It Can't Rain All the Time

It was just one of those days...
I had a bad night, it was raining and dreary and classes were less than enthralling. I was disappointed and just wanted to be left alone.

 The next morning I woke up to my roommate 'bonding' in the shower with her significant other, so I couldn't (or rather didn't want to) go into the bathroom for most of the morning. Got dressed and headed out of the apartment feeling like I looked something along the lines of Kevin Bacon.

 Biking to class I was met with sunshine and happiness, birds chirping and the people joyfully walking puppies along the river, and I wasn't having any of it simply because as I trumbled behind the slowest biker Germany had to offer that morning, I was caught in every red light. You win this time, Impatience.

Unbeknownst to me, a package was sitting on top of my mailbox, and when I got to it, it flipped my day. Because when your family takes time to ship you a package of candy that probably cost more to send than the small mountain of Nerds, SweetTarts and the half bag of Starbursts that instead of sending the entire bag, they opened and dumped the rest out before retieing the bag with a rubber band ...you know that someone will always have your back, no matter how unimportantly badly your day is going.

And no, Bobbi. I am not sharing. Eat your share of the Starbursts.

The Easter Bunny is Real and He Lives in Germany

Easter in Germany meant a few things:
1) Tricking Rebecca into attending church at four in the morning. The fact that we left at quarter to five for mass and didn't get back until eight was not lost on me. Let me reiterate. MORNING. AM. Ante Meridian.

Getting to the church there was a big bonfire outside of it, right in the middle of the street and that, my dear readers is an Easter Fire. (Easter Fire. The Germans are so creative.) The church was pitch black and from that fire all of the patrons light a candle and take it in with them, so the whole church is lit only by candle-light. At five in the morning. How did they expect me to stay awake? But I did, have no fear Mom, I was a good church-goer. However, I did find it hard to concentrate when all I could think about was, "Man is this a fire hazard!" I was not far off because a quarter of the way through the service someone bumped a candle and it went toppling to the floor amiss cries of Scheisse! Fire hazard indeed.

2) The Easter Bunny
He's alive and well in Germany. I hope he made it over to the states because I got my own little "nest" hidden here in the garden I had to find. This was, of course, after the nap I took.

3) Eggs, eggs, and more eggs. And just put a couple more in there because...Eggs.

Literally NINETY eggs were hard-boiled for a family of four. Myself being one of the four and I ate a total of five of them over the course of the weekend. I have never been good at math, so someone else work that out for me.

We turned this...

Into this..

And then finally into this...

The last one being Germans playing with their food. It's this game where you smash your egg onto someone elses egg until one cracks. The winners tastes better, I guess. My champion egg was the one that Philip made for me. In wax it said repeatedly, "Rebecca Becca Egg" That way, he said, I wouldn't forget it was mine. Or an egg.


4) Save the dancing for your jail cell

Germany is pretty uptight about Easter. They love it, it's one of their biggest holidays and it is pretty religious for them. So religious that they ban dancing and festive music on the Friday of Easter weekend. You'll find yourself with a thousand Euro fine if you do, and it's not just a silly bi-law that someone forgot to change. It was protested this year by having over a thousand people flash-mobbing the center square of Frankfurt and dancing with headphones in. It was discussed pretty heavily, even one of my classes brought it up for a good half hour. What do you guys think?

The Elite

The few. The proud. The Frisbee-ists.
 (Frisbeers? Frisbeeians? What does one call a frisbee player?) I think I joined a club or something because I keep getting invited back to play Frisbee. And not to toot my own horn, but I'm not too shabby. Not too shabby enough to have people complain about the other team gettting me and being guarded during games. Who gets guarded during an Ultimate Frisbee match? This kid. (Please don't take me too seriously, I just want to be good at a sport. Even if that sport consists of flying plastic disks.)

After the last game I went to, I was invited along afterward for a barbeque. Probably because of my extreme Frisbee throwing skills. In Germany, barbeques are just parties, but for some reason they like to say barbeque. Egal, there was much man-portioned meat and drinks to go around. I decided I would also contribute to the gluttony and baked cookies. I would say they went over pretty well.

You know that saying that money can't buy happiness? Perhaps true; however, cookies can buy friends. It was like Germans have never eaten a bunch of sugar and chocolate together. I couldn't understand it, until I saw this:

Let's play Spot the American!

You poor, poor German souls. How could you consider this a party with so many vegetables?? I'll give credit where credit is due, we ate and drank without stop until around ten at night and at the end of the night cooked bananas in the fire with chocolate shoved inside, and although delicious, a sorry excuse for sweets really. Because honestly, check out the plate. That's how they looked.

Next barbeque I'm going to introduce the s'more.

Be Cool, Stay in School

Unless that school is frightening enough to make you run out while quickly throwing glances over your shoulder to make sure the teacher isn't following screaming at you to get back in the room.

I may or may not have just bailed on my first day of real university class. Bailed. Cut class. Played hookie. Macht blau. Ran out crying like a small child. You know, whatever you want to call it.

Just for an explanation: I spent the entire morning looking for the location of this class, only to be really excited to find out it was in the castle. Yeah, a class with a moat! What could be better? I booked it to my Uni class after my language course and sat down. I was a little early and so began my observations.

-The classroom was small for so many people. Despite nearly fifteen chairs empty around me no one sat next to me, but rather chose to crowd into a corner. Scooting all their desks together. 
-The students all knew each other. As each one walked in someone would wave them over, tell a joke or otherwise speak with them.
-I was the only one wearing flip-flops.

The teacher came in shouted the German equivalent of  "Everyone, SHUT UP!" and sat down, promptly began handing out the syllabus (The proper plural form is syllabi, but spell check tells me that's wrong.) and then started counting the students. Since I was on the other side of the 'cool kids group' no papers were passed to me and I started to wonder if I forgot to put deodorant on. The teacher also noticed this and asked me why I didn't have the sheets already. I said no one passed them to me yet and she snapped back something along the lines of "Well get on it, already." I quickly walked the thousand foot gap between myself and the natives and grabbed an extra copy.

Whew. Major catastrophe adverted. Until she demanded everyone get ready for the oral presentation next week on the five books we were to have read before the lecture we should have attended. Apparently Becca missed some memos. Moby Dick sized memos.

So what did I do? Pretended to look at my watch and be surprised and rushed out the door. Then I may or may not have drowned my pain in a double cone of ice cream. Real classy, I know.

Jackalope

"The uglier the fashions, the worse places we'd have to pose to make them look good. ...It's the ugly bridesmaid tactic where you only look good by comparison."                      -Chuck Palahniuk Invisible Monsters


Ahem. Here's looking at you Germany.

Shown here: The lucrative  Durabbirrel

This was set in a display box of a watch store. Please. Someone tell me why. Normally I would just assume this was an isolated incident if I hadn't already seen it in Konstanz, Stuttgart, and now in Tübingen. By "it" I mean taxidermy-atrocities pranced next to shop items. From raccoon-owl hybrids to European mounts, jewelry to raincoats.

As some of you may already know, I dabbled in taxidermy for a good portion of my working life (...four years?) so I don't know what I'm supposed to feel toward this... Outrage? Disrespect? Admiration? Mostly I'm just confused. Is anyone else confused?

Stick it to the Man

Before coming to Germany, I needed to open up a new bank account in order to withdraw from ATMs without a fee being added. It was stupid and difficult and I learned that Bank of America has the worse customer service in the land of banking. After two hours on the phone with them, my sister and mom finally told me I was being too nice. (Really, too nice? That can be a problem in the world? What about that whole spiel of catching flies with honey? I have been lied to all my life.) Irregardless, enough said that I don't like confrontation.

Two weeks or so ago, I bought I train ticket that I was told I could refund after buying another one in Tübingen. It makes sense here, I promise. They would put the money toward my new ticket as soon as I could prove I was a student. Since I'm now officially a student, I went to the train station to get my money back. 

I was basically told I got screwed. Out of one hundred and nintey-eight dollars. Excuse me? Come again? WHAT?! I've already learned that my crocodile tears will not sway these people, so instead Nick helped me by talking and we got the same answer. No luck, Chuck.

At this point I was just ready to pay for the damned thing so I wouldn't need to buy another ticket back to the house. Nick wasn't having any of it though. He was my German-speaking avenger, since I could only blubber beyond the things I knew what to say (''No, no. The lady told me I could get a refund!'') and insults are not high on my German vocab lists...

Today we spent the entire morning calling offices, officials and clammering about the injustice done on my part. Apparentely the Germans do not care. 

I, myself, would just give up. OOOH no! That is not the German way to do things. Here, you make your complaints be heard. We are getting a lawyer, as a student the goverment will even pay for it. Yeah, go ahead and read that again... Becca's going to court. *gulp* 

So how's that for being nice, Mom? 

These are the things that students need to learn in school. How do I open a bank account? How do I book a hotel room? What do I wear to meet a lawyer? I will never forget       but will I be using the quadratic formula anytime soon?  Maybe when I become that computer engineer I've always wanted to be. (That and a princess toothfairy from outer space.) When am I going to need to learn how to act in front of a lawyer. Apparently in the next week. 

Wish me luck! 

Beauty is...

...pain.
...time.
...only skin deep.
...a lot of work, space, and money!

...in the eye of the beholder.

Can you guess whose side is whose? I'll give you a hint. I can count all of my bathroom items on one hand.

Essen, Beten, Lieben

I made it! I am moved in, in my new dorm in Tuebingen! Hence the new look to the site. I figured a fresh start for both things.
But basically the day I got here, all the other Americans left. For the last couple of days it has been a little bit like that Julia Roberts movie that no one really liked "Eat, Pray, Love" only with more eating. (Just a heads up, I didn't voluntarily watch that movie; it was playing on my flight over here. And since I am cursed to never sleep on planes...)
I have meandered around so many streets and gotten lost in the language around me. Quick, somebody stop me before I break into prose! I can't describe things here without sounding extremely dorky, so I'll let some pictures do the talking.

 

Be jealous of my weather!

Isn't it adorable?!?

I do not live in the city, unfortunately. Since there was such a large group of exchange students out of the U of M we got scattered. I live along in an apartment on the outskirts with two native Germans. Fabian and Daniella. They're....okay. I will refrain from judgment at this point and go completely quantitative: They are both much older than I am. Nearly ten years. I am not allowed to touch anything of Danielle's in the bathroom, which is nearly impossible considering the amount of things she has in there (Pictures coming soon! (As soon as I can buy some batteries for my camera.)) However, I have my own space and I have hardly been in the apartment lately anyway. Too many things to explore!

I can't explain it, I suppose it was just a bit of spring fever but yesterday I donned shorts, and set out to do nothing. Absolutely nothing. I had no goal, no plan, no agenda beyond seeing things. I have promised myself that outside of this blog I will try to only ONLY speak, think, hear, see, taste, touch, smell (any more senses??) German because it's difficult here. I want to integrate.
I am foreign, but no longer interesting. There are plenty of foreign kids here doing the same thing I am, thinking the same thoughts. And I feel foreign. I am afraid that people will look at me and sigh and think, "Ugh. Another one. Can't she just go back to her own country and ask for directions there?"  So in order to accommodate to the German-y lifestyles here I have noted a few key things to look out for. (These are things Julia Roberts left out of her memoirs.) :

1. Don't wear white socks. It's a no-no. You will stick out like an American-whitesockwearing-sore thumb. I don't get it. It's this weird unwritten rule of Europe. Wear dress socks. Always.

2. Or, if you're of the female gender..., don a pair of high heels. Pumps, stilettos, or wedges? Doesn't matter. Just going grocery shopping? Doesn't matter! Every woman here was born wearing kitten heels and has gradually progressed through diligent training to be able to wear sky-high heels. On cobblestone. Respect.

3. Eat as much asparagus as possible. Germans love their Spargel as much as we love Happy Meals. Fact of life.

4. To balance out your healthy diet of asparagus, start a smoking habit. Wikipedia says that nearly forty percent of Germans smoke. I think that's a lie. It must be higher. Piles of cigarette butts lying in the train stations agree.

5. Finally, and this one is important so pay attention...Wear scarfs. Preferably as many as you can, as often as you can. Even in the summer. Especially in the summer! This will cement your European-y-ness in the history books. The Germans, they tell me there are twenty-eight different ways to tie a scarf. Believe it. Honestly, what other ways "beyond wrap-it-around-your-neck-enough-before-you-stick-it-into-your-parka-because-it-is-COLD-outside" does one need? Apparently twenty-seven. This isn't just for girls either. Guys, you have no excuse for your nekkid-neckness.

Except dignity.

PS Sorry for the schizophrenic post. I am just so relieved to be settled in that I had a bah-gillion things bouncing around in my head.

When Life Hands You Lemons

The world has apologized, and I have forgiven it. Within hours of posting the last post, I...

...tried to pay my fine (didn't happen yet, technicalities in the way...) and since I now have to pay every single little time I want to use the train, it was decided that since I was already in a quaint little town on the outskirts of Stuttgart I would enjoy the seventy degree Saturday. See, right there was already a course to put me in a better mood.

While meandering around with no particular place to go I saw in a shop window a Michigan State University t-shirt. How random is that?!? I got so excited and kept pointing at it like an idiot exclaiming to Nick, ''Did you see it? Can you see it? Why would they have that? Crazy!'' To put this in perspective, NO ONE here knows of any colleges beyond Standford and Yale. And possibly the college Mark Zuckerberg attended, but only because they exist in movies. I think Michigan State is referenced in one of the American Pie movies, but c'mon. Obscure college t-shirt in another country in which it's citizens do not even know where Michigan is? Awesome.
 (I usually tell people where I'm from by saying ''near Detroit'' It works. But let's be honest, who can name all sixteen of Germany's states? Point.)

...Then after a very slow Sunday day in which Nick abandoned me for model UN practice, (Who knew that there was model UN practice. Phff...Nerds.) I was invited to play Ultimate Frisbee with a bunch of German friends. Here's where it gets great. We were going to bike to the park, and as we went to the shed to fetch Sonja's bike (the one I always use) Nick wheeled out one I didn't recognize. Probably because they just bought it. For me. My very own bike! As you can imagine I reacted like the adult I am by saying thank you and not by jumping up and down and squealing about how 'it has a bell!!'.
I named her Lemon. (Long story.) She is beautiful.

Back to the Frisbee...
 As a college student, I should have been a Frisbee pro, because that's what college kids do, right? Too much time shut in my room pouring over textbooks, I guess. (Phff...Nerd.) So instead of dressing like all the other smart kids, I was wearing a pair of new jeans and my favorite Pearl Jam shirt. Who knew that Ultimate Frisbee can get physical? And that you can continue to play in the rain? And that I would have so much fun?
Once we got back, Ray took one look at me and asked if I had played too, because from my grass-stained t-shirt and mud-drenched jeans and shoes it was not clear whether I had been playing Frisbee or wrestling an unruly wombat.

I went straight into the bathroom to change and soak my clothes. Really though I would not be too upset if the stains didn't come off, because they're good stains. Stains that would remind me to chill out and still be a kid every once in a while.

Broken Shoelaces

I feel as though I have been dealing splendidly here in Germany so far. Granted nothing has been going according to plan, but oh well, right? Don't let it bog down the fact that you have this fantastic opportunity here. Because the Gentner motto has always seemed to be: ''You wanna hear God laugh? Then tell him your 'plans'.''

Dealing with problems matriculating into a foreign school system? Confirmatory.
Not being able to access your German bank account to pay rent due in two days? Yep.
Needing eight hundred dollars in that German bank account in order to NOT be deported at the end of the month? Roger that.
Registering for classes that don't seem to exist? Check.
Not having internet in apartment? Affirmative.
Receiving none of the important government documentation in order to become a German citizen? Gotcha.
But man, oh man, when I got on that train and the ticket-control woman looked at my two-hundred-dollar-month-long pass and told me it had expired just four hours ago... therefore leaving me with a fifty dollar fine to be paid within the next two weeks. I cracked. I sat on the train and just turned my head to the window so no one would see me cry.

I do not cry easily, nor do I like to admit it, and really this is not that big of a deal. Everyone will be caught 'riding black' as it is called at one point of another when you ride long enough, but I was just at the end of my rope after finding out the fine should really only be about fifteen dollars since I am not a repeat offender.
Really, Germany? Deutsche Bahn? Nearly thirty extra dollars because I am having a bad day?

According to a very smart woman I know, this, in rehabilitation terms, is called Broken Shoelaces Syndrome.
The rest of these really cruddy things can be going on, and people can deal. We can, we're resilient, but when something minor taps us on the shoulder just to say, ''Hi. I am a common everyday circumstance just letting you know that life is still happening while you're dealing...''
For example, looking down to see your shoelace is broken, or in my case getting caught unknowingly riding the train without paying, sends you packing your bags to Breakdown Town.
We all have our problems. I know. Am I being a little mellow dramatic? Very likely.
 But I am a girl. I am in a bad mood. I am allowed to for a bit.
Trust me, in a couple days after this is all smoothed over the less whiny posts will once again dominate my blogosphere.
Bis bald.

Tschüss with Cheese!

For my mom, who is already confused: Tschüss (pronounced like shoes with a ch-sound before it) is German for see ya! And as for the cheese, that is just how I celebrated both the completion of my Sprachkurs (language course) and therefore my leaving of Altheim.

Cheese-y goodness.

Elke made a special meal, usually reserved for Christmas time, for my little going away party. She really didn't make anything, but rather she prepared a bunch of different ingredients that we made using raclette.
                        
Don't quote me on this, but I think raclette is French for "melting cheese all over different things in a mini-shovel, eating waaay too much, and stopping just before you explode." But, like I said, not quite sure.

Irregardless of how delicious it was, I think I need more practice to work up my tolerance. I could only eat three of the shovel things full. Volker continued to eat for a half hour after I put my fork down.            

Volker: Master Racletter 

Not so masterful. They always fell apart.

So now I say goodbye to you Altheim, and I move forward to buying my own groceries again *sob* and attending real university in Germany. Wish me luck!

Tschüss to you too, you crazy bird.