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.