Vitamins and Minerals

In Germany people have good faces. It seems that women know how to do their hair and make-up nicely. They appear very serene and have severe clothes to protect them, which makes me uncomfortable and them much more superior. The TV is very, very bad here. And the food is meaty and sometimes so tasty it's tasteless. I like the tasteless food. I wish I had some boots and a black leather jacket and could speak enough German to think insults inside my head and never say them out loud. I think this would change my facial expressions for the better. I wish that when I met a German person I didn't focus on the lilt of their "hallo" more than what they said after. I wish I didn't worry so much about how the older women dyed their hair or how they sell the most incredibly ridiculous jeans to people at seemingly normal stores. I wish that when we were walking in the nice shopping area by the Dom it didn't make me feel really shitty that some guy was playing Damien Rice songs in the street and lots of people lined up to listen. This guy had a red guitar AND a velvet blazer. AND he was singing Damien Rice songs. Even Deb stopped to listen and danced a little. "Man, this is a good song, I don't care what you say," she said to me. "No, nono," I said back but couldn't think of anything more. I meant, no, you can like the song if you want, I don't care, but it sounded like I meant, no, I like these songs too.
Anyhow, she goes to the bakery in the morning and buys us rolls and doughnuts and makes coffee with whipped milk and cinnamon on top. She makes a lot of noise in the kitchen when she wants us to wake up and tries to fake surprise when I walk past her to go brush my teeth. I don't think she would feel badly that I'm saying these things. Deb also normally makes a lot of sense.
We went to a party the other night and I made friends with a woman named Jennifer. She was very fun. She was from New Zealand and we liked talking about ex-lovers and people my age. She would say, "You know, for women like us..." or, "As we both know..." or some such variation which was funny because she was acting like because we were both blond and tall we'd had lots of the same experiences or, I don't know, we'd come to the same conclusions about men and money and stuff. She said she had a nursing license but she'd been enjoying being a housewife for the last three years. She said she loved her garden and her dogs and her husband. "He's very cute," she said. I didn't mind how she generalized us, put us together but it was funny for me as well. Jennifer used to be a man. I had a suspicion early on but after talking for awhile, I was quite sure. She was beautiful and I liked her tight, silky top. I liked her thin, sculpted nose. I liked her oddly huge black heels, her manicured nails and the enormous wedding rings she wore. Somehow I felt like she deserved whatever wealth she found herself gorgeously flopping around in. When the night ended she went home with a cop. He was so much more into her then he'd been into his tenth Murphy's. He looked at her and looked at her and he must have decided it lust and followed her to a bar called Roxy. I hope they had passionate sex on the subway as Jennifer is the exactly what men want a women to be, a big sea of mystery with some very fashionable ideas.