Marriott @ Munich

One of the worst technical inventions ever is the messaging system at Marriott in Munich. The moment you have a new message waiting, your TV turns on and you can’t turn to any TV channel without reading and confirming the damn message. It’s like “ we know you’re there…pick up Neo… Ahhaaaa, you’re awake, gottcha!”. I mean, I’m in damn holiday, I want to sleep late in the morning and boom, TV turns on, scares the crap out of me and starts blinking. And because I was in holiday, the SPA area was closed for renovation. Then, like it wouldn’t be enough paying a load of money on the room, you have no broadband, it’s 20€ extra a day (why can’t it be like in US????). Breakfast though is reasonable, a nice start in the morning thinking you have to almost cross the city to get to the Expo center (Messe), because one of the Marriotts is exactly at the end of the world: come out of the highway and there it is, with a great 200 bucks view of a roof and a high glass building. And cocktails at the sports bar suck big time. They’re a combination of ready-mixed cocktails you can buy at Aldi or so and a cheap ass bottled juice with doubtful taste. Accor hotel in Baar (CH) has a better interior design and options than this Marriott. If you want to stay in Munich near Messe, go for Hotel Bauer in Feldkirchen; probably best cocktails in the area, tasteful rooms, reasonable service.

Gone shopping

I am enjoying the 3 weeks „In between jobs“ (or popular known as “housewife”) and abusing every aspect of it. It’s not like you’re given very often the chance to try drive a can car, do shopping at hours when other people do sweat in their offices and abuse my partner’s credit cards. So following the schedule of the typical “Housewife” I woke up early, drove my darling to the office, came home and pretended I do some house work and then off I go to shopping. No, no Valentino or Calvin shopping, but chasing the shopping cart in the supermarket and socializing with other housewives.

Never, ever go shopping before 5pm. The supermarket was actually running arena for small kids left of course unattended that were chasing and poking themselves, while other little girl insisted to do like mommy and care they own huge shopping cart. And best part was they speak no german. None, niente, nada! So here I am in my escape to only get milk in an operation that takes exactly 3 minutes, begging in German some kids that have blocked all means of access to the register with their carts. Determined enough and deciding ugly looks won’t fix their education, I manage to pass them to get into the next stopper: the responsible mommies. Gloriously representing the typical Turkish-living-sortof-in-Germany type of women over 30, exploded on the sides from the national food, the döner; two of them it’s enough to hold a barrage and no begs, no “bitte”, no insistent looks will move them from their place. That’s because the supermarket is a social place, is the place where you meet your girlfriends and can talk about that evil Tarkan did to poor Gizem in the telenovelas. And the fact that you don’t share the same passion nor are you eager to find out why Gizem was crying last night, it’s enough of a reasoning not to move one cm away so you can finally pass to the counter. Obviously, acoustic signaling won’t make it, they don’t speak even 2 words of german. My shopping odyssey takes so full 30 minutes, in slaloms between kids and fat women. Out of frustration I went shopping in Heidelberg afterwards. With my own CC.

Shut up and be pretty

Escort service seems to be a job just for women. I mean, how many of you heard about “Men’s RedLight District” or “Exotic Thai Massage by two strong hairy hands”? Mkay, so after Hollywood, a full-time gigolo should be pretty as George Clooney and smart as Jodie Foster. Buuut, after some other standards, they should be just funny. Take a look at this:

http:/nimotasu.cabanova.ro/ (don’t worry, even kids can watch it for educational purposes). Skip the picture part for now, focus on the content (hey, mind matters, not looks ):

” I have a nice body” (…blah blah blah..) “and a smart brain”. “Oookay” I say, hoping to smack my boyfriend over with a hot deal. But next second, I knew it something was too good to be true (no, he ain’t married): “I done a Faculty.”. So much with being the next challenge for the Mensa test.

“I can offer 2 u MASSAGE, ESCORT and SEXUAL SERVICES.”. Only if you shut up and are pretty honey..

“If you want propose me something” => yes, I propose you quit the Internet, Earth and walk around with a bag on your head.

Oh well, I guess for the cleaning services he offers might fit, but that’s about it. If he’ll come in a Corsa or pimped Polo, he’s the man!!!

Obvious answers

One thing (among many others) that pisses me off at other persons is questioning something that is damn obvious. For example, I change my haircut and my color from black to blondish. And then pops out my favorite question: “Did you change your hair color?”. What the heck people, either you are so damn blind and wouldn’t even notice if a truck would pass over your child while blahblahing with your girlfriend about latest discount at Lidl, either you are just plain stupid and color-blind on top of everything . My answer will remain: “No, I changed my wig”. Effect is guaranteed.

Why men love/marry bitches

I ran across this book on the web:

and a review here.
What I found absolutely funny was the review’s title: Want a man to propose? Be a bitch!
Trust me, it’s not going to work. I’ve just mentioned it and the answer I got was: this damn program sux sux sux!!! I take it as a no.

Instead of introduction

I bought this shield in Ireland (oh gosh, what an adventure that was too, but that in another post), as it summarizes in just few words who I am So let’s skip boring intros and get to the point: I’m 25, working for a software/hardware company (like in Office Space) and ermmm, sharing a lot of feelings of the Office Space guys. And tomorrow is Monday and omfg yet another week ahead and 5 days away from weekend. And on top of everything, after a wonderful sunny weekend when I managed to screw up my tires for a bottle of wine, tomorrow crappy weather strikes back. I mean, what better motivation someone would need to get to the office.

Monday mornings (as any other morning) are always an adventure to get to work. If I miss the right 10 minutes a day when traffic is civilized on A6 (Germany), I might be too early, and then enter the jams provoked of those mid-aged Audi or Benz drivers, with sandwich packs made by their wives for work (or carrying a Vittel bottle to grab some mustard from the office) or middle-aged crisis dudes with Porsches doing 120 on the left lane. If I get too late, I might not even make it to the highway, blocked behind some fat housewife driving tiny little cans like Opel Corsa or Peugeot 106 or old Fiesta, obviously doing 40 and breaking up to first gear before every damn curve. It remains a mystery too me why fat women choose to drive tiny little cars. And forget to blink before turning. And fall asleep at the traffic light and move their overloaded can only at insistent flashes of the people that do have a job and must get to it. Thankfully, the supermarket is on the way to A6, so most of them gracefully turn left (no blinking please, I read minds). But oh, not all!!! I’ll find plenty of them later on the highway (probably going to visit their oversized mothers), stuck and impassible on the left lane (while of course the right one is completely free), while I desperately flash and remember all the bitching words I can get at that hour without a coffee (and at least Romanian language does offer a wide variety of swears and blessings).

Well, after couple of hours of hanging around in the office, I’ll find enough motivation to bitch again. Stay tuned, worry when I don’t bitch.