Harvest Feast

Thanksgiving, that most American of all holidays, is a day meant to ponder all the things for which you are grateful.  However, as everyone knows, it is really about watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, the National Dog Show, and most importantly - eating.  Lots and lots of eating.  I was in charge of dip and salad.  My mom told me that I should make the salad because it is my "specialty."  I'm not sure what that means, but I have my suspicions.

I made a rich and creamy pumpkin dip which contained more cream cheese and sugar than you really want to know.

The salad was a blend of leafy greens, apples, cranberries, walnuts, and bleu cheese.  I also made roasted butternut squash which everyone ignored because they think squash is something you do to a scorpion.

The prince of Thanksgiving is the turkey, and dad's job is carving it.  Then, nobody had to see the bones, and they could pretend it wasn't a dead bird.

My plate shows that all the starchy food groups were well represented: potatoes, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and bread. 

When it came time to bring out the pumpkin pie and slather it with whipped cream, dad sprayed some in Owen's mouth.  He was delighted with the sugary foam, and wanted more.  Jackson's reaction was a bit different.  He was shocked when a white puff suddenly filled his mouth and started crying.

Hey, That's Me!

Although most of my writing is web-based, and I have some sense of where it will end up, I really never know if or when it will be published.  Today, I accidentally came across an article I wrote.  Since I do ghostwriting, it doesn't have my name, but still, it's cool to see my words in print.  After a bit more searching, I found two more. 

Travel Tips Article
Ultralight Tents
Alberta


 

Will Work for Cat Food

Long-Haired, Freaky Person Wants to Apply!

That's my new tagline.  What's a tagline?  Well, it's only the newest trend in résumé writing.  I think my tagline will attract attention AND show I have good taste in music.  Plus, I don't think it can make anything worse since my current résumé has not done a lot for me in terms of getting a job.  You would think that someone with 17 years experience and a Master's degree would have endless possibilities on the horizon.  Unfortunately, no.

I'm getting used to rejection now.  However, I do prefer it when companies ignore my job inquiry rather than when they provide a response.  It's much worse when they tell me that they don't want me working for them.  Of course, they don't say it like that.  They always say something like, "We're going in another direction."

I received a particularly irritating email today.  It said, "We carefully review all applications and consider each person for current or future opportunities.  We are moving forward with other candidates for this position."

Damn.  That says a lot.  First of all, they carefully reviewed it.  It wasn't just thrown in the trash.  Secondly, they didn't want to even bother with an interview.  Thirdly, I am not only unemployable now, but I also have no chance in the future.  Wait.  It gets worse.  This was from The Container Store.  That means I am unfit to sell plastic boxes with lids. 

I discussed my problem with a friend because it's probably a good idea to get a normal person's point of view.
"I keep blowing my interviews."  (pouting)
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, they seem interested in me until I actually talk to them." 
"What did you do?  Did you try to be funny?"
"I was really serious during the second one.  Oh.  Um, I did make a joke...during both interviews."
"You probably shouldn't do that."
"But they laughed."
"Oh my God.  Now, I understand why you were so excited about that part-time cashier position.  Did you make a joke during that interview too."
"Yes.  And I also did jazz hands."
"I don't even know what that is."
(I waved my hands in the air while making a really big smile.)
"Why would you do that?"
"To express my sparkly personality."

Upon reflection, I have decided that I am the victim of discrimination.  I'm not sure what kind yet.  Possibly because I'm a woman.  Maybe it's agism.  Or the fact that I'm so beautiful.  All I know for sure is that it can't be the fact that I say things aloud before thinking. 

Dogma

I just completed an 11 page personality test for a job (at a grocery store).  It was one of those things where they ask the same question 10 times in different ways to try to trip you up.  Well, I can remember how I answered the previous questions.  I'm not that dumb.  The problem is trying to figure out the "correct" answer.  When they ask: Do people say you are a creative person?  What is the answer?  Do they want someone with a wild imagination or someone who follows the rules?  Anyway, one of the questions was:  Are you eccentric?  I'm pretty sure the correct answer was "strongly disagree," but I clicked "agree" because that one is pretty hard to hide.

Recently, my friend, Bev, sent me an article from B.B.C. and she wrote, "So, you know how we talked about eventually heading to Malaysia to dive?  I don't know if you'd make it without being arrested."  This is a fair enough concern since I am...unpredictable.  But there was more to it.

The article stated, "Playing with dogs is a common sight in many countries, but not in Malaysia.   Many people in the Muslim-majority nation believe it's sinful to be in contact with a dog.  One man tried to help Muslims overcome their fear of the animal, but Malaysia's Islamic authorities said it was irresponsible and have launched an investigation."

Here's the problem.  I am obsessed with petting dogs.  All dogs.  Everywhere.  Fleas - no problem.  Possibly rabid - I'll take the chance.  I literally can't walk by a dog without my hand reaching out to pet it.  It's like a compulsive gambler walking by a penny slot machine.

I am writing this because if I go to Malaysia, and you don't hear from me for a few weeks, then you'll know where to look.

Worst Impressions

This is me pretending to be a business woman.  I know.  I'm not fooling anyone.  Here's how it began.  I've been doing freelance writing for the past couple months, mostly writing articles, blog posts, and copywriting which is great.  I've written about all kinds of topics and have learned a lot, not just about the process but about all kinds of weird things.  For example, I wrote an article titled Fun Things to do on an Oil Rig.  I also wrote a particularly embarrassing one titled Male Celebrities Who Love Cats.  Despite amusing myself immensely with such interesting topics, it doesn't pay well right now because it takes time to build a reputation.  I actually worked for a client in India who paid me 250 rupees per hour.  In case you're wondering, that's $2.00 an hour.  But it's either do this, or watch endless episodes of New Girl on Netflix.

In my quest to find a job that will actually provide me with enough money to move out of my parent's house, I have applied to over 30 jobs, most of which I am way overqualified, so I had to dumb down my résumé.  I had one interview to be a cashier.  They never called me back.  I took that as a no.  Therefore, I decided to go in a different direction and apply for jobs in which I had no education or experience.  Weirdly, I immediately received a request for an interview.

I spoke with the overly perky, Heather, on the phone and asked her about the job because the website was unclear.  She told me it was marketing and sales.  I would manage customers for Staples and get new ones.  She asked if that was something I could do.  Naturally, I had no idea what that meant, but said yes.  She told me to dress business professional.

After our conversation, I went to my closet and tried to find something businessy.  It was a disaster.  I've been wearing shorts and flip-flops for two years.  I don't even own any shoes with backs on them.  I Googled "business professional."  There were pictures of women wearing pant suits, high heels, and panty hose.  This was an even worse than I imagined. 

Clearly, a trip to Goodwill was in order.  I managed to find a black jacket which didn't look too matronly; although, it did have shoulder pads.  I also found some high heels that were only slightly too big.  Along with a few items I actually owned, I was able to create an ensemble that gave the impression that I knew how to dress myself.

Then, I called up my friend, Jeff, and asked, "How do I pretend to be a professional?"
"What is this job?"
"I don't know.  Marketing and stuff."
"What will you be doing?  Is it customer relations?  Will you check inventory or data?"
"I don't know.  You're not answering my question."
By the end of the call, I still didn't know how to act like a professional, so I painted my nails with clear nail polish because that seemed like something a professional lady might do.   

When I told my parents about the interview, all my mom heard was the word, marketing.
"Is it telemarketing?  You don't want to do telemarketing!"
"No, it's not telemarketing.  It's a fancy job.  I had to buy a jacket."
"Did you have enough money for a jacket?"
"I bought it at Goodwill for $7.99.  And I left the tag on, so I can return it if I don't get the job."
"Can you see the tag?"
"No, it's hidden.  It'll be fine."

The preparation for the interview mostly involved me trying to decide whether or not to wear make-up.  I applied eye shadow, then spent 10 minutes trying to rub it off since it was obvious that I don't know how to pull off this look.

The interview started off well.  Megan was impressed that I lived in Cambodia, so we chatted about that for a while.  Then, the real questions began.  This is the part where I had to answer appropriately, mostly by lying.
Megan asked, "What is a weakness you would like to work on?"
What I thought: Sales.  Selling stuff.  Pretending I like people. 
What I actually said:  "Well, nothing that would interfere with the job.  Of course, I have weaknesses.  I talk to myself - kind of a lot.  And I feel weird wearing high heels." 
This made her laugh, so I figured it was a good answer.
"Where do you see yourself in 3-5 years?"
My thoughts:  Living on a beach.  Not wearing a pants suit.
What I said, "Being happy with what I am doing."
This seemed to please Megan as well. 

Evidently, my perception of the interview was different than Megan's because I never heard from them again.  Excuse me while I go look for a telemarketing job.  In India.
 

Cross-Curricular Studies

(Note:  Radek was indeed able to clarify the meaning of the weird astronomical clock.  He began by saying, "I liked your blog post."  This was surprising because it was not followed by the usual "but..."  This could only mean that I not offensive enough.  Anyway, he said the calendar's purpose is to determine when Easter will be in the future.  One can check it and exclaim, "Oh, lookie here, Klaus!  I was just wondering when Easter would take place in 2019.")

Radek told me there were two streets in Lübeck called Heaven and Hell.  Since they weren't listed on my tourist map, I checked Google maps and discovered they were very short streets that led to a small grouping of flats, hidden off the main road.  I decided it was best not to go straight to Hell.  I should at least try to enter Heaven first.  When I reached the place where Heaven (or Himmel) should be, I couldn't find it.  I walked up and down the road and saw one walkway, but it didn't have a name.  Obviously, I took this as a bad sign.  I was not meant to be there, so I went in search of Hell (or Hölle).  That proved to be difficult too.  Again, I found myself in the right spot, but there wasn't a street sign.  Now, this was really troubling.  I was stuck in purgatory! 

Eventually, I wandered down a nearby walkway and found my sign.   It was in the form of a small chalkboard on the side of a house, and it read, "Höllen Marmalade.  Bitte spende in de Bnetkaska."  Beside it was a box with some samples. 
                    
Hell was quite lovely.  There were lush gardens, bright flowers, butterflies flitting about.  And they had cable.  After this, I didn't see the point in going to Heaven. 

One day, Radek and I were discussing what to do for the day, so we looked at the map for ideas.  He asked me what I wanted to do.  I said, "I like nature," and suggested going to the forest.  He replied, "The forest?  There are just trees."  I pointed out a nearby botanical garden, and we opted to go there.  Radek said he had never been there and didn't know it existed.  This was not surprising.

The garden was small but included an impressive variety of plants, trees, and flowers from around the world.  Each had a little plaque stating its country of origin, and occasionally, we would see a plant from North America.  Radek kept asking me to name these plants.  I explained that America is a big place, and it would be impossible for me to know them all.  This didn't stop him from teasing me and continuing to ask.  I didn't mind because I have serious doubts as to whether Radek can name one tree in Germany. 

Radek informed me that I "like to do things for old people."  After looking around at the other visitors, I could only agree.  We were by far the youngest people there.  Therefore, we decided to be old people, sit on a bench to rest every thirty feet, and discuss our health problems. 

I decided this wasn't such a bad description of myself, particularly coming from someone who had recently asked me to shave his back.  Radek told me he was like a dog and needed his coat shaved in the summer when it was hot.  As an elderly spinster, I had no problem with the request.  I said, "I've never done this before, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to be really good at it."  And I was. 

We wound up walking all around the city, through parks, past various monuments and statues.  After a while, Radek looked at me with amazement and said, "I can't believe you are walking."  Like many people around the world, he was under the assumption that Americans are lazy, out of shape, and want to drive everywhere.  I laughed and clarified that this was only an accurate description of "most Americans." 

Radek pointed to these unusual circles on the ground and asked, "What do you think these are?"  I mumbled something about how maybe they were pipes but was mostly dumbfounded.  He explained they were metal barriers which could be raised to stop an invasion of Soviet tanks.  They were in front of the bridge (which could also be blown up to prevent troops from crossing), and this would allow the people of the town one day to flee. 

It was really interesting, but I couldn't help wondering - Did he really expect me to guess correctly?  Who would guess that?

Deutsch is a funny language.  Lots of signs began with the word, bad.  Jeez, maybe their art is crummy, but that doesn't seem like something you should showcase.   It turns out that "bad" means "by the water."  The beach is bad.  Lübeck is bad.  The toilet is bad.  Everything is bad.

"Ausfahrt" means "exit."  That makes sense, as farts usually are looking for an exit.  Also, "Die" means "the."  Sign everywhere declared that this or that should die.

And then there were words like this.  Not only do they contain too many syllables, but they sound like a sneeze.  According to Radek, Germans have a fondness for shoving phrases together and making them one long word instead. 

Well, eventually the time came when I had to leave Germany.  So, I said Goodbye.  Auf wiedersenen.  Adios.  Au revoir.  Adeus.  Farvel.  Do widzenia.  Tot ziens.  Arrivederci.

Kirchen in Lübeck

Out of all the churches I visited, St. Mary's was my favorite because it was so bizarre.  It looks like all the other churches from the outside with the gothic architecture.  Although, it has the distinction of being the tallest church in Lübeck.

On the outside of the church, a small sculpture of the Devil rests upon a large, rectangular stone.  According to legend, when the church was first being built, the devil thought the building was going to be a drinking hall.  This appealed to him because it would give him the opportunity to tempt many new souls to the dark side.  He decided to help the construction workers, so the work would be completed quickly.  When the devil learned that the building was meant to be a church, he became very angry, and picked up a gigantic stone to hurl at the wall of the church.  However, one of the workers saw this and promised the devil they would build a wine bar across the street.  The devil was satisfied with this arrangement, and tossed the stone beside the wall instead, where it lays to this day.  (Across from the church, there is a wine cellar in the town hall.)

Twelve scenes of Christ's life are intricately carved from olive wood to create this ornate altar.

It's not often that one finds a science exhibit in a church.  This enormous, and extremely complicated astronomical clock depicts the positions of the planets, moon phases, and zodiac signs.  I stood in front of it for about 10 minutes, trying to figure it out.  The informational brochure was written in German, so that didn't help.  I still don't know exactly how it works.  I'm sure Radek could have explained it all, but he wasn't with me on this outing.

During World War II, on Palm Sunday, the Royal Air Force practically leveled the entire town in an air raid.  The original bells, which hung 60 meters high, crashed to the floor where they remain today. 

Stained glass titled "Death Dance."

St. Jacob's Church features the one 16th century organ that survived the bombing raid.  I wasn't that impressed by it.  Neither was this guy. 

Hey, it looks just like the hymnal I used as a child!  Except it's all in Deutsch.

A small chapel is dedicated to the victims of shipwrecks.  In 1957, the Pamir, a Lübeck sailing ship, left a port in Buenos Aires.  Soon, it encountered Hurricane Carrie which caused the boat to tilt drastically and eventually break into pieces.  Out of the 86 seamen, only six survived in one of the lifeboats.  The rest drowned or were attacked by sharks.  This lifeboat was brought back on the Passat and placed in the church as a reminder of the tragedy.

Lübeck Cathedral (or Dom) is located next to the river, surrounded by grassy parks and leafy green trees, giving the most lovely setting of all the churches. 

Strange heads were carved on the sides of this pew, each head was unique in its design.

A series of photographs inside show the Dom after the air raid.



 

Free Berlin

"It was a bright day in [August] and the clocks were striking thirteen."  The opening line of George Orwell's novel came to my mind while walking around Berlin.  Plain rectangular high rises dot the former communist portion of the city suggesting sameness and uniformity.  Instead of signs declaring, "Big Brother is Watching You," there were equally ominous signs like this.

If it hadn't been for the multitude of performance artists, street fairs, and activists for peace in Syria, one could get the sense that Russian tanks might suddenly emerge around the next corner.  Berlin has been slowly transformed since the wall's destruction which began on November 9, 1989.  Now, it's a metropolis with a mixture of cosmopolitan shopping malls and restaurants with bits of history scattered about the city.

Our first stop was Checkpoint Charlie, the most famous checkpoint between the American and Russian border.  This is what it looked like before.

Now, the blockades have been removed, and a monument has been erected.  Two soldiers stand there all day holding American flags.  Similar to the guys in front of the Queen's Palace in London, they seem to have been instructed not to smile, but they do squirm around quite a lot.  It makes me wonder what mistake they made to end up being stuck with this job.  It's not quite the dreary scene that it was between 1961 and 1989 though.  In fact, there's a McDonald's next door if you get a hankering for a Big Mac.

"Katja, what should I wear for our outing today?"
"Oh Dieter, your green pants and vest will be perfect!  I'll wear my blue outfit with the jacket I sewed from a quilt."
I'm not sure what it is about Europeans and green pants.  I noticed it immediately when I arrived in Dublin.  Three guys walked by with green pants.  I momentarily wondered if they may perhaps be really tall leprechauns, but one was listening to an ipod, and none of them were dancing a jig or carrying a pot of gold.  I thought I could escape it, but unfortunately Germany (and likely much of Europe) has become obsessed with green pants.  They were everywhere.  Someone should really alert the embassy before this trend crosses the Atlantic.

Radek pointed out the stone trail that marks where the Berlin wall once stood.  It zigzags around the city with no apparent logic. 
"I always imagined it in a straight line.  Why is it all over the place?"  I asked Radek.
"It depended who got there first."

Well, that made sense.  At the time, four armies were converging upon the city, and all of them wanted to take control of as much land as possible.

When the Soviet Union took over control of East Germany in 1949, an estimated 2.5 million people fled to the west.  The communists realized this was a problem.  Who was going to do all the work?  Therefore, they began to close the border to keep more citizens from leaving.  In this famous photograph above, even a Russian soldier is seen leaping over a barbed wire fence to freedom.  "Sieg heil, Democracy!"

Another one of my misconceptions was that there was just one big wall along the border, similar to the Great Wall of China.  But less great.  More like a fairly good wall. 

Initially, that was the case.  The Russians realized that this was not enough to keep people from crossing the border, so in typical Russian style they created a hazardous maze of tank barriers, landmines, electric fences, automatically-triggered guns, and control towers every 300 meters.  In other words, nobody got across.  Not even Frogger. 

Although most of the wall has been destroyed, small sections of it are preserved, so tourists can take selfies in front of them.

Bernauer Straße (the weird B is pronounced as an 's' making it Strasse) was my favorite part of Berlin.  A long portion of the wall remains almost fully intact along this street, and goes on for kilometers.  At this point in the day, it became cloudy and rainy.  Everything was grey.  Grey buildings against a grey sky and a grey wall.  It was the perfect atmosphere for the scene.  One area still had the tank barriers, extra walls, and guard towers.  It was easier to get a sense of how impossible it was to cross.  This didn't stop people from trying though.  At least 136 people were killed in attempts to cross the border between 1961 and 1989. 

Many people did manage to escape however.  Since the wall was built next to a street lined with houses and apartments, initially people were able to climb out windows and run for it.  Once the Russians caught on, they increased security measures and demolished the homes adjacent to the wall.  This led people to become more creative.  For instance, they built a series of tunnels that went under the deadly wall zone.

There's more to Berlin, than the wall.  There are beautiful cathedrals such the Berliner Dom, museums, government building, statues, and monuments.  Radek and I walked throughout the city, visiting all the popular tourist spots.  He kept asking me if I would like to actually go inside some of the buildings because, after all, I may not get the opportunity to visit again.  I would always look at the price, go into mild shock, and decline.  Berlin is incredibly expensive.  However, we managed to spend two days there doing everything for free. 

Our only expenses were hotel, food, and the subway.  I should point out that Radek's idea of accommodations is very different than mine, so I let him choose the hotel.  It was literally the fanciest hotel I have stayed at in at least 10 years.  I decided that was best because when he saw my guesthouse in Thailand, he said he was "shocked."  I replied, "Good thing you didn't see the last place I stayed at."

The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (or Holocaust Memorial) contains a football sized field of 2,711 large rectangular concrete slabs that vary in height.  The sign didn't give any indication of the symbolism behind the design, so I began to wonder what it meant.  The slabs reminded me of gravesites, but that didn't really make sense.  Radek's first reaction after inspecting a couple of them was different.  He pointed out some large cracks in the cement and said, "There is something really wrong here.  This shouldn't happen." 

After wandering around the monument for a while, I decided that it's main purpose was to serve as a giant playground.  It was a great place to play hide and seek.  The slabs made nice benches for people to sit upon and have a snack.  They also provided some fun jumping opportunities for children to leap across from one to the other. 

When I got home, I researched the monument and learned that it was "designed to produce an uneasy, confusing atmosphere, and the whole sculpture aims to represent a supposedly ordered system that has lost touch with human reason."  Oh, OK, or I guess it could mean that.

Hooking Up

While I was waiting in line at the Beijing airport to buy an overpriced pastry, I met a Dutch guy and his girlfriend.  We got to talking, and I mentioned that I was flying to Hamburg. 
The guy said, "Oh, you have to go to the Red Light District!"
I laughed and replied, "That's kind of an odd recommendation."
"No, it's not like that.  It's touristy, he said.
"It's fun for the whole family," added the girlfriend.
"And kids get in free!" I said, getting excited about the idea.
Suddenly, there was an uncomfortable silence while they just stared at me.  They quickly excused themselves and said they were going to check out a different restaurant.  Yeah, like I'm the weirdo.

Hamburg is beautiful.  It's surrounded by lakes and rivers with old brick buildings and parks in between.  There was an interesting mix of historic and modern architecture throughout.

I learned two things about Radek on this outing.  First, he hates rain.  He's constantly looking up at the sky and saying, "It's going to rain in about 15 minutes.  We need to go inside somewhere."  This seems kind of strange to me since he lives in Germany which gets an average of 30 inches of rain per year, and there is this invention called an umbrella.  I can only assume he has the same weakness as the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz.  Secondly, Radek is obsessed with towers.  If there is a tower, we have to go up it.  This eccentricity is understandable since he is a nerdy engineer.  Also, I like towers too, so it is not as easy to make fun of him regarding this.

We went to a fair and were walking around trying to decide which fatty, fried foods to eat when I was accosted by this funky German fellow with a box full of condoms, fuzzy handcuffs, beer, whips, etc.  Radek explained that he was going to get married, and it is tradition for the groom to sell all of his bachelor type items.  The Groom spoke a little English, so I congratulated him.  His friend offered me a flyswatter which I could use to slap him on the butt for one euro.  I was a little uneasy about doing that in front of Radek, so I declined and picked up a measuring stick. 
"What do you do with this?" I wondered.
The groom said, "It's for when you mess up."
This made me laugh because I knew he meant "measure" but used the wrong English word.  Also, I found his description more fitting anyway.  It's like when you buy a couch and realize when you get home that it doesn't fit through the doorway.  Then, you think "Dang, why didn't I measure first before I messed up?"

Prostitution is legal in Germany, and Hamburg is famous for it's Red Light District.  In fact, this is the main reason I wanted to visit this city.  Unfortunately, we arrived a little too early.  The sun was still shining, and the streets were almost barren.  "I want to see the hookers," I whined.  Radek apologized as if it were his fault the ladies of the night were still waking up, putting on mascara, and smoking crack before the descended upon the streets.  We passed the time by wandering around sex paraphernalia shops and pointing out items that we thought might interest each other.  "Check out this video."  "Do you need a ball gag?"  "What do you do with that?"

Finally, I saw what appeared to be a prostitute in front of a bar.
"Look!  A hooker!  Over there." I announced with stars in my eyes.
The closer we got, it became apparent to me that this was not a woman but a transvestite.  Radek didn't agree, so a discussion ensued.
"Look how tall she is.  It's definitely a guy," I said.
"Women can be tall," Radek said.
"Not that tall."

Then, we started seeing more and more whores.  I was surprised at the number of them.  They lined every street, even directly across from the police station.  What was even more shocking was their appearance.  I expected it to be like in the movies where pretty ladies wore tight, slutty outfits.  But these women were mediocre to plain ugly, and they wore jeans with big fluffy coats.  "Jeez, they aren't attractive.  Even I could do this," I mused.  I told Radek that I wanted to see him get hassled, but he said they wouldn't bother him since I was with him.  Naturally, I let go of his hand, and ran away.  He didn't like that.

We stopped and watched some particularly raggedy hookers attempt to gain the interest of men passing by.  They would run over, grab some loser's arm, and say something in German.
"What are they saying?  What are their lines?" I asked.
"Do you want to cuddle?  Do you want to have some fun?  Stuff like that."  Radek explained.

Radek told me about one street where women were not allowed even though it was a public street.  "What happens if a girl walks there anyway," I asked.
"They yell scream at the women."
"Why?"
"That is where the high priced prostitutes are.  They don't want the women to take the men."

Well, now I really wanted to see this street.  Radek decided that it would probably be acceptable since there still weren't too many people on the streets yet.
"Don't hesitate.  Just go and keep walking," he advised.
We walked up to the street which was mostly hidden from view with a big brick wall and two large signs stating, "Women prohibited."  We quickly snaked around the entrance, and my eyes grew huge.  Oh my God!  Now, this was like the movies!  The street was lined with flats that had huge windows.  Beautiful naked girls wearing only panties and high heels stood or sat in full display in front of each window.  Occasionally, they would open their window to tempt the men strolling by.  One woman opened her window as we passed and said something that made Radek laugh.
"What did she say?" I asked.
"She said, "You can bring her too."
"Ooohhhh, she likes us!"
This led me to think about some awkward questions.  Would Radek be interested?  How much would it cost?  What exactly would take place?  Does she have a pimp? 
"Wanna do a threesome?" I ventured.
Radek kept walking like a polite gentleman, but I'm sure he was wondering the same things.

The highlight of the night was going to the bar where a gorgeous transvestite was hanging out.  We were both amazed at her/his flamingo-like legs and tiny waist.  She sang a song for the large crowd.  Afterwards, I got my picture taken with my new idol.

Open Your Mouth Please

This is not a phrase I often hear in my life.  In fact, people usually say things like, "Be quiet!  There are people around.  What's wrong with you?"  I have this condition where everything that is in my brain spills out of my mouth when I open it, so I've found that it's best to keep it shut.

One of the things I had to do in my efforts to reestablish a new life in a first world country, was take a trip to the dentist.  Since I don't have dental insurance, and the M.V.D. and I are having a bit of a disagreement on the status of my driving license at the moment, this meant that not only was I going to be subjected to the horrors of having someone probe around in my mouth for 45 minutes, but I had to go with my mommy. 

She drove me to the same dental office that I went to for many years when I was younger.  When we arrived, I told the receptionist that I had an appointment and then glanced around the room for a chair to sulk in until my name was called.  Before I had a chance, I heard my mom saying, "Leslie, this is Kerri, my daughter!  Kerri, this is Leslie.  She has worked here for...how long is it now?"
"Six years!  Can you believe it?  Isn't that great?" Leslie said with such excitement that it made me wonder what she did before this.  Was she on a road construction crew, laying asphalt for new highways during the summer in Phoenix?  Did she work in a McDonald's factory, processing live chickens into nuggets? 

Finally, the dental hygienist called my name, and I walked back to her torture chamber.
"My name is Carol.  When was your last dental check-up?"
"About a year and a half ago.  I was out of the country."
"Oh, what were you doing?"
"Teaching."
"What do you do now?"
"Uh, I don't have a job."
"Well, you can always go back into teaching."
"I...don't want to."
After giving me a sad and pitiful look, Carol tried to ease the obvious tension by saying, "Well, there must be lots of jobs you can get with your degree."
"I could probably be one of those sign spinners."

Carol paused, clearly at a loss for words, and said, "I'm going to start by giving you a few x-rays."
She made a big deal about covering my entire body with that heavy silver cloth which contains kryptonite, thereby, eliminating radiation exposure to my body.  I tried not to laugh, thinking of all the x-rays I received in Cambodia where I was shoved against the plastic x-ray machine and told not to breathe.  And don't bother removing any metal jewelry or keys in your pocket.  If you're in a Cambodian hospital in the first place, you're probably going to die, so a little radiation doesn't really matter.

Carol jammed a 2x4 into my mouth and told me to bite down.  How did these things actually get more painful over the last couple years?  I briefly considered inventing one that didn't cause major bleeding on the roof of people's mouths, but was quickly distracted by the image of my teeth on the computer screen.  Is that a cavity?  Oh God!  And what is that?  Is that normal?  Why isn't she saying anything?  It must be horrible.  That's it.  She's in shock too and is waiting until she's done, so she can take my hands in hers and gently whisper, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but we are going to have to remove all your teeth."

After examining the computer screen images for what I estimate to be an hour, Carol finally said, "You have a lot of calculus build-up on your teeth."  She pointed to the screen, "See, here.  Here.  Here.  Here.  Here.  Here...and here."  O.K.  Jeez, I get it.  I should just leave now and join the circus.  "I'm going to use this special instrument first to hopefully break down some of it, so it's easier to remove," she concluded.

Then, Carol did things inside my mouth that I will not even describe to you.  I did as I was told.  "Open wide.  Turn you head to the side."  At one point, she commented on my remarkable stoicism.  I felt it best not to mention that the last time I complained at a place of medical care, my doctor yelled at me, called an "uncooperative patient," and threw me out.  If that can happen at a hospital where I was dying, imagine what could be done here.  Carol could put me to sleep with her magic gas, and I'd wake up with a gold, diamond encrusted grill on my front teeth.  Then, I'd be forced to change my name to K-Dog and learn how to rap.

Eventually, Carol sighed and announced, "You're going to have to come back because I don't have time to finish today.  Return in a few weeks, so I can finish working on the rough spots and polish your teeth.  Wait here for Dr. Kline.  He'll be here shortly."  I could hear Dr. Kline in the next room.  He was saying, "Four, three, four, two, three, four..."  I knew exactly what he was doing, and I also knew there was no way he was going to be there "shortly," so I took off my shoes and curled up into a ball for warmth.  Why is it so freezing in here?  Is a polar bear having a root canal down the hall?

When Dr. Kline did appear, he smiled apprehensively and said, "Well, it's been a long time.  And, now it's you."  He paused and stared at me as if he had just asked a question.
"Um, I'm sorry.  I don't understand."
"Oh, it's just that I see your parents all the time.  I mean...we don't talk about you or anything,"he tried to explain as someone does who has been gossiping about you behind your back for years.
"Oh.  Well, you should," I replied and shot him a creepy smile.
I could tell this made Dr. Kline even more uncomfortable, so naturally, I continued making vague, slightly weird comments.  It's not often that I get to make a dentist feel the same uneasiness that he gives to his patients on a daily basis.

Dr. Kline launched into the same analysis that Carol had given me.  "There's a lot of calculus" (which is just a fancy word for tartar).  "I'm not sure how long it's been on there.  We can't carbon date it.  Ha ha ha ha!"  He had to stop and laugh for a while at his hilarious dentist joke.  I blinked a few times, wondering when the hell I could get out of there.  He seemed genuinely disappointed that I didn't share in his mirth, so he quickly thrust me off on Leslie to make my next appointment.  My mother came over to pay, and Leslie said, "She got a debridement today, so it's going to cost a little more."
"What's that?" my mom asked.
"Perhaps I should have Carol come over and explain...," Leslie began.
I cut her off and said, "No!  I have a lot of crap on my teeth.  She got some of it off today, but needs to finish it another day."
My mom looked at Leslie who shrugged and said, "That's pretty much it."
My mom gave Leslie that 'oh, aren't kids funny?' chuckle.
Then, she turned to me and said brightly, "Leslie knows how teenagers talk.  She's got a couple of her own."
"Yes," said Leslie, "I've got an 18 year old and a 12 year old!"

Yep, that's right.  I'm 39 years old, and I was just compared to a teenager.  By two people.  Right in front of me.   

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

Before I went to Germany, I had visions of cuckoo clocks and men dancing around in lederhosen.  When I informed Radek of this, he declared rather vehemently, "This is not Bavaria!  You will not see anyone in these leather trousers."  He then gave me a lecture and told me that my generalization was akin to saying that all Americans wear cowboy hats and ride horses.  It turned out he was right.  I did not see a single cuckoo clock or man in lederhosen during my entire stay in Germany.  A fact I found a tad disappointing.

This meant that there was a lot for me learn about Germany.  After Radek picked me up at the airport and gave me a brief tour of his flat, he had to go to work to do important scientific things that I don't understand.  It turns out that I didn't understand a lot of other things - like how to flush a German toilet.  Allow me to describe my first experience peeing in Germany.  Well, the peeing part was fairly straightforward, but I was pretty excited about the wiping part because Radek had told me about this mythical German 4-ply toilet paper.  Since toilet paper is not available in Mongkol Borei, and I had to drive 20 minutes to Sisophon to buy some, that meant that I ended up rationing my flimsy Cambodian 1 or 2 ply toilet paper.  I would allow myself 6 squares per bathroom visit, unless there were extenuating circumstances.  Sometimes, I used paper towels too, which I ripped in half and then added 4 toilet paper squares, to lend a little more heartiness.  As you can see, there was a lot of thought put into something that never crossed your mind before.  Now, imagine my glee at not only being able to use as much toilet paper as I desired, but with the luxurious softness of thick 4-ply toilet paper.  Aaaahhhh! 

Now, I'll get to the confusing part.  When I stood up, I looked for the flush handle.  I couldn't find one.  Anywhere.  There was no bucket of water with a cup like in Asia, so that meant there must be one.  My eyes wandered up the wall and fell upon a large rectangular button.  Could this possibly be it?  It's so big.  It's on the wall.  There's no label.  What will happen if I press it?  I slowly raised my finger toward it while thinking about the endless consequences of pressing this button.  Maybe it's for a light, or a fan, or an alarm!?  Oh God.  But I have to try it.  I can't just leave my filth floating around in there.  Even cats cover up their crap.  So, I tentatively pressed it...and the toilet flushed.  I expressed relief for the second time within five minutes.

On a side note, German toilets are a little smaller than their American equivalents.  They also have a little less water than most American toilets.  Upon discussing this issue with Radek later, he complained that American toilets had too much water.  He expressed confusion at the reasoning behind this because if you're a guy, and the water is so high, then certain body parts hang down and touch the water, and this is certainly not the kind of water anyone wants touching any part of their body.  Being a female, this thought had never occurred to me, so I was unable to comment.  However, I can assume that it probably depends on who you talk to about this subject.  Most guys likely don't have such an problem, but Radek wears a size 15 shoe, so...

I realize that I just wrote three paragraphs about peeing, and the sad truth is that I could go on and on about this topic.  However, since anyone still actually reading at this point has a look of horror on their face, I will move on.  Now, if cuckoo clocks and lederhosen do not define Germany,  what the hell does?  I went in search of the answer to the question, and I found part of the answer in food.  Typical German cuisine revolves around meat.  There are meatballs, meatloaf, and the famous "meter of meat" that are popular at fairs and festivals.  It's sort of like a really long hot dog that must be bent in half in order to fit inside a bun.  Germans like to top it with curry ketchup or mustard.  I'm not sure if there is regular ketchup in Germany, but there is definitely an abundance of it's curry cousin which is o.k., but not as good as regular ketchup (in my opinion). 

Since I'm a vegetarian, I ended up eating a lot of the other German staples: wonderfully pungent cheese, potatoes in various forms, and pastries.  One day, I ate three pastries and a Belgium pretzel within the span of four hours.  I should be ashamed of this, but I'm not. 

I ate potato pancakes twice and was surprised to discover that Germans consider them a dessert.  They like to dip them in apple sauce and sugar, so I guess this could be a dessert.  Personally, I prefer them as a main course because if they are the dessert, when am I supposed to eat chocolate?

One night I decided to make spaetzle, a typical German dish, for Radek.  I looked up a recipe online, bought the ingredients, and began preparing this cheesy delight.  It's basically Germany's version of macaroni and cheese.  However, instead of macaroni, you use light and fluffy spaetzle noodles which are made with egg yolks.  I also included onions and some spices for extra flavor and added bacon bits to Radek's pot.  Technically, spaetzle should be baked in the oven, but Radek is a single guy who lives alone.  He doesn't own a baking dish, and the only thing he's ever cooked in his oven during the 7 years he's lived there is pizza.  So, I improvised and prepared it all in two pots. 

I bought the ingredients, carefully followed the recipe, and had everything cooking when I realized something was wrong.  It just didn't look right.  After rechecking the instructions, I realized that I had missed a word.  And sometimes, one word can make a huge difference.  The recipe said to add the "precooked" spaetzle noodles to the mixture.  Oops.  This was embarrassing.  Radek already knew I was a doofus, and this would just bring further shame upon myself, so I did what any sensible person would do.  I dumped it out, hid it, quickly prepared a new batch, and vowed never speak of it to anyone.  Luckily, Radek got home really late that night, loved the spaetzle, and didn't find out about my blunder.

Until the next morning.  Germany is a very environmentally progressive country, and there are separate bins for everything.  One for glass.  One for plastic and paper.  One for regular garbage.  One for biodegradable waste like food products.  That was my downfall.  I had dumped the great-spaetzle-mistake into one of the bags he uses to collect food waste, and of course, it didn't occur to me that Radek might open this and discover my dirty secret.  I realize that I am just appearing dumber by the second.  You are probably wondering how I can manage to dress myself in the morning.  When Radek questioned me about it, I tried to pretend like I knew nothing about it.  Unfortunately, that didn't work, and I was forced come clean.  Damn Germany for being so eco-friendly!  They should have garbage disposals like normal countries.