There's no name for what this is

I'm an American living abroad and I don't know what the hell I'm doing.


What do you think the worst or most difficult thing about living abroad is?


Do you think it’s being 1028129138 miles away from your closest friends and/or family?


Is it the new language?


Or maybe it’s missing things from back home?


What about trying to meet new friends?




Perhaps good ole fashion loneliness?


OR OR OR!! a thousand more things probably.

But for me, no.

I’ve thoughtfully considered this for the past (almost!) 3 years living in Germany and I’ve come to the conclusion that the worst thing has to be you fuckers back in the US spoiling Game of Thrones for me and many other innocent victims each and every goddamn season.


Listen to me. Here in Germany we are 9 hours ahead of PST [West Coast] which means we are 1.) IN THE FUTURE and 2.) have to wait until Monday to watch GoT [I know, gross!]. AND SO when I wake up every Monday morning already feeling like Monday garbage I also am burdened with knowing that I must avoid going into battle with the internet in hopes of not being assassinated by spoilers.


Which is you. YOU ARE THE SPOILER ASSASSIN. DO YOU GET IT. You’re murdering me with the strike of a thousand new shitty Jon Snow theories [spoilers are always included, assholes].


And those who know me know that I internet real hard and heavy, so avoiding it isn’t a simple task. Also I’m an easy target. I’ll click on anything and read it entirely no matter what before getting pissed off. I’m weak. 


Let me give you a taste of what the Monday scaries look like for me:





Afternoon coffee:




Final attempts at blocking spoilers before I can finally watch the goddamn show in the evening:


If you feel the urge to post spoilers maybe do any other thing instead. Like seriously any other activity.

**Disclaimer: This doesn’t only apply to GoT but obviously if I openly admit to religiously watching The Bachelorette I might lose some respect from my 2 followers.

Goddamn it, Germany.

I want to start out by talking about how much I truly like Germans. I don’t think I’ve met a German yet who is truly a dick. Really. I mean some are a little wonky I guess, but I think that’s pretty normal. But maybe my douchebag tolerance is pretty high since I grew up in the US where the motto is something like “BRO BIG OR BRO HOME”.


BBBUUUTTT I don’t know.

Anyway, there’s some really good people here in Germany. I enjoy them. I REALLY DO. I like the way they eat ice cream cones outside all year long like NBD. And how the old German people are the most adorable human beings I’ve ever seen on a bicycle. And I like the yoghurt here. And the amount of beer Germans can drink is appreciated. And Käsespätzle tastes nice. And it fascinates me when I see people sitting outside eating at restaurants when the weather is complete shit. It’s like they’re all “fuck you cold rainy weather I DO WHAT I WANT“.


I don’t understand it. If I even see a slightly dark cloud in the distance I’m like:


And I like when I hear Germans drunk singing together after leaving the bar. And the fact that they have pretzels/bread items for like every meal and in between meals is truly something to be admired. And when they say “Ja, genau!” it makes me smile. And I think it’s super cute that sarcasm is confusing and sometimes uncomfortable for them. And most of all I really enjoyed Heidi Klum’s performance in the first 3 seasons of Project Runway.

I guess I just think Germans are pretty decent people.


But the truth is: something has been troubling me lately. However, I wasn’t planning on saying anything about it. I’ve actually been letting it slide for quite some time now but yesterday I lost my goddamn mind and snapped. I just can’t keep quiet anymore.

It happened and I immediately felt like I was in Deadwood, South Dakota and someone had just blindsided me by robbing my brothel and stealing my women.


So I was at the grocery store shopping for some necessary items that likely included 2.99 euro wine, a chip,  and other personal goods that are frankly none of your goddamn business. Eventually I got in line to pay for my shit and check the fuck out of there. The lines in this store are almost always pretty much right out of your worst nightmare. They’re absurdly long and everyone’s crammed together unhappily just dying to get home to eat their newly purchased artificially cheese flavored snack. But I’m not even mad at this part because I’m pretty numb to this feeling by now.


Anyway, I had been standing in one of two lines for quite some time like a big idiot. Eventually I made it up to where they have the weird magazines set up with all the people I don’t know on the covers. i.e ALMOST [BUT NOT QUITE] TO WHERE I CAN START DREAMING ABOUT WHAT IT’LL BE LIKE TO START UNLOADING MY RED BASKET OF FILTH AND SHAME.

And then suddenly, like an angel sent down to save me from this pathetic life, I saw her

…a truly magnificent and rare species you don’t get to see too often in this sometimes tragic world.

I watched this new cashier glide toward us as swift and smooth as a cat, coming from the deep dark depths of the cereal aisle,  with nothing but her pure intentions of opening up a third line and whisking me away to a better place. And I felt like I could hear Morgan Freeman narrating the whole goddamn thing.


Fantastic. Everything will move along much quicker now. I MEAN IT HAS TO RIGHT, THAT’S HOW THIS WHOLE THING IS SUPPOSED TO WORK.

Now I’ll soon be home to my bottle opener and internet connection, whom are both eagerly awaiting for my arrival. At this point she was basically a fucking unicorn with a polo shirt on.


Because as I’m certain you’re fully aware, in a normal civilized world when a new line opens up next to two long ass pre-existing lines filled with miserable desperate people who have already been waiting for what feels like eternity, generally those poor saps are the ones given the fucking opportunity to have first dibs on conquering the new empty route.



But naahh, not here in Germany. It’s more like 100% NEIN.

They just don’t do that shit here. Instead, those assholes who have just been casually passing through with their stupid groceries and who have not even been waiting in any line at all yet FOR SOME REASON BELIEVE THAT THEY ARE ENTITLED TO BE THE FIRST TAKERS IN THIS NEW LINE AND THE REST OF US POOR BASTARDS DON’T MATTER.

And naturally they proceed to push their way to the front like they’re at a goddamn Rammstein concert.


And sure, maybe this would be okay if this was just like the first time this has happened. But it is not. I’ve seen this shit go down before.


ATM machines: You think you’re in one line waiting to get some cash out and live your best life, but nahh not going to happen – because suddenly a machine becomes available for your use but some fucking rando walks right up to it from out of the blue like there’s not a goddamn line of people standing there.


Waiting in line to order pasta: One time we were in line to order a simple pasta dish, and we were even holding our trays with silverware and everything, as one does when they’re preparing to eat a delicious fucking pasta dish.

And it was pretty obvious to the entire planet what we were doing. But then an ancient tiny lady just sort of weaseled her way in front of us with her empty idiot tray. Like no big deal guys. Like waaah I’m sooo old so I get to cut in line and order delicious pasta before anyone else blah blah blah my time on this Earth is limited so you have to give me pasta before you serve these other twats.

But it actually ended up being the best because Borja wasn’t having it.

He looked this broad straight in the eyes and said very seriously, “Umm…ENTSCHULDIGUNG?” which is basically the equivalent to “Oh no you di’int!” in English.

And then she glared at us, mumbled, and moved into a different line.


The Straßenbahn: Just try to wait your turn in line to get either on or off one of these fuckers. It’s impossible. The doors open up and everyone just goes ballistic and slams into each other. They don’t even consider waiting for everyone to get off the tram before they start piling on. I always think that some day it will be different, but it never is. It’s just a head-on collision every single goddamn time. 


Walking on a sidewalk: People like to walk on the sidewalk and then just stop in the middle of the sidewalk to do nothing. Just stand there and disrupt the sweet line of traffic trying to get somewhere that’s not the middle of a fucking sidewalk. **Same goes for shopping aisles. They just stop in the middle of an aisle and ruin my life.


Waiting in line to order falafel: Similar to the pasta situation but this time we were too slow and confused to realize what was happening. We sort of figured this lady was just asking a quick question, but nope, she just stood in front of us and ordered an entire goddamn meal instead and took the last table.


I just don’t understand where this comes from. I mean overall Germans seem to be really into processes and COMPLETE ORDER. And they’re pretty nice people, too. So what gives?

WHERE’S THE LINE ETIQUETTE? You guys learn like foreign languages when you’re practically babies still but you never learned to line. It’s like there’s a shit load of bilingual entrepreneurs stumbling around this country but they can’t figure out how a goddamn queue works.

Goddamn it, Germany. IT’S NEVER TOO LATE. I can help.




Something horrible happened.

I posted not long ago about how amazing our shutters are. You know, the delightful treats that came with our apartment and are controlled by a remote control and can act as a wall and completely cover our windows and can hide us from wandering eyes AND AND AND AND ARE JUST BETTER THAN MOST OTHER THINGS.


Anyway, they broke. Well, the remote broke and now we can’t shut or open them. And all of our living room + balcony windows are stuck wiiiiiide open. We’re waiting for a replacement remote BUT WE’VE BEEN EXPOSED FOR WEEKS NOW. I didn’t realize at first that this would be horrible. But now I realize that this is horrible and I desperately need our beloved shutters back.


We haven’t bothered with curtains because we didn’t need to. And because we’re not rich like the Kardashians. And because our walls are like made of cement and I don’t even understand how to hang things on them. And mostly because WHY WOULD WE WHEN WE HAVE PERFECTLY GOOD SHUTTERS THAT CAN BLOCK OUT LIFE ITSELF.

But now it’s a crisis over here and I’m ready to start plastering newspaper clippings all over the glass like a goddamn serial killer.

photo (1)

The above picture is what’s happening to me on a daily basis. All of the windows in the gray building are doctors offices. Our windows are perfectly lined up and it feels so much closer in person. There are doctors in there dealing with weird and creepy body stuff Monday through Friday. And both them and their patients, if they choose to, can look out their windows and see me sitting on my big dumb couch with all of my weird and creepy body stuff. I CAN’T BLOCK THEM OUT ANYMORE AND I’M SORRY.

First things first, I am not a morning person. I never have been and I don’t think I ever will be. I can fall asleep at 9pm and still will wake up feeling like a pile of shit the next morning. I feel like one of those people who are put under during surgery but they’re actually still conscious and they can’t move anything – EVERY TIME I WAKE UP. So I have to force myself to get my ass up and wander around the apartment in order to regain control of my body. I drag my feet and look out our windows and stare with disgust at people who I know in my heart have already been awake for multiple hours.


And this is just the beginning for the offices across the street. They’re going to have to get a good look at me in my natural habitat for awhile. Like seriously, I’m going to be home for hours like this and it isn’t going to look like anything you see on Pinterest. 

Eventually I make coffee, spill it everywhere, and start eating my first of many meals of the day. But I’m pretty much still a corpse so when I eventually get to the couch I’m slumped over and barely able to move.  

breakfast1    breakfast2

I actually wonder if they ever feel a sense of responsibility for my well being. I kind of feel like at this point our living room is a part of their waiting room now. Like I’m just here in the mornings barely hanging on and waiting for my appointment every single day.

At some point I get myself sitting up right. Then I sit here for way too long wondering whether or not my morning “attire” is too offensive to the goddamn public who are now being forced to see me like this.


I usually end up just distracting myself from these negative and boring thoughts and decide to remain as is because goddamn it THIS IS MY HOUSE. And by distracting myself, I simply mean I just open up my laptop and start getting real deep into the internet. I sit back, stretch my legs out on the couch and am basically laying down again, and proceed to surfing the world wide web real hard.

This naturally ends with me on someone’s Facebook page that I shouldn’t be on. Like that one weird girl who I went to school with one hundred years ago who is now dating a 67 year old man with a tattoo on his neck and living in a van. Pretty certain we’ve never talked in real life and she has no idea who I am but so help me god I need to know what the hell she is posting on her wall immediately.


And because I’m invested now and I don’t have cable TV anymore, I just keep going. Before I know it, I am all the way back to 2011 in her Facebook crazy business looking at pictures of maybe her kid? It is at that moment I realize what a fucking creep I am and I wonder how many doctors across the street know how far I went today.


It is now the time of the day where I decide that I need to hold my cats and talk to them like they understand what I’m saying. I usually begin by picking them up and walking them around the apartment giving them “sniffing tours” of things on the walls. Then we go window to window and we talk about kitty space for awhile while I point at things that they don’t understand.

Their favorite window is the one facing the goddamn building that stares at me. I MEAN IT HAS TO BE, RIGHT. So I know these people must see me on the regular talking to my kittens and basically having an overall great time. I don’t see a lot of cats here in Karlsruhe, so I feel like these people just DON’T GET ME. I imagine that they must think I have a worker that comes here to check up on me and make me meals.


Things get pretty normal from here on out though. I eat some lunch and depending on when I have to go to work – I watch one of my stories. NOTHING CRAZY.


And I put on my make up and get ready for work.

readyforwork readyforwork2

I get an overwhelming feeling of gratitude for the fact that the people across the street can’t hear me talk.


Or know my thoughts, especially when I’m hungover.


I also always get paranoid that I’m going to get hungry and turn into a fucking monster when I am nannying the kids at work, so to ease my mind, I have second lunch real fast.


And usually at some point I see someone in one of the offices wearing what looks like a hospital gown. I sit on my couch and try to not stare, like I face forward but look over trying to get a glance of what the fuck is happening and more importantly WILL I SEE SOMETHING WEIRD OR GROSS. This ends quite quickly because someone always looks out the window, maybe sees me I’M NOT SURE, or maybe sees something else equally as terrifying, and shuts the dumb blinds.


After possibly getting caught sideways peeping by professionals and their patients – I leave my fish bowl and head to work and pretend like nothing shameful happened this day.

And this just happens on repeat because we have no choice because things are broken. It’s exactly like the movie Groundhog Day with Bill Murray except it takes place pretty much on my couch and I’m not a weatherman yet.

I would like to apologize to our neighbors and neighboring businesses during these dark and confusing times. I’m not sure what you have seen, but please do not call the law on me.

I looked evil in the face in Rust, Germany

We went with a few friends to Europa-Park last Wednesday at the crack of fucking dawn so we could ride all of the good rides and not have to wait in gigantic lines with all of the little twerps who flood the park on the weekend. And it was reaaaally fun!


We walked to the Hauptbahnhof and to catch a bus to a town called “Rust”. It was there we met our friends (yes, believe it or not, we do have a few friends here assholes). Nothing unusual about this part of the story except for the fact that one of our friends indulged in an early morning coffee and donut from a nearby cafe and was warned after purchase that his donut was still FROZEN. He did not eat this donut until we got to our destination (an hour later!).


But before you start to wonder: NO THIS IS NOT THE EVIL THAT I SPEAK OF. I just think that it’s borderline psychotic that someone would hand out still-frozen donuts to innocent people and I want to shout it from the rooftops.

Anyway, we got to Europa-Park and the sun was shining and there were not many people there. It was fantastic. We walked around, got some pastries, stared at peoples dogs, and saw a group of Geese following around this old woman and her whistle:


Then we moved on to the roller coasters. I won’t go into details about all of them, just the two most important ones.

The Silver Star: this is the one that about killed me dead.



3779822025_7164238c39_z (1)

You go slowly UP UP UP high in the sky for what feels like forever. You hear the stupid scary sounds of the metal clinking while it climbs. You remember all of the shitty news stories of roller coasters fucking up and you wonder “IS TODAY GOING TO BE MY DAY”. Then you fall. You just fall straight down and you can’t scream loud enough. You feel like you’re slipping out of your seat. And then there’s approximately 232832 more steep drops until you’re done. It’s a nightmare.

We went on more rides, mostly roller coasters, and ate more. JUST A NORMAL DAY AT A THEME PARK, I THOUGHT.

Until we encountered the “Swiss Bob Run”. On Europa-Park’s website this ride is noted as the following:

“Level 4: Wild, Much Thrill
I want to talk about how much this ride is the worst. LITERALLY IT’S THE STUPIDEST ONE. Aside from going hysterical when I saw our friends, being two adult male brothers, have to sit in a seat together looking like they were forward-spooning, this ride gave me zero thrill.
Not wanting to permanently injure Borja, I took one for the team and sat in the back when it was our turn to go.
I’m pretty sure I exited that ride as a Barbie doll from the waist down, no fucking kidding.
Here’s why it’s the dumbest:
1.) Two people share a seat and whoever sits in the back gets their junk squished to pieces and the entire time you’re just wondering if you’ll ever be able to reproduce after this is over.
2.) The only thing wild about this ride is the crotch pain.
3.) Because if you have been on this ride your genitals are shrivelled up and dead now.
YOU SIT LIKE THIS and you can just tell how much this ride provides nothing but physical and emotional strain just by the looks on their faces:
No not them, I’m talking about the two in the back. These guys:
Their faces are covered in agony. He may never walk right again. She contemplates divorce.
And it is because of the above stated reasons that I strongly believe that the “Swiss Bob Run” is solely responsible for the continuing decline of birth rates in Germany.
So for some strange reason, this ride had one of the longest lines we had to endure during our entire time at the park. And more importantly, although it’s hard to believe, something even creepier and much more troubling occurs before you even get on this thing. While we waited in line, a part of our time was spent outside in just an average boring queue. Nothing crazy. Just a group of people standing around waiting to get on a terrible ride.
But then we began moving forward and eventually the line had to go through an indoor area which contained many rooms and even more regret.
And that’s where I saw it.


what. in. the. actual. fuck.

Why is there a human sized doll-man in a bed wearing a mask? Why does he sit up and look at me? Is that a dying cat? BUT WHY DOES HIS FACE LOOK LIKE THAT.


This one straight up looked me square in the eye for an uncomfortable amount of time.


WHY IS THIS HAPPENING. They need to be killed with fire. And apparently dusted.

These creepy moving dolls are also at the Weihnachtmarkt during Christmas. I saw them last year and they were pretty terrible but not as sinister looking as these ones at Europa-Park. And you can’t escape these ones. You are forced to stand and wait in these tiny ass rooms in line and look at them looking back at you. I don’t get it. And you’re rewarded with what? THE SWISS BOB RUN???!!!?


Besides my brush with evil, Europa-Park was pretty good. 10/10 would rollercoaster again.

Things I would do differently next time:

Take more videos of the doll people and talk when they move their mouths so it looks like they are talking

Bring a whistle and see if the Geese follow me

Never go on Swiss Bob Run, just wait in line for doll people repeatedly

Being a Nanny is exactly like being the sober friend.

I know you’re probably like “oh no not another post about comparing kids to drunk people” but I don’t care because it’s fucking more real than anything I’ve ever known.

As you may know, I am working part-time as a Nanny for a German family with two young boys. The family is awesome and I really like the job. It’s random, funny, silly, and always different and new. It fits right in to my dream of not having a job where I have to do the exact same bullshit every single goddamn day until I turn into a robot.

Because this would be me walking into an “office job”:


Brief examples of my current work days:

I show up one day and I’m playing a Lego bank robber with one arm who just stole gold FROM A BAKERY(??) and am being chased by the police who are for some reason equipped with poop guns, flying cars, and hoses that spray fire. (Spoiler alert: I never escape and am always put in jail for “100 and thousand hours” **this is not a typo).

I show up the next day and we’re looking at disgusting bugs in the garden until we ultimately decide that it’d obviously be a much better idea to build an elaborate secret hide-out made from dirt, twigs, leaves, garbage, and anything else that we find on the ground. Immediately after we’ve put way too much blood, sweat, and tears into this project and EXACTLY right when I start to feel like things ARE REALLY STARTING TO COME TOGETHER YOU GUYS – there’s yet another change of plans: it’s suddenly time for the hide-out to be bull-dozed by a tiny 3-wheeled bicycle so that we can go inside and I can watch them eat yoghurt and pretzels for an absurd amount of time.


So 100% yes – it pretty much feels like every day I’m showing up to a two person party that went on for way too long. It’s like they’ve been day drinking all day and I just got off work and show up to the house dead sober only to find these two little guys stumbling around all sloppy and borderline incoherent. And it’s my job to entertain them and make sure that they don’t die or break the entire fucking house. Every single day. 

Here’s how it goes:

I walk up to the house and the door opens slowly before I even get to it and all I see is a miniature person standing there with a crooked smile and he says “I’ve been waiting for you”.


Then I get pulled upstairs to where they’ve been “playing” and it’s a fucking disaster. Clothes everywhere. I step on pointy things. There’s puddles of liquid. I see food crumbs all over the floor. Something smells creepy. I don’t ask questions. I just sit and know that I need to act fast.

I start talking and asking questions, trying to keep things LIGHT AND FRESH. I ask, “What did you do today?” and the older one doesn’t say a word because he’s too busy staring at his own goddamn finger (previous whereabouts of finger unknown but I have some solid guesses). So I shift my focus on to the smaller one and try to engage him in conversation. But before I can even open my stupid mouth – he puts his fingers on my lips to prevent me from talking clearly. They both laugh hysterically and this is repeated for the next 10 minutes.


Things go pretty smoothly for awhile, but then things start to take a turn. The small one suddenly remembers that his mom isn’t home, so he begins to stumble around mumbling. Tears begin to slowly form. He’s confused. Lost. Seems to forget for a moment who I am and eventually starts quietly sobbing.


I pick him up and bring him to the window to look outside. I start talking about all of the things that I can see and eventually he gets distracted and forgets he was even sad. He then decides that a better thing to do would be to bang on the window and yell at people on the street walking by. And eventually the older one grows jealous because my attention has been elsewhere for 5 minutes. Things get temporarily weird.


After I’m finally able to cool down the situation with a few bags of gummy bears and everyone is relaxed enough again, I spend the next hour+ following both of them around, trying to catch them before they fall and helping them back up after they do fall. I’m telling you, this goes on for awhile. THERE IS JUST A WHOLE LOT OF THIS HAPPENING CONSTANTLY.


At some point there’s a “disagreement”. The little one accidentally pummels through a fort made out of couch cushions built by the older one. This does not go over very well and it leads to yelling and awkward tiny people fighting.


I’m eventually able to calm things down but before I can feel somewhat successful they suddenly decide that they require food. Nothing else matters now.


And watching them eat is incredible. I feel like a toddler eating anything is the most drunk person thing ever.

1.) No matter what it is, it ends up everywhere. Face, body, walls, on me, everywhere.

2.) It fell on the floor and requires a spoon to eat it? Not a problem. WILL STILL TRY TO EAT.

3.) They’ll try to con you into feeding them something that they know they SHOULDN’T be eating.

4.) They lick the silverware, dishes, and any remaining packaging of whatever food item was given.

5.) One finishes their food before the other one? Let the games begin. 

TL:DR it’s exactly this:


After eating we go outside. They’ve got a huge backyard filled with hills, trees, a sandbox, a garden, etc. It’s a dream. The day in the yard usually ends with me holding the little ones hand/arm while he tries to walk up and down the cement stairs while screaming hello repeatedly at the neighbors (which just sounds like “HAAOOO”). Off in the distance the older one will proclaim, “I MUST MAKE PEE” and proceed to pee on/in/around a bush faster than I can even comprehend. Inside/Outside, it does not matter. It’s time to party 24/7.


Even out in public IT’S THE SAME. I rode the tram with the older one a few weeks ago and he has no problem with 1.) singing a made up song loudly on crowded public transportation and 2.) pointing at and talking out loud about another person who is on said public transportation.

Between all of this and the funny shit they say/do the entire time, I’ve realized that they just don’t care. They are my Monday-Friday party people. I just finally now get paid for it.


I forgot to tell you guys something.

I’ve just been waiting for the right time. I guess there’s no better time than after a couple or 600 beers.


Has anyone looked at any freelance jobs online lately? HAVE YOU? Well I did. Things have been jobless and weird around here, so yeah, I fucking gave them a look [this is obviously before I became a semi-successful part-time Nanny/Tutor/Lego Master]. Settle down.


ANYWAY there’s a lot of weird shit on there. In case you are not familiar, mostly it’s someone somewhere in a creepy part of the world offering to pay you $1 per 1000 words for like ghostwriting erotic novels and/or writing articles about exercise equipment. BIG MONEY TYPE OF THINGS, YOU KNOW.


I obviously applied for approximately 10-20 jobs that I was absolutely not qualified for and was offered zero of them. You know, the sort of jobs that I have never in my life done before but I was like, hey, what the hell it’s just the internet they don’t know me. PAY ME TO BE HORRIBLE AT THAT JOB ALREADY.

But finally one day out of the goddamn blue I got a response. Someone wanted to interview me for a long-term job. And not just any job.The actual title was/is “Online Dating Communications“.


When I first saw the message, I thought – HOLY SHIT: this could be the most amazing thing to ever happen to me At the very least, I would have so many things to talk about at parties and/or in my living room to my cats and boyfriend. I was seriously hysterical about this job for approximately 72 hours. I was walking on fucking sunshine. I told my friends about it and acted like it was basically me time traveling back to 2007 and being the next assistant to Paris Hilton. I was pretty certain that this could be the best story ever told. I almost contacted US Weekly.

The ad was asking for someone to review their personal dating profile, edit it, and then send multiple messages every day to people with the goal of obtaining at least 2-3 dates per week for the ’employer’.  Bonus for me: it was a huge uncomfortable yet beneficial coincidence that this person was from Seattle, because fucking duh – I know some things to do around town that aren’t stupid. I ALSO met my current hot slice of a beefcake man on the exact same dating website a few years ago, so I know how this shit goes. OBVIOUSLY THIS SLIGHTLY QUESTIONABLE JOB WAS CREATED FOR ME.


In my head I had tried to convince myself that this person was just too pre-occupied with their job to do the work of a peasant [and they also happened to be employed at a large fancy company that’s like super trendy to be hating on right now]. SO I THOUGHT, HEY, THEY MUST OBVIOUSLY BE JUST TOO BUSY BEING RICH TO TYPE “HEY A/S/L” TO PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET. I mean, I get it. Money is exhausting.


But then I had the Skype interview and everything changed. I saw their face and they saw mine and I hated it. I found out that they weren’t too busy to A/S/L some bitches, they just didn’t want to. They would just rather pay someone to do it and were 100% OK with deceiving people just in hopes of getting some slimy action. And suddenly I had a Tourette-style urge to scream obnoxious thoughts. WHAT IF THEY ASK ABOUT YOUR CHILDHOOD PET? I CAN’T JUST MAKE UP YOUR FAVORITE FRO-YO FLAVOR. WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU SHOW UP IN PERSON AND YOU’RE NOT AS COOL AS I’VE PORTRAYED YOU ON THE WORLD WIDE WEB. Etc Etc.


You’ll be glad to know that I ended up turning down the job because it made me feel like one of those douchebag guys on Bravo who are like 12 years old and sell real estate.

SO TRUTH BE TOLD this was my actual real first job possibility since I’ve moved to Germany. And more importantly, please keep in mind that anyone you talk to on dating websites could possibly be me sitting at home breathing heavily [and not the stallion you’re hoping for]. Good luck.



It’s ONLY been a year BUT I’VE FINALLY MADE MONEY IN GERMANY. Like real money. Money that I can spend in stores. Money that goes into my purse. Money that I take out of my purse and have the option of saying “I GOT 5 ON IT”.


I no longer fear getting “Pretty Woman’d” like Julia Roberts did when she was a prostitute in the hit classic movie “Pretty Woman” next time I go into a Boutique and/or just a regular stupid store.

This is me now every time I go to TK Maxx because of all my money [JUST LIKE JULIA!!!]:


To be fair, it’s not a LOT of money. In fact, I only work 3-4 hours per day and the hourly wage isn’t a lot but shut your filthy mouth – IT’S BRAND NEW EXTRA MONEY. And I love it so much. It’s the prettiest money I’ve ever seen.


But this new glamorous life also takes some getting used to. There are words/sentences that I haven’t said in such a long time that I now feel like a fraud whenever I do say them, such as:








I am working with a really awesome German family as their “Nanny/English Tutor” for their two kids (ages 2 & 4). So I basically show up and play with the kids for 3-4 hours while talking, asking questions, and explaining everything in English NON-STOP. I don’t think I’ve ever talked so much in my entire life. 9 times out of 10 I am playing Legos and I have to do approximately 2-3 voices of various Lego men/women and tell stories of what is happening based on whatever the situation is [the scenarios are given to me by the older kid]. **Disclaimer: my Lego people go through a lot of hard times:

They’ve climbed mountains via spaceship and then the spaceship suddenly leaves and my Lego man is stranded. And the weather up there is just miserable.

They’ve gotten arrested by the Lego Police [a lot] for reasons unknown.

They seem to always “fall” into hot lava.

They get “glued” to various parts of Lego city and then obviously a monster shows up and eats them.

They ALWAYS seem to miss the Lego train when they’re trying to catch it to their Lego home. And then they usually get arrested.

An arm and/or leg seems to be missing by the end of every story.

Etc, etc.

However, my greatest achievement so far has been having my Lego man “Moonwalk” across a bridge before falling off of the ledge. I did this on the first day and now the Moonwalk is a regular request.

And LET ME REMIND YOU ONE MORE TIME that I have to do 90% of the talking for each character including when they call each other on the goddamn phone: I DO BOTH SIDES OF THE CONVERSATION.


But I’m not complaining, I am just utterly fascinated that I can pull it off and am 100% completely grateful that no one I know can hear me do it. It’s also incredible to witness someone so young speak two languages. This kid is smarter than all of us. The younger one isn’t saying too much yet, he just mostly pokes my nose repeatedly. Worth. Every. Cent.

TL:DR I am more or less completely mortified at having “small-talk” with people my own age but yet I can somehow pull off sitting on the floor making up random stories with a one armed Pirate Lego man for 3+ hours with these teeny tiny children. WHO KNEW.

Anyway, back to all of my money. Here are some things I’ve splurged on since becoming rich:

1.) Häagen-Dazs ice cream.

2.) A bottle of wine that cost more than 2 Euros.

Well that’s basically it but jesus christ it felt good.


This job doesn’t help with my Visa dilemma unfortunately, because it’s not a contract job. So I still need to keep looking for something that will be good enough to allow me to stay. My Language Visa is only valid through the end of November, so please cross your fingers and toes for me! AND/OR give me a job.

In the meantime, I hope to keep earning this little bit of money so I can continue feeling like this is me singing to Borja every time I get home with a few extra monies in my pocket:

PS: I’m still on my trial period so hopefully I don’t get fired because that’d be awkward for everyone.

A Letter

ATTN: American Specialty Food Stores near Karlsruhe Germany + Angela Merkel

Re: I really liked 1995 a lot too but COME ON

Dear Sirs and Madams, 

I was extremely excited to learn that there are some places in Karlsruhe where I could find some food and beverages that we miss from the US. Especially because I had no idea that there was a store like this just 5 minutes walking distance from our apartment [largely due to the fact that Netflix, my couch, and me have something more important going on in here and I’d really like to see things through].


Finally about two weeks ago Borja and I finally went to one of your fine establishments [aka a smoke shop with a few extra shelves containing American-y products] and I naturally found myself pacing back and forth while going through every single item with a fine tooth comb. I continued to look at everything repeatedly – trying to convince myself that there must be something that I absolutely needed and if I didn’t get it right now I’d just die.


Unfortunately, I ended up begrudgingly settling with the ludicrous idea that maybe I just wasn’t hungry enough for anything COOL and Borja didn’t seem too thrilled about anything either, so we ended up just getting a weird tin of Cheetos and a Cow Tales caramel candy and got the hell out of there and never talked about it again.

ME GOING IN:                                                 




But why wasn’t it the best moment of my entire life? Why didn’t we want everything that you had to offer? WHAT THE HELL WENT WRONG IN THERE. Borja has miraculously beat all odds and somehow managed to move on with his life quite smoothly, but it had completely taken over my mine. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.


But then wait a minute, hold on.

Today when I was ravenously looking for something to eat at home, I noticed that candy still just sitting there in our cupboard, and then it fucking hit me.














In fact, 95% of your products are things that were popular in a completely different time. A time when I was like 11 years old and wanted them so bad that I would scam the younger kids in my neighborhood by selling them my shitty old McDonalds Happy Meal toys [an honorable way to earn a buck] just so I could get to the seedy gas station down the street and buy a goddamn Cow Tales caramel candy. BUT I DON’T LIVE MY LIFE LIKE THAT ANYMORE GODDAMN IT.


After carefully reviewing the rest of my extensive list of most of your outdated inventory – I’ve decided that I would like to have a frank discussion with you regarding my discoveries:





3.) Oh Henry! Chocolate Bars: I WOULDN’T EVEN EAT THIS IN 1995






6.) 3D Doritos: STOP IT






9.) Single bags of microwaveable popcorn: WHAT’S THE GODDAMN POINT


10.) Taco Bell brand hardshell taco shells: IT’D BE BETTER IF YOU JUST GOT A REAL TACO BELL HERE


11.) Aunt Jemima Pancake mix: WASTE OF TIME


12.) Kool Aid: NO


13.) Various flavors of Mountain Dew: FINE THESE CAN STAY




As much as I appreciate and deeply respect your services and intentions, I also find myself questioning whether or not you’ve spent the last 20 years trapped somewhere in a nuclear fallout shelter and now you have no idea what goddamn year it is.

I’m a simple woman and I don’t want to cause any problems, but lets get to the point – you need to update your selection and get yourself a refrigerator + freezer immediately.

And here are my demands:

Popcorn Seasonings

Fritos Scoops

Cheetos White Cheddar

Con Queso

String Cheese


Obviously like 30 more ice cream flavors

Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to read my plea and I look forward to seeing what the future holds next time I check out the American Specialty Food selections.

PS: Mrs. Merkel, is it possible to get a work Visa if I re-sell McDonalds Happy Meal toys to little kids in Germany on a full-time basis? I think I could pick up where I left off.




I’ve been washing my clothes and hanging them to dry on a flimsy metal rack all the while absolutely convincing myself that it made me, at least, 10-15% more like an old school domestic housewife from the mountains. Like I was some sort of lady who washed my clothes in a random river stream and carried buckets of water around the village. Like I could maybe sew something together, or even feed a child with my breast. And for some reason I’m just always wearing an apron, no matter where I am.


I actually said things like, “Man, I actually like hanging these clothes up, so much fun” and “This doesn’t even bother me at all, doing all of this extra manual labor and everything” and “Isn’t it just fascinating how long it takes those jeans to dry, it’s not even as if I would actually enjoy wearing them sooner than 2 days from now.”


And even though this is strictly related to laundry duties only, I felt like overall it made me a better person and I could at any moment just suddenly whip up a Rotisserie Chicken dinner for Borja, at a reasonable hour, while drinking wine not out of a coffee mug.


What I’m really trying to say is: Hi, I am pretty sure that I’m Martha Stewart now just because I have to pin my fucking sock to a clothing rack and wait for it to air dry. DER DER DER.


And it’s not even like our clothes are hanging on cute whimsical clothing lines in a field somewhere, or even in a breezy backyard where we just hang a shit ton of white sheets like they do in every movie where there is laundry hanging. Not even close.


Our clothes hang literally just in our extra room that is also conveniently shared with the litter box.


I once put them on our balcony just to, you know, fit in with the locals. But that required an additional step of moving things out of the shit-box room as well as having the constant fear of my underwear blowing against the doctor’s office window across the street, so that lasted a total of one time.


Nevertheless, I had a good thing going in my head. Everything was great. Dryers are for the weak and rich. MARTHA’S BETTER THAN THAT.


And for about 9-10 months I’ve walked around [edit: sat on my couch absolutely not walking] with that can-do attitude. Without a care in the world acting as if I haven’t ever missed being amongst the elite with those powerful machines that dry clothes faster than the goddamn AIR. Just pretending like I never NOT EVEN ONCE longed for a soft sweater that smelled like lavender still warm from the dryer on a frigid cold bastard of a night. NOPE, NOT ME. I prefer air-dry stiff sweaters now, forever, and always.


But then I went on my recent trip to the United States of America, the land where doing things is hard. Luckily they’ve got that taken care of.



There were dryers.  And I used them. And it was fucking fantastic

I have been living a lie and I’ve made false statements, and for that – I am sorry. I actually miss having the ability to wear really cheap gross jeans from Old Navy that stretch out almost immediately and make my ass look like a deflated balloon. Why? Because I could just toss those suckers into the dryer and they’d shrink back up enough to grant me another day/few moments of use. I miss things drying quicker. I miss my clothes being soft and smelling like someone who has good hygiene. And I also mostly just miss throwing things into a machine and walking away. It’s what I’m good at.


This may be shocking to some of you, but I actually am no Martha and I’ve barely been on a mountain. I’ll without a doubt never carry a bucket of anything to anyone anywhere ever. Borja will probably get that Rotisserie Chicken dinner some day, but you know what? It ain’t gonna be good.



Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑