These people are everywhere.

Quickly posting from Göttingen, Germany to give a shout out to Teacher Lady...

In the airport on the way out of the U.S., the first time I went into the restroom, I heard a lady talking on her cell phone in the bathroom stall AND another lady didn't use soap when 'washing' her hands.

The second time I stopped into the restroom (we got there early and were there for about 2.5 hours before take off), I came across another woman talking on her cell phone and had a door that didn't lock properly, and thus someone pushed open the door on me while I was in the stall.

Awesome.

Other than that, it's cold here and so far has rained every day! I've eaten so much that I think I may have gone up one pants size (at least) already - and it's only been 5 days! Oh dear...Well, that's what vacations are for, right?

I love old people, I swear I do.

After doing a Google search on "house sitting pets" I found some folks to take care of our dogs, for free.

I know - sounds sketchy, right? Well, there's a site where people can register to be house sitters, and other people can register who are in need of house sitters. It was free for me to register, post my ad, and get responses from interested parties. You email back and forth with folks through their site using an anonymous email address system.

I got a lot of responses to my ad, and it opened my eyes to the world of House Sitting. There are people out there who can work from home, so they use these house sitting gigs as a way to see the country and not have to pay for a hotel room! Isn't that cool??

Our favorite response was from a couple who lives in Arizona. They're both 70 years old and have always wanted to see DC. They said they'd watch our house and our dogs (including walking them each day) for free in exchange for us letting them stay in our house while we went on our trip. FOR FREE. Do you know how much pet care can cost? This was a dream come true for us. (Other people were offering to charge a mere $100 or $150 a week, so we would've had some other nice options if these folks had fallen through.)

I followed up their references and everything checked out perfectly. I even confirmed the lady's employment - she was a teacher for 30 years. So I feel pretty darn confident that these people are not going to ransack our house while we're away. (Although with as crazy as the world is today, I guess I wouldn't be entirely shocked. There are a lot of nutjobs out there.) In any case, we've taken the reasonable security precautions - relocating personal information, notifying our neighbor of the situation, that sort of thing.

So the couple arrived last night after driving across the country to get to us.

Did I mention that they're 70-year olds?

Turns out that they're not the active, spry 70-year olds I was picturing.

They're more like the "I need to grab hold of the doorway to step up into your house" kinds of 70-year olds. Like the "I pulled something I can't go down the stairs" kinds of 70-year olds. "I have to go slower walking up hill" (when the "hill" is a gradually sloping street) kinds of 70-year olds.

I had the woman walk with the dogs and me after they arrived so that I could show her how I handle them on their leashes, and also to just give her a little tour of the neighborhood. She walked SO SLOWLY that the dogs were just about falling over themselves. Eventually Tater adjusted his gait to walk our pace (I think with training as a puppy he could've been a guide dog, I swear) but Blue just pulled on the leash like "Come ON, Mom!"

What did I get them into?

FM assures me that the dogs will be fine. And I know they will - of course they will. Some dogs don't even get walked at all. But I think in the future, I think I'm going to pick house sitters that, you know, can handle a flight of stairs in under 5 minutes.

"I have no idea what the hell I just ordered."

We leave on Friday for our Magnificent European Adventure Trip, or MEAT as I think I will start calling it.

MEAT involves 5 days visiting my fiancé’s relatives in Germany (his parents will be there, too), then visiting my relatives in Germany for 5 days (my mom will be there, too), and then heading off (just the two of us) to a country that neither of us have ever been to before: Greece. We will be in Athens for 3 nights and will then embark on a week-long cruise through the Aegean Islands. Sa-weeeet!

I’ve done a fair amount of traveling, but it’s mostly been to countries where they speak a language I know enough of to get by (English, French, German). Italy and Portugal were the only two countries where I had no flipping clue about what people were saying.

One of my traveling companions had studied Italian in high school so she was able to translate the basics for us in Italy. However, after I left my purse on the train we’d taken there overnight from France, her translation skills weren’t good enough to explain the situation to the police – they thought someone had stolen my bag. (I ran through the train before it left, frantically trying to find it again but I was in a panic and couldn't remember which train car we'd sat in. I glanced in every car I ran through but ended up hopping off before it left for fear of ending up in some other Italian town all alone.) We ended up drawing a picture in an attempt to explain what had happened. It looked something like this:

I lost 200 Euros, my camera, my credit cards, and I was forced to get a new passport through the U.S. consulate in Naples. Let me tell you, after that experience I am now über-aware of my belongings when I am in a foreign country.

When I went to Lisbon, Portugal it was on a short trip with my mother and aunt - we were there for a mere 48 hours. (A vacation within a vacation on one of our visits to Germany.) The first morning we were there, my mother’s wallet was stolen out of her bookbag-style purse when we were on a streetcar in front of the Praça do Comercio. (Where are those Italian policemen when you need ‘em?) Amazingly, her wallet was recovered – minus the cash contents, of course – after a shopkeeper noticed it laying on the street and found the business card of the hotel where we were staying inside. Also inside: her United States resident alien card, without which she couldn’t have reentered the U.S.! We felt unbelievably lucky.

The language in Portugal was totally incomprehensible to me, but I think I wasn’t nervous about how I would get by because I was with my mother. You know how that is...Like when you go home to visit your parents and it's like being 10 years old again because someone else is in charge of planning dinner? Well, that’s how I felt. Mommy will help me order my food and everything will be okay.

...And then they set the plate in front of me with a whole fish on it and I freaked out a little tiny bit.

“I didn’t know it would come with the head on and everything! How the hell am I supposed to eat this?” said the sheltered daughter who is used to having her fish filleted and sans eyeballs.

“Oh for God’s sake, what did you expect? We’re in a European city that’s on the ocean!” my mother said, sighing. “Fine, I’ll help you cut it.”

That’s a good Mommy.

(I swear I am not always that childish, but when it comes to cutting animals open, I just get a little bit squeamish, alright?!?)

Needless to say, going to a country where their alphabet is not the same as ours is a bit daunting. My guidebook tells me how to ask if the fish will be filleted, but 1.) I don’t want to sound like a totally stupid, prissy American who can’t suck it up and cut the meat off the fish myself (even though that has proven to be the case in the past) and 2.) the phrase consisted of only two words, leading me to imagine that the direct translation will make me sound like some sort of prehistoric cavewoman:

“Fish filleted?” I’ll say as I point to the menu and grunt.

That is, if I can even figure out what the hell on the menu says “fish”.



Oh, thank you, Internet. I'd better make a note of that.

Have you ever been to Greece? Have you ever have a hard time communicating in a foreign country?

The (Not Funny) Office

On Friday, I had a hair appointment during my lunch break. I informed my boss that I would probably be gone longer than the 60 minutes I'm allotted for my break but that I'd stay late at the end of the day. He said no problem.

So at the end of the day, I delivered on my promise. I stayed an extra 30 minutes like a good, honest little worker bee, even though it was Friday and the office was the last place I wanted to be. In fact, I even stayed an extra 10 minutes past that because a rushed request came into our office that only I could handle.

(Right now is when someone should say, "Congratulations for doing your job. What do you want, a freakin' cookie?" And to that I would say, "Yes, yes I would very much like a cookie. Do you have macadamia nut or oatmeal raisin or ooh oooh! Do you have a macaroon? I would love a macaroon as my reward. I am the bestest government employee in the worrrrld! Where's my trophy?")

At the other end of the Awesome Little Worker Bee spectrum is one of my co-workers. There's absolutely no consistency as to when she'll show up each morning, and when she does show up, she immediately disappears again to visit friends within our building or go to one of the nearby (or not so nearby) shops to buy food for breakfast, or to who knows where. She disappears from her desk for long chunks of time throughout the day, too, and that puts stress on the other employees because she's the primary person to answer the phones. She writes emails with sentences that include phrases like "this office no longer have that program" and "that program was move to that office".

However, what's even more maddening is that the senior leadership in our office doesn't do anything about it. Because said Crappy Employee has worked here for more than 5 years (which is pretty impressive as she's a contractor), each new leader that we've had has been too timid to ax her and find us a more qualified replacement.

I constantly remind myself that I am no one's time keeper and that their performance is none of my business. But when other people not only occasionally but constantly push the envelope in regards to the number of hours they've worked, it simply drives me nuts. Government employees are paid by taxpayers' money and we don't have the luxury of working whatever hours we feel like working. I am paid to be here between 7:30 and 4, and if Joe Blow is paid to be here between 9 and 5:30 but decides to leave at 4:30 because there's no one to notice if he's gone, I don't think that's fair. I know life's not fair, but I wish I didn't just have to sit there and take it. And because I have no say in making the others accountable, it sometimes makes me feel like resorting to the "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" mentality. "Oh, So-And-So is taking a 3 hour lunch? Well then, fine, maybe I do the same thing tomorrow and just see if anyone says anything to me!" But of course, I don't because I'm a sucker who works too hard, apparently.

So, what annoys you about your workplace?

American Tourist Attempts to Look a Little Less...Americany.

This afternoon I did some shoe shopping online. I was looking for a cute, comfortable walking shoe - one that doesn't look like your typical American exercise sneaker - for our trip to Europe.

In 2006, I bought a pair of Keens for our trip to Colorado and because I didn't break them in properly, I ended up with blisters on the back of my heels. Other pairs of Keens reported similar "problems" so I kept searching for a shoe that would require minimal breaking-inage. And guess what I found out?

That I'm very attracted to golf shoes.

When I was checking out the pair pictured here, I noticed the little spikes and I just thought that they were for, I don't know, traction? You know, for doin' a little bitta hiking? I know they don't look like hiking shoes, but that's what I like about 'em!

Well, dumb ass, that's because they're not hiking shoes.

They're not for an outfit like this:           They're for an outfit like this:
         

I looked back at my shoe viewing history, and lo and behold, it contained like 4 other pairs of frickin' golf shoes.

I am such an idiot!

Here's the pair I settled on (NOT golf shoes):

The Ecco Ultra Terrain II Karda

These will match jeans, khakis, black bottoms - even my light pink shorts! Now if only they don't give me blisters, I think I'll be in love...Fingers crossed!

Bridal Banana

As a child of divorced parents (who have since been remarried and again divorced, and in my dad’s case remarried yet again), I have never been a romantic when it comes to weddings. I honestly didn’t care if I got married or not. Years into my relationship with FM, I even bought a book called Unmarried to Each Other to deal with the defensive feelings I was started to accumulate. I was tired of people saying things like “Got any plans coming up???” when I’d tell them we’ve been dating for five years, and I wanted some guidance on how to cope in a society that tells you that you’re not a “real” couple if you’re not legally hitched.

The Unmarried book came in handy again after I said yes to FM’s surprise proposal. To my delight, I found sections for those who have decided to get legally married after all – and for people who are planning commitment ceremonies – with ideas on how to have a unique ceremony. To be reminded that I didn’t have to follow the standard wedding recipe (take one very stressed bride and shake vigorously) was a huge relief.

Oh, and why did I even say yes to FM? We both said that our take on marriage at this point was “why not” – it’ll certainly make his mom happy and then we’ll have important legal rights that we wouldn’t have otherwise! We love each other, but I love him whether or not we get married, so that wasn’t why I said yes.

If there was ever anyone who loathes bridezillas more than me, I haven’t met them. After reading an article in the Washington Post magazine this past weekend about a 24-year old woman who had bugged her boyfriend to propose to her, I wanted to reach through the pages and slap her. (Although I don’t think I could ever actually slap someone. That’s so mean! If I had met this author in person I probably just would’ve given her a look that I imagined to be really bitchy but it probably would look more like I had dirt in my contact lens or something. Then she’d probably offer me some eye drops and I’d say “You’re so kind! Thank you!” and then we’d become BFF.)

Up until I got engaged, I liked to think that I was the most sensible woman in America when it came to weddings. And engagement parties, bridesmaids, makeup artists and designer dresses are still on my list of things that I deem completely unnecessary. But in doing a bit of research online recently, I stumbled upon a beautiful place to have our wedding and reception – and all my practical ideologies have been on a downhill slide since then. Now that I have found this Venue of My Previously Unknownn Wedding Dreams, I’m actually having visions of a wedding that involves (gasp) floral centerpieces.

(Of course, my centerpieces would be in-season fall flowers and leaves. )

It also involves hiring a band, because setting up an iPod with speakers just won’t do in the ballroom of this house (yup, there’s a BALLROOM in the house).

Looks just like the ballroom in my house!

Nooooo! Why did I have to fall in love with this house?? Spending thousands and thousands on one day seems so ludicrous to me! But…but…I want to have a pretty, pretty party!

WHO IS THE GIRL TYPING THIS?? It’s not me!!!

The other, much cheaper option is to have a picnic in the park or BBQ in the backyard (although there might be dog poop back there so maybe I’ll just stick with the park). Then we could use the money we would’ve spent on the above-mentioned shindig on a sweet vacation that involves spa treatments in some exotic locale. Or we could be very smart and invest it.

We’ll see how that idea goes over with his traditional 75-year old mother, who has already told me not to pick out a china pattern until I see hers first because I can have it. (Very sweet – but seriously, do people still pick out china patterns? I think she may have forgotten that we don’t even have a dining room.)

So, married peoples: got any advice? Clever ways to cut down on the standard wedding costs, like eating? (McDonald's happy meals for everyone!) Know of any contests out there where they pay for your whole wedding? How does anyone justify spending that kind of money on one freakin' day?!?

The Liberal Banana Actually Gets Political For Once.

As I’m forced to wake up at 5:30 each weekday morning, I’m never awake late enough to watch The Daily Show at 11 pm. Thankfully though, Comedy Central airs reruns of each episode on the following day at 8 pm and I try to catch as many of those as my schedule allows.

The episode that I watched last night (which originally aired on Wednesday, September 3) was one of the best Daily Shows I’ve ever seen. They were just brutal in their mocking of Republicans, to the point where I almost felt sorry for those guys. Almost. But then I regained my senses and laughed my ass off.

(Watch the whole episode here.)

I’ve wanted to comment on the election campaigns over here at the LB but my mind has just been all over the place lately. Trying to articulate why I would never vote for the McCain/Palin ticket has taken back seat to many other things, the primary one being the preparation for our upcoming trip to Europe, where we will be for three long weeks. (I. cannot. wait.)

When I first heard that McCain had picked Palin to be his running mate, my first thought was that it felt really condescending. Do you really think you’re going to get more women to vote for you because you picked a woman to be your running mate? I’m sure there are women out there who would do exactly that, but there are also people out there who do stuff like this on purpose – the world is full of dumb-asses.


I quickly learned that Palin stood against everything that I supported (no big surprise there): gay rights, pro-choice abortion rights, drilling for more oil. So it really doesn’t matter what else I learn about her…She and McCain are not getting my vote.

Then the whole drama about her daughter being a Baby Momma erupted. My initial reaction was of disapproval because I don’t think it’s reasonable for anyone to become a parent at that age. Things were different 100 years ago, but today’s 17-year olds seem to be about as mature as 12-year olds a few generations ago. I withheld my judgment on Palin’s parenting skills though because, while I’m not a parent myself, I am sure that it’s impossible to ensure that your child NEVER makes a stupid decision. I know my parents taught me how to be a responsible person but I still did some dumb shit in my day. (Nothing like bringing another human into the world before I was out of high school, but you know. Stuff.)

The boy's mother, Sherry Johnston, said there had been no pressure put on her son to marry 17-year-old Bristol Palin and the two teens had made plans to wed before it was known she was pregnant.

"This is just a bonus," Johnston said.

Riiiiight.

Then last night, Jon Stewart drew a very important connection between Palin's daughter’s pregnancy and her own views on abortion - a connection that I guess I had failed to make myself because I was too busy trying to eat every last bit of food in our kitchen in preparation for our departure two weeks from now. ("Can't think now - eating!")

"It's a private family matter. Life happens in families," said Steve Schmidt, chief strategist of the McCain campaign. "If people try to politicize this, the American people will be appalled by it."

Yet if Palin has her way, abortion will not be legal – even in cases of rape or incest – which would make the decision to keep a baby (or not) the government’s decision.

Hmmm… Can anyone say “contradictory”?

Anyone who does not support abortion in cases of rape or incest has obviously not ever had to deal with something like that with someone they know. Thankfully, I haven’t either. But can you imagine? What if your daughter was raped – which is horrifying enough – but then also turns out to be carrying the bastard’s child who committed this crime against her? Can you imagine if it was YOU that was raped and then pregnant? Strangers would say things like, “Awwww, when are you due?” and “You must be excited!” when they spoke to you, not knowing the story behind the bump. Imagine all the feelings and thoughts that would go through you during each one of those encounters. It would force you to relive that awful crime over and over again! Each time you felt the child kick, would you think of that heinous man and how a human being that has half of his genes is growing inside of you? And when the child is born, what will you tell her when she asks who her father was?

Anyone who doesn’t support the option of abortion in cases of rape or incest hasn’t really thought it through – and if they have and they still don’t support that choice, they’re just sick.

Obama/Biden '08!

The Post Where I Get My Bitch On

I have been volunteering with a local animal rescue group for the past 4 years. I love animals. Dogs, especially. Cats? They can go to hell. Well, not really, but I'm allergic to them, so if the cats could just stay in the other room that would be great, thanks.

I also love The Dog Whisperer. I think Cesar Millan is amazing. The people who run "my" shelter don't love him because he yanks on the dogs' leashes (to get their attention) and probably for a million other reasons I can't possibly imagine. But his methods really make sense to me.

You have to remember that it's an ANIMAL first, then a dog, then its breed, and THEN its name. Humans turn their dogs into little babies so often that it drives me nuts. Not that I'm not guilty of it, too. But at least I'm doing all of the right stuff along with calling myself "Mama" to the dogs and calling them names like "Tater Baby" and "Sweetness".

Doing the right thing when owning a dog is easy - have some basic rules and walk him. In our house, the rules go something like this: the dogs sit while I put their collars on, they sit while I open the door, and they stay while I walk out of the door - until I say "come." When we walk, they stay to my left and/or are walking behind me - but are not allowed to walk out in front of me. (Otherwise they're walking me.)

As for the walks? They get walked by "Papa" in the morning for about 30-40 minutes, and by me in the afternoon for 45 minutes to an hour.

The result: we have very happy, well-balanced dogs.

So you can imagine how much it bothers me to learn that one of my co-workers DOES NOT WALK HIS DOGS. He thinks that letting them run around his yard is all the exercise they need. And if you think the same way, let me just ask you: would you like to be confined to just a house and a yard for your WHOLE LIFE? That's the same as being in jail. They punish people that way. Stay in your cell and go outside for one hour a day. Good luck not going fucking nuts.

I know that dogs don't have the same mental capacity as humans, but they're not goldfish either. Dogs needs to smell the world - that's their strongest sense! They need to learn their neighborhood! They need real exercise! Plus, it's good exercise for the owner.

I don't really know where I'm going with this, other than to say: If you have a dog and don't want to walk it, maybe you should've gotten a cat instead.

My weekend went to the dogs.

As witnessed by this photo:

I'm thinking of running for Senate next term. Do I have your support? TATER 2010!

And this one (as I start to write this blog post):

Someone has to edit this crazy lady's writing. The pay ain't too bad: 1 cookie and 2 belly rubs per hour. I know this daschund who makes twice that much, but he's been at this for 3 years and I know I gotta work my way up the ladder. If she would just stop spilling wine on my head though, that would be nice. I gotta talk to the union about that.

Hope y'all had a nice holiday weekend! I sure did. Got to hang out with friends, got to lay in our ghetto pool (you know, one of those $50 blow-up deals?), got to take one very excellent two-and-a-half hour nap. Doesn't get much better than that.

I also went to the mall. Now, I am not in the habit of going to the mall. It disturbs me to say this but I passed that stage in my life about, oh, fifteen years ago. More disturbing though, is how I feel when I do walk through the doors of a mall these days. It goes a little something like this:

OH MY GOD THERE'S SO MUCH STUFF HERE THAT I WANT TO BUY AND OHHHH I WANT THAT AND THAT AND THAT AND GIMME GIMME GIMME!

And then I take deep breath and proceed directly to the nearest Auntie Anne's pretzel stand.

I am bulimic when it comes to shopping - binges and purges, baby. I go for a while without shopping but then as soon as I get a taste for it, I overdo it. I walk into T.J. Maxx and walk out with a huge bag of clothes, but $300 poorer. (I just introduced FM - FiancéMan - to T.J. Maxx this weekend and he scolded me for not having enlightened him on the awesomeness of The Maxx earlier in our relationship. Amen brother, amen.) Then I decide the next day that half the stuff I bought doesn't fit right or doesn't really match the shoes I thought they would so I end up returning it. But by then, I've got the taste for shopping and Mama wants more.

So needless to say, going into the mall is dangerous for me. I still can't stop thinking about how I didn't get to go into N.Y. & Company. Oh, the pretty colors I saw...

We had lunch at Gordon Biersch that afternoon (where I had a front row seat to see the other shoppers walking by with their bags filled with beautiful clothes, taunting me). After we had ordered, I visited the restroom and it was there that I encountered the Thing That I Have Wanted to Blog About Ever Since I Quit Blogging.

I haaaaate public bathrooms. Everything about them.

I hate that the stall doors have been touched by a hundred people's germy hands before me and I have no choice but to touch them, too.

I hate that the auto-flush toilets always flush before I want them to, and then when I do want them to flush, they don't.

I hate that the auto-sensing faucets never sense my frickin' hands the first time I place them under the spigot and I'm forced to pull them out and place them back under the spigot again, like a new pair of hands, over and over until it finally senses my presence. (Oh, hello hands! I didn't see you there!)

I hate trying to maneuver my way out of the door without touching the door handle with my newly cleaned hands.

And on Saturday, this woman at Gordon Biersch reminded me of why I try not to touch the door handle with my bare hands. She emerged from the stall, turned on the faucet, got her hands wet, turned the faucet off, dried her hands and left.

Um, are you f^&*ing kidding me? Did she miss WASHING YOUR HANDS: LESSON #1? Simply running your hands under water don't kill no germs, lady! I felt like I was watching that episode of Scrubs where they show the germs spreading from person to person by using this green glowing light.

I see this happen all the time in public bathrooms and this is why they gross me out so much - because I know how dirty other people are. And yeah, I know, if I was never exposed to germs then I wouldn't be immune to all of the awesome stuff that's out there today. Yes, for sure. But seriously, people. You're not washing your hands if you're not using SOAP.

Spread the germs word.