My deep-seeded longing to return to Germany has reached fever pitch. I can’t watch spring happen here without remembering how crazy amazing spring over there was, and I MISS IT, DAMMIT. Donations are now being accepted to the Brittney Takes Germany Part II fund. If you need me today, I’ll be researching ticket prices and brushing up on mein Deutsch which is sehr schlecht.

Thank you to my professor this morning who either mysteriously read my blog or just my mind, because he informed us during class that college is a cake walk and our lives will only be busier the older we get. Ausgezeichnet!

Speaking of German stuff, Deutsche Bahn cancelled my Bahn Card. Cue the Hallelujah chorus! I’d emailed them a very painful, “Hi, sorry my German’s pretty bad, could you cancel my card since I’m not in the country anymore,” email on the day after it was scheduled to be renewed (oops) and today got a reply. Apparently you’re supposed to notify them six weeks prior to the renewal date, but were considering this an “exceptional circumstance” and cancelling it as an “act of goodwill.” For as much as those people love rules and reprimanding those who don’t know or follow them, this is all nothing short of a miracle. I hope they had a lovely guffaw over my email and lack of general knowledge about the runnings of their system, but I now retract everything I previously said in hatred about the Deutsche Bahn.

I made NPH and I spaghetti for dinner last night while watch the State of the Union (Obama rocked it) and Teen Mom 2 (boring episode) because I’m the epitome of domesticity. It was awesome, one of those foods I forget exists and never eat often anyway, but once I did I was all, “This is ausgezeichnet!” (Which Google Translate is showing me means ‘awarded’ but so obviously means ‘excellent’.)

I realize the title of this post may have you thinking I’m writing it to Jesus, and while I do wish all of you reading a very Merry Christmas, it is in fact dedicated to someone else who’s birthday happens to fall on December 25th.

So do ya’ll remember D-Bag? From my Germany blog, my best friend while studying abroad who is fact not at all “d-baggish”, but rather his initials are D.B. so somehow that became his nickname that didn’t really catch on at all? Yes, of course you do. Well today is his birthday, and I wish him a very happy one. It’s probably automatically better than last years, because as I recall, he was wandering Oslo, Norway completely alone since he didn’t really get the memo that absolutely everything would be closed on Christmas day. And maybe he didn’t want me to tell you that, my bad.
Anyway, I hope today is the most wonderful of days for my dear friend, translator, drinking buddy, occasional secret keeper, Mensa companion, Tablekicken partner and/or ass-kicker, tour guide, and a bunch of other stuff that I don’t really want to recall right now because before you know it, I’d kick off Christmas covered in salty tears in the fetal position. I didn’t go to Germany expecting to make such good pals with my overly sarcastic American neighbor, yet here I am full-on rambling about him, and whenever he sends me a Facebook message it seriously makes me day. (And no, after re-reading this, we are not in love or anything and never did the horizontal no-pants dance after a night of Sambuca shots on karaoke night. Turns out I just have a platonic man-crush on him because he can bike like 200 miles uphill with only a sip of water and a saltine cracker.)
THE POINT IS– happy birthday, Darin. I’m so looking forward to our brief reunion in March being characteristically awkward, and I hope you’re having the time of your life doing whatever it is you do, which whenever we talk seems to be drinking a beer and watching a movie auf Deutsch.

(Imagine me ending with a photo of him or us or a sunset or something, but there’s only one photo of us together in recorded history and God knows I can’t find it right now and it was in a bar anyway, thus just use your imaginations and Etch-a-Sketch whatever you think he may look like. Oh, and Merry Christmas again. Or happy super belated Hanukkah.)

So there’s this part about studying abroad that no one ever tells you about. The part where you’re walking to class and suddenly have this vivid, I don’t know, vision of Germany. An incredibly detailed, real-life flashback of sorts to a particular part of town or campus that had long ago been filed into the deep recesses of your brain. “That was cool,” you think, and perhaps you dwell and reminisce, but let’s face it– you can’t spend too much time browsing Expedia for discounted Oktoberfest flights because you’re back in your full time life you have to live. But then maybe it’s because you work in the study abroad office, or maybe because you’ve been recently chatting with your friends who were also in your program; either way, it starts to become more than just That One Time I Studied Abroad. (Beware: shit’s about to get real up ahead.) It eventually becomes you trying to go to sleep at the end of a gloomy, but otherwise uneventful day, but you can’t because your brain’s stuck on a million things, but mostly just how damn much you miss the whole thing. MAYBE you start crying (and then seriously question your mental state.) You rationally acknowledge that this is probably because you found freedoms and independence while living abroad that you’re still grappling with over here. That maybe you’re scared you’re a senior and that was your last time to really live it up before the 9-5 grind of adult life really sets in. But maybe you just really miss your neighbors and the stuffy old ladies on the bus and how your nasty, mildewy hallway smelled, and how the kitchen floor creaked every time someone opened the refrigerator. Maybe you’re mad that your handle on the German language is quickly escaping you and that people want to see you so often when Don’t you know you already lived without me for four months?
If nothing else, I can be thankful I only went for one semester because apparently I would have found a roof or bridge a long time ago if I’d devoted a whole year of my life to loving up on Luneburg (if you couldn’t tell, the above diatribe was about me. I know– you were completely fooled.) Honestly, I don’t know where this has all come from, and I’m sure you’re reading, thinking, “Just get the hell over it,” because mathematically, I’ve now been home the same amount of time I was gone. No, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I wouldn’t even really mind all this nostalgia save for the fact it’s just made me plum sad. I’m sure I’ve been just a peach to be around (hey– two fruit references in two sentences!) and this doesn’t even include all the other stuff that keeps me up at night, i.e. how much I despise my classes, if I’m doing enough for my jobs, how one even goes about starting the job hunt process, heartburn, the goddamn train I live next to.
…and if you’ve made it to the end, you deserve a gold star and possibly a shot.

There are many times per day I question my mental health, though perhaps never as often as I have in the 48 hours I’ve been back on campus. As an International Studies (and Journalism!) major, various foreign countries are mentioned during the course of my classes multiple times a day. Apparently I never realized before how much Germany is slipped into even the most casual of lessons, though you can bet post-foreign study I now pick up on every even hint of a whisper of any mention of anything I ever even kind of encountered in my four months there. I need to go back to Germany. And this isn’t just “The beer is better there! Maybe I’ll backpack across Europe post-graduation.” In the spirit of full disclosure to my loyal legion of 5-13 readers: I was fighting tears in my European Integration class today. That’s right, people– my professor’s mention of the Defenestration of Prague in which he explained that “defenestration” means to throw someone out the window got me all misty-eyed because DID YOU KNOW that “fenster” means “window” auf Deutsch?! I need to go back. I need to learn more of the language, I need to show the people I love back home how amazing a country it is. It’s like my culture shock upon American reentry has laid dormant for a few months and is rearing it’s ugly and apparently overly emotional head now that I’m surrounded by people who still think “Nazi/Hitler/war/bad” when they see the red, black & yellow. It’s not that I miss the people in my program; save for a few close friends, I’ve hidden/ defriended most of them on Facebook. It’s rather some, I don’t know– primal need? Like four months wasn’t long enough, or I should be looking for some incredibly lucrative job that could support me living there six months out of the year. Perhaps you think I’m being overly dramatic, but I long ago stopped giving a shit what people think about me when I start to have feelings. So as to not leave you on a completely Debbie Downer note, I have no class tomorrow and generally like all my courses this semester. Yea for rays of sunshine!

Did the Fourth of July seem not at all like a holiday to anyone else? Except for the absurd amount of time I was given off from work, actual Independence Day itself went off like any other. NPH and I traveled back to the Chicago suburbs to visit his family and friends from home, watch fireworks over Lake Michigan, and attempt the Taste of Chicago (only to decide we could get food and much cheaper beer in air-conditioned facilities not surrounded by thousands of other sweaty bodies. Though I did get a plate of sweet potato fries as big as my face for only seven tickets.) I met and became best friends with his family dog AND made a surprisingly fantastic rhubarb pie to win the rest of their hearts; we’ll see if I’m the new favorite when we go back in August for LOLLAPALOOZA!! Upon our return to Iowa City, we watched Inglourious Basterds since I hadn’t seen it post-Germany, and it mostly made me sad to hear them speaking German (though happy because I could understand it?) That has been the most challenging part of this summer– oh God, she’s trying to get all deep here at the end– dealing with the I’m-an-adult-but-living-at-home thing. I have to actively remind myself that I’m no longer in high school and in fact have much more freedoms this time around. Also, I miss D-Bag a boatload, but that’s secondary to the constant inner turmoil I’m going through maturity-wise. I read an article today that said it costs a quarter of a million dollars to raise a child to the age of 18– do you know how much Bavarian beer that would buy in Munich over my lifetime? 1. A lot, 2. That segue to tie the whole post together really just did not work at all.

After barraging Google with searches for  hypokalemia (low potassium) I am now a veritable expert on the potassium content of most foods.  Thankfully T-Bone was set to do some grocery shopping anyway, so I added prunes, cantaloupe, bananas, and avocados to the list to jump start my blood’s return to healthy.  I must interject that I was a bit surprised to find out a potassium-low diet was part of my problem because I am not exactly the world’s slouchiest eater.  My meals at home consist of lots of color and produce and are much more nutritionally balanced than most 21 year olds you know– except for my weekends in Iowa City living off of cheese fries from the Vine, but even those are made from potatoes which are filled with potassium!  Getting told I need to eat more fruits and veggies is no skin off my back, except when it comes to the prune department.  These dried plums and I had never met before, and I was well aware of the reputation that precedes them.  Mom picked up three bags– regular, cherry and orange flavored.  My first reaction to a prune: GROSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.  Why are they slimy?!  Dried apricots aren’t slimy, they’re magically delicious.  This prune was bitter and slimy, yet the inside was mushy.  The other two flavors didn’t exactly mask the taste of nasty, but unfortunately “3-5 prunes with meals” was literally part of my doctor’s prescription.  I took a break from this culinary misadventure and tried again later.  At least I can proudly report, they’re growing on me.  And boy am I getting creative with them.  Last night I took some of the cherry ones and chopped them up in ice cream.  This morning I took advantage of their oddly spreadable insides and mixed them with the peanut butter on my English muffin (topped with a sliced banana because PB & ‘nanas is the best taste combo in. the. world.)

Let’s take a break from the exciting adventures in my kitchen and talk about Germany. D-bag and I talked via Skype yesterday and it was awesome yet sad.  Then I looked through some of my pictures from study abroad– MISTAKE.  Then, missing it so much I could have puked, I figured I should probably have some goal about when I’m going to return (Oktoberfest 2011.)  I’m certainly not hating being home, but it’s crazy to think that some of my classmates are still over there and haven’t even began the coming home process yet. Speaking of study abroad, I got a 4.0 last semester– not exactly the toughest 16 weeks of academia I’ve endured, but all A’s nonetheless.  This does wonders for my overall GPA, and now only 24 credit hours until I’m done-zo.  Posts related to that upcoming life crisis to follow.

Yeah, so the whole two blogs thing isn’t going to really work for me while I’m here having the time of my life in the most awesome place in the world.  For the duration of my study abroad experience (I’ll be back with plenty to say in a non-German setting in May) I’ll be posting exclusively on Iowa Girls Gone Wild.  Despite it’s name, it’s completely safe for work.  Ya’ll tell all your friends now, ya hear?

My suitcases are full, the Post-It lists on my wall are mostly checked off, the Hawkeyes are on TV in six hours.  I’ve been much calmer today than anticipated, kind of like the night before studying for a final when you just can’t care anymore about what grade you’re going to get.  I did have one mild to moderate breakdown (not for any particular reason, though being in a cemetery may not have helped) in which I found myself in a vehicle with no tissues and resorted to using my new scarf to wipe the streaming snot from my face.  But other than that, pretty freakin’ excited.  The German foreign exchange student my brother went to prom with lives in the town I’ll be studying in and although (I’m fairly certain) we never met, she’s excited for me to come and show me around and take me out on the town.

Internship application 3/3  was sent today, the one I’m most excited about, the one I’d PEE.MY.PANTS. if I got.  Maybe I’ll get ambitious and apply for more while abroad (HA).  Apparently with my spending habits, I need to find more than 10-15 hours at a sandwich place a week  to supply some cashflow.  I’m predicting around mid-March or April I’ll start freaking about my nebulous summer plans, don’t worry– I’ve accepted my self-diagnosis of CRIPPLING NEUROSIS.  I think when my mom and I went to the mall last week and I wouldn’t go up and ask the hair salon lady if I could get an appointment she realized that her daughter is a social FREAK (perhaps a new spin on the blog could be WhatMentalIllnessIsBrittneyOnTheCuspOfToday.com)

NPH keeps telling me to calm the truck down (<–see?  2010 resolution of swearing less), that “everyone loves Americans” (blatant lie) and “you’ll make friends so fast you’ll freak” (blatant Jimmy John’s rip-off.)  I’m no longer talking to him however because currently he and three other of my good friends are drunk in Miami for the Orange Bowl.  When he asked if I was just “chilling all day” and I said AREYOUHIGH today might be one of the most critically busy days of my life he responded “Oh yeah.  Well I just have drinking and football.”  I’m just SO happy for you.

My layover tomorrow in Chicago is four hours long.  I will not have a cell phone, thus it’s really a crapshoot as to whether I’ll have my sanity.  My trusty shiny new blue laptop will be with my however so I will be blogging, Facebooking, Twittering up a storm– how excited are YOU?!

Nine days.  I’d sell my soul to be there now.

We’re flying out earlier than expected for our cruise tomorrow.  Miami will be nice.  I will have no connection with the world (Facebook, blogging, cell phone) for like, a lot of days.  And then only one full day in between flying back and flying out for Germany.  My room is beyond a wreck (not on purpose, contrary to apparent popular belief) with boxes, clothes, suitcases, lots more clothes, Christmas gifts.  It’ll be weird celebrating New Years on a ship with strangers and my family.  Hopefully there will at least be champagne.

I got new glasses today.  And my digital camera from Christmas finally came (thanks, Grandma!)  There’s nothing really great to put up pictures of yet, but you can bet there’s much bigger excitment to come.  That’s all for today, folks.  I will spare you my shit-tastic mood.