Conversations with Cats

Is it weird to use a hashtag at the end of a face-to-face conversation? …What about in a conversation with your cat?
 
Lately I’ve become, somewhat disturbingly, aware of the increased conversational frequency I have with my cat. Before moving to Germany (…looks down to count fingers) eight months ago, I spent roughly 9 hours a day, five days a week surrounded by other humans in a florescent-lit place commonly referred to as Work.

Today, however, I spend less than a quarter of that time attending a German language class so that I can eventually learn enough to go back to spending most of my time at Work.

So what am I doing with all this extra time? For starters, my apartment has never been cleaner (except for that mysterious, weird smell dwelling in the refrigerator. But that doesn’t count because its origins are currently, well, mysterious.) And there’s studying German, of course, drinking Weinschorle, scouring Munich for tofu products and getting lost (although the regularity of the latter has declined in recent months).

But my social life?  Is there an international onomatopoeia for cricket sounds?

Okay, so I’ve always considered myself a bit of an ab und zu (roughly now and then) extrovert. But since moving here, I’ve been a lot less ab and a lot more zu. While I have made a few friends here, my circle is considerably smaller than in previous cities.

I, too, will get my social groove back, just like this happy little guy.

My self-induced, quasi-mountain hermit…ness is certainly not for lack of social opportunities. Yet no matter how many people I meet, I haven’t been able to shake this odd, sideline observer feeling. And until recently, I haven’t been able to figure out why. But having lots of extra time gives one the opportunity for deep self-reflection…and to eat a lot of wasabi peanuts.

So what’s holding me back? No, it’s not wasabi peanut breath. It’s my personality in German, or more accurately, lack thereof.

Almost all of my day-to-day conversations with friends and new acquaintances are in German (apart from a few). And while I can chitchat with a sufficient degree of competence, I lack the linguistic dexterity required to make refined, meaningful or witty contributions.

Even in those rare instances where I manage to formulate something untextbooky, by the time my brain transfers it to my lips, the conversational moment has passed. Timing is everything, and unfortunately the translation app running in my brain is slower than a Mississippi drawl. And despite the fact that most of the people I meet are also foreigners, sharing in the struggle to master this language, I’ve refuse (aside from the aforementioned exceptions) to slide comfortable into English.

So where does this leave my social life? In a bit of a rut, until my German improves anyway.

On the upside, at least I’ve started speaking to my cat in monochrome German. Although, between you and me, his conversational skills are worse than mine… 

Bearing it all

Before I jump into this, I should point out that this post will probably appeal more to my female readers…unless of course, gentlemen, your lady friends have described to you the unpleasantness we call annuals. Oh, and there will be no pictures.

_______________

Earlier this week I had my yearly OB-GYN appointment for the first time since moving to Germany six months ago. It’s something I’ve been putting off for two reasons: my lack of dexterity with the German language and my lack of appreciation for those infamous, um, stirrups.

I finally decided to suck it up and get it over with. (What’s that phrase about just putting on your big girl panties…well, that sort of fits, in a reverse sort of way.)

So yeah, there I am in the waiting room, brushing up on my female anatomy vocabulary in German when the reception calls me into a small room to get my blood pressure, which turned out surprisingly normal despite my language-barrier-based anxiety.

“Whew, one thing down,” I thought.

Shortly after another short stint in the waiting room, I was called into see the doctor and entered a large half office, half exemption room. After the German formalities of proper greetings and hand shakes, she directed me to the chair opposite her at the desk. To lay out the scene properly in your imagination, the following dialog occurred solely in German. Any mistakes in translation are due to the fact that I had no idea what the f*** she was saying half of the time.

Doc: So, what is the reason for your visit?

Me: I need a quiz, errr, exam…the normal one…that one that happens once a year.

Awkward Pause

Me: (Wondering how this information didn’t seem to make it past the appointment desk) The, um, the just regular exam.

Doc: Ok then. Please go behind the curtain and undress waist down (pointing to a sheer circular drape extending slightly out from the wall between the undivided office and exam areas).

I get behind the curtain only to find no robe, no blanket (something I’m used to in the U.S.) And let me clarify, although I consider myself modest, I’m not bound to the typical American prudish stereotypes so often depicted in movies (except for, of course, those infamous Girls Gone Wild videos, of which have no doubt led to the disappointment of  many international students and tourists in the U.S.). But after undressing, I had no idea what to do. Should I should step out in my nakedness, or wait to be called out? What if I walked out too early and she was still doing paperwork for several minutes? Would I just stand there or scurry back awkwardly into the see-through curtain?

I decided to wait it out for an excruciating 42 seconds (yes, I counted). Then I slowly sauntered out, faking a been-there-done-that-but-it-just-took-me-a-really-long-time-to-undress attitude.

She was still seated at the desk, but pointed at the CHAIR, which was slightly different that what I was accustomed to. Not to go into too much detail, but for my American lady readers, the stirrups are not for your feet. And apparently asking what goes there warrants quite a quizzical look from the doctor.

After that was done, it was time for top half, which was done standing up…facing the doctor. Two thoughts were running laps through my mind during: do I look at her, or is that weird and (more sarcastically, since you can’t hear the voice (not plural) in my head) should I ask her for a coffee later…?

A hairy lesson learned

As is usual lately, I’ve been a bit MIA from blogging. What could be more important that chronicling my misadventures in Germany for an unfortunately quantifiable audience that likely consists mostly of friends and family back in the States?

Well there’s cleaning the parquet brush on my Dyson, for example. 

Who doesn't love a good clean vacuum brush pic?

Or following my constipated cat around to note when he poops. What, TMI? Don’t worry, my cat probably feels the same.

But despite all of these momentous responsibilities, I’ve decided that a certain recent event deserves to be documented: I got my hair cut…at a German salon…all by myself. Well there it is. I’ll give you a moment to take all that in. I just saw my cat head to the litter box again anyway…

Okay so maybe after a few moments of deep reflection you’ve decided that my hair cut is really no big deal. Not so my friend (whoa, did I just channel a little John McCain there…yikes).

To properly convey the significance of this experience, let me back up a few days. A classmate in my German course mentioned that she’d cut her hair the night before…on her own, as in, with the scissors in her very own hands. Another chimed in that she does the same, although a bit differently. I listened in awe as they explained their various methods. Then it occurred to me, why not try it myself…it sounded simple enough. And besides, if it worked, I could put off going to a German friseur on my own and learning related the vocabulary like stufig (layered) and der pony (bangs). By the way, here’s a link to more vocab if you’re the market for a haircut in Germany.

So when I got home that afternoon, I promptly washed my hair, combed it perfectly straight and even watch a few DIY videos on YouTube for good measure.

You could say the first cut went well, if your only definition of “well” is that my hair had been cut. But not wanting to look like a subject for a beauty school staffed with six-year-olds, I kept cutting, and cutting and cutting. In the end, I succeeded only in creating the first bathroom rug comprised of 100 percent genuine human hair. There’s something for Etsy…or maybe Regretsy would be more appropriate.

But from folly sometimes come fortune, or some crap like that. Thanks to overestimating my innate stylist skills, my fear of German salons disappeared. And before I knew it, I had an appointment for first thing the next morning.

Fast forward through the 17 hours in between (which were sprinkled with cocktails and various expressions of bewilderment from Thomas), and enter Max, friseur and corrector of hideous hair creations.

I spent the next hour and half in his chair listening to snip, snip…scheiße!...snip, snip…warum!?, warum!?!…

And although I only understood about 70 percent of what he was saying, I realized that sometimes we have to just suck it up and go out there if we really want increased lingual comfort and fluency…or just do something stupid that requires professional help. Yeah, that works, too.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, thanks to Max, I can now appear in public without triggering howling dogs. Here's proof:

Before and after  
Sorry, no photos of the actual "before." Some things are best left to poor illustrations.

How do you say “AAARRRGGGHH” auf deutsch?

If a cat cries miau, miau and person yells Aua! when he stubs his toe, what German sound should I make when I want to SCREAM?

I'm no Edvard Munch, but I think I at least captured my fondness for purple wigs

Now, you may be asking yourself what this Ami in Munich has to be frustrated about. I’ll admit I have little to complain about these days, what with not having to work at the moment and living in Europe.

But residing in a land where your language skills are (depending on the day) somewhere in between those of a half-baked pretzel and a four-year-old can have its ups and downs.

Today, for example, was no red letter day in my quest for German fluency – unless of course that red letter is a big, fat F (for those not familiar with the A-F grading style, that’s failing…miserably).

It was another one of those days where it seemed like every question I asked in my German class elicited something like: Haben wir das nicht schon in Kapitel Blah Blah gelernt? (English translation: Didn’t we already learn that in chapter blah blah?)

Just half way through the lesson, I was beginning to think that any question with enough audacity to leave my mouth hole would be met with a similar response:

Me: Entschuldigung, I seem to have bitten my pencil in half and am unfortunately chocking on the eraser. Would you be so kind as to perform the Heimlich maneuver

Response: It’s pronounced HEIM-lich! Didn’t we already learn the proper syllabification?

Okay, okay, so now I’m just being snarky. But on days like this, I get the feeling I’m condemned to a life of toddler-speak and charades.

On the other hand, perhaps I would do better to stop complaining, and open my textbook instead.  Good advice from the more articulate, English-speaking side of my brain. Of course, the immature four-year-old, German-speaking side thinks watching cartoons and eating chocolate might be a better solution. Guess which one the rest of me is going to side with?

From domestically hopeless to domestically deficient

Before Thomas and I moved to Germany back in November, I worked as a writer in large company’s public relations department. I can still hear my Journalism 101 professor in college saying, whatever you do, don’t go into television news. So what did I do? Majored in broadcast journalism.  Fine, he said. Just please, please don’t go into PR! Sorry Mr. J. But if it’s any conciliation, I’ve hung up my PR…um pen? At least for awhile.

These days, my time is spent buying German language books, looking at those books laying on my kitchen table, and occasionally opening one – if only by accident when my cat pushes it off the table.

I kid, I kid. Well mostly.

In order to prepare myself for the daunting task of (eventually) working on my master's degree in German, I've been attending a language course, practicing with anyone unfortunate enough to get stuck standing near me (although my charades skills seem to be improving faster than my German) and watching local TV (it's amazing how little vocabulary you need to understand a show like Bauer sucht Frau (translation: farmer searches for a wife). In between that, I've been getting to know Munich, doing a little writing and even taking care of daily Hausfrau tasks like cleaning, cooking and laundry.

Some of these tasks have proven harder than my German studies though…and given the complexities of German grammar, that’s saying a lot. Take ironing, for example. The other day, I spent about 30 minutes ironing one of Thomas’ dress shirts, only for it to look a whopping five percent better than it did when I pulled it out of the wash.

Yeah, this is post-ironing. Awesome, right?

Since then, I’ve tried each setting on the iron, various levels of pressure and contorted my body in more ways than Linda Blair in the Exorcist to get a better angle (okay, that last one was a slight bit of an exaggeration). Nothing has helped. Well, at least I can rule out ironing from my list of possible, hidden superpowers. Whew. That would have been lame anyway.

Of course, no one has ever called me domesticated. Back when I was single, my idea of a balanced home-cooked dinner was a chocolate Sunday and a dirty martini. That said, I’ve at least done pretty well in cooking since moving to Munich.

Exhibit A: one of my latest cooking endeavors: tofu sauté

Can you hear that? That’s the sound of me patting myself on the back…if only to smooth out the wrinkles in my shirt.

There’s coffee…and then there’s THIS

What do you get when you send a fairly-illiterate-in-German -and-fresh-off-the-boat-expat grocery shopping? This:

Caro, the coffee alternative

Sure, it looks normal enough with its gold and blue label and image of a delicious cup of coffee. But what’s inside is most definitely NOT delicious coffee. In fact, as I later learned, it isn’t even coffee at all.

Let me back up. I’ve been in Germany for about a month and a half now. And one of my favorite things about living in another country is grocery shopping. Stores are filled with excitingly different items and brands. But all this newness (and my low German vocabulary) comes with a price: you don’t always know what you’re getting. But then again, how else would I have learned I actually do like stinky sheep cheese?

So a few weeks ago, I went in search of a good instant coffee to hold me over until we bought a machine. I stood in front of the coffee shelf for about 10 minutes trying to decide between brands based solely on product labeling aesthetics. From the impressive line-up, I selected a perpetrator, er canister.

As soon as Thomas got home that evening, I performed my ceremonial “showing of the day’s purchases” like a kid proudly holding freshly made macaroni art. Usually it goes well. Today, the macaroni was didn’t go over so well. Here’s the transcript of what followed:

Thomas: Wow, you…uh… you bought Caro, huh? he asked cocking his head to one side as if the angle would make my imminent reasoning clearer. (Since then, I’ve received this same reaction from numerous people.)
Me: Umm…yeah. It was a really good price, and the label was prettier than the generic brands. (I could feel my speech beginning to get slower and slower) Besides, it’s made by Nestle. The other Nestle coffee was twice as much.
Thomas: Do you know why that is?
Me: No…..wh—
Thomas: Haha, no, no. You’ll find out.

The next morning I made my first cup of Caro and slowly took a sip. What the –!?!

I ran to the computer to research the odd black liquid in my cup. Caro is actually a caffeine-free coffee substitute. The ingredients listed on Wikipedia, best describe the flavor: “Caro is made up of soluble solids of roasted barley, malted barley, chicory, and rye.”

Yum?

But since I bought it, I was determined to drink it, so I’m down to half a canister (which, because I bought the biggest one, makes 50 cups).

While the taste kind of grows on you, I’m happy to report we bought our new coffee machine last night. So starting today, it’s good-bye Caro and welcome back Joe.

My knight in stainless steel armor has arrived

A German Christmas party: eat, drink and … line dance?

They say the best way to learn a language is by total immersion. While I generally agree, more often than not, Thomas and I stick with English at home. We’ll start off in German, but invariably switch back once my vocabulary begins to stifle the conversation. I guess we just prefer our conversations to go beyond in-detail weather descriptions or me asking for 250 grams of sliced cheese.

But this weekend I got a full immersion experience at Thomas’ company Christmas party. Even though many people there could speak English quite well, I tried as best as I could (after a few glass of wine fortified my courage) to only speak in German. With my vocabulary being limited, I had only a few topics I could speak to comfortably. Fortunately, large parties provide opportunities for dialog repetition. Seven hours later, I could explain my thoughts on the Bavarian accent quite well.

Language barriers aside, the party was quite fun and entertaining. Thomas’s company is more laid-back than most German companies. For example, everyone from intern to CEO addresses one another casually using the informal du-form of “you.” (German, like many languages, has two forms of “you.” The polite and formal “Sie” (always capitalized) and the more familiar, informal “du.”).

So it was no surprise that party felt more like a bunch of good friends celebrating the holidays together rather than a stiff office party where everyone keeps an eye on the clock.  The evening was full of great food, drinks, a band made up entirely of employees, stories of humor and appreciation and even a few cowboy hats and line dancing – something I, coming from the southern half of the U.S., found particularly amusing.

Christmas party in Germany...with line dancing

Why this pinch of country-western culture? One of the employees was moving to work at the company’s U.S. office … in New York. I looked at Thomas, and he grinned. Payback for Americans thinking all Germans wear lederhosen, I guess.

I’m sorry, my German isn’t very good … and apparently neither is my math

In Germany, many shops only accept cash, or sometimes called an Electronic Cash (EC) card (which is like a debit card). Being a U.S. American (I can’t speak for my friends in Canada and Mexico), this is very different. In the States, I rarely carried cash. Plus, I earned “points” with every credit card purchase which equaled cash back later. A $2 cup of coffee? Charge it.

I don’t have an EC card here yet. Thomas added me to his bank account, but in order to get a card, we have to go to the Post Office to have my identity verified. I should mention here that Germans take personal identity and privacy very seriously, which I think is great. But added security measures often come with a convenience cost.

But not having an EC card hasn’t been that big of inconvenience; I’ve been fine with making a trip to the ATM with Thomas every few days...

…Until today, that is.

Each day, I go to a couple of markets to acquire fresh items with which to create something that resembles some state of food (I’m still to master opening the oven…more on that another time).

Today I went to a larger store just down the street. But because grocery shopping is still very exciting –   so many new and different items to try – I got a little more zealous than my wallet was comfortable with.

As I placed each of my edible treasures on the checkout conveyor belt, a sense of dread began to set in. How much was that box of chocolates? I forgot I picked up that bottle of Glühwein. That deli cheese was €4??

And, as is so often the case, my delayed intuition was right.

Cashier: Das macht €38.45. (That comes to €38.45).
Me: Ummm…[looking at the €25 in my wallet as if they’d somehow multiply if I keep counting them.] Leider…ich habe nicht genug. Ich muss etwas zurück geben.(Unfortunately...I don’t have enough. I must give something back.)

I quickly handed over a higher ticket item: a beautiful bottle of Cuban rum. The cashier, without the least bit of empathy for my predicament, snatched it up and walked over to her colleague for a register key to remove the item from my bill.

By this time a line had begun to form behind me.

Cashier: €22.10, bitte.
Me:        .........

Looking at the money in my hand again, I started recounting it in German. No, better do this in English, I thought. Crap…wait…how much is this?? I felt a warm sensation flooding into my face. Somehow in a mounting sense of panic I’d forgotten how to add. I frantically handed her all of the paper bills from my wallet, plus a couple spare one and two Euro coins from my pocket.

She counted my wad of monetary shame once…twice…looked at up me…and then counted a third time. I instantly thought I was still short. But to my relief, she mumbled something I didn’t fully understand and gave me several Euros back. I grabbed my rum-less bag of groceries and hurried out, without making eye-contact with any of the (hopefully patient) customers behind me. For once, stepping outside and breathing the bitter cold air felt amazing.

So what did I learn? Have plenty of cash on hand; select items more conservatively; and start going to a different grocery store.

Pork...the other meat I don’t eat

Bavarian Holzfällersteak...not the "American steak" I'm used to

I’m a mostly pescatarian living in a pork-lover’s paradise. What does that mean? Well, I eat fish but try to refrain from eating birds and land animals 95 percent of the time. Occasionally, I’ll make an exception for something like an excellent beefsteak. Last night was to be one of those exceptions.

Thomas and I walked to a nearby, traditional Bavarian restaurant. One look at the menu and I quickly learned that Bavarians really like pork, something I definitely don’t eat. And not for religious reasons. I like pigs, I just prefer them alive.

So after asking, what’s this word mean? about 30 times, I figured I’d mastered the menu and was ready to order. Ich möchte das holzfällersteak ohne speck, bitte. (Translation: I would like the holzfällersteak without bacon, please.)

A few minutes later, the waitress placed a slab of suspiciously light colored meat in front of me. I looked at Thomas and asked, What…is…this? He took a bite and grimaced. Pork.

I was perplexed. I said ohne speck. I didn’t know holzfällersteak was a pork steak topped with more pork.

Thomas explained how much of German cuisine in the south is centered around pork because beef prices are much higher.

As I looked down at my meal, I felt guilty for ordering a plate of Ms. Piggy after having regularly donated to a pig sanctuary in Arizona. I started to wonder if this was karma’s way of punishing me for giving into meat-temptation.

Needless to say, I didn’t eat the pork steak. Afterwards, we went across the street to Burger King (insert your favorite American/hamburger joke here) where I got a subpar veggie burger.

But I’m not giving up on German-Bavarian cooking…I just might have to modify a few recipes and try them at home. Anyone up for holzfäller-tofu-steak?

The A, B, Cs of learning German

One of my goals in Germany is to pass the TestDaF language proficiency exam required for university entrance. I intend to study for my master’s degree in Munich. Exactly what I’ll study is not yet clear. But no matter what I select, I first need to prove that I can read, write and understand the language at an academic level. Sure, no problem. Except that I need to do this by June if I plan to enroll in the winter 2011 semester. Crap…I mean CERF.

The Common European Framework of Reference for Languages (CEFR) is a system created by the Council of Europe to help standardize learning. Mastery of German – and most other European languages – is divided into six levels:

• A1 – beginner
• A2 – second level beginner
•  B1 – intermediate
• B2 – second level intermediate
• C1 – advanced (or upper intermediate)
• C2  - mastery

To help me reach the Cs, I’ll be attending a language school in Munich. But the level at which I should start was a slight area of debate between Thomas and me. He thought that since I’ve been more or less studying the language (off and on) for awhile now, I would easily be in the B category. But the As were more to my liking. So we put it, er, me to the test.

First I took this free online test, from Cornelsen. It featured a separate test for each level. Result: B1. Score one for Thomas. But I still wasn’t convinced. So if at first you fail succeed, try, try again, right?

So then I checked out another online test offered by Deutsche Sprachschule Dresden. This one was an 80-question test which, at the end, ranked you as A1, A2 or B1. I scored A2. Success! Sort of…

It’s not that I don’t want to be challenged, and I could probably handle the B1 course. But, I’d like to feel comfortable in my first class, not frustrated and incompetent. Besides, I figure adjusting to live in Munich will be challenging enough in the beginning, and I’m sure there will be plenty of other opportunities to feel inadequate.

So it’s off to A2 class in just a short few weeks!

A few of my favorite (study) things: Part I of...how many ever I decide to write

I've often heard that Ph.D.'s love theorizing about doing stuff, while everyone else actually does stuff. This got me thinking. Maybe I should aspire to a Ph.D. in "studying."

I have this sort of love/hate relationship with studying. I like it...in theory. I enjoy perusing books stores, drinking large lattes during all-night cram sessions and wearing dark-rimmed glasses and pleated skirts. The problem is that none of these things actually equate to real studying. They only succeed in lightening my wallet.

When I have to sit down, open a textbook and focus, the latte quickly tastes stale, the glasses hurt my eyes and the skirt becomes restricting. It only takes a few minutes before my mind starts to wander and I end up surfing trashy celebrity gossip sites or checking out the daily Woot for the seventh time.

Fortunately, when it comes to my German studies, I've found a way to stay focused...for a little while at least. Instead of paging through one super-intense grammar book after another (which are painfully lacking in the illustration department), I mix it up.

I recently stumbled across a great vocabulary building app for iPhones and iPod Touches called AccelaStudy. Granted, some of the words are bit beyond my immediate speaking needs; I'm pretty sure Die Kapitalbeschaffungskosten (cost of funds) won't come up in too many of my conversations early on...or ever. But, overall, it does a good job exposing you to a wide variety of words.

So now, when I get bored with a book, I switch to my phone. When I get bored with that, I'll watch a children's cartoon in German. When I get bored with that, I'll start contemplating obscure academic degree programs and end up blogging about them here. Welcome to my derailed train of thought.

Lost in lyrical translation

A couple of days ago Thomas and I booked our first event in Munich. Shortly after we arrive next month, we'll be attending the Fantastischen Vier (a famous German hip hop group) concert here:

Olympiahalle in Munich

Fanta 4 (for short)  has been around since the early 1990s and still has a strong following. I fell in love with their music several years ago (pre-Thomas) when a German friend started playing the song Troy on a road trip to Mexico. Even though I had no idea what the lyrics meant, I found myself rocking out to it and hopelessly trying to sing along.

I started to like German hip hop so much that I went out and bought tons of songs from other German artists like Fettes Brot, Glashaus, Celina and Esther & Sepalot. And the list goes on. In fact, right now I'm camped out on the empty living room floor, ghetto blasting some Fünf Sterne Deluxe on my iPhone.

Back then, it didn't matter that I had no idea what they were singing about. Unlike my favorite English songs, the lyrics didn't matter one bit. I just picked songs based on how they sounded. That is, of course, until I came across this hilarious Dutch commercial for language training (note: totally NSFW). Yeah, that was the day I decided to start learning German.

A doctor's note

A wake-up call instead of a house call

I, like many people this time of year, have been under the weather off and on for the past couple of weeks. So, while off work on a sick day, I did what any normal person with extra time and unfettered access to the internet does, I researched my symptoms. After a couple of terrifying hours spent analyzing those symptoms … and talking myself into a few new ones, I decided to drag my usually stubborn self out of the apartment to seek professional medical attention. Sorry internet.

What does this have to do with my impending move to Germany, you ask? I’m getting there. I’m sick. Don’t rush me.

After numerous questions and standard tests, my doctor concluded I had bronchitis. Twenty minutes, and a weird hookah-like treatment  later, he changed his mind. It was a common cold … or maybe pneumonia. So off to x-ray I went. 

An hour later, he decided it absolutely, surely might be allergies. So he wanted to set up an appointment with the allergy clinic. Problem was that there were no open appointments until late November. As in, I’ll-be-in-Germany-by-then-late-November. 

Suddenly my move became real. Sure, Thomas and I have been making preparations for a couple of weeks now. But, just like when you jolt awake from an intense dream, I was struck with the very real fact that in about six weeks, I’d being saying good-bye to friends, family, Madison and my English-speaking life.

And speaking of, well, speaking … When I told my doctor why I wouldn’t be able to make the allergy appointment, he replied, “Oh, sind Sie eine Deutsche? Nein? Also, dann müssen Sie sehr gut Duetsch sprechen, ja?” Trying to fake confidence, but feeling my body temperature elevate and my pulse quicken, I simply nodded … resolutely of course. Satisfied that I was sufficiently fluent, he then rattled off a short quasi-soliloquy in German, which I really hope didn’t directly relate to my health as I had no idea what the hell he just said. 

If only he could write a doctor’s note excusing me from learning the difference between Passiv and Zustandpassiv verb constructions. I’m pretty sure they’re bad for my overall mental well-being. But I guess I’ll just need to hit the books hard soon. But first, back to bed …

From 0 to kitty-papa in an Augenblick

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, we love our furbabies.  Although for Thomas, saying “love” was no easy task for two reasons:

1. While emotions are international, the words we use to describe them vary across languages. Germans typically reserve the word “love” (liebe) for their significant others. Even parents don’t tell their children they “love” them. Instead, they say something like, “Ich habe euch lieb.” which is more like “I have love for you.” It might at first sound odd in English. But when you think about it, we do love people differently. Not more or less, just differently.
2. This is a big one: Thomas never had pets growing up. Like never, ever. Not even a hamster or sea monkeys. I, on the hand, grew up with representatives from each animal kingdom. The first time he woke up with a furry feline wrapped around his head was at my Arizona apartment. So imagine his surprise when he witnessed his first cat hairball. (“Umm…is it supposed to do that??”)

So while Thomas sometimes still hesitates at close-contact nuzzling, he’s come a long way. He scoops the litter box, cleans up hairballs, assists with medication and freely admits he “loves” them…even when they occasionally race across his face in the middle of the night or claw his legs as he’s getting into the shower.

Even his parents (who never allowed animals at home) have warmed up to them. The other day his mom asked how one was doing after a recent battle with a kidney infection.

I may be a crazy cat girl, but he married me. That makes him certifiable in my book. :)

Dreaming of a Wunder-Wohnung

Late last night, Thomas arrived back in Madison from Germany (he was there attending several family events and meeting with his new employer). All that's left is for him to officially sign the contract. So we'll be vigilantly watching the mail for the next week waiting for it to arrive. That's one piece of paper we definitely have to keep away from Charlie, our little feline shredding machine!

In a few weeks, Thomas will fly back to Munich to secure an apartment for us. I'm really hoping for a charming Altbau (old building) on a shop-lined street in a funky,eclectic district. Something like this would be perfect:

...But with big windows like:

...Showing a view like this:

...And with a big, modern bathroom:

...Oh, and for a reasonable price of course.

OK, so realistically, our new "Wohnung" in Germany's third largest city probably won't match my lofty goals of a haute-bohemian downtown loft, but home is where you make it right? And one thing I've learned is that Thomas and I can make any place home (even our current spider infested pad). Besides, we're going to Munich; what's not to love about that? :)