Sunday, June 9, 2013

Guten what the fuck?

I've been back for a few days now, and I did try updating on many occasions, but something always distracted me (Friday was the closest I got to actually writing something up, then suddenly I woke up at one in the morning with the sound of Jimmy Fallon laughing hysterically-- my face buried on my laptop's keyboard, confused as fuck).
I'm freakishly tired. I've never suffered such a terrible case of jet-lag as I am now. I am HARDCORE narcoleptic... I even unnerve babies who stare at me as if I were some freak of nature... BABIES! Little creatures who fall asleep mid-meal-- with spoons in their mouths 'n shit-- stare at me for falling asleep as I sit on a couch.

But anyway, here I am, finally sitting down (actually, I'm laying on my belly as I sit across my bed, simultaneously watching a "Snapped" marathon as I type this. It's how I do. That show's fuckin' hard) and writing something.

Onward with the stories and recaps and life lessons and travel advice bullshit I can still remember.
I'll start with Berlin, since that was my first stop and the one place where I interacted most with society.

The day before my flight to Europe, Mooney gave me a copy of in-flight German-- the supposed "basics" of the vocab I'd need while traveling (I'm not mocking Mooney here. I'm mocking my inability to grasp the BASIC level of German).
"The basics"...
... YEAH.
I was pretty excited about "learning" as I shoved in my earbuds at my terminal in Philly (my first pit stop from Vegas... "Pit Stop"... how pun-ny). It took all of two minutes for me to be COMPLETELY OVERWHELMED.
THE FUCK is up with the German language?!
You know where I panicked? Where it was trying to teach me how to say "My name is..." WHY THE FUCK must there be so many fucking sounds and syllables... and sounds?! I just want to greet you, for fuck's sake. That's it.
"Guten tag."
"Guten morgen."
FUCK ANYTHING ELSE. I can't even fucking distinguish between the "shon" and "shun" sound... I'm over here saying "thank you, cute" instead of "thank you very much." I'm fucking retarded! I'm good, dawg, I'm good... I'll just act like a fucking mute for six days.
I sat horrified for another... probably ten minutes-- max-- listening... trying to have some of the information stick... but the moment I realized I couldn't even COUNT in German, I took my earbuds out and frustratedly made my way to buy a fucking cupcake.
As I angrily chomped on my chocolate carb-ilicios delight, a couple (very blind couple, if you ask me... I looked like an angry, disheveled mess... a dangerous Mexican criminal with a fucking massive sweet-tooth-- murdering the fuck out of my chocolatey baked good like some lions ripping up a wildebeest carcass in the Serengeti) took the seats next to me.
The lovely couple was quite young, with a little dude who was probably younger than two years old... and they were German... and they were arguing.
The more I listened to the argument, the more upset I became... because I couldn't understand a SINGLE thing... well, except when he told her something about the bathroom.
From the very few words I could pick out, I made out the couple was arguing about cookies and chocolate-- no lie. They kept saying "Cooookies" and then waving around all angry and shit... and then I'd make out the word "chocolate."
Arguing about cookies and chocolate... fucking legit to me... I can see how people can be passionate about such things, I know I am.
Well... looks like I'm fucked. Yey.

I listened some more to my in-flight German torment (my second pit stop was in BCN... where I strolled the terminals munching on beef jerky and repeating shit like "Where is my wife?!" in German. ...Really, buddy, if you must ask that question... Who are you? Scott Peterson?)... and next thing I knew, I was getting ready to land in good ol' Berlin (And no, I still didn't know how to count in German... but I HAD mastered how to say "Water, please"... so that was cool).
I was no longer "bewildered," since everyone on my flight was a Spanish tourist... even an entire class of stupid little high schoolers was with me. I KNEW what was being said up until it was time for me to get out of baggage claim... where the hottest soldiers EVER stopped me.
"Guten tag."
I stared blankly at him.
I shoved my passport into his hand.
What the fuck am I doing? He only greeted you, dickhead.
He smiled, and immediately started speaking English.
"What brings you to Germany?"
I was drawing a blank.
"I'm visiting... my... little brother?"
The hot soldier smiled and let me go.

Give me a moment to swoon real quick...
Ahhhhhhh, German men....
Yeah... that's what's up.

Anyway, I immediately saw JC... and the smile he flashed me was... so sweet... I can't describe it.
I smiled and waved like a maniac... total contrast to his mild, gentle greeting for me.
JC carried my suitcase as we maneuvered our way to the ticket kiosk thingamajigger outside, where this cute older lady working the tickets asked him a question.
I stood there like the idiot I felt like, and I'm pretty sure JC told her I didn't speak German... and I KNOW she asked him if I was his girlfriend (I don't know much, but I SURE as FUCK know the word for "girlfriend" in numerous languages, German included).
The cute lady then proceeded to interact with me using hand gestures... and I responded in the same fashion... both of us standing there like two very animated mutes.
She was the cutest thing ever, not allowing me to carry my own suitcase, pointing at JC and then "flexing"... basically telling me I shouldn't carry the suitcase, but let the "strongman" carry it. This tickled my heart, and made me damn near snort-laugh. I managed to remember the word "danke!" and so, I told her so with this giant smile on my face, and she proceeded to hug me and wave goodbye.

Me: Jesus Christ! If this is how everyone treats each other around here, I might just "lose" my passport and never go home.
JC: Well... people here ARE pretty cool... but like with everything, don't be too trusting. We have all sorts of people... not just friendly old ladies.

While I obviously heeded JC's warning, my exchange with Berliners was nothing but positive. They would begin their conversations with me in German, but the moment I'd smile and say "um... I... only speak English..." while shrugging and feeling like a dick, they'd switch it up and go straight into English for me.
I was in fucking love.
Such a wonderful relief to deal with that understanding behavior than what we do here when someone says "I don't speak English" (scoff, rolling of the eyes, "This is AMERICA! SPEAK ENGLISH!" Although from experience, the French have that negative attitude times five).
Shit, I even went to a couple of parties and danced with the Berliners... I drank with them until I was dizzy and sleeping in the hallway of my apartment complex... I even shouted at the television in unison with the giant group of impassioned Germans as we watched the Champs League final-- it was fucking magical.

Germany, in general, would have stayed fucking magical, had that stupid fucking Monday not occurred...
but I'll get REALLY in depth about that retarded move in my next post.

I'm late for a stupid party, and this is a good spot to end this entry, since it's positive and quite chirpy.
It put me in a good mood to reminisce about this good shit... and I won't ruin it with talk about the only negative thing that happened in my entire trip... shit was heart-wrenching. No room for that here.

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