I just remembered this interesting little tidbit:
According to the 2001 census done in England (and I remember this making the news), so many Brits wrote in "Jedi knight" under "Religious Affiliation" that the government was forced to give it its own category when they were putting together the results.
So I think the next time some JH'ers come to the door, I'll just tell them I'm a Jedi and they don't need to see my religious affiliations, I'm not the convert they're looking for, that I can go about my business, and to move along.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
God Just Sent Me a Little Present
Just now, the doorbell rang, and I could see through the swirled glass there were two well-suited men on my doorstep. I muttered to myself, "Oh God...what now?" because it's been a shitty day round here. Hubby's acting like a wounded bear and sniping at me because hey, a pregnant woman is an easy target, mainly because we can't run that fast.
I opened the door and saw to my great glee there were two Jehovah's Witnesses standing there. I love JH'ers nearly as much as I love Lactivists. Because they're so easy to mess with using the application of logic and reasoned discourse. And fact.
Really, I love that they're dedicated to what they believe. You could tell me you whole heartedly believe that tikis created the world and demand daily sacrifices of sugar cubes and balls of lint, and I'd be happy as a clam for you if it gave you a sense of peace and way to cope with the world. Truly.
But if you start shoving it down my throat, then we have A Situation. And it's just a matter of who gets the upper hand. And to be honest, if you're going to come into my home, I can guarantee it will be me.
I once had a pair of Jehovah's witnesses come to the door when I was home on break from Uni. I had just gotten home from a 6-week mission in Scotland (yes, right after high school I was a missionary with a "trans-denominational" group called Teen World Outreach...it changed my life completely) so I was FULL of Biblical knowledge and learning, along with a healthy dose of common sense and a firm believe in evolution and science (which, quite honestly, doesn't play well with Fundamentalists). These two ladies knocked on the door, I saw who they are, and I invited them in.
And promptly buried them with what I knew.
And left them with mouths agape, copies of "The Watchtower" sliding off their laps.
Because I wouldn't be argued down.
You can see now what I don't class myself as a Christian Fundamentalist. These sorts of things happened all the time, and after a while, I found I had better things to do, like reading and thinking for myself.
It was a fun afternoon, that one.
Anyway, these two guys were standing at the door, prattling on in German, and I said, "Whoa, zu schnell...meine Deutsch ist nicht so good (Whoa, too fast...my German isn't that great)." So they switched to English.
"We are Jehovah's Witnesses," one guy said, "and we--"
"Oh, that's great! Congratulations! I'm a Unitarian Universalist!" I exclaimed.
*awkward pause* "Y-you're a what?"
"A Unitarian."
Exchanged glances, uncertain exressions. "Erm..."
I elaborated. "It means we accept and love everyone just as they are."
"Oh! Erm..."
"Thanks for stopping by. Have a great day!" *shutting the door*
I win.
BTW, in case you're interested, here are the seven basic tenets of UUs. You can see why I find them so appealing. And just like any church, they all vary.
* The inherent worth and dignity of every person;
* Justice, equity and compassion in human relations;
* Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations;
* A free and responsible search for truth and meaning;
* The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large;
* The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all;
* Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.
I opened the door and saw to my great glee there were two Jehovah's Witnesses standing there. I love JH'ers nearly as much as I love Lactivists. Because they're so easy to mess with using the application of logic and reasoned discourse. And fact.
Really, I love that they're dedicated to what they believe. You could tell me you whole heartedly believe that tikis created the world and demand daily sacrifices of sugar cubes and balls of lint, and I'd be happy as a clam for you if it gave you a sense of peace and way to cope with the world. Truly.
But if you start shoving it down my throat, then we have A Situation. And it's just a matter of who gets the upper hand. And to be honest, if you're going to come into my home, I can guarantee it will be me.
I once had a pair of Jehovah's witnesses come to the door when I was home on break from Uni. I had just gotten home from a 6-week mission in Scotland (yes, right after high school I was a missionary with a "trans-denominational" group called Teen World Outreach...it changed my life completely) so I was FULL of Biblical knowledge and learning, along with a healthy dose of common sense and a firm believe in evolution and science (which, quite honestly, doesn't play well with Fundamentalists). These two ladies knocked on the door, I saw who they are, and I invited them in.
And promptly buried them with what I knew.
And left them with mouths agape, copies of "The Watchtower" sliding off their laps.
Because I wouldn't be argued down.
You can see now what I don't class myself as a Christian Fundamentalist. These sorts of things happened all the time, and after a while, I found I had better things to do, like reading and thinking for myself.
It was a fun afternoon, that one.
Anyway, these two guys were standing at the door, prattling on in German, and I said, "Whoa, zu schnell...meine Deutsch ist nicht so good (Whoa, too fast...my German isn't that great)." So they switched to English.
"We are Jehovah's Witnesses," one guy said, "and we--"
"Oh, that's great! Congratulations! I'm a Unitarian Universalist!" I exclaimed.
*awkward pause* "Y-you're a what?"
"A Unitarian."
Exchanged glances, uncertain exressions. "Erm..."
I elaborated. "It means we accept and love everyone just as they are."
"Oh! Erm..."
"Thanks for stopping by. Have a great day!" *shutting the door*
I win.
BTW, in case you're interested, here are the seven basic tenets of UUs. You can see why I find them so appealing. And just like any church, they all vary.
* The inherent worth and dignity of every person;
* Justice, equity and compassion in human relations;
* Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations;
* A free and responsible search for truth and meaning;
* The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large;
* The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all;
* Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
And More...
As you read this, Doofy is in the process of creating a Facebook page for the first time ever.
He can barely open his e-mails. He calls at LEAST once a week with a computer question for hubby, has done for...let's see...the last 10 years? Usually it's a Window$ question which could've been solved by reading something on his own or hubby once again reminding him that HE IS NOT A WINDOWS TRAINED ENGINEER.
Anyway, Doofy was sitting on the sofa, stumbling his way through the set up options and saying the most idiotic things. Questions included the following:
"Why do I care what other people are doing?"
"This says I have two friend invites. I don't want anyone inviting me. I just want you and SDBIL."
"How on earth do these people find me?"
"Well, I'm not interested in keeping in contact with all these people."
And so forth.
Meanwhile, SMother is leaning over his shoulder spitting out little sarcastic comments like, "Great. One more way to waste your time" and "How much privacy are we giving up for this because it doesn't seem worth it to me" and "Who on earth is that?? Oh, it's the lady who does the celiac newsletter..." And the best? (to Doofy) "Great...now your brother will be contacting us...you know he will."
I finally got so fed up with this ridiculous line of dialog that I said, "Look, you can avoid the internet altogether and not even do email or anything. But this is a SOCIAL NETWORKING SITE which means people will be interested in contacting you for whatever reason. You can't have complete privacy AND be on Facebook!"
SMother also asked me what Max knows about "Stranger Danger". I said, "They go over it in school, and we have discussed it with him at great length." She then made a sneering comment over the fact that as they were at the Salzburg Markets today, I wrote down Max's name and hubby' mobile number on a piece of masking tape and put it on the back of Max's coat.
"The latest thinking is that it's really not good to do that," she lectured me, "because a stalker will see his name and call him by it trying to make it seem like he's all that more friendly."
She then went on to inform me that the newest form of defense against Stranger Danger (according to a friend of hers) is to tell your child if a stranger comes up and tries to lure you away that you drop on your back on the ground, throw a temper tantrum, and start shouting at the top of your lungs, "STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER! AAAAAGUGH!"
I looked her dead in the eye and said, "That's one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard!"
Oooh, she didn't like that. Not one bit.
I don't know about you, but if you're out in public and a kid drops to ground having a tantrum and screaming his head off, you're not inclined to go near but to give that demon child a wide berth or just get the fuck outta there.
Or...can you see some little shit really working this to his advantage, ie, getting his mum in trouble just for shits and grins??
Max knows to keep one of us in his line of sight at all times. And I'm proud to say that I keep him in my sights always when we're out. He knows what to do, and we review it fairly regularly, if someone comes up to him that he doesn't know. Having my child drop to the ground and scream like a banshee in English is incredibly stupid here. Even if he shouted, STRANGER DANGER! in German, they wouldn't know what he meant.
When we go out in a crowded place, we review what to do if we get separated, where to go, who NOT to talk to, etc. Because that's our JOB.
I said to SMother, "Really, don't you think that's taking it too far? I mean, how much power are you going to hand over in any situation? If you think that every single time you go out about all the HORRIBLE THINGS THAT COULD HAPPEN, what power are you really giving away??"
She got pretty annoyed and stalked out of the room. Score one for me.
Later, we heard Doofy opening and shutting the microwave door about 4 times. Even SMother was like, "What the...?"
Turns out Doofy was trying to heat up the chocolate pie I made last night and couldn't get the temp right.
It's a refrigerated pudding pie.
Yeah. 11 more days to go, folks.
He can barely open his e-mails. He calls at LEAST once a week with a computer question for hubby, has done for...let's see...the last 10 years? Usually it's a Window$ question which could've been solved by reading something on his own or hubby once again reminding him that HE IS NOT A WINDOWS TRAINED ENGINEER.
Anyway, Doofy was sitting on the sofa, stumbling his way through the set up options and saying the most idiotic things. Questions included the following:
"Why do I care what other people are doing?"
"This says I have two friend invites. I don't want anyone inviting me. I just want you and SDBIL."
"How on earth do these people find me?"
"Well, I'm not interested in keeping in contact with all these people."
And so forth.
Meanwhile, SMother is leaning over his shoulder spitting out little sarcastic comments like, "Great. One more way to waste your time" and "How much privacy are we giving up for this because it doesn't seem worth it to me" and "Who on earth is that?? Oh, it's the lady who does the celiac newsletter..." And the best? (to Doofy) "Great...now your brother will be contacting us...you know he will."
I finally got so fed up with this ridiculous line of dialog that I said, "Look, you can avoid the internet altogether and not even do email or anything. But this is a SOCIAL NETWORKING SITE which means people will be interested in contacting you for whatever reason. You can't have complete privacy AND be on Facebook!"
SMother also asked me what Max knows about "Stranger Danger". I said, "They go over it in school, and we have discussed it with him at great length." She then made a sneering comment over the fact that as they were at the Salzburg Markets today, I wrote down Max's name and hubby' mobile number on a piece of masking tape and put it on the back of Max's coat.
"The latest thinking is that it's really not good to do that," she lectured me, "because a stalker will see his name and call him by it trying to make it seem like he's all that more friendly."
She then went on to inform me that the newest form of defense against Stranger Danger (according to a friend of hers) is to tell your child if a stranger comes up and tries to lure you away that you drop on your back on the ground, throw a temper tantrum, and start shouting at the top of your lungs, "STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER! AAAAAGUGH!"
I looked her dead in the eye and said, "That's one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard!"
Oooh, she didn't like that. Not one bit.
I don't know about you, but if you're out in public and a kid drops to ground having a tantrum and screaming his head off, you're not inclined to go near but to give that demon child a wide berth or just get the fuck outta there.
Or...can you see some little shit really working this to his advantage, ie, getting his mum in trouble just for shits and grins??
Max knows to keep one of us in his line of sight at all times. And I'm proud to say that I keep him in my sights always when we're out. He knows what to do, and we review it fairly regularly, if someone comes up to him that he doesn't know. Having my child drop to the ground and scream like a banshee in English is incredibly stupid here. Even if he shouted, STRANGER DANGER! in German, they wouldn't know what he meant.
When we go out in a crowded place, we review what to do if we get separated, where to go, who NOT to talk to, etc. Because that's our JOB.
I said to SMother, "Really, don't you think that's taking it too far? I mean, how much power are you going to hand over in any situation? If you think that every single time you go out about all the HORRIBLE THINGS THAT COULD HAPPEN, what power are you really giving away??"
She got pretty annoyed and stalked out of the room. Score one for me.
Later, we heard Doofy opening and shutting the microwave door about 4 times. Even SMother was like, "What the...?"
Turns out Doofy was trying to heat up the chocolate pie I made last night and couldn't get the temp right.
It's a refrigerated pudding pie.
Yeah. 11 more days to go, folks.
First Some Bitchery, Und Dann...
Hubby, Maxman, SMother, and Doofy all just left on this glorious warm, sunny day to drive to Salzburg to take in the Kristkindlmarkt there. Then they will walk around the castle and thoroughly enjoy themselves.
You may wonder why I'm not going.
Well, things being what they are, there's no comfortable way to fit all of us into the Volvo. Hubby HAS to drive (he's got the International Driver's license), SMother HAS to sit in the front seat, and that would leave me in the back getting incredibly car sick along with Doofy and Maxman. Hubby would probably just play podcasts of a political nature which would spawn several repeated inputs from SMother and Doofy about Obama's ineptitude which I'd ordinarily enjoy, but after 90 minutes of it, you really want a change of pace. Max would stick to his DS, and I'd be miserable and pregnant, most like ignored, and desperately trying not to vomit.
This was the one trip I really wanted to go on, but in order to make everyone else more comfortable in the car, I stayed home. Besides, I don't think I could stand all that walking. And whilst the Christmas markets are supposed to be wonderful, I'm more interested in the Mozart-related history of Salzburg which no one else cares about, even though ever since I saw "Amadeus" back in 8th grade and fell in love with it so much that I a) watched it until I memorised every bit of dialog; b) got a full score of The Requiem Mass and considering it one of my most prized posessions; c) used to listen to the "Amadeus" soundtrack endlessly in HS, along with the Requiem Mass; d) consider that movie one of the most pivotal points of my life, as it freed up such musical desire in me that I became a music major in Uni, and e) nearly died and went to heaven when I got to sing The Requiem Mass in England with my choral society...you get how much I like Mozart at this point, don't you, and how much a visit to Salzburg would mean?
And how no one really cares how much that would make me happy right now? And that I could really, really use some happiness?
Yeah. That's how it goes when SMother and Doofy visit. "You can go next time..." "We'll go some other time..." "SMother and Doofy don't have enough time on this visit to..."
Uh huh.
Anyway, after entertaining them all day yesterday and driving way more than I should have (AND listening in great detail to what CELIAC DISEASE does to one's intestines), I've had enough of these people. I just wish Max could stay here because I miss him so much when he's gone, even when he's in school. He thinks I'm nuts, but that little guy is the only thing I get out of bed for these days. Seriously. With hubby acting like a nudnick sometimes, like throwing a fit over us running out of honey this morning and acting like he's doing us all a favour by looking after his parents, Max is the only bright spot left these days. He and I completely devoted to each other, and it's wonderful to have a constant source of unconditional love from him.
Personally I think he's the best grandson, certainly better than Little Shit or his older brother, Bigger Little Shit whom, SMother reported with pride, is learning to play the handbells at church. Good for him...maybe it'll keep him out of that toxic house and away from his wretched younger brother.
Interesting sidebar: yesterday before setting off, SMother, Doofy, and I had a discussion about money and staus. When SMother's not pushing some agenda, her intelligence shows through, but I still think she's a deeply unhappy person.
Anyway, I was referring to the amount of money represented at Max's school and how social circles are built around it. I said that if we really wanted to try for that life style, now would be the time because we get a lot of compensation for living here. The situation here sucks in many ways, but we get paid handsomely. So yeah, we could trade in that wretched Santa Fe and get a Jaguar or a Porshce (seriously, we could), take thousand-Euro weekend breaks, buy the clothes, do the whole appearances thing. With ease.
"But," I added, "we don't count our wealth in possessions or status or appearances. Our wealth is in the love we have for each other because that will never dry up. We don't have to buy the latest this or join that club or this church group or inundate Max with hundreds of dollars worth of presents at Christmas and his birthday because to us, that's not wealth, it's compensation for lack of emotional devotion and all for appearance's sake."
Just like SDBIL. That part almost slipped out, but I KNOW they could tell that's who I was referring to point-blank. They're not stupid, and they're aware of what their other son is like. I just wanted them to be aware that WE KNOW what's going on and it's why we don't let Max around those children too much. And the fact that SDBIL and PSIL have the emotional depth of a travel iron is very much in our radar.
It may be why SMother doesn't attempt to communicate with me that much...because it makes her feel things she'd rather not feel and think deeply about stuff that frightens her or that she doesn't understand. Or, in short, I'm not as thick as I look, and she knows that if it came down to it, I could mop the floor with her in just about any battle.
I like knowing that fact. And I like even more that she can't pigeon-hole me or make me do anything she wants like she can with her hapless hubby and she did with her sons for so long. And I LOVE how she knows she can't manipulate me and that at any given moment, I'm just two steps away from unleashing The Crazy.
So, if you've stayed with me for this long, you deserve a reward. Feast your eyes on the lovelies below, my friends...
I always wondered how they made pumpkin pies in the store. Thanks, Frank, for that one!
I'm neither a Bush lover or hater, mainly because if you say you liked him in anyway, people accuse you of being a Republican and assume you voted support all the Republican party does, including invading Iraq. I don't like everything anyone does. I just liked the pic.
I always suspected as much.
I have dyscalculia pretty badly, so this is especially funny for me!
Happy Weekending!
You may wonder why I'm not going.
Well, things being what they are, there's no comfortable way to fit all of us into the Volvo. Hubby HAS to drive (he's got the International Driver's license), SMother HAS to sit in the front seat, and that would leave me in the back getting incredibly car sick along with Doofy and Maxman. Hubby would probably just play podcasts of a political nature which would spawn several repeated inputs from SMother and Doofy about Obama's ineptitude which I'd ordinarily enjoy, but after 90 minutes of it, you really want a change of pace. Max would stick to his DS, and I'd be miserable and pregnant, most like ignored, and desperately trying not to vomit.
This was the one trip I really wanted to go on, but in order to make everyone else more comfortable in the car, I stayed home. Besides, I don't think I could stand all that walking. And whilst the Christmas markets are supposed to be wonderful, I'm more interested in the Mozart-related history of Salzburg which no one else cares about, even though ever since I saw "Amadeus" back in 8th grade and fell in love with it so much that I a) watched it until I memorised every bit of dialog; b) got a full score of The Requiem Mass and considering it one of my most prized posessions; c) used to listen to the "Amadeus" soundtrack endlessly in HS, along with the Requiem Mass; d) consider that movie one of the most pivotal points of my life, as it freed up such musical desire in me that I became a music major in Uni, and e) nearly died and went to heaven when I got to sing The Requiem Mass in England with my choral society...you get how much I like Mozart at this point, don't you, and how much a visit to Salzburg would mean?
And how no one really cares how much that would make me happy right now? And that I could really, really use some happiness?
Yeah. That's how it goes when SMother and Doofy visit. "You can go next time..." "We'll go some other time..." "SMother and Doofy don't have enough time on this visit to..."
Uh huh.
Anyway, after entertaining them all day yesterday and driving way more than I should have (AND listening in great detail to what CELIAC DISEASE does to one's intestines), I've had enough of these people. I just wish Max could stay here because I miss him so much when he's gone, even when he's in school. He thinks I'm nuts, but that little guy is the only thing I get out of bed for these days. Seriously. With hubby acting like a nudnick sometimes, like throwing a fit over us running out of honey this morning and acting like he's doing us all a favour by looking after his parents, Max is the only bright spot left these days. He and I completely devoted to each other, and it's wonderful to have a constant source of unconditional love from him.
Personally I think he's the best grandson, certainly better than Little Shit or his older brother, Bigger Little Shit whom, SMother reported with pride, is learning to play the handbells at church. Good for him...maybe it'll keep him out of that toxic house and away from his wretched younger brother.
Interesting sidebar: yesterday before setting off, SMother, Doofy, and I had a discussion about money and staus. When SMother's not pushing some agenda, her intelligence shows through, but I still think she's a deeply unhappy person.
Anyway, I was referring to the amount of money represented at Max's school and how social circles are built around it. I said that if we really wanted to try for that life style, now would be the time because we get a lot of compensation for living here. The situation here sucks in many ways, but we get paid handsomely. So yeah, we could trade in that wretched Santa Fe and get a Jaguar or a Porshce (seriously, we could), take thousand-Euro weekend breaks, buy the clothes, do the whole appearances thing. With ease.
"But," I added, "we don't count our wealth in possessions or status or appearances. Our wealth is in the love we have for each other because that will never dry up. We don't have to buy the latest this or join that club or this church group or inundate Max with hundreds of dollars worth of presents at Christmas and his birthday because to us, that's not wealth, it's compensation for lack of emotional devotion and all for appearance's sake."
Just like SDBIL. That part almost slipped out, but I KNOW they could tell that's who I was referring to point-blank. They're not stupid, and they're aware of what their other son is like. I just wanted them to be aware that WE KNOW what's going on and it's why we don't let Max around those children too much. And the fact that SDBIL and PSIL have the emotional depth of a travel iron is very much in our radar.
It may be why SMother doesn't attempt to communicate with me that much...because it makes her feel things she'd rather not feel and think deeply about stuff that frightens her or that she doesn't understand. Or, in short, I'm not as thick as I look, and she knows that if it came down to it, I could mop the floor with her in just about any battle.
I like knowing that fact. And I like even more that she can't pigeon-hole me or make me do anything she wants like she can with her hapless hubby and she did with her sons for so long. And I LOVE how she knows she can't manipulate me and that at any given moment, I'm just two steps away from unleashing The Crazy.
So, if you've stayed with me for this long, you deserve a reward. Feast your eyes on the lovelies below, my friends...
I always wondered how they made pumpkin pies in the store. Thanks, Frank, for that one!
I'm neither a Bush lover or hater, mainly because if you say you liked him in anyway, people accuse you of being a Republican and assume you voted support all the Republican party does, including invading Iraq. I don't like everything anyone does. I just liked the pic.
I always suspected as much.
I have dyscalculia pretty badly, so this is especially funny for me!
Happy Weekending!
Friday, November 20, 2009
News and Sherrying Update
So far the visit's been passable. Hubby's kept these people pretty busy, and Max has been over the moon because Grandaddy is here and plays with him almost non-stop (I don't really think he's got a choice). Doofy's been pretty alert because he's sleeping better with the CPAP machine (I managed to find a 5 liter bottle of distilled water last-minute) so he doesn't sit on the sofa and start snoring loudly if there's a lull in the conversation, then insist it didn't happen.
On the SMother front, she wasn't in the house two hours before she started making "suggestions" about Max and then recommending I get tested for celiac disease as I made dinner for them (which she couldn't eat because...let's all say it together, shall we?...OF HER CELIAC DISEASE).
This woman really loves to control, and it's actually getting worse. Last night at dinner I was trying to get Max to finish his food because he is SUCH a whiner about eating sometimes, and she kept saying, "Max? Max? Tell me about your day. Max? Did you hear me? What'd you do today?? Max?" and Doofy was trying to shove more food into Max which is a bad a idea as he's got a hair trigger gag reflex and and barf it all back up in a flash if you're not careful, poor kid. So his little head was spinning round in all directions, trying to listen to everyone, and no matter which way he turned there was a forkful of food being shoved in his face.
Personally I think at 6 you're old enough to grasp the concept that if you don't eat, you'll be hungry. Lesson learnt. But I guess Doofy is used to the learned helplessness of Little Shit who STILL gets fed off a fork at age 8. After a minute of this forced feeding (I had a weird curiosity to see if it would actually work) Max was making a gagging face, so I said sharply, "He's eaten enough, FIL. We don't force food in this house."
And because his grandparents are here attending to his every need, some of Max's less desirable personality traits are surfacing, so I'm dealing with that too.
What's really bugging me about SMother and Doofy is (and this is way gross), they don't flush the toilets. I cam home yesterday to a big pile of shit in the toilet and nearly puked. What's so hard about flushing? You push the handle...the toilet does the rest. Do you think it will improve with age? Is that why you let it sit? Are you in some sort of drought mentality? Because lemme tellya...Germany's got PLENTY of water, folks.
The other night I came upstairs and smelled a really foul post-dump pong. I figured someone had just done a downloadm and the air was yet to clear. I've got a plug-in in that bathroom for that particular reason, a toilet cage with goo in it clipped to the inside of the bowl, AND a Clorox drop-in in the tank. SMother had removed the plug-in saying "it's a bit too strong". Yeah, so is your shit, lady. I plugged it back in announcing that it was staying, thank you very much.
Anyway, I went in to brush my teeth, looked over at the loo, and saw to my gaggifying horror that whomever had taken a dump had shat all over the toilet cage. I couldn't even breathe, I was so repulsed. I staggered into the bedroom to steady myself, then marched into Hubby's office where he and his parents were listening to a podcast and said I'd like a quiet word.
"There's a giant lump of shit on the toilet cage!" I hissed.
He looked perplexed. "Really? Oh. Okay, I'll clean it up" (said in a calm-the-hell-down voice).
"Why should you!?" I said. "You didn't do it!"
Impatient sigh. "I'll...I'll take care of it later, okay!?"
I seriously doubt he said a word to his parents. And seeing as how the toilet cage is at the front of the toilet, I really wonder how someone managed to pull that one off.
In all the times we've stayed with them in NC, I have taken great pains NOT to leave skid marks or any other bodily fluids in the toilet or elsewhere. The fact that these people don't even believe in the "if it's brown, flush it down" approach is bewildering to me. Where I grew up, you flushed after a deposit, then checked behind you...a must here, as the toilets are a bit different, and skid marks are a way of life. I keep a bottle of squirty stuff and a loo brush RIGHT NEXT TO THE TOILET for this exact reason.
My gyne asked me yesterday, "How goes the visit?"
I gave her a look that would freeze a polar bear's balls.
"That good, eh? How many more days...12 did you say?"
"Yes..."
She smiled and sighed. "Good luck!"
On the SMother front, she wasn't in the house two hours before she started making "suggestions" about Max and then recommending I get tested for celiac disease as I made dinner for them (which she couldn't eat because...let's all say it together, shall we?...OF HER CELIAC DISEASE).
This woman really loves to control, and it's actually getting worse. Last night at dinner I was trying to get Max to finish his food because he is SUCH a whiner about eating sometimes, and she kept saying, "Max? Max? Tell me about your day. Max? Did you hear me? What'd you do today?? Max?" and Doofy was trying to shove more food into Max which is a bad a idea as he's got a hair trigger gag reflex and and barf it all back up in a flash if you're not careful, poor kid. So his little head was spinning round in all directions, trying to listen to everyone, and no matter which way he turned there was a forkful of food being shoved in his face.
Personally I think at 6 you're old enough to grasp the concept that if you don't eat, you'll be hungry. Lesson learnt. But I guess Doofy is used to the learned helplessness of Little Shit who STILL gets fed off a fork at age 8. After a minute of this forced feeding (I had a weird curiosity to see if it would actually work) Max was making a gagging face, so I said sharply, "He's eaten enough, FIL. We don't force food in this house."
And because his grandparents are here attending to his every need, some of Max's less desirable personality traits are surfacing, so I'm dealing with that too.
What's really bugging me about SMother and Doofy is (and this is way gross), they don't flush the toilets. I cam home yesterday to a big pile of shit in the toilet and nearly puked. What's so hard about flushing? You push the handle...the toilet does the rest. Do you think it will improve with age? Is that why you let it sit? Are you in some sort of drought mentality? Because lemme tellya...Germany's got PLENTY of water, folks.
The other night I came upstairs and smelled a really foul post-dump pong. I figured someone had just done a downloadm and the air was yet to clear. I've got a plug-in in that bathroom for that particular reason, a toilet cage with goo in it clipped to the inside of the bowl, AND a Clorox drop-in in the tank. SMother had removed the plug-in saying "it's a bit too strong". Yeah, so is your shit, lady. I plugged it back in announcing that it was staying, thank you very much.
Anyway, I went in to brush my teeth, looked over at the loo, and saw to my gaggifying horror that whomever had taken a dump had shat all over the toilet cage. I couldn't even breathe, I was so repulsed. I staggered into the bedroom to steady myself, then marched into Hubby's office where he and his parents were listening to a podcast and said I'd like a quiet word.
"There's a giant lump of shit on the toilet cage!" I hissed.
He looked perplexed. "Really? Oh. Okay, I'll clean it up" (said in a calm-the-hell-down voice).
"Why should you!?" I said. "You didn't do it!"
Impatient sigh. "I'll...I'll take care of it later, okay!?"
I seriously doubt he said a word to his parents. And seeing as how the toilet cage is at the front of the toilet, I really wonder how someone managed to pull that one off.
In all the times we've stayed with them in NC, I have taken great pains NOT to leave skid marks or any other bodily fluids in the toilet or elsewhere. The fact that these people don't even believe in the "if it's brown, flush it down" approach is bewildering to me. Where I grew up, you flushed after a deposit, then checked behind you...a must here, as the toilets are a bit different, and skid marks are a way of life. I keep a bottle of squirty stuff and a loo brush RIGHT NEXT TO THE TOILET for this exact reason.
My gyne asked me yesterday, "How goes the visit?"
I gave her a look that would freeze a polar bear's balls.
"That good, eh? How many more days...12 did you say?"
"Yes..."
She smiled and sighed. "Good luck!"
Sunday, November 15, 2009
For Those Of You Playing Along at Home...
...the Outlaws descend in about two days.
As many times as they've visited, this is the one time when I really, really don't give a shit if they're here or not. Hubby said he'd be doing the housecleaning this weekend, as I'm bloated and low energy, but so far, not much has happened. Guess who it'll fall to??
And guess who won't do it? Not this time.
The last time they visited us, it wasn't even two months since I'd lost Christopher. I could barely cope with getting out of bed in the morning, let alone having to wait on these people. I don't think I'll ever get over the resentment I felt of having to deal with Smother and Doofy when most nights I still cried more than I slept and was in intensive therapy for PTSD.
This time it's different. I've been having issues with high blood pressure in this pregnancy, and lemme tellya, one of the things that sends it shooting straight up is dealing with Smother and her "observations" about Max. The last time they came, she wasn't in the house but 10 minutes, Max came pelting toward her for a hug, absolutely adorable in his school uniform, and she said in an undertone, "He's weaker on his left side." Of course, by the end of the visit, she'd decided he was weaker on his right side.
I have told hubby flat-out that I will NOT be around much for this visit because I am under orders to "reduce stress or wind up in a hospital bed" (direct quote!). It's that serious. I don't have pre-eclampsia right now, but I'm being closely monitored, like a watched pot. In my mind, nothing is going to make me sacrifice my health and my baby's, and that includes SMother's little comments under the guise of "just trying to help". I have been through too much to get this baby to grow properly and healthily just to risk it over some curdling BP because of SMother and her poison tongue.
And I'll be alone. Because the moment SMother struts across the threshold, hubby turns to Jell-O, and anything I say is rebutted with, "But you can see SMother's point..." or "SMother's only trying to help". In short, his spine dissolves, and he just won't dispute anything she has to say, even if it's criticism toward me. And boy, does she like to take little digs at me. She usually has one big go, like lancing a boil, per visit, then she's fine. I guess I'm an easy target because I don't fight back (I don't see the point in tangling with an aged cobra), as that's all I did when I was growing up under my dad's verbal abuse.
Because of her, Max has been under scrutiny for acid-reflux disease which, "if you're not careful, you're going to walk in one day and find him dead" (another direct quote...this when they were our guests in Scotland and fired at me at 7.30 am in a hotel room), PKU (because a neighbour's child had it), a host of metabolic problems, hip dysplasia, double Y chromosome syndrome, lead poisoning, jaundice, autism, Asperger's, Vitamin D deficiency, severe food allergies, intestinal kinks, and more recently, Celiac (because she has it and makes sure everyone around her knows it...therefore by default, Max has it, even though her other three Grandchildren display the classic symptoms)...and who knows what else she'll bring to the table this time.
Never a word for the incredible opportunities Max has had living in two different countries and now attending one of the best schools in Bavaria, if not Germany. Or a word of praise for the amazing child he's become despite having a mum who is full of hot boiling crazy. Nope.
A group of our ex-pat friends have opted for a Group Thanksgiving this year to take the pressure off individual families and foster a community spirit which, I have to say, is a great plan. I was all for it until I realised that SMother and Doofy would be here for Thanksgiving, and that idea would go over like a turd in a punchbowl. As with Max's 5th birthday back in England, SMother would only sit there scowling and passing on 95% of the things offered because of her CELIAC DISEASE, refusing to talk with these fine people and effectively keeping Doofy from talking to anyone else as well.
Ordinarily I like cooking a big dinner and having people consume it heartily, but this year, I really don't think I've got the energy. Nonetheless, one is planned, and here's how it'll go down:
I'll start roasting the turkey breast (ain't no way I'm cooking a whole turkey), then take advantage of SMother's control freak tendencies and say, "Here ya go: evaporated milk, can o' pumpkin, spices, and pie crust mix. You're on Pie Detail." Other tasks as assigned. If they expect a big Thanksgiving meal, they're putting their backs into it as well. I am Off Fuckin' Duty.
Several weeks ago I made a request to SMother (via Hubby) to give me a list of things to get at the Commissary for her CELIAC DISEASE DIET, as the Comm is a 180 minute hard drive round trip, and we go down there once every 60 days or so (one of my buds goes there every week...yikes). Her response was, "Oh, I don't need anything special...just (vague list of things). Really, don't go out of your way." She doesn't get how isolated we are here from American services, that it's not like in England where I can just nip up to the Comm in 15 minutes.
And trying to translate things in German, esp. food items, is really problematic for me, so I wouldn't be able to tell her if something she picked up would have wheat or corn in it. Neither do I care that much, which is probably the main thing!
One day after I did the Comm run (this past Friday), SMother tells us that we need a gallon of distilled water for Doofy's CPAP machine (which runs on 120V, so we had to scare up a transformer). Hubby informed me that I'd have to go to the local shopping mall, a huge 4-storey affair about 20 minutes away which is always jammed packed full of people (and to me, potential breeding grounds for H1N1) and find some. I did one better: I found a vat on amazon.de for 2 euros and quick delivery.
No, that wouldn't do. I needed to go and fight the Christmas shoppers on a Saturday, with Max in tow, and find this distilled water. Of course I couldn't find any, but Max did pick out a Christmas present which was good, and because he was so ace about the whole thing, he got a choccie ice cream. It's so easy to make him happy.
So now I have to go back out Monday and look again. A friend of mine in Austria assures me I can find some at the DM (like a CVS), so I'll begin there. Now I'm not suggesting that Doofy haul over a gallon of distilled water in his suitcase, but what would be the harm of bringing over a smaller bottle until the shipment comes from Amazon? When I suggested this, hubby said, "Oh, that would make his suitcase too heavy." So pack one less sweater, for Chrissake's. It's HIS machine. When we visit them and SMother asks what sorts of things she should stock in the fridge, my requests never go that elaborate...more like milk, loads of fresh veg and fruit, whole wheat bread, that sort of thing. I don't demand she gets these from the Head Up Its Own Ass Whole Foods market or buy all Fair Trade products which is about as demanding as finding this fucking water is for me.
So after all this bitching, there is one positive aspect to this bizarre scenario: my hormones. Yep, I have a fully loaded hormone cannon, and at a moment's notice, I can cry, yell, scream, and unloose my own venom in any direction I please. And I have a free Get Out of Bitchery Free card because (and I love this bit) I'M PREGNANT.
That's right. Not just preggo, but HIGH RISK PREGGO. UNDER HIGH BP WATCH. Full fuckin' tilt, baby. Take no prisoners, scorched earth, all nine yards. You're in MY den, suckas, and under my vapourous cloud. You sneeze too loud, I can move away from you with no explanation because I can't catch a cold. If I feel the slightest bit woozy or tired, I am OUTTA HERE. I don't wanna be round you? GONE, BABY, GONE.
Queen Bee, bitches. My house, my rules. And even though in past visits I've volleyed back some of SMother's little bombs quite effectively, I've never done the full tilt, "You know what, SMother? That was really out of line, and as long as you're a guest in my house, you'll watch your tongue. And btw, there's a GREAT hotel within walking distance of our house."
Not in all the times she's had a go at me or at Max. Or nearly broke our washer by overloading it, letting Max nearly choke to death on a piece of food by ignoring it until he turned purple in the face, letting him take a whizz on our carpet because "he needs to have his diaper off for a little while each day..." Or all the times she's told us we're not very good parents. Or the time that Doofy took a dump so rank it made the entire house reek...or when again Doofy had such a fierce download he clogged up the toilet and just let it sit there (guess who had to deal with that one?).
I have this bizarre fantasy where she stumbles across my blog and gets so irate that she confronts me about it. And I have the perfect reply: "Sorry you're upset. But point to ONE THING I've written here that isn't true. Seriously, just one thing."
Game on.
As many times as they've visited, this is the one time when I really, really don't give a shit if they're here or not. Hubby said he'd be doing the housecleaning this weekend, as I'm bloated and low energy, but so far, not much has happened. Guess who it'll fall to??
And guess who won't do it? Not this time.
The last time they visited us, it wasn't even two months since I'd lost Christopher. I could barely cope with getting out of bed in the morning, let alone having to wait on these people. I don't think I'll ever get over the resentment I felt of having to deal with Smother and Doofy when most nights I still cried more than I slept and was in intensive therapy for PTSD.
This time it's different. I've been having issues with high blood pressure in this pregnancy, and lemme tellya, one of the things that sends it shooting straight up is dealing with Smother and her "observations" about Max. The last time they came, she wasn't in the house but 10 minutes, Max came pelting toward her for a hug, absolutely adorable in his school uniform, and she said in an undertone, "He's weaker on his left side." Of course, by the end of the visit, she'd decided he was weaker on his right side.
I have told hubby flat-out that I will NOT be around much for this visit because I am under orders to "reduce stress or wind up in a hospital bed" (direct quote!). It's that serious. I don't have pre-eclampsia right now, but I'm being closely monitored, like a watched pot. In my mind, nothing is going to make me sacrifice my health and my baby's, and that includes SMother's little comments under the guise of "just trying to help". I have been through too much to get this baby to grow properly and healthily just to risk it over some curdling BP because of SMother and her poison tongue.
And I'll be alone. Because the moment SMother struts across the threshold, hubby turns to Jell-O, and anything I say is rebutted with, "But you can see SMother's point..." or "SMother's only trying to help". In short, his spine dissolves, and he just won't dispute anything she has to say, even if it's criticism toward me. And boy, does she like to take little digs at me. She usually has one big go, like lancing a boil, per visit, then she's fine. I guess I'm an easy target because I don't fight back (I don't see the point in tangling with an aged cobra), as that's all I did when I was growing up under my dad's verbal abuse.
Because of her, Max has been under scrutiny for acid-reflux disease which, "if you're not careful, you're going to walk in one day and find him dead" (another direct quote...this when they were our guests in Scotland and fired at me at 7.30 am in a hotel room), PKU (because a neighbour's child had it), a host of metabolic problems, hip dysplasia, double Y chromosome syndrome, lead poisoning, jaundice, autism, Asperger's, Vitamin D deficiency, severe food allergies, intestinal kinks, and more recently, Celiac (because she has it and makes sure everyone around her knows it...therefore by default, Max has it, even though her other three Grandchildren display the classic symptoms)...and who knows what else she'll bring to the table this time.
Never a word for the incredible opportunities Max has had living in two different countries and now attending one of the best schools in Bavaria, if not Germany. Or a word of praise for the amazing child he's become despite having a mum who is full of hot boiling crazy. Nope.
A group of our ex-pat friends have opted for a Group Thanksgiving this year to take the pressure off individual families and foster a community spirit which, I have to say, is a great plan. I was all for it until I realised that SMother and Doofy would be here for Thanksgiving, and that idea would go over like a turd in a punchbowl. As with Max's 5th birthday back in England, SMother would only sit there scowling and passing on 95% of the things offered because of her CELIAC DISEASE, refusing to talk with these fine people and effectively keeping Doofy from talking to anyone else as well.
Ordinarily I like cooking a big dinner and having people consume it heartily, but this year, I really don't think I've got the energy. Nonetheless, one is planned, and here's how it'll go down:
I'll start roasting the turkey breast (ain't no way I'm cooking a whole turkey), then take advantage of SMother's control freak tendencies and say, "Here ya go: evaporated milk, can o' pumpkin, spices, and pie crust mix. You're on Pie Detail." Other tasks as assigned. If they expect a big Thanksgiving meal, they're putting their backs into it as well. I am Off Fuckin' Duty.
Several weeks ago I made a request to SMother (via Hubby) to give me a list of things to get at the Commissary for her CELIAC DISEASE DIET, as the Comm is a 180 minute hard drive round trip, and we go down there once every 60 days or so (one of my buds goes there every week...yikes). Her response was, "Oh, I don't need anything special...just (vague list of things). Really, don't go out of your way." She doesn't get how isolated we are here from American services, that it's not like in England where I can just nip up to the Comm in 15 minutes.
And trying to translate things in German, esp. food items, is really problematic for me, so I wouldn't be able to tell her if something she picked up would have wheat or corn in it. Neither do I care that much, which is probably the main thing!
One day after I did the Comm run (this past Friday), SMother tells us that we need a gallon of distilled water for Doofy's CPAP machine (which runs on 120V, so we had to scare up a transformer). Hubby informed me that I'd have to go to the local shopping mall, a huge 4-storey affair about 20 minutes away which is always jammed packed full of people (and to me, potential breeding grounds for H1N1) and find some. I did one better: I found a vat on amazon.de for 2 euros and quick delivery.
No, that wouldn't do. I needed to go and fight the Christmas shoppers on a Saturday, with Max in tow, and find this distilled water. Of course I couldn't find any, but Max did pick out a Christmas present which was good, and because he was so ace about the whole thing, he got a choccie ice cream. It's so easy to make him happy.
So now I have to go back out Monday and look again. A friend of mine in Austria assures me I can find some at the DM (like a CVS), so I'll begin there. Now I'm not suggesting that Doofy haul over a gallon of distilled water in his suitcase, but what would be the harm of bringing over a smaller bottle until the shipment comes from Amazon? When I suggested this, hubby said, "Oh, that would make his suitcase too heavy." So pack one less sweater, for Chrissake's. It's HIS machine. When we visit them and SMother asks what sorts of things she should stock in the fridge, my requests never go that elaborate...more like milk, loads of fresh veg and fruit, whole wheat bread, that sort of thing. I don't demand she gets these from the Head Up Its Own Ass Whole Foods market or buy all Fair Trade products which is about as demanding as finding this fucking water is for me.
So after all this bitching, there is one positive aspect to this bizarre scenario: my hormones. Yep, I have a fully loaded hormone cannon, and at a moment's notice, I can cry, yell, scream, and unloose my own venom in any direction I please. And I have a free Get Out of Bitchery Free card because (and I love this bit) I'M PREGNANT.
That's right. Not just preggo, but HIGH RISK PREGGO. UNDER HIGH BP WATCH. Full fuckin' tilt, baby. Take no prisoners, scorched earth, all nine yards. You're in MY den, suckas, and under my vapourous cloud. You sneeze too loud, I can move away from you with no explanation because I can't catch a cold. If I feel the slightest bit woozy or tired, I am OUTTA HERE. I don't wanna be round you? GONE, BABY, GONE.
Queen Bee, bitches. My house, my rules. And even though in past visits I've volleyed back some of SMother's little bombs quite effectively, I've never done the full tilt, "You know what, SMother? That was really out of line, and as long as you're a guest in my house, you'll watch your tongue. And btw, there's a GREAT hotel within walking distance of our house."
Not in all the times she's had a go at me or at Max. Or nearly broke our washer by overloading it, letting Max nearly choke to death on a piece of food by ignoring it until he turned purple in the face, letting him take a whizz on our carpet because "he needs to have his diaper off for a little while each day..." Or all the times she's told us we're not very good parents. Or the time that Doofy took a dump so rank it made the entire house reek...or when again Doofy had such a fierce download he clogged up the toilet and just let it sit there (guess who had to deal with that one?).
I have this bizarre fantasy where she stumbles across my blog and gets so irate that she confronts me about it. And I have the perfect reply: "Sorry you're upset. But point to ONE THING I've written here that isn't true. Seriously, just one thing."
Game on.
Monday, November 09, 2009
I Had A Stalker This Week
A real one, not just a pathetic internet one.
Last Tuesday I was collecting Maxman from the bus. He jumped off in his usual ebullient way, and we sang the "Max is Home!" song we usually do, starting back up the street to our house.
A guy walked by, heard the English, and turned round a bit, smiling. This happens a LOT. I'm guilty of it too because hey, if you live here long enough and hear someone speaking English without an accent, you just start talking to them. Stranger in a strange land and all that.
This guy was chatting amiably with me. I could tell my his accent he was African. Not African-American (which I think is a ridiculous term...unless you got off the plane last week, you're an AMERICAN...hell, I don't describe myself as Euro-American...), just plain African. I've met a lot of Africans in my work experiences, and I've never had any sort of issues or reasons to dislike, so I chatted back, equally as amiable.
He asked if Max was a boy or a girl which I thought was odd, so I said, "Of course he's a boy...?!" He then asked if I picked him up every day at the same time, explaining, "I walk up and down this street a lot, and I've never seen you before."
Max was a bit squirrelly, and I was afraid he'd dash into the street, so I said rather distractedly, "Yeah, his bus comes here about this time every day..."
"Oh!" says the man. "In that case, we can walk and talk for a while."
Red flags went up. I said, "Erm...I really need to be getting him home now, so I don't have time to talk."
"Well, let us meet tomorrow, then. We can talk."
"About what??" I asked rather pointedly.
"Oh, just things. Maybe 5 or 10 minutes. I can tell you about me and that kind of thing." Meanwhile he's still following me, and I'm realising I might be in a bit of trouble here. Then he said, "My name is Jude. What is your name?"
I gave him a fake one. He asked where I lived. I pointed in a direction away from my house. No way was I telling him anything.
The light changed, and I hurried across the street, but Jude stayed right with me. I hung onto Max's hand very tightly and whispered in his ear, "DO EXACTLY AS I SAY WHEN I TELL YOU TO..NO QUESTIONS." He nodded.
I was trying to figure out where I could go that would be away from the house and still in a public place. Not easy on the part of road where we were. We live directly off the main drag through town, and whilst there are a lot of cars, there aren't always a lot of people. I turned into an apartment complex where I saw a man standing there and figured if some shit went down, I could let out a yelp.
Jude kept following me, trying to ask questions and get me to talk. I finally said, "Look, what do you want? Are you trying to sell me something? Are you going to tell me about Jesus? What?"
He looked surprised and said, "Now you're angry...why are you angry? I just want to talk."
I said, "I'm not interested in talking now or tomorrow or anytime. Tell me what you're after right now, please."
So he starts talking about how hard it is to find a woman when you're an ex-pat, how he'd seen me on the road and was following me for a bit. I yelled, "YOU WERE FOLLOWING ME??"
"Not far...only to the bus stop..."
I said, "Okay, lookit, I don't know what you're after, but I'm married. My husband is tall, strong, a black belt, and would not be pleased to hear what you're saying to me. Now..." whipping out my cel phone, "if you have anything else to say, I will call him, and the three of us can have a chat."
When I mentioned the word "husband" he looked alarmed and backed off immediately. I guess he thought something else entirely when he spotted me alone, no makeup, no ring (I'd been house cleaning and don't wear one on those days), pregnant, and with a small child. Yeah, what a catch, eh?
"I didn't know you had a husband," he said.
"Yes, I do."
"Oh...okay...then never mind..." backing away, hands up, etc.
I said, "BTW, if you're looking for a woman, this is NOT the way to do it."
"What IS the way??"
"I have no idea...but not like this."
He walked back to the main road, and I made sure he was very far down the way before I turned into our drive. I then ran inside, 4-locked the door, and rang hubby saying he needed to come home NOW.
I asked my Knitty pals about it, and one person living in Austria had some very insightful things to say. There has been a massive influx of Africans into Europe lately, coming for work or whatever reasons, and they get mired in red tape whilst waiting for citizenship which can take years. Their opportunities are limited. The easiest thing to do is marry some sympathetic German citizen (yeah, it happens) and suddenly life gets a whole lot easier. She speculated that he thought I looked a little desperate, being pregnant with one child on my hand, and thought I'd make an easy target. She then told me the same thing had happened to her.
African guys, another poster said, have different takes on what constitutes violating personal space sometimes. When I told this story to a fellow ex-pat the other night, she said her teenaged daughter had the same thing happen on the SBahn: an African guy saw she was reading a book in English, sat down next to her, and wouldn't leave her alone. I wonder if the mentality is to just harass a woman until she gives in.
Anyway, I drove to the bus stop the next day which made me feel utterly ridiculous, as it's a 7 minute walk up the road. I didn't see the guy and felt a bit safer.
Thursday, however, after I picked Maxman up I was walking back up the main road, the most direct route, and I saw him again. He saw me, and started walking toward me, but I "gave him the slip": turned down a side road and cut through the apartment complex, all the while terrified he was going to cut me off or leap out through the wee woods right behind our house. I was really, really scared.
When we got home, Max had a wee, and I thought, This really can't go on. So I got Max put back together again (shoes in two parts of the house, coat in the kitchen, backpack under the sofa...it's amazing how he goes to pieces in so short a time), and said, "C'mon, we're going for a ride."
I drove to the local Polizei station and told the guy behind the counter what had happened. He wasn't inclined to take me seriously at first, saying, "There is no law broken if a man talks to you. There is not much we can do."
I replied, "Okay then...you tell me something. I'm pregnant and I've got a small child on my arm. You tell ME how I'm supposed to defend myself. Any ideas??"
Eventually he took me back into his office where he wrote down a bunch of details and finally said, "Here is what we will do. Tomorrow, we will send a car down to that intersection to watch for this man. If he begins to follow you again, we will take him aside and talk to him, maybe bring him to the station. But that is only if we do not have another emergency...we have only two cars here."
It was better than nothing. I thanked him and left.
The next afternoon, I collected Maxman off the bus and saw a green Polizei car make a few laps of the road and finally turn off and part in a place where they could see everything. I walked over to them, said who I was, and they asked more questions. I hadn't seen Jude today, but it was a Friday, and a lot of German places close at noon on Friday, so he might've already gone home.
These two guys (I think) came from Munich, not from my town, and they asked very direct questions: did he put his hands on you in any way, did he use bad language, etc. When nothing happened after a few minutes (aside from Max having a wee in the bushes), they said, "We will stay here a little while longer, and if he shows up, we will talk to him."
I thanked them warmly and set off. They followed me a little ways up the road, then turned into the street right before mine RIGHT as a guy fitting Jude's description walked by. It was so far away I couldn't see if it was my guy or another one, but it sure looked like him. They talked to him for a while, he threw up his hands as if to say, "What'd *I* do??" and walked back up the street.
Meanwhile I'd turned into our drive, and Herr I, our neighbour and my adopted grandfather, called down, "Helloooo!" from his upper window. I asked if he could come down, and he did. He agreed to walk with me today to Max's bus stop, furrowing his brow when I told him what was going on. His wife came out and listened as well, offering to go and yell at this man (and I can see her doing it). They then invited me into their wonderful home and tried to stuff me and Max full of food and drink. There's a reason I refer to them as my Uma and Opi (grandmother/father)!!
So I'm hoping that's the end of it. What's really bugging me is this feeling of being afraid that this Jude guy is going to leap out from behind a tree or something. I spend a lot of time on my own here in town, and now I'm all paranoid about even walking to the local ALDI. I hate this feeling of fear. And I can't even arm myself with pepper spray because it's illegal. How am I supposed to protect myself, as a pregnant and thus vulnerable girl??
I hope this is over now.
Last Tuesday I was collecting Maxman from the bus. He jumped off in his usual ebullient way, and we sang the "Max is Home!" song we usually do, starting back up the street to our house.
A guy walked by, heard the English, and turned round a bit, smiling. This happens a LOT. I'm guilty of it too because hey, if you live here long enough and hear someone speaking English without an accent, you just start talking to them. Stranger in a strange land and all that.
This guy was chatting amiably with me. I could tell my his accent he was African. Not African-American (which I think is a ridiculous term...unless you got off the plane last week, you're an AMERICAN...hell, I don't describe myself as Euro-American...), just plain African. I've met a lot of Africans in my work experiences, and I've never had any sort of issues or reasons to dislike, so I chatted back, equally as amiable.
He asked if Max was a boy or a girl which I thought was odd, so I said, "Of course he's a boy...?!" He then asked if I picked him up every day at the same time, explaining, "I walk up and down this street a lot, and I've never seen you before."
Max was a bit squirrelly, and I was afraid he'd dash into the street, so I said rather distractedly, "Yeah, his bus comes here about this time every day..."
"Oh!" says the man. "In that case, we can walk and talk for a while."
Red flags went up. I said, "Erm...I really need to be getting him home now, so I don't have time to talk."
"Well, let us meet tomorrow, then. We can talk."
"About what??" I asked rather pointedly.
"Oh, just things. Maybe 5 or 10 minutes. I can tell you about me and that kind of thing." Meanwhile he's still following me, and I'm realising I might be in a bit of trouble here. Then he said, "My name is Jude. What is your name?"
I gave him a fake one. He asked where I lived. I pointed in a direction away from my house. No way was I telling him anything.
The light changed, and I hurried across the street, but Jude stayed right with me. I hung onto Max's hand very tightly and whispered in his ear, "DO EXACTLY AS I SAY WHEN I TELL YOU TO..NO QUESTIONS." He nodded.
I was trying to figure out where I could go that would be away from the house and still in a public place. Not easy on the part of road where we were. We live directly off the main drag through town, and whilst there are a lot of cars, there aren't always a lot of people. I turned into an apartment complex where I saw a man standing there and figured if some shit went down, I could let out a yelp.
Jude kept following me, trying to ask questions and get me to talk. I finally said, "Look, what do you want? Are you trying to sell me something? Are you going to tell me about Jesus? What?"
He looked surprised and said, "Now you're angry...why are you angry? I just want to talk."
I said, "I'm not interested in talking now or tomorrow or anytime. Tell me what you're after right now, please."
So he starts talking about how hard it is to find a woman when you're an ex-pat, how he'd seen me on the road and was following me for a bit. I yelled, "YOU WERE FOLLOWING ME??"
"Not far...only to the bus stop..."
I said, "Okay, lookit, I don't know what you're after, but I'm married. My husband is tall, strong, a black belt, and would not be pleased to hear what you're saying to me. Now..." whipping out my cel phone, "if you have anything else to say, I will call him, and the three of us can have a chat."
When I mentioned the word "husband" he looked alarmed and backed off immediately. I guess he thought something else entirely when he spotted me alone, no makeup, no ring (I'd been house cleaning and don't wear one on those days), pregnant, and with a small child. Yeah, what a catch, eh?
"I didn't know you had a husband," he said.
"Yes, I do."
"Oh...okay...then never mind..." backing away, hands up, etc.
I said, "BTW, if you're looking for a woman, this is NOT the way to do it."
"What IS the way??"
"I have no idea...but not like this."
He walked back to the main road, and I made sure he was very far down the way before I turned into our drive. I then ran inside, 4-locked the door, and rang hubby saying he needed to come home NOW.
I asked my Knitty pals about it, and one person living in Austria had some very insightful things to say. There has been a massive influx of Africans into Europe lately, coming for work or whatever reasons, and they get mired in red tape whilst waiting for citizenship which can take years. Their opportunities are limited. The easiest thing to do is marry some sympathetic German citizen (yeah, it happens) and suddenly life gets a whole lot easier. She speculated that he thought I looked a little desperate, being pregnant with one child on my hand, and thought I'd make an easy target. She then told me the same thing had happened to her.
African guys, another poster said, have different takes on what constitutes violating personal space sometimes. When I told this story to a fellow ex-pat the other night, she said her teenaged daughter had the same thing happen on the SBahn: an African guy saw she was reading a book in English, sat down next to her, and wouldn't leave her alone. I wonder if the mentality is to just harass a woman until she gives in.
Anyway, I drove to the bus stop the next day which made me feel utterly ridiculous, as it's a 7 minute walk up the road. I didn't see the guy and felt a bit safer.
Thursday, however, after I picked Maxman up I was walking back up the main road, the most direct route, and I saw him again. He saw me, and started walking toward me, but I "gave him the slip": turned down a side road and cut through the apartment complex, all the while terrified he was going to cut me off or leap out through the wee woods right behind our house. I was really, really scared.
When we got home, Max had a wee, and I thought, This really can't go on. So I got Max put back together again (shoes in two parts of the house, coat in the kitchen, backpack under the sofa...it's amazing how he goes to pieces in so short a time), and said, "C'mon, we're going for a ride."
I drove to the local Polizei station and told the guy behind the counter what had happened. He wasn't inclined to take me seriously at first, saying, "There is no law broken if a man talks to you. There is not much we can do."
I replied, "Okay then...you tell me something. I'm pregnant and I've got a small child on my arm. You tell ME how I'm supposed to defend myself. Any ideas??"
Eventually he took me back into his office where he wrote down a bunch of details and finally said, "Here is what we will do. Tomorrow, we will send a car down to that intersection to watch for this man. If he begins to follow you again, we will take him aside and talk to him, maybe bring him to the station. But that is only if we do not have another emergency...we have only two cars here."
It was better than nothing. I thanked him and left.
The next afternoon, I collected Maxman off the bus and saw a green Polizei car make a few laps of the road and finally turn off and part in a place where they could see everything. I walked over to them, said who I was, and they asked more questions. I hadn't seen Jude today, but it was a Friday, and a lot of German places close at noon on Friday, so he might've already gone home.
These two guys (I think) came from Munich, not from my town, and they asked very direct questions: did he put his hands on you in any way, did he use bad language, etc. When nothing happened after a few minutes (aside from Max having a wee in the bushes), they said, "We will stay here a little while longer, and if he shows up, we will talk to him."
I thanked them warmly and set off. They followed me a little ways up the road, then turned into the street right before mine RIGHT as a guy fitting Jude's description walked by. It was so far away I couldn't see if it was my guy or another one, but it sure looked like him. They talked to him for a while, he threw up his hands as if to say, "What'd *I* do??" and walked back up the street.
Meanwhile I'd turned into our drive, and Herr I, our neighbour and my adopted grandfather, called down, "Helloooo!" from his upper window. I asked if he could come down, and he did. He agreed to walk with me today to Max's bus stop, furrowing his brow when I told him what was going on. His wife came out and listened as well, offering to go and yell at this man (and I can see her doing it). They then invited me into their wonderful home and tried to stuff me and Max full of food and drink. There's a reason I refer to them as my Uma and Opi (grandmother/father)!!
So I'm hoping that's the end of it. What's really bugging me is this feeling of being afraid that this Jude guy is going to leap out from behind a tree or something. I spend a lot of time on my own here in town, and now I'm all paranoid about even walking to the local ALDI. I hate this feeling of fear. And I can't even arm myself with pepper spray because it's illegal. How am I supposed to protect myself, as a pregnant and thus vulnerable girl??
I hope this is over now.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Go, Boris!
I was chatting with a fellow ex-pat of mine who used to live in the same exact part of England that we did. We knew the same folks...heck, we knew each other...and we moved here about the same time. She's good people.
Anyway, she asked me if I missed England. I said, "I thought I would, but I really don't, not that much. I miss certain people and things, but not enough to fill me with a longing to go back. I think I got everything out of it that I wanted to."
But as I checked my inbox today and saw the following article, I realised there is one person I miss very much, and that's the Mayor of London...Boris Johnson.
Non-Americans might not be familiar with him, but my fellow Brits certainly will be. I'm a big Boris fan. He's incredibly, blindingly intelligent but completely off his nut at the same time.
If you look up the Wiki page for Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, you'll see a list of controversies which have sprung up around him. Although he's Mayor of London, he will always be a journalist first, and a lot of the controversies have come from him not backing down on his opinion, right or wrong.
I remember seeing Boris on "Have I Got News For You", a topical news show with two fixed panelists Ian Hislop and Paul Merton. Boris was the guest host, and it remains one of the best episodes I've ever seen.
Many Londonders would hotly disagree with me about BoJo, but to me, he's wonderful.
And now, someone else thinks as much, too (and yes, his hair does normally look like that...in fact, that's rather tidy for Boris).
LONDON - London Mayor Boris Johnson rescued a woman attacked by a group of girls wielding a metal bar after answering her plea for help during an evening bicycle ride, a spokeswoman for his office said on Wednesday.
Documentary filmmaker Franny Armstrong was confronted by a group of young teenage girls as she was walking in North London on Monday night, media reported.
"I was texting on my phone so didn't notice the girls until they pushed me against the car," the Guardian newspaper quoted Armstrong as saying. "I saw that one of them had an iron bar in her hand. It was more than a meter long."
"Then along came a cyclist. And I thought, 'Good, he's a big bloke,' and shouted, 'Can you help me please?," The Guardian reported.
"I said, 'That's the mayor of London!' and they ran off," Armstrong told the Guardian. "They must have thought they were going to get in trouble. One dropped the bar, so Boris picked it up and cycled after them."
Johnson, a Conservative, was elected mayor in 2008. After the rescue he then walked Armstrong home.
She said that although she had voted for his Labour opponent Ken Livingstone in last year's election, Johnson might be the tougher of the two if you ever found yourself in trouble down a dark alleyway.
"He was my knight on a shining bicycle."
Anyway, she asked me if I missed England. I said, "I thought I would, but I really don't, not that much. I miss certain people and things, but not enough to fill me with a longing to go back. I think I got everything out of it that I wanted to."
But as I checked my inbox today and saw the following article, I realised there is one person I miss very much, and that's the Mayor of London...Boris Johnson.
Non-Americans might not be familiar with him, but my fellow Brits certainly will be. I'm a big Boris fan. He's incredibly, blindingly intelligent but completely off his nut at the same time.
If you look up the Wiki page for Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, you'll see a list of controversies which have sprung up around him. Although he's Mayor of London, he will always be a journalist first, and a lot of the controversies have come from him not backing down on his opinion, right or wrong.
I remember seeing Boris on "Have I Got News For You", a topical news show with two fixed panelists Ian Hislop and Paul Merton. Boris was the guest host, and it remains one of the best episodes I've ever seen.
Many Londonders would hotly disagree with me about BoJo, but to me, he's wonderful.
And now, someone else thinks as much, too (and yes, his hair does normally look like that...in fact, that's rather tidy for Boris).
LONDON - London Mayor Boris Johnson rescued a woman attacked by a group of girls wielding a metal bar after answering her plea for help during an evening bicycle ride, a spokeswoman for his office said on Wednesday.
Documentary filmmaker Franny Armstrong was confronted by a group of young teenage girls as she was walking in North London on Monday night, media reported.
"I was texting on my phone so didn't notice the girls until they pushed me against the car," the Guardian newspaper quoted Armstrong as saying. "I saw that one of them had an iron bar in her hand. It was more than a meter long."
"Then along came a cyclist. And I thought, 'Good, he's a big bloke,' and shouted, 'Can you help me please?," The Guardian reported.
"I said, 'That's the mayor of London!' and they ran off," Armstrong told the Guardian. "They must have thought they were going to get in trouble. One dropped the bar, so Boris picked it up and cycled after them."
Johnson, a Conservative, was elected mayor in 2008. After the rescue he then walked Armstrong home.
She said that although she had voted for his Labour opponent Ken Livingstone in last year's election, Johnson might be the tougher of the two if you ever found yourself in trouble down a dark alleyway.
"He was my knight on a shining bicycle."
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