Ass like a Cadillac

Things are a bit busy at Chez Roder these days. Some things I can talk about and some I can’t. This year’s focus has been health and Sparky and I are getting healthy. As Sparky is light years ahead of me in the health department, I’m working hard at catching up.

I can tell you that I have been walking 8-9 kilometers a day 5-6 days a week and have gained a kilo.

I can tell you that I have been working out for over two hours a day and have gained a kilo.

I can tell you that I am consuming less than 1000 calories a day and have gained a kilo.

I can tell you that if I wake up tomorrow and the scale says I still have that kilo it says I’ve gained, we will need a new scale.

I can tell you that looking for a picture of a scale to use here, I found only pictures of happy women on scales. I have never known a woman to be particularly happy on a scale. Ever.

I can tell you that I have the world’s slowest metabolism and in a famine I would do pretty well given how uh… efficient my body is at storing energy… on my ass. I have the efficiency of a Prius with the ass of a Cadillac.

I can tell you I’m in kitten withdrawal. I no longer have Cleo to curl up with for an afternoon nap and my nose gets cold. Neither of the other two cats like to snuggle except in the morning when its all about tongue and whiskers to greet the morning light. I am really not a fan of rough tongue in the morning.

I can tell you birds have decided to nest on our back balcony thus annoying the cats and me simultaneously as they hop out of reach and sing their annoying morning song.

I can tell you my tendencies towards hoarding kittens are stifled when I find my roses dug up by the sweet Fin. Why he can’t dig up the ugly geraniums, I don not know. He’s even figured out how to move the pebbles I’ve placed all around the roots. I swear that cat is hiding opposable thumbs somewhere.

I can tell you that I actually enjoy soccer/football a lot more than American football and think it’s a much safer sport, but those pansy-ass players cry at the drop of a hat. If I see one more player cry for his mama because he got tripped and skinned his poor widdle knee… well, I’m just going to make fun of them over and over again.

I can tell you that the Italians are pretty happy in Darmstadt. In fact I think there are more Italians here than Germans. I have never seen Germans storm the streets like the Italians over a win. Then again, these are Germans we’re talking about. Street storming is a repressed genetic ability.

I can tell you my kitchenware has expanded to include the Kitchen-Aid blender I’ve been eyeing for years and had only the briefest of in-store disagreement with Sparky over the color. I wanted red and he wanted chrome (another freaking shinny surface for him to obsessively polish – like I’m going to agree to that!) so we settled on black. This is fine as my new pots and pans are red.

I can tell you that my sister is NOT coming to visit because she can’t find her passport, the rat.

I can tell you that my brother arranges awesome bachelor parties. So awesome that sometimes the groom doesn’t get to go if he wants to actually get married.

I can tell you that Von Tauber has the sweetest kids in the world. TwinkleToes is just awesome, like I’ve said before. And her latest addition, Squeakster, is the best baby I have ever been around. She is the baby Sparky needs to be around next year when we seriously start thinking about a family.

I can tell you that Sparky has been so busy that our cars are filthy. I can’t even tell the color of my car its been so long since its been washed. I was even the last one to wash it. Car Washing is Sparky’s preferred form of meditation. It’s the wax on, wax off thing that he can do for hours and not think of anything else.

I was actually a little bit ashamed to drive Gracie (my car) so filthy in the land of squeaky-clean. The last time I felt this way was when I had to valet park my ‘87 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with the smashed-in front end and the window that didn’t work. I thought those days were long behind me.

I can tell you that I haven’t had a moment on the computer in over a week because the sweet Sparky is working like mad. The man has more clients than time these days and we are still on the one computer system, which oddly enough gives us more time together talking rather than sitting across from each other sending e-mails. I think we might keep it this way at least until I get pissy about it again.

I can tell you that next week I will be gone for at least seven days and am looking for some guest bloggers because I will be in no condition to blog for probably a couple of weeks and Sparky is probably going to put up some Kylie pictures and I will be in no condition to kick his ass.

I can’t tell you where I’m going but I can tell you it has nothing to do with rehab or babies. And Vernon, I swear, of all things to remember, lactation???

Well, it might have something to do with rehab. I always wanted to be a junkie and man, Sparky can score some fine Colombian. Sparky makes all my dreams come true.

Chester...

One of the many cultural references I have had to teach Sparky was the molester van, how to watch for, avoid and/or listen for muffled cries for help when walking by one. He thinks I'm paranoid and delusional.

My brother sent this to me yesterday and I think illustrates my point, although I maintain that molester vans tend to be white rather than red.

Just call me Granny

I'm old.

When renting the latest Stargate Atlantis tonight a young girl asked me to buy her and her girlfriend beer. She said that the video store guy would only sell it to her if they were 14 and they were only 12.

My immediate reaction was "God, no. You are far, far too young to be drinking." She just shrugged and walked away. I was shocked that such a young girl was experimenting with alcohol. SHOCKED!

On the way home, I remembered that when I was 12 I took a wine cooler from the fridge and drank it with a girlfriend watching Porky's Revenge at the local theater. We got some guy to buy us tickets and I spent the whole movie thinking my mother was going to come barreling down the aisle and haul my ass home.

Later in the day I caught myself peeking out the window to spy on my neighbors. Granted there was a big fight between the Turkish importer of Deutsch flags and his helpers, but I was totally hausfrau-ing it by standing to the side of the window and watching for a LONG time.

Then I lectured my sister on not wearing a helmet when she rode a Vespa in a parking lot. Everyone knows that parking lots are the most dangerous place to ride Vespas.

Then I quizzed my brother on why he doesn't have a girlfriend.

Then I heard the neighbor kids screaming outside and got up to give them a dirty look . There were no kids outside. It was Markus watching Hostel.

I think I'm in desperate need of some Jell-O shots and cigarettes.

Does It Snow in Scandinavia?

Before I say anything else, I want to thank you all for your comments and support. This hit me out of nowhere. We thought it was her back that was giving her the trouble. There’s some kraut expression that grief shared is lighter than grief felt alone and I’ve always thought that was bubkes. But its not. There is a value to other people having felt the same thing. Cleo was one of those special cats that was more Spirit than cat and she saved me more than once. She is missed terribly.

It’s time for something less depressing don’t you think?

I cleaned the house from top to bottom yesterday and even mopped. I never mop. I hire someone to mop and only then every six months or when Sparky’s mother comes to visit. I did some gardening and I fixed the slow drain in the shower. I have no housework to do anymore. I could organize more, but when you live with Markus, organization becomes less of a goal and more of a sign of mental illness. I need to keep a little chaos to keep his OCD in check.

Well, let me tell you about Scandinavia. I’ll just do bullet points (without bullets because I don't know how to do those in blogger and I don't have the patience to figure it out right now) of relevant observations if you don’t mind.

Scandinavia in General

We think it might snow there in the winter, but we’re not really sure.

Denmark, Sweden and Norway all have their own currency. Let me clarify: There is the Danish Krone, the Swedish Krone and the Norwegian Krone. The Danish win for the prettiest coins because they have hearts and crowns.

Burger King accepts Visa.

It is a seriously slow driving region with a max speed limit of 110 km.

Smoke free restaurants. Less smoking in general. Very cool.

I have never before seen so many blondes in my life and I used to live in California.

Denmark

Totally cool, clean and the widest streets I’ve seen since Salt Lake City. I don’t know how they’ve done that since they are one of the oldest cities in Europe and a Harbor city, but that’s how it is and it’s beautiful.

Copenhagen is expensive, but you can still get a Cola Light/Diet Coke for less than six Euros, unlike Paris.

I would totally take kids to this city. Lots to do including Tivoli – Europe’s oldest amusement park. It has rides and an arcade and was Disney’s inspiration for Disneyland.

A great hotel – Hotel 27. It’s being newly renovated and Sparky and I were the first to stay in room 275. I have never stayed in a more friendly and helpful and happy hotel in Europe as a whole or frankly, anywhere. These people were awesome and… it was a smoke free hotel. No smoking, anywhere. Free wireless access and awesome brunch with requisite bakery good, the Danish.

The Danish (the people, not the bakery good) really know their design. I mean it when I say it is a gorgeous city. I’ve never seen such beautiful furniture and architecture without the balance of crap. They have the yin of beauty without the yang. I think Germany took the yang.

Sweden

Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

There are no Swedish Fish in Sweden. Are Swedish Fish the bastard candy of Sweden? Do they get exported so as to never to defile the candy section of a Swedish gas station? They had pukey wein berries, but no fish.

There really are Ikeas in Sweden. It’s not just an export.

Speaking of Ikea, every town we passed seemed to be the name of a table or lamp in the Ikea catalog. I wonder if they knew that when they named the towns?

Rea seems to be the Swedish word for Sale. I seem to have a nose for sales.

The Swedish language seems to be a lot like German, but in disguise. They sound similar when you say them out loud, but look very different.

A hamburgare is a traditional Swedish meal and varies greatly from Hamburgers. It’s a flattened Köttbullar, made from breadcrumbs soaked in milk and a meat mixture. Traditional and tasty. Yummy.

Norway

Warmer than Germany, bluer sky and better sunset/sunrise.

My favorite landscape of the three. It looks like the rocky part in “The Never Ending Story”. I kept expecting a rock man to sit up and say “Slooooow dooooown, you are driving tooooooo faaaaaaast”.

The Norwegians are freekin’ serious about driving slow. We hit a max of 90 km/h and every other kilometer had a radar camera. They do warn you, though. “Radar control ahead” seems to be a sort of Babelfish. It’s understandable in any language.

Fjords are freekin’ amazing.

I like Norway because you can wear your sunglasses at night and not look like a poser because you really actually need your sunglasses at night. Thank God for Corey Hart.

Oslo looks like Sausalito without the view of San Francisco. It even has a bridge that looks like the Golden Gate, but its small and white.

Everyone was partying and the streets were full of people. The hotel where we stopped and asked for directions was so busy that it added to the surrealism of sunlight at midnight making you feel like it was early evening.

The hookers in Oslo wore tight jeans and not the traditional hooker wear. It was odd.

I’m going back as soon as I can. Oslo felt like an awesome place to be. Hamish, I think you’d like this city and suggest you go over the summer. We thought of you and Calvin there and not because of the hookers.

The air there is like nothing I have ever breathed before. It felt like a gift, pure in a way I never knew pure could be. Even on the Autobahn. It was addictive and I couldn’t get enough.

In general, Sparky and I learned a few things.

I am never allowed to give directions, either from the map I’m reading wrong or from my gut. I’m always wrong and I’m never right. In fact, I am so totally wrong that if you always do the opposite from my “gut” reaction, you will never get lost. Ever.

Sparky always follows my directions even though he knows I’m going to be wrong because I apparently get all pissy when he doesn’t follow my directions. This is a double positive for Sparky because once my directions get us lost I have to apologize for the bad info AND he doesn’t get yelled at for not listening to me.

Somehow, if Sparky gets us lost in any city in the world, we end up on Hooker Row. Not the red-light district, per se, but where the girls are lined up on corners and using cell phones to call or text whomever. This, for some reason, is unsettling.

Sparky can drive a BMW 540i and use less than 10 liters per 100 km. This is the main reason I am not allowed to drive his car. I cannot and the car tells on me via its onboard computer. Stupid computer.

Traveling without maps in first world countries in Scandinavia works out just fine if you know your cities. I’m still not going to chance it in the rest of the world.

My best friend in the world

My sweetest, most beloved Cleo died yesterday. I really don’t know how to express my sorrow and grief. She came into my life 12 years ago when I was 21 and had been my right hand through it all and it was a lot. She was the most loyal and loving being in my life, ever.

I wish I had something funny to say, a dead cat joke or something, but I just don’t.

I love you, my girl.

The girl had gams. A total Leg Show model

She really did not like being disturbed while she was sleeping

Cleo and Kiska

in her favorite place, well favorite place minus the kitten

cleo

Öresund, Kattegat and Skagerrak Oh My!

My brother, sister and I are rather competitive with each other. We compete with everything from getting our seatbelts on in the car first, getting out of the car and touching the front door first to who can get to the bathroom first and effectively bar the sibling with the direst need from entering. We are a ruthless bunch. However, one type of competition cannot be measured by speed, talent or cleverness. It is the acquisition of countries.

This type of collection started when Jeff and I were young with bodies of water. Mostly pools, ponds, streams and lakes. By collect I mean which of the latter he would fall into, with or without help. Thus Jeff learned to swim when he was quite young. I cannot correctly remember the number of duck poop laden ponds he fell into, but it was quite high. This is also the origination of Jeff's unhealthy fear of ducks.

Now that we are older and Jeff can very effectively avoid my push, the bodies of water are no longer fun. Now we collect countries.

The rules are simple and differ from those of collecting states. For countries, one must eat in the actual country. The Great Manitoba Debate of 2006 settled the airport issue. You must leave airport ground completely and have a meal prepared in said country. Layovers in airports DO NOT COUNT.

That’s it. That’s the rule.

Now, one would think living in Europe, I might prevail in this contest; There are so many countries within spitting distance. But alas, no. Miranda caught the travel bug early. Trips abroad with her dad and her children’s chorus have given her a four-country lead. She toured Europe before I had a passport. She’s collected Australia and New Zealand and those two countries, my friend, are hard to collect indeed.

Jeff, well, Jeff is afraid to fly so his country count is rather low. He does, however, have Sweden which neither Miranda nor I have. It’s the jewel in his crown.

Well, that was until Friday. Last Friday, Sparky and I drove across the 8km bridge/tunnel from Copenhagen to Malmö, Sweden. We got gas and picked up some cookies and coffee. Thus I ate in the country.

Before I go on with the story, I must tell you a little something about Sparky. Sparky is the kind of husband that encourages his wife and supports her in all her efforts. Sometimes Sparky’s support rolls over his wife and crushes whatever will she might have into smithereens. Sometimes it can be overwhelming. Sometimes it’s just the thing a girl needs.

Sitting there with coffee and cookies, Sparky thinks. He thinks about the number of countries I have. He thinks about which countries are close by. He thinks and thinks and thinks. He is not a bear of little brain.

What did this thinking produce? Norway.

Sparky suggested we drive to Oslo, Norway. We were in Sweden so Oslo should only be 200km away. (By the way, its not. It’s a long ass freekin’ drive. Remember, we were map free.)

So we did it. We drove to Oslo. That’s right. We DROVE to Oslo, Norway. We stayed an hour and turned around and drove home. It was awesome. We even saw the polar day, which means that it never got dark. Ever. To compare this road trip with a drug trip is not without validity. Most of the time it felt surreal. We were like the British Empire, the sun never set upon our skin.

There was a moment where we thought we could drive to the Artic Circle. It would have been so cool to drive that far north, be so high on the globe, to be farther north than either one of us thought. We had only an Schuler atlas published in 1986 to gauge how far the Artic Circle was from Oslo and in that book it didn’t look so far. We contemplated it for a good hour.

Being a former college student, I know how quickly a good trip can go bad. Driving to the Artic Circle sounded like a really cool idea, but could in fact be the tipping point into the badlands. So we settled for Oslo. Yeah, settled for Oslo.

By the time we got home Saturday evening, we were wrecked and exhilarated. And filthy. Did I mention that we drove straight through, sleeping briefly at rest stops? It took 7 hours from Malmö to Oslo. It took 19.5 hours to drive from Oslo to Boweltown, including 2 sleep stops totaling 6 hours. To do the math, we drove 26.5 hours total in a 32-hour period.

We thought we could take a ferry from Oslo to Kiel and we could have, but it was a 23-hour ferry ride. Sparky had work he needed to finish so we opted for the drive. I brushed my teeth at a rest stop in Sweden on the way back, but that was it.

The best thing about this trip is that Sparky and I NEVER ran out of things to talk about. I don’t know anyone with whom I can travel better. We didn’t fight or disagree once. Even when he said I had monkey arms like Pete Sampras. Dude, does he know how to complement a woman or what? He tried to take it back, tried to say he said something similar, but not quite the same, but you know once those words are out of your mouth, you can never pull them back. Monkey arms… I suppose that was better than wide ass, I mean, white ass, very white ass.

This week I’ll post more about our stay in Copenhagen and our trip. Copenhagen is expensive, but gorgeous. The Swedish language is just German in disguise and Norway is pure heaven. Seriously, the most gorgeous country I have ever driven through. And believe it or not, Oslo is one happening city. Everyone was partying and really, really drunk.

And I pooped. In every country.

Eating a Dane

I am currently in Denmark, eating a Danish which is very different from a Dane.

Our Prague trip didn’t work out so we went north WITHOUT a map and without a book and we’ve landed very nicely in Copenhagen. How’s that for spontaneous. I stopped all the spontaneity when Sparky suggested a Hostel which he tried to get me to believe actually meant something different in Danish. Dude, the guy thinks I’m an idiot. I know my hostels from my four stars. I’m a freakin’ Peter Gabriel song. It’s Copenhagen for the day and Sweden for a little snack before we head back to Boweltown and the Deer Hunters.

That’s right, Jeff. I’m collecting Sweden today. Take that Biatch.

Our hotel has free wireless access so I am literally eating my Danish and posting. How cool is that. I am running out of battery power so I’ll make this quick.

The whole point of this post is to rile my little brother. More on how this works and why tomorrow.

Love,

Jen and Sparky