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 start...like 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.

WHAT THE FUCK DID THIS TEST EVEN SAY???

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.


www.nataliedee.com

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.