Gunter Grass’ memoir was really good. I loved every single page. Did you know that his wife cheated on him with a Romanian dude, in his own home?? I didn’t see that coming, no way! It went like this: Gunter went to Romania, he met a young Romanian boy somewhere in Transilvania (you know, Dracula’s homeland) and he helped him escape the Iron Curtain. He brought him to Berlin and let him stay in his house for a while, as he thought he was a very gifted and special young man. His wife, of course, agreed (that bitch!). Long story short, Mrs. Grass started fucking my fellow Romanian under Mr. Grass’ roof, Mr. Grass made a girlfriend, had another child, then he broke up with the girlfriend and had to move back to his wife. The future Nobel prize winner, his wife and the Romanian peasant, basically shared the house for a while. But then Gunter met another woman and so on and so forth, and this is how he had eight children to tell his story in his memoir.
Today I made a big decision. Huge! If I can’t emigrate to Canada (God forbid that, though) I move to Ikaria island, in Greece. Check out this article about the island. So, these islanders live over 100, all of them in very good health. It seems like this has to do with their lifestyle, which I can totally switch to. Let’s see: I love Mediterranean cuisine and goat milk, I could replace green tea with herbal tea quite easy, it’s not like we are exclusive or something. I like walking purposeless, I so fucking love waking up late as for siestas…I could win the siesta championship, if there was any (is there?). I can show up late at everything (I am a natural, in fact) and I love Greek parties, bouzoukias and all…The only problem is that thing with walking the goats for five hours, on daily basis and I am not very comfortable with growing what I eat, either. I mean, I could grow it all right, gardening seems like fun, but I am not sure I’ll have anything to eat, in the end. So I will probably have to get a Greek, tall, handsome husband and split the house chores: I do the eating Mediterranean/drinking the goat milk and herbal tea/napping extensively/walking to parties/partying hard/coming back home late and he can take out the goats and grow our food. Yeah, I know, I spoil him, but that’s me…
So, if by 2015 I am not a permanent resident in Canada, people can look for me on Ikaria Island. I will be welcoming them with a glass of goat milk and a warm kalimera. I will probably know more Greek by then, twenty more words at least! And for sure I will be fluent in body language.
Speaking of foreign languages, I did lot of French today. For many very countless hours (about 4 or so). I told you I will catch up! I am such a good girl, I know! Merci! Au revoir! A plus!