not obnoxiousness, it's style!  I consider myself entirely blameless for the fact that the act of typing completely negates the filter between my brain and my mouth (or hands, as the case may be).  Plus, I always imagined there was a Style to Fuck ratio, and I was terribly skewed in the wrong direction.  This assumption was further solidified after a particularly disastrous piece of writing, whereby I called Cleopatra a "mega-bitch on a pimped-out boat," and described Marc Antony as being entirely "pussy-whipped."  I thought it rather accurate.  As it turns out, on college Shakespeare finals, you're only supposed to use nice words.  Who knew?  But now I'm stylish, so bite me, humorless T.A.  And shave your face. Methink'st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee.  Weather-beaten hedge-pig!