I know there has been a black hole in your life for the last month. A black hole that can only be filled by sweet, sweet Natalie.
Rest assured that I have been scurrying about, adventuring and making mistakes with my life for the sole purpose of entertaining you. As per several earlier posts, you may know that I have been counting down to a huge, mega-baller vacation to Europe. It arrived, finally, and it was just as sweet as I imagined. Sweeter than that moment when you add in the powdered cheese to your Kraft Dinner and it starts to react with the milk and margarine in the pot and then it melts and get all ‘non-powdery’ and you think you yourself “I’m going to eat this Kraft Dinner in less than 60 seconds.”
COULD anything be sweeter than that moment? Yes. Yes it could.
Let’s rewind to the week before, when I was working 13 hour days for what seemed like three weeks straight to ensure I could actually take vacation in good conscience. I literally worked until 1:00 am the FRIDAY BEFORE MY FLIGHT, then decided to just get fucked on cheap shitty Wine Rack wine, and at 3:00 am packed my flight essentials:
As you may or may not know, I have a disease called “Bitch Can’t Sleep on Planes”, which makes me unable to sleep on planes. I have tried sleeping pills, Gravol, neck pillows, back-to-back movies starring Kristen Stewart, but none of it seems to work. This time I again packed sleeping pills, but also created five “jelly bean surprise” snack-packs for each 90 minutes of plane time so that I could give myself a treat to pass the time if I didn’t fall asleep.
As a side note, I think I am actually, honestly, no-jokes-this-is-serious-and-should-go-to-counselling… addicted to jelly beans. But let’s leave that for a later post.
Airport beers are the best beers because it makes the airport less awkward. And the airport is pretty awkward. ALSO, this beer indicated the start of my vacation, so he deserved to be commemorated.
I didn’t take any pictures on the plane. I don’t know why. Usually I take those arty “picture of the wing-slash-picture of my knees-slash-picture of the sunrise over the clouds-slash-picture of the skyline as I’m leaving” pictures. I guess I was too busy eating jelly beans.
The picture below is the first picture I took in Germany:
Please note that there are FIVE… FIVE different types of sausages on that plate. EACH SAUSAGE WAS MORE EXHILARATING THAN THE LAST.
There was also Kartofflen Salad, which I quickly realized was German for “Fucking Delicious Potato Salad with Like Dill and Other Delicious Shit” and which was available EVERY-WHERE.
I must have been tired, because there are no other pictures of the sausage plate. This is the next photo:
Top view of our table at Hofbrau Tent at Oktoberfest. If you look closely, you can see the top of my boob.
OK. So. First stop of the trip was Munich, where I was fortunate enough to meet up with six of my friends who were also being ballers and travelling through Europe. We made a pact to meet at Oktoberfest and fuck each other up. Three days and three Oktoberfest tents.
This was day one. Hofbrauhaus.
Wait, let’s take a look at that last one again:
And let’s just get some stuff out of the way:
Apparently this is the “rowdy” tent. If you have not been to Oktoberfest in Munich, it is basically a huge fairground that spans several football fields with about ten giant beer tents that hold like, five thousand people each, and everyone is drunk and dressed in costume (EVERYONE), and smashing huge litre glasses into other huge litre glasses and shattering them everywhere and people getting up and chugging and people throwing pretzels at them and stuff. I think we were all a little jet-lagged, etc., because this was the day of which I have the least recollection.
You have to “reserve” tables months in advance by pre-buying several litre steins of beer and one half-chicken per person. Anne is pleased with the prospect of chicken:
Ok… so… there was a point in the day when things started to not be that clear anymore…
I remember the table of guys next to us kept pushing their butts up against us, trying to take up precious “Bench Butt Space” as the space in the tents is scarce.
Then I remember being out for a smoke with them.
Then I remember them all like sitting at our table playing Uno.
Like, who’s this guy? I have no fucking idea.
Who are these fucking chicks? I have no recollection of this whatsoever.
Nope, never seen that guy in my life.
Yep, no idea.
For your consideration, in the image below, none of the men sitting with us is from our group. Do we seem concerned? Of course not. There is a pretzel of unity at the table.
Best part of the picture above is the “Drunken Slow Drink” face of the guy on the left. We called him “Holland Jared Leto” because he was from Holland and he looked like Jared Leto.
Agnes is going to kill me for posting the picture above but I love it because it’s like a pure, visceral depiction of pure drunken joy. BEST.
Ok, so one of the Holland boys sitting at the table took a liking to me and for some reason I gave him my email address. I do not recall doing this, and the next morning when I woke up (more on that later…), I found these two pictures in my email, entitled “Drunk Photo”:
I think he bought “Boiled Kartofflens” and I stole one off his plate ate it out of my hand like an apple. I also had the hand burns to prove it.
At some point we left the tent and walked around aimlessly in the fairgrounds.
Anne and I ran into these guys and naturally asked them to have a cigar and wear their hat.
Just so you know – those hats with the like bush-y, barber’s brush-type feather thing on the back are like THOUSANDS of dollars. Why? I don’t know. I didn’t care enough to continue my research.
“Tongue sticking out in photo” is classic. Classic.
Anyways, sorry to be anti-climactic about the throw up part but I woke up at 2:00 am and basically painted the hotel bathroom in vomit.
heh… read on tomorrow, when I discover I am TOO HARDCORE FOR OKTOBERFEST…