We shut this store down. Literally, they locked the doors behind us. Who knows what excitement we'll encounter when our kitchen is delivered to our apartment in 8 to 10 business days. Wish us luck!
Hi all! We're in Europe, the culture oozes from the cobblestones and the air is seeped in history. But really, who gives a fuck, when for 20 bucks we suddenly find ourselves in front of the blue and yellow megastore known as Ikea?? The girls FREAKED OUT! I honestly have not seen them this excited in, I don't know, ever. They leapt and squealed and shouted "We're in Canada! We're going to have HOT DOGS!!" Actually, it was us who shouted about the hot dogs. They tasted just like hot dog day in elementary school. They were North American perfection, except they come with pickles, fried onions and remoulade sauce.
We shut this store down. Literally, they locked the doors behind us. Who knows what excitement we'll encounter when our kitchen is delivered to our apartment in 8 to 10 business days. Wish us luck!
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Dear Lord. It has been a crazy month of searching this little town of Münster for an apartment. We found one, we lost one. We saw some, we wished we hadn't. And then, I fell in love.
German apartments rarely come fitted with a kitchen. I don't mean that appliances aren't included, I mean NOTHING is included. The entire kitchen, cabinets and all, are often stripped when the old renter moves on to their new place. We walked into at least five apartments where the kitchen is nothing but a plumbing part for your sink. A sink that you're going to buy in a German DIY store, if only you can remember how to say "sink" in German. But you can't, and you will leave close to tears. My new love was no exception. It was a half way renovated top floor flat in a historic building, in a historic neighbourhood, with a chocolate shop out the front door. We made a deal with the devil (not Claudia, but her older, meaner brother) and agreed to finish the renovations if they would guarantee that we could have the place. And that is where we now stand. My mathematically inclined husband has agreed to install flooring into a sensitive apartment and we're on the lookout for mineral paint so the exterior walls can breath - owner's orders. If there are any men out there who want an all expense paid trip to Germany in exchange for finishing our flooring once Aaron gets started on it, let me know. It will inevitably save us money and quite possibly a marriage. Deadly serious over here. "Before" pictures coming up later today. Have you ever been felt up by your doctor? If you haven't, I highly recommend it. Even if it's for legitimate reasons, somewhere in your head you will say "This is so COOL, this doctor is totally into me!"
My Babcia has been on rat poison for about three years now. Her leg was supremely swollen so we took her to the doctors and then straight to the hospital to kill the shit out of the blood clod that was threatening to navigate its way into critical organs. It was probably the worst thing that has ever happened to her life. More so than the death of her husband, the loss of her farm, what has affected her the most is the weekly blood test to make sure that her rat poison is doing what it's supposed to. It's also affected her immediate family and generally consumed the lives of everyone who has ever loved her. So, when my left leg presented itself as somewhat more voluptuous than my right leg, I made the terrifying leap of visiting a German doctor for the first time. He noted the swelling and then left the room and came back with a needle and two options. One, you can go to the hospital, but you will wait forever; or Two, I can inject you with Heparin to make sure that if there is a clot, we can dissolve it then and there. I went with the shot, which stung like a son of a bitch, and instructions to come back the next day for an ultrasound of my leg. Next day, new Doctor. He asks me expose my leg, so naturally I pull UP my pant leg only to be met with a "This won't work, perhaps you take your pants off?" Like, right there. The modesty towel never appeared. Thank CHRIST it was laundry day and I had nice underwear on. Double points actually, because I was also in a good wife mood and had shaved the hairs that were still on my legs as a memento from Canada. Anyway, there I was, face down on his little hospitalish bed, ass out, when he describes, with his fingers, how the veins start out large right under your butt cheek, and then get tiny tiny tiny as they run down to your ankle. I don't even remember if he said I had a blood clot or not. Moral of the story, cultural differences ROCK! And if you are genuinely curious as to whether I'm going to be alright or not, I don't know. I did some blood work and am waiting for the results. My left leg was one and a half centimetres larger than the right, which could be concerning. That said, my left breast is bigger than my right, and I've never looked into that before. Hmm, maybe I should?! So, I've just found out the reason why it has been so hard to lose weight here in Germany, despite all the walking and activity we've been up to.
The German way of saying it is "zu viele Kartoffeln". Which doesn't mean "You're pregnant", but rather translates to "Too many potatoes." But I'm not letting it get me down. In fact, my figure is so cooperative I can fit into any scarf I try on. Go me!! Side note: Aaron, who loves to read over my shoulder, just said "I don't get it." Adding that the above post is "Only funny if you know you're trying to be funny." Just to clarify, I was trying to be funny. Blah. It's been raining since last Tuesday. I'm roasting brussels sprouts, so now the house smells like fart. Eloise was entertaining herself by jumping on the bed, she fell off, and now I'm listening to her cry like a lost dog. Claudia is grunting at her - "errrgh!" and whining for me to put Eloise to bed.
I've attempted to point out to random citizens that it's been raining for a week straight, and I'm met with the "Welcome to Münster!" response. What a complacent group. Don't they know that this, this complaining of the weather, is what you're supposed to do? In all circumstances! Christ, I can't wait until it hits 30 with the humidity here so I can complain at how unseasonal it is. That's what my family back home did, I'm sure, as they laid down at the beach this past Sunday. Germany is funking me up this week. While waiting for the bus in front of the Cathedral, Claudia and I were privy to a special ritual performed in front of our eyes. A medium sized group had gathered around a mostly naked man who was chugging beer out of a pierced can. Then he started spinning with his head on the can, the can on the ground. The crowd counted to 30. THEN he ran to a lamp post, turned around and ran back, Without vomiting. According to tradition, if a man has not married before he turns 30, he is punished all day long on his birthday eve. The man was still in his underwear when a nun walked passed. She didn't look. She was the only one that didn't look. Happy 30th Birthday, mystery man.
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