I once was a writer...

I like German words because they sound powerful. There is one word that I have come to respect greatly. It sounds awesome (it kinda rolls on your tongue) and it is regal, majestic, and final: Verboten . It means "forbidden", but forbidden still sounds like something you can do when no one is watching. When something is verboten  you better seriously NOT do it. Since we signed the documents which make us legally married in Germany, my husband has a " Verboten " one-item-list to abide by. Upon reading said one-item-list, and the subsequent Sub-clauses, you might think that I am much too influenced by the media. If so, I say to you, Perhaps. Yes. But still, my husband is mine, and is verboten from doing the following things. (1) Die. My husband may not die. Ever. - Sub-clause A: My husband shall not run, handle, manage, work in, above or at a crystal meth laboratory, stationary or otherwise. He may not consume, sell, distribute or handle crystal meth in any w...

I am obsessed with birthdays. I love that there is one day every year where you can feel like a princess and it's socially acceptable. It is, in fact, somewhat encouraged. I am especially obsessed with my birthday - but not because of the princess thing (I am a princess every day, Honey tells me so). I am obsessed with my birthday because I keep turning older. And older. And older. I tried to stop the age thing, I tried to turn 23 for five years in a row. I even moved to three different continents to make it work! But no. Someone always knew the truth... and was more than happy to expose that truth. I did manage to confuse many, many people. But in heart - nay, worse: in my mind I knew it not to be true. I was actually 24. Or 25. Or 26 (I actually had a blast in Bogotá that day). I have a few very worthwhile reasons for disliking my real age, and some extremely lame ones as well. After Thailand, when my life took a stand-still in a very boring point and place, I was as...