AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!

So I started off writing a long ranting post about how annoyed I am with Germany at the moment and how difficult and unbending I am finding my German employers and how I was going to make some innocent S Bahn passenger a scapegoat for the entire German populace and just PUNCH THEM IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD and so on and so forth but then I started boring myself and realised I sounded like one of those nightmarish people on English language expat community websites that just moan on and on about how everything was better under the Empire and so I stopped. Stopped using punctuation as well, apparently, but that is besides the point.

So yes, today was a little hot and sweaty and the kids are sick of the sight of me and my employers informed me there was no way I could get paid a little early so I am going to be heading to Canada with approximately no money at all but all is not lost and hideous.

A LIST OF GOOD THINGS.

1) I am going to Canada in SIX SLEEPS' TIME.

2) I went (Lena's Jahreskarte in hand) to pay my 7e for not having a ticket on the tram the other day and the woman behind the glass screen of power WAIVED THE RULES FOR ME and so even though I didn't have exactly the right paper work I just paid my dues, shared a conspiratoral wink and headed off. I love her, she is my BVG idol.

3) I am going to make cupcakes in a bit. Lemon flavoured.

4) HAVE JUST REMEMBERED THERE'S A DELICIOUS BEER IN THE FRIDGE. HUZZAH.

5) I am going to Canada in SIX SLEEPS' TIME.

What the holy hell is up with the weather?

Seriously, though. It's fucking disgusting out there. Today started out alright, I even put on a summery dress and flip flops. Now flip flops are not really an item of footwear I like to be associated with unless I am actually on the beach but I don't currently have any viable alternative in the flat, summery pump/more eleganter sandal department (and God knows, I can't afford to buy any) but thank God I did don them for they are made of rubber and by 12 noon THE STREETS WERE AWASH. Seriously, I have just discovered I have watermarks on my heels. And gravel and OTHER DETRITUS.

This is a grave, grave state of affairs. One of the first phrases I learnt when I moved here was "Ich freue mich auf den Sommer", anticipating many long afternoons supping Augustiner in the Volkspark chatting to my elegant Deutsch friends about barbeque techinques and Marxism. But no, what am I doing instead? Trudging through enormous puddles and having epic and awkward battles with my umbrella on the tram.

Now, you'd think that being Irish and all I would be some kind of umbrella ninja/Zen master but you see having lived in Dublin for some years I am out of practise. This is because rain rarely shows his face in Dublin without his good pal wind (who is a total, total cunt) who enjoys blowing rain (this analogy is getting decidely out of hand, sorry) into one's face at an angle of 90 degrees so an umbrella is pointless and stupid and trying to carry one just makes you look like a dick as either you have to hold it vertically in front of your face or it blows inside out. So umbrellas and I are not on the best of terms. Particularly this new umbrella (which, to be fair, I got for free as apparently "if you have a penis you can't have an umbrella" and therefore must give them away to ladies) I find myself in the company of. First of all its got one of those buttons which makes it open itself at alarming speed, with little to no heed paid to those standing immediately in front. Except that this one doesn't open fully but rather charges forth only to adopt a sort of wilted posture. What I am currently carrying around town is the umbrella embodiment of premature ejaculation, if you will. But will the damn thing then close in a humble or appropriately shamefaced manner? Hells no, you have to wrestle with the damn thing, pushing its end into the wall of the tram and sliding all over the damned wet, slippy floor in the process, to the amusement of many a German who, naturally, all have normal, well-behaved umbrellas.

If you'll excuse me I have to go out now, and God knows how long it'll take me to get him into my bag.

I am feeling kitschy.

All I want to do is listen to happy, sunny, quirky music like this:



and wear florals. Today is defintely a tea dress day. I want to eat cupcakes too. Maybe I should make some. I still haven't got the hang of baking here because a) they don't have self raising flour and baking soda and powder confuses me and b) I am goddawfully lazy. But maybe today is the day.

Signs that the heat might be getting to us:

I have been having very fevered dreams of late. Involving canoes and chips and being guilty of murder but noone knowing and wondering if I should just keep quiet or maybe just tell my mum.

I cannot contemplate getting on the S Bahn any more.

On the floor this morning I found just the lower legs of a pair of jeans, presumably the Flatmate decided she just couldn't take any more of jeans' shit and wanted to go with shorts instead.

I have been having loud conversations with the weather for ages now. A minute ago I looked up from Facecrack just long enough to hurl a "stop winding you bastard" over my left shoulder. Hardly polite, or grammatically correct.

It's not even that warm today. Crikey.

So I want a drink...

...and there is sweet Fanny Adams in the flat. Actually, that is a lie. There are several delicious beverages in the flat. Such as the "wine based Caprihina flavoured" monstrosity that Lena insisted on buying on her birthday (I was pushing the trolley around Lidl so had no hands free to wrestle it back onto the shelves, the reason I was pushing the trolley was because I was too hungover to stand up unaided). I would give it a taste but the last time I did I got oddly drawn into its revolting, neon green clutches and only stopped drinking it because Sara arrived and I was too embarassed to to it in front of someone.

The second option is a bottle of white that's been in there for yonks. The reason it's been in there for yonks may or may not be related to the fact that I cannot drink white wine any more. This may or may not be related to Christmas Day 2007.

There is a third of a bottle of red left, its name is "Ciao!" (as opposed to "Bon Soir!", which is the first cooking wine Lena and I got properly into. Many bon soirs were had, let me tell you) and the obligatory bit of Tafel wein in a box but for some reason neither of them are appealing much.

There is a bottle of tequila (well, some) on the door of the fridge, but I cannot drink tequila as my first drink of the evening. Maybe if I was in Mexico and it was proper tequila but hells no to a bottle that comes with a shiny plastic sombrero that Lena insists is for drinking out of. It is not, and will only make you spill it out of the corners of your mouth and down your top and make you look like a total maniac.

There is also a quarter of a bottle of Club Mate which might have vodka in it. I can't imagine why any one would have saved just a quarter bottle of Club Mate.

Have just tasted it and someone did indeed just save a quarter bottle of Club Mate. Dear God. Have poured myself a glass of Ciao! to help me get over the shock.

So I watched Steel Magnolias again last night...

...which is probably something I should stop doing in front of people as I just Over Emote to the point of ridiculousness, but ANYWAY, it's amazing. It makes me want even more than normal to up sticks to the rebel states, find a veranda and get working on some mint juleps. For reasons best known to myself (though I have a sneaky suspicion it has something to do with reading Gone With The Wind at an impressionable age) I have a borderline obsessive interest in the Southern states, and its women in particular. They're just so feisty. The fact that I live in the same world as Dolly Parton genuinely enriches my life every single day.

LOOK AT THIS. Her hair is at least 10 inches high, ffs! This video makes me sad I am no longer peroxide blonde (no mean feat, I looked like a transvestite. And not in a good way).

Holy Ovary.

Now I am never usually one to cry PMT, but the past twenty-four hours has been utter, hormone induced hell. I have, to date:

Spoiled an otherwise lovely afternoon in very good company by getting "freaked out" by the way the conversation was heading. It was, of course, a totally normal conversation, but no matter, I went stonily silent. Naturally I kept saying "it's fine, nothing wrong here, I'm totallyfinethankyouveryfuckingmuch".

Purchased and ingested an inordinant amount of chocolate and Pom Bears, the remants of which I am consuming stale.

Nearly cried as I passed a man in a wheelchair because he was "so thin".

Told a member of the opposite sex to "for God's sake grow up". I'm sure he would have had he not been SEVEN.

Almost fainted in a Schlecker and a lift and a photocopy shop. And I am not a fainter.

Almost killed about six people on the S Bahn because they KEPT FUCKING TOUCHING MY HANDS OR MY BAG.

It's enough to make you wish you were a man. If they weren't all so bloody USELESS.