Today I Met the Cookie Monster, a Fairy, a Cowgirl and a Lot of Soon-To-Be-Drunk People

(I get the feeling that the titles of my entries are getting too long.)

Now here are the six days of the year when I realize I’m living in the wrong part of the country.

I hate Karneval.

Karneval is also known as Fasching, but don’t try to call it Fasching here. At least not if you like all your body parts intact. Also, and I wish I would be kidding, don’t EVER shout ‚Helau‘ in Cologne or ‚Alaaf‘ in Düsseldorf, at least not if you cherish your life.

I admit that up to the age of about 17 I enjoyed Karneval in a careless sort of way. It was okay. I would attend the school’s Karneval party on Weiberfastnacht and then maybe go see the parade with Natascha and bitch about old women snatching away the candy from little children. Or us.

The last time I remember I was dressed up as a Dutch girl, which was pretty much the most stupid costume I ever had, because I have brown hair and the wig that actually won’t fall off my head has yet to be invented, but it was fun anyway.

The most intellectual costume I had was a few years before when Natascha and I decided that I would go as an ‚N‘ and she would go as a ‚D‘. In short, we cut out big letters from cardboard and hung them from our necks. There is a whole pop-culture reference behind it, and a pun intended, but you’d have to speak German and know ‚Schmidteinander‘ to get them, so I won’t go into any details.

In the years that have passed I was able to grow some sweet and rewarding hatred against Karneval and I find that I’m not the only one. Every year my first impulse is to hide under a table and not come out until it’s Ash Wednesday and everything is over. Friday to Sunday aren’t so bad, but today, Monday and Tuesday are the worst days.

Now, Karneval is not necessarily a bad thing, although in my opinion it is. I just don’t like it. I don’t like to get drunk and be funny just because the rules say so. I don’t want to get dressed up and listen to terrible music just because I am supposed to.

So, basically what I plan to do:
Hide under the table and not come out until it’s safe again.

At least Monday is a holiday here.

PS: If you like to know anything else about Germany’s strange customs, just ask. If you ask nice enough I might even buy a newspaper and post the pictures.