A Real Gem

My plan last evening upon returning home from my Barcelona flight to was to blog about the remainder of my mom and Dolo's Berlin adventures (which included dinner with The German) and our fun weekend in Spain.

That all changed when I walked out of baggage claim to find The German waiting for me. Swoon. I had emailed him before I left letting him know that if he picked me up from the airport he would become my favorite German ever. Apparently this suggestion ruined his surprise plan to fetch me. (I am the worst.) So instead of admitting then that he had already thought of the idea, he did not respond to that portion of the email. I didn't know what to think. Actually, I do know what I thought...he's just as bad as the rest of them. But he's not, he's wonderful, and there he was, dealing with the worst airport ever, just to see me. Sigh.

Anyway, not that the surprise pick-up wasn't great, but the best part of the night was actually this conversation:

Me: So when you are in Florida, I bet people know your family as "The Germans."
Him: Yeah, I bet you are right.
Me: You want to know what Americans say about Germans? Like, what the number one stereotype is?
Him: Yes, tell me.
Me: [laughing] That everyone is obsessed with David Hasselhoff.
Him: [Very serious] Because we are. 

Just more proof that a lot of stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason. He did, however, clarify that the obsession stems from his earlier work and not his current persona. He also made it known that we Americans should be ashamed of ourselves for not loving Looking for Freedom. Something to think about on this
Monday.

Unrelated, but upon searching for pictures of The Hoff for this post, I found this:

I think it's safe to say I can never look at a Shar Pei the same way again. Shudder.

For Your Reading Pleasure: Mindy Kaling

This week has pretty much consisted of me going to work, leaving my mom and grandma to fend for themselves (in the rain, no less), and then coming home to meet them for dinner. Since I can't take part in their during-the-day entertainment, last night I figured a good way to impress them was to whip up a delicious meal of creamy tomato soup and grilled goat cheese sandwiches. It was a big hit. Then I realized another good thing to do is to let them think I invented dipping aforementioned sandwiches into aforementioned soup because everyone likes to learn something new. Our girl is a genius. I mean, obviously.

Anyway, since I don't have much to offer you in terms of real stories, here are a few funny things written by Mindy Kaling to entertain you in place of some anecdote about something awkward I did that one time:

Her take on "Flick Chicks" in the New Yorker is hilarious. As is her new website/blog The Concerns of Mindy Kaling. Her first book Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?, recently came out which I WILL be downloading on my iPad (hopefully) very soon. (Not having wireless internet in my apartment is a very difficult first-world problem I am having to overcome. I think it's helping me to become a bigger person.)

I like to think that Mindy and I would be friends in real life. Another person to add to my list of "Funny Women Who I Would Like To Get To Know Over Brunch."  Let me know if you want to be included in the reservation.

Tourist For A Day

Color coordinating produce really says "I care."

My mom and grandma arrived exhausted on Saturday evening. In an effort to really pack it in, they made the most of their seven hour lay over in Paris and left the airport to see the sites. Ambitious!

Since they both do such a good job of being hospitable when I visit, I made two trips to the store to stock up on sustenance for their week in Berlin. Taking into account all their traveling plus the threat of looming rain clouds, I figured a home-cooked meal was the way to go Saturday night. Plus this allowed me time to unwrap all of my online shopping and Halloween goodies hidden away in my mom's suitcase. Practically Christmas! (Speaking of, there are already holiday cookies and decorations in my supermarkt, um what, is this America??)

Sunday morning I woke up to continue my 24-hour effort of good hostessing (obviously this cannot continue during the work-week, who do you think I am, Martha Stewart??). For breakfast I made the red-pepper-eggs I tried out last weekend, this time topped with sauteed mushrooms and scallions. Nothing but the best for my family! I also attempted to make "mummies" aka crescent roll-wrapped sausages because I am dead-set on throwing an adorable Halloween party and things like this need practice. Obviously not one person will notice and/or care, but that doesn't matter. (This is a clear indicator of Pinterest addiction in case you need concrete examples for my intervention..or Pin-tervention. Bwahaha. That is another example.)

Far superior to most B&B breakfast spreads. And please notice how my centerpiece has grown. Hooray fall!

My mustard eyes need work. These are the things that keep me up at night.

After a relaxing morning (of me stomping around impatiently ready to leave), we meandered our way through my neighborhood to the heart of Mitte.

My favorite building with my favorite Dolo.

Dolo was amendment that we do things that I hadn't done yet, which was pretty easy to do since I am the worst tourist ever. One thing on the top of my "If I only had time" list has been a boat cruise, and with the perfect blue sky weather, we figured why not. The best part about it, besides for the adorable captain flirting with Dolo - perhaps my new Opa?? - was the fact it was half English, half German so you only had to listen to 50% of one-hour. Otherwise known as "the length of our attention spans."

Actually, I take that back, the best thing about the cruise was that during this time, Dolo learned that she could extend the strap on her purse to use it like a cross-over bag. According to her, this is the greatest thing that has ever happened to her in her entire life. (With the exception of the time these horrible raccoons were removed from her attic and also the time she was elected to the School Board. I am sure you noticed and are appalled by the fact that the birth of her first grandchild is not included on this list. As you should be.)

At the bottom of the picture you can see The Purse in all its long-strapped glory.

Me and meine mutter. "We're on a boat!"

This is the building I talked about running past last weekend. Isn't it cool?

After the boat cruise, we scurried over to the Reichstag, aka where the German parliament sits, to make it in time for our reserved entrance into the glass dome. You have to sign up online days in advance for them to screen people (unfortunately something Ashley had learned the hard way) so I had made sure to submit our names ahead of time. Literally it could not have been more perfect timing considering it's closed for its annual windexing cleaning for the rest of the week. The views -outside and inside - were spectacular.

This view of me is less spectacular.

But this is cool, huh?

And this.

Brandenburg Gates, and behind it, the American Embassy (which looks a little prison-like from this view)

Me and my peeps. I am sporting my new cool military J.Crew coat in case you care.

My tiny little Oma.

From there we walked down the street to the Brandenburg Gates, which was fine and all, but then I saw this, the most amazing site I've seen in Germany so far:

Yes that is a French bulldog driving a horse-drawn carriage. Ah-maze-ing right?

With a few more hours of daylight, we hopped in a cab (after a brief almost-meltdown involving me and public transportation) and headed toward Schloss Charlottenburg. Although I do believe if you've seen one Baroque palace, you've seen 'em all, it was still pretty and interesting. (And, for the first 30 minutes of our audioguide tour, it was educational, but then we had to turn that off, because, like I mentioned, we all have the shortest attention spans.)

Here it is from the outside. Not too shabby for a lil' ol' summer home.

And here is an illegal picture I took (and got reprimanded for) in the inside. It has approximately "some number I heard but forgot" pieces of china decorating the walls. It was pretty sweet. 

All in all it was the perfect day of Berlin adventure. Now I just have to worry about them entertaining themselves for the next five days before we head to Barcelona. I feel like a working mother, stressed and guilty for leaving them at home, but what can you do, someone has to bring home the bacon. Fingers crossed they don't get in too much trouble!

A Bad American Gets A Great German Haircut

I've been in Berlin for over two months, can you believe it? I mean, clearly you sit around all day wondering how I am doing, thinking about how exciting and anxiety-ridden it must be. This of course, is if you are my mother. The rest of you don't care, I totally understand.

The truth is, it's been great but hard. The lack of close friends and family is difficult, but luckily even that hasn't been too bad thanks to The Internet. Although it doesn't help me when I'm in the mood to have someone to pal around with, but in that case I just import them from home. House guests = problem solved.

But my real hang-up with living abroad is the small fact that, you know, I don't really speak German. If anything, my German language skills have regressed since I've been here. But, Rachel, how could they possibly have gotten worse? Oh maybe because I am a Horrible American who refuses to practice and totally takes for granted that she can find someone to cater to her language-barrier needs. Like I said, I am the worst.

My insecurities in this area (which I totally admit I bring on myself), have caused me to become kind of a hermit. (Although I am also convinced I suffer through periodic agoraphobia considering I went through phases in New York where I would get stressed about leaving my apartment. Then again, this could also probably be chalked up to 'laziness.')

Anyway, this week I was forced to overcome my fears and figure out what the F to do about my increasingly out-of-control hair. For someone who loves to plan, I cannot for the life of me make a hair-altering decision more than 48 hours in advance of pulling the trigger. This is because I completely block out all normal signs that something needs to change (e.g. the bottom two inches of my hair felt like I had gotten straw extensions), but then all of a sudden, the thought invades my brain. I HAVE TO GET IT TAKEN CARE OF IMMEDIATELY. Luckily there are like five salons on my street, one of which had great online reviews (five stars translates to any language).

I immediately booked an appointment once I learned they spoke English, obviously a necessity considering I have a really bad tendency just to nod and say "Ja" when I don't know what people are saying. "Do you want to chop it all off?" "Ja....OMG NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

Luckily, though, I dodged a bullet and it was a great experience. The actual haircut was fine. I went in with ridiculously long hair, and I left with less-ridiculous-but-still-long hair. Nothing too exciting. But the shampoo chair. That is the totally non-important thing we need to talk about it. It was like the most luxurious massaging pedicure chair ever but with a leg rest like a dentist chair to prop you back. Basically it was heaven. And now I need to know: Have you seen this before? Is this a common thing? HAVE I BEEN MISSING OUT ON THIS FOR YEARS??? ARE ALL THE SALONS I'VE BEEN TO TERRIBLE? Or ARE GERMAN SALONS ON THE FOREFRONT OF THE SPA EXPERIENCE?? AM I LIVING IN THE FUTURE?? WE NEED TO FIGURE THIS OUT RIGHT NOW!!

I know what you're thinking, pretty bold move, asking such important questions on a Friday afternoon. I agree. I personally will think it over while continuing to live up to the Horrible American stereotype and promote the use of English as the universal language. And possibly while also justifying to myself the need to have weekly blow-outs. (Practically free when you factor in the fact you're basically getting a massage as well!)  If only I could be as good at learning languages as I am about falsifying the importance of spending money.

Sigh. Something to work on next week.

A Possible Source for Inspiration (Or: The World Makes No Sense)

My amazing college experience was no doubt due in part to the fact I had great roommates. I always lived with my closest friends, escaping the dreaded possibility that the random I'd be matched up with would turn out to be a psycho. (Such was the case for Ashley, who was once forced to endure a semester living in close quarters with a spell-casting Wiccan who believed she had successfully persuaded the universe to break her teacher's wrists. Cozy!)

Anyway, upon moving to New York, I lost total control over my domestic bliss. Here's a recap of the arduous apartment hunting saga, but suffice to say, after sleeping on our amazing friends' futon for two weeks, The BFF and I had to take whatever we could find.

The apartment itself was newly renovated, in a convenient location, and just what we needed at the time. We immediately found two other people to take the additional bedrooms, and just when we thought we had it all figured out, it came to our attention that they were terrible.

More about our challenges with Brandi can be read about in the Psychoface Dieting Guide here, but before her pal Ruby came into the mix, we co-habitated with a guy named Kris (name changed to a more hilariously feminine/Kardashian spelling to protect his identity. Okay fine, it's just to make me giggle.)

Anyway, Kris started out fine. He had a job working at a big bank, which led to introductions to his cute FJO friends and a spot in a Hampton's share house. (Both of those things turned out to be, um, learning experiences.) But at the start, it seemed great to have a live-in guy friend who I could hang out with at home (he secretly loved the same tween-appropriate shows I did) or go out to bars and clubs, especially considering The BFF had already landed herself a boyfriend. I probably should have known things weren't going to end well when he started suggesting we go to Tonic, the bro'iest (read: worst) bar in Murray Hill (or ever).

You can tell just from the sign font that it is terrible.

And boy did things start to unravel soon after. By unravel, I mean, I got to know the real him. All of a sudden every female face that graced our TV had to be evaluated on whether or not he would "hit that." I'm sorry, did I ask you how attractive you found the reality tv star? The mom schilling toothpaste? The NY 1 news reporter? Little Jenny Humphrey? That's right, no.

Luckily that I grew to tune out, but his temper was another story. My "favorite" memory was how exasperated he reacted when I had the audacity to start a DVR'd episode of Gossip Girl while he was "still cooking dinner."  Mind you, our kitchen was literally a wall within our living room full of appliances. And he was 26. And straight. But this didn't stop him from walking over to the TV to manually shut off the screen until he was ready to sit down "so he wouldn't miss anything." Oh the humanity.

Although I guess I should have been happy that he was at least cooking his own food for dinner that night, because more often than not I would come home to find a little pile of my string cheese wrappers all over the couch. I will go ahead and offer full disclosure that I am not the best roommate. I am not the tidiest, I leave dishes in the sink, and if you have something delicious taunting me in the fridge, I might sneak a bite. (Or in the case of The BFF's trailmix, I will tear into it like a squirrel.) BUT at least I have the decency to hide the evidence! 

His overall immaturity was magnified by the fact that he slept in a glorified fort. Having no choice but to take the smallest room, he decided to "make the most" of his real-estate and loft his bed. Did I mention it was a queen sized mattress that touched three of the four walls? It was no small loft job either, he needed a three-level step ladder to get in it. Whenever I had friends over and he wasn't home, I would open his door to show it off. "Can you believe this?" I would cackle. It was the worst. And it suited him perfectly.

Finally, though, toward the end of our lease, he made the (smart) decision to move out and get a place with a friend. Since it was his responsibility to find someone to take over for the last month, he held an open house, forcing him to clean for the first time since we moved in. Up until that point he had:
1) Never touched a broom.
2) Never took out a bag of trash.
3) Never bought toilet paper ("You girls use way more than I do, it's not fair for me to have to buy it.")

His complete inability to be helpful, courteous, or respectful made my blood boil. When he left, I told him that *IF* he ever found someone stupid enough to marry him, I would WARN her of her future hell she no doubt faced.

And I had my chance. Soon after he escaped the prison sentence moved out, he started seriously dating a girl. Of all the bro-fest-douche-bag things he had done while living with us, I could not fathom how this had happened. (Only proving that even the worst guys can land girlfriends due to horrible NYC ratio!)

I haven't spoken to him in years except for awkwardly running into him at the 2009 PGA US Open event with my cousin, aka the time I made the bold statement that dating a professional golfer would be way better than any other athlete because you get to travel to beautiful places and, more importantly, they don't have groupies, could I have been MORE wrong?

Since then I have only seen updates on Facebook, including cliche Central Park engagement shots that made me question my faith in the world. How could this overgrown, Play Station FIFA game blasting frat boy find someone to settle down with?? Howwwww?? Whyyyyyy??

And now, as of last weekend, he is married. From my stalkerish observations, the wedding looked quite nice. They make a cute couple, and although this little shuffle down douchebag memory lane might not make it seem like it, there are no hard feelings...

But boy are there so many unanswered questions, including, but not limited to: Maybe he matured? Maybe in the proper environment it is possible to retrain a guy to live like a normal human being? If so, how do you do it? Maybe I might find someone? Would it be a nice gesture to send a gift? Perhaps some trash bags? I wonder if you can get them monogrammed?

The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You...Except If You Live In Berlin

Growing up in Austin sans any professional sports teams, Longhorn football reigned supreme. And then I had the privilege to go to the school there and had the best college experience of all time. No seriously, it was. I was there for the Vince Young National Championship days. You cannot compare. (This is the greatest video ever if you want to watch the highlights mixed to a Longhorn rap song, which you obviously do.)

Vintage game day circa 2007.

Me and my madre last year at Hill Country NYC. 

Anyway, in New York I was grateful to find a bubble of fellow football fans to enjoy my Saturdays with at Hill Country Barbecue, a little piece of Texas holed away in Manhattan. I mean, I went to Hill Country Middle School. How much more 'home away from home' can you get? Oh right no one cares. I would know since I have literally told someone that every time I go there and they literally could care less. Anyway, knowing I had that Southern oasis a few minutes away to grab some brisket, a Shiner Bock (makes me think of my dad!) and some Blue Bell ice cream kept me from ever getting too homesick.

Our first post-college OU in New York.
(PS The next time I see Lauren (right) will be at HER WEDDING!!!!)

Unfortunately I don't even have a tiny sliver of that in Berlin, forced to solicit game info from Facebook status updates and ESPN.com. So when I received a message from The German, who is still in America, about how great it is to be able to watch college football on Saturdays, it was like a knife in the heart.

He has no idea, though, how fun the true game day experience can be, particularly in Austin. Specifically at my friend Meredith's parents' legendary tailgates, hands down some of my most favorite college memories, and a reason in itself to end up back in Austin. Sigh. Now I'm looking at old pictures to torture myself.

Unfortunately this does not even come close to doing the tailgate justice.

And reading gchat and Facebook status updates about the OU game in Dallas this coming weekend isn't making it any better. Luckily the distraction of my house guests will keep my game-watching-depression at bay, but it doesn't make my State Fair corn dog craving any less severe.

Thanks for indulging this trip down memory lane. Hook 'em.

Guide to the Perfect Long Weekend

Ever find yourself sneak-attacked by a long weekend with only a few set plans? Probably not, and as you can imagine, Planny McPlannerson was not super psyched about this development. (Mostly because my mom and grandma are coming NEXT weekend. Oh well.) Mid-last week I found out that Monday was a national holiday. Germany Reunification Day, "the German Fourth of July," and from the fireworks I watched from my window last night, I can attest to that. Having missed out on live fireworks in Austin this past 4th due to the burn ban, I was pretty excited (after I got over the initial fear that there was some sort of rampant shooting spree going on in my neighborhood).

Anyway, on the off chance you face this in your own life, here are a few suggested activities:

1. Play dress-up. I did this on Friday night when I had dinner with my American friend who I met for the first time when Ashley was in town. When I initially packed in New York, I had the wherewithal to separate my clothes in giant vacuum bags by season, and now when I dig into a new bag it's like opening a present! That's not totally true, but I was psyched to find a ruffly J.Crew skirt I forgot about, and a sweater I never realized kind of went with it. On Saturday I took advantage of the warm weather and put an outfit to wear while I ran errands. Including this little foray into scarf head-band wearing. Not so sure I can pull it off, but what better things do I have to do?!

I might look like a cross between a trendy pirate and Rosie the Reveter.

2. Buy your own love. I was on the hunt for guest towels (so exciting, I know!), when I indulged my window shopping and went into an Italian shoe store having a massive sale. I've been lusting over a pair of Euro leather boots for awhile, and I fell in love with these bad boys. Considering the amazing deal I got on them, I never would have forgiven myself for passing them up. And we couldn't be happier together.

FYI: They are not shiny. And you are really missing out by not being able to smell the leather.

3. Have an emotional breakdown in a public place. There are articles (and a How I Met Your Mother episode) about how New Yorkers inevitably cry in public (I have at least twice), but I don't think it would be acceptable to do in Berlin. Especially not in an expansive department store in the heart of Alexanderplatz while roaming around staring longingly at plastic, mass-manufactured Halloween decorations. Costumes, goblets, fake spider webs. America at its finest. Legitimately homesick for the first time, I choked back tears (..also I might be PMSing) as I debated buying an overpriced, glitter-covered styrofoam pumpkin. After feeling the weight of the aforementioned purchase on my arm, I pulled myself together enough to get outside where I could put on my sunglasses and sniffle like a civilized person.

4. Embrace your inner-Martha. Have you ever read blog posts that are all "Oh, just go outside and collect some beautiful fallen leaves to create a centerpiece with!" and you're like oh my God what loser has the time and energy to do that? Well friends, I have become that loser. And I'm super excited about it! After the incident above, I realized buying real pumpkins from the supermarket was a way better use of my money. German pumpkins are like a weird love child between a sugar pumpkin and a squash, but I'm embracing it. They also sell "Halloween Kuerbis" aka traditional pumpkins, which I plan on buying after The German comes home and can help me carry some big ones home. He will be rewarded with learning the amazing art of American pumpkin carving, probably one of the greatest gifts I have to offer. While I was domesticating, I also tried a few new Pinterest recipes - research for my upcoming house guests - and have to say the baked chickpeas and the red pepper egg-in-a-hole were a big hit... with myself. 

The start to my masterpiece.

5. Find a new addiction. Because clearly I don't watch enough television, I decided I should get hooked on a new show. People have been loving Parenthood since it started a few years ago, and now I know why. (Plus it is way healthier than when I was devoting hours to learning about the Meth business in Breaking Bad.)


6. Move it. I have been shamefully bad about exercising since I've been here, mostly because after 3 1/2 years of diligently going to the gym I am sick of it. I've loved coming home straight from work to do nothing, but I've reached the point where that has to change. Marshmallow is not an acceptable body type, and to combat this, I've started doing yoga and some Tracy Anderson-esque workouts at home, but cardio has been another story. Then, for some reason on Saturday night around sunset the perfect running route -  along one of the canals passed the train station toward the government buildings in Mitte - popped into my head. It was by far one of the most spectacular views I've seen in Berlin and definitely on the list of places to take my mom and grandma (along with a camera).

7. Make your own happiness. No matter what city I'm in, I'm hard pressed to find something I love more than strolling around soaking up the sunshine, stumbling on outdoor markets, and literally taking time to stop and smell the flowers.

I haven't been able to look at hydrangeas the same since this Madonna video.

Go forth and have a great week.