Quick! What's the number for 911?

For full disclosure, it's almost two in the afternoon and I haven't made it out of my pajamas yet.


It's my quiet rebellion against going back to work. Stickin' it to the man, yo. Plus this whole vacation notion has been really needed.

To clarify, I don't start work until next week. Originally when I planned this trip, well, to be honest, circumstances were completely different than they are now but I'm here anyway, vegging out and visiting before the real fun begins. (Read that as: Not doing a darn thing and eating a massive amount of ice cream while I'm at it.)

Pictured: My exact expression at getting to eat German eis again. Hello, love...

The most action there has been was watching the Euro cup quarter finals over the week. Eh, that's a bit much. I sat around eating piles of grilled meat in a Germany jersey--not that it was my jersey, to be sure-- while other people who actually care about the Euro cup watched the game. After whispering, "Which team are we cheering for: the blue? or the white?" I sort of gave up.

Cue laugh track. Oh, silly Rebecca and her lady-brain not being able to comprehend sports. And now she's lost her eye liner? Hilarity!
(Please, if you don't know me, be aware of the above as an example of my sharpened sarcasm.)

But really, soccer (Hereto referred to as football. When in Rome, people.) is a huge deal. You don't even have to be watching the matches to follow along. The entire city will mourn or be jubilant together loud enough for those of us without televisions. Just keep a running tally of how many collective groans to how many abrupt outbursts of car horns honking and cheering and you've got yourselves a makeshift scoreboard.

There's a sort of quiet irony that later this week I'll head out to a bar in a football jersey to watch a game that I care very little about but enjoy the camaraderie of when I've been a student at the University of Michigan for almost four years and cannot honestly say I've stepped foot into the stadium there. For shame, little American, for shame...

On to the serious now: Yesterday I get a lovely e-mail from my internship leader reminding me that she forgot to mention this teensy-tiny little thing. I need to be a card carrying member of a first-aid program. She hopes this isn't a problem. Nah, just lemme reach into my wallet and--OF COURSE this is a problem. I am not certified by anywhere, let alone the Red Cross, in a first-aid course.

I have to find, set up, and pay for a sixteen hour course before beginning my internship in four bloody days. Two of which are weekend days which means the whole of Germany stops functioning on them. And let's not forget, I need to pass this class. In a completely foreign language intended for native speakers.

It's not been all bad though. I mean, I've found a course that runs all weekend because Germany likes to mock my weekend plans into submission. And this minor inconvenience will run me about sixty dollars. Essentially if I can make this work I'll be golden to start my internship on Tuesday next week.

...

Let me contain my enthusiasm.

Just a quick reality check here: Uhm, so what's the number for 911 in Germany? I'll guarantee you it's not 911. Nor do they call CPR CPR. Because it's Germany it's probably something like UEGS. Because they're German.

 So let's get this straight. I have to pass a class that will expect this very basic information out of me, yet I have literally NO idea. Every kid in the states, literally every single one, could do me this solid if I were bleeding on the sidewalk in Michigan. "Kid! Call an ambulance!" Immediately he's going to whip out his smart phone (because this is a realistic scenario) and dial 911.

Here..Not so much. So maybe I need this course, because for real, I'd be less than useless in an emergency. I'm pretty sure I'd be a hindrance to the emergency response team.


UPDATE: If you were curious (I know you're all burning to find out) the emergency numbers in Germany are... 110 for police. 112 for fire. 115 for ambulance. Look at me; I'm learning! I'm going to do my homework before getting myself in way over my head.

Wish me luck.

Where the Hölle is Rebecca?

I have to go grocery shopping soon. I've been in Germany what? Five times now over the course of a few years and each time I need to go out I still prep myself.

The inner monoloque goes something like this:
You want to go buy some pineapple at the fruit market. Do you know how to say 'pineapple'? 
Yes. Yes I think so. Ananas, right?    I scoot off to my online dictionary.
 Yep, Ananas. Oh jesus, what's the plural? 
Probably something like Anananana. I don't know. Just buy one. That'll work, then you'll never need to know. Hey, hey, by the way. Where's your friends who speak much better German than you? Yeah them. Go find them. Get them to order for you. I mean, just to be on the safe side...

Last year, once I got back in the states from my first real stint in Germany, I would catch myself walking up the line in fast food joints slowly preparing myself for what to say. Do I want fries? Yes I think I want fries... Internally digesting exactly what I'd like to order and neurotically prepping for any slight diversion from the accustomary and sweet ABA cashier-customer exchange.
A, "How can I help you?"
B"Oh yes, I'd like XYZ, please. Thank you." Hand over cash.
A "There you go. Have a nice day."
Anything went ary from my script and Boom! I'm hosed. Then I actually have to think. Freestyle. The horror.

By all means, let's imagine how this guy, Matt, feels when he goes to various countries and asks people to dance on film with him. "Yeah, just teach me how to dance. Yep, right here. No big deal, I'll do it with you before I post it all over the interwebs for billions of people to see." How many shamefull rejections do you think he's gotten before he edited together this video? Gives me a bit of faith. I mean it, check that guy shake his tailfeathers in Haiti. Daaang. It's all about faking it and making it look good, and look at how that little bit of effort sticks.
 I suppose I can suck it up and go buy some pineapple now. For safety's sake though, I'd better bring along my pocket dictionary in case I want to buy some avacados. Or ask someone to breakdance with me. You never know.

Welcome Back

Always stand behind the guy with a briefcase at the airport. They move much quicker through security. Avoid families at all costs. Seriously, flip over a stroller if you have to.
 There you go, a few flying tips from yours truly.

Holy hot potato, I'm back in Germany. I feel like I haven't slept in days and it the world is moving too fast for my brain to keep pace. Seriously, just to recap my last three days:
Finished my finals for spring semester, moved out of my apartment from school, moved back into my home, my brother got married, I repacked all of my belongings and hopped a flight to Germany.

I've never had a summer where I've just sat around and done nothing. I'm that kid whose parents stick them into summer camp, swim lessons, ballet, t-ball league and schedule in some structured play dates with the other kids around my block every week because heaven forbid I waste my precious free time.
 Only in my case I am both the parent and the kid.

Boy, I could sure use a nap.
Long story short: The blogging will recommence and welcome back to Germany everyone. Right now the only thing to report is the airport lost my luggage and I've been sitting around in some really rank clothes that have sat in a smelly plane seat for eighteen hours. I was elated to hear that my bags were found though and are presently on their way into my awaiting arms. Come to mama, clean socks. 

Until then, my brain is having troubles stringing together a coherent thought, so good night. I'm going to go take a nap.