Thursday, May 28, 2009

Stage Seven - The Battle of Berlin









Greetings followers,


Wow, quite the dramatic title huh? Not to worry, I'm not leading you into the outbreak of doubleya doubleya three here in Berlin - unless one more person is rude to me for not understanding an INCOMPREHENSIBLE Bayerisch accent and I completely lose my sh*t. Seriously, if you insist on speaking in that dialect, stay in Munich where people understand you. It is an actual different language, I swear.


The Battle for Berlin has been a hard-fought battle, and I'm still fighting it, although I have made considerable ground upon the enemy (who is this enemy? Germans? Possibly. Ze Germans are coming! Etc). Let's start from the beginning (a very good place to start).


The most formidable and soul-destroying German enemy has actually been cunningly disguised as the least-threatening, but don't be fooled. A pint-sized enemy by any other stature would still make you wonder if you would go to hell for kicking it. I am talking, of course, about German children. I don't know if my wrists could sustain the RSI that would inevitably be induced by discussing this with you in depth, so I'm just going to outline some key "highlights" for want of a MUCH better word in bullet-point form.
1) Little girl of six tells other little girl of six, "I'm going to come over to your house while you're asleep, and I'm going to cut off your limbs, one by one, and then I'm going to cut off your head. Actually, no, I'm going to let you keep your head, because I want you to feel the pain and see the blood spurt out." Chuckie called little girl, he wants his bride back.
2) Little boy of three has a cold. Blows as much mucus into his hand as his little body could possibly produce in one day, and smears it on Stephanie's leg, then laughs hysterically like Eddie Murphy himself just told him a joke.
3) Stephanie is teaching emotions. "And what makes you happy little girl?" Little girl of eight: "Getting to tell people tragic news."
4) Stephanie walks into a room of four-year-olds that she has not yet met. "Greetings four-year-olds." Little boy (in Stephanie's face): "Hiissssssssssssssss."
5) Stephanie tries frantically to stop two little boys of five who are chasing each other trying to stab each other with scissors. Stephanie calls for peace. She gets it, just long enough for the previously fighting boys to collaborate on trying to stab Stephanie.
6) Little boy of five: "I love you English teacher, I want to have sex with you." Cue hysterical laughter from other little boys.
7) Little boy of four walks up with both arms outstretched. Stephanie thinks he is going for the double high-five. Wrong. **Squeeze.** Stephanie is molested by a little boy who probably hasn't even discovered his penis yet.
8) Stephanie: "And what's your favourite colour?" All German children (without fail): "Black." Of course. How dare I assume there were other colours in the spectrum?
9) Stephanie is teaching a substitute class, and tells off a little boy for pushing his classmate to the ground and relentlessly kicking her. Little boy, upon being told to apologise to possibly crippled classmate: "I hate you even more than I hate our normal teacher." Other classmates, aghast: "Not more than our NORMAL teacher?!"
10) Stephanie is trying to teach Ring Around the Rosie to children, and thinks it will be funny to make a dramatic fall to the floor for "we all fall down." Class of four-year-old German children have obviously been watching WWF Smackdown, and all instantly jump on top of her, and, in typical youthful German boy fashion, try to remove her clothing.


So obviously there are only three words I can throw in here, and they have the initials WTF (Nana, ummm, the answer to that is... ooh... jeepers... Well That's Forward!)


With so many soulless tyrants running around, one must wonder where this behaviour stems from? Which brings me to the keeper of the German children, perhaps even more soulless and DEFINITELY less attractive (to quote a certain NZ celebrity on another certain NZ celebrity, "he's even uglier on the inside than he is on the outside"). When I last reported on my empire expansion in Germany, I told you I had got a job in the face of recession sadness and we all rejoiced, both here and at home in the Motherland (you better have rejoiced or there'll be consequences.) I also told you that, due to the recession, the 12 working hours upon which I had agreed to employment had been cut down to three a week. At least I believed this was due to the recession. WRONG. I was later informed that I was being punished for going to Turkey. That's right. Punished. I tried to explain the cultural and national significance of Gallipoli. When that proved futile, I tried the somewhat less passive tack of, "you know, it was a battle where my country lost a whole generation of men fighting in a war that a certain country started. You know, that first time the whole world got into a scrap because of what a certain country started? Not to be the last? You know?" But no, I was still "punished." However, when I began to understand the true horrors of German youth, I wondered if this perhaps wasn't such a bad thing. I did also, however, decide that three hours a week actually is worse than no hours a week as it stops you from being able to accept alternative employment, so I resigned. As I had been told that part of my "punishment" was due to them not wanting to disturb the children's learning (newsflash: these kids are already disturbed) by having a substitute teacher for one class each, I used this same argument to state that perhaps my classes, one of which I had yet to teach, should be immediately reallocated to avoid further "disturbance" (any more disturbed and these children would be sitting in a corner rocking in the fetal position repeatedly singing "hush little baby" in a creepy slow voice). Um, no, said the man who had not only got me to sign this contract knowing he was going to be cutting my hours down from 12 to three but not telling me first to ensure I SIGNED the contract, but also made me sign a form saying what religions I can and can't believe in. I think you tried that kind of recently Germany - outcome not so flash. He also refused to let me see the contract upon resignation - the contract which he gave me an English version to read and a German version to sign, stating after I'd signed it that the English version wasn't binding, only the German version was. I made work of my slither of Maori-dom by reconstructing how they must have felt upon figuring out that the Treaty of Waitangi was a crock. THEN, the man tells me that if I agree to a deal where I still work two classes a week until mid-July, he'll reallocate the other class and the substitutions I was meant to be doing, effective immediately. When I told him no, and if he can reallocate, why doesn't he do so to avoid the "disturbance" he's so worried about that he used it as an excuse to "punish" me, and he was like, "Ummmm, no." I then also told him I was sick, but the class which he could easily reallocate if I worked until July couldn't be substituted if I would only work until the end of May because I was sick. SERIOUSLY. He also goes on and on at his staff ALL DAY LONG about not being allowed to be more than two hours from email at any given time in case he wants to email them, and they MUST email back to say they got the email within two hours. But send him an email with something like a resignation, or possibly asking if he managed to get a substitute teacher so you don't give the children the strain of small pox you have managed to resurrect from extinction? Ummm, no. No reply email for you. ARGH! But the best is yet to come - he then threatened to sue ME. For what? I have no idea. Resigning, apparently. HE, who told me which religions I can believe in and which I can't, HE who made me sign a contract under false pretences, HE who then made me work out the conditions of the contract that should be null and void, threatens to sue ME. Welcome to Germany. Why don't more people take up this working holiday visa? I have no idea.


Anyway, I finished with the German terrors and to celebrate Tali and I went out for half-priced cocktails. This delicious yet lethal alcohol/ pricing combo saw Tali and I somehow end up at a party for the Hamburg Staat Embassy where we were seriously underdressed, and seriously over-intoxicated. Tali and I actually headed off at a respectable-ish hour, but Tali's boyfriend Jojo decided to stay a bit longer. However, when he tried to get inside his house and couldn't get through to Tali, he came to my house and slept on the couch. No big deal right? UNLESS you live with the world's STRANGEST man who seems to think that the ringing of a doorbell is grounds for a barrage of abusive text messages. Which leads me nicely onto my next point - the flatty.


Good news about the flatty - he is an aging hippy who doesn't believe in the Internet, so I can slag him off to my heart's content. Mwah ha ha. You know that story I alluded to but didn't tell it in the last blog because I felt bad? Bad schmad, I am so telling you all now. Public forum, yeehaa! I opened a seemingly harmless book while looking for something to read and a bunch of his home-made porn came out. So when I met him face-to-face I was thinking, "Seriously, that's not something you want to immortalise with photographic imagery." And then when I met his girlfriend I was thinking, "Wow, you've gained weight. Also, might be time for a wax." So in trusty bullet-point form, let's tell you about the flatmate.
1) About 45, but thinks he is 20. American, but lives on Great Barrier Island of all places six months a year. Precariously close to Matarangi. Shudder.
2) Has commenced Operation Seduce Younger Flatmate, and is walking around with progressively less clothes on. Summer might be on the way, but it will never be THAT warm bro. Also, a sit up might not go astray.
3) Despite appearance, has several girlfriends - this strange phenomenon is beyond me.
4) Carries around a photocopy of my passport to show people who he lives with (assuming they will be impressed that an old man lives with a young girl with long blonde hair. You're not Hugh Hefner buddy. If I had met you before I agreed to move in here I would still be living in a hotel).
5) I came home the other night, got into my bed and was like, "Hmmm, a man who wears the same tacky aftershave as him has been in my bed. Vom."
6) Came home one night to find him and girlfriend number two getting nasty in the lounge. Why the lounge you might ask when he has a perfectly good bed down the hall? I have pondered this myself. Anyway, in the morning, instead of doing the polite thing and pretending it never happened, girlfriend starts going on about it to me. Flatmate later tells me it is because she is jealous. WHY would she be jealous? I'm not competition for you love. And, if you are going to be the jealous type, best not to date a guy who has several girlfriends.
7) Calls me Diane. Go figure.
8) Has begun ditching girlfriends (and not telling them about it) so he can stay home, stop me from writing my book, and follow me around the house. Literally. Lounge to kitchen to bathroom to lounge to kitchen etc. One of the girlfriends has an actual mental disorder, so him standing her up to stay home with me is making me nervous.
9) Uses the bathroom (both numbers) with the door open while talking to me.
10) "I love the way you look in dresses Diane Angel. Can't you wear a dress every day?" "Um, no, that's impractical and I don't have enough dresses." "Well then allow me to buuuuuyyy you dresses Diane Angel. Won’t you let me buy you dresses? I love the way you look in a dress."
11) "Do you have a camera Diane Angel?" "Yes." "Well then let's use it and start taking pictures." Me, thinking, "No way in hell you dirty sexual predator," says in a far more diplomatic tone, "Oh, gutted, it's charging. Sorry." And then proceed to throw up in my own mouth.


Those are just some of the highlights. We could be here all day.


Anyway, in the absence of having my own war historian (all in good time) I hope I have done an acceptable job in outlining the battlefield upon which I am negotiating our empire expansion. If it was happening to someone else it would be funny, and because you are all someone else, I guess it is funny. Not SO funny when you wake up every morning and think the only thing you have to look forward to is an MTV reality show about bisexual twin sisters looking for love. Not SO funny when you find yourself on the way back from Turkey bawling your eyes out trying to tell some German students that you don't need any sort of medication. Not SO funny when you are sitting in your friend's living room in London the night before your return flight sobbing uncontrollably and saying, "Don't make me go back there."


But I am the fearless leader you elected me to be ("when were these elections?" I hear some of you ask. They were very early on a Sunday morning in winter. Did you not make it?) and I really believe that you are never put into situations that you can't handle. So, I am learning a lot about "inner strength," "self belief," and other stuff that would have Oprah crying and cheering for me, wrapping me up in her ample or not so ample bosom, depending on where she is in her current diet plan. On that night that I was sobbing in Toni's living room, I decided that I was going to make my life in Germany better. So, updates for you (in the bullet-point form fashion of the day):
1) I am currently studying for a job as a tour guide. It's kind of awesome because I get to work outside, meet tourists, and indulge my nerdy love of history. Also, 30 people have to look at me and listen for three and a half hours, and for a middle child, that is absolute bliss.
2) Relentless CV sending (each CV more ridiculous than the last, with more desperate reasons to hire me like, "if you don't and I have to go home because I can't afford to stay here and write my book then you are directly responsible for depriving the reading world of one of the greatest novels of our generation." Actually, that was one of the more rational arguments) has led to a breakdown from my favourite bar and they have finally relented to giving me some part-time work. Mwah ha ha. I have taken that battleground in the name of Stephanie and firmly driven my flag to the ground.
3) I am training for the Berlin Marathon. I think that the endorphins the training releases are good for me, and there is a sneaky side to this as well. One of my things to do before I die is run a marathon. So why not pick the easiest, flattest, fastest marathon in the whole world that most of the world records have been set on? If there is a lazy way to run a marathon, I have found it. I will also be calling upon you guys shortly for donations to charity for this effort, so if you don't want to part with your hard-earned recession-defying cash, I suggest formulating some sort of fake email bounceback that indicates your email address no longer exists.
4) I have found a new flat! I am so excited! It is in the same street I am in now, which is great because this really is the best neighbourhood in town, but WAY nicer, WAY bigger, WAY cooler, even a bit cheaper, and with lovely young Italian roommates. I don't move in until July, but once I do, I think Berlin life-turnaround will be complete.
5) I am planning more trips to more places, as these are the things that really get me excited. Turkey was incredible - I wrote it up for the online magazine NZ Girl, so if any of you haven't had enough of me by now at the end of this extensive update, you can get some more at http://www.nzgirl.co.nz/aboutyou/travel. Funny story about the Basilica Cistern in Istanbul; some of the pools have got heaps of money in the bottom of them, surrounded by swimming fish (this is how they could tell if the water was still good to drink - by how many fish were floating upside down). So we said to our awesome guide Sami, "Do people throw money in to make wishes and have good luck?" Sami's reply? "Don't know. Me and my friends are just trying to hit the fish." Hahaha. He was such a good guy. I recommend Turkey to all of you.
6) I have made a good plan for this year (I think). Continue slow but definite conqueration (conquerment? Conquerdom?) of Berlin until October, and then spend October travelling around Europe. Spend November in London talking to book agents about the masterpiece I am hopefully creating (man I hope it's not a crap book. It might be harder to make entertaining bullet points about your heart's desire and soul's work being "just a bit sh*t really"), maybe some skiing in early December depending on the fundage, and home for a month on the beach in late December/ early January before heading back to work. It's a tough life, I know. But you'll thank me for this strenuous effort when New Zealand becomes the capital of the all-encompassing Stephanie Empire.


I might only update you every few months, but when I do, you definitely get bang for your buck huh? Hope you're all great and planning on what to send me for my birthday next month (better presents = better dwellings in the Kingdom. So far Ben Harper has agreed to play a concert in Berlin on my birthday and Pearl Jam have agreed to play shortly after. Get to work).


Lots of love, and don't worry, not too much chance of me falling in love with a German and not returning home. To be honest, I'm pretty keen on falling in love with me, so the happy couple will be returning to live under the long white cloud for sure.
Stephanie xx



P.S To all you people who keep complaining I'm not putting up enough images, quit your whining. I'm not your showpony. But, if you really do want more images, there are way more pics on Facebook, and for Turkey, lots of pics in the NZ Girl article. The images on here are of me, Toni and our new friend Claire at Gallipoli, and of Toni, me, Fiona and Sam in London last weekend. Oh, and a wine glass. Haha. Prominent. Fitting.