La Entropista

I just sent this to the liebling:

 Ich bin gespannt auf der Alltag mit dir. Und heute abend. Ich freue mich.
> Doch. Ich habe eine Bitte. Komm heir. Gleich. Oder spaeter. Und wir
> studieren Biologie. Fortpfanzung Dinge, zum bespiele. Und lehsen fernsehen.
> Und schlafen gehen. Ich liebe dich.
> 
> Bis bald.
> 
> Desyl

And this is how it sounded to him:

I am strained on the everyday life with you. And this evening. I am pleased. But. I have a request. Come heir. Directly. Or later. And we study biology. Reproduction of things, to tapes. And lehsen watch television. And to sleep go. I love you.

Yeah. I’m good.

Somehow, the gangstas in my hood fail to intimidate me. In some neighborhoods in Southern California (albeit “the best ghetto in the County“), one has to walk your girlfriend to the corner so she can safely get in her car because there is a gang squad raid in progress at the end of the block.

But still, the Muenchners, they give it a good go:

I bet they were all like, “let’s totally send this place into a tailspin of degradation by violently throwing this piece of paper onto the ground. WITH AUTHORITY.”

And clearly, it is working. This place is a friggin’ war zone.

Faschings offering:

 For Buddha, ein Krapfen:

5 weeks German intensive course paid for. Euro-sneakers, I hardly knew ye.

And Europe in general for selling only very very expensive sneakers. Who in their right mind wants to pay 90 Euro+ for a pair of friggin’ SNEAKERS? (And so many in pink!) It offends my cheapskate on-sale at Nordstrom Rack sensibilities. But you have to be cool. You HAVE to be COOL (and comfortable). Who will pay for cool? I will. Probably. Probably these. Between these and the clogs and the boots, I may never have to tie my shoes again.

After staring into space dissatisfied with the Language School situation (no ordering pizza until May NOT an exaggeration), I finally walked over there to negotiate with the staff. So, tomorrow I sit in on a morning intensive course, lesson 5 (two weeks and my class is just finishing lesson 1) to see if I can handle it. We will have to see what happens- taking a morning course means I miss out on pretty much the only social time I have with the liebling as he works until very late at night. It also means we have to start actually sleeping before 3:30 in the morning so I can get up for the 9:30 class and not be a total zombie.

It also means I have to stop yelling at the liebling for telling me more about akkusativpronomen than I wanted to know. Because now I really need to know.

Ich spreche gut Deutsch:

Today will be Lektion Nummer drei in Desyl’s German class. So far we have learned to say “Ich heisse Desyl” and “Nein, yAAAA-pan ist in Asien.” Pretty good, no? Time well spent, si? At this rate I’m not going to be able to order pizza until MAY. Beschissen. Soon, some lucky German learners will be able to use this as a work book:

For example, translate and then finish the dialog:

Lola: “Are you sure you are a man?”

Manni: (evaluates self on Kinsey Scale, comes up with 4.5) “Quite.”

Lola: “Do you like milk?” or  “Do you love me?”

Manni: “I’m not entirely sure about that one.” or  “That’s sick!”

Lola: “Why can’t you be sure?” or  “We can do sick.”

Manni: …….

Thank you Tandem Language school for my excellent translation skills. See my Flickr for who else is in the workbook.

Minding my own bidness:

Yesterday when pulling new sheets out of the closet, this popped out from the back recesses of the shelf:

NOT MINE

It is not mine. It is not his. It must have belonged to the previous occupant. Whatever could it be? If you know what it is, I can send it to you, and then you can send me a picture of how to use it. 

In other bathroom business, Germany has black pantiliners. Kind of cool for the black panty wearers or the squeamish. Only problem is they don’t work.

Finger lick’n:

And finally, Munich-Zentrum was beseiged by protesters Saturday:

It seemed more of a weekend stroll than anything else. Vegetarians, your pleas do not fall on deaf ears, but the shameless carnivore in me thought only this:

mmmmm….Schnitzel.

That the new trailer for Perfume will be playing tonight on German tv station Prosieben at 8:13 pm.

Let me know if you catch it.

This morning I woke up not with ice cream smeared over my face, but puzzlingly without memory of part of the night before. A quick glance at my makeup-streaked face (but somehow fabulous hair) pointed to the excessive quantities of schnapps consumed the night before as probable cause. At this rate, by the time I get back to So Cal, I’ll be able to keep up with the rockstars who manage to drink me under the table regularly.

in training

The last time we got this loose, we decided to make more dirty martinis (because the ones they made at Cafe Roma were for shit, to the chagrin of the bartender, and the delight of the waiter: uh, is that a cocktail?), and then some popcorn old school style. I ended up melting! my robe onto the bottom of the pan as I poured the popcorn into the bowl. Dinnint care.

polyester peels off real nice

Okay, Munich Restaurant Roundup:

Last night. The place, snooty, as you would expect a Maxamillianstrasse restaurant to be. But the food. Started with the tomato and marinated red onion salad, and the mixed italian starter plate with “meat salad,” which ended up being carpaccio with amazingly salty caperberries and gorgonzola, and roasted veggies. For main course, I had the house-made tagliatelli with scampi which completely lost to the sweet potato’s grilled filet of beef topped with arugula and shaved parm- a squeeze of lemon and a side of rosemary potatoes made me sick with food envy. Dessert: creme caramel and Valrhona tartlet whose lovely chocolateness was bastardized with a raspberry filling. Yuck!

The night before. This is where I had VD! The best thing about this place, despite it being crowded for obvious reasons, was that the waitstaff was warm and jovial and made all of us really glad to be there. To start: prosecco cocktails with lime and some berry-blossom essence. My god, they were amazing. Then coco-cury soup, fishballs with a sweet dipping sauce and mixed greens for me, rucola salada for him. Then king prawns in spicy coconut curry sauce with rice and vegetables, and for him, ostrich fillet in white truffle sauce with potato gratin and vegetables. Damn that truffle sauce, he won again!

Some other time. Perfect for post-Museum Lichtspiele pizza cravings. We started with an arugula salad with sun-dried tomatoes and the most amazing mozzarella I’ve ever had- firm on the outside, creamy and fresh within. Strange but yummy house dressing: oil and vinegar with potato flour and mustard. Me: the Gabione pizza with procuitto and arugula and shaved parm on top. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Him: Dammit! Pizza Umbrichella with grilled radicchio and black truffle creme. Mixed dessert plate was nothing to write about.

Enough for now. Soon: scandalously expensive smoked salmon, why French butter is better ’cause it’s purtier, ‘n stuff.

Dear Sweet Potato,

Will you be my Valentine? Please check one:

O - yes                             O - no                             O - maybe

I think you should. I like you because:

You serve me my shpiruuuleeena in an egg cup. You appreciate that it is important and lovely that the salmony-red in the varigated tulips match the vase perfectly. You understand that buying me a soft-boiled egg decapitator that breaks the shell off in a flawless ring will make me vibrate with OCD joy. And then you buy two. You take it personally when I tease you about homeopathy. Your mad sink-cleaning skillz. You got me this! in orange! HA HA!, and are nice enough to be jealous about it! You get as excited about Google Earth hacks as I do. You feel me up in the morning even though I’m still damp and feverish from sleeping. You really try to make me perfect toast, and you usually do. You say things like “I hiked in the Alps once, we walked and walked and walked, UPHILL!, and then! we had to walk BACK DOWN AGAIN!”

I like you even though:

You say things like “when do you want me to get you pregnant? before or after the dopamine wears off?” and “do you believe that placebos are effective on animals,on babies? no? then homeopathy WORKS!” You apparently refuse to beat the Depeche Mode tickets out of Johnny’s cold, dead hands so we can enjoy some Blasphemous Rumours together. I see your old girlfriends not only in the Karstadt The Nice Price CD rack, but on fucking MTV, too. You explain the etymology of German words so thoroughly that by the time you are done, I have already forgotten the word you are talking about. You are a music snob (actually, although it intimidates me, I kind of like that). That even though it would upset God, you still want to put your finger where only Jesus is allowed to go.

That’s not all, but I do not want to make the Internet throw up. I like you and you smell good, too.

love,

Desyl

HEY INTERNET: I know this sappy post was offensive to your delicate hipster sensibilities, namely your irony, your snarkiness, your independent-and-loving-it fabulosity, and I feel you on this, man, but considering last year’s VD, and its track history in general, just please LET ME HAVE THIS ONE. Thank you.

Yesterday, on my way to Karstadt (it’s still weird to me to grocery shop in a department store, but it’s convenient, and I wanted a good liquor & wine selection), I stopped at Vinzenzmurr to get a snack so that I wouldn’t end up buying all the bacon in the place. The guy who was serving me spoke to me in typical Bavarian. I struggle to understand German (but I know what to say and how to respond when I buy food) but adding the regional accent just made what he was saying to me completely incomprehensible.

Him, late in the transaction: blub blub blub, ketchup? Me: (Der?) Wie, bitte? Haben sie senf? He was frustrated about the poor communication, too, but we were working on it. Interjects loud irritated impatient lady next to me (a smallish fiftyish smoker/tanner): you don’t get mustard unless you order the plate with potato salad (or something nonsensical to that effect, in German). And then she looked at me like I was a total retard and then scowled and rolled her eyes and then announced her order over me.

I would like to say that this typically rude behavior still gets on my nerves, but the fact is it barely fazes me these days. Toytowners say about a lot of inconsiderate things Germans do, “just get used to it, this is Germany,” and I pretty much have, but still, there must be some recourse, something I could say to maybe defend myself a little bit. Any suggestions?

PS: The Filipina in me really wants to eat one of these, with all the crispy crispy pork skin and fat and the smushy dumplings:

schweinshaxe

But I can’t bring myself to eat it in front of anyone, particularly not the liebling, so. Just as well.

It’s snowing sideways again in Munich, but I’m going to brave it. Off to Beate Uhse to pick up something to go with the Mirabelle I bought last night. Oh la la…