Monday, January 31, 2011

Gingers are CREEPY...

Most people who know me fairly well know that I have a very low tolerance for children. I find them to be smelly, inquisitive to the point of annoying, relentless, restless, and needy. Now, I am not saying this holds true for all children; dare I say there have been kids I have met that I have actually liked, but they are so few and far between that it is safe to say that the majority of children just piss me off.

I find German children particularly abhorrent, mainly due to the way they stare unabashedly at anything and everyone. A while ago, I had a rather, we will use the word creepy, encounter with a scary looking German ginger child of about eight or nine. I can think of no worse combination: German AND a ginger. Gingers in and of themselves are socially awkward and weird; their bright red hair, light skin and lack of soul causes me severe angst and apprehension whenever I am within a five foot radius of them. Couple that with what I guess are considered German social norms, and it makes for one frightening clusterfuck of a human being.

I was sitting on the bus with my friend Brice, and Brice nudged me on the shoulder and said "that kid is giving you the stare-down." I looked over and gasped slightly as these blue eyes tried to pierce my soul, no doubt trying to steal it due to a lack of its own soul. This kid was literally staring at me so hard, I felt the hole burning through my skull. I looked away, but my gaze kept being drawn back to his, as though it was some sort of magnet. "What the fuck is this little bitch's problem" I asked Brice. You know, I thought, fuck this little kid. I proceeded to return the stare-down. And for two minutes, our eyes never left each others. The kid got off on the next stop, and I stared him down from inside the bus, and he proceeded to stare back at me. As the bus drove away, I pointed a menacing index finger at him and stuck my tongue out. Stupid little asshole.

After this incident, I became more cognizant of a certain fact: Germans stare at everyone. Everywhere. Today on the bus, this girl just kept staring at me for no reason. Every time I would look over, she would just be looking at me, like there was something hanging out of my nose. Now, I have been caught staring at people as well; normally this is because I have zoned out and am thinking about laying poolside naked with a mai thai and some Percocet, but as soon as the person I am staring at returns said stare, I look away. I think this is normal. No one wants to be caught staring at someone else. But the Germans? Oh no. They will just keep staring at you, even if you return the stare. It is the creepiest thing ever. Young people, old people, homeless people, students, prostitutes, whatever. It makes me wish I had some mace. I know one of these days, some fucker is going to be staring me down, and I will have had such a shitty day that I will stand up and scream "what the fuck are you looking at douche fucker?!" I just hope someone has a video camera.

This all came about because I had to go to the grocery store today, which I hate doing, mainly because I still have yet to figure out how to check out a cart. I think it is going to be one of those things I have to do when I am with other people. I think it is far worse to make an ass of yourself while you are alone. At least if you do something embarrassing when your friends are around, you can laugh about it. If you are alone, then you look like one of "those" people. Laughing at yourself is not an option; people just think you are either crazy or pathetic. So whenever I go grocery shopping alone, I either have to remember to bring a bag (oh, because they do not just GIVE you plastic bags to take your groceries home in, you have to pay for them) or I only buy a few items.

I then went to the bakery to pick up my bread. I am getting much better about understanding people, and by understanding I mean that if they just ask me the same questions each time, I am good to go. Occasionally, though, I get a person who has never helped me before, and she will shoot a bunch of random questions at me, and I just stare blankly and either say "langsam, bitte" or "Ich spreche nur Englisch." I went in today and some woman helped me who I had never seen before, and I politely said "ich hätte gern ein kleines schwarz Brot." She then launched into a series of questions and I was like "der...." Bakery girl (who I still have a small crush on, though not to the extent I did) came over from the other side of the store and told the woman I only spoke English, then went and got my bread for me (since, yeah, I get the same bread every single time). It is the little things in life, like someone recognizing that I suck at German and helping me not feel like an idiot, that makes my day. So Bakery girl, whose name I still do not know, thank you. You rock! Creepy girl who stared me down on the bus with the bad hair, fuck you. :)

Friday, January 28, 2011

the little gnomes that live in my room.

I swear they do. They have to. I have started to notice that little things are going missing. I am down to one knife. One. I started out with five. Knives just don't up and disappear. My life is not an episode of "Law and Order." I am not concealing crucial evidence. And Christ, these knives aren't even sharp enough to cause any real damage. It takes all my strength to cut through an effing tomato!

And pairs of socks. Like entire pairs. At least these little fuckers are considerate and take both socks instead of just one. There is nothing more irritating than only being able to find one fucking sock.

And my freaking bottle opener. My really nice bottle opener that has a lovely Universität des Saarlandes logo on it. Gone. Without a trace. Which means that these little gnomes are probably hiding under my bed, using my knives, socks and bottle opener in some strange, fetish-y way that I do not even want to think about. Pervy little gnomes.

Anyhoo, I am sitting here on a Friday night in my room blogging because I just do not have the energy to go out tonight. But the good thing about living sort of on campus...when I get bored and want people to come over, they are just a phone call away, and probably live within walking distance. It is hard for me to remember whether or not I had a social life on the weekends back in Boise. It seems to me that I was so exhausted by the end of the week that more likely than not, I spent my Friday nights catching up on all my favorite television shows, eating pizza and drinking wine with my cats. Is that pathetic? When did I become THAT person??

But is there really anything wrong with wanting to be alone after spending an entire week interacting with people (mostly BSU students) who I find to be incredibly draining with their competitive and antisocial personalities (and cue the accounting department)? I do no think so. Some of my friends seem to, however. I do not know. I have always been fine entertaining myself. Fuck me, I am the funniest person I know. I mean, I will not deny that more than once, I have probably gotten inebriated and turned up music really loud and lip-synched to my reflection in my bathroom mirror while prancing around in my underwear. Who WOULDN'T be jealous of a weekend full of that? It just has fun written all over it.

But tonight, I have some people coming over to my closet of a dorm room and we are going to eat pizza and drink and watch "RED" ENGLISH. See, I am getting better about including people in my naked dancing lip-synch-a-thons!

In other news, I bitch-slapped my test in my class today with a fucking 2x4. Ha ha, fuck you, test! You are my bitch now! We will see how cocky I am after my grammar test on Tuesday, however. I am fairly certain that the vast majority of the test will consist of me, and I quote directly from the worksheet I have sitting in front of me, "Wandeln Sie die Partizipialkonstruktionen in Relativesätze um." Well fuck me sideways, I do not even know what that means! I do not even think that is a real word. Why the Germans insist upon shoving all their words together to make one giant word is beyond me. And how do they have enough air in their lungs to pronounce some of these words??? Everyone over here smokes! I know that has to affect their lung capacity! I think it must have something to do with years of German breeding. It only makes sense. Germans are bred to drink beer, watch fußball, smoke copious amounts of tobacco and pronounce insanely long words that make no sense to everyone else on the planet while sounding like they are going to beat the shit out of you for existing.

Someone today also told me that I needed to work on my German accent, because I sound too American. I am not entirely sure I want to sound like a dominatrix. I think I have a commanding voice anyway; I think if you couple that with angry German hacking and spitting, it is just going to be too much for people in America. Someones head might explode. I cannot be responsible for heads exploding. But I think my American accent over here is cute. The Germans probably find it super annoying. But whatever.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

so you want to watch American television...

Oh, you, yes, you there! Living in Germany! You want to watch American television you say? Like, real, actual American television not dubbed in German? CURRENT American television? Like season 6 of "Bones" on Fox? Or the new season of "Greek" on ABC Family? Perhaps you are interested in watching a movie on Netflix instant streaming? Or catching up on "30 Rock" on Hulu? Amazon on demand? Well...

Ha, ha! Fuck you! You do not live in America! You live outside of this great country! You must watch last the last season of "Bones," dubbed over in German! Oh, you think you can outsmart itunes and pretend to be living in the states? Itunes knows. Itunes knows! detects that you are not currently in one of the 50 United States. Hulu says "Germany? Where the fuck is Germany???" Netflix will let you make changes to your account, but don't count on watching the 200 movies you have stored in your instant queue.

I feel like my very livelihood is cut off! The first thing I do when I move back home: call Cableone, have my internet and cable set back up, order a pizza from Guidos, stock up on bottles of New Age wine, and not leave the couch in my living room for 72 hours straight, catching up on all the television I have missed while being over here. No more Charlie Sheen in that fucking horrible "Two and a Half Men." No more listening to the German version of Kyra Sedgwick in "The Closer." I am talking real, honest-to-God, fucking amazing American television. Oh Emily Deschanel, how I have missed thee!

while we are on the subject of dreams...

I stopped watching the news a long time ago. It gave me nightmares. See, I can watch horror movies and not have a problem. You know why? Because horror movies are fake. I mean, "Scream"? Really? Rose McGowan, I judge you for trying to escape out through the cat door. Real effing smart. I understand you have not had a real meal in at least a decade; I still do not think even you could squeeze through that cat door. My fat ass cat can barely make it through his.

The news, however, is very real. It documents all that messed up shit that happens in our messed up world, and not being able to say "oh, it is not real" when I see some horrific event on the television or on the internet freaks me out to no end. Now don't get me wrong: I try to stay informed. Should I ever end up on Jeopardy or stopped on the street by one of Jay Leno's minions, grilling me about some current political or economical event, I do not want to appear to be an idiot.

Here in Germany, they have no problem showing all the graphic and horrific things that happen in this world. KTVB over in Boise? I am pretty sure they edit out all the blood and bodies and such because, well, in America, we try to coddle our citizens. But not over here. Oh no.

So last night, I was trying to fall asleep sans Ambien because I do not want to admit that I rely on a sleeping aide to help me sleep at night, and I had the news on to fall asleep to. I also (thought) I had a test today, so I was a tad bit stressed about that. When I finally did fall asleep, around 2:00 a.m., I launched into a series of horrific nightmares, mainly involving Russian terrorists and bombs and people running after me trying to kill me. I hate those dreams. I do not mind the dreams that are inherently scary for no reason, but I absolutely abhor the nightmares where someone is chasing me and trying to kill me. It reveals a lot more about my fucked up psyche than I think I am prepared to deal with. And though the scenery and sometimes the people change, the scenario is always the same. Someone is always trying to kill me, usually with guns, though sometimes they can be wielding machetes, or trying to drown me, or whatever. And the most random people from my past always show up, and usually end up dead. Sorry Britta, Estelle and Alison: you all died last night.

And here is the kicker: I always get shot, too. Sometimes I wake up before I "die," while other times I wake up just enough to change the circumstances so that I am not exactly "dead" but I am certainly not alive. I think I learned in psychology that that is called lucid dreaming. Last night, I got shot in the knee, and the guy who shot me (said Russian terrorist) starting rooting around in my knee looking for the bullet because it was a special bullet and he did not want to waste it on me. That is when I woke up at 5:00 a.m. sweating and crying with an unbelievable pain in my fucked up right knee.

Should I be seeing a shrink for this?? I mean, dear God. These dreams have become quite frequent, especially since moving to Germany. I am thinking I need to quit watching the news at night in order to "learn German." I think it is really messing with my head. I would also appreciate it if my instructors would cancel all tests from here on out: they are obviously affecting my ability to function as a normal human being.

Tonight I am going to watch "Love Actually" before I go to bed, instead of the news, and see if I have happy dreams with Hugh Grant and Colin Firth and Emma Thompson. I think that would be exponentially more beneficial to my fragile, fragile psyche than watching the riots in Egypt or more footage of the terrorist attack in Moscow. Plus, the mornings when I wake up after not sleeping, I tend to look like I got in a bar fight the night before with fucking bat-shit crazy Britney Spears. The shaved-head Britney, not the other one.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

my dreams even mock me...

I woke up this morning around 7:30, which really bugged me because I did not have class today, and thus had the opportunity to sleep in (okay, I lie. I actually DID have class today, at 8:00, but lets be honest: waking up at 7:30 did not give me nearly enough time to get ready and out the door, so I might as well sleep the rest of the morning, yeah??) Anyway, I think me waking up at 7:30 was my subconscious telling me to quit being a lazy mother fucker, but normally I can shut that little voice in the back of my mind right the fuck up with an Ambien or Chamomile tea. Or both. I decided to go back to bed and sleep until noon. Noon is a good time to wake up, right?

The problem with waking up when the sun is coming up and trying to sleep through its bright, penetrating rays (what sun? There is no sun in this country! I mean the varying shades of gray that the sun illuminates) is that when I dream, my dreams are so realistic that I cannot differentiate between what is real and what is not. Last week when I fell asleep (er, passed out) on Estelle's couch, I woke up in a panic around 10 a.m., convinced that someone had shot a bullet through their window, trying to kill us. I scrambled up and checked the integrity of the window, making sure it had not been compromised by deadly weapons. It is not a good way to wake up. Thank God I didn't pee.

I digress. So I woke up this morning and drank some tea and went back to bed. I woke up, I think, around 10:30, but I had this dream that I was trying to speak German with some people at a restaurant, and they were making fun of the way I said "aber." And I kept insisting that I was not saying it any differently than them, but they just kept laughing. It was like being in my underwear in front of a large crowd of people. Okay, wait. I have done that. It wasn't so bad. Maybe this is more like being naked in front of a large group of people....wait...shit...Anyway, when I woke up, I could not figure out if this had actually happened, or if it was a construction of my overactive and self-conscious imagination. I am pretty sure, somewhere along the line, someone has made fun of something that I have said in German. Fuck, I would make fun of me if I heard me trying to speak German. I sound so terrible, there is no point in me even getting upset over it. I just have to laugh.

But the more I thought about this dream or memory or whatever, the more pissed off I got. What the fuck, dreams?? My subconscious is now making fun of me?? What would Freud say about all this? Probably that it has something to do with lack of sex or my preoccupation with my father or some shit like that (and just so we are all clear, I DO NOT dream about my father like that). Which then got me thinking even more: what if we are all subconsciously programmed to be self-destructive? I mean, I am a fairly confident person, most of the time. At least I would like to think I am. But what if deep down, I am hard-wired to be self-defeating and critical of everything I do?

Whoa. It was a little too much for me to handle this early in the morning. Why do I have to over think everything?? Two nights ago, I watched "Fear" with Marky Mark and Reese Witherspoon. Every time I watch that movie, I always find myself, at the end, analyzing the perceptions of female sexuality and what the movie is actually saying about female virginity, and then I stop myself mid-thought and think "what the fuck, Sarah?? It is a fucking Marky Mark movie! You are analyzing a Marky Mark movie! You are such a fucking tool."

But I decided, instead of letting my dreams, which may or may not be based on actual events, get me down, that I was going to actually study for my test tomorrow. And I have been studying for about an hour now, which I can safely say is the longest I have sat in one spot concentrating on one thing in, like, years. Pardon my ADHD. But I think an hour is my limit, hence the blog. And now I am going to shower.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

I hate Tuesdays (and other tales of woe)

I hate Tuesdays. I have always hated Tuesdays. Tuesdays could be my least favorite day ever. Even more so than Mondays. I mean, Monday at least feels like a fresh Sunday. But Tuesdays? There is nothing good about Tuesdays. Crappy television, shitty drink specials. Basically, Tuesday ist scheiße.

I especially hate Tuesdays where I wake up and think "oh, fuck me. This is not going to be a good day." Anyone here take Ambien? Or any sort of sleeping aide? And you know, when it wears off after four hours, and you're awake at five a.m., groggy and feeling like someone has slipped something in your drink, and you feel that way for the rest of the morning? Yup, THAT is how my morning started out. Feeling like, I am sure, Lindsay Lohan feels every morning. Like the world has just shoved a large, barbed-wire wrapped bat up my hoohah. Fuck you, Ambien. Work like you are supposed to!

So an update on my money. The money was found. YAY! Apparently my mother, after asking my father to which account she should transfer the money, sent it to the University. (insert groan here). So yesterday evening, I received an email from my father informing me that I needed to go to the University and have them wire the lump sum to my account, because, well, it did not belong to them. I would like to thank my father for providing me with what I have deemed "learning opportunities" in Germany. Whereby fuck all happens and I have to try to fix it with a fucking language barrier and a short fuse. So thanks, pops! You are the best.

I met up with Katrin because, heaven forbid, I find myself in a situation where I am trying to play charades with some woman who doesn't speak English. Thankfully, one of the girls in the office did speak English. When I went in and told her I had a problem, she asked me what my name was. "Sarah Ober," I replied. She looked at me and said, "oh, your father has given us a great deal of money!" Wait, what?? These bitches knew that they had my money, on accident, and no one thought to contact me?? What the fuck is that?? So she led us down a hallway to another office, with two other women in it, and in German (by the way, I can understand German now) said "Oh, this is Sarah Ober." And the women in the office laughed. And she said "you are quite famous here." Fantastic. In addition to being groggy and irritable, I was now being openly mocked by German women.

With the click of a button, another women transferred all my money to MY German bank account. Why they could not have just called me last week and informed me of the snafoo, I do not know. Maybe because they, too, wanted to provide me with ample learning opportunities in Deutschland. Like trying to communicate with Stapler-dude at the bank. So far, I am down two points.

I managed to make it to class on time, which was good since I seem to be having quite a difficult time with that, and all things were going well. I even spoke GERMAN in my listening comprehension class. I was feeling quite proud of myself, like I was a fucking Deutsch God, until my grammar class. I think Frau Grigorieva just has a knack for bringing me down off Cloud 9 and bitch-slapping me in the taco (thanks, Glee, for my new favorite saying).

In four weeks, we have what the Studienkolleg calls the "E-test." This is very similar to the test I had at the beginning of the term back in August whereby they gauge our German comprehension and place us in a level of German accordingly. I would just like to state that despite the fact that my speaking skills may not be all that great (I hear my German friends snickering right now), I can actually read and write fairly proficiently. Understanding grammar rules has never been a problem of mine. Chalk it up to the English nerd in me. Once I learn a grammar rule, it usually sticks (at least as far as writing goes). So I know that, since August, I have become much better with German. Or at least so I thought. Frau Grigorieva handed out this sample test from 1994, just so we could get a feel for it, and I just stared at it, mouth agape. You know that fish market in Seattle on the Pier? Where they will throw a giant fish at you should you ask, in hopes that you will catch it just so you can say, fuck yes I caught a giant fish! Okay, now imagine that someone hurls a massive fucking 50 pound fish at you and instead of catching it, it hits you in the face. And you are left standing there, stunned with fish slime dripping down your face, reeking of two-week old vag...

That is how I felt at that exact moment.


There were no words. No words. I wasnt even entirely sure what the directions were telling me. So I did what I do in all situations that I find uncomfortable: I started laughing uncontrollably. And Frau Grigorieva just looked at me and asked (I think, because it was auf Deutsch and I am far from a Deutsch God) "what is wrong, Sarah? A catastrophe? Why are you laughing?" Why am I laughing?? Why am I laughing?? Because my soul is slowly leaking out my butt! Because my will to live has been crushed! Because you are ruining my life woman!

So I am basically fucked. I hope I get placed at least a little bit above the level I am currently in. Maybe I should spend the month of February actually studying, and reading things other than Cosmo in German. Dammit all.

I was pretty much so distraught after my class that I did not want to leave my room. I wanted to hole up and watch "Bones" with my fucking rainbow chip frosting and perhaps a bottle of wine. Estelle invited me over, though, and made me dinner, which pretty much made me super, super happy (um, there were mashed potatoes involved. SUPER good mashed potatoes). And even though she told me that I am like a guy (pardon me?? Just because I cannot cook for shit, and maybe I fall asleep after I eat, does not mean that I do not have other valuable domestic skills. I can vacuum and dust like a mother fucker, thank you) I am feeling a little bit better about life, though I still think I am about to run a train on this can of frosting.

Monday, January 24, 2011

adventures in international banking

Let me preface this blog by stating that yes, I am well aware that I am living in Germany, and that people here speak German, but COME ON. I mean, I figure if you are working someplace, like a bank that deals internationally, and everyone else in this fucking country speaks English (or Denglish, as we like to call it), then shouldn't you at least have a somewhat decent grasp on banking terminology in English? Especially since it took every iota of energy I had to smile politely and not leap across the desk and strangle you with your fucking non-cordless phone?!

From the beginning:

A week and a half ago, my wonderful, wonderful parents wired money to my German bank account so that I could pay rent. (And I do not want to hear anything from anyone about how my parents are sending me money). Anyway, last Wednesday, I got online to check the status of my account and, to my dismay, there was no money in there. Well what the fuck, I thought to myself. So I called my mother, explained the situation, and she called their bank in Idaho and demanded to know where the money was. The bank told her the money was in Deutschland. Awesome. So my mother informed me that I needed to go to the bank here in Germany and find out whose desk my money was loitering on. VIEL SPAß! The thing I love more than anything else is trying to have a conversation with someone about shit that actually matters, like money, in another language. It exhausts the fuck out of me and causes me to long for a big, tall beer.

So today, I went to the bank after class to get all this sorted out. I was waiting in line when this kind-looking, officious old German dude came up to me and barked something at me in German. I politely explained that I did not speak much German, but that I had a problem with my bank account (case in point, I did this in German). He looked at me like I had a third nipple growing in the center of my forehead, walked away and came back three minutes later with this other guy, who sort of looked like the Stapler-guy from "Office Space."

"Diese damen aus America," he said "spricht nur English. Kein Deutsch." Sweet. So apparently my German is atrocious enough that this guy recognized that I was some dumb-ass American trying to speak German. At least he couldn't pin-point the state, or I would have been embarrassed.

Office Space guy informs me that he only speaks a little English, but he will try to help me. Fan-fucking-tastic. Define a little English? Like, on a scale from "I can say fuck off" to "I can say fuck off and then explain existentialism and the meaning of life" where, sir, do you lie? I would say in normal conversation, this dude would probably be a 5 or a 6. But as far as banking terminology goes, I felt like I was trying to explain the concept of wiring money in English to a four-year-old with dyslexia and ADHD. UGH.

From what I gathered, Germany does not know where my money is. He kept saying, your parents did it wrong, the money is still in their account, and I kept insisting that no, buddy, the money is NOT in their account (I think I used the term "credited" which probably threw him right the fuck off), and that the bank in America says the money is most definitely over here in Deutschland, but he just kept looking at me all wide-eyed, like I was some sort of alien slobbering all over myself. He printed off some fucking paper and told me that my parents had to do it again, this time wiring the money to the following numbers. Yeah, okay...what about the other lump sum of money just floating around in nomads land? Just forget about it? Oh yeah, because, you know, money grows on trees in America. When we need it, we just grab our baskets and walk out back and climb up the ol ladder and pick as much as we need. If we decide to wire it internationally and some gets lost along the way, that is okay! The government will give us more money trees!

So yeah, on the list of things I can now cross off my bucket list: lose money internationally and talk with guy who looks like dude from Office Space about intermediaries and debit and credits.

Oh, and speaking of awesome German conversations, I ran into my conversation instructor on the bus, whose class I have not attended in, well, months. It is only twice a month, but it is at 8:00 a.m. Monday morning, and unless my ass is getting paid to be awake that early, I am going to reset my alarm for 9:45. Anyway, she wanted to know why I had not been in class, and of course she asked me in German, but I answered in English, which led to a lovely 15 minute conversation about my life and what the fuck I was doing. What a nice lady. Maybe I will try to make it to her class next week.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

new years resolutions off to a good start....

New Years Resolution: blog more. Well, fuck.

It is not that I have not been doing interesting things...I just, gasp, forgot to blog. I keep going through these lethargic waves. I blame it on the weather. And this time of year. I am always a little unpredictable when the weather cant even make up its fucking mind. I go from having fantastic days to days where all I want to do is hole up in my room and watch movies and drink wine straight from the bottle and not talk to anyone. I truly do have the makings of a crazy cat lady. And you will all be able to say, we knew her when....

It was definitely strange coming back to Germany. And it has still been strange. Going home was good. Going home reminded me of why I am here. But coming back, I still find myself, on certain days, longing to have my old life back. I feel like I have been split into two different people: Sarah at home, who was semi-responsible and was always busy, and Sarah here in Germany, who drinks life a fish and is living a little too much like a college freshman. Remember the first time you got drunk on wine coolers? Yeah, neither do I, but I have a feeling I am experiencing something similar to that on a weekly basis.

I guess growing up in a town like Boise, people expect you to act a certain way. It really leaves no wiggle room for change. But here, no one really knew anything about me, so I could be myself, whatever that means. And it is a little scary. Imagine going to a new place and being able to, well, okay, not exactly reinvent yourself, but start over. What would you change? What would you do differently? Am I finally living the life I have wanted to lead, or am I just getting all this shit out of my system before I sell my soul to the dogs of corporate America? Who the fuck knows. It worries me a little bit that I am actually this person. That the responsible girl from Boise who had a job and a good education and blah, blah, blah was all just a facade, and I really I do not have a grasp on shit. Well fuck, fuck, fuck.

And truth be told, I really, really miss my friends in the states. I had a very lovely support system set up, and here, I really do not have that. I have my friends, and I love them dearly, but it is next to impossible to establish that sort of bond with someone in such a short period of time. It usually takes years to build something like that. I am fortunate to have such wonderful friends who are always there for me, even when I am 8000 miles away. But there are some nights where I really wish they were here, could take me for a walk in the woods, get me drunk and tell me everything is going to be all right. Skype just aint cutting it right now.

That being said, though, I am very lucky to have Estelle here in Germany, when everyone else is so far away. I think otherwise I probably would have stayed in Boise and not come back. I still cannot for the life of me figure out how the fuck we communicate with each other, but there is a lot that goes on between us that does not require words (thank God, because I am pretty sure both of us, the majority of the time, are thinking "Christ, what the fuck did she just say??"). But it took my inability to communicate with Estelle, my inability to use my words to attract someone, to realize that there are people in this world that you meet because fate has deemed it so. It was the same thing with all of my very close friends: it wasn't what was said between us, but a feeling. I am not talking about love, I don't think...But it is something you cannot explain. When you meet someone and FEEL in the very core of your being that, yes, this person will be in your life forever. I think these sorts of friendships are very rare. I guess I have just been lucky in life. But it makes me feel like I am doing something right: that I am following the path I am supposed to be taking. One thing different and who knows where I would be. I mean, who would have thought I would meet my German twin randomly at a mall?

But when push comes to shove, I have to believe that I am doing the right thing. Because on the days when I question the decisions I have made...those are the days I start to question everything about myself. And that is a dangerous road to go down.

In other news, I think I am beginning to like fußball more than American football. I feel like such a fucking traitor.