German wins all around

So there were two German wins last night and I am pumped to be in The Fatherland this weekend.

First, Germany beat Greece and I woke up this morning with German flags still painted on my face and German flag wristbands still on my wrists. I also woke up on the couch in my clothes but that’s a whole other issue. That part stems more around eating pancakes at 1am after the game and not so much the vodka consumption during the game. There is a difference.

Don’t hate them because they beat Greece. Hate them because they’re fabelhaft.

So this morning on Facebook a friend asks, Don’t you feel a little bit bad for Greece? and my first thought was, No, I don’t, they’re awful. And honestly, it’s not my job to feel bad for Greece for losing a football match just because the entire world is supposed to feel badly for Greece in general and look, I’m going there in July and I’ll do Greece a solid by draining my bank account and then the world order will be restored and I won’t be such an asshole anymore, right?

Bigger point is, Greece lost, Germany won and I had the opportunity to spend at least an hour teaching Germans how to high-five, which I’m awesome at and they’re not. After the second goal, I jumped out of my seat and turned around to high-five any of the thirty Germans sitting behind me and not one had an idea of what the hell I was doing. In fact, two of them looked startled as though I was going to smash them in the face with my hand. So then I screamed high-fiiiiiiive, like Borat, and made my friend high-five me enthusiastically until we had an understanding of my intentions. Then they were all like, Ahhhhhh sooooo, ZUPA! and we had a high-five fest for the rest of the game.

My work around here is never done, I tell ya.

So then I get home and go to the bathroom to wash up and I see that I have a few missed fb messages, emails and a twitter reply and I’m all, huh, that’s weird, I don’t write much on Twitter but then I see it.

OHDEARSWEETBABYJESUS FLULA HAS WRITTEN BACK TO ME!!! I started screaming like I was being murdered, causing confusion and chaos in my house and it was 1am and I come running out, jumping around, waving my phone over my head screaming, HE WROTE ME AND I win, I win, I bet we’re almost friends, I win!

Wait. We all remember who Flula is, right? He was my springtime obsession here in Germany. He has turned me and my gal Sandy into idiom freaks??

Meet Flula again. He is so amazing.

I win because I have been asking Flula questions weekly and referring him to my blog and expressing my desire to be friends with him, kind of like his American sidekick living in HIS country while he can be my German sidekick living in MY country and two days ago I asked him to tell me what the German version of HERDING CATS is and he and I had this exchange:

Obviously I’m going to write him back this weekend so we can discuss paralleling and such. I’m also considering sending him a video blog just for him, where I can maybe ask him why in the hell Germans get all “fox-devils-wild” when they’re super mad. It’s true. Ask a German. When they get mad and frustrated, where you’d get all UGGGGGGHHHH and bullshit in America and want to smash something, they say they’re all, FOX-DEVILS-WILD.

Ummm OH REALLY. Sounds good. Please tell me more.

So again, in summary, I herz das Valterland.

Football tourney time: The No Sex Allowed Debate

So I’m sitting at the conference last week and I hear the Germans talking about the football team having no restrictions this year, which is apparently a big deal.

“No restrictions,” I ask. “Like what?”

“No booze. No caffeine. No cigarettes. No sex.” No one even seemed bothered by this. German logic, I suppose, but don’t try to tell me Cristiano Ronaldo and Becks have ever denied themselves a little after-game entertainment. I for one, and I don’t mean to get all filthy about it, would lose my fucking mind if I ever offered The Good Sex to a post game Ronaldo and he told me NO THANKS. That’s also saying a lot because I also heard he’s small and bad in bed, which I don’t even care about. And when I say I heard, I mean I read in a tabloid.

“NO SEX?” I ask, wondering how and why you are going to stop this, considering I heard there was something like 8 million prostitutes ready to camp out near the games, ready to reward the boys for all of their hard work on the field.

I took a mental timeout and considered this idea. Lock men up for a week with no vices like caged animals and then let them loose to tear up the world, umm, I mean field. Huh. What a brilliant concept. I wondered if this would work equally well with say, housework or yard work. If you keep your husband caged up and punished like an animal and then let him loose, will he have the aggression, determination and stamina to finally do the goddamned TO DO list that’s been tacked to the fridge for a week?

I am willing to test this theory out for women all over the world. Perhaps we could all join together and see if this works. Please let me know if we should make a facebook group for this. I’ll lead the charge.

Just then, in my planning for women all over the world, I was interrupted by the Germans. “Well, they are usually on lockdown,” I was told, “and it’s good for them. This year, though, the German coach decided there are no rules, though. They can do whatever they want.”

I snapped my head and almost paralyzed myself while raising my eyebrows. No rules? In Germany? Especially during football?

First of all, shut your mouth. That isn’t even possible in this country. World order depends on the rules, even the football rules.

And so if no rules, how is it then, that the German team just keeps winning? If they’re hungover and winded and perhaps exhausted from some well deserved sexy time, how do they keep it together?

C’mon, guys, that’s easy. There may be no spoken rules this year, but oh, they’re following them, alright. I’ll bet you my next paycheck not one rule from years past has been broken.

They just can’t help it and today, I love them for it.

My Life with the Gays, the Introduction

Have I let everyone know that I am living with two gay men this summer? I did make everyone aware of that, right? I can’t really explain to you what life with my little china dolls is like so I will go over a few things and we’ll carry on with weekly updates (or daily might be better) so you don’t all feel left out on this Estrogen fueled roller coaster we’ll all be on for at least three months…

I probably don’t need a caption, right? You get the point.

I think I told you all that their whole purpose in life now is to make me less like Rhonda, my lesbian alter-ego.

Apparently Rhonda is what they call women who are butchy. And Darlene. So if you ever hear them say that, it’s not flattering. I get called Rhonda at least 5 times a day. In fact, I can’t remember the last time they actually called me Heather.


I come out of my room wearing capris and a sports bra and tee shirt and my hair isn’t brushed.

“Awwwww, Rhonda, I thought we talked about wearing cargo capris?” They frown and point at the tag. “And awwww, Old Navy again? How very New England of you. And your hair. Gurrrrl, we didn’t find a brush, did we? And you need a deep condition. And maybe a mask.”All of that came out of me walking out a door wearing khaki capri pants.

The day I came out wearing yoga pants and a sports bra and a tank top with my hair on my head they said,

“Rhoooooooooooooonda! Active wear is for ACTIVE people. Moving your hand to your mouth with wine doesn’t count. Why do you have so many active wear items? Should we start waking you up by squirting you with a bottle in the face so you’ll run? Or can you chase us while we tease you with ice cream. Better yet! Gin!” Then they seal clapped and I glared.

I don’t even LIKE ice cream that much and I can’t even imagine what my real reaction to be blasted in the face at 0500 in the morning would be like. I imagine it would include a whole lot of swearing.

Then there was the time last month when at a cookout, they found me instantly and promptly, while giving me the once over, reminded me I didn’t lose the ten pounds I was going to, but opted to remind me while I had a chicken thigh jammed in my mouth, which they pointed at and did something to the effect of, “Oh my God, EWWWWWWWWWWWW, GROSS.”

It’s kind of like this Geico commercial, except this is supposed to be a funny commercial and it’s actually my real life, which the boys think is HYSTERICAL.

Bitches are judgmental up in my house. And hysterical, so I kinda love it.

Take today’s fun for example. Apparently one of them is dying with the flu, a fast hitting swine or bird flu that’s forced him to sit in cold water in my tub, maybe or maybe not whimpering and demanding to be treated.

My eyes widened as I thought what to do, considering I have no caretaker instincts and didn’t know if this was real or just real drama. I offered up some Armenian medicine I had stashed from a year back and then thought of something even better.

“There’s a Russian dancer on my mantle downstairs. It has vodka that’s the equivalent of liquid chemo in it. Give him that. It will kill anything in his body.”
I thought that was very generous of me. Back came this response.

Oh, no worries. I made the mistake of telling him he looked like Julie Andrews from the Sound of Music because he has a washcloth draped on his head, so now he’s singing The Hills are Alive.”
Singing songs from the Sound of Music, naked and delirious in my bathtub.

Just another Thursday afternoon in The Fatherland.

The Challenge to be German

So today I’ve decided not to be miserable, primarily because I have no time. I have, because I am so smart sometimes, accepted a challenge to prove that I deserve to stay in Europe and mostly, Germany.

Now normally, I’m not going to let anyone tell me that I have anything to prove because in case you all forgot, the world, and most certainly Germany, is NOT THE BOSS OF ME.


I spent another week with the Internationals and was reminded of the following:

I have lived here for three years, and can only order beer and say bizarre things such as,

Blue light


How much does it cost?

Ohhh, isn’t your shirt fancy. Except I can’t say “isn’t your shirt” anything. I can only actually say the word fancy.

The answer to any question I’m asked is either, Nein, because I say no to everything (though I still can’t figure out if no is nein or kein or ni, but does it really matter?), or fabelhaft, which is fabulous, just because I like to shout it.

And I’m great at colors.

I blame my slow progress with German on travel and also on my love of adjectives. Who needs to learn verbs and nouns when you can just walk around making declarations about what things look like, even if I can’t actually name the thing.

I am so charming, I know.

This discussion with my German advisory team (yes, I have a full team of German advisers at this point) led further into a discuss of passing the German citizenship test. You didn’t know there was such a thing? Well of course there is. It’s Germany and they want you to be tested to stay…I have not been subjected to such a test, but in looking further, I found this sample test.

All things Germans expect you to know

Instantly, it appears as though I’ll fail. Even all of my advisers think I’ll fail. What great faith they have in me.

So the test comes at the end of the summer, along with a test to see if I can make good on my promise to be conversational. No one thinks I can do it and so I asked what my reward would be.

With an eye roll or two, they all said, “You get to stay in Germany, Heather.”

And what a prize that is.

God will give you what you can handle….

So I haven’t written in some time. Could be that I’m in the middle of a massive depression and could be that I’m away at a work trip still and also could be that I’m very fucking confused by life at this point.

Every year you blow out another candle, you think you have another solid grasp on life and that the world will reset for you and normal world order will be ok for a certain amount of time.

and then in blows a storm and your whole world is upside-down and everything is a mess and you just wonder what the fuck happened, right??

because that’s how I feel. that’s how I’ve felt for two weeks now and I’m not sure how to come out of it, or if i want to really…

so here’s my thing. i am somehow convinced that losing Moxie is somehow the work of the kharma gods and since i don’t believe in jesus himself, i’ve done something, lots of things, to set off world order and now i’m being repaid for it. because honestly, if you’re a normal person, going through troubles in life, with family and friend and work and nonsense, there should be no reason that someone would continuously test you, if for no other reason than to break you completely, right?

because honestly, today, and every day, lately, that’s how I feel.

i’m dealing with my father’s death. i’m dealing with family issues. i’m dealing with work. and then i’m handed the loss of moxie, and honestly, i’ve sat for a week in what most would consider paradise and i just want to cry and stare at a wall and wonder how much more I can take. sometimes, since i’m most certainly a non-believer, i want to think i’m being punished for being an awful human being. i mean, really, that makes sense. and then sometimes i believe, if there’s a better world out there, the one i don’t believe in, then maybe it’s trying to convince me to believe, right?

but fuck. who knows at this point.

point is. i’m just really fucking confused and wondering why the world is so unfair and how i can sort it out…beacuse for now, I’m still feeling broken and lost and confused and think if there’s anyone at all listening, well, you sir, have won and you have broken me and i just really need to know how to make us even and the world right again….

On missing Moxie

This losing Moxie thing has hit me really hard. Really hard is actually a gross understatement. I feel really, really empty.

I have tried writing down everything I feel but I can’t even write. I just sit silently for hours, sad and crying. I see her every time I close my eyes so I’ve tried to give up blinking and that isn’t working.

I gave up sleeping in our bed upstairs because I miss her snuggling up against me every night. We’re permanently moved to the living room floor, camping out where I can zone out and try to think of nothing.

For the record, it is impossible to think of nothing. It does not work.

Then I tried staring at some pictures to see if I could have a good meltdown but then I thought I would do my boss a favor and not horrify the office today with my antics.

And so I just wanted to post something quick because something has to help and I have always loved talking about Moxie and so I suppose it can’t make me feel worse. Nothing could be worse right now than this. (That is not a fucking challenge, WORLD)

I thought this was fitting today.

Don’t accept your dog’s admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful. They are just the only living being on Earth that can love you more than they love themself.

Then I found this, which is one of my top five pictures of Mox.

My Moxie pants

God. I miss that face.

Losing Moxie

Today I lost my best friend. She was crazy and always looked like she was on speed. She made me laugh and she was loyal and funny and she loved me in a way that people don’t understand. She was everything to me and she was amazing.

Also amazing was the way she sat.

I am heart broken and I have 16 hours to make it home to go get her. And I am about to horrify the hell out of hundreds of people between Boston and Stuttgart.