We've Got a Bed in Here, People!

Our furniture and other belongings arrived today, and it feels like a tremendous victory. We are up to our eyeballs in boxes, paper, and possessions we really aren't sure we want to possess anymore, but it is still pretty sweet. The movers came 20 minutes early (only in this country would that happen), and happily didn't seem too put out by the snacks we provided. Before they came, I'd googled about tipping customs for movers in Germany, and ended up happening upon an extensive thread about feeding movers here. Since movers are folks that one really needs on one's side, I did not want to break with tradition. I do not, however, know what a normal German heavy lifting guy snack is. And I didn't want to end up giving them something that was equivalent to setting out cucumber & mustard focaccia to an American mover. So we went with what we figured was fairly safe and bought a bunch of pastries from the local bakery. I also bought water bottles, but those were distinctly unpopular ("Germans don't like to hydrate." quoth W. A. Grissom).

But I am getting off topic. The point is, we have a couch to sit on and a bed to sleep on. Will has the rest of this week and next off, so there will be much joyful unpacking in our future. Thanks for all of you who sent positive moving mojo our way!

Snow Day Zwei

Sugar, running in the English Gardens. Three days till furniture!

Thankful to have found my match, millionaire or not

I have been cleaning out my inbox in spurts lately. Apparently 28,000+ emails will slow an application down a bit. Today I happened upon a gem from January 3, 2007. It was a get to know you better email from Jon, an eligible bachelor from MillionaireMatch.com. Some of you may be thinking, but Rachael, you've been married since 2004? And you'd be right. And might I add that you certainly keep careful track of my marriage, gentle reader. But I digress. My foray into online rich guy dating was spurred by hearing about the site, telling my mother about it, and then the ensuing storm of both of our tendencies for curiosity and mischief. Mom informed me authoritatively that because it was free to sign up, and you had to be a member to see profiles, I should just stop being a baby and register. Don't judge me harshly; my mom is very persuasive. So I signed up, using a fake name, no photo, and describing myself as "a loner," "exercise-hater," "pessimist," "clingy" ... and any other tidbits that I imagined would repel a millionaire bachelor looking for love on the world wide web. After my profile, "Ms.IH8u" or some such thing, was created, mom and I holed up and poked around on the site until our voyeuristic needs were sated.

A few days later, I got an email from a millionaire. It was not personal or innappropriate, but it still felt oddly intrusive. Also, the bachelor in question was pictured next to his Delorean. Yes, the Back to the Future car. It made the whole thing feel too real and made me feel like a jerk for making a fake profile. So I set about trying to unregister. Which was tougher than I expected. And so I asked my husband to help me quit MillionaireMatch.com. This set Will on a fit of laughter and at least half a day of refusing to help me. "You made your bed" he cruelly snorted at me. I begged and begged, ("But, Wi-illlll, the DE-LOOOREAN!!"), and finally he relented though not before reminding me that Deloreans are awesome.

At this moment, my real-life match is toiling on the subway with our portable grocery cart, picking up used small appliances from a couple who is leaving Munich so that I can mix, blend, toast and boil in the near future. He also walks around with a German text book asking me what my name is and where my father lives, apparently so we can become German game show hosts. And every morning he takes the dogs out so I don't have to face the cold until midday. Not to mention, I occasionally only have to ask 4 times before he takes out the trash, recycling and compost. I don't need no stinking Delorean. I love you, mister.

(p.s. photo of Will is from our tour of Alcatraz. He is helpfully pointing at the cell for you.)

Movie Review: Funny People

Will and I were both a little tired and crabby last night, so we turned in early and watched a movie on our mattresses which we rented from iTunes. I was tired because I am mostly always tired these days and crabby because I messed up dinner (4 cups of water is not similar to 2 cups of water in a curry). Since I am mostly always hungry these days, too, this error left me stricken. Will was tired because he has not felt all that well this week. Why was he crabby? I imagine it was because he wore linen pants in December in Munich, but he insists that fashion offenses don't injure his psyche.

Anyways: Funny People is the movie we rented. It's a Judd Apatow flick - same guy who wrote Knocked Up. The cons: shamelessly self-aggrandizing of actor/comics making their way in Los Angeles and a little too much boy-humor (didn't you people take Psych 101? Get over it, Oedipus!). Pros: funny dialogue, not predictable, and interesting characters. All in all, some good laughs. If you like dry-joke driven comedy and don't mind a little darkness, Funny People is a good choice for you.

p.s. Selecting a movie was difficult for us. It made me miss Netflix; it's hard to pick out a movie without my trusty queue and Netflix's sage advice. So if anyone has seen a good movie lately, please let us know!

Internet Friend Dates

Yesterday marked attempt #2 in my life to make a friend via the 'net. The first time was in California when I joined a comedy writing group that turned out to be, basically, not that funny. This time, I classed it up and instead of craigslist, I turned to an expat site. I found a new mom on there who had been to the birthing class I was then contemplating, and emailed to ask her opinion of it. She replied and also invited me for "tea." Not coffee, mind you, my uncivilized American friends, but tea, because that's what people from the UK call the event of meeting up in a cafe. The mom, L, was very nice and quite funny, incidentally. She brought along her very chubby and adorable 4 1/2 month old daughter. I expressed that I very much liked the size of her child: still a baby, but some sturdiness to her. I forgot to preface with my internal monologue regarding my wariness of dealing with my own baby when s/he is very tiny and fragile. Nevertheless, L took the compliment well. She assured me that she was a little scared of damaging her's at first as well. L was overall quite positive about having a baby in Germany, saying that the worst part has been the bureaucratic process. For example, she named her baby "Molly," which is not, apparently a Good German Name, so she had to give evidence that sane people have named and have been named Molly. Evidence? A print out from imdb.com with Molly Ringwald's film history. Our meeting ended a little abruptly because Molly was teething and, try as she might, L had trouble soothing her which got us kicked out of Starbucks. I always cry very softly into my folded arms when I'm in a Starbucks, so I don't know if the power to expel expressive sad patrons is unique to the chain in Germany or not. But, regardless, it was a nice time and I plan to follow up with L and her husband after the holidays for a little expat double date.

Seven More Days Till Furniture!

My mom has told me of late that I am being a trooper. This means a lot coming from my mother, who herself has a truly remarkable history of trooper-ism. [Note: do not engage my mother in a conversation about what life was like spending a year on death's door in a tuberculosis sanatorium as a youth in Iceland unless you want to feel a little stupid about complaining about traffic or gaining five pounds. Anyways, mom, weight gain and long commutes are pretty lousy too, you know.] Her compliment to me is based mostly on my spartan living situation, in which I live in apartment containing suitcases, two twin IKEA mattresses - each a luxurious 5" deep, two folding chairs, and a side table that is too low for the chairs thereby necessitating a deep bend at the waist in order to eat off of it.

Well, the end is in sight! We've known since December 7 that our belongings have arrived by sea at the German port of Bremerhaven. Finally yesterday, we got word that our shipment was cleared by Customs and will be delivered on December 23. And I, for one, will gladly renounce trooperhood! In one week, no more will this pregnant lady straddle a side table, awkwardly trying to fit her baby-filled abdomen between her knees so that she can get a bite of oatmeal. No more rewashing the same singular saucepan to in an attempt to cook a normal dinner. Will I have friends? The ability to order food in restaurants? Gainful employment? No, no, no! But I will have a couch and a bed complete with a Simmons Beauty Rest mattress! This will be a wonderful Christmas indeed.

One day later: We are ready to be parents

Will and I attended a day long birthing / baby care class yesterday. A one-day class may sound perfunctory, but this class was eight hours long. Not to mention it was in English. My brain has not had to digest complex verbal information in some time. We are officially prepared, people.

The class was attended by three other couples, two from the UK and a woman from Florida married to a German. I was all a-flutter having a live audience at my disposal, but I tried to rein it in to as not to scare off any potential friends. Between my high-volume, rapid-fire zingers and Will's barely audible mumbles, we can be a disconcerting pair. We must have turned on the charm, though, because we got unsolicited digits from Vicki and Dominic at the end of class. Vicki and Dom (as I'll start calling him) were clearly the coolest couple there.

But even more importantly than our unstoppable charisma, we learned many interesting and horrifying details about birth and infant care. On the practical side, we learned several breathing techniques that seem useful, and the teacher led us in a relaxation technique that put my faithful partner to sleep, slack jaw and all. The class also managed to convince Will that we shouldn't take the subway to the birthing center once I'm in labor, so I'm grateful not to have to lobby for that myself. Instead, he'll just have to practice saying "No, no, my wife is just fat and noisy. There is nothing to worry about." in German, so as to convince a taxi to let us in.

7 weeks and counting until we get to put it all to use! (p.s. Mom - when are you going to buy your plane ticket??)