“Last night you farted in your sleep.”

My Little Rib’s claim is a total understatement. I know what I’m capable of when I had to behave all day long. It’s a fact that I wake myself up with my nightly emissions. Since I have the strange habit of sleeping at the very edge of my bed, I’ve almost fallen off more than once. This, of course, to the amusement of my Little Rib. In her world there’s nothing funnier than a good fart.

I’ve always been a rather shy guy. If I had a goldfish, I wouldn’t fart in its presence. Come to think of it, my whole life is focused on never accidentally letting one go. Therefore it bugs me tremendously that I can’t seem to have my body under control when I’m asleep.

My Little Rib is the exact opposite. In hindsight I can only say that I should have watched out for early warning signs. After dating her for less than four hours I made a huge mistake: I made her laugh. An earth shattering boom took the wrinkles right out of her pants. I was appalled! Ever since I have been trying to keep her in a safe distance as well as in a bad mood.

On extremely rare occasions I seize the kitchen to make my world-famous chili. It’s pretty much the only thing I can cook and -since I don’t want to start lying on our little blog- it’s not really world-famous, either. I don’t have a special recipe; I just make sure that there’s plenty of onions, beans, corn (yes, corn!) and garlic in the pot. Especially garlic. And onions. Don’t care too much about the beans.

Just recently I was in the mood for my chili again. We had ordered twelve episodes of the second season of “24” through Netflix. We love that show and I’m so happy that we’ve discovered it so late, because now we can enjoy three more seasons. I put on my imaginary chef hat (is there a name for that thing?) and cooked a nice big pot of my not so world-famous chili.

It goes without saying that it was absolutely delicious. Well, to me it was. My Little Rib thought there was way too much garlic in it, but she didn’t complain. After only one episode of our “24“ marathon she announced:

“I have to fart.”

Without any delay I transported my head from her lap to the other end of the couch.

“Now? Here?!”

She started laughing and I hastily retreated completely from the couch.

“What’s the matter, Schatz?”

“Sorry, but I can’t deal with this.”

“Deal with what? My humor?”

“Yes, and the way you express it.”

“Alright, I will contain myself.”

“Thanks!”

We started watching the second episode. Meanwhile I could hear my stomach rumble. My Little Rib heard it, too.

“Need to fart?”

“No.”

“But I do!”

“Don’t you dare!”

We got through the next two episodes without any major incidents. Now and then she seemed a little uneasy but I kept her in check with an unyielding look on my face. Needless to say I was beginning to get very tense myself. The pressure was remarkable. Now it was imperative to stay focused.

This Jack Bauer in “24” is a man I admire. How he manages to get through a period of twenty-four hours under constant stress, barbaric torture and countless hits in the stomach without making any smoke rings from behind, is simply amazing. I wouldn’t do it, either!

“Be honest, you have to fart, too.”

“Not at all.”

“Let it out, Schatz. I don’t mind.”

“Never! You know what, I think I’m gonna get me a little more ch-”

The last word was overpowered by a loud thunder and within seconds the living room went hazy. Jack and I headed for the exit synchronously. He escaped, but I panicked and was unable to open the door.

“Heehee, it accidentally slipped out.”

Her laughter was followed by three smaller detonations in short succession. I pulled my shirt over my mouth and nose and stepped out on the patio. I would have loved to relief myself outside but I couldn’t take any chances. Any revealing sound would have caused my Little Rip to explode laughing. The only way to pass gas unnoticed was to stand in the bedroom closet, but I thought that would have been kind of silly and also I was worried about my clothes. I decided to tough it out.

Later that night I had a terrible nightmare. After successfully saving planet Earth, Jack Bauer was given a big hug by the President of the United States. For a brief moment he lost control over his well-trained sphincter and passed some strong winds straight in the shocked faces of the entire administration. He was executed right there on the spot.

I woke up screaming and the first thing I saw was my Little Rib giggling just an inch away from my nose.

“Gotcha! You farted! Heeheeeee …”

The Presidential Bust of Hillary Rodham Clinton: The First Woman President of the United States of America

It’s an optical spectacle to watch my Little Rib eat. When she chews on a sandwich you can be assured that afterwards there will be bits and pieces dangling from her earlobes. Even the smallest snack ends up in a huge mess. After every meal it looks like some living thing exploded in our apartment.

It gets dangerous when it comes to food that crumbles, sticks, drips, stains or is so flexible that it can be stretched over a length of more than two feet. You never know where that food might turn up later. The other night we had pasta for dinner and I found a splotch of sauce on the mouse of my computer before dinner was ready. “Well, I have to taste it to make sure it’s seasoned right, don’t I?” was my Little Rib’s excuse.

In her eyes I am the one with strange eating habits. It’s mind-boggling to her how I manage to eat a sandwich without smearing mayonnaise all over my cheeks. She is able to do that in one single bite. I have demonstrated to her how to bite into a sandwich properly but she thinks it’s too much work: “I want to enjoy my food without having to concentrate.” How can you argue with that?

Remember the Carl’s Jr. commercials? Dennis Rodman messing up half an acre with a burger the size of my pillow. If it doesn’t get all over the place, it doesn’t belong in your face! Right … My Little Rib is not allowed to get food from there.

There are certain things that even I stay away from: Ham. Germans love to serve bread with ham at Birthday parties and other festivities. My teeth are too dull to bite through a slice of ham. Without exceptions I always pull the whole piece off the bread. I don’t need to explain how stupid it looks when the slice of ham slaps against the idiot’s Adam’s apple.

Eating in the presence of our friends has always been a big problem. After all, we don’t want to make a bad impression. Therefore I had to come up with a few techniques as some sort of damage control for my Little Rib. For example, a friendly smack on the back can transport a piece of potato from the shoulder back on the plate. You have to hit a little harder to get the same result with mashed potatoes.

Appetizers such as soups or salads with loads of dressing must be taken away from my Little Rib. Believe me, you don’t want to know why. Consequently I eat as quickly as I can and - asking her in simulated disbelief “Full already, Schnuckie?” - trade plates with her when I’m done. Unfair … but necessary.

With the scissors of my pocketknife I cut spaghetti, which are (hopefully) en route to her mouth, lightning fast and invisible for the human eye down to a safer size. I’ve accidentally cut my cute little ninja-muncher in the past, but she never knew where the attacks were coming from.

Sometimes I knock over my wine glass to give her enough time to clean her forehead or her cleavage without attracting attention. I carry wet tissues with me at all times for exactly those circumstances. They are intended for a particular and ch-ch-ch-charmin’ part of the body but, hey, they clean the face just as well.

This all works pretty well, but sometimes when my Little Rib bares her teeth with an aggressive growl, I know that she wants to enjoy her meal and she will do so no matter what happens. In that case I have no choice but to stay back, occasionally leaning forward to give her a kiss on the cheek (in reality I lick the leftovers off her face, of course), or I excuse myself for a moment to pick up the biggest chunks off the floor on my way to the bathroom.

If all things fail and my Little Rib’s battle with her food starts to affect the hosts in harmful ways, I resort to the trick of a clever change of topic in the ongoing conversation: “Have I told you about my latest story on Misunderestimated Germans?” This immediately causes everybody to lower their heads and whisper desperate prayers. Once they find the strength to look up again we’re long gone.

(No, I will not get in trouble for this one. I did for the German version, though …)

One of my favorite Dummycrats, Howard Dean, is trying to prolong his pitiful political career by yet another crazy statement:

“If you think what’s going on in the Middle East today would be going on if the Democrats were in control, it wouldn’t, because we would have worked day after day after day to make sure we didn’t get where we are today. We would have had the moral authority that Bill Clinton had when he brought together the Northern Irish and the IRA, when he brought together the Israelis and the Palestinians.”

Usually it takes group effort to come up with something this dumb, but Dean did it without any help. Putting moral authority and Bill Clinton in one sentence is like matter colliding with antimatter. You want to avoid that! You also want to avoid picturing a scenario in your mind where Dummycrats are in control of anything. It will cause allergic reactions and terrible hiccups.

I can’t wait to hear what Rush Limbaugh will have to say about Dean’s outrageous comment. It could potentially fill the entire show. He might even invoke a fourth hour!

(Inspired by this article)

MM: Mr. President, it’s an honor to have you as a guest on our little blog.

CLINTON: I know! What’s a blog?

MM: It’s a kind of website.

CLINTON: Oh, like the ones with all the naked ladies? I love those! Actually I’m a member of quite a few.

MM: I don’t doubt that for a second. Mr. President-

CLINTON: Call me Bill, Mike.

MM: President Bill, how do you feel about the upcoming elections in November?

CLINTON: I feel great! Historically, we should win. We might well win one or more houses. Maybe even the White House!

MM: In 2008?

CLINTON: Why wait that long? We’re on a roll!

MM: What makes you so confident?

CLINTON: The Republican strategy is weak. Look at them: “Let’s forget about global warming and talk about flag burning and gay marriage.” I don’t know how long you can milk that cow.

MM: Have you ever milked a cow?

CLINTON: My sex life is none of your business. But I will tell you this: Democrats need to focus on their differences with the GOP and on promoting what they stand for. One of those things should be fighting climate change.

MM: So you are sharing that position with Al Gore?

CLINTON: I never had sex with that man … Mr. Gore!

MM: I wasn’t trying to imply you did.

CLINTON: Oh good. You scared me for a moment, Mike.

MM: Al Gore believes we only have ten years to change our ways or the damages to our planet will be irreversible.

CLINTON: That is correct. And it saddens me that nobody wants to listen to him. After all, he’s been warning the American people for over ten years now.

MM: So time’s up already?

CLINTON: It depends on what the meaning of the word “time” is. This decade’s new jobs are in clean energy, and we haven’t seized them. We have a short time in the life of the planet to turn this around.

MM: Ten years, maybe?

CLINTON: You got it, Mike!

MM: The automobile industry is significantly reducing their production in hybrid cars. Despite the big hype consumers don’t seem to be interested. What’s your take on that?

CLINTON: Guess what? I think pulling out of Iraq would be a mistake!

MM: You do?

CLINTON: Yes. Once you break the eggs, you have the responsibility to make an omelet. It’d be an error to say we’ll leave by X date.

MM: In other words, you support the war on terrorism?

CLINTON: Of course! However, I have a deep belief in keeping channels of communication open, even to groups that support terrorist activities, like Hamas in the Middle East.

MM: I see. Global peace through chitchat.

CLINTON: I’m impressed. You’re not as dumb as you look. The more you talk, the fewer people will die. There is an inherent benefit to that … every single death is just another scar you have to claw through before you can make a deal.

MM: Let’s talk about your wife Hillary for a moment.

CLINTON: I never had sex with that woman … Mrs. Clinton!

MM: That’s all I needed to know. Thank you for your time, President Bill.

CLINTON: Thanks for having me on your porn site!

This morning I was in the best mood ever. What could be better than going to the courthouse to become an American citizen? Nothing, thank you very much! But there are always people who want to ruin your day. Take liberals, for example. I enter the courthouse checking the directory and the first thing I see is this:

Sometimes I forget that Harry Reid is my senator. You can’t really blame me for that because whenever you see him on TV it always seems like you’re watching a movie with Bruce Willis facing the planet’s most evil villain. How am I supposed to know that this guy is actually a real politician?

Anyway, the oath ceremony was just beautiful. Too long (two hours) as far as I’m concerned but beautiful. But the best part was afterwards, when Reid’s little helpers stopped me to register to vote. “Sure”, I said and registered as a Republican:

I felt so naughty!

Unfortunately my Little Rib has been really sick for the last couple of days and she wasn’t able to attend the ceremony. Nevertheless she caught a little of the atmosphere because our dear friend Mike came over tonight with a present. He had created a video which is too special to be kept from the public. Enjoy!

Saudis Offered Scholarships for Aviation Courses in US

JEDDAH, 20 June 2006 — The Ministry of Higher Education and the General Authority of Civil Aviation are offering scholarships to Saudi men and women to study various majors related to civil aviation in the United States.

The forms are available online at the ministry’s website until July 12 for both bachelor’s and post-graduate studies. Nominations will be announced on July 31. Interviews will take place in August and final scholarship winners will be announced on Sept. 2.

The scholarships are available in majors such as communications, electrical and computer engineering, computer science, systems analysis, air traffic control, flight safety, and other majors related to the airline transport industry.

Applicants for the bachelor’s program must have a minimum score of 85 percent in the science section and 90 percent in other sections, such as Qur’an memorizing, administrative and commercial sciences. […] (Source)

Whenever I meet new people it doesn’t take long for them to notice my accent. Coming from a country that is said to be a nation of perfectionists I can honestly say that it used to bother me a little bit. Germans don’t like to display their flaws in public and they certainly don’t want to be reminded that they have any.

Nevertheless, I have learned that having an accent is indeed a good thing. Some of the most pleasant conversations I’ve had started with the question: “Where are you from?” And Americans do it in such a polite way: “I have noticed a s l i g h t accent.” Sure! I bet they say the same thing to Sigfried and Roy. I don’t want to make fun of them but if they don’t improve their English, as well as their German, they soon will need a large group of translators plus a think tank to figure out what those magical words coming out of their mouths mean in our world.

Once you confess to Americans that you are German, you will find out that they either have a grandmother who is German, or a German Shepherd, or a distant cousin who drives a Mercedes, or they have been to the Hofbräuhaus in Las Vegas. Almost always they will come to this conclusion: “I’m not sure why exactly, but I definitely have some German blood in me.” To someone who still walks around apologizing for World War II this comes as quite a relieve.

“So what’s it like living in Germany? Is it different there?”

This question has always been difficult for me to answer. It’s not any different than asking me what it’s like to be Michael Meyn. I’ve been that guy for all my life and I haven’t had the chance to be somebody else. Ok, I’ve been living in the United States for over ten years now, but I’m living in Las Vegas, for crying out loud! How can you possibly compare that with any other corner of the world? It’s like Disneyland for adults and you have a permanent hotel room there!

Women always ask me about fashion in Germany. I don’t know anything about fashion. There’s a certain order in which I put on my clothes, however I don’t really care what kind of clothes I put on as long as they are comfortable. But to all you people planning a trip to Europe in the near future, be warned : DO NOT wear white socks! I am not kidding! Wearing white socks in Europe, especially in Germany, is like sneezing in the face of a hypochondriac. People will faint in disgust. I’ve heard of courageous men and women who dared to walk around in public wearing white socks. Word has it that they were abducted by men in black (socks) who took them to a secret location in the Black Forrest. Those poor souls were never seen again.

When I went back to Germany for the first time in four years, I had no idea how much I had changed. I remember arriving at the airport in Frankfurt where I had to wait for an hour or so to catch the train to my hometown. I went to a small cafe, sat down at a table and ordered a cup of coffee. The first sip alone made me feel the increasing blood pressure pounding against the top of my skull.

“Excuse me, please,” I shouted maybe a little too loud and with waving motions of both of my hands and at least one foot while the corners of my mouth were twitching uncontrollably. “I ordered coffee, not espresso, thank you very much!”

“That is coffee.“ The waiter rolled his eyes and in a judgmental tone of voice he speculated: “You must be American.” I was so proud!

Oh, my hometown has its own mall now. It was built a few years ago and it’s the first of its kind in Germany. I’m afraid it’s not doing too well, though. Every time I went there I only saw one potential customer walking around. We e-mail each other regularly now. He wants to come to Vegas to check out the half a dozen malls and maybe even buy something.

Germans hate to stand and wait in lines. They have no patience for such uneventful activities. Every night, after work, my Little Rib tells me about her adventures at the grocery store. Most times it’s this type of story:

“So I was standing in line at the check-out counter and there were maybe five people in front of me and there’s this two hundred-year old woman supervising this young girl who bagged her groceries and when the cashier told her the balance THEN she bothered to check her purse for some cash and believe it or not she didn’t have enough cash on her and so she decided to charge it on her credit card but it was declined so she switched to her checking card but she couldn’t remember her PIN and she tried like three times but it didn’t work even though she thumbed through her diary for some clues and then she finally wrote a check but that took her forever because she didn’t realize at first that she had her check book in her SECOND purse and when she was finally gone the guy behind me chanted happily “Woohoo, one down!” while I wanted to go after her to drag her to the back alley and go Nazi on her!”

Nope, Germans do not like to wait in line …

Traffic in Germany is different, too. The first thing you will notice on German roads are the traffic signs. There are probably more different kinds of traffic signs than German words in the dictionary. Those signs are everywhere. One time I got lost on a hiking trip in one of the most deserted places in Germany. I almost died of thirst and hunger and the last thing I saw (right before I passed out) was a sign that read “No Parking!”

A lot of times you come across a stretch of road with a sequence of traffic signs that seem totally contradictory. You don’t know whether you’re supposed to go 30 miles an hour, come to a complete stop, watch out for cows or turn off the engine. No matter what you decide to do there will be a police officer waiting for you once you’ve made your decision.

My last experience driving with a friend in Germany wasn’t very enjoyable, either:

“What did you just do?”

“They are for your own good, Michael. Trust me.”

Before I came here I almost believed in God, but the infinite availability of parking spots in Las Vegas was probably the tipping point. It’s sheer bliss! And I’ve never been picky. I don’t care where I park as long as I have a place to actually put the car in neutral and leave it for a while without getting towed. To find a parking spot close to my apartment in my hometown I’d have to drive three towns up north because I knew some uncharted territory there. Even there it wasn’t easy to park because everything is just so darn small in Germany. A tight fit is the best you can get. I used be able to park between a bumper of a car and its bumper sticker. I’ve lost that skill over the years and on my last trip to Germany I let my Little Rib park the car.

Well, I just noticed that I have a lot to say about the differences between Germans and Americans. So be ready for part two!

(Submitted to Carnival of German-American Relations)