Trial by Fire

Shalom!

The time has come again for me to write about my adventures and provide a life update for the five people that read my blog (hi Mom and Dad). I would say that I've experienced a fair number of adventures in the last ten days or so. Some were fairly big while others were seemingly less significant, however this is the forum in which I shall discuss all of the above. I prefer to cover a wide spectrum of topics so that my readers don't die of boredom or opt to read things such as the dictionary over my blog. Now let the absurdity commence.

Let me begin with something that is substantial but probably fairly boring for you to read about. I took a day trip to Cologne, Germany with Mr. H who happened to have a few days off from basketball for once. How terribly exciting! It was only a two hour drive from Aalst and I was thrilled to discover that not only was Cologne a really cool city, but the people of Germany enjoyed exercising outside in spandex just as Americans do. Always a plus. Being that I'm a complete dork (I use this word because it is still one of my Mother's favorites even after I explained to her that anyone who went to the 4th grade knows that it means "whale penis"), I got my nerd on and visited two museums, a giant Gothic Cathedral, and a ginormous outdoor flea market. I learned some pretty interesting things about the city including that it is where the scented water that we call "eau de cologne" was invented, and that it was a large and important city in the first Roman Empire. The Gothic cathedral took 600 years to build and they currently use it for the usual God related Cathedral-y stuff, but in my personal opinion they should consider having concerts there because the acoustics in that joint were totally friggin' fantastic! I had schnitzel, bratwurst, and beer. I obviously love any place that covets beer and hot dogs, and although they prefer the "classic style" wiener over the "progressive Seattle style" wiener (aka a hot dog with cream cheese on it), I remain open minded and accepting of their ween-making methods. Germany is the motherland of bratwurst after all.

Next, let us move forward and touch base with my cooking hobby. The easy bake oven is still in tact. Translation: I have yet to drop-kick it out of my living room window. Despite the set backs created by that God forsaken oven, I have managed to conquer a variety of new things. Lasagna, chicken parmesan, raspberry-apple muffins, banana cinnamon muffins, brownies, blue cheese and spinach stuffed chicken, baked macaroni and cheese, and Greek salmon. This is just with the use of the easy bake, but I have also attempted steak fajitas, chili, fettucini alfredo, crepes, and a variety of other things! Needless to say, I am quite pleased with myself, primarily because I have yet to totally fuck anything up or light the apartment on fire. Most of the time I feel like I'm cooking for a family of six, which works out in the end because Mr. H sucks down food like he is a Hoover-vacuum and still proceeds to lose weight, much to his chagrin. Gee... it must be so horrible to eat whatever you want all the the time and still struggle to keep weight on. These newly acquired cooking skills are nice when it comes to helping Mr. H avoid the anorexic look, but they are bad news bears for my muffin top. But I think that in this case my muffin top is just going to have to take one for the team, so if anyone has any recipe suggestions please send them my way!

I'm going to throw the least important update into the middle so that maybe by the end of this blog post you will have forgotten about what a huge loser I am. I have started watching "Weeds" on my computer, and I have already made it through 16 episodes beginning with Season one. I have decided that on account of our current economic situation and lame-ass recession, becoming a drug dealer is probably a good idea. It seems like a sound investment and a reasonable way to pay off my student loans. I mean let's be honest, it most definitely beats having to turn to stripping or hooking in order to pay off debt, and the market is always profitable because people don't stop smoking pot just because they got laid off and/or their 401 K got flushed down the porcelain pee-hole. Thanks for the inspiration Showtime! In other news associated with the boob-tube (another one of Mom's favorite terms), I watched the worst movie ever. It was called "Blood and Bone" and had something to do with an ex-convict, street fighter with a heart of gold who tries to save a crack smoking super hottie from her evil business suit wearing boyfriend. He wields a sword that he keeps hidden in a sheath that also happens to be  his cane, and in the end he cuts off his own hand by accident and everyone lives happily ever after. Fool proof plot. Seriously kids, throw away your t.v. and stay in school. Didn't your mother tell you that too much television makes you blind and impotent? Not worth it.

As I have mentioned in previous blogs, I have been working out at the gym in a pathetic attempt to counter the cooking induced muffin top. Last week I upped the ante and started practicing with a Belgian volleyball team. I figured this would be a good way to become a part of a community while I'm here, would provide me with more drinking buddies, and also inspire me to get into shape due to the fact that I'd have to be seen in spandex. After my second practice the coach asked if I would be interested in joining the team and so here I am! I am going to attend my third practice tonight, sign some paperwork, and within a week I'll be allowed to participate in competition. Practice is a trip because people are speaking Dutch, a little French, and some English, which of course is accompanied by a lot of pointing, head scratching, and thumbs up on my part. It is also a little different because the team's practice gym has a cement floor that they paint a variety of colors to try and trick you into thinking it won't hurt that bad when you throw yourself onto it. This is definitely going to be an interesting adventure for me!! The team is centered in a town that is about 30 minutes away which provides me with a transportation issue... and this brings us to the next topic.

Learning to drive a manual vehicle. Yes, this is what you have all been waiting for. Most people would go over the basics and then maybe start by practicing in a vacant parking lot... but that is because their driving instructor isn't Mr. H. For those of you that don't know D. Huff very well, let me explain something to you. He is pretty much good at everything, which is for lack of a better word, infuriating. Not only is he good at most things, but he is a quick learner and thus often assumes that things should be easy for others to learn as well (don't get your panties in a bunch D2, that is my diluted way of trying to compliment you). Naturally he has implemented his new driving instruction strategy, which I have officially deemed "Trial by Fire". The steps to this are simple. Put your girlfriend into the driver's seat and tell her to drive the 45 minutes home when it is pouring down rain and dark and she has never before driven a stick shift. It is also helpful if it is her first time driving in a foreign country in which she has no idea where she is going or how to read the road signs. I did NOT have the advantage in this situation, but instead of shitting my pants (which would have only made the situation more uncomfortable), I opted to handle it by talking to myself in the third person, breaking into giggle fits, and screaming at street signs. As you may have deduced, we didn't die. I actually wasn't half bad, but unfortunately I do have an achilles heel. First gear. Sooooo it is more of an achilles leg. I struggle with stopping at red lights and then shifting into first gear, and as a result I sat through one light three times because I kept stalling and then laughing uncontrollably. Vicious cycle. But we made it home eventually and I still had all of my appendages attached to my body, so in my book it was a success. Since I have volleyball practice again tonight, I'm assuming that I am about to be subjected to "Trial by Fire" part deux... if you don't hear from me soon, don't panic. I'm not dead and I haven't been deported. I am either stranded in the middle of Belgium at a stop light, or I'm at the police station trying to explain to everyone that the reason I ran 35 red lights was because I have an achilles leg. I imagine that excuse will go over quite well, seeing as though it makes perfect sense.