Switaly

It costs 3 times more to feed this beast in Switzerland

I've nicknamed the little corner of the world I live in, Switaly.  It's technically Switzerland, but it's pretty much Italy.  Life in Switaly is pretty sexy. Then again, after 15 months in Franconia and the experiences I had, everything but an Uzbeki prison would be sexy!

So yes, I'm probably wearing light rose tinted glasses and the ecstasy will probably wear off eventually, but so far, it's great.   I hadn't realized how much Germany had beaten me down until I caught myself wincing every 5 minutes.  In Germany, I just expected things to go wrong, because well, 90% of the time it did!  If my parking ticket expired at 5:01, by 5:02 I'd get a ticket.  If the speed limit was 50 km/h and I was going 57 km/h, I'd expect a speeding ticket.  If I accidentally cut someone off on the street, I'd expect the driver to follow me and road rage on me in German.  I think I'm "finally" breaking out of the wince.  Today for instance, I had a ticket stub for parking. The first 30 minutes were free.  I put my ticket in the machine and happily discovered, I was still within the free time.  I looked down at the ticket and realized I had pulled in 29 minutes ago! By the time I got to my car, drove down 4 floors, surely the free time would be up and I'd have to pay.  If it was Germany, the story would go down like this:  I'd go up to the machine, it'd be free.  I'd get to my car, drive the 4 floors to the ticket machine.  The ticket machine would tell I'd have to pay.  By then, I'd have 4 cars behind me without the possibility to reverse.  I'd run to the machine only to discover it doesn't take the only coins I have.  The drivers of the 4 cars would all come out of their cars in Germany and ream me out.  Guaranteed.  That's how it would go down.   So as I approached the ticket machine, this scene was playing out in my head.  Put ticket in, machine says "grazie", gate rises. No drama.  And that's pretty much how it's been here.  No drama.  Just the way I like it.

Though it's great here, this nirvana does have it's downsides.  Luckily, I've found a workaround for most of them.  For instance, some things here are expensive.  prohibitively so.  ridiculous.  Not everything, but the things that are, are ridiculous.  Face cream, plants and laundry detergent are at least double what I used to pay in Germany.  Meat? I'm practically a vegetarian by sheer cost!  Dog food?  You'd think I was buying caviar.  Instead of the 12 euro a bag it cost me to feed Lucy, here it's about 40 chf a bag! (about 3 times more)  But because I live in Switaly, it's a quick 15 minute drive to Italy where prices are a lot more reasonable.

Also, there's traffic in nirvana.  A lot of it.  Even though only 75,000 call this little city home, you'd think it was 10 times that from just the traffic!  it can take 10 minutes to travel 1 km.  Ride a bike you say, gladly.  Only when it's 35C, the last thing I feel like doing is building up a sweat to show up at work with hair plastered to my head and my clothes soaking.

So far, those are my only Switalian complaints and I'd say both are reasonable.  Life could be worse.  A lot worse.  I know, I lived it for 15 months!

Escaping the employer from hell

2 years ago, I was sitting atop a mountain, contemplating life.  Cheesy, I know, and not at all unique.

However, what was unique was the fact that at that point, I had gotten to said mountain by carrying a 40lb pack over 100km and climbing up about 10.000 feet of mountain.  Why pray tell would anyone in their right mind attempt to do this after never even having carried a backpack heavier than a bottle of water and granola bar.  Well, simple really.  I was bored.  As the cliche goes, an idle mind is a dangerous thing.  After building a career, having a comfortable life and getting over a traumatic short lived marriage, I needed a challenge.  Yeah, I suppose there were more reasonable ways of accomplishing this, but I'm not known for taking the easy way out.

After proving to myself that I could do something as absurd as carrying a backpack for a month in Northern Canada, I thought of other ways I could push myself without the need for "nature's toilet" paper or needing to make bear calls constantly to stave off bears.

Long story short, I thought living overseas would be a much more glamourous option.  I didn't put any thought into how it would happen and it turns out, I didn't need to.  Shortly after adjusting back to civilization, I was contacted by a recruiter for a large german company.  6 months after standing atop that mountain, I was living and working in Europe!

Moving to a new country is not an easy task. Doing it alone and in a language you don't speak is hard.  Doing it when things go sideways, is sheer hell.

Problems were apparent in my first few weeks at work.  From a delayed work permit (cause it sat on someone's desk) to not having a computer for 3 months (& needing to wait another 2 for all the right programs) to not having basic information about what was what.  When my boss said to me "Katherine, it may seem like we didn't want you, but we really did" I giggled and chalked it up to bad luck.  After all, this was a huge international company.  When my German colleagues would "forget" to speak English, I'd apologize for not knowing any German and vowed to learn ASAP.  Even though the "official" working language of the company was English, I wanted to fit in and be part of the team!  When I realized that by them not switching to English, I was missing really important info, I was concerned.  When they got mad at me because they claimed to have told me about the issue, I was pissed.

Despite all that, I made efforts to learn German and my colleagues agreed to speak in the company's working language for issues directly affecting me.  Yeah, so what if I couldn't partake in office niceties, at least I wouldn't be accused of not paying attention.   I raised these issues with my boss and my requests for German classes was met with "Well, THIS is your German class!" I even attempted to discuss this with my HR manager, but she was too busy, forgetful or stupid to show up for either of the 2 meetings she scheduled and held a grudge against me for not giving her a 3rd chance to reschedule a meeting.

Yeah cracks were evident from the beginning, but what do you do? You just moved your life across an ocean.  So I made the best of it.  When I realized that I wouldn't in fact be working on industry leading products and that a trained monkey could do my job, I expanded my social life.  After all, I had 6 weeks vacation and lived in the middle of Europe!  I started to hit a groove.  Sure, my job killed my soul every day and I had 5 minutes of interaction with colleagues, but I'd manage.

My breaking point came after the threat of legal action.  I went on a work trip representing said big international company overseas and it resulted in the national train company trying to sue me over the big international company's error.  Then I put my foot down.  NO.WAY.  I had had enough.  Not one of my managers nor the employee who booked the trip was willing to help me with the situation.  After sending emails to everyone and their manager, the situation got dealt with and the lawsuit dropped. 5 months later.  After that, I vowed middle of Europe or big international company, it didn't matter.  I would not and could not be treated this way!

Since I wasn't ready to give up the European 6 weeks vacation anytime soon, I considered my options.  I researched what options in my specialty field were available and like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm, I found the perfect opportunity for a different large international company in Switzerland.  That job was mine if it killed me! Well....little did I know that it would nearly try!

It turned out getting a different job was the easy part.  Leaving the employer from hell, was well, hell! You'd think that since I had "fallen thru the cracks" and had these endless issues there would be a reasonable reaction to me leaving.  Well, it was anything but. Even though everyone was well aware of the situations I'd experienced, me leaving would mean that someone would have to accept that I had slipped thru the cracks and if there's one thing I learned about living and working in Bavaria is that Deflecting Responsibility is priority one.

Before giving notice in hell, I verified what the legal resignation notice period was.  It was a full month's notice.  There was a blip in my contract that stated I had to give 90 days notice, but I foolishly assumed that law would precede contract and that was the company's way of making their life easier because which foreigner was going to take the time to consult the law.  After handing in my notice and stated my exit date, I heard nothing.  1 week went by, then 2, then a month.  Randomly, and I'm convinced because of the cumulative stress on me, I ended up in the hospital needing emergency appendix surgery which also infected some other organs.  While I was in the hospital recovering from the loss of my organ, my HR manager contacted my lawyer (which I had to take for other reasons but turned out to be the best decision I made) to say that my desired leaving date wasn't accepted and the earliest they'd "let" me leave was 3 weeks later.  Well, by this point it had been 5 weeks since I'd given notice, confirmed my start date with my new employer, gave notice at my apartment and now with the surgery, wouldn't be able to work for weeks anyhow.

My lawyer attempted to approach the hr manager with logic and reason, but logic and reason are not part of big international company's motto.  Despite the fact that I wouldn't be returning to work and that my doctor told me not to return to them after the surgery, I refused their non-negotiable offer and and basically told them in nice legalese, to take the job and shove it.  Well, even though it's completely acceptable in big international company's operating motto to treat an employee worse than shit on the bottom of a shoe and taking my experience and learn from it, they decided to sue me.

I should mention that I wasn't exactly the ceo of said international company. Nor was I even management. And since it had only been 15 months since I'd been there, it's not like we had a long standing relationship or that I had any industry secrets.  But, Katherine was bad and "didn't follow the rules".   Let alone the fact that any reasonable person would have bolted long ago or started counter suing them, we were now approaching putting out a cigarette with a fire extinguisher territory.   This. was. happening.  

The first step they did was trying to present me with an injuction preventing me for working for anyone else.  I didn't have this clause in my contract, so it was absurd.  But because I no longer had an address in Germany, they couldn't do anything.  The next step is they tried to email me with the injuction and I requested an extraordinary dismissal citing my health issues.

The next step is that they contacted my new employer with a later stating that they wanted to sue either them or me for damages relating to me not living out my contract.  Right.  Again, I could have been sitting on my couch in Nurnberg indefinately collecting full pay on sick leave, but big international company would rather have that then let me leave.  It makes no sense, why would you attempt to sue a trained monkey whom you wouldn't have gotten work from anyway.  My suspicion is that someone got wind of my experiences and started asking questions.  Instead of taking ownership over treating someone poorly, they decided to proceed with the German CYA (cover your ass) tactic of dealing with things.  

So here I am, in Switzerland, a sort of fugitive from big international company.  I'm trying really hard not to let the experience sour me and I'm at the point where I accept my German work experience as perspective.  Had I gone straight from Vancouver to Switzerland, it would have been too easy.  I wouldn't have known how bad things can be.  You see, I love my new job.  I love my colleagues.  It's truly an international company and the working language is English.  Yes, people talk in Italian, French, German and who knows what else daily.  But my colleagues know, accept and respect that the working language is as stated.  I'm not an alien or an outsider here, I'm just one of the crew.   I had a fancy new mac book pro waiting for me on my first day.  My mom says that "normal" is only a setting on a washing machine, but I dare say that it's been "normal" here.  The new big international company is aware of the situation and is fully supporting me thru it.   It's been hell yet mentally, I'm close to heaven knowing that I don't have to live in that situation anymore.   I did learn a very important lesson though: be careful what you wish for.  Or at least be more specific.

Reluctantly holding onto my independence

Successfully moving to a new place involves several skills: patience, resilience and the ability to ask for help. I've come to discover I only have one of those traits: resilience.

When i lived in Canada, I considered myself to be independent, but looking back, I took things for granted. Sure I could do "most" things myself, but I had family and friends I could call for help and if I couldn't, I could speak the language to find the help I needed.

When I first modes to Germany, I redefined my independence. I found furniture stores, bought furniture in charades, dragged it up 3 flights of stairs and installed it myself. I borrowed a drill and I rocked that drill by installing shelves and pictures into masonry walls.

Hell, I even tackled my dreaded fear of electricity! I'm afraid of very little but toads and electricity are tops. The toads are another story, but the electricity fear comes from treatment involving electric shocks I had as a kid to correct facial paralysis.

After weeks of my "I am woman hear me roar" adventures of setting up house and a new life in a new country, I exhausted myself. I finished everything up and concurred that just because I COULD do it all, I didn't WANT to do it all! So if I was in that position again, I'd hire someone, ask someone or be with someone that could share the load.

Well.... Here I am in Switzerland and nothing's changed. I'm too impatient to find someone and too hesitant to ask someone. The second time around, it wasn't so hard and I didn't have as much to do. I did however, have to face that damn electricity again though!

I went into it feeling confident. I've done this before! Drill, anchor, screw, connect wires and voila! Oh yeah, and turn off the electricity. Should mention that. The first day I tried to install the light, I didn't have electricity yet. The wires wouldn't fit into the light and after endless frustration of trying, I gave up.

Day 2, repeat. Get up on ladder, connect wire, HOLY SHIT, what is that sensation? Oh yeah, 220 volts. Electricity is on. Go to control panel, find fuse that says cucina, repeat, FUCK me, AGAIN!!! Fuse that says cucina, lied. Because of said electric fear, I've avoided being shocked by 110 volts most of my life, but let me tell you, 220 volts is not fun. I thought it could actually kill you so was thankful it didn't!

After my 2 shots of 220 volts, I reconsidered my impatience. I tried to find someone and ask someone with no success. So for a month, that light was taunting me. Because I'm a woman, the light fixture became so much more than just a light fixture. It represented defeat and losing my independence! Was I going to let this fixture win? So, for a month, I've been having an internal battle. Independence vs another potential shot of 220.

Well, today was try 3. Turned of ALL the electricity in the apartment, wiggled with the too short wires and got the god damn fixture up. Went back to fuse box and cringed and I flicked all the fuses back on. And like magic, there was light in my kitchen!!!!

So the score might be 220 volts 2: Katherine:1, but I did get to keep my independence. Reluctantly.

Trading in the vag for the fart

One of the funniest aspects to life in Nurnberg, was the public transit system.  One of my friends referred to it as “cute”and it is.  Nurnberg is not a large city (maybe pushing 500,000 people) but it has this ridiculously comprehensive subway and tram system.  I say ridiculously comprehensive, because there are easily 5 times the amount of stops/stations in Nurnberg than there are in Vancouver which covers a larger area and population.

If you’ve ever read anything I’ve written in the past year, you’ll know I’m obsessed with the Nurnberg transit system.  Not because of it’s cuteness, but for the sheer fact that of ALL the possible abbreviations, they chose to go with “VAG”.  Obviously comical in and of itself, but in German, the ‘v’is pronounced ‘f’and it becomes that much more awkward.  The potential for vag jokes was and will remain endless.  I thought the days of awkwardly anagrammed transit systems were behind me, but no.

The FART is the public transit system for Locarno.   Ok, so it’s not ‘exactly’ the town I live in, but it’s a town over.  And the fart has handy buses and trains to take you all kinds of cool places like 

here:

and here

 Fart.ch as a website would be too good to be true, so thankfully they’ve named the site Centovalli ‘centovalli’(100 valleys) instead.  Which is also one of the cool places the fart will take you.  The fart will take you on one of the most memorable train journeys of your life.   A memorable ride on the fart.

Ahhh….let the jokes begin!

The pain about choosing healthcare

I know there's a lot of debate on in the US world lately about healthcare and specifically, socialized healthcare. Coming from Canada, I know nothing other than socialized healthcare. For 37 years, I had the comfort of knowing that if I was sick, I went to a doctor or hospital. I didn't have to worry about what or with who I had coverage. Of course, medications and supplementary healthcare like dental, massage etc... was dependant on your employer, but for most of my life, that was looked after and deciphering what you were covered for was "fairly" straightforward. For the cost of about $40 Canadian dollars a month, most of my medical and dental needs were met.

Then, I moved to Europe. When I lived in Germany, I was introduced to 2 tier healthcare: public and private. There were a plethora of companies you could pick from, but you had to pick one. I wasn't really clear on the differences between the two, but in the end I picked private. I figured that I needed a perspective after 37 years of public healthcare. As to what my private insurance covered, I have no idea. Though my welcome letter was in English, everything else was in German. When I had a friend read thru it, they just said "everything" was covered. It turns out that in my 15 months of living in Germany, I got a pretty good idea of what "everything" entailed. For the ripe price of 380 euros a month (of which I paid half) "everything" was covered. Because I had private insurance, I learned that that meant I could get a same day appointment with my doctor and he encouraged me to come back because as he said "It's nice to see you when you come back, I make money" he was half joking. I think. My insurance seemed to cover me for everything from doctor's visits, blood tests, ankle braces, crutches, dental visits and everything I could dream of when I was in the hospital. Including, the very random clause of choice of doctor and using the chief doctor. I'm not sure if being in agony with appendicitis and communicating in charades is the time to start asking for the doctor's qualifications because at that point in time, I would have settled for a drunken Romanian butcher with a rusty knife. But the option was there. I do remember 5 minutes before the operation being asked to sign a paper saying I couldn't have the chief doctor because he was off that day. Again, I wasn't in a position to argue, fight or understand what was going on!

Now that I've moved to Switzerland, I have to go thru the whole rigmarole again but with a different system. The Swiss system is different in that it's exclusively your responsibility and not at all tied to your work. For a population of loosely 7.5 million people there are something like 150 different health insurance companies. Insurance companies have to run not for profit on the compulsory insurance. For the compulsory insurance, you choose a deductible ranging from 300 CHF a year to 2500 CHF a year. Insurance companies are not allowed to refuse you compulsory insurance and cover any pre-existing conditions. You usually pick your insurance company based on supplementary insurance and that's where the big business is. You can pick an insurance company that will cover your exercise classes, cover medical spa treatments and everything in between. Most insurance companies require you to fill in a questionnaire and can limit your treatment accordingly. For instance, if I hurt my ankle again, they'd have to cover doctors visits and medication, but they could refuse physical therapy. If I have any further internal complications, they could limit the procedures they'd cover. It's all extremely confusing. What makes it more confusing is that until I moved to Germany, I didn't really have any health issues. Other than allergy pills and muscle strain from sitting at a desk all day, I was pretty good. And now with all of my recent health issues, it makes picking health insurance that much more confusing! Which one do I pick? What deductible do I pick? I've found an insurance consultant that's helping me thru and he's encouraging me to go with one that doesn't have a medical questionnaire and to pick a low (300CHF) deductible. of course, the lower the deductible, the higher the monthly premium and right now, most premiums are in the 350-400CHF PER MONTH range and forget about that including any dental care!  I'm getting a headache just thinking about it.

I feel the earth move

Even though I lived for 17 years along one of the biggest fault lines of the world, I only felt one small earthquake. Once in a while, there would be media panic on whether we were prepared for "the big one". My old office had an earthquake preparedness kit in my desk drawer (thankfully the emergency food supply looked so disgusting I was never tempted to eat it during an afternoon snack attack!)

Yet even though I've only lived in this part of the world 3 weeks, there have been 2 earth quakes. The first one I didn't feel because it was at 4am. The only reason I even know it happened was because my Facebook friends asked me and a neighbor told me she felt it.

The second one happened yesterday and the epicenter was a lot closer. I was in Milan for work meetings and the lady serving up breakfast panicked. I couldn't figure out what her issue was until she started saying "look at the chandeliers shaking and listen to the dishes rattling" I clearly must have been so concentrated on eating, I didn't feel it under my feet. I did however, see the chandeliers and hear the dishes. Luckily for us around here, all is good. The same can't be said for some of those near the epicenter :(

I live on vacation

For the first time today, the magnitude of where I live hit me: I live on vacation.  Well, at least I live in an idyllic vacation land.  You see, I don't actually get to BE on vacation, but I get to LIVE in a vacation spot.  The reality of it is that I have to actually work (and work a fair bit, the Swiss work week is 42 hours a week)

The amazing thing is, before the prospect of this job came up, I didn't know much (or anything) about Lugano and as it turns out, it's a pretty well kept secret.

Lugano is a town of only 75,000 people.  But at this time of year at least, it doesn't feel small.  Probably because only about 10% of the land is livable.  About 75% of the land is hilly/mountainous and 15% of it water.  Driving around here is a challenge.  I've gotten lost countless times and getting lost here means finding yourself on top of a mountain or on the edge of a lake.  The town next to me is called Paradiso.  I get lost in Paradiso constantly.  There are worse things than getting lost in paradise.

I can go on about how beautiful it is here, but I'll let the pics speak for themselves.

This is the view on my commute to work

I got lost.  Took a wrong turn in Paradiso and this was the view I had.



A little village, minutes from where I live.

6km from my house.  In Valsolda, Italy.

Another pretty village with no shortage of overlake patios.

It's a dog's life...

The kissing culture

Though I technically live in Switzerland, for all intents and purposes, I live in Italy. I could literally walk to Italy. And it wouldn't be a long walk. Italy is less than 6km from my door step. For now, I'm pretty happy to experience the warmth of the culture and people and the deliciousness of the food, all the while being in the safe confines of Swiss efficiency.

Growing up half Portuguese, half German, I've been exposed to both a warm touchy feely culture and one where saying "I love you" was reserved for special occasions". My portuguese family was part of the kissing culture and my mom did a great job of breaking the tradition of "I love you" only for special occasions.

So, I'm familiar with the kissing culture. The thing with the kissing culture though, is that each country/region/family have their own kissing ritual. If you've ever been to any Latin country, you know what I mean. You meet someone, you kiss them. Not tongue slipping action, but the polite cheek kisses. The thing is, if you get the ritual wrong, you look ridiculous. I remember being in Bolivia and assuming I was in a 2 kiss society. It turned out it was a 3 kisser and when I thought it was over, I was face to face with a 19 year old about to smack me on the lips. Awkward.

Living in Germany for the past year and a half, it's safe to say there wasn't a lot of kissing going on. Not that it was cold (in that regard) there just wasn't kiss greetings. Or hugs really. But I'm good with that. I'm not a hugger. It was odd though, because on your birthday, people would rush across a room and hug you. I felt awkward about the hugging ritual. there would be someone who barely said 2 words to you 364 days a year and then would rush you in an embrace one day a year.

So here I am. Living in kissing culture. And I have no idea if I'm meant to 2 kiss or 3 kiss. One of these days after carefully watching for the umpteenth time, I'll get it straight. Maybe I'll just tattoo the number 2 or 3 on my hand so I get it straight!

What a difference 400km makes!

Well.  I’ve completed my first two weeks of Swiss life.  And I have to say, I’m stunned.  Stunned as in the difference it is from where I just moved from.  I moved 400km due south to Lugano, Switzerland and I can’t believe the difference in culture.  Sure, every city, heck, even every country has it’s own intricacies, but the difference is amazing.  

The biggest thing I noticed off the bat, is that people make eye contact and greet you.  Something I really took for granted before moving to the depths of Franconia Germany!  To be fair, a lot of Germans find Franconians to be chilly (a mass generalizing I know, but one I found to be reasonably accurate)  In my old building, if I made eye contact with someone and greeted them, 90% of the time my greeting was met with a bowed head and a quick scurrying away like a mouse.  Once in a while I got a grunt.  Today, one of my neighbors left me out a chocolate cake and Lucy a rawhide bone.  It almost brought a tear to my eye: my old neighbors used to gripe about Lucy peeing on the patch of grass (despite the 6 cats that roamed free) and one even insinuated I had something to do with the theft of his bike!

Other things that I previously took for granted and am happy to have back are shops that take credit cards, no insane 2 month realtor fees when renting a place and apartments that come with kitchens (yes, in Germany “most” places come without kitchens making moving not only ridiculously expensive but awkard when you have to move all your cupboards, stove and the kitchen sink!)

I thought communicating would be a challenge since I live in the only area of Switzerland where Italian is the most widely spoken language.  One of the good things about living in Switzerland is that there are 3 official languages, so most people speak on or more of German, French and Switzerland.  Though my French is rusty, most of my schooling was in French so getting by is a breeze.

The biggest amazement though is the fact that I live in a place I (and most of the rest of the world) would happily vacation.  I’m stunned by the beauty of where I live.  My apartment is 200 meters from the lake which is surrounded by small mountains or large hills depending on your perspective.  The architecture and feel are Italian.  Whenever I discover something new, I’m amazed that I get to live here. 

Of course, nowhere is perfect and here, nothing is still open on Sundays and before I griped about grocery stores closing at 8pm, here they close at 6:30 pm making grocery shopping a logistical challenge.  Also, the cost of some things is beyond ridiculous.  I saw a houseplant at my local grocery store that would be $20 in Canada or 20 euro in Germany for 50CHF! (the equivalent of about $50us)  Since I pride myself on being resourceful, I have found a work around though.   Not only will I stock up on visits back to Germany (also a good excuse to see the friends I’ve made) but Italy is but a 20 minute drive away.  And, in Italy, I’ve happily discovered, things are not only cheaper but they’re open until 10pm and on Sundays and holidays.  Pretty much nirvana!

I’m sure it won’t be perfect and I’ve heard people complain about the sleepiness of Lugano.  It’s no rocking metropolis, that’s for sure.  It has a population of only 75,000: though you’d never guess it by the amount of traffic in town (because of it’s proximity to Italy, 50,000 Italian travel daily to work in Ticino (the canton where Lugano is located) )   I don’t know that I’ll miss a “big city” life since Milan is a quick hour drive away it’s easy to just drive or hop on a train to go shopping or catch a concert.  Where I am at my life right now, I’m happy for a bit of quiet and beautiful surroundings.

In the past two weeks, I’ve really pondered my German experience and though it can be summed up as nothing short of challenging, I’m happy I experienced it.  Had I moved straight from Vancouver to Lugano, it would have been too easy- I’d have been spoiled.  Though painful, I’m glad I had my German interlude to give me perspective.  Of course, I could have down without the lawsuits and grumpy neighbors, but that’s just part of life I guess.

We'lll always have the vag...

Well, Deutschland, our turbulent relationship is quickly coming to an end.  And like all turbulent relationships (not that I've had a lot, thankfully!) I'm left scratching my head wondering where it all went wrong.  16 months ago, I stepped off the plane full of hope and excitement at the challenge and prospect of living here.  Flash forward 16 months later, and I'll be leaving you after consulting a lawyer and without an organ.  Oh, how different things could have been.... *sigh* 

But, it's not all in vain and there will be some things that I'll miss about you.  There are more things I won't (which is why I'm leaving in the first place) So, here are some of the highlights and lowlights of the things I've loved about Deutschland and the things that have slowly made me crawl up the wall.


The lowlights.  Oh, where to start... but I'll concentrate on the biggies and let bygones be bygones on the little ones!

The lack of multiculturalism-      Coming from a big city in Canada, I'm used to, love and embrace multiculturalism.  It's a white, white world here and multiculturalism is not embraced here.  After WWII, Germany offered Turkish citizens a guest worker program to come and rebuild Germany.  Well, a lot of Turkish people came, helped rebuild the country and when they stayed, settled and started familires and communities, a lot of germans got miffed.  They wanted the help to come and rebuild, but please don't stick around.  It's a really weird attitude to see and I see a lot of Turkish people (and other minorities) being treated as second class citizens.

The franconian attitude-  Though Nurnberg is technically in Bavaria, it's within a not officially recognized area called Franconia.  As best as I gather, Franconia wanted to be it's own state, but it's not.   True Franconians, will call this area Franconia and not part of Bavaria.  The closest I can relate to this is Quebec in Canada.  Quebec likes to think of it as a "distinct" society and a lot of Quebecers recognize themselves as Quebecers first and Canadians second.   Franconia is known to most Germans as having a weird dialect, having particularly cold people and, not as open minded as the rest of Germany.  It might sound terrible, but I'm getting to recognize Franconians easier, they often won't look you in the eye, on the rare occasion that they talk to you, you might get accused of stealing their bike or overhearing a conversation that goes something like "foreigners and english speakers don't belong in our country, bloody cows"

"not my fault, not my problem"-  The single pervasive attitude I've discovered in my time here is the "not my fault, not my problem attitude"  It's no secret that Germany has bureacracy, however, should something not go as scripted, the "not my fault, not my problem" defense instantly comes up.  Whether it's a landlord, travel agent, banker, server in a restaurant, furniture store, government, employer.  You name it.  Some version of "not my fault, not my problem" is the first line of defense.  Instead of working to solve it, putting you in touch with someone that can or suggesting where you can find help, "not my fault, not my problem" is the first reaction and a frustrating one at that.

The highlights.  or more accurately, the things that kept me sane and kept my sense of humor.

- the amazing friends I've made.  I've met such a cool mix of people from all cultures and walks of life.

- fests. There is seriously a festival of some sort going on every weekend within a half hour's drive from where I live.  There seems to always be something to celebrate (which makes me wonder why people in this area are so grumpy, but I digress....).  Whether it's one of the random 12 bank holidays in Bavaria, something to do with beer, wine, asparagus, fish, garlic, you name it, there's a fest for it.

- Thai food.  There is lack of decent ethnic food in Nurnberg, however, there is NO shortage of Thai restaurants.  There are as many thai restaurants here as there are Starbucks in Vancouver!  Now, they've accomodated to the local tastes (read- not spicy) but it's decent and affordable.

- The selection of wine.  As a Canadian living in Bavaria, I should be writing about beer, but since I can't stand beer, I'll concentrate on wine.  The availability and cost of wine here is ridiculous.  From cans of prosecco at my local grocery store for 0.79 cents a can to a bottle of wine at a winery for 6 euros.  The downfall to this (beyond the obvious) is that because I live in Germany, there is a bit of a need to drink more!

- the autobahn.  So what you can't go more than 30 km/h in my neighborhood or if you go 60 km/h in a 50 km/h zone you'll get a ticket, but driving on the speed free part of the autobahn at 180 km/h is an exhilirating feeling!

- the vag.  Anyone that's talked to me or read anything I've written in the past 16 months knows how much I go on about the vag.  The jokes write themselves when the public transit system is called vag and you can't have too much of a good thing.  From the vag service men sitting and smoking a cigarette after they've serviced the vag, to the little display that tells you when the vag is coming.  Yeah, I might sound like a 17 year old boy, but it's one of the small constant comforts I've found in this turbulent sea.   

Well, Nurnberg, I'm sure you'll function with out me and I know I will without you.  It's really a shame we've had to split ways so early, but at the same time, I'm glad we didn't waste any time.   I won't look back on my Nurnberg experience with bitterness, because I've learned a lot, made great friends and am a better person because of it.   And besides, Nurnberg, we'll always have the vag.

The little engine that could

Right now, I'm a mix of feeling like I'm on auto pilot and feeling the little engine that could.  Of all the times in my life, I'm gonna say that this feels the most challenging.  Yeah, I've had some challenging times in the past, but at least I had blind courage and physical strength behind me.  Both of which I feel elude me now.  The physical strength is obvious, I'm still recovering from what felt short of waking up in a bathtub of ice with an organ missing.  Ok, maybe that's a gross exageration, but my the recent and unexpected loss of an unncessary organ did feel like that.

But thankfully, I have blind courage.   That's my auto pilot, and except for a few times, it hasn't led me wrong.  Just when I think things are unbearable, I have the little engine that could mantra in my head of "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can" and somehow I do.

In the next few weeks, I'll be packing up (well, not me, some lovely movers) my Deutschland life and giving it up for a life in Switzerland.  It still seems surreal that after a quick 16 months in land of Deutsch, I'm packing it in and hitting the reset button.   But alas, after all that's happened, the reset button needed to be hit!

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can....

Only girl in the world

I don't usually write much about dating.  It seems almost "too" personal to write about, but the way my luck has been with dating over the years, I certainly don't have much to lose.

I was recently dating someone for the past 3 months and for a while, I thought it was going really, really well.   Throughout my dating life, I haven't had issues getting dates, but I've had issues keeping them around for a while.  They mostly fizzle out because I have a short attention span and get bored easily, or after a while they just flake and fizzle out.   Like anything else in life, my motto is "pick youself up, dust yourself off and start all over again"  but this one hurt a bit more and I've finally figured out why!

To be fair, I knew he was "separated" when we met.  However, my understanding of the situation was that the only thing between them and divorce was a yearlong waiting period and since I've been there, I understood.

Because I've learned a thing or two along the way, I didn't let him in right way.  Bit by bit.  I vowed to never be one of those girls that would never trust again.  And we had a great time.  Sure, I saw signs like he wasn't communicating with me as openly or readily as I'd like and he didn't seem willing to make a lot of time for me.  But I rationed them with "he's not ready" and "he's really busy right now". 

Then I let him know I was in the hospital.  And though I certainly don't expect someone to be able to drop their entire lives, I was a little surprised at the lack of empathy on his part.  Again, I rationalized it all.

I hadn't poked in (and he hadn't volunteered) too much what "separated" meant.  A few odd comments poked their head in here and then, but again, I rationalized them.   The one comment that didn't sit well with me was "my ex knows you". WHAT THE (**&(* was my reply.  I don't know her.  Well, she found your business card and googled you. wait, you mean, you're still in close contact and how did she go into your wallet to find it?  Anyway, I foolishly didn't prod more and it sat awkward with me.   Then he seemed to withdraw.  Texts weren't coming as fast and furiously and interest seemed to drop off the earth.   So, for fun, in a moment of being at home ready to crawl the walls with boredom, I put 2 and 2 together.   Or more accurately, filled in the missing pieces with speculation and a facebook picture. 

You see, since she googled me, I then googled her.  To be fair, it was a month later,  I was home recovering and ready to crawl the walls and only after some things about him didn't sit well with me.  And, it turns out, though he thinks they're seperated, she doesn't seem to be on the same page, or at least willing to tell the universe so.  Her social networking page had a picture of the two of them happy as clams and her status is listed as "married".  **GULP**

I asked him about it and he got defensive to the point of being mad.  I, like most people, just wanted clarification.  The anger in his voice, non commitalness and the fact that he didn't show any understanding for the way I felt scared me.   I suggested we end it,  I'm assuming he's accepted my suggestion since I haven't heard back from him.

You know, Rihanna is onto something when she sings about being "the only girl in the world".   no, I don't expect anyone at this age to NOT have baggage or a past, but I DO expect them to make me feel like I'm the only girl in the world.  yeah, you can have a closet full of ex wives, that's great.  I just want to feel like I'm the one a guy wants to be with.  And I've noticed "that" is the single element missing in my past few years of dating.  Have female friends, have a life, have your career, have kids, have ex-wives, you name it, but I just want someone to FEEL like they want to be with me and FEEL strong enough for me to fight for me. 

Well, they say hindsight is 20/20 and I learned a valuable lesson on the way so I know it's not in vain.   Until then, I'm still at the point of my life and trying each new dish on the menu hoping to find my favorite.  And I'll have to give myself my own advice.  A friend is frustrated that she can't find the "right" new place to move into.  I told her, that's because the universe is making sure you're available for when you find the right apartment.  She looked at me and said "that sounds like good dating advice for you".  DAMN. busted, so swallow my own advice I will...

The day shit got real

Today is the 5th day since my surgery.  I have to say, I'm feeling less like I was drugged and got an organ stolen and more along the lines of being kicked in the gut by a donkey.  NOT that I have any idea what that feels like, but if you were to be kicked by a donkey, I'm pretty sure it would feel like this.

Today is also what high school motivational posters would call "the first day of the rest of your life"  or, what I prefer to refer to as "the day shit got real".  You see, in less than 3 weeks I'm supposed to be starting a new job in Switzerland, but, even though I've given notice at my current job 5 weeks ago, they still haven't confirmed when they'll "let" me go.   To the point where I've had to hire a lawyer to negotiate my exit.  Then, we have the added complication of my recent organ departure, obviously healing from that is top priority and work is the last thing on my mind.

And to make sure my life in Germany makes a good country song, I just found out the guy I've been dating and smitten with for the past 3 months is married.  Well, best case scenario is his ex still thinks they're married, worst case scenario IS that they're still married. 

I'm wise enough to know that somehow life will all work itself out and me worrying about things will only make it worse.  I have no idea how I'm going to prepare for a new country move while healing from surgery, but shit works out.  I know this to be true.  But still, is it wrong to want to bury myself under the cover for the next 2 weeks to make the world go away?

You want a piece of me?

Well, I should have known from my experiences over the past 15 months, that Germany wouldn't want to spit me back out whole. Judging my all of my German experiences, it's inevitable I had to go out with a bang so I'm really not surprised by any of this.  But it "is" poetic.  You see, earlier this week, I had a serious abdominal cramp.  Nothing new for me, I've been a sufferer of abdominal mysterious pains for years.  I went to the doctor and at the first hint that my issue might be female related, he sent me off to the female doctor.  The female doctor checked me out and confirmed everything was in order, but she suspected my issue was appendicitis.  So off to the hospital I went.

My friends had warned me that you don't just show up to a German hospital.  You either arrive by ambulance or your doctor gives you a referral.  There seems be different buildings and not one general emergency but each building/specialty has it's own emergency room.  Thank god I knew this in advance, cause when I showed up, I was in such dire pain.  Far too much pain to even attempt to communicate in German and no one was speaking any english so charades was what it took!  After a quick ultrasound, it was decided I needed an appendectomy.  As I signed my life away in a foreign language, I got scared.  I haven't been operated on since I was 7 and now here I am getting it done in a language I don't understand!  In all of the forms I was filling out, I saw diagrams.  My first thought was "oh my god, it's an F*()*@@#( INSTRUCTION manual for the surgeon!"  Luckily, it wasn't for the surgeon, but it was information for me.  They were showing me which part they were going to cut off.

I got moved up to the ward where the nicest nurse with the best English greeted me and explained everything that was going to happen.  It was going to be ok.  A few hours later, I was given a sexy gown, cap and white thigh high nylons and whisked down to surgery.  I didn't realize how scared I was, until the surgery nurse grabbed my hand, said it was ok for me to cry and that it was all going to be ok.  I had to sign a few more forms and I was whisked onto the operating table.

I woke up from the anasthetic laughing trying to figure out why there were gorrillas in the surgery room.  Also, why there were waterfalls.  I kept asking anyone around why there were waterfalls but it was clearly a hallucination.  Props to the surgery team's sense of humor though for indulging me and saying "ah ya, they're special for you, you're Canadian, they're Niagara falls".  I must have been a nightmare surgery patient, because I kept asking the nurses for sunglasses (it was really bright!) and questioning the waterfalls.

When I got out of surgery, 3 of my friends were waiting for me.  It was such an awesome feeling to have them waiting for me (even though 1 was here on a visit from Canada!)  I hadn't realized how overwhelming and scary the experience would be.

My hospital roommate was a grumpy Franconian lady who never said two words to me (Franconia is this specfiic region of Germany and not known for it's warmth and friendliness) For nine hours, I didn't get a wink of sleep.  I thought there were no bears left in Europe, but clearly, I was sharing a room with the last remaining bear on the continent.

My entire 2 day stay in the hospital, I just shook my head.  Everything that's happened in the past 15 months from tenants' association, the threat of lawsuits, the craziest work experience I've ever had, all of it.  It all culminated to this moment in the hospital getting an organ cut off.  I'm not being ungrateful and I do know how much worse the situation could have been.  Still, there are few things scarier than needing surgery and scarier yet when you and everyone around you is communicating in charades. 

60 years ago, Tony Bennett sang about leaving his heart in San Francisco.  Well, I left my appendix in Bavaria.  Though I've made some great friends and experienced some great things, I don't think I'm going to miss everything that Germany has (and continues) to dish out at me.  It's safe to say I won't be writing a song about my experience and it's going to take me a while to physically (and mentally) get over the experience!

How I was sold a Ferrari but ended up with a Fiat



This is what I was sold, a shiny red Ferrari

This is what I ended up with.  Red and shiny, with a Ferrari logo, but not the same.

I’ve been trying to think of a way that would accurately describe my German work experience. Friends and family have been asking me for a year and a half how it’s been, why I’ve faced so many challenges and a lot of my German colleagues are just scratching their heads at the fact that I’m leaving. I’m the type of person that while something is going on, I’m not very expressive to those close to me how bad a situation is. It was the same case when I was married. It was bad, those really close to me had an inkling that it was a little bit bad, but no one really knew how bad it was til it was over. Though I’m a realist on the surface, I think deep down I’m an optimist, and if I’m a realist WHILE something is happening, I fear things will get worse. Anyhow, now that my German work experience is almost behind me, I’m ready to start processing it and describing it better. And, I believe I have captured my experience perfectly with an analogy. Basically, what it comes down to is this: I was sold a Ferrari and ended up with a Fiat.


You see, two years ago, I received a special invitation to step into the Ferrari showroom. I was ecstatic. I mean, here I was a loyal Volvo driver for the past 7 years and I was “special” enough to be invited to come into the Ferrari showroom. The Ferrari sales team gave me a big presentation about how great their cars are, the history of the company and how they were about to make a new line of cars. The line of cars wasn’t yet available in North America, so I had no way of knowing how they’d be. But on a bit of blind faith, name recognition and the urge to drive something new, I agreed on a contract to buy a Ferrari. Because Ferraris are expensive, the contract has a lot of clauses. But I was blinded by the red shiny sports car and the pure potential it had that I couldn’t imagine wanting to trade in my Ferrari anytime soon. Once the ink was dry on the contract, and I picked up the keys, I realized I was given a Fiat.


To be fair, a Fiat is a cute little car. But just because you paint it shiny red, put a Ferrari logo on it and put (3) racing stripes down the side, it’s still a Fiat. As soon as I started driving my new car, I realized there were issues. But what do you do? You just signed a contract! So, I hoped that since the car I was driving was red and shiny and had racing stripes that it would live up to the fact that it had a Ferrari sticker on it and it just had a few small kinks that would get worked out on the autobahn.


Well, months went by and my Fiat kept needing to go to the shop for repairs. It turns out that even though it’s red and shiny, the engine is still a Fiat. And it’s no coincidence that some say that Fiat stands for “fix it again, Tony”. Over the next year, I was constantly going back to the salesperson and telling them “my Fiat keeps breaking, it’s always in the shop” “You told me that my Fiat would go 300 km/h on the autobahn and I can’t get it past 120 without feeling like the whole thing is going to come apart” and “But I signed a contract for a Ferrari”. My complaints fell on deaf ears. Though I loved my nice reliable Volvo that I’d been driving for 7 years, I didn’t miss it. It was a solidly built car, but it wasn’t fun to drive anymore. But I knew that the Ferrari I agreed to buy, was a Fiat in Ferrari clothing. What to do??? Well, after 15 months of trying to pretend my Fiat is a Ferrari, I’m accepting that my Fiat will never go as fast as promised and will never be the Ferrari it promised to be. So I’ve gone back to the sales team and told them that I’m ready for a trade in. The sales team doesn’t want to lose a sale and admit false advertising, so I have my work cut out for me. But it’s safe to say, I’ve made my decision to hand in my Fiat, it was pretty, but it just didn’t work like it was supposed to. I’ve agreed to purchase a new car and this time, I kicked the tires a little harder and looked under the hood, so I’m hoping that the new car is a little more reliable. But that’s the thing with cars, you never do know, do you?

How I almost ended up with a roof rack

A lifetime ago, I was referred to a few times as a control freak.  If control freak means the desire to know how things work and understanding the fine print, then I guess I was guilty.

Well, flash forward to life in Germany.  Everything has it's own system of working (not always designed with logic contrary to myth of German efficiency) and is in another language.  Surprisingly, I've gotten by all right (which to me confirms the fact that I wasn't a control freak to begin with!)  There have been a zillion hitches for sure, but I usually end up completing whatever task it is I have to do even if it involves charades and blank looks.

As a woman, there are few tasks more overwhelming than taking your car to the mechanic.  It's a task I've always dreaded.  I feel like the mechanics see a woman assume a lack of mechanical knowledge and see dollar signs.  Well, a few weeks ago, my little Golf binged and demanded service and so I had to take on this dreaded task.  And in German.

Step one, make an appointment.  easy enough, even in German.  In 15 months, my German skills have advanced so that I can make appointments in Germany (mostly due to the fact that I've had to see a doctor more times than I care to remember for being sick so often, but I digress)  I went up to the counter, asked for an appointment and was surprised when they couldn't tell me when my appointment would be.  You see, the guy at the counter only takes my name, registration papers, and phone number.   The mechanic calls me back, tells me what I need (I initially thought thru phsychic powers, but just by the km's on the car it turns out) and gives me an appointment.

Step two, drop car off.  easy enough, even in German.  Give them my key, figure out pick up time and we're set!

Now, my German skills are quite advanced for the length of time I've been here, I still hate talking on the phone.  So when the mechanical called me talking a hundred miles an hour with the background noise of an auto shop, I had no choice but to panic.  I wasn't understanding a word.  and at least in person, you get the benefit of charades.  Not an option on the phone.  After a whole bunch of times of "langsammer, bitte" (slower, please) and "ich verstehe nicht" (I don't understand) we somehow came to the conclusion my car was finished.  

When I got to the shop, they took me over to my car and pointed to parts of a roof rack on a trolley next to my car.  what the ???  They were asking me if they were mean to install the "dachbox" (roof rack)  now, I have NO idea if they were asking me if the roof rack was mine.  How did we end up here?  This, I have no idea.  Maybe when I thought I was being awesome at small talk in German and telling them I didn't need my summer tires on just yet because I was going to Austria this weekend, they thought that my Austria trip would be better with a roof rack? So confusing.   Just when I thought I could get by with some basic tasks, I almost end up with a roof rack.  No control freak would be ok with that.  ;)

Waiting to exhale

Lugano :)

Let me start by saying that waiting to exhale does NOT refer to the recent passing of Whitney NOR does it have anything to do with love like the book/movie of the same name. What it DOES have to do with is a(nother) major life change.


You see, in case you didn’t already know from any of my posts, living and working and Germany has handed me a few blows. Ok. A lot of blows. I’ve faced legal action, major plumbing issues and being accused of stealing my neighbors bike. And that’s only my personal life. I won’t even get into my work life.


So after the Deutsche bahn legal action, I vowed to move on. I believe we have two choices in life: accept it or change it. So for the past 6 months, I’ve been mulling over what accepting it means to me. And I didn’t like it, so changing it was the only choice left.


Though my first year of living on another continent felt like it was going to kill me at times, moving back to North America didn’t seem like a valid option. For one, besides an insane amount of vacation, I actually enjoy living on the European continent. Yeah, most people missed the memo on skin and lung cancer and I feel like I could support a small family on the taxes I dish out each month, but I generally like the openness of most people and all the ex-pats. Also, 6 weeks vacation is handy to tour around the continent especially since a 6 hour drive can mean passing thru a handful of countries. Talk about bang for your buck vacation wise.


And so it is, that I will be up and moving to Southern Switzerland. I already feel that Southern Switzerland and I will get along fabulously. It reminds me a lot of Vancouver with mountains and water. Also, from everything I’ve read about Switzerland, is that it’s a bit rogue. In the sense that South of the Alps, things are a bit different. It’s still Switzerland, but it’s the only area where Italian is spoken. In fact, in my research it seems to take the best of Switzerland like a great quality of life, no corruption, trains that run on time while taking the best of Italy like language, food and culture. It’ll be by far the smallest place I’ve ever lived population wise, but living in Germany has taught me I have the ability to build a social circle from scratch. Also, since it’s only a 4.5 hour drive, I’m hoping that area is enough of a draw for my friends to come visit me without having to kidnap them and handcuff them to my dining table.


Lugano is a bit of a posh tourist destination so I might not even have to go far to discover all kinds of fun places. I mean, I’ll essentially be living about a 40 minute drive from George Clooney’s Lake Como summer home. When I went to Lugano for the job interview, it reminded me a bit of Vancouver, the Okanagan in British Columbia and Italy. And since those are 3 great places, I’m pretty happy. Also, there were palm trees. Seriously. I’ve never lived in a place with palm trees. I think of Switzerland as the land of snow and Saint Bernards and the place I’ll be living in has palm trees. Also, the temperature of the lakes in August is 24 celcius. We have a lot of lakes in Canada, but most of the ones I’ve swam in are likely to give you brain freeze even in august! I don’t expect that my life will be the hub of social activity it is now, but if I get to swim in lakes and hike after work, I’m willing to pay the price. Oh, and kidnap my great Nurnberg friends for visits.


I am a bit disappointed to be leaving so soon, but I feel it’s the way I can leave with what’s left of my sanity. I truly feel that I’ve given life in Nurnberg a fair shot and it has provided me with a lot of comedy (I will miss the VAG jokes), but I’m eager to move on to my Swiss adventure and start with a clean slate. Ahhhhhhhhhh……

Palm trees.  Seriously!

Cats that look like hitler, the ginger edition.

For the past 6 and a half years, my faithful companion, bed hog and personal trainer has been my Jack Russell/Schnauzer Lucy.  Because of her terrier background, she's a big fan of chasing any critters.  In Vancouver, there was an abundance of creatures to chase, the most popular being squirrels, raccoons and skunks (she was subject to an attack by the latter as a pup)  In Germany however, there are a lack of creatures for her to take on.  We've seen the odd squirrel (and odd they are since they're red) but maybe a handful of times in the past year and a bit.  In our neighborhood though, there are an abundance of cats.  And my dog and cats have a tainted history.

As a pup, Lucy used to think they were a source of great fascination and would attempt to play with them.  However, being part Schnauzer, she's a big fan of using her voice and to entice them to play with her, she would bark and growl at them.  No cat took kindly to this and would either run away and/or hiss at her.  Then came my ex-mother in laws cats.  Again, fascinated with them, Lucy would coax them into playing, but they just hid and the odd time a paw would poke out from under the couch and swipe Lucy in the face and then she cried like she was being murdered.

Every morning when we go for a walk, it's like witnessing the food chain hierachy in front of my building.  There's almost always a cat spying a bird under a tree and Lucy sniffs out the cat.  The cat jumps on the fence and the bird flies away.  Most mornings, it feels like our walk is more cat hunt than pee break and I'm usually left with the cheesy Elton John tune "Circle of Life" in my head.

Except for evil cat.  Evil cat tries to stalk and attack Lucy. It's not the first German cat I've met that attempts to stalk my dog.  Something ain't right in the cat milk when cats attack dogs, but I digress.

Flashback to a few months ago, when a friend of mine sent me a link to this site. I'm not sure what's worse: that there's a website for cats that look like Hitler or that me (among others) finds great amusement in it.  Considering the history of where I live, any reference to Hitler or WWII makes me uncomfortable. I often get the impression that the whole history surrounding Hitler and WWII is a bit of a dark cloud in these parts so the fact that I find humor in the cats that look like Hitler website makes it even more awkward and taboo feeling.

And then my friend K, showed me a picture of her cat.  And all taboo and awkwardness was out the window.  I hereby present you... Ginger Hitler!

Samy (aka Ginger Hitler) courtesy of K (Samy gave granted permission to use)

And I just couldn't hold back my shock, awe and amazement.  It's one thing to see the cats on the website, but to put a face to a name (so to speak) is truly amazing.  The fact that he sits there so regally and with such an "authoritarian" look is amazing.  The Canadian in me still feels like it's politically incorrect to laugh at Samy, but if Samy is anything like his owner, he has a great sense of humor and finds comedy in his likeliness.

Popsy and friends

Well, I guess it's no surprise that alcohol and sex go hand and hand.  I'm pretty sure that when Adam tried to introduce the idea of sex to Eve, he may have done so after a few glasses of wine.  But still, what I received as a gift today made me blush.  It came in a non descript grocery bag, like it was embarrased to come out.  When I lifted it out of it's bag, I could see why.  When I stared at it's plastic container, I was puzzled for a few minutes and it took me a few minutes to compute and then. OH! and a slightly awkward feeling. What could POSSIBLY give me an awkward feeling you ask? Well, meet Popsy and friends!

Popsy and his pals are plastic sperm shaped "tubes" filled with alcohol. I'm not sure if people are supposed to think they're cute or not, but with painted eyes and perma surprise looking eyebrows, they kinda creep me out. If you try hard enough, you can pretend the colored ones are.... well, I'm not quite sure.  And then there's the white one.  Since my brother is a bartender, I've had to suffer thru one or two blowjob shooters over the years.  But even at that, those were slightly less offensive what with them being filled with baileys and whip cream and the less obviously phallic test tube.

Even though in Canada, we don't as obviously mix sex and alcohol (the bar where my brother works excepted) I can accept that these might be a "novelty" gift bought in a sex shop for a bachellorette party, but these were purchased at the equivalent of what would be a Wal-Mart!  Popsy, even has a creepy website of his own.  It doesn't say much, but apparently, he gets around.  On his events page, there are pics of him swimming throughout Germany. For instance, when "travelling" thru Koln, he dresses as a queen (even creepier if you consider that most Germans consider Koln the German equivalent of San Francisco in that it has a more prominent gay scene)  In Meinerzhagen, he spots a cow (!!!! I don't even want to know what THAT is supposed to mean about Meinerzhagenites!) and in Hamburg, he wears a condom (I guess it's best to play it safe in port cities...)

M, who gave them to me thought it would amuse me.  And it did sorta do the trick.  Now that I'm over the awkward feeling, I might milk a little entertainment out of Popsy.  I kinda think I'm going to leave them out next time friends are over.  Or perhaps I'll make a creative table arrangement with them aiming for a plate of deviled eggs.  We'll see.  But one thing is for sure, I'm sharing the Popsy love.  But first, I'll have to figure out which one is Popsy!