As far as Thanksgiving, stories abound. Molly was here for the past week and a half, so you can imagine the hurtin that put on my kidneys. Paola drove over and we spent Thanksgiving in Dachau, concentration camp, being truly thankful. We proceeded to the brauhaus in Munich and guzzled liters upon liters of beer. I literally sustained myself solely on beer and pretzels for two days (like in Mexi with chips and salsa). The waiter at the brauhaus had a thing for me “I drive porche” (hands me keys), Molly chimes in “She has a BMW!” and put his hand WAY too close to my chest. Then he looks at Paola’s tig ol bitties and says “plas-teek?” “Pamela Anderson?” Then snatches the “Porsche keys” from me and gives them to her. Later he brings us a free cognac shot, which felt more like punishment than special treatment.
We were toasted as we walked into the brauhaus by a group of guys who later sent their married French friend over to ask us to sit with them. Turns out they were a group of foreign military officers in town for training. Paola hooked up with the Brit, Molly with the Scotsman and I with the Belgian. The two French guys were married but very sweet and the Pole was obnoxiously drunk. We spent a lot of the night making fun of each other’s cultures. “You mean the French don’t laugh like “hol hol hol?” Brit: “The transport comes at half past seven.” Molly: “The bus comes at 730?” We couldn’t remember the Brit’s name so we’re naming all the stereotypical brit names…Nigel? Liam?
The “advice” I gave to Mike (lil bro) and his friends after drinking for 6 hours at his grad party went a little something like this: “Girls will do this *booby shake* and this *booty shake*, but the ones you want will do this *headbutt*” So Paola, Molly and I turned it into a song and dance to the tune of the Chicken Dance. “A little bit of this *booby shake* and a little bit of that *bootyshake* but make sure she does this *headbutt x 3*”
We were put in a 6 bed room with 2 guys. I teased the desk guy about it and he says “Oh you didn’t want to be with two guys?” Paola chimes in, “Oh she’s a slut, it’s exactly what she wanted!” The desk guy was beside himself at this point. So the American of these two guys proceeds to lock himself out in the hallway in the middle of the night in his underwear. There was a suspicious puddle in the hallway the morning after…
We were toasted as we walked into the brauhaus by a group of guys who later sent their married French friend over to ask us to sit with them. Turns out they were a group of foreign military officers in town for training. Paola hooked up with the Brit, Molly with the Scotsman and I with the Belgian. The two French guys were married but very sweet and the Pole was obnoxiously drunk. We spent a lot of the night making fun of each other’s cultures. “You mean the French don’t laugh like “hol hol hol?” Brit: “The transport comes at half past seven.” Molly: “The bus comes at 730?” We couldn’t remember the Brit’s name so we’re naming all the stereotypical brit names…Nigel? Liam?
The “advice” I gave to Mike (lil bro) and his friends after drinking for 6 hours at his grad party went a little something like this: “Girls will do this *booby shake* and this *booty shake*, but the ones you want will do this *headbutt*” So Paola, Molly and I turned it into a song and dance to the tune of the Chicken Dance. “A little bit of this *booby shake* and a little bit of that *bootyshake* but make sure she does this *headbutt x 3*”
We were put in a 6 bed room with 2 guys. I teased the desk guy about it and he says “Oh you didn’t want to be with two guys?” Paola chimes in, “Oh she’s a slut, it’s exactly what she wanted!” The desk guy was beside himself at this point. So the American of these two guys proceeds to lock himself out in the hallway in the middle of the night in his underwear. There was a suspicious puddle in the hallway the morning after…
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