Blues and Sounds

Its really quite in the house today.

Well, actually it's semi quite. Because I have the I Love Lucy going, and Mila's little dog tags are clinking together as she snoops around the house looking for tissues and possible crumbs and socks and q-tips and whatever else it is that puppies eat that I will gingerly have to pick up in a poo bag soon. And its POURING outside, so I am also hearing the constant drumming that are no doubt similar to what Noah heard right before he hatched the plan to build the arc.

But my family left yesterday and the absence of the bickering and laughing and general sounds of a group of crazy people that love each other too much, is so deafening that it makes my heart hurt.

75!

That's right. Seventy-five days of wedded bliss. Or funf-und-zebzig for all you GERMANS out there.
Although I dont know if it counts though because 14 of those days I have spent married to Annie, my favorite co-army bride while our beloveds galavant around the world. So maybe I have only been really married for sixty one days, which is the actual number of days we have had to put up with each other.

It just occured to me that if army married life keeps going this way, I will be celebrating my silver anniversary in about 37 years. Which means I shouldn't hold my breath for that anniversary band because it wont fit over my ancient, arthritised fingers or do my liver spots any kind of justice.

But so far so good really. Im adjusting to fun facts like that my bed mate reaches blood boiling levels in his sleep, which means that even though there is an open window and a fan I just need him and his creepy hot hands on his own side of the bed, pleaseandthankyou. And that my pantry, once stocked with organic granola and fair trade black coffee is now an homage to every saturated fat that Nabisco ever dreamed up. Or that, surprise! I find it incredibly irritating when someone leaves peanut butter covered dishes to crust over in the sink.

And Geoff, in turn, is becoming accustomed to the fact that he married a CRAZY PERSON who yells at him for things like peanut butter dishes and the fact that his creepy hot hands are on her side of the bed, and that makes him buy embarassing, unmanly things like tampons! and throw pillows! and table cloths! Just think, if you walk into his house you might think a GIRL lived there. Gross!

Seriously though, seventy five days already. Time does fly when you are having fun.

Good News

I was skyping with my mother yesterday and couldn't wait to tell her the good news.


Mom! I have great news! (enthusiastic)

You're pregnant! (equally enthusiastic)

No! (nonplussed) We are getting a puppy! (regaining enthusiasm)

Mariana. That is a lot of responsibility. (disapproving)


Is it me? Am I seriously underestimating the commitment being a dog owner takes? Because although I plan to be fully dedicated to the cause, at least I dont have to birth the damn thing. Which is an all important deciding factor when choosing between the two. One will give you hemorrhoids, the other will arrive pre-birthed at your home. With fur!

I cant understand the reasoning that would cause my family to be thrilled at the prospect of my procreating, but worried as to whether or not I can handle the responsibility of dog ownership. Because anyone who sees human children as less maintenance than dog children should ask my mom what I was like as a toddler (read: redheaded nightmare demon child who gave her arthritis and her undying love for white bread).

Either way, Im getting a dog. And a pack of condoms.

Confessions of a Housewife

You know how when you were a kid you watched I Love Lucy on Nick At Night? And you were all, oh that Lucy, always trying to get into show business and causing trouble and getting random one episode gigs at various jobs where hilarity inevitably insues! Well. I am the new Lucy. Except my hair is naturally red, there isnt that much hilarity so far, and I dont have nearly as many cute outfits. Actually, the later fact might soon be remedied by how many hours I have spent online shopping while eating breakfast alone.

When Geoff gets home Ill have some 'splaining to do.

'Splaining about how even though I used to bitch about my job sometimes, I really loved having purposeful days filled with high heels and lunch dates and after work happy hour. If I drink during the day now, its technically considered alcoholism.

But seeing as how it might be a few months until I am once again gainfully employed, I am trying to make the most of it. I go to the gym for like 2 hours (as that is what trophy wives do), and go to the grocery store, and plan dinners, and do laundry. Its like weekends in my old life, but with less fulfilment. And more online shopping.

All Im saying is, no wonder Lucy got into trouble. Im just holding out for Vitameatavegamin to call me so I can be all YOUR PRODUCT HAS BOOZE?! HELL YES I WILL DO YOUR COMMERCIAL.

Hallo und Willkommen!

I know I know. It has been two months. As in eight weeks. As in seven weeks later than I promised promised promised I would stick with updating my blog every week.

But.

I have done some shit since then. Like got MARRIED. And moved to GERMANY. Like the country. That isnt the United States. Because it is GERMANY.

Firstly, I must tell you I feel like freaking Dorothy. Because one minute I was minding my own business in San Luis Obispo, eating Gobbler sandwiches with Mel and teasing Simon for being fat, and then the next...BAM. A tornado of moving and shipping and wedding and honeymooning and moving and lugging 40 boxes of IKEA furniture up two flights of stairs and unpacking and realizing I dont speak German in a country where that is a useful skill, and I find myself here. Looking around like Huh? All of that really happened? What are all of these spare parts to the IKEA bookshelf, and where in the hell is Toto?

And I am sitting on my GERMAN couch in my American chonees, still a little shell shocked what with all the life alteration that has exploded around me, writing in part to keep loved ones abreast of our comings and goings, as well as document this year of GERMAN adventures so that when I look back someday, I will perhaps write a book on taking giant fucking leaps off of rhetorical life cliffs and how to survive that.

But for now I have about 47 loads of laundry to do in our GERMAN washing machine that is roughly the size of a Barbie Dream Machine I had when I was like six, forage for groceries in a GERMAN grocery store, and then prepare said sustinance in the Easy Bake Oven that is my GERMAN stove/oven combo. Which begs the question, what do the damn GERMANs have agains normal sized appliances? And what is with the summer weather that randomly dumps buckets of rain the second one pokes their American nose outside?

Answers to that and much more coming up!

auf Wiedersehen, bitches.
xo
the GERMAN scrap.

You Were Expecting Something Demure?

I know that I should dedicate this post to the involved description of my bachelorette party weekend in sordid, tequila soaked detail. But I worry that the magnitude, the sheer enormity of the shit show and the ten WONDERFUL people that made it happen, cannot be captured by my amateur scrawl. Also Im pretty sure I could only retell about 1/3 of the weekend with any kind of journalistic integrity. Because I was, and let me know if you are shocked here, TANKED.

A note to the participants: Seriously guys, thank you. I will do everything in my power to make your parties just as raucous when the time comes. And it better come soon because there is only so much time I can spend without a peeny whistle in my mouth.

But in the meantime, I will recount scenes that I either find particularly hilarious, or well lets just be honest, I will share what snippets I remember, or have since been reminded of.

In a very rough idea of what I believe to be chronological order:

-singing deeply and with passion into a rotating dildo affectionately dubbed "the love spoon", the works of the grand duchess of pop, Ms B-Spears herself. Passing said love spoon around the limo so that everyone could get a chance at the limelight.

-being pushed around a winery yard in a child sized tractor while the rest of my party attempts to hit on the prepubescent boy behind the counter. Because we are cougars in training and thats how we roll.

-sitting cross legged on a cement floor petting a dog while poking Deitra in the ass with my wine glass when I wanted a refill. "I dont care, just make it booze!"

-rolling into a ritzy hotel looking like a cheap drunk tranny in a boa, a light up tiara, and a penis whistle in my mouth. Having my entourage look like much of the same, stealing bottles of champagne from our driver.

-wearing Kristy/Kerri/My chonees into the hotel hot tub.

-announcing to the MC and subsequent crowd at AsiaSF that my fiance was a one night stand gone wrong. Then flipping off the audience.

-telling my tranny lap dancer Chloe how freaking good she smelled. After sobriety hit this remains true. I remember her tits smelling better than anything I have ever smelled in my whole life. and I told her so.

-telling our cabby how good I thought Chloe smelled.

-having who I believe to be Biggy Smalls blow into my peeny whistle at the Cellar.

-accidentally spilling some of my tequila on some hapless bystander and telling him I was "doin' it for my homies".

-having my tragically tame sister drop it like it was hot not once, but TWICE on some random guy in a tie. And on anything else that would stand still. Woman is my hero.

-waking up with a half eaten pizza crust in one hand, and a tiara in the other.


And THAT my friends, is how you kiss singlehood goodbye RIGHT.

At Least I Didnt Get Him Addicted to Crack.

My heart sinks deep into my belly whenever I see puffy rosy baby cheeks. I get irresistible urges to snack on chubby, munchy little baby knees and elbows. Just the sight of tiny onesies and miniature converse makes my voice reach this insane decibel in which I INVOLUNTARILY COO. And the smell of baby makes my ovaries quiver.

All of these things are true. In fact, Geoff likes to tell people that I am prone to stealing their offspring. Fair? No. But likely.

So with all of these truths, all of these admitions, you think I would make a really awesome mother right? Like the kind of really, really, kick.ass. mom that Dr. Phil and Oprah call to write articles about balancing career and motherhood?

Because I got to work about three hours ago and realized I HAVE NOT FED SIMON SINCE YESTERDAY MORNING.

For Real

A Conversation Between Soul Mates:

Scene Opens to a long distance phone call:


Me (As read in a tone signifying the importance of one bearing her confidence to the man she loves): ...blah blah blah...significant things...blah blah....body image issues...blah blah

Geoff (Interrupting): Wait! I have something important to tell you before you go on.

Me (Touched to be interrupted by what will undoubtedly be a compliment and a request to stop doubting my beautiful self. Gorgeous man, cant bear to hear me self deprocate): Yes?

Geoff (Obviously pleased with himself): There's a movie coming out in June...

Me (Slightly miffed on the obvious lack of compliment but thinking perhaps the conversation is taking an intellectual turn in which he will suggest a documentary on the entrapment of women in a society hell bent on making them feel badly about themselves): ...

Geoff: Check it out. Nazi... Zombies... (pause to allow for the apparent magnitude to set in) Seriously.

End Scene.

Singular Understanding

A very good friend of mine was broken up with this week.

I have no interest in revealing who this person is on the internet, but suffice it to say she is a singularly fantastic soul that was tragically under appreciated by the ass clown that was lucky enough to get to touch her boobies for 6 months.

She is taking it really really well. I remember my last breakup pre-Geoff that started with me taking 8 shots of tequila with my then roommates and ended with me trying to explain to a near stranger why its normal that I sometimes cry and burp tequila whilst making out on a bar stool. And I didnt even like that relationship that much.

Turns out there are classier ways to do things.

She has decided to avoid alcohol (clever girl) and perhaps barstools all together for a while, and is instead pouring her attention into more productive things like how to steal wine from his house.

In the meantime I have volunteered to deface his car (in a non-permanent, cant-get-arrested-for kind of way) and talked straight trash about him for the last three days. Because fuck him thats why.

Supportive, thy name is Mariana.

And Then My Heart Dropped Out of My Butt.

Being a generally productive and yet alarmingly naive member of society, I paid my taxes.

I saved my W-2 without the ado of last year, an adventure that required me to dumpster dive for the first and preferably last time in my life. But, being a quick learner, I opened that puppy and put it straight into the "vitally important" stack of mail on my entry table. Its the stack right next to the "not as important" and "coupons for things I might like to eat someday" stacks. I am nothing if not organized.

And in true testament to my adulthood, I didn't just leave that form in the dis-appropriately named stack to be discovered months later while searching for a long forgotten gift certificate. No. I actually used the damn thing to fill out government paperwork. Ok. I lie. I sent it to my Dad. Yes. The man still does my taxes. What?

The point is, I got the W2 to the appropriate tax paying receptical, and sat back waiting for my refund. Because given that my monthly paycheck shows me how much has been appropriated, and that amount is roughly the sum I used to get paid in my intern days, I assumed the ole GovT was done with me. And you know what assuming does. Makes an ASS out of the ME that thought she was getting a grip of REFUND.

I got an email from my Dad's tax woman (it sounds kinky but it isn't) asking me several questions, since this year has brought her the added joy of doing Geoff's taxes too. And I blithely hit "reply", chuckling to myself about all the Cadbury Eggs and sunless tanner I would buy with my refund. Until I got to the end of her message. And here is where today's post title comes in. My heart dropped out of my butt (a place it is never meant to drop out of) as I read that I OWED a substantial amount. OWED. ME. OWED. NO REFUND. Heart. In. Butt.

I hate taxes and I hate the government and Im pretty sure I want to delorean my ass (and subsequently attached heart) back to a time when April brought me things like refunds and Cadbury eggs and sunless tanner. Instead of what Im stuck in now, which is an April where I CANNOT AFFORD ANY CADBURY EGGS. What the hell Obama? I voted for your ass. Least you could do is kick me a refund.

What the NASDAQ Means To Me

I know this makes me sound fiscally unsound and regrettably immature (why hide it, i say) but the plummeting economy has re-enlivened me. Sales everywhere! 40% OFF! 50%! The mind reels at all of the irresponsible shopping possibilities! Exclamation points!

You call it mindless spending, I call it supporting our local economy with the purchasing of adorable spring shoes and dresses. Anything less would be selfish.

Dont Be Surprised If I Actually Do This

Martha Stewart tells me I need wedding favors. She is very adamant about this. I am free to a wide variety of low tariff crap, including but not limited to low tariff crap I bake and wrap myself, but nevertheless, if I am to have any kind of wedding, I am to have favors. Adorable, thoughtful, color coded favors. Goddam Martha.

Geoff and Mariana: The perfect pear (intentional misspell painted on the side of a tacky pear candle).

Instead, I turn to Kerri for favor advice. True to form we immediately nix any hope of punnery airbrushed onto useless shit. And this is what came of two genius minds combined. What I like best is how satisfied we are with ourselves.

2:47 PM kerri: you could bake a bunch of shit

i freaking got it

tiny booze bottles

2:48 PM member how cute they were?

and then say, "geoff and mariana: drunk in love..."

haha

2:49 PM or "geoff and mariana: the perfect drunks"

2:50 PM or "geoff and mariana: it's water"

or "geoff and mariana: why don't we get drunk and screw"

oh man

make me stop

2:54 PM me: no i love them

keep them coming

2:55 PM kerri: "geoff and mariana: he had to liqour her up to get her to agree to this shit"

geoff and mariana: because marriage is better when you're hammered"

2:56 PM me: i love you forever

kerri: but really, i think thats a good idea

i bet bev mo would give you a discount

since you'd be buying them in bulk

2:58 PM me: i fucking love you

this is going on my blog

you are welcome

kerri: ah hell

i'm gonna be famous

2:59 PM me: you sure are

kerri: yay

me: i think i want to try

kerri: i could come up with more

ps. that HAS to be your wedding favor

3:00 PM me: geoff and mariana: enabling each other since 2005

kerri: thats funny

3:01 PM me: geoff and mariana: dont let them be the only drunk people here

3:02 PM kerri: geoff and mariana: saying "i do" to being shit shows for life

3:03 PM me: geoff and mariana: nothing says love like 1.2 oz of tequila

kerri: haha

me: geoff and mariana: better together, best when drunk

3:04 PM kerri: geoff and mariana: for your hangover tomorrow morning

me: god i really want to do this now

kerri: geoff and mariana: cheers to sloppy sex

i think you probably have to

me: these are too damn good

More on the Possibly Cursed Chonees Later.

Reasons I Should Have Stayed in Bed Today
(in no particular order)

1. I took a swan dive off of some stairs. I imagine it looked pretty graceful, flying through the air, but I blew it on the landing. Chinese judge only gave me a 4.4 on execution.

2. When I was tumbling ass over ankles I realized I was wearing tights, not leggings, and thus gave the gaggle of students behind me an unprecedented view of my new (possibly cursed!) chonees.

3. My lean cuisine lunch was a garlic pizza that taught me two things in its brief life. a) pizza is not meant to be microwaved, as it tastes like bunions, and b) garlic creamy pizza will come back to haunt you.

4. I spent a solid chunk of my morning trying to get a $100 dollar gift card for participating in a survey with my health care provider. The whole spectacle ended with me telling the automated phone system to "eat dog shit and die". It informed me that it did not have an extension for that.

5. The rain has turned my hair into a tumbleweed growth hellbent on committing suicide off the left side of my scalp. It is not a flattering look.

Dude. I'm going home to self medicate with pizza (from an oven, as the good lord intended it to be prepared) and a tivo-ed episode of Big Love. And where the hell is Geoff to rub my feet?

Apologies All Around.

If you need to talk to anyone about the lack of posting here lately, you can take your complaints right to my immune system that has pretty much turned Benedict Arnold on me lately. I spent last week playing the role of the chick from the Exorcist, and all of this week leaking my soul out of my nose.

Not that Im dramatic or anything.

First Of Many

My friend Susan is getting married, and yes thats her real name. I have no interest in protecting the innocent. And I know, surprise surprise, aren't we all running down the aisle this year? Biters, the lot of us.

But I mention this fact not because Susan is a singularly hilarious and charming individual (she is). Or because I hope she finds it in her heart to forgive when I slur through Total Eclipse of the Heart while perched atop her wedding cake this coming weekend (she will). I mention all of this because Susan got a bachelorette party this weekend, one in which I was lucky enough to partake.

Her Maid of Honor (her "MOH", according to some shitty Patrick Dempsey movie), being the classy girl she is arranged for a lovely spa day in which I seemed to be the only one partaking of the champagne (who is surprised? anyone?). The other girls sipped cucumber infused water and nibbled on chocolate covered strawberries whilst I tore through the booze and cookies like some vagrant they had the Christian courtesy to invite in off the street.

As the party made its way to the bars, we proceeded to relive our glory days armed with a stack of scratch off dare cards for Susan to perform, and many a toast to "THE BRIDE!!!! WHOOOOOOOOO!". No joke, I know its cheesy wedding fare, but you haven't laughed 'til you've seen a friend with candy penises around her neck and a light up tiara pluck chest hair off some poor jackass who had the misfortune of finding himself next to you at the bar.

Lending evidence to the fact that we are no longer the spring chickens of college days past, we were ready for Taco Bell at 11:45. Susan expressed this sentiment best by proclaiming to the world, "Sherioushly guysss, I waant naaachhooos. HEY! Whatta ya call chheese that you stoole? NACHO CHEESE! GET IT??? Guuyss seeriously whosgonna bring me naaaachooosss?"

Susan, I adore you and am so glad I get to share in this fantastic time in your life. I wish you, Bob, and the cat a life of wedded bliss. Without any toenail clippings in the sink.

Planning and Dreaming.

The following is a list of wedding table names if Geoff and I were really honest with ourselves:

People Who Only Speak Russian

People Who Pretend to Only Speak Russian So As Not to Speak to the Gentiles

People Who Might Be Offended By the Hippie Guests

People Who Might Be Offended By the Militant Guests

People Who Might Be Offended By Excessive Intoxication (table to be placed indoors)

People We Didn't Think Would Actually Come

People We Had No Say In Inviting

People Most Likely to Get Us Good Loot

People We Are Hoping Will Do It In the Vineyard At Some Point If We Seat Them Together


Who else is SERIOUSLY stocked for this shindig?

A Ray of Sunshine

Today around 11:30 am I got a hankering for Lays potato chips. And for those of you who have met me, or have a literary rather than personal vestment in this blog, you know that I get irrational, fearfully powerful craving for very specific foods at very random and inoppertune times. Like the gingerbread fiasco of 2008, or the time I woke up at 4:30 in the morning and thought I might DIE without chocolate pudding. It's what I think pregnancy cravings might be like, except I am really far away from knocked up (about 9,000 miles and a 12.5 hour time difference worth) and thus spared the crutch to my dignity.

So today, on a day bursting at the seams with meetings and corporate hoops to jump through, when I had about 3.5 minutes to catch my breath and attempt half heartedly to convince myself Im not selling out to the man, today I craved Lays original potato chips. And only original Lays, with the blue stripe on the package and the salty greasy sheen they leave on your lips, only those would do.

I will spare you a description of the number of hours I spent wishing I could run down to the nearest campus eatery (it's how I show I care), suffice it to say, I remembered that I had a snack sized bag stashed in my desk. And internet, the joy, the boundless jubilation I felt when I made that realization. I tell you it reminded me of why it's good to be alive.

Another Good Reason.

The internet is down in my apartment and there isn't a damn thing I'm to do about it. The adorable college agey repair man with the cute butt said something with the signal something not being strong in the complex because of wiring and something something...I don't know, I was looking at his butt. But I digress.

When the internet is down, I cannot visit with my mistress Skype and nestle myself in her video chatting glory. Which means I cannot inter-date with a certain delicious bearded man in a certain dreary foreign country. And that limits our options of communication to telekinesis, or the land line Geoff can call from that's in a building not necessarily close to his room. That he shares with what is called a "shit ton of people" in polite society.

And when Skype, with her wiley ways cut us off midway through my description of a frightening addiction to grapefruit and how I'm thisclose to actually splitting off into deliciously citrusy sections myself, that man, that delicious bearded fellow with the awesomeness that awesomes, walked through the snow, stood in line for 30 minutes, handed over a credit card, and dialed my number just to hear the end of the story. Even though it was past his bed time. Even though it was really cold. Even though the story wasn't even that good to begin with.

Because that's how he rolls.

Cheers Big Ears.

I dont believe in New Years resolutions.

Mostly because Im so damn perfect that improvement would only infuriate and serve to mock those around me. But also because I lack the conviction to actually remember the things I drunkenly resolved to do at 12:01 a.m. on January 1st. This year I may or may not have vowed to "drink these delicious cocktails EVERYDAY". Which, depending on your lifestyle, may or may not be a viable goal.

Instead of setting goals I dont have any intention of meeting, I like to reflect on the year past and make a list of things I am looking forward to in the year to come.

And here they are, in no particular order.

-celebrating the happiness of several very important people tying the knot this year. Jess, Susan, Lauren, Ash. I know you all read this, and I wish you joy and a very happy married life from the bottom of my heart. Im also very much looking forward to your bacholerette parties.

-meeting the added challenges of my job with the experience I gained last year. I know I am very fortunate to be doing what I love, and making a difference in the lives of others. I hope to maintain my enthusiasm and create real changes to improve my programs.

-the trip to Disneyland that Iswearoneverything I will plan and execute this year. And thats not a resolution. Thats a damn ABSOLUTE.

-having geoff back from afghanistan. I cannot tell you how difficult it was to say goodbye to him, and live with the reality of where he is for the past months. I am so grateful to have the kind of relationship that can weather this deployment, and is at the same time so. worth. fighting. for.

-the release of the next Harry Potter movie. Because thats who I am.

-and last, but certainly not least, celebrating my own wedding with the people I care most about in the world. I am so genuinely excited to walk down that aisle and into the arms of that wonderful wonderful man.

G-d willing, 2009 will be one of the best so far.
And now internet, I want to hear your list.