I Survived the Quake of 2010!!!

Last week, at approximately 5:04 am, I awoke inside of a steel drum. Except what I heard and felt was not the gentle ringing rhythms of breezy calypso, but the violent trill of a cavernous rocking. Though weary from my slumber, several thoughts flew through my head within seconds, including:

1. That a plane had landed in my front yard.

2. That my elderly parents had decided to tear down a load-bearing wall for the fun of it.

3. That an atomic bomb had been dropped downtown and what I felt was the sonic shock wave. I had this image of leaving my front door and seeing desolation all around me, though somehow my house remained standing. Of course, my neighbors turned into mutant zombies so I had to fight them off, which was a whole other nightmare.

4. That an earthquake had struck.

I quickly dismissed this as ridiculous, as at 5:04 am thoughts 2 and 3 seemed more reasonable. Of course, part of me hoped for 1 and 4 (not really 3) because I totally could have gotten out of work for that. I must have fallen back asleep quite quickly, as before I knew it, my alarm rang 7am and it was time for me to get up and start my day. I wearily climbed out of my bed, feeling strange but not sure why. I left my house 30 minutes later, still unsure sure of the source of my uneasiness. While waiting for the bus, my neighbor Susan asked, “did you feel it?” I looked at her confused. “Feel what?” I responded. “The earthquake, it was on the news!” she answered. Suddenly it all came rushing back. When I woke up to get ready for work, I had completely forgotten about my previous 5:04 wake up call, and chalked up my disquiet to bad dreams. “Heard about it?!” I told Susan excitedly, “I FELT it!” For the rest of the day, I read others’ accounts and talked about it with my friends at lunch excitedly.

The next evening I spoke with my good friend Meredith, who recently moved back to California. I asked if she had heard about the earthquake and she said yes. I regaled her with my adventures, telling her it was pretty scary, and at a magnitude of 3.7, nothing to shake a stick at. “3.7?” she repeated, “how cute.”

Mein Liebschen

Over the past three months I have spent an inordinate amount of time with a German who has (Viennese) waltzed his way into my heart. While our relationship was strictly and (for me) painfully plutonic, I have begun to consider the many advantages of partnering up with a foreigner. Of course, there are a few downsides, especially when dealing with a German. During this unintended fact finding mission, I have discovered the following

1. I have a fear of Aryan babies. If I were to mate and create these creatures, I fear I would resemble an evil dark sorcerer with my Children of the Corn brood, smiling stiffly in our Sears family portraits. No amount of matching khakis or blue denim shirts in a background featuring fields of daises can change that. Plus, I just don’t know if I will be able to nurse a blond. Is that harsh?

2. Being with a foreigner is like traveling back in time. Not only is the music ten years older, but you always get a second chance when you speak. This is because he /she usually will not understand you the first time. You can change your intention, inflection, or reword a joke if, upon further consideration, you think there is a possibility it may fall flat.

3. In a pinch, you can make shit up.

4. In a pinch, if he/she does something awkward or uncouth, you can just blame it on cultural differences.

5. In a pinch, if he/she says something embarrassing, you can blame it on the language barrier.

6. You always feel smart when you are able to answer his/her questions on American history, culture, or the definition of particular words.

7. If you don’t know the answer, telling him/her to look it up is a great option, as you can claim it is the only true way to learn.

8. Umlauts can be ARE sexy.

9. Wurst, and other sausage meats can be a great conversation starter among new friends.

10. There is no such thing as a sexy pair of socks. Even when paired with a fine leather open toed sandal.

11. Black clothing does not necessarily mean he/she is in mourning. It may just be his/her go to color.

12. Arrested Development brings (sarcastic) cultures together.

13. While the Internet is prevalent in most countries, that does not meant he/she will know what “Sprockets” is.

14. Just because he/she quotes Woody Allen does not mean he/she understands him.

15. Discotheques are not just for dancing

16. It is always sad when he/she waves “Auf Wiedersehen.”.

The man in front of me at Whole Foods put two items on the belt to purchase: a half gallon of ice cream and bottle of red wine. I nearly jumped in his basket, hoping he would take me home....

On a side note, to those of you celebrating, I wish you a Happy New (Fiscal) Year.

Now a (brief) sneak peak of next months entry: Summer of my German Scholar

A man has come into my life, whom I will refer to from now on as Mein Liebschen....more to come.

Magic in the Air

I fell in love today. With a man whose name (I think) is Barry. Barry (?) is a magician. Well, he is not just a magician; he owns his own magic shop on the main drag in my town. Now, how a magic shop stays open during a recession is a question for another time, but a few friends and I were passing by and, having always been curious about the store, we decided to wander in and spend a few minutes. As we climbed the dimly lit stairwell covered in portraits of Houdini (with eyes that followed you), hanging (plastic) chandeliers, and a wide array of handcuffs, candelabra, and other spooky “magicy” things, we found ourselves in a large, slightly dusty room with display cases all around of videos, card decks, trick gum, chattering teeth, and more top hats than in a Fred Astaire picture.

As my friends as I pointed and giggled at the various gags around the store, the magician in question invited us to his counter to watch him perform some tricks. For 30 minutes we were mesmerized by his skills as we chose cards, held collapsible wands, and had balls multiply in our hands. However, every time I looked into Barry’s (?) soft brown eyes, the most magical thing of all happened. I turned to metaphoric stone.

Unfortunately, there was an odd gentleman who ingratiated himself in our little group during the impromptu show. He had a penchant for invading personal space and generally creeping everyone out. This was obvious after knowing him for several seconds. When I joked about sawing my friend Molly in half vertically, the creepy man told me to be careful what I wished for because it could happen. Hmm, well, creepster I don’t think the chance of my friend actually being sawed in half is likely, but the comment had broken the spell, and I could almost hear the pixie dust of the magic in the air fade and fall to the ground.

We browsed a bit longer at the symbol playing monkeys, plastic banana peels, and stink bombs before leaving the store.

Gas to get to the magic store? $2.00

Trick gum? $5 a pack

Falling in love with a magician and having fantasies of being his assistant? Priceless.

Whatchu Lookin' at?

Last week, I woke up to find that a zit the size of a quarter had erupted on my forehead. My attempts to cover it with mascara and pretend it was a third eye failed, so I just gazed at the ground while I talked to people and hoped that somehow no one would not notice the Post-it size blemish staring back at them.

While at work, I ran into a colleague of mine and as we chatted, I noticed her focus shift to my enormous, mountain sized pimple. She proceeded to tell me that “I had something on my face.” I responded that yes, I knew there was something on my face and quickly changed the subject. She continued, insisting that I had something on my face, as though I did not believe her. At that point, I saw a finger move towards me, which I ducked. Apparently this woman really wanted to touch whatever it was (HELLO A PIMPLE, ever had one??) that had made its home on my forehead. I shrugged away from her, and just lied; telling her that I had banged my head and it left a mark. She then launched into a 5 minute tirade on head injuries.

At this point, it was only 8:45 am.

This blog is brought to you by Toyota.

Toyota: Moving Forward.


Because we can't stop

Map Legend

When my family headed off to Ocean City, MD for vacation this past summer, I had looked forward to a week of Thrasher’s Fries, Trimpers amusement park, ocean fun, and of course, an inappropriately placed temporary tattoo.

As we piled into the family car and headed east, my dad pulled out ye olde state map, and commented on the picture of Maryland’s First Family on the front flap. The map was several years old and featured the likeness of Bob Erlich and family. After a chorus of hisses and boos (we are definitely NOT Erlich fans), we continued on our way and made it to the Carousel Hotel at 123^rd and Coastal highway in about three and a half hours. As my dad checked in (commenting on the “good time” we had made) and my sister and I unloaded the car, my mom scampered over, telling me she heard “something about the governor” being here. No way I thought to myself, as this joint was certainly not the kind of place Gov. O’Malley, the super hip and hot current governor of Maryland, would be at. And I was right. It was not O’Malley.

An hour later, as we left the lobby of the hotel and walked up the three short stairs leading to beach, I felt compelled to turn around. I did, and there I was face to face with former Governor Bob Erlich, our noses nearly grazing one another’s (we basically Eskimo kissed). I exclaimed, “hey, you’re on my map!” He laughed and shook his head (though his perfect politician coiff did not move). He asked if I had it with me and I said no the map was in the car (duh). We continued up the stairs together until we got to my dad, several paces ahead, who too turned around and shouted “hey your on my map!,” at which point I promptly slapped my hand to my forehead in embarrassment. However, Bob Erlich seemed so happy to be recognized that he told us he would be in the restaurant eating diner, and if I wanted to bring my map in, he would sign it. I had actually not even considered getting his autograph, but now could think of nothing else. After all, he seemed so excited; it would have been a shame to disappoint him. I retrieved the map and 20 minutes later I ventured into the hotel restaurant looking for him. After circling several times, I found him and his family, who appeared to be about to order. I debated turning back, but felt I was too deep in to do so. I approached the table and just stood there as they passed the bread. When the basket got to me, I said no thank you and handed the map to Bob. He asked for my name, commented on how young his kids looked in the photo, and signed the map Governor Erlich.

Governor indeed.