Here, have a cookie. No really, eat the cookie.

I don’t believe I’ve talked about HB’s Oma too often on here, but my love for her knows no limits (Opa, too). I swear it is her mission in life to feed me until I pop. I am convinced most grandmothers around the world have this agenda: force feed anyone that walks into their door.

For those not in the know, I am a grazer that eats like a bird. I will munch throughout the day, but it’s rare that I will eat a whole lot in one sitting. To Oma this is just unacceptable, because it looks like I hardly eat. (I swear I do) HB is usually with me so I can push the food off onto him, but there have been a few times where he hasn’t been there. The most memorable time being a few years ago during HB’s study at home abroad. He got a job at the restaurant his sister was working at at the time so there were a few afternoons and evenings where he wasn’t there. Like the completely non-ridiculous human being I am, I would hide in our room while he was gone so I wouldn’t have to feel like a fish out of water when Oma wanted to chat. (I’m getting better about trying to communicate)

One day after walking HB to work Oma asked me if I wanted dinner. I tried my damnedest to tell her that I would eat when HB came home so he didn’t have to eat alone. About an hour later she asked again if I wanted food. I said no. Well five minutes later Opa comes in with a metal tin. Most metal tins I’ve been around either have sewing supplies or cookies. I’m sure you can figure out what was in the tin. Opa opened the tin and shook it at me. He didn’t say a single thing. Just coyly smiled at me while shaking the cookie tin in my direction. What did I do? Say no thank you? I did, but he still shook the tin so I took a cookie. Oma decided I’d said no to her one to many times when it came to food so she sent in back-up. Moral of the story: eat the damn food when it’s offered to you or a sweet Opa will be sent in with explicit instructions not to leave until he sees you eat at least part of a cookie you didn’t think you wanted. You’re wrong. You want that cookie. Appease Oma and Opa and eat.

I’m a graduate now, so it’s time to act like it. Or, I’m applying for all the jobs I can get my grubby little hands on

I’ve start the daunting task of applying for “big girl” jobs. Applying for jobs is already overwhelming and terrifying, but I feel like it becomes a bit scarier after you graduate. I mean I’ve got a good bit riding on getting a job. A.k.a. I HAVE SO MANY LOANS (thank you American University system, and thank you, Brittany, for taking so long to graduate).

Seeing as I am an American I have a Resume. Cool beans! But not really, because as usual the rest of the world has all pretty much agreed to using a CV for job applications. I did not have a CV. I had no idea where to even begin creating one. To be honest, I still have no idea. It just kind of came together magically like my Resume did. Thanks to my wonderful Sister-in-law and her boyfriend I managed to put together a CV that I’m not ashamed to send out. I won’t pretend like I have some great CV with killer experience, because I do not. I worked in retail, was a student assistant, and then rocked the Hausfrau life until now…well I’m still rocking that life, but actively trying to change that. I mean it’s only fair for me to work so HB can (hopefully) get his Master’s degree without having to work.

Last night I sent in my first application, and I’m still kind of riding on the excitement from it. Everything about the company seems so interesting and exciting. The only downfall, more of a bummer, really, is that it’s so far away from where HB and his family will be. We’d have to spend life long-distance for a while, but that’s okay. We’ll live. I’m putting the cart before the horse. I need to get the job before I start worrying about where I’ll be living in relation to everyone else. I’ve got a long list of job openings to get through. I’m excited to see what the outcome will be (a job, hopefully).

Everything is becoming very real, very quickly. Until recently, moving to Germany was just an idea, something that, sure, was going to happen, but it wasn’t real. Now it’s glaring me directly in the face and I just realized how absolutely terrified I truly am. There have been a few times where I’ve wanted to tell HB that we should just stay here with what we (read: I) know, but I haven’t. At least not seriously. We’ve started putting our ducks in a row in preparation for the move (we’ve hired a pet moving company, I’m applying to jobs, we’re getting paperwork together, etc). It’s no longer an intangible future event. It’s happening. To be a bit more precise: it’s happening in 8 months. That is if I don’t have a job offer and move before then–fingers crossed and thumbs pressed!

I’ve become such a Christmas Grump

I never intended to be, though. Does anyone really set out wanting to be a scrooge-like? Probably not, unless you’re just an all around horrible person in general, then you might. I’ve always loved the holidays, and spending time with family, but over the years I’ve noticed a growing feeling that gift giving is what’s important rather than being with your loved ones. I’ve found that we just collect things as some sort of social status marker rather than investing in things that truly matter: loved ones.

I’m no different. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I like things. I put way too much emotion into my possessions. If something I like breaks I will feel an overwhelming sense of sadness at the loss of a thing. It can almost always easily be replaced, so it isn’t a true loss. Often these things we collect just end up stashed in a drawer, box, or closet somewhere never to be seen again until the yearly clean-up comes where you go through your stuff and keep, donate, or trash things. The keep pile is always the largest, and filled with things you don’t need yet can’t part with. So those things end up back in their dust collecting places of solitude.

The holidays seem to encourage this. Or rather, society seems to encourage this during the holidays. If you don’t get each person in your family a gift, or if it isn’t a “good” gift–you didn’t spend enough money/it wasn’t on their list–you’re a bad family member, which is just ridiculous. I truly wish things would change for the better where the importance of the season is placed upon something greater than things, but until then I’ll continue to be bitter and salty about it. And of course I’ll still give gifts, usually in the form of a gift card, because I am an awful gift giver–at least it allows people to choose what they want themselves.

D.C. For A Day

This past weekend HB and I decided to go to D.C. to visit a friend for a day. That’s about a 12 hour drive from where we currently live, rest stops included. You might be asking yourself what would possess someone to drive 12 hours to spend one day in the nation’s capital? Well, you might remember that we went to Moscow for a weekend to visit a friend as well. It’s the same friend. I’m telling you this broship is very serious. I’m the awkward third wheel in this relationship (not really. We’re all one big happy family).

After driving for 12 hours we finally made it to D.C. completely exhausted, but instead of going to sleep what did we do? We went to the movies to see Rogue One, which turned out to be a wonderful movie. These party animals ended up crashing at 3 in the morning. WHY DO WE DO THIS TO OURSELVES?! 

We started the following day with brunch, because according to our friend D.C. loves brunch. Honestly, I don’t really remember the name of the restaurant even though it was delicious, probably because the waiter kept referring to me, and our group as sirs. I am a lady, damn it! I just happen to be a lady with short hair. The rest of the day was spent meandering around the city. A small note: if anyone is planning on traveling to Washington D.C. in the very near future be aware that there is a ridiculous, hideous structure being built in front of the White House (thanks Trump), and the entire block is blocked off so you won’t be able to get many decent pictures.

As happy as we are that we went, this trip has definitely made us question some future road trips. We were planning on driving to visit family in Rhode Island when they move, but neither of us are really up for a 17+ hour drive one way. I think my distaste of road trips might finally be rubbing off on HB…probably not, but a girl can dream.

Hiatus officially over

I just turned in my last final. Fingers crossed, knock on wood, pray to any and all deities listening, and any other things that can bring me luck in graduating. Since I’m done with school, hopefully with my BA, I will be back to blogging. YAY! I’ve missed writing for fun. Writing for school is not fun, but now I’m free to enjoy the soul crushing reality of loan payments and trying to find a job. The goal is to be back on my weekly Sunday posting schedule. I can’t wait to get back into the swing of things.

On leaving

For our second wedding ceremony we were asked to pick a bible verse to be read aloud. After searching HB settled on one I’d found. Afterall, the religious one should probably be the one that picks which bible verse to use. It reads:

Dont urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God my God. (Ruth 1:16, I believe)

I have been thinking quite a lot about this verse, and how fitting it is for us, and how sad it is as well. Leaving is always difficult. It doesn’t matter if it’s for a few days, graduating university and leaving friends behind, or moving to another country. All leaving is hard. 

Some of my once closest friends are now spread all over the country, and, in a few cases, the world. We touch base from time to time, but ultimately we almost never speak to one another. These pepole were there for key moments in my life, and I their’s, I hope. The harsh reality is that I will most likely never actually see these people again. Yes, there’s social media, but thats not the same thing. And yet, I’m okay with this fact. It hurts to lose touch with people, and moving exacerbates this. So why do we do it?

This is something that I think my family, and many others, want to know the answer to. Why leave what you know? Why leave what is safe and comfortable for something terrifyingly unknown? Doesn’t that terrify you? It scares the ever living daylights out if me.

Moving to college scared me. Moving in with my boyfriend, now husband, scared me. Moving to Columbus, Ga scared me. And why wouldn’t it? It’s something new. Like I said earlier, new is scary. But what is more powerful than the scary parts is the potential for growth and adventure.

HB and I have chosen to attach ourselves to one another. Where one of us goes the other will follow. Part of me doesn’t want to leave what I know. I don’t want to have to start over from scratch. I don’t want to learn a new language and a new way of life, because it’s hard and intimidating. But all of that pales in comparison to the sense of adventure. 

There’s no one answer for why we leave. Each person has different driving forces, and there’s rarely a single driving force. So why do I want to leave? Love, adventure, and a desire to experience a new way of life just to name a few. 

ER visit in Germany

For anyone that’s been following me for a while you may know I’ve been on a weird roller coaster concerning my health. I have recently been diagnosed with high blood pressure…although all my blood work came back saying that I shouldn’t have high blood pressure, and my kidneys are a-okay. I’ve also developed chronic hives, including the random swelling of body parts. YAY! [Turns out I’m not allergic to anything. Body, what the hell are you doing. Get your shit together]

At this point I just laugh about it, because what else can I do? It’s become my normal, and I deal with it. But as I found out in May while visiting family for our second ceremony, it kind of freaks other people out. The first night there my feet and ankles swelled up so much that the skin was so tight it was tender to touch. HB’s mom did not find it as humorous as I did. Fast forward to the day after our wedding and my hand had swollen so much I couldn’t wear my rings. As I’m getting ready HB walks over to his grandparent’s apartment to talk with his parent, grandparents, and aunt. After a little while he comes back with a blood pressure monitor and the news that I’m going to the Emergency Room. Ummm, come again? I don’t remember signing up for an ER visit, so no I won’t be going. Thank you, very much.

I have a difficult time dealing with not having a choice. Even if what’s chosen for me might be the smarter thing to choose if I didn’t get to decide I will not be a happy camper. Basically I might have pitched a small hissy fit, but I ended up going anyway.

While there I was stuck three times with a needle because people suck at drawing my blood thank to small, rolling veins. I almost passed out, because my blood pressure droped so rapidly. And they came to the conclusion that they couldn’t really do anything for me, but that whatever is wrong with me wasn’t serious. Thanks, Doc, I could have told you that since my US doctor has become my unofficial and unwanted best buddy.

After spending several hours waiting around for my blood work to come back saying that I should be fine (even though something is definitely wrong) I got to meet the actual doctor who kept calling me Ukrainian. Honestly that was probably the only thing that made the whole trip worth it, or at least not as horrible as it could have been. (I do not enjoy ER visits no matter where I am)

I have absolutely no idea where she got the idea that I was Ukrainian, but she definitely ran with it. Even when my mother-in-law told her I was from the US. Do you know how hard it is to stifle a very persistent giggle? I do not look Ukrainian. Like at all. If anything I look more like a troll, or maybe a hobbit minus the hairy feet. But I will take the compliment. Most of the Ukrainian women I’ve seen have been rather pretty.

But the cherry on top of the whole experience came several weeks after we came home: the bill. What sick freak thinks of a medical bill in such a positive light? An American that’s who. The total for my impromptu ER visit was 125€ total. WHAT?! That’s amazing. If I would have gone to the ER in the US it would have cost me thousands. I was genuinely so worried about how much it was going to cost, which was one the biggest reasons I didn’t want to go. Thankfully it turned out not to be an issue. Thank you, Germany, for not killing my wallet.