Awkward Situations: Nudes

The building where I work is located on the main shopping street. And like any big city, buildings line up along the street facing each other. There used to be an erotic store across the street and it was fun to watch the different kinds of people go in and come out. Funny to me because I'm an American and we are, well prude in a sense, and here is this erotic store right on the main shopping street. No big deal, just going to buy a vibrator on a Saturday afternoon. What? At first it was also funny to me because they display their products openly in the windows. None of those heavy black curtains like in the States to make it seem so shameful. Everybody does it. What's the problem.

One of my friends even said he was taking his 4 year old daughter for a walk and they passed an erotic store with colorful vibrators in the window and she goes, "Daddy. I like the purple one." She didn't know what it was of course, nor did my friend explain it to her. She just liked it because it was purple.

Anyways one afternoon I was teaching in a classroom on the third floor of our building and the third floor of the other building directly across the street was being renovated. My student and I were discussing business correspondence and emails. I had my back to her facing the whiteboard and she was facing the building opposite.

Me: Ok. So what are some phrases you can use to open an email?
Student: There's a naked man standing in the window over there.
Me: Uh, That's not...what? *turning around
Student: *pointing, Over there.
Me: *looking. Sure is!

I think this situation isn't so much awkward as it was...unexpected. I think it was one of the construction workers taking a break. It was about lunchtime and it was hot. Why not get naked. You might be three stories up, but we see you, hands on hips. Chillin. Naked. In front of the window. No big deal. *burp

Awkward Situations: It's for the birds

I was thisclose to getting pooped on by a pigeon today. Thisclose, but I didn't. Not today universe. NOT TODAY.

Once upon a time about 6 years ago I had a different kind of run in with a pigeon...and the universe got me.

I was living in Weimar at the time. If you've never been there, it's a beautiful place. I was there for a year teaching English and had been in Weimar for about 4 months. It was end of January or beginning of February and my boyfriend back home had just broken up with me because he didn't trust me. I never did anything, he just had trust issues, but that's a story for another day. Anyways, he had broken up with me the night before and his last words were, "Well, I guess it's not official til it's on Facebook." Right. Winner.

So, I was feeling pretty down the next day and decided to go see the movie 27 Dresses. I could sympathize. I had already been a bridesmaid 7 times by then (now 8 and counting...) and well...I had just gotten dumped. 3 times a bridesmaid...well crap.

I was down trodden, and on my way to the movie theater. It was a Sunday and cold, so not so many people were out. I walked to the Theater Platz, the main square in Weimar, and it was empty except for a tour group of about 20 people. Here's a photo so you can visualize. Lovely, isn't it?

As I was crossing the Theater Platz,  I also came across a group of pigeons. I swear, one of those pigeons looked directly at my pathetic face and knew. We made eye contact, and suddenly it charged right for me. It tried to fly over my head, but it didn't quite make it, and flew SMACK, right into my forehead. It even scratched me with its little evil foot. Naturally, everyone in the tour group witnessed this. A lady came running over to see if I was OK. She looked genuinely concerned. No lady, I am fine. My dignity however, has been slightly injured.

All I could think was, ya got me universe. Ya got me.

Things my students say: Trojan Horse

I forget how the conversation got started. Perhaps we were talking about pop culture and Paris Hilton came up, but one of my university students, around the ripe old age of 19 years...keep in mind I myself was 29 at the time, said this gem:

Student: Who would ever name their child Paris?
Me: Well, not just Paris Hilton, but think of Paris from The Iliad.
Student: The what?
Me: The Iliad.
Student: *blank stare
Me: Um...Homer?
Student: No idea.
Me: Helen of Troy? No? Um...Achilles? No? Um....The Trojan war? Greece? Anything?
Student: No. That must be your generation. I'm too young.

Didn't know if I should be upset that he didn't know the story, or that I wasn't even in my 30s and I was being deemed a dinosaur. Yeah, Helen and I were cool until it all became about her.
<-----You know, old people drama.

Things my students say: I'm just playing squash mom

Here is a short excerpt from a 5 minute presentation a student of mine gave on the game of squash:

...Monks played it with balls to the walls...The important thing is to stroke the balls. You can make it with two people or four people...When one player strokes the balls, the other should try to stroke the balls harder on the wall...Today, it doesn't matter who strokes the balls first, anyone can score...Any questions?

*me with face in hands in the back

Things my students say: Pardon my French

One assignment I had my beginning students do around Christmas last year was tell me what they were planning to do during the holiday. I gave them some time to write their ideas down on paper and then I asked them about it.

Now imagine a student with a French accent.

Me: Do you have any plans for the holiday?
Student: Yes. My friend and I are going to visit our favorite bitch in the Swiss.
Me: Your what in Switzerland?
Student: Our bitch in Switzerland.
Me: Do you mean you're going to meet a friend in Switzerland?
Student: No. We go to a pretty, little bitch every Christmas.
Me:........Hang on. Let me see what you wrote on your paper. (She had written 'bitsch')
Me: I see. What do you mean by 'bitsch'?
Student: The place with sand.
Me: Oh. Beach. You are going to visit a beach.
Student: Yes...a bitch.


Sometimes I like to think the beach is my bitch, too.

Things my students say: Thirsty Thursday

Lessons in pronunciation:

My student told me it was hard for her to practice her English because she's always too boozy, especially in the afternoons after class. She's quite boozy on the weekend as well because of her kids. I was in the middle of deciding whether I should applaud her for her honesty or send her to AA, when it clicked. Busy. She meant busy.

Awkward Situations: Afternoon delight

Afternoon delight? Try morning commute delight. On a train at 6:45am, most people on their way to work read, sleep, listen to music, or stare blankly out the window. But the guy sitting in the window seat in front of me? Nope. Porn was his newspaper, his dream, his melody, his vision. He had his smartphone cradled in is hands and angled towards the window so people couldn't see. Every time a person walked down the aisle, he would instinctively turn it more towards the window. I guess he forgot when it's dark outside and light inside the window acts as a mirror. Pause, rewind. Pause, rewind. Pause, rewind. Eventually, he got up and took it to the bathroom with him. Then, he went and got a cup of coffee, sat back down, and checked his email, ready for the day.

I also happen to know his passwords if anyone is interested.

Awkward Situations: Don't sweat it!

#1

Um...there's something on your foot.

I don’t know what it is about sweating, but it’s one of the few things I do well. With all the sweating I do, I've generally stuck to dark clothing. Sometimes though, bright colors are unavoidable. At my sister’s wedding back in 2005, for example, she had these beautiful dresses that my armpits couldn't wait to get a hold of. It was there that I learned a little trick from my cousin, who also suffered the same fate as I did, panty liners.

To be perfectly honest, panty liners always scared me and grossed me out a little. Even writing about them right now makes me cringe a bit. I guess a lot of women use them for various reasons. Some being quite clever. For example, for sweat. My cousin taught me if you line it under your arm on a dress, the panty liner will soak up any sweat, instead of the dress. Well, low and behold, it worked. From then on I was buying boxes of panty liners. I would have those sitting on the belt at the checkout line. No embarrassment.  I knew what they were for. Armpit sweat, considerably less gross than vagina sweat right? Ring em up. I have a coupon.

Well this trick I took with me overseas. When you teach, there’s a lot of raising your arms to write on the board. Normally, because it was always a bit cold, I was fine with sweaters and dark blazers, but then I bought this one light light grey blazer with purple lining. I loved it. So did my sweat. In order to combat this, I figured, no problem. One panty liner in that arm, one in the other. It usually worked, too...except this one time.

It was a particularly warm day and I had those panty liners stuck in there, or so I thought. At one point I looked down at the floor and something unusual caught my eye. Stuck cross wise on my show was a bright white panty liner. It formed a perfect 'T'. Now normally, I’d just play it off, but a few things ran through my mind. 1) How long had it been there? 2) If it was there, at some point it had to have fluttered down to the ground, and 3) if that happened, had my students seen it? 4) How do I get it off my shoe without making a big deal of it? 

Now whether my students ever noticed, I'll never know. But it will always be bright white awkward star in my memory.

#2

Lectures in sweating by gym creepers.

At the gym and 50min into my run, naturally, I'm sweating. Then suddenly, this guy walks in front of my treadmill and turns to face me.

Guy: Hey, can I open the windows?

Me: Sure.

Guy: *opens the windows and stands facing me wafting air in my face with giant arm movements.

Me:*under my breath. Um, that's awkward.

Guy: Better, or?

Me: Uh....sure.

Guy: Because your face is red.

Me: Yeah I know.
Guy: And you're sweating a lot.
Me: Yeah, I know.
Guy: It will help you cool down.
Me: Got it.
Guy: I saw you the other day and you were sweating a lot, too.
Me: Uh....ok.
Guy: You should have opened them before.
Me: Ok.
Guy: It should feel better now.
Me: Ok
Guy: I'm Sven.

It would have never worked out between us. If he was that critical about my sweating,  I can only imagine what he would have thought about my cooking. 

Games We Play

My absolute favorite question, and quite frankly one of the questions I live for, is when someone walks up and asks, 'excuse me, do you speak English?' It's like the heavens have opened up and a bright green light begins to shine on what was probably a rather dull day.

Here's the game:

It all started when I was having a beer with a friend of mine from Cork, Ireland at an Irish pub here in Saarbrücken. He and I were chatting and there was a table of drunk dudes next to us. At one point one of the drunkies turned and asked us a question. We answered.  In perfect English, naturally. The drunkie was like, 'Wooooowww. You're English is sooooooooooooooo good'. I made eye contact with my friend and it's like we read each other's minds. Game on. 

Now when someone asks if I speak English, I usually say, yes I do. Now that's a fact; they interpret it as they want. Then we get to talking and it never fails that at some point they say, wow, you're English is so good.

I'll usually chuckle modestly to myself and say, 'oh really? Well I studied in the U.S.' Again it's a fact and people interpret it as they want. People never figure that I might actually be American, which to me would be the next logical question. As my 8th grade English teacher said, and what many people know as a general rule, never assume. It makes an ASS out of U and ME.

But most times they will go off on how well I learned and how they wish they could speak a language that well and how the school system has failed them. Who am I to crush their disenchantment with their education system? They should be disenchanted with it. They should demand a better system. I always suggest they petition the powers that be. Do they ever? Probably not, but it never hurts to try!

The Saarland: Klein aber fein!

There is this book called A Year in the Scheisse: Getting to Know the Germans, which is modeled after A Year in the Merde. According to Amazon.com The Scheisse is not as well received as the Merde. I suppose it's just because of the age old belief that the French are superior in everything. I bet their Merde smells like roses.  All I can say is after living on the border of Germany and France for six years, I've had plenty of both. Sadly, I can say I've only quickly browsed the German version and was not surprised at what I expected. A whole lot of Scheisse. Just plain old stereotypes. But let me confirm and or break those down and  introduce you to a part of Germany you probably had no idea existed.

The Saarland. 

What is that, you ask. That's a fair question. It's the smallest of the 16 federal states in the west and borders France and Luxembourg. We don’t know what we are, which is not really our fault. Are we German? Nein. Are we French? Mais non! We are Saarländers. Once belonging to France, then Germany, then France, then Germany, then the puppet UN, then officially back to Germany in the 1950s, you can imagine the identity crisis. I’ll give a more detailed history later in some posts.

One thing I can tell you is Saarländers are known for is never leaving. The 80s is also known for that here as well, but that’s a story, a mullet and a crop top for another time. They have a saying in Saarland. You’re born in the Saarland, you go to school in the Saarland, you marry in the Saarland, you die in the Saarland. Needless to say, they don’t get out much which in turn  has caused every town to concoct their own dialects. None of which involve speaking English. That’s where I come in. 

What to expect

My life in Germany isn't exactly extraordinary or glamorous, but everyone keeps telling me to write a book. Even though I like to envision my self as a soul sister of Mark Twain, sadly, reality is not of the same opinion. So, instead of a book I decided to start a blog. It’s about finding my place as an expat, travelling, food, sharing the funny things my students say, and generally just reliving awkward situations I seem to find myself in. I am a magnet for the weird. I suppose as my sister said, this is a place where I can record my thoughts so when I write my book, I have a resource to pull from…or I like to think, when she writes my book.  Keep in mind this isn't going to be Eat, Pray, Love, The Alchemist, or any other kind of soul-searching, you-can-do-it, peppy life blog. It's not here to change or inspire. It’s just the facts of my life.