As many of you may know I live in Germany, do to my military career. Being in the military in an internationally known beer country creates a lot of opportunities for a person of my age to go to bars. I happen to enjoy bars for the most part, but on occasion they make me uncomfortable. Here are a few reasons why.
Reason number 1: Crazy Girls
Time to toot my own horn, for a small guy I get quite a bit of attention from woman in bars. The only problem with that is the type of woman I tend to get attention from (loco muchachas). I was in Prague not too long ago with some friends. We were sitting in a bar when a young woman sat next to me, looked me straight in the eyes and said "I am going to make twenty babies with you". I sat there speechless, looking at her as my friends started laughing. When I mustered the courage to say words of any kind, the only word that came out was "No!... No baby's". She then proceeded to try and make the number larger, 30, 40, 50 and so on until it was apparent my friends couldn't breath from laughing, so we got up and left.
Reason number 2: The Tough Guy
One summer night my buddy Rubio and I decided to hit up the local bars because there was nothing better to do. Already buzzed we decided to go to Chucks (a well known American hang out bar). When we got there the place was packed, so we headed for the billiard room hoping for some space when we were met buy a shirtless (S#!T faced) skinny guy who proceeded to scream the question "HEY! ARE YOU GUYS ARMY?". We both shook our heads, He then stated "GOOD! CUZ IF YOU WAS ARMY I'D FIGHT YOU.... I DO MMA (mixed martial arts) BRA! I COULD TEACH YOU, BUT I LEAVE IN A WEEK. Looking at him as if he was the biggest retard in the world, and him too drunk to notice, all I could say was "Cool story bro". We decided to leave so we didn't have to give a police report in the event that "Mr. Spanky" got his ass kicked.
Reason Number 3: My Drunk Friends
I tend to handle myself fairly well in the bar scenario, unfortunately I can't say the same for one of my friends. He has been slapped, kicked in the balls, and poked with a hot fire poker. As fate would have it I am usually the one to pull him out of such situations. He's not a bad guy, he just always seems to find the other really drunk person in the room and somehow pisses them off. Then I have to drag him out of wherever it is that we are before he gets beat up (not a small guy, but he can barely stand when drunk).
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Parkour!
What is parkour?
Parkour the process of getting from point "A" to point "B" in the most direct way possible while overcoming any obstacles in fluid motion. In my case it's just an excuse for a 22 year old man to play on a playground at night.
All of this craziness started about a month ago when I went to GamesCom in Cologne Germany. There was an obstacle course set up for Parkour (I was really bad at it) but it got me interested. So far I have found myself leaping over park benches and climbing random do-dads when no one is around, and then quickly shifting to acting like I'm on a casual stroll when someone decides to walk their dog late at night. One of my friends is planning on filming my uncoordinated attempts soon so I will post pics when available.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Prost!
Last night my buddy Cody came over to play video games and drink a few beers. Before we could fire up the xbox of pwnage, my neighbor invited us to have a few drinks. When Germans drink, they like to drink a lot and encourage said behavior. By the end of our night (that lasted maybe two hours) I had finished half of a bottle of Patron, one beer, and several Jack Danial's based drinks. They shared some German folk drinking songs (I need to learn these because they are awesome) and insisted I share some american songs. Truth be told I didn't know many so I ended up singing the one from the movie Jaws (Show me the way to go home boom boom, I'm tired and I wanna go to bed).My neighbor and landlord are convinced I need a wife (this is a fairly regular concern that other people seem to have for me). My mother says I can't marry a German girl because she thinks I will never come home. My landlord says I need to marry a farmers daughter he knows that... and I quote "has huge tracks of land". Usually I would disregard my immature giggles for a common language context barrier, but his hand motions and personal snickering assured me he knew what he was talking about.
I am in pain today (deservedly), it is 4:28 my time and I still feel like I got hit by the fiesta locomotive of fun and doom. I will definitely do this again sometime, but I will have to take the night a lot slower and with less tequila.
Monday, July 4, 2011
I felt like I needed a new post, so here it is!
Hi, It's been a while. Bad way to start a blog post? probably. Regardless if we are threw marveling at my bad start, may we continue? Don't answer, the question is rhetorical.
So I am going to become a member of a church soon, and as odd as this may sound I am slightly terrified. I have been out of the loop so long that I don't know what to say to church people anymore. I don't watch american TV so I can't fake up to date sports talk. There is no center of geeks talking about the newest up and coming video game that allows you to pretend to have a girlfriend. On top of all of that I am a single guy in his twenty's so naturally any man with a daughter in the room is going to make hissing sounds if I get any where near them.
I remember talking to new people at my old church and how much we had to awkwardly force a conversation. Usually you stand at a 90 degree angle with the person making minimal eye contact, but mostly staring down at the point of the would be triangle. You ask them where they live, what do they do, and then you run out of things to say. Unfortunately the church never developed ice breaker catechism, so the newcomer and the veteran are perpetually stuck in a state of "bad first date" conversation.
I went to the church 4th of July picnic today, and remained well outside of my normal comfort zone. Especially when the junior high girl squad wanted to tell me everything they ever did ever, forever and ever. I tried to stand by the grill and comment when a burger needed turning, but they followed me there too. I figured they might have thought I was in high school so I made several comments about me being in the military, thinking they may lose interest (note to self... that does not work). Eventually I slipped away to join the grown up table and had a lovely afternoon.
So I am going to become a member of a church soon, and as odd as this may sound I am slightly terrified. I have been out of the loop so long that I don't know what to say to church people anymore. I don't watch american TV so I can't fake up to date sports talk. There is no center of geeks talking about the newest up and coming video game that allows you to pretend to have a girlfriend. On top of all of that I am a single guy in his twenty's so naturally any man with a daughter in the room is going to make hissing sounds if I get any where near them.
I remember talking to new people at my old church and how much we had to awkwardly force a conversation. Usually you stand at a 90 degree angle with the person making minimal eye contact, but mostly staring down at the point of the would be triangle. You ask them where they live, what do they do, and then you run out of things to say. Unfortunately the church never developed ice breaker catechism, so the newcomer and the veteran are perpetually stuck in a state of "bad first date" conversation.
I went to the church 4th of July picnic today, and remained well outside of my normal comfort zone. Especially when the junior high girl squad wanted to tell me everything they ever did ever, forever and ever. I tried to stand by the grill and comment when a burger needed turning, but they followed me there too. I figured they might have thought I was in high school so I made several comments about me being in the military, thinking they may lose interest (note to self... that does not work). Eventually I slipped away to join the grown up table and had a lovely afternoon.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
An Irish guy, A Scottish guy, And an English guy walk into a bar...
Recently I took a little vacation to a little town in the Czech Republic called Prague. My Journey Started much the same way that it ended, with me throwing up. You see I'm a nervous traveler when the pressure is on me (I drove) I move really fast, and food doesn't sit well. Add a daily vitamin and a fish oil pill on an empty stomach and Presto, Vomit Viola!
So there I was, 6 a.m. sitting in my driveway with my head out the driver side window spitting up fish fat and water as fast as I can because I know I have a five hour drive ahead of me (clearly I had my priority's in order). When I finished gagging at the fish taste (nothing left to hurl) I put a piece of gum in my mouth, pick up my friend Brandon, and headed off to a country I neither of us had ever visited.
When you visit a new country for the first time there are a few things a person should know.
A: What language do they speak? Maybe even learn some easy phrases like hello, or where is the bathroom.
B: What form of currency do they use? Will I be able to get it there?
C: Do they have any strange traffic laws? Do I need to pay tolls or buy a sticker?
These are all questions two men taking a cross country road trip neglected to ask themselves. On top of all that, when we were about 100 miles from home I realized I forgot my international drivers license. I wasn't about to turn around, so like all great explorers in the face of fear we pressed on.
As we pulled into the Czech Republic for the first time I noticed I had a quarter left in the tank, so I stopped at the first gas station I saw. I walked in with ten Euro and one American dollar in my pocket, looked the nice Czech lady in the eye with A smile on my face and said, "You speak English?". "Deutsche?" she replied. I quickly noticed that there was no credit card machine, and that I was (for lack of a more suiting word) screwed. I also noticed stickers on all the cars outside that appeared to have some form of Russian writing on them, but with no money or communicating skills, we decided to press on. Lucky for us we reached our hotel without having to fill up (God bless fuel efficient cars with giant tanks).
Prague was beautiful. Not to mention the American dollar is four times stronger than the Czech Koron, so we lived like kings. Four star hotel cost me 30 dollars, a steak dinner with coffee and beer (I just couldn't choose) I was living it up.
Night fell as Brandon and I went out looking for a party, and boy would did we find one. We started at the HardRock where we met a Czech bartender who taught us how to say "Go F#@K Yourself!" In Russian, gave us a few free drinks and sent us in the Direction of some good bars.
So we were sitting in a bar when in stumbles an Irish guy, A Scottish guy, and an English guy (I swear this isn't the start of a bad joke) and all of there Czech girlfriends (Czech woman are unbelievably gorgeous). I heard the Irish guys accent, so I asked him if he was Irish.
He replied "Ey, you American?"
Me: "Yep"
The Irish: "Bartender, get my new friends a drink!"
Soon they found out we were military, and as all European/American military questions eventually lead, we wound up on the subject of global nuclear war (They all think we are going to eventually kill everyone). I told them as I spilled some of my delicious Jack and Coke onto the floor, that if it ever came to that I would get them all in an underground bunker (By the way, I can't do that). I didn't pay for a drink the rest of the night.
The next Day came, and with a sharp pain in my head I took a look around my room for the first time only to realize I had stripped and literally thrown all of my clothing and everything contained within them around my room, even the contents of my wallet (I am very thorough). It was at that point that I realized I hadn't spent a single dime the night before, and that there were new pictures on my camera (coming soon).
On the drive home I spent $117 on a tank of gas (clearly karma caught up to my lying ass), and shortly after we were stopped by the Czech police. Freaking out hardly begins to describe the feeling of knowing, A: you don't speak the language, B: You don't have a sticker on your car, and C: YOU FORGOT YOUR INTERNATIONAL DRIVERS LICENSE AND YOUR DRIVING ILLEGALLY IN A COUNTRY THAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE BOUND BY THE EUROPEAN UNION... DUMBASS!!!!
I gave the nice police man my Military ID and Passport. He gave a half smile and said "Army?" I quickly said yes. He the pointed at the window and showed me a picture of a sticker and said "Petrol Station". I nodded my head, and the very nice police man let us go. I bought a sticker, and the rest of the trip home was a smooth ride (With the exception that my buddy Brandon played the video Game Angry Birds the entire time while yelling at the little green pigs).
So there I was, 6 a.m. sitting in my driveway with my head out the driver side window spitting up fish fat and water as fast as I can because I know I have a five hour drive ahead of me (clearly I had my priority's in order). When I finished gagging at the fish taste (nothing left to hurl) I put a piece of gum in my mouth, pick up my friend Brandon, and headed off to a country I neither of us had ever visited.
When you visit a new country for the first time there are a few things a person should know.
A: What language do they speak? Maybe even learn some easy phrases like hello, or where is the bathroom.
B: What form of currency do they use? Will I be able to get it there?
C: Do they have any strange traffic laws? Do I need to pay tolls or buy a sticker?
These are all questions two men taking a cross country road trip neglected to ask themselves. On top of all that, when we were about 100 miles from home I realized I forgot my international drivers license. I wasn't about to turn around, so like all great explorers in the face of fear we pressed on.
As we pulled into the Czech Republic for the first time I noticed I had a quarter left in the tank, so I stopped at the first gas station I saw. I walked in with ten Euro and one American dollar in my pocket, looked the nice Czech lady in the eye with A smile on my face and said, "You speak English?". "Deutsche?" she replied. I quickly noticed that there was no credit card machine, and that I was (for lack of a more suiting word) screwed. I also noticed stickers on all the cars outside that appeared to have some form of Russian writing on them, but with no money or communicating skills, we decided to press on. Lucky for us we reached our hotel without having to fill up (God bless fuel efficient cars with giant tanks).
Prague was beautiful. Not to mention the American dollar is four times stronger than the Czech Koron, so we lived like kings. Four star hotel cost me 30 dollars, a steak dinner with coffee and beer (I just couldn't choose) I was living it up.
Night fell as Brandon and I went out looking for a party, and boy would did we find one. We started at the HardRock where we met a Czech bartender who taught us how to say "Go F#@K Yourself!" In Russian, gave us a few free drinks and sent us in the Direction of some good bars.
So we were sitting in a bar when in stumbles an Irish guy, A Scottish guy, and an English guy (I swear this isn't the start of a bad joke) and all of there Czech girlfriends (Czech woman are unbelievably gorgeous). I heard the Irish guys accent, so I asked him if he was Irish.
He replied "Ey, you American?"
Me: "Yep"
The Irish: "Bartender, get my new friends a drink!"
Soon they found out we were military, and as all European/American military questions eventually lead, we wound up on the subject of global nuclear war (They all think we are going to eventually kill everyone). I told them as I spilled some of my delicious Jack and Coke onto the floor, that if it ever came to that I would get them all in an underground bunker (By the way, I can't do that). I didn't pay for a drink the rest of the night.
The next Day came, and with a sharp pain in my head I took a look around my room for the first time only to realize I had stripped and literally thrown all of my clothing and everything contained within them around my room, even the contents of my wallet (I am very thorough). It was at that point that I realized I hadn't spent a single dime the night before, and that there were new pictures on my camera (coming soon).
On the drive home I spent $117 on a tank of gas (clearly karma caught up to my lying ass), and shortly after we were stopped by the Czech police. Freaking out hardly begins to describe the feeling of knowing, A: you don't speak the language, B: You don't have a sticker on your car, and C: YOU FORGOT YOUR INTERNATIONAL DRIVERS LICENSE AND YOUR DRIVING ILLEGALLY IN A COUNTRY THAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE BOUND BY THE EUROPEAN UNION... DUMBASS!!!!
I gave the nice police man my Military ID and Passport. He gave a half smile and said "Army?" I quickly said yes. He the pointed at the window and showed me a picture of a sticker and said "Petrol Station". I nodded my head, and the very nice police man let us go. I bought a sticker, and the rest of the trip home was a smooth ride (With the exception that my buddy Brandon played the video Game Angry Birds the entire time while yelling at the little green pigs).
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Egyptian wife, or desert souvenir?
As some of you may know I just returned from a four month deployment to the middle east. If you are imagining me a war hero you are sadly mistaken, as I have never seen combat or been issued a weapon more than a mettle stick and a trusty whistle.
My job in the desert was not to work, but to watch people work. Boy was I good at it, and watch them work I did. You see in the middle east the military hires local companies to work for dollars a day to do anything from build our housing, to clean our shiters, and since they use locals there's no telling if there are terrorists among them. So they put people like me with no real combat experience in a group of twenty or so third country nationals (TCNs) with my trusty stick and whistle to guard the interests of the installation (When I asked for a bobby hat they replied only with a condescending stare).
I became quite good a crossword puzzles and sudoku (HiYa!) and arguing about who would win in a fight between CatWoman and WonderWoman (Insert your hero/heroin here).
On a day to day basis we interacted with the workers, but mostly the foreman. One foreman I worked with was an Egyptian man who spoke nearly perfect English, he would smuggle things to us from the city like McDonald's and Dunkin Donuts (A cold cheeseburger has never tasted so good in my life). One day he was telling me about his niece and he showed me a picture (she was very pretty) So I jokingly asked him if I could marry her and take her home. He then began making real wedding arrangements, asking me if I would convert to Islam, if she would live in the states, and if we could get married in Egypt. By this point I assumed my sarcastic nature in the original question escaped him, so I played along (I was bored). After much deliberation we decided it just wouldn't work because I was a Wiccan (I'm not Wiccan by the way) and it just wouldn't work out. Sorry Mom and Dad, no souvenir Egyptian grand children for you.
My job in the desert was not to work, but to watch people work. Boy was I good at it, and watch them work I did. You see in the middle east the military hires local companies to work for dollars a day to do anything from build our housing, to clean our shiters, and since they use locals there's no telling if there are terrorists among them. So they put people like me with no real combat experience in a group of twenty or so third country nationals (TCNs) with my trusty stick and whistle to guard the interests of the installation (When I asked for a bobby hat they replied only with a condescending stare).
I became quite good a crossword puzzles and sudoku (HiYa!) and arguing about who would win in a fight between CatWoman and WonderWoman (Insert your hero/heroin here).
On a day to day basis we interacted with the workers, but mostly the foreman. One foreman I worked with was an Egyptian man who spoke nearly perfect English, he would smuggle things to us from the city like McDonald's and Dunkin Donuts (A cold cheeseburger has never tasted so good in my life). One day he was telling me about his niece and he showed me a picture (she was very pretty) So I jokingly asked him if I could marry her and take her home. He then began making real wedding arrangements, asking me if I would convert to Islam, if she would live in the states, and if we could get married in Egypt. By this point I assumed my sarcastic nature in the original question escaped him, so I played along (I was bored). After much deliberation we decided it just wouldn't work because I was a Wiccan (I'm not Wiccan by the way) and it just wouldn't work out. Sorry Mom and Dad, no souvenir Egyptian grand children for you.
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