Hippos, Matadors, Rabies, and a Dead Mazda

Yesterday I was asked by a friend to write another blog post for her entertainment, which unfortunately I didn’t get to yesterday due to my zombie like state but I’ll get to that later.  I gave her several options to choose from for her entertainment which included, “the hippos next door”, “couples that dress alike can’t be trusted”, “my crazy dreams (what’s new?)”, and “my shitacular day”.  Well, thanks to her you all get to hear about what a shitacular day I had yesterday (which also includes the hippos which I am sure you all are on the edge of your seat wanting to hear about…hippos are terribly exciting in a large animal with tiny legs and Shrek like ears kind of way).

My “day” began at 9:00pm the night before the full implosion of stank occurrences that were to come.  At this time I was blissfully happy with the fact that I was going to bed early which doesn’t happen often.  Also at this time the herd of hippos next door were blissfully dancing around like in Fantasia (please note that the last time I watched Fantasia was probably when I was about 5ish so excuse my poor memory if there weren’t dancing hippos.  All I really remember was that there were half human, half horse men who had abs you could wash clothes on (thank you Disney for awesome childhood memories of half-naked horse men)), but less ballerina like, and more like a matador who got his cookies tossed.  I totally understand loud kids at 9:00pm at night, but at 2:00am I was debating what would be more respectful, banging on the walls and moaning to make the parents jealous that their kids were awake and we were doing our own version of a Fantasia dance (decided that would then wake my kids up and therefore defeat the purpose of the sex illusion all together),  banging on their door and yelling “FIRE” (but since we’re in a different country I’m not so sure they would understand the severity of the word fire), or going to tell the front desk lady that there was a herd of hippos killing a matador.  You better believe it though that the second I got dressed and had my hand on the door ready to cross the no-return threshold it suddenly got quiet.  In a way, I was slightly bitter over the sudden hush because I had my speech for the poor front desk gal all ready to go, no worries, it’s saved for another night. (My 12th grade English teacher is probably tossing in her metaphorical grave that this paragraph was a total of seven sentences… Mission accomplished.)

At 6:00am my alarm went off which means I got less than 4 hours of sleep because an angry Abram demanded to be fed at 3:45am.  Thank goodness for room service breakfast, my supposed saving grace from the lack of sleep…but not quite.  Sean got everything he had asked for, but I on the other hand, did not get my waffles.  If there is one thing you do not forget, it’s a sleep deprived woman’s waffles!  Therefore I was left with cold eggs and chewy bacon (which cold chewy bacon is like eating greasy rubber, can’t I get one stinkin’ crispy piece of bacon here?), oh and I got me a tasty glass of carbonated pee.  I seriously don’t understand the obsession with adding carbonation to everything around here.  If there is one thing you don’t carbonate its apple juice.  Leave the bubbles out of my damn juice!  What’s worse is you can’t see the bubbles so you expect one thing but oh no, it’s like “haha, surprise, bubbles!”, oh and the bubbles make the juice bitter so I equate it to drinking bubbly pee (right now you’re thinking, “well how would you know?”, which is a valid point since I have never drank urine before but let’s pretend this is a creative imagination exercise shall we?).

Exhausted and hungry means I am pretty much the last person you want to come in contact with.  I’m sure if I had rabies I would have been frothing at the mouth, which may not have been all bad because at least people would have avoided me.

Sean and I then packed up the minis and made our way over to the base to pick up our car which had finally arrived from the good ol’ US of A.  We were able to register the vehicle fine; the vehicle itself though does not apparently have sea legs (or tires?).  First, the battery was dead, which isn’t so unexpected since it hadn’t been driven in over a month.  Too bad for us though it was dead dead, like deader than a floating gold fish, kind of dead.  We got it started but didn’t want to risk it dying again (we did let it die once to test it, thankfully though we weren’t far from the auto store on base so the gentleman working was able to jump it for us) so we never shut it off…even while getting gas since it arrived with the gas light on.  I was looking around for the off switches to the gas pumps, but honestly though, I’m pretty sure I’d be toast before I even made it to the magical off button.  Oh, and I have a super special awesome battery which no one carries in Germany, not even the Mazda dealership which isn’t really a Mazda dealership, it’s an Opal dealership although the sign says Mazda.  Yeah, I’m still scratching my head over that too…  Not only did we need a new battery but we also needed new fog lights for the car.  Apparently broken glass is a huge no-no even if the lights work…go figure.  The cherry on top though…we need new tires because mine are not all season.  How in the heck does someone from Nebraska not have all-season tires?  Seriously, I’m pretty sure I have driven through several inches of snow, minor road flooding, and other types of road conditions with no issue.  At this point we might as well have paid the extra to ship Sean’s truck over too.

After the Mazda, or err Opal (?), incident we made our way over to our housing appointment to set up the loaner furniture for the new place until our household items arrive.  Please note that this is the second visit that Sean has made to housing…  Anyway, Sean heads into the appointment while I stay to watch the running vehicle and babies.  It wasn’t so bad while they were sleeping but when the car isn’t moving the sleeping doesn’t last.  Sure enough Abram wake up in one of those moods, you know…those moods…  Pretty much the only thing that kept him from freaking completely out was the car window going up, and down, and up, and down.  Eventually I got creative with the window and made it go up and down according to what was playing on the radio.  For about 20 minutes I was my own personal disk jockey with some mad window spinning skills.  After 20 minutes though Abram was no longer amused with my spinning skills which then resulted in me dancing with a baby outside of the car like a loony while keeping an eye on his brother who was laughing at us from his car seat.  Apparently my dancing abilities are not as finely tuned as my window spinning skills.  After an hour Sean finally reappeared only to tell me that we have to go back, yet again, because although he called and asked exactly what he needed for this appointment they failed to mention that our housing contract also needed the owner of the penthouse’s signature.   Our contract only had Sean’s, and the realtors’…  I would have beat my head on the car had I not had ahold of Abram.  Babies…saving this mom from self-induced headaches since 2012.

It was actually on the way to the housing appointment that “shitacular” was invented.  In the worst groggy tone I said to Sean “what a shitacular day”, which he responded in rather impressed inquisitive tone “shitacular, what’s that?”.  When I told him it was shit and spectacular combined, he laughed and said I was weird.  Honestly though, I don’t think this blog would be half as entertaining if I wasn’t slightly weird…

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