Living Up to My Name

According to Radek, I am "the girl who will not stop talking."  Therefore, I must immediately begin telling the world about everything that occurs during his trip to the Americas. 

Since Radek had been eating airplane food for two days, and I had eaten virtually nothing due to my excitement, we were very hungry and decided to eat out.  Hamburgers were the obvious choice because they are iconic to America.  We ended up at Kitchen 56, an old auto-shop which has been renovated into a trendy upscale restaurant.  I ordered the kale and quinoa salad, and Radek got the green chile double-burger with fries.  While he delicately sliced tiny pieces on his fork, I told him that if he really wanted to be an American, he should pick it up with his hands to eat it.  He smiled and replied, "I must retain some dignity."

Europeans are not used to tipping because their restaurant staff is already paid a decent wage.  American servers know this and groan at the sight of a large European party, knowing that the tip will be minimal to nonexistent.  When the check arrived, Radek asked, "Please, explain tipping in America."  I told him that customers tip between 10 & 20%.  He wondered what this was based upon.  I said: the service, the food, the waiting time, everything.  I advised him to tip 15% on the bill. 
He looked at the receipt and back at me wearily and said, "I have not slept in 48 hours, and now I must do this."
"You TEACH math!"
"Yes, but not calculations."
So, the girl who earned a C in math class quietly patted herself on the back while the engineer struggled to determine the sum.

I learned a new German word.  Groß.  It means "big."  The weird B is pronounced with an "s," so the word sounds like "gross."  There are now many groß things in my apartment.  Groß man.  Groß shoes....

Tahoe was suspicious of this large intruder.  This was an obvious threat because I was now paying attention to someone other than him.  The girls hid under the bed until night time, at which point they got the courage to prowl around.  Radek noticed this and said, "The wildlife has come out."  It did not take long for Greta to befriend Radek by positioning herself directly in front of him with her "You may pet me now" pose.

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.