Roughing it

Everyone has a slightly different definition of "roughing it." From those who consider being without a hair dryer as quite possibly the worst possible outcome in life to those who say "bah, at least you don't have to bag and carry your own poop out of the canyon!"

To me, "roughing it" is determined by the distance between your warm bed and the toilet at midnight. If I have to put several layers of clothing on and SHOES in order to pee in the middle of the night, I am roughing it. After that, it's only a matter of degrees of rougherness. ('s totally a word, damn it!)

Thankfully, my parents decided when we kids were fairly young that we should all partake in family camping. What could be more fun than sitting around a campfire, burning your face and freezing your butt as you argue over who gets the last marshmallow and your mother worries that you've grabbed the wrong stick for your s'mores and you'll end up dead like those boy scouts?! Our Family Camping was often a trial by fire. Sometimes literally. Where to this very day we discover new and interesting ways in which we can improve our camping vacation (did you know that now some campers and trailers come with Indoor Plumbing??) or if nothing else, fuel family get-together story times. You can ask my mother about the green folding chair insident or ask my dad how many sermons we ended up being the butt of (note: do not go camping with your minister unless you can handle the ensuing fall out. Doubtless, my family is going to a Happy Place after the many years of ribbing we've endured.)

Yet somehow camping has become emblazoned in my psyche as "fun" and I dare you to argue with me. Because there will be no logic or reasoning with me. It's fun, damn it. I know it is!

Which is how my husband decided that this was a good alternative to living in the dorms and I ended up here with him.

Yes, that is our home.

The front half is tent, the back half is camper/trailer/caravan, the noun of which depends on what part of the world you are from.

And it does work. And it is way more fun than living in a dorm. Didn't I just tell you this?

Yeah, the thunderstorm Saturday night sucked. Scooping up water from the lake formed in the front tent part of our home with cups and rags is not part of the Joys of Camping. Neither was last nights Oh Darn Was That The Last of The Gas I Hope The Chicken Is Completely Cooked episode.

But the air is SO clean and we live in the Freakin' Woods Yo!

Um, I'm trying to think of the other positives here. Having a hard time. You try explaining to vanilla people why you love chocolate even though it makes you fat, gives you pimples, and rots your teeth!

Okay, let me put it this way. Despite:

having to walk a few minutes to the unheated bathroom,

Keep walking, it's around the bend, then the first left, across the patio, first door on your right in the left wing of the building

having to walk a few minutes to the coin operated shower that is in an unheated room,

having to fill up the water tank every day from the nearby faucet,

Electric hook up and CABLE TV and water faucet, oh my!

running out of gas requiring serious MacGyvering of the camper since Denmark and NL do not use the same gas canisters or ever freaking hose size,

The white tank is the water tank, the yellow is our now empty Danish gas can

not having enough space to prep and cook food comfortably,

barely having enough room for two people to sleep in the bed,

That's the whole kitchen and pretty much the whole "bedroom"

carrying dishes to the shower room because it's the only place you can get hot water unless you want to try to heat a pot on the stove, wasting precious water and gas and it's not like you have enough space to wash dishes anyway,

living side by side in a 5x5 meter space with STUFF....

And this would be the office for two

I am still enjoying myself!

It's pretty stupid, I know. But we sit around at our table in the tent, heaters blazing away while we eat and tell each other "dude, this is freakin' AWESOME!"

We now want to get a land rover and a tent-trailer and go to Africa! My husband wants to buy a regular camper and use it as a mobile office. We are all kinds of excited about where else we can go and camp. I, for example, feel a French wine camping trip tour in the future.

*snort*

My husband is currently enjoying life as a foreign exchange student in the Netherlands. So what do they do all day? Make fun of the Dutch, of course.*

This YouTube clip is rather hilarious, it dates from 1977 by John Dowie and the REAL payoff is at the very end.

Enjoy!



*There are Dutch students in the class who take the good natured ribbing with grace and poise and who are undoubtably looking forward to getting to Denmark where they can start mocking the Danes.

What is up with these TOILETS??

Made it, finally, to the Netherlands.

Whaddaya mean, "finally" AG?

Weeeeell.... they over booked my flight F

riday night by three seats and were NOT going to load the plane until 3 volunteers took the free hotel, free dinner and 300 Euro travel voucher pay off to stay behind. After a slight miscommunication with my husband, I took the hotel/dinner/voucher option.

Saturday morning, at the (butt)crack of dawn, I was back in the airport.

Once again they announced that they'd overbooked and needed two volunteers to take the next flight. WTF?

But the two guys who had also volunteered Friday night went ahead and volunteered AGAIN, meaning that they racked up a cool 600 Euros each in travel vouchers. I, on the other hand, went to the Netherlands post haste, where I slightly mollified husband awaited.

We then went to a camping store. I love camping stores almost as much as I like hardware stores, so there was much climbing into campers, tent trailers and tents and pretending we had gobs of money and vacation time to take our (mythical) Land Rover, (imaginary) children, and (wished for) tent trailer on an off-roads vacation in the African savanna. On the way to the campsite where my husband has been living, we almost stopped for the open house that we saw, because touring homes is FUN, but we were both hungry.

I'd had a terrible terrible sudden drop in sugar levels as I exited the plane resulting in some stressed confusion until I was able to eat a Snickers bar and return from the Land of the Damned and behave like a semi-responsible adult. One who can play pretend in display campers, at any rate.

The camp set up is quite lovely, I'll have to get photos at some point... but every time I need to step outside it begins to rain heavily. Fine, I've got the most kick ass rain jacket EVAH, but camera + rain = lousy images. You'll all just have to wait.

So all is great and wonderful, but eventually I have to go to the restroom. Which brings me face to face with....

The Dutch toilet of DOOM!

Note the position of the "drain" at the front of the toilet. This means that everything you do will end up in the little depression at the back of the toilet for your perusal before you flush. I call it: The Peek a Poo.

I simply had to Google this, I mean, WTF Dutch people!

So I will now cut and paste from an expat website that I found. Expats of the world: you rock!

Stolen without apologies from Dutched Pinay on Expatriotism. :-)

Dig this… the toilet bowl has an -inspection shelf- design, where our wet and dry discharges are supposed to land, and hopefully they will disappear if flushed properly.

Our previous flat had this type of toilet, at my work too, and I am just oh so thankful that I don’t have to deal with this outlandish entity here in our new home. I just simply do not understand the logic behind the design.

So, I did a small research. I searched the web high and low, even asked a Dutch chat friend (he claims he has a shelf toilet at home) what brand he has. In return he provided me some stimulating information complete with websites.

The CULPRIT: The Germans. These Duitsers (Germans) invented this ubiquitous inspection-shelf toilet, and mass produced-marketed it to the poor Dutch. LOL!

The flachspueler (shelf toilet) otherwise known as the “flatflusher” is, I am guessing hugs more than 50% of the market share of toilets in NL (and perhaps in Germany?).

Here are some of the advantages and disadvantages of the famed Inspection-Shelf Toilet.

Advantages:

(1) When you worship the toilet gods, there won’t be any catch22 of re-tour ‘de splash. Your butt won’t get wet when that slimy sometimes rock-hard substance disengages from god knows where of you. It will land safely and neatly on the porcelain shelf. Unlike the standard toilet, the so-called substance hits straight far down to the water, hence the splatter. Now, I really, really hope you have a good imagination.

(2) You can, with all liberty, inspect the prized matter before flushing it down. This is quite handy when you are sick, you can easily inspect the stool for color and texture. It was said that the pragmatic German inventors used this as a technique to facilitate stool examination. How brilliant these Aryans are!

(3) Uses less water, therefore a perfect conservation method. Got it, this is Europe. Amen.

Disadvantages:

(1) Since a disengaged part of you is sitting pretty in that shelf, then without any doubt, the blasphemous stink will seep through into every corner of the 1x1 meter box. Well, relax dear.... don’t panic, just sit tight and don’t inhale. Now, reach out slowly to that reserved -Air Freshener- beside or below the toilet bowl. I should be there as its main purpose is to make peace with the dreadful stench.

(2) If you do not flush twice, then for sure you will be leaving some ungodly smears on the white porcelain bowl. In order to disguise the act you just did, you can either wipe the toilet shelf (eww, such thought!) with tissue using your bare hands, or clean it with the toilet brush bristle (hopefully there is one available).

A friend in my Dutch class told me that the best way to thwart this problem is to lay down tissues on the shelf before doing the mighty deed. With that, the excrements will just liberally slide away without leaving any trail when flushed. Now that is real ingenuity!

Credits: Images by David Fontes for Spielboy.com

So there you have it. The hardest part about being in the NL so far is not the brand new incomprehensible language or the INSANE lack of road planning (that is a WHOLE OTHER POST OF MADNESS), but the horror of visiting the toilet and being forced to look at your body's refuse.

Ugh.

Muddling along nicely

My parents love the phrase, "just muddling along" to describe that state of being where some things are working, some things are not and frankly, you aren't really sure which are which any more.

I got my reentry visa - despite being told by the UdServ that Of Course the office in Århus can do it while you wait, all they have to do is call - the Århus office wanted me to fill out the form ("Do you have the form ready?" "What form? I didn't know there was a form? I didn't know I needed a reentry visa!" "Oh, well, here you go, just go stand outside and fill it out in the 4th circle of hell we call the 'Waiting Area'.") (Okay, they didn't exactly say that last part... but I did have to go to the waiting area to fill it out.) and then COME BACK IN A WEEK.

Because, as the lady said, she had to fax it to Cph.

Er... I pointed out that the folks in Cph had said that Århus could do it right then and there.

"Well, of course they say that," said the woman, "but we have to call and then we get put on hold."

At this point there is no muddling. But there is plenty of boggling. I boggle well. See previous post's dog picture for accurate image of me boggling. BOGGLE!

I do my best impression of helpless confusion and faint distress. Just a bit of distress you see. If you WIG OUT on people they usually call security and I am sure that would have greatly impacted the future of my visa hunt.

You ever read "she wrung her hands" and wondered, how exactly do you wring your hands? Yeah, I got that DOWN man, I can wring with the PROS.

She called UdServ.

She was on hold for approximately 1 minute and spoke for about 15 seconds and BOOM - I get a visa.

Seriously? You wanted me to come back in a WEEK? What do you people DO ALL DAY?

I get the feeling that UdServ is really just a big room with a wall of cubby-holes where they take your visa paperwork and every day MOVE the paperwork from one hole to the next, like those Advent Calendars, until it gets to the end and then they send you a letter saying it's all okay.

It takes a GAZILLION of people to do this, which is why 90% of Denmark is employed by the state. Wait, scratch that. 90% of Danes who are WORKING, work for the state. Which means that in reality there are only 2 Danes in the office at any given time. Whoops, never mind, sorry about insinuating that the UdServ is overstaffed and lazy, in reality they are understaffed and overworked.

Anyway: I have a reentry visa of DOOM!

I like to add "of DOOM" to the ends of things. Makes it FAR more exciting and important than reality, which is that I spent a good couple of days running around, emailing people, running up and down corridors, calling people, running around town, sitting in the waiting room (of DOOM!), and WRINGING MY HANDS for a sticker that from start to finish took her 2:20 seconds to approve, fill out and stick in my passport....

OF DOOM!!!

It's also quite possibly the only redeeming part of "Indiana Jones and the Temple (wait for it) of DOOM." Next time you end up watching that movie (because, you know, you really want to see if it is as bad as you remember) shout out "of DOOM" every time someone speaks in *meaningful tones* - you'll know what these are.

"The antidote!" of DOOM!
"Chilled monkey brains" of DOOM!
"*My* professional name!" of DOOM!
"Fortune and glory." of DOOM!
"Nothing shocks me. I'm a scientist." of DOOM!
"Mummies." of DOOM!
"Giant vampire bats!" of DOOM!

Really, I could go on all day.

But I won't.

I also got shot today.

Tetanus booster.

And I gave some blood to a nurse who will check it for antibodies.

At that point in my visit to the doctor's office I was a little unclear about what all was going on, but I understood that if I have lots of good antibodies I do NOT need another shot and if I don't then I'll be proffering up my arm again in a few weeks.

I picked up the mounds of copies that I had bound for easy carriage. And then I went shopping for a few things that I needed because the outdoor store that I do SO love was having a sale and I could finally afford some of the stuff in there.

These things include:
* flip-flops (because I don't trust that the people who used the public shower before me DIDN'T pee in it)
* toiletry bag with a hook (I've been using the zippered bags that my throw blankets came in for years, it works for storage and plane travel, but once you get to where you are going, you're rather screwed if you don't have a cabinet)
* a new rain jacket (because the one I had is 10 years old and doesn't so much keep me dry as make sure that anything in the pockets gets wetter than had I fallen in a lake)

There was then some fancy bank transfers because the credit card I wanted to use has a pin code that is IMPOSSIBLE to remember. Here in Denmark, thou shalt not use thy Visa card except in Very Special Locations and then only if thee hath a pin code. Of DOOM!

I've got to pack now.

I say that, but watch me wander about aimlessly for a while yet. And eat. And wander some more. And then discover the one thing I wanted to wear is not in the piles of clean clothes on my bed, but under the pile of dirty wet clothes in the basket.

But I leave you this LOLDog.

My guardian angel!

I have the worlds best caseworker! And she's not even *my* caseworker. My caseworker is on vacation and the one who is supposed to be handling my case is... well, I'm not really sure, actually. But her office mate is the woman I talked to yesterday. This office mate is an angel.

This morning she called the Udlændingeservice on my behalf to find out what I needed to do before I left. She then passed along the information to me as well as the questions I should ask, so when I called the Udlændingeservice I could use those

magic key words "reentry visa" to get through to a person who could help me in my quest. I ended up talking to several people, one about the reentry visa, good only for 90 days, so it is imperative that I come back to Denmark in December and pick up my visa (because that will not be ready for pick up until half way through November IF I'M LUCKY) and one to tell me that, yes, I really can get a reentry visa while I wait in the office (open M-F 9-12, Thurs 12-1700) and that if worst comes to worst, I can come to Copenhagen and they'll do it for me, but that the Århus office should do it and if they don't they're prats.

Yes, I've already arranged with a friend that if I must run off to Copenhagen I have somewhere to crash.

Of course I'll run all this by the Århus office again tomorrow when I go, because the more people I can get to know where I am and what I'm doing, the more likely that information I need to be a good little immigrant will actually get passed along. 'Cause it's not like they tell you these things voluntarily. You need to know what to ask. They assume that now that you've got your coveted visa you will never again wish to step foot outside of Denmark. Silly silly me for wanting to work. I'm really hoping that because I'm working through a Danish university, it'll give me a leg up on the 'wow what a good immigrant ladder' even though I am doing it outside of Denmark.

I do feel like screaming to several people though. The next person who says to me "why didn't you ask" is going to get it in the teeth. If you don't know that you need to ask a question about something you didn't know about HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO ASK IT? And I did ask UdServ if there was something I needed and they just told me to wait for my visa and that they couldn't discuss my case on the phone. It was only after my guardian angel told me what questions to ask and about this reentry visa that I even knew I had a problem. All I got from the UdServ

was a letter saying I could stay and that was only because I'd ASKED for SOMETHING to prove I was here legally in case I needed to prove I belonged here. Did they say, Oh, and a reentry visa is a good idea in case you leave? NO!

If I get my reentry visa tomorrow, I am going to send my voluntary caseworking angel a bouquet of flowers.

Meanwhile I am DRIPPING in sweat, because there is NOTHING like RUNNING down to an office only to find that it's closed to make one damp and wilted.

I shall put this smell to good use and clean the kitchen. Then at least I'll have something physical to

show for my aerobic exertions. I mean, hey, if you are going to sweat through your clothes, you might as well do all the sweaty things you need to do at once.

I think I'll skip the library trip though. It's a large building, but I'm very very rank at the moment and all my clean clothes are currently in the wash.

Be grateful that the internet doesn't have smell-o-vision. That's all I'm saying!

Oh, and my international drivers license is this little cardboard booklet! I feel robbed! It's like the old Danish drivers licenses. Seriously, this is going to let me drive abroad? I have my doubts, but I'm going to present it will all the confidence of an idiot and hope that they buy my assertions that "no, really, this says I can drive here.... in like 5 languages including Japanese! I know it doe

sn't have Arabic... how about Swedish? Does this look like the face of a liar?"

I've got to practice my poker face.

Acutally, first I have to FIND my poker face.

o.O

No.

:-}

No.

Definitely not.

Hmmmm, nope, looks like I never had a poker face. Can anyone suggest where I can buy one cheap?

Success!

It turns out the letter was only referring to my participation in August not SINCE August as I had thought. Well, they did send the letter in Danish and HELLO I'm not graduated yet, I can't read your letter!!

But I talked to a VERY nice caseworker who made all kinds of notes for my file and then I got an email follow up from her because she'd checked my file and saw that my visa was expired and wanted to know if I'd gotten the paperwork back and that if I was thinking that I might not get it in time, I should get a special notation in my passport. I have since responded and said, well, I did renew my visa, but it hasn't come through yet - how do I get this stamp just in case I don't get my visa in time? I'm thinking that she might be a helpful caseworker! Praise god and pass the ketchup! Her English was phenomenal and she read my file! She READ my FILE! And then contacted me to make sure I hadn't gone and forgotten something HUGE!

I'm very excited.

Meanwhile, I may have just gotten my international drivers license. Well, I missed the FedEx guy, but he'll be back tomorrow and I've posted the note saying he can just leave it in the mailbox if I'm not home. Or peeing. But I didn't add that to the note. He might wig out and not let me have my proof of my mad driving skills. It will of course be in my maiden name because the department of motor vehicles will not change my name unless I walk into the office with a marriage certificate and/or a new social security card. I haven't gotten the new SSC or been anywhere NEAR a department of motor vehicles so instead I'm going to photocopy the document I got from the Danish Ministry of People Who Change Their Names, who brilliantly provided me with a document in English saying, "yes, you short sighted bureaucrat, she did bloody change her name now let her go about her life with some form of dignity." Because I'm running around with half of my official documents with one name and half with the other.

It's like having a secret identity. Or schizophrenia.

And I spend a lot of time explaining myselves to people. Yes: Myselves. Don't argue with me, I may be a dangerous schizophrenic, you never know.

Despite all the madness, I've had a good couple of days. I mean, I've had a cold, but I managed to work around it.

I worked a volunteer bar shift at a club/party Friday night, resulting in good times and a sexy voice (hoarse, very hoarse). You'd think it'd be dreadful to have to interact with drunk Danes, but really, it was pretty good. Think of it as another phase of projekt dejlig: interacting with Danes on their own turf, i.e. any place of inebriation. I managed fairly well in Danish and when it no longer worked and I apologized, in English, for not understanding or being unable to remember the number 80, most gasped and said "Oh my god, I didn't know you didn't speak Danish! I'm so sorry!" and then proceeded to repeat their request in English with good humor. It also helps that pick-up lines for foreign women by Danish men are very simple: "Where are you from?... WOW! What brought you here?" And are easily, gently, shot down by responding, "America... I married a Dane" and flashing the ring. I got my hand kissed several times. Even the guys who were trying to get me to discount their drinks finally gave in before my dazzling charming non-danish self.

Then today I worked out my little Danish problem, photocopied oodles of things that I needed for my research (although I just got an email saying now I have a print ready up at the library and I'm thinking: why didn't this happen EARLIER today?), returned books and, this was BEFORE NOON mind you, made my way towards the bus stop - this afternoon I went out of Århus to meet up with another blogger and her deliciously madcap children for some coffee and fresh air.

We both got a lot of it (FRESH AIR you Weirdos!), so if the blogosphere suddenly falls silent, it's because we both caught pneumonia and died.

(BTW: I've been drinking these vitamin C dissolvable tablets in water and they are AWESOME! You can't OD on vitamin C, right? 'Cause they're really tasty. I may have a slight addiction. Can you even be addicted to Vit C dissolvable tablets? God I hope not. Right, so I may die either from too much fresh air or possibly a slight over indulgence in vitamin C. You may take up to a year to morn my passing. Wear purple and sing dirges while you sweep. Yes, I meant to say sweep. 'Can't very well sing dirges while you sleep, now can you? And if you sing and weep at the same time, it'll sound all hiccupy and awful. I'm tone-deaf, but not deaf-deaf.)

Tilting with Windmills...

I swear Don Quixote had better success than I'm having at the moment.

Here's a question for you all - how many caseworkers can one foreigner have? Answer: I don't know, they keep popping out of the woodwork!!

The story so far: I needed to take time off of Danish, but I know I can't just stop coming, because it's part of my contract with the Danish government. So I first talk to my teacher, who sends me to Lisbet. Lisbet officially enters that I'm taking time off. She then tells me to contact my caseworker. Fine, dandy, I have a letter from my caseworker, Pia, so I have a name. I contact Pia, who tells me to contact Maja. Meanwhile I get another letter saying that my caseworker JULIE is on vacation and so Jane is now contacting me wanting to tell me that I am seriously endangering my chances of staying in Denmark because I've missed so much Danish.

Here's the REALLY funny thing - Lisbet, Pia, Maja, Julie, and Jane all have offices IN THE SAME BUILDING ON THE SAME FLOOR. Right next to each other and probably share offices in some cases.

Not that they ever see each other, because as far as I can tell, Pia's only in the office on Wed. from 3-5, Lisbet is only in the office from 8-12 m-f, Julie is on vacation and Maja may not exist, since I can't find her email anywhere.

Finding someone's email or any information about anyone is practically impossible because all letters to me and all information on the website is IN DANISH. This is the kommune's foreign resident department. The ENTIRE purpose of this department is to help integrate foreigners. Who can't bloody well use the damn department because they can't freakin' understand what's going on and who can't read the letters that are sent and who can't figure out what they're supposed to do about it because the web-site is in DANISH! Hell, my first caseworker barely spoke English. I was lucky to have my husband there to translate. Now he's not here, and while my reading Danish is considerably better, I still can't figure out what the hell's going on or who I'm supposed to see because I'm getting passed from caseworker to caseworker like a hot potato.

I'm leaving the country in less than a month and I can't guarantee everything is okay because I keep getting the run around!! And I'm sick of talking to people on the phone or in corridors because then I have no paper trail. I really need a paper trail at this point. I do not have a work contract or a visa for Qatar, I still haven't gotten my visa renewal from Denmark, and I have no proof that I've gotten permission from Danish school that I've taken time off, even though I was told I would get it.

Monday was supposed to be my fun free day... and perhaps it still will be, but I'm going to have to get up early to go over to the offices of evil and stomp around until I can get people to print out things that I can take to other people and MAYBE show that really, I have taken time off Danish and it's been PAUSED!

Jesus f*cking Christ on a g*dd*mned candlestick.

10 clues...

10 clues that I'm not a Dane and still a Californian (mishmashing two current memes here)

1) I hate licorice. HATE it. Can't stand the flavor, the smell, the feel. Ugh. I was told that eating licorice would make me a "real" Dane... like I needed another excuse to stay away from it! YUCK!

My nightmare!

2) I'm always cold. Really really cold. Summer in Denmark is like spring in CA. While Danes are passed out from the heat, collapsing on sidewalks in puddles of vanilla ice cream (pst, Denmark, it comes in more than three flavors, you know... no, Turkish Pepper is NOT a flavor, that's an abomination and I think the Turks are offended that you'd name that stuff after them) I'm thinking it may be time to take off my sweater.

Spicy salty licorice flavored ice cream... Never mind the above, THIS is my nightmare!

3) I never thought of myself as a vegetable nut. But I can't get over the lack of greens on many dining tables. Where're the veggies, folks? Boiled potatoes and iceberg lettuce are close, but sorry, you only get an E for effort.

Danish Food Pyramid

4) I don't "do" Danish modern. I think it looks like some form of antiseptic hell from which there is no escape. Arne Jacobsen chairs? Please tell me the decimal point on that price tag is misplaced, it looks like a reject from a failed Jetsons movie and I am not going to have that in my house. Homes should reflect your personality and by the look of your two-toned empty bland existence, we aren't going to have much to say to one another.

Blame the other 5.3 million people who bought the EXACT SAME THING!

5) I laugh loud. And often. Even when I'm alone in front of the computer.

6) A three hour car ride is NOTHING. Back in the day, we'd drive that far just to hang out in San Francisco for a few hours and then drive three hours home. I once drove 6 hours to buy a cake from the Madonna Inn and then 6 hours back again.

Madonna Inn cakes: total sugar overload

I love to drive. I love to sing along with the radio as I drive. I love being driven somewhere so I can look out the window and shout excitedly about what I just saw. And I love driving on freeways. Proper freeways. If I can, I'll change 5 lanes of traffic just because I can.

7) I heart Disneyland. The original Disneyland. All other theme parks pale in comparison. I can't explain it. Other parks have bigger faster rides - but for me, nothing beats the Jungle Cruise and the terrible terrible jokes therein. This is the epitome of my childhood.

8) I hate public transportation. Scares the crap out of me. Did you know there are no homeless people in LA? There's just people waiting for the BUS! Ha! Something like 50% of the bus drivers in San Francisco are drunk while on the job and at least one little old woman gets run over by the bus she just alighted from ever year.

Muni vs. Porn Shop... seriously.

9) I am not comfortable being naked, especially around people I don't know. Don't ask me to go to a sauna or to anywhere that involves communal showers and group nudity. And I will not be naked in front of men I am not having intimate relations with. ABSO-FREAKIN'-LUTELY NOT.

Trying to find a picture to sum up this sentiment made me glad I don't work in a shared space. Definitely *not* work friendly.

10) The sun sets IN THE OCEAN, darn it. And it's not a wimpy ocean, either. While I've put my feet in many so-called "oceans" and "seas" the Pacific is still the only REAL ocean. Want to gain a healthy respect for the ocean? Go stand on a Fort Bragg beach during a storm. (Actually, stand a healthy distance from the water, that sh*t'll kill you.)

Yeah, you know you wish you lived here too. Wait... I don't live there any more! *Sob* Now I'm homesick! Thanks internet meme. Thanks a lot.

Free!... Okay "free-er"...

So today I arranged to take time off from Danish. I've even contacted my case worker to see if I can extend my 3 years of free Danish for 5 months (since that's the amount of time I'll be out of the country - I'm just going to have to suck up the loss of this month since I don't really have that good of an excuse for missing). I can now reset my alarm for 8 am instead of 6:45.

Now I just have to get myself up and out of bed and off to "work."

But I also get to stay up late working because I don't have to get up early if I stay up late working. Does that make sense?

Example: I have had to stop working at 7 or 8 so that I have time to eat, so I have time to do homework, talk to the husband via skype and get to bed at a reasonable hour.

This means that even if I'm in the middle of a thought or an article, I've had to put it down and walk away. I hate that. If I'm having an intellectual moment DO NOT BREAK MY CONCENTRATION!!

Interrupted thoughts at the computer lead to sleeplessness. But I couldn't get up and work because I needed to get up early for Danish! Vicious cycle at play there.

I think I'll scan my Danish study books into my computer, though. Just in case I get bored in Qatar.

Do you think I need a doctor's note?

So I've got this job in Qatar, which will whisk me out of the country on October 31st and keep me gainfully employed until the end of March. I also have a dissertation to complete... which alas, according to my readers is NOWHERE NEAR COMPLETION. Thanks, guys, thanks a lot. I have a chapter for a book due October 1st. I also have Danish class.

I think Danish class is going to have to go. For the time being.

If I'm supposed to spend every waking moment at the library, which SOME people think I ought, then I can't very well spend my mornings in Danish. Especially if I want to spend more than just a few hours in the library, since it closes and they kick people out. Unless I go to the other library, but then I do want to be able to go home and eat and sleep and stuff.

And why do I have to spend all this time in the library anyway? I can't eat in there. I can't talk to myself or print out articles I'm interested in, I can't go on-line because the stupid internets is blocked (gotta talk to the secretary about that), and I get annoyed with other people making noise. I'm the only one allowed to make noise!!

So I have to quit Danish to spend time in a library, which I do not want to do, because it is not as fruitful as some professors imagine in order to finish a dissertation that has quickly spun out of control and is no longer the least bit interesting to me, having veered off into art history which was something I never got a degree in, not liking it all that much and all, and continues to evolve into a larger more horrible beast than ever discussed years ago when I took on this madness.

Yup, I'm miserable and depressed. I think I'm over my cold, for the most part, but the throbbing pain between my shoulder blades refuses to let up. Is that you, Stress? I thought as much.

Anyway, I made my decision to drop Danish AFTER I'd bought plane tickets to see my husband. Vacation was originally planed around my Danish vacation time, which now seems a bit silly. BUT on the other hand, it's also Århus University vacation, so library hours will be shortened and I should be able to get a week away from the library RIGHT?? I'll be taking my crap with me, so it's not like a proper vacation, but I don't have time for that stuff. I'll probably end up in a library in Holland anyway.

I'm so sick and tired of this crap. I've been working for years on this thing and any time I think I get close to being done, there comes an email saying "no, you just need to change ALL OF IT to WHAT I'M INTERESTED IN and THEN it'll be okay."

It's really hard to listen to people saying "stick with it, it'll be done soon" when it won't be soon. No, I'm not stopping and dropping out YET. I've got to see what is wanted NOW for this demonic document first.

Gah, I should have dropped out five years ago when it all started going wrong. I could have learned Danish and been half way to a degree in veterinary medicine by now. Now I don't even have time to learn frekking Danish!!

Finding pleasure in simple pursuits

This is made slightly more difficult because I think I may be getting a cold. Sore throat and buzzy ears. I think today's simple pursuit will be ice cream and hot tea. Not together, mind you. 'Cause that would be gross. But I'd love other suggestions for simple sick-day remedies (except for chicken noodle soup. I hate chicken noodle soup. Unless I've been vomiting, because chicken noodle soup tastes the same coming up as going down, so I don't mind eating it.)

Updates and things

Boy it's been a while! I managed to post a quiz and I've run around commenting on some blogs, but otherwise it's been all anxiety, highs, and lows in the archaeogoddess universe. I've written about a gazillion blog posts in my head... often at 2 am when I trying to get myself to sleep and I'm too tired to get up and write them down, but it doesn't keep the brain from type type typing away behind my sandpaper eyes.

News:

• I am going to Qatar for 5 months, beginning Oct. 31st for a PAID archaeology gig. This is excellent because I need the money and I need to start building a career, neither of which is happening because I spend all my time researching for a never-ending dissertation. (See below)
• Because I'm going off to work and contribute to the mortgage, my advisors on my dissertation don't think I'll finish any time soon. In fact, they've suggested that I've got so much work to do that I should go live in the library. Somehow I've got to balance Danish class with research. Somethings going to give. I wonder if I can take a break from Danish not just for the time I'll be out of the country, but also now that I need those extra hours every day....
• Suggestions from my advisors have included the following vague and scary bits: "...you may need to change the title of your dissertation and your focus." Since the title is a very exact description of what I am doing, not a nice vague sexy title with jargon, I am very worried. Focus... eh, I knew that was coming. Like I ever had a chance to write an anthropological dissertation when I've got art historians for readers! And they are all asking me to dump the economic section and I want to scream "I TOLD YOU IT WAS F**KING POINTLESS YOU STUPID NAVEL GAZERS! BUT OH NO YOU KEPT QUOTING BILL CLINTON AT ME 'it's the economy, stupid' AND I TOLD YOU IT DIDN'T WORK BUT YOU SAID 'I'M THE PERSON WHO KNOWS THINGS AND I SAY YOU DO THIS' AND SO I DID AND NOW YOU ARE ALL PRETENDING LIKE IT WAS ALL ME WHO'S BEEN FORCING THIS POINTLESS SECTION FORWARD!!" But that's why I blog this stuff. So I don't end up killing little old men.

Things done:

• The laundry.
• The Twilight series from start to finish in a little over two days. Heh.
• A haircut.

Things left undone:

• Knitting. I've got to start knitting while watching tv. I should watch more tv.

Evidence of love in an increasingly cold world:

• My birthday was a few days ago and my husband, who has been in Holland since the last week of August, had bought my birthday present and hid it in his sock drawer before he left. He called and told me where it was so I would have a present from him on my birthday (well, actually a day late since I was out with friends on my birthday and nowhere near the sock drawer). He rocks my world, that man.
• Say what you will about Facebook, getting happy birthday wishes from people you know from all over the world is fan-freakin'-tastic. Having people checking up on you from time to time to make sure you haven't gone crazy or dropped into a spiral of depression = awesome!

Completely random crap from my head:

• I finally figured out how to make pre-made frozen pan-fried spring rolls that don't suck. Fry them in oil. I think my husband burns them in butter. Ugh. I love him dearly, but WTF? Then they are all soft and mushy on the outside, completely lacking in the crunch that one needs. And I bought kick ass sweet chili sauce that I would drink if I could. Instead I'm just putting it on everything. Oh, and if you are going to drop frozen spring rolls into hot oil... hold the lid of the pan like a shield in front of you and have a pair of long handled tongs to reach around to flip them. Because ice meets hot oil is a terrible thing. Why some idiot thought that it would be a good idea to make frozen spring rolls that must be fried is beyond me. Obviously someone who doesn't cook at home.
• Going to Qatar means Projekt Dejlig will require some alterations. No American Thanksgiving at my place. Sorry!! I figured by this late in the year there'd be no way we were going to be leaving before December, but I figured wrong. Well, that frozen pumpkin mash will still be good for a non-Thanksgiving pie, right? Also means severe cuts in Christmassing. I'll get a Christmas vacation, but it's not going to be the overthetop extravaganza I was fantasizing about. But finally, after all these years, I am going to be a real, paid, archaeologist.

Quiz!!

You Dance Through Life

Your journey through life is inspired, creative, and optimistic. You are an engaging, positive person - and you're always looking for the possibilities in life. You hope to motivate and uplift other people. You want to change the world in your own little way. You are confident and expressive. You're happy with who you are, as unique and different as you might be.

How Do You Travel Through Life?

Blogthings: Free Quizzes for Everyone

Thanks All About Me and a Bag of Chips!

My own projekt dejlig

Projekt Dejlig was started by another expat living and working in Denmark. It pretty much focuses on doing things to make the time you are here happier and better than it currently is.

There are no rules for projekt dejlig, because things that make you happy vary from person to person.

So anyway, I was reading through the blogs as I do, now that I've run out of images to sort and organize and I really need to get my butt up the hill to the library but once again today is NOT that day, and I saw on Moving at the Speed of Life some pictures of the Minnesota State Fair. And can I tell you what sort of homesickness that caused? Wait, why am I asking, it's MY FREAKIN' BLOG!

***CORRECTION: Not "Moving at the Speed of Life" but Melissa Barrett, seeing at Jacki lives in VIRGINIA! How embarrassing! Thanks Jacki for pointing out that I am completely insane!***

Okay, I don't come from MN, though I have relatives that live there. But really, American state fairs and many county fairs are really similar. Take the arts and crafts barn/building/tent. You will find some really nice stuff and some stuff where you think to yourself "An Obama portrait made of BEANS?? I hope they've hospitalized this poor woman and the neighbor is feeding her cats, 'cause WHOA!" And I'm looking at these pictures and, since I'm a very imaginative person, I completely lose myself in the memory of county fairs and summer in California and I can TASTE the ice cream and FEEL the hot nights when you pray for a breeze and I can even HEAR the dogs barking at the cats. (Wait, that's the neighbor downstairs walking the pomeranians.) And this wave of homesickness washed over me. It's also a wave of nostalgia, because now if I went to the county fair I'd be worried I'd run into my ex and his family, since at least one cousin will be entering a cow or a pig and so spend my time ducking around corners, not sitting on benches, kicking my heels in the dust and wondering if I should spend my last tickets on the ferris wheel or the graviton.

Feeling rather maudlin, I wandered next to the blog of the original inventor of Projekt Dejlig and realized that, yes, Virginia, it really is September and that means Fall and then the march to Christmas! And this is one of my favorite times of the year, because APPLES and CHRISTMAS! Every year I have great goals to really whip out a fantastic Christmas (last year's dinner for two rocked, but was slightly marred by the fact that we still had two of the former horrible tenants living with us and the house was a wreck and my Dane was driving the taxi that night and we'd not gotten each other presents because we really couldn't afford it and I couldn't go home and visit my family) and there's always something to sort of keep it from happening. Like a dissertation. Or work. Or Christmas suddenly sneaking up on me. I am LOUSY at sending out cards and I am ALWAYS putting off shopping until the last minute (even though I do love to buy people presents, I just never get around to it).

So my projekt dejlig for the moment is to have a hygge fall. Not necessarily a Danish hygge fall, but my own Americana version of it. Apple pie, apple cakes, applesauce. Big bulky scarves. Weird rain boots. (I need to get a pair of weird rain boots, but that's all part of the projekt.) Wool hats and mittens. If I do not suddenly hear that I'm going to Qatar for a dig, I will invite everyone to a Thanksgiving meal, American style with SWEET POTATOES WITH MARSHMALLOWS and an oversized turkey to feed twenty. The Christmas season will then commence and I am going to celebrate the hell out of it. Christmas music until I'm sick. Eggnog until I get e. coli or whatever is in raw egg. Mulled wine!! And I'm going to wear a Santa hat at inappropriate locations. (Adds to list: buy santa hat.)

In other news:

As you can see, this is my progress. Despite my best attempts, it has decided that it is 10 stitches across, not eight. I try to narrow it back down and then the next row, there they are: 10 stitches! Since it gets lumpy every time I try to fix it and since it seems intent on being 10 no matter what, I've decided to give in to it's wants. I've also decided it is NOT a bookmark, it is a scarf for my penguin. It'll match her little hat that's stitched onto her head. And since this is the nicer wool, it will feel soft when we cuddle (whut? why are you looking at me funny?).

And now I'm off to read Calvin and Hobbs in Danish to a friend. I sorta missed Danish class today as I was rocking out to the 90's until late last night and it hurt so bad this morning! I think I'm getting old.

This is my day

This pretty much sums up how I am feeling today.

Meanwhile I am knitting a... well.... it was going to be a scarf, only it is much thinner than I intended. There was a casting on issue. I could cast on then as I did the first row I kept dropping stitches. The time I finally got it to work I had only made it 8 stitches wide. Schtupid. Anyway, now it's a bookmark. DON'T BE TELLING ME YOU SHOULDN'T KNIT BOOKMARKS AND THAT MY BOOKS WON'T CLOSE PROPERLY! DO YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT? My goal is to finish it and try something a bit WIDER.

(Actually it's a fairly good doll scarf, maybe my stuffed penguin would like it instead? I'll ask her tonight.)

Comedy wise, I'm going to investigate Russell Peters a bit more.



Hopefully I'll be able to knit and watch without poking myself in the eye.

And if you were wondering, although you probably weren't, I am still cooking like a mad woman. There have just been a severe lack of kitchen disasters to write about. I may have even perfected risotto. Or at least gotten pretty good at it. I just now need to learn to make less than 8 servings at a go. I *am* cooking for one while my Dane studies abroad in Holland. Yeah, and WTF, I'm stuck here in Denmark and he's off camping in the woods and chillin' in coffee houses? Well, it's only fair, I get to head off to warm and exotic locations in the summer... But still, I'm stuck in DENMARK without a DANE!!??!!

Skillz, I has dem.

In case anyone ever wonders if Kel D is a capable teacher, may I just say for the record: Yes, she is!

After a fun expat meet up, I dragged Kel D back to my lair, plied her with wine and forced her to teach me to knit. Okay, not so forced, she totally volunteered.

Ladies and gentlemen, having had half a bottle of wine, Kel taught the Archaeogoddess, also under the influence of half a bottle of wine, to move pointy sticks in complicated motions, moving yarn from ball to hand to stick to other stick, causing intricate not quite knot formations to grow and grow and...

Look, she taught me to knit, okay? Evidence?


See??!!?? Knitted stuff!! It's not perfect, but if you've ever seen me trip over nothing or suddenly fall sideways into walls, you will know that this requires manual dexterity long thought to be beyond my capabilities.

Yesterday being Sunday I could not go to the yarn store... but today. I will sally forth and try to knit all on my own. Should you never hear from me again, it is because I've either accidently killed myself with a knitting needle or knitted myself to a chair. In any case, send help.

Because I can't help myself...

In case not everyone noticed that yesterday's image included "no PUBIC option" (damn it, if congress doesn't put free Brazilian waxes for everyone in the new health care plan, I ain't voting for it!) I give you LOLPolitics. (Actually brought to you by Pundit Kitchen aka LOL News.)

Brings ignorant to a whole new level!

Meanwhile in America....

...things are getting really nasty on the universal health care front.

Now, I'm often asked by non-Americans what in the hell we're doing over in the US, denying people basic health care and sending people bills that were obviously typed on defective typewriters because there is no way that's a real number, and honestly, I can't explain it to you. Because it doesn't really make a lot of sense to me either.

Tragically, after reading some of the tripe that is put out about the death squads sent out to kill your mother and her dog by forcing her (your mother, but maybe also your mother's dog) to stand in line for her (again, not only your mother but your mother's DOG too) botox shots for, like, an hour or something, but *IN THE SUN* and possibly near an ugly faux palm tree, and the evil socialist fascist commie bastards who want to force *YOU* to have an *ABORTION* even if you aren't pregnant, or are a guy and probably don't have a uterus, unless you are one of those gay people, because we all know you have uteruses in your well decorated apartments, and in which case we the True Believers in Christ's Mercy aka Fox News Followers will kill you with our own death squads, but *WE* are not going to make *YOU* wait in line, (quick go back to the start of this sentence to pick up the original thread of this thought) you realize why American's are becoming increasingly stupid.

I went to the Fox News website to get you a link, but then the world went black and my computer started to flicker and I realized that my soul was being sucked into a vortex of evil and filth and so I Force Quit the internet.

Partially recovered, but needing a stiff drink, I returned to the intertubes and reloaded the page that had started my quest. I'm sure she didn't want me to go to... That Place... to look for a good link. I'm sure if she was in the neighborhood she'd even bring me a gin and... more gin. That would be Aaryn Belfer who writes from time to time for The Woman's Colony and wrote this FABULOUS piece (it's a link!!) that kept me smiling in a time of partisan woe. I stole that picture from her too! I'm a commie bastard at heart. I BLEED RED. Um. Yeah.

Whenever I want to remind myself why Denmark is really not that bad of a place to be downtrodden and marginalized, I can just check out Fox Noise and remember that I could be where the *liberal majority* is downtrodden and marginalized by a few fat white male pundits.

Denmark? ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME???

This just in from an article in the Copenhagen Post. <-----Link, in case you don't know. Go, read it. I'll wait.

Okay, for those of you too busy or getting this via email: In increasingly desperate measures, Denmark continues to try to keep out the "darkies" without saying, "whites only." Their new ploy - charge people who come to Denmark for Family Reunification 3,000 kr to take a Danish language and culture test.

I better start taking donations so I can pay for my test, because wouldn't you know, I'm here on a Family Reunification Visa!!

I am not so worried about taking the test, because I'm already required by the government to learn Danish and I have to pass a series of tests ALREADY in order to stay, so what's one more... but dude, YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE ME PAY FOR A GOVERNMENT REQUIRED TEST??? WAS THE $10,000 I HAVE TO KEEP IN A SEALED BANK VAULT NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU PEOPLE???

I really hope this leads to a Danish brain drain as Danes who fall in love with foreigners realize that really, they should just stay with their foreign spouse and contribute to that foreign country's economy rather than bring said spouse back to DK where we are treated like second-class citizens.

And the first person who suggests that we give North Americans an exemption will be shot. That is just disgusting and degrading that you would think that I would want to use my skin color or my religion or my so-called race to step in front of people who are fleeing for their lives or looking for somewhere where they can make something of themselves.

Either require the test of EVERYONE: highly skilled workers, asylum seekers, family reunification-ators, residency and citizenship; or NO ONE.

This is SO not worth the free health care.

A rather eventful day

Yesterday was rather eventful. There was the obligatory 3 1/2 hours of Danish, followed by a power nap. My Dane and I then headed off to look at this camper that he'd seen on the side of the road.

[Insert flashback special effects]

My husband, who leaves WEDNESDAY, for Holland (I have part II of my Danish test that day, how unfair of the universe is THAT?) had still not found a place he was willing to live. Most of the places that were almost affordable were shared rooms or in a dormitory-like environment. My husband, bless him, is a little old for returning to college life. I could see him coming out of his dorm room and shaking his fist at the noisy kids. Or giving the evil eye to a roommate. He only puts up with me because I'm cute and I show him my boobies.

(Off topic note: He is forbidden to call them anything other than "breasts." I hate when people refer to someone else's breasts with some stupid pet name or childish term, but I also retain the right to call my breasts whatever the heck I want if it will imbue a story with a bit of levity. I'll stop talking about breasts now. This could be the post where my parents finally get around to reading my blog and I would hate to embarrass them.)

Anyway, so on the topic of husband travelling/lacking a home, he'd made cracks about living in the car. I, however, do not get Danish humor, and so promptly pointed out that if he were to live in the car, he'd have to live at a campsite so that he would have bathing and toilet facilities. I'm really big on people not peeing freely. I'm not sure who pointed out that the most sane idea for staying at a campsite would be to have a camper, but it came up as a frighteningly good idea. He did a bit of research and discovered that campers are insanely expensive in Denmark. I swear, you could put wheels on a dog turd and sell it for millions. He even went to a used camper dealership, where they were selling campers held together with duct tape for 50,000 kr. Heck, I'm going to start putting wheels on my OWN poop!

(Toilet humor getting to you? Sorry, blame the mad storm of yesterday, I may have been struck by lighting.)

That would have been the end of it, except that while driving home from Grenaa the other day, he saw a camper for sale on the side of the road. He looked it over, called the guy, poked, prodded, did whatever two men do when they contemplate an exchange of wheeled objects (my poop not included) (SORRY) and came home to talk with me about it.

Ever so practical, I asked him if there EVEN WERE campsites near his school. That's what I'm here for, killing the joy. Oh yes, I can kill the joy. [Insert lots of boring details here that I won't... er... bore you with.] Yes, Virginia, there is a campsite... open until Oct. 4th and in the woods. After that he might have to get creative, but that will be his anxiety, not mine. He decides it will be a great adventure, I see it as a way to go camping in France. I hear they have good wine. So, because it was under 15,000 kr., and in good condition, we bought it. It's little. It's bitty. It dates from 1980-something and so goes great with the Volvo station wagon. (I tried to find a comparable one on-line... but I couldn't.) It's got a bed, a table area that could become a second bed, sink, two gas burners, a fridge, a toilet (an empty yourself kind), and an attachable tent with walls (thereby doubling your living space... when it's warm outside). It's very brown and green, but doesn't smell at ALL. This is vitally important.

I swear we are now the perfect middle-class American family... without the kids. Lousy Danish family though. We lack privet hedges and a summer house.

Right. So, now we've caught up with where I started (and slightly overshot, but do I look like a hollywood director?). We had a date with some friends back in Århus, but since we were running late, we took the camper with. It was a hit and our friends' adorable little girls declared that mum and dad should buy one with their DanKort (think Debit Card meets Visa).

And then it started raining. Whoa boy, did it start raining. And there was the lighting and the thunder and all in all it was a very impressive summer storm. We thought it was over by the time we parked the car and camper half a mile from our home (free parallel parking where you don't actually have to maneuver between two other parked objects is not that easy to find in Århus). We were mistaken. We took shelter in the doorway of a lonely store in the middle of nowhere.

Note to all: It is acceptable to pee freely when it is pouring rain, you are far from home, and surrounded by closed non-residential buildings, provided that you pee somewhere where it will be washed away by morning. Also, always accept an umbrella from friends. Always.

Just as we were starting to wonder if we'd have to swim home, my husband saw a bus. I couldn't see the bus stop, but my Dane said there was. We actually chatted about this as the bus pulled up on the other side of the road and sat at the stop. Realizing that we'd be kicking ourselves if we didn't take it, no matter where it went, it had to be drier than this, right? We ran across the road. Correction, we splashed across the river that just happened to be partially navigable by car, and got on the bus. Bless that bus driver, he'd seen us and waited. We determined that he was actually going to go right by the street our house is on (yippee!) and we were so grateful we bought bus tickets. (Note: in Århus, you buy the tickets in the back of the bus at a little automatic ticket booth. Think of it as a strange honors system. The bus drivers do not check the tickets. But there are special bus police that do, so you do have to watch yourself.)

Where was I? Tickets! Okay, so we bought tickets. Then the bus driver dropped us as close to our house as possible, not where there was a bus stop (the closest bus stop being farther away). What service!! We were impressed. We were soaked. We were having a ridiculously good time for people caught out in the rain with only a borrowed umbrella to protect us from pneumonia.

I think it was the excitement of purchasing a camper, eating a good meal with friends, drinking wine with friends, and that it was not that cold out which made it so much fun. The thunder and lightning didn't bother me a bit! I think if we hadn't had a loaf of fresh homemade rudbrød (SO YUMMY), a bag full of important papers, and the fancy camera we would have pulled a "Singing in the Rain."

Or at least I would have. I'm kind of a freak like that.

I love stupid news stories

The best way to make yourself embarrassed to be part of the human race is to read some of the "news" articles on MSN. Seriously people, is journalism dead? People pay you for this crap??

I point to: Can Your Flip Flops Kill You?

This goes to show that not only did this journalist get the short end of the stick during the morning meeting, but that there are scientists out there getting MY GRANT MONEY to research STUPID things.

I mean, the shocker of the article? There are GERMS on your flip-flops. AND FECES! Because we all know that regular shoes are germ free and have never stepped in dog poop.

And apparently the scientist is also a weirdo who likes to fondle his flip-flops... he says you touch them more often than regular shoes because you often need to adjust them. Uh, I don't know about you lot, but I don't readjust my slip-on sandals with my hands. They're SLIP ON. I slide my foot around until it's all working. Heck, if I get a rock in my sandal I just slip my foot out and use my toes to remove offending object. And yes, I do wash my feet before going to bed if I've been wearing open shoes. Feet get dusty and dirty in those things. It happens. The world is a dirty place. Not that he suggests this clever way of avoiding Certain Death. Certain Death being what you are facing because you just won't wear sneakers ALL THE TIME!! You Barefoot Freaks! Don't you know this is why the dinosaurs went extinct? Because they didn't invent CLOSED FOOTWEAR!!

I bet he has ugly feet and he's afraid of looking like a freak because he won't wear sandals. "Yeah, I can't show you my feet because if I wore flip flops I'd catch a weird disease and DIE, so that's why I'm wearing my combat boots in 100 F weather! And you should do it too before your feet fall off." Yeah.

(If you wonder what journalism is coming to these days, may I suggest http://probablybadnews.com/ as a cure from all your ills - or at least confirm your suspicions that we're headed for hell in a handbasket.)

The Danish language is trying to kill me and I am divorcing my head

Danish is trying to kill me. Yesterday I took part one of my test, the reading and writing bit, and came home emotionally and physically exhausted. There were hysterical tears and I'm well past PMS! Next week I have to do the speaking half and I expect to take to my bed in horror afterwards.

Language is NOT my thing. It just does not stick.

Take for example Tirsdag and Torsdag: Tuesday and Thursday in Danish. Tuesday comes before Thursday and I comes before O so it should be a simple matter of remembering which comes first. Added that I know Torsdag is named after Thor and from which we English speakers also derive Thursday. It even SOUNDS like Thursday for crying out loud.

And yet, every time I see Tirsday or Torsday I get them confused. I stand there and gape and say, what day is that?

Honestly, it's like I'm missing a link in my head.

It doesn't help that I don't really want to speak Danish. I didn't grow up thinking, "you know what would be great? Living in Denmark! Yeah! I want to learn a language that sounds like a throat disease that only 5.2 million people speak, but not to the extent that they can actually understand each other if they grew up in different regions! Cool beans, sign me up!" This lack of desire for Danish language may cause some to say, "ah, see, it is because you are so opposed to it that you are creating a mental block that keeps you from learning it, you horrible Danish hater you!"

What I say back to those people is unpublishable.

So I drag myself though Danish language classes. Pushing myself to learn the grammar rules, trying to pronounce the unpronounceable, and continually repeating to myself "this stupid language is NOT smarter than I am."

My husband, trying to be helpful, asked me why I was learning Danish. Because your stupid country told me to! I cried. But there is also:
- I hate being left out of conversations because I don't understand
- I will not (if we end up raising children here) have my children speaking in a language I don't understand
- I would like to tell people who piss me off exactly why they are pissing me off IN THEIR OWN LANGUAGE (because they just don't take you seriously if you don't)

But I just don't think that learning a language should include making a person cry from frustration and misery. That just doesn't seem right.

---

In other news, I'm divorcing my head.

It's been quite a while now since we've gotten along. Last week my head tried to trick the rest of me into a sinus infection. Inflamed sinuses, aching head and face, neck pain, and a runny nose. I was not fooled however and I have continued to be fever free and my snot is still clear (gross? Yeah, but see it's the color of your snot that will tell you what you have, clear to white is allergies, yellow is a cold or the start of infection, green is VERY BAD). Now my head has decided to clog up my right ear. The pain is immense. Radiates down from my ear to my jaw and my teeth. Is it an ear infection? Probably not, I still have no fever and my ear is not red. It's my head again stuffing up the sinuses in some evil attempt to make me stay in bed and read (which my head likes to do) and not go out and about doing the things that need to get done (like photocopying a vastly overdue interlibrary loan book, which my head does NOT want to read) and enjoying the little sun there is.

My head is also refusing to learn any more Danish until I make more space in my memory and, sorry, but I still need that French and German, thank you very much.

I tried beating my head into submission by continually standing up quickly in the wrong half of my bedroom, where the ceiling slants down to a measly 2.5 feet of head space, but this only resulted in a loss of equilibrium that culminated in stubbed toes as I fought for balance. (Anyone seen the movie "The War of the Roses" because it's like that.)

At the moment we are not speaking to each other, except when I told my head I was out of here and it told me to get a good lawyer because I'd need one. If you could pass along a message to my head, since I am NOT speaking to it AT ALL, could you please tell it that I MIGHT be willing to do some couples therapy, but only if it would stop filling up my sinuses because I am sick and tired of going to the store for more tissue paper.

Festen

Er, not the movie, which I watched last night (in Danish with Danish subtitles, *ugh* but I only had to hit pause a few times to ask my Dane what all had happened/what was said, like the first speech, which must be understood in order to get what is going on for the rest of the movie and had vocabulary that we don't learn in Danish class, you know, words like, "sexual abuse" and "inappropriate fondling" and I must say that the thing that disturbed me the most about the movie, and the movie is SUPPOSED to be disturbing, so it's okay to be disturbed, was not the dark family secret that was revealed in the first five minutes but the fact that the guests CONTINUE THE BIRTHDAY PARTY as if NOTHING had happened! But the good thing about this movie is that you realize that yes, there are more Danes out there who get how f#cked up their culture can be and aren't afraid to point it out in a very disturbing way.)....

Er, yeah, so like I was saying before I interrupted myself. The birthday party I went to over the weekend ended up being quite bearable, once everything got going (or I had just enough to drink, I'm not really sure on that one). First of all, we were met with vodka mimosas at the door, so I had something to hold on to while I trotted behind my husband as we did the go-around-and-say-hello-introduce-yourself-to-everyone thing. This is a danish thing that I find very hard. I mean, what's with all the hand shaking? It means I have the embarrassing moment where I say "hej" and introduce myself to someone who is all "Dude, we met last year, I totally remember you!" and I'm all, "Oh, yeah, sorry about that, how's it going?" and then have to sidle up to husband later and be "um, that lady there in the green skirt - *panicked whisper* WHO THE HELL IS SHE AND HOW DOES SHE KNOW MY NAME!!??" This is why following behind my Dane has it's advantages, he'll introduce me as his wife to people we don't know and he'll chat with the people I am supposed to remember and thus saves me from embarrassment for a while.

There was a lot of the gentle racism inherent in Denmark, where people were incensed on my behalf that it takes so long for me to get a visa, seeing as I'm one of the good immigrants and I married a real Dane (they don't use quite those words, but there is plenty of discussion on how I ought to be given preferential treatment because of who I am and who I married without using the words "white" or "Christian" but we all know what we mean - I usually will try to say something that will point out that it's an unfair system for EVERYONE and that I don't think I should have preferential treatment, but sometimes it's just not worth discussing with someone who is obviously just making small talk with you until the next round of appetizers float by).

Seating was arranged but the dining was buffet, so you could get up and stretch your legs when needed and eating wasn't inturrupted by speeches. Those came after we had plenty of food in our bellies to absorb the wine. Still cannot understand people when they are giving speeches. Too fast, too many references to things that I probably ought to know, but don't, lots of jokes that I just can't get, oh well. Sat with folks who were great at chatting with me in English with a bit of odd Danish from time to time.

Later I got into a lovely discussion of religion, politics being something I steered away from so as not to get into trouble. But religion is okay. Especially when you discuss it with a Danish minister and so can do weighty subjects like Lutheranism vs. Episcopalianism and the place of religion in America vs. Denmark. Hey we were drunk, okay? And I am a nerd and a freak who knows too much about too many things that I never get to talk about with people who also know too much about the same esoteric subjects.

After the food and the toasts we got to dance. I love to dance. We danced from about midnight until 5 am. The midnight meal was served around 3 am, but because it was Danish hotdogs (hotdogs with remoulade, pickles, and dried onions) I couldn't stand anywhere near the table. That stuff smells AWFUL. I started gulping water at that point, realizing that I needed to start sobering up and in the hopes that it would keep me from vomiting. It worked on both accounts, but I still had to avoid the dining room at all costs. But I love dancing with Danes. We all suck. We dance like a bunch of idiots and it's OKAY because we all SUCK TOGETHER. And it's one of the few places where you can see men singing the words of Abba or the soundtrack to Grease outside of a gay bar. In fact, dancing with Danes reminds me a lot of when I used to go to gay bars in California. No inappropriate touching, no getting hit on, and lots of people dancing their hearts out.

Many thanks to Patti for texting me and I hope the drunk text I sent at 2 am or something did not wake you up. I was darned proud of myself for being able to type on the phone at all.

All in all, it was a good party, as far as Danish parties go.

Pity party at the Archaeogoddess

I'm bloated, bleeding, suffering the fallout of yesterday's PMS, cramping, and suffering from the most horrendous headache.

This is not made any better by reading the news that Denmark sucks more than ever (Raid on Asylum Seekers Sparks Riot and Despite Protests Most Assholes Support Police). I got an email from the American Embassy, under no circumstances am I or other Americans to get ourselves arrested at a demonstration (best accomplished by not going to one... demonstration abstinence, heh). I missed the one last night (I didn't know one was going on until my Dane told me), which considering my mood, was probably a good thing. Today, I'm too worried that I'm going to explode, bleed to death, or collapse under waves of pain to go anywhere.

The ray of hope in my life is that while yesterday's Danish class SUCKED (I swear my teacher was speaking in tongues, not Danish) and I didn't understand AT ALL what was going on (I thought my homework had been UP TO lecture 21 not INCLUDING 21, drat), today we did reading comprehension which I ROCK at, hands down. Maybe I won't fail my module two test next week.

Provided that I survive the next few days.

Not only must I survive my monthly contribution to Tampax stockholders, but also the birthday party I am attending in Copenhagen. Anyone want me to drunk dial them? I can totally drunk dial you if you'd like. Only you have to live in Denmark because I can't dial foreign countries when I'm drunk. Too many numbers. How do people manage to send drunk text messages? I'd probably manage to write "You are so yuarpfhruing" SEND. (For those of you not in the know, Danish birthday parties for adults include speeches and songs and a LOT of toasting. I'm getting better at the not actually drinking the toasts, but I find clutching a glass of wine is much better than bunching up the tablecloth or fiddling with the knives when you get bored and/or stressed. You worry less people that way.) Gah if I have to sit through speeches and songs while cramping and aching, then someone really will get hurt.

Will someone please take my head and my uterus for a walk? They seem to be overly excited and could use some exercise while I have a lay down.

Conversation stoppers

When my younger brother was much younger than he is now, he had this really adorable habit of answering the phone, "Hello," and if it wasn't anyone he knew, setting the handset down on the counter and wandering away. I imagine this annoyed telemarketers and charities to no end.

I am always trying to be polite to these people, because we all need jobs and frankly, they are far better than car salesmen (apologies to readers who are, but the next time one of you slimy bastards oozes up to me and tries to sell me something with a sun roof when all I want is to know is the gas milage, I swear on a stack of Danish dictionaries someone is going to learn the definition of "smerte").

Anyway I had the following conversation yesterday:
Phone rings.
Archaeogoddess: "Hello?" (I never answer the phone with the proper Danish greeting, it just does NOT come out of my mouth until after "hello" and most of the time not even then.)
Danish woman: Garble garble garble garble garble....
AG: *interrupting* Oh, um, jeg kan taler lit dansk. ("Oh, um, I can speak little Danish.")
Danish woman: Oh. Kender du Fotex og Bilka? ("Do you know Fotex and Bilka?")
***Quick aside: Fotex and Bilka are Safeway and Walmart-ish stores***
AG: *slightly confused as to where this conversation is leading* Fotex and Bilka? (Interior monologue: crap, if she wants directions she's got another thing coming, I have NO idea where Bilka is other than NOT IN DOWNTOWN ÅRHUS.)
Danish woman: *switching to English in frustration* Did you get the advertisement (pronounced the British way: ad-VERT-is-ment) for Fotex and Bilka this week?
AG: (Interior monologue: why did you lose yours? Is there some sort of mysterious shortage of Fotex and Bilka flyers?) *still confused* I don't know.
Danish woman: *detectable note of rising frustration* You don't KNOW?
AG: *happily, because I am finally able to add something intelligent to the conversation* No, when I get ads I just throw them all away!
Danish woman: *quickly realizing this is a lost cause* Oh, never mind then, thank you! *hangs up*

My husband points out that we have a "no, thank you" on our mailbox so we don't get those ads. The ads I'm throwing away every week are those that come through the mail and are in the newspaper. Don't ask me how we can request that we don't receive ads and then still get ads anyway, I'm a stranger here myself. (And please don't explain to me why this happens in the comment section, this mystery of Danish commercialism is filed under "don't really care.")

Other conversations of note:

After a long day, following a previous night of restless and intermittent sleep, my husband and I, exhausted and quite out of our heads, retired to the bed. As one does, I put my head on his chest.
Danish Boy: Your head is really heavy.
AG: That's because it's full of smarts. *Moves head* You know, a head only weighs 8 pounds, the same as a baby. I'm just trying to toughen you up for when we have one.
***Quick aside: Before you all get excited - NO, I am NOT pregnant and NO we are not trying, so stop bouncing in your seat and waving your hands about excitedly.***
DB: Yes, but a baby is all spread out and not round like a ball.
AG: My head is not round like a ball.
DB: Okay, like a cheese then.

Normally, I do not mock my husband's accent and normally I do not correct his pronunciation as long as it is close enough to be understood. This is because 1) I think it's rude to correct pronunciation if it's just slightly off and 2) I really HATE it when people do it to me. However, it seems I need to work with him on a few small things, like the letter V.
DB: I had some nice people in the cab today.
AG: Oh?
DB: Two women and a little boy. The women were originally from Africa, but now one lives in New York, wore western dress and spoke English, and the other one spoke beautiful Danish and wore a whale.

***These conversations have been approved for posting by my husband, who is beginning to have dreams of me becoming a world famous blogger who will be able to support us both with my cunning wit and mad typing skills.***