Got Cognac?

Ummm….Is this not the most awesome gift EVER?
Booze with my face on it? Um, AWESOME.
My friends from Armenia presented this to me last night at the work happy hour and I was just DELIGHTED. In fact, I spent the rest of the hour parading it around, telling people that they should be very jealous of the fact that they don’t have a bottle of cognac with THEIR face on it.

Seriously. Working with people from all around the world is so much fun.

Do I look like a hockey mom?

So today at the conference I decided to pair a loud dress with fishnets and tossed in a side of straight hair. Usually whatever I’m wearing starts some conversation, but normally I just pass it off because I am one of 6 girls here out of 280 people and if you have a vagina and set of tits, you are going to be talked about anyway.

Sometimes, though, when dealing with my international pals, we deal with the lost in translation effect, like the time my pal from Serbia said,

“I would very much like to pleasure you with coffee.” Hmm.

So today I wish I could say the conversation I took part of was like that, but I was talking to Americans so I have no idea what to blame it on.

During this morning’s coffee break, I’m standing by myself, drinking my tea, just waiting for the next request or problem to fix. Two nice gentlemen from the States walk up to me and say hi and then jump right into it.

“She just can’t look like a hockey mom wearing those tights.” The both stared at my tights, which today are a classy version of fishnets. They are also going to apparently talk about me as though I’m not standing there.

“I didn’t say she looked like a hockey mom. I said…” The other one started to carry on before he friend interupted him again.

“Well she just doesn’t with those tights. Heather, you don’t look like a hockey mom.” And then they both smiled, like they had told me good news.

Yes, I am still the worst at using paint. And photoshop. And computers.

Now where shall we begin with this? First of all, the beautiful paint creation above is my attempt to show you what I was wearing today and then go further to elaborate on these thoughts below. Moving on.

1. I’m pretty sure I know what a soccer mom looks like but what the hell does a hockey mom look like? Ok. If they were Canadian, I could just blame their country for loving hockey and assume that they compare everything in life to hockey and so of course we’d be talking about hockey moms. But I wasn’t talking to Canadians so I have no idea what the hell a hockey mom is.

2. I’m sure it’s a trashier version of a soccer mom but I’m not that offended because a. that makes sense and b. I feel like hockey moms are awesome compared to soccer moms because soccer moms have short haircuts usually only meant for lesbians and they wear khakis and cardigans and they bring oranges to kids school events and I feel like, though I’ve never met one, a hockey mom will choke you with her bare hands, drives a truck and will tell you to fuck off at a game if your kid checks her kid. So that sounds ok to me. If that’s what a hockey mom is.

3. Why were they having an outside conversation about me looking like a hockey mom before coming over to me?


5. If anyone is calling you a mom of any sort, are they secretly calling you fat because obviously that’s what I’m thinking but then again, that’s what eating 8 boxes of girl scout cookies will do so that’s fair but also uncalled for.

6. Why are men so amazed with tights with holes all in them? Oh right, perverts.

7. Why can I not even talk to people from my own damned country without wondering what the hell just happened?

It’s only Monday. It’s going to be a long week of insulting compliments. I can tell already.

**Soccer mom photo taken from:
Hockey mom photo taken from:

Most pitiful picture EVER

January has been a shit month for me. Not much has been able to cheer me up and even wine has failed SO YOU KNOW SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG.

However, Mr. H took this picture yesterday and sent it to me after he gave Moxie a bath. Honestly, if this picture of my pitiful little buddy doesn’t make you laugh, I don’t know what will.

She couldn't possibly look more miserable

God, she is so dramatic sometimes. I have NO IDEA where she gets it from.

Headed to Bratislava and Vienna

So I haven’t written anything of substance in awhile..sorry, but shit is crazy around here. Hopefully, while away on another work trip, I’ll find some time to tell a few stories about my adventures with The Internationals.

Tomorrow morning, I’m headed to Bratislava for 8 days.

During my 8 days, I’ll be surrounded by hundreds of people from thirty or so different countries. I’m sure something is bound to happen that will be worth sharing…

Then I head to Vienna with the Mr. for a two day visit.

While there, we plan on visiting the fancy horses, listening to the Vienna Choir Boys and touring the city for lots of pictures.

Should be a fun week. I’ll be sure to update as much as I can!

The Pats are heading to the BIG GAME

And no, today I don’t really want to go on and on about my love for Tom “Less Than Desirable Last Night” Brady. He didn’t win the game for us and those kind of congrats belong to Sterling Moore or that poor sap, Billy Cundiff.

Seriously, that kid must have had a really tough flight home.

But yes, I’m pumped that my Pats are in the Super Bowl. Do we deserve to be there? No, I don’t think so. Do I care? No, I don’t.

What do I care about? Well, maybe just this today. Because really, being able to tell Rex Ryan to shut the hell up is so much better than….well, than a whole lot of things.

My paint skills are getting so much better, NO?

And no, while I’m still fired up, there’s this:

Eli, you are NEXT. It’s going to be brutal in two weeks and I look forward to it.

Happy Monday, everyone.

Shit People Say Videos

I have 7 hours until game time and to keep from dying of boredom, I’m watching funny videos and reading articles about how legendary AND LICKABLE Tom Brady is and drooling over Wes Welker. Yep, I’m a Welker girl.

Wes, I'm all yours. Please don't leave us. Oh, and fuck off Jets.

If I were living back home right now, I’d be in the middle of cup and snack making for a playoff party we’d host, but I’m stuck here while all my New England friends are painting their faces, tailgating on couches and getting ready for the big game tonight. DAMN YOU GERMANY FOR BEING SO FAR AWAY FROM NEW ENGLAND. Hpmh.

So anyway. In keeping busy over here, I’ve been mindlessly watching youtube videos. I know these “shit people say” videos are old but I don’t care. Every time I watch these, I die laughing and everyone needs something stupid and funny to watch today, right?

Also, now I want to make one. Would Shit Germans Say be a bad idea? Probably. A, Shit Americans Say While Visiting Europe, would be easy, but would further prove that we sound like morons. Hmmm. I’ll have to make a list of all of my new video ideas. Might be time to add Vlogs to the Chronicles.

Enough rambling, already. These videos are a riot. Enjoy!

Shit Girls Say to Gay Guys. REALLY true. And hysterical.

Shit Girls Say, Episode 1. All true. Sad, but true.

Even BETTER, Shit Black Girls Say. Seriously, black women are the best.

And one of my newest favorites…for all my DC friends.
Shit People in DC Say. As a previous resident, these are all true.

Germans v. Americans: The Battle of the Road Signs

I don’t typically compare Germans to Americans because
1. I enjoy making a game out of which I hear is not nice
2. It never turns out well
3. Apparently its not nice to stereotypically compare countries.

But I will today, when it comes to safety on the road and road signs.

It’s no surprise the Germans are much better drivers than Americans. I’d even go as far to say as much better than most of the world. They have great cars and this little thing called the Autobahn and there is no fucking around on the road in Germany. People are doing 200 mph to get to nowhere. There is no such thing as being an oblivious asshole in the left lane looking at the scenery because you don’t want to be in the right lane doing 60 mph where you belong. Or you can do this and just realize all of a sudden that a German is screaming up on you going 200 and he is not slowing down.

Because he doesn’t have to. You’re the moron in the wrong lane and you better get the fuck out of the way before you cause an accident…So that’s the logic in Germany. You get to drive insanely fast because you know how to drive and people follow the rules to a tee. I’ve seen MAYBE three accidents total on the highway in over two years here. I’d see that between Old Town and DC in ten minutes if I were still living back home, most likely caused by sunshine or texting. Seriously. You have no idea how many times I sat on 395 in DC for hours because some moron hit the person in front of him after he reach the top of the hill and the sun blinded him. Really.awesome.DC.drivers.

But anyway, these are not the reasons the Germans are bad ass in this case. The reasons they are awesome is because they take driving responsibly so seriously, they are going to scare you and your children into following the rules with their billboards and road signs.

Why fuck around with something worthless Americans would put out, like “Click it or Ticket”, which really, does that even get anyone to put your seat belt on? The rhyme is stupid and a ticket isn’t going to make me go out of my way to follow a law on the American streets.

No. If you want something done, the Germans know that reminding everyone about this little thing called death is the best way to handle things. Tossing in some sad kids crying is just brilliant. This is one of my favorites.

Lars is NOT happy.

Then we have a worthless sign from the States.

Not sure if the sign is referring to Jesus or the cops but either way, worthless sign.

Hmm. Which signs would work more? Kids crying about people on clouds, or a picture of an unused seat belt.

Then we have Lea, who is also wicked sad.

And lastly, they brought the grandparents into this.
Poor Opa is burning in the car while Max is watching. Now THAT is tragic.

Personally, I love these signs, which yes, I’m sure makes me twisted and all levels of wrong. In the U.S., they simply wouldn’t exist. They are too real, too graphic and too scary for the type of children that are being raised back home. One of these signs would pop up on the streets and shit would just go crazy. Groups like MOTHERS AGAINST SCARY STREET SIGNS would pop up, blindfolds would be put on children or shades would be pulled down on car windows.

And so, in the case of WHO HAS BETTER ROAD SIGNS the score is: Germans 1, Americans, 0.

***All German road sign pics are compliments of my lovely friend Tracy. Click on them to see them close-up. It’s worth it, I promise.

Weekend review–Hooters, Pats and working MLK Day

While I should be writing something very thoughtful on MLK Day and equality and the progress of the world to date, I don’t have anything very inspirational to add and so I think today I’ll just post a few diddle worthy pics of Tom Brady, make fun of someone who loves Jesus and talk about eating until I’m fat, aka my weekend recap…
My weekend wasn’t that eventful but there were some highlights.

I went into the weekend loving this.

Which obviously meant I wore all of my Pats gear all weekend long. And thank GOD I had my Pats sweats back. I had left them at a hotel I stayed at in Lithuania and it cost $70 to ship me back my $50 sweats but they were on my ass all weekend, which is all that really counts.

Then I went here, which yes, I was obviously all class this weekend. My mistake was wine drinking and watching a Top Chef episode on Friday night that featured a BBQ challenge which led me to shout, WE ARE SO GOING TO DRIVE AN HOUR TO HOOTERS TOMORROW AND YOU CANNOT DENY ME MY RIGHT TO TITS AND WINGS. First, the Mr. isn’t a fan of Hooters and second, I didn’t care. Wings were calling, though looking back, they actually have nothing to do with a Texas BBQ challenge. Who cares.

Slamming back too many wings sent me into relaxation time, which is also known as Gin time and an episode I like to call, Heather Drunk Dials Her Friends and Family…which is always a fun time. I would have stayed off the phone and just gone to bed but I was SURE I could stay up and make it to watch the Pats game. I didn’t. Gin won and instead, I woke up and watched the game, sure not to check the internet or fb or my phone for texts.

Then I got to be all happy about this.

Some came to just play the game Saturday. Brady came to set records.

The big win allowed me to go back to napping stress-free on Sunday, which then turned into a day full of reading articles that made Tom Brady look like God and made fun of Tebow and how Jesus probably, ahem CLEARLY, hates him this week. Oh well, guess that’s what you get when you don’t spend enough time on your knees *praying. Also, I spent a good amount of time reading about all the whiners on facebook telling the world to leave Jesus loving Tebow alone. I don’t have much to say except maybe less time praying and more time practicing and maybe then you wouldn’t have looked like you showed up to a charity game. Better luck next year, altar boy.

Also, I was pretty happy about these as well. So happy, in fact, that I ordered mmmm, 15 boxes. That should really help my ass when I start consuming half a box a day AFTER I finish my juice cleanse.

So, that was my riveting weekend. Hope everyone that has off today is celebrating the life of MLK or just day drinking. Treat yourself.

**Both Pats pictures this week come from Masshole Sports. If you love New England sports and sarcastic commentary, check it out. If not, you probably suck at life.

Shitty weeks, The Germans and topless Ryan Gosling

This week may go down as the record all-time, shittiest, horrible, disasterous weeks ever. And it’s only Tuesday. Tuesday but feels like Monday. I think every fucking day this week is going to feel like Monday. CAN SOMEONE PLEASE TOSS ME INTO NEXT WEEK NOW? Jesus. This whole damned week can just fuck itself.

First of all, I’m at war again with Dante, our 14-year-old dog, and it’s my damned fault. For weeks he was lying around the house, barely able to get up, peeing himself and generally acting like he was dying. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel but felt guilty about all the death stuff because I’ve never actually had a pet die on me and burial of pets just seems AWFUL and messy and I remember the last time one of my mother’s animals died the whole family had to get involved and there was screaming and crying and blood and holy shit, no thanks. So. Because I felt bad and inconvenienced by the excessive use of paper towels I was using to clean up his messes, I made an appointment at the vet.

Then the vet gave Dante magic pills that gave him all his powers back, turned him into a galloping horse and also makes him shit on the floor 90 times a day out of excitement and so while I think it’s best to now maybe toss out all the magic pills, I give them to him anyway because the Mr. is happy that his best friend isn’t acting like Captain Death anymore but I swear, whenever Mr. H leaves the room, Dante shits on the floor, looks at me, winks and whispers, YOU FUCKING LOSE.

So there’s that going on this week.

Then yesterday was complete shit and the badness has just snowballed from there. I had to finally make the appointment to have the kitchen people come to view the results of my cooking skills (which you can re-read here if you so desire), as I finally told my landlord, who was completely fine about it and more concerned with my health, if I was hurt and how my Christmas was.

Which means she’s not German. She cannot be German because her first instinct was not to punish me or teach me a lesson or turn on me. It was like a hug through email and now I feel like I owe her a goddamned gift for not kicking me out of her house.

Anyway. I should have figured that it wasn’t a brilliant idea to have the Kutchen Grob people come to my house at 9am to look around, tell me how I’ve damaged the house, how they’re going to fix it and how much it’ll cost me. No sane person starts their week with that sort of torment.

“You know they’re going to make you pay for a whole new kitchen,” was everyone’s very helpful commentary last week when I said I would be dealing with this on Monday. They being Germans in general because they all (Yes, I am going to generalize like an asshole. I don’t care) would rather you fix anything broken it its entirety than just the piece that’s broken. The lightbulb in the fridge is broken? Start hunting for a new cooling system. Stained the floor due to flooding? Don’t wash it. Buy a new damned floor. Broke your finger? Your whole damned arm is going in a cast. The Germans refuse to do anything half-assed and this always has a way of testing my sanity and my checkbook.

The man who came to look at my kitchen shook his head when he saw the burn.

“This is not good.” He sighed.

I know it’s not fucking good, which is why it’s been hiding under a pretty place mat thing and flowers for months.

“You are going to need a whole new kitchen.” He was not even apologetic by this. I was going to smash something.

“Why.” I asked flatly and with a hint of I THINK YOU ARE FUCKING BULLSHIT. When the Germans lay down the law, I don’t even expect a compromise. I just want the details so I have a reason to start hating.

“Because if we try to just fix that piece, we will not be able to fit it all back together.”
Apparently carpentry or remodeling or PUZZLE MAKING was not a strong point for this company.

“So the whole thing?” I looked around. My landlord was going to be pumped about her new kitchen.

“Or we can make that piece into a marble cutting board for her and no new counters.” Well, now there was an idea. A fancy cutting board right next to the stove. Somehow I had a feeling my landlord would choose the new kitchen.

“How much?”

“We’ll do work in three weeks. 2100 euro.” Which is like a million dollars.

So fuck me. Fuck me and fuck this week already. I will never use appliances again.

Now. To make myself feel better, I googled, “Ryan Gosling topless from Crazy, Stupid, Love.” Yes, topless men tend to cheer me up. Topless Ryan Gosling makes me want to diddle myself. And so. It was either that or Chow dog puppies and I felt like today I deserved to see some goddamned pecs and sex tunnels. So kill me.

Ladies, you're welcome.

Family questionnaires and being forgotten

Sundays aren’t my best day for riveting blog posts. I spend the day alternating between being productive around the house and being lazy as all get out. Today I’m too busy eating, napping and Top Chef marathon watching to think of something original to write. Plus, today I’m busy answering my very own Family Survey 2012, comprised of 75 questions I think all of my family members should answer before they die. Not to be all morbid or anything.

I sent this survey to every cousin, sibling, parents, grandparent, in-law and cousin in-law that I have. The purpose of the survey is to give your story and your memories and a photo or two while you’re still in your prime. I would say before anyone has lost their mind but its a bit too late for that in most cases of the people I’m working with and so we’ll keep with the “in your prime” idea.

It sets me off slightly that no one ever researches family history or makes a family tree until people die. Then the grandparents of grandparents are long gone and no one remembers anything about where they’re from or what Crazy Aunt Betty was really like. I asked our parents last year to tell me to name their grandparents and great grandparents and tell me where they’re from and in some cases, too many cases, they had no answers but weren’t that apologetic about it. Like it didn’t matter that they couldn’t remember someone who was only one leaf above them in the tree. This is really unsettling to me. Also, my family is bat ass crazy and Mr. H’s has it’s moments too and I’d like people to remember all of us without having to try hard. So. I’m going to take the responsibility of organizing it and then pretty-ing it up later and then the whole world can thank me for leaving our legacies behind, with photos.

In the email I sent out to our families, I offered up a bribe to every one of them. It’s the only way I can get any of them to type something. First five (of 30) to send the questionnaire back to me gets a very nice and fancy gift from Europe. Not one of them has responded and they’re about to get their week reminder. My family just LOVESmy demands and my *patience.

But seriously. Could I make it any easier on people? Fill out a questionnaire and no one will forget you. The questions aren’t all boring, either. I want things like favorite quote, first car, favorite book, dream job, greatest accomplishment, nickname, favorite cocktail, best memory, biggest regret, favorite vacation spot and use three adjectives to describe yourself to all be a part of their stories. To me, those things are far more important than the school they graduated from and how many siblings they had. And besides, my follow-up question would be WHICH sibling do you love the most and which do you wish would drown?

Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t wish death on anyone in your family? Huh. Weird.

So since all of my family members have so far ignored my request or avoided talking to me about it, I am going to fill out mine and then email it to all 30 of them as a reminder that they are lazy and they will not win this battle. They will give me their stories or I will put them on the phone and do it that way.

And I know. I sound a bit crazy. But am I the only person that is absolutely terrified of being forgotten?