Massana's New Deal

So this is the new deal.

I’m on my way back up to the surface. I am keeping myself busy and it all started with J gently kicking my ass to come up for air. The following is what is going on in bullet points.

I found out that my recent weight loss has my bod in turmoil. No matter how many talks I have with it, it doesn’t seem to believe we are not at war and we are not being starved hence it has gone on strike, halting production of all hormones. No testosterone, no estrogen. I have nothing, nada, zilch. This is very good news because I can add those things until my body stops striking and it means I’m not crazy. A little estrogen goes a long way, let me tell you. Germany might suck, but it sucks even harder without hormones!

When my doctor was describing this, Sparky thought it might be a good idea if she prescribed testosterone for me along with all the girl stuff. He was very concerned that I not lose muscle mass as he is really hoping I turn into Jay Cutler in one of his homoerotic fantasies. As that is NOT my goal and I’m a girl, I’m sticking with the girl stuff for now. God knows I don't need anymore chin hair.

The sun has come out in Krautland. Not the humid sticky hotness that makes me want to peel my skin off, but really nice Indian summer sun. Perfect convertible weather. And as I just got my car back from the shop where it sat for months, I can enjoy the sun at 100 mph.

I am NOT taking a German class this year. I’ll wait until spring to stuff cotton balls into my mouth.

I went to my book group and felt smart again. All of the women are German and all of them are so nice and welcomed me with open minds and great senses of humor.

My nosey neighbor finally got up the nerve to ask about my weight loss and I got to say, straight faced, “Cocaine.” I love that! Apparently he didn’t believe me and later asked Sparky.

I am re-committing to blogging as it really does give me an outlet. The WonderTwins have been relentless in their harassment. If i don't blog more, Jeff won't let me sleep on his sofa for the entire month of December. Sparky is redesigning the template as we speak and I expect to have a new look in a week, if he can find the time between work travel.

I have spent a lot of time with Von Tauber and her kids. As soon as those hormones are back in shape, I think the vessel might be ready.

Sparky is getting a new computer which means I no longer have to share mine. I don’t need to explain the multitude of benefits to having my own computer back. I mean, really, my e-mail relationship with Robbie has been stalled because Sparky and I share and inbox and any e-mail from Mr. Williams would be immediately noticed or deleted as spam. I can’t let Sparky know that I am the one teaching poor Robbie about real love and how to feel real love and I hear his tour isn’t what it could be because he and I aren’t communicating like we should be and he too blames Sparky. Sparky really needs to get his own machine before the Asia leg is cancelled. It's for the good of the world.

To the left, under the “Know This” section, I am keeping a list of good things. It might be small now, but I am sure it will grow. Right? This was J’s idea and the more I thought about it, the more I liked it because there are some good things here. Right? And again, thank you for all your support. It really blew me away. I had no idea. Thank you.

Sparky's High

What do you get when you combine a double espresso with an OCD afflicted husband? Really clean windows in half the time.

Everyday Angels

I want to tell you a story. Now, before I go on, let me preface this. I am a practical woman by nature. I don’t get all wrapped up in new age-y stuff and even though I believe in fairies, I try to keep my whimsy to a minimum. This story is about angels. Not in the usual wings and Della Reese type angel, but normal people who do something nice or extraordinary. These are just regular people who help out at times when the smallest act of kindness is miraculous in its long-term effect.

There was a time in my life when I was at my end, when I was just too overwhelmed, too alone. I was 21. I was very, very poor, living in a suburban ghetto and working a shitty, low paying job 1.5 hours away from where I lived.

I was in the middle of a great depression. It lasted about three years and in that period of time I became mildly agoraphobic. I went to work and I came home. I didn’t have enough money for a phone or a TV. I didn’t have money for food or gas or anything that wasn’t rent related. I saw no one. I read books and smoked cigarettes. I did have Cleo. She was a brand new kitten and my saving grace a million times over, but this story isn’t about her.

It’s about a man I met once who changed my life, saved my life.

At the time things were really, really bad. I had no idea when I left fresh-faced for the university that I had the potential to completely fuck up my life, but that’s what I did. Fully and completely. I’m not a half-assed kind of person. It’s all or nothing. I went for broke and man, did I succeed. I had left the university, cold turkey, after a friend’s suicide. My friends, my boyfriend, my stuff, everything. I just walked away with what could fit in my car with false promises to return.

Contact with my family was strained or non-existent. My mother’s cancer had just metastasized. I had been arrested, kicked out, crashed my car and been beaten up. I was miserable, angry and totally self-sabotaging. One-step forward, three-steps back kind of girl.

On this particular day I added flat broke. I thought I could get to work with the gas I had in the tank. I figured I’d borrow $10 to get back home, but I didn’t have bridge toll. I needed a buck. The buck that broke the camel’s back.

That was it. I didn’t even have a dollar to my name. Sitting in traffic, watching my gas gauge, every failure, every mistake, and every fuck up piled up in my head. I never said or thought the word suicide. I thought I would just start over; end the misery for me and everyone I loved that I had hurt. That was my thought for the day.

I had no idea what was going to happen at the tollgate. I didn’t have the money. I found 40 cents in the seat cushion. I saw a dime on the passenger side floor. As I leaned over to pick it up and the traffic slowed. As I came back up, the car in front of me was stopped and I slammed on my brakes praying I wasn’t going to hit it.

I didn’t. It was close, but I didn’t hit him.

The car pulled over to the side of the road anyway.

I followed and got out, defensive and angry.

“I didn’t hit you!” I was pissed. Anger was the only thing keeping me going day to day. I was used to legitimate accusations and disappointment from people. I had to take that because I was a fuck-up. It was too much to ask me to take unfair accusations.

The man was really calm. He spoke softly and gently, which is odd in itself because we were on the side of the Highway 24 and traffic on the other side of the barrier was fast.

“I know. I know. Its okay. Your bumper fell off and I didn’t want you to run over it.”

I looked at the front of my car and sure enough, the bumper was held 2 inched off the ground by electrical wires. Okay. This was a ‘87 Cutlass Supreme. An Oldsmobile. I had not damaged it (yet). It just fell off.

“Oh.” I said and started to pull off the wires and pick up my massive steel bumper.

The man didn’t say anything for a minute.

“What were you doing? You weren’t paying attention.” He asked, nicely. There was no accusation in his voice and accusation was the only tone I had heard in a long time.

I mumbled something about change and bridge toll. I apologized for almost hitting him as I stuck the bumper in the back of my car.

This man, who I almost hit and then yelled at, pulled out his wallet and gave me 10 bucks.

“Be careful.” He said smiling kindly. He held my hand for a moment longer than necessary as he pushed the bill into my fist.

Then he got in his car and drove away, leaving me standing on the side of the freeway.

I don’t know if I took more from that encounter than was intended, but here is what it did for me. It gave me hope, an indelible hope that to this day prevents me from giving up on anyone, especially myself. It started me thinking again. His money got me across the bridge and home again. His act changed my life forever.

I call this guy an angel. I don’t believe in god. I have spirituality, but its more a vague concept. I’d like to say there was a white light surrounding him like Roma Downey at the end of an episode of “Touched by an Angel”, but there wasn’t. He was just a guy who must have seen something in me. And in seeing that in me, I was able to see that in myself.

That was the beginning of the end of that part of my life. I found a therapist, got on medication and slowly fixed that which was broken. By the time I was 25, life was infinitely better.

The reason I wanted to tell this story is because well, I have been feeling down. Not a deep dark depression, but like I said in my last post, down. (This is where it gets difficult for me. I don’t do sappy really well.)

I just want to thank you. Your comments and e-mails have really touched me. You made me feel better. I don’t always respond to comments because, believe it or not, I have a shy streak.

So to that end… Thank you, my angels on the Internet. You are more important than you can imagine.

A Long-Winded Rant... with props to the Universe who didn't take this opportunity to kick me while I'm down

So I’ve been gone for a bit. What’s the deal, you ask? Depression. It stops me from being able to communicate in any form. It stops me from leaving the house, from leaving the bedroom and as I have absolutely no reason to get out of bed (work, for example) except to feed the cats, days have a way of passing without notice.

Not to say that I haven’t done anything. I have.

Sparky took me for a romantic birthday on the Rhine with a stay at my favorite castle. This time we stayed in the Chamber of the Seven Virgins. Every room in that place is exquisite. It was how I was meant to live. When I said that to Sparky the next morning as we dined with a full silver set and the best breakfast I have ever had, he choked on his hot chocolate.

**** I had a fabu party. A BBQ. It rained, poured and eventually the hail put out the briquettes. So we did it indoors and von Tauber’s hubby saved the day by making the burgers in the oven.

**** Sparky and I went to Liechtenstein and I collected another country my siblings will never collect. Liechtenstein has by far, the best flag of any country world over. It’s so pretty and regal. In real life the blue looks more like purple.

**** We drove through Switzerland on the way and took a gondola ride up the side of an alp (singular for Alps). This particular alp was littered with rabid cows pretending to graze and kamakaze horse flies. We even stumbled upon two escape goats and a mini donkey.

It was amazing. One can’t really appreciate exactly how steep those Alps are without tying to get down the side of one. Halfway down, I had to walk backwards because my legs got too shaky. And I even though the cow did not attack like I thought he would, I knew he knew I knew he wanted to, but he just didn’t want to have to walk back up the damn mountain. I was too much trouble and really, he had more fun with no effort watching me watch him and maneuver the mountainside and cow patties.

I really do live a charmed life in some regards. Comparatively, I have nothing to complain about except that I live in a country I really don’t like, dealing with a culture that confounds me. The more I figure out, the less I know. Dealing with assholes on a daily basis and having to scrounge up enough courage to go out into this Deutscher world that is really not all that warm and fuzzy and friendly and nice. I miss random acts of kindness that Americans can be counted on to perform. Its like Germans are too fucking stingy to give away a random act of kindness, yet they depend on the kindness of others.

I avoid my nosey neighbors because they are constantly asking me when I’m going to learn the language, what did I buy at the store, where am I going? Then tell me its been ages since they've seen me, where have I been? I swear to god, I’m going to go freakin’ postal on the next German who asks me or tells me that I need to learn the language. Really.

"Wow, I have never heard that before. I mean, it would never occur to me on my own. Thanks, that a really good idea. If it weren’t for you, I might never learn this frustrating, spit filled, monotone way of communicating that is considered an actual language. I was wrong, Germans are capable of random acts of kindness."

I miss my family, I miss my language and I miss the ease that comes with actually understanding every word that is said automatically. I miss understanding the cultural mores and folkways as second nature. I miss my country and the independence I had. I miss my name and I hate how Frau is constantly put in front of my married name. I’m just Jen or Jennifer or to my family Jenny. I do not want the Frau. You can keep the Frau.

I miss not having to defend my weight, my clothes, my car. I miss people being happy for you when things are good. I miss common sense and personal space and people who move their grocery carts out of the middle of the god-damn aisle because they know they are not the only fucking person in the world. And to that effect I miss smokers smoking in guilty pleasure, knowing that at any moment a non-smoker can read them the riot act unapologetically because smoking really a filthy habit. I used to smoke. There are two kinds. The kind that is aware of other people, smokers and non-smokers alike and the rude assholes who don’t give a shit as along as they can smoke in every hospital, gym, day care center and café. I’m sick of smelling like smoke.

I need to feed my spirit right now. It has been force-fed a diet of German verbs, manners and fashion taste for the last three years and frankly, I’d rather eat flax seed for a month.

See the thing is, this expat shit is really pissing me off. The longer I stay here the less I like Germany. I’m here because my heart is here and my heart has a mother that I would never allow to be abandoned. So to that effect, we are here for the long run. And that long run, recently, looks really, really long.

So I just shut up and hole up and my natural tendency towards depression takes it from there.

What happened today to break my silence?

Sparky needed a ride to the train station and my cat needed to go to the vet. I forced myself to get up and get out, one foot in front of the other. And from there the universe gave me the gentle nudge I needed. The scale was kind in solid “try-it-three-times-to-make-sure” numbers. The jeans I was hesitant to put on after the wash/dry shrinkage effect fit and are actually loose. My eye-make up went on perfectly, both eyes even. My hair worked with just a brush through and the blouse I put on, not expecting it to work, worked. And my extra courage leopard print bra was clean and could be worn under said blouse. I felt almost pretty leaving the house.

I took the cat to the vet for her allergy shot. (I hope someone sees the irony in a cat needing an allergy shot.) I got in and out in five minutes without waiting the hour I usually wait.

I went to my Dr. for my B12 shot. Again, no waiting. And the nice nurse did it. The one that speaks English without the lecture about the merits of learning German.

I got my nails done without forcing myself to workout first. I work out constantly and I hate it and I use getting my nails done as a sort of reward. Well, today I said fuck it. I parked in the gym lot and walked right past it. I got a whiff of stinking non-deodorant wearing-cigarette-smoking-IN-the-gym assholes on my way to Nail and Spa USA and got myself a mani/pedi in a spa chair, American style, by a Vietnamese woman from Santa Barbara.

How is that for a boon from the gods?

I need to get the hell out of dodge and back to the states so I can remember how frustrating life there can be too. At this point it really is the land of milk and honey and streets made of gold or at least filled with shoe stores that actually have cute shoes that don’t have Adidas stripes or are the color of putty. I would kill for a kitten heel Mary Jane and a smooth sidewalk to wear them on. Cobblestones are cute for like 2 weeks then they’re just a broken ankle waiting to happen.

And as you can see, once the damn breaks, you just can’t shut me up.

And thanks Dorian D. for asking. Sometimes that's all a person needs.

gratuitious cat photo