International Love

Some of you may have heard this song by my personal favorite artist, Pitbull. Like most of his songs, it's a mixture of Spanish, Poor English, and Californian Gangster (which btw, I'm 100% fluent in). This however, is irrelevant. The important part is "International Love". Every time I hear it, I find it surprisingly appropriate.

Now some of you may be reading this thinking, "Love? Woah Steph. Calm down. That's a strong word." But let's not get caught up in the semantics. Surely "International kind-of-dating-but-nobody-is-quite-sure-what's-going-on" is a little more appropriate, but I don't think Pitbull can say that many words in one sentence.

Living abroad in a place like Munich, I have friends from literally all over Europe. I love them all very much. Here's a picture of a few:

Louis (Indonesian) Brigitte (Dutch) Cecile (French) Walter (Dutch)

One of our (my) favorite things to talk about is cultural differences. The most interesting one is dating. Here's why.

Dating in America has gotten way out of hand. It's not the way it used to be.. where a guy asks your dad if he can pin you, then you wear his pin and everyone knows you're "going together." No. It's way more complicated than that. There are all these games and stages you have to entertain. Both parties are scared of showing too much interest and the entire thing is just a giant headache.

I much prefer the French way.
You meet. You hang out. You kiss. BAM He's your boyfriend.

Or you can do it the German way
You meet. You avoid eye contact at all costs. You sit. You wait for her to talk to you. She never does. She leaves. You go home alone and never see her again. And this is why their population is declining.

Dating a European is an entirely new experience. And a great one at that.  I'm changing the saying. From now on, people will say, "Once you go European, you never go back." And I mean that in an entirely non-sexual kind of way.

A little European hospitality

It's Frühlingsfest and the city is full of tourists. For those of you who don't know what Frühlingsfest is... it's basically Oktoberfest. In spring. But that's another story. Tonight I'm telling the story of when Stephanie got drunk off of rage.

Listen. Everybody has their faults. I'm well aware of one of mine. There's a.. special.. side of me that only comes out in very rare occasions. This.. side.. doesn't always make the best decisions. Tonight was one of those. As many of you know, there is one thing you don't do to Stephanie. And that my friends, is mess with people I love. When you mess with someone in my circle.. let me just stop you right there. Don't mess with people I care about. Period.

Frühlingsfest is kind of a nut show. One waitress per 20 people, carrying eight 5lbs beer steins in each arm, people are grabbing as fast as they can. Tonight, my dear friend Sammy thought she ordered a beer, and figured she had to pay up front. She paid the waitress, and watched as the woman set a beer on the table, and an American guy picked it up. Next, she walked away. Sammy waited for her beer. Then the lady came back, and we realized, this American guy had stolen Sammy's beer!! Now you may be thinking, oh buzz off, it's just a beer. But no. These beers cost 8.40 euro..that's roughly $11 American dollars... and you have to wait 15-20min to get one. And so it begins.

We decided we were going to find these guys and ask them to give us money for the beer. I mean, everyone was really drunk, so we, being incredibly naive and having spent too much time around European boys, expected they would see their mistake and kindly give us her money back. Luckily, we found them pretty quickly. Sammy walked up and kindly explained the situation. "um, excuse me. But before, you drank my beer. I was just wondering if you wouldn't mind giving me the money back." They laughed in our faces. "haha good one. How old are you guys anyway. Go away". I started to get a little irritated. "Um, no sorry but I watched you grab her beer. Please just give us the money and we'll go away." They laughed again. "Here, I'll give you three euros if you get out of here." I took the three euros. "Um, no sorry that beer cost almost 9 euros. That isn't enough." One of their friends came up. They all started laughed. Sammy says, "real cool guys, thanks for being so awesome about this." She started to walk away. Oh heck no, I thought. At that point. I was furious. Seriously though. Seriously? They're going to steal beer from a girl?

I'm really frustrated with the American youth of my generation. They think they can do anything. It's guys like these that give American's a bad rep. "Stop right there." I said to Sammy. Having already thoroughly checked these guys out, I knew where his wallet was, but I also knew he was wearing $200 sunglasses. *Swipe! I grabbed them. "I'll give you your sunglasses back when you give me my money back" Instant regret. Before I knew it, I was cornered by three American men who were extremely close to my face. This may sound scary, but I was in a crowd of people. Nothing was going to happen. One grabbed my phone out of my hand. At that moment, I didn't care. I start to think. I have a beer stein full of non-alcoholic beverage in my head. How hard do I have to hit them to knock them out? Which one do I kick in the groin first? If I punch this one, will that punch me back? All of these thoughts are running through my head. A split second later, I hear this, "Oy, lady, you alright?" I look. A fine British gentlemen. "Absolutely not." I said back. My new friend sticks his face in the circle. "You better give her her phone back right now." He said in a British accent. "Not until she gives me my sunglasses back," They reply. "Alright then" my new friend says. "Oy boys. C'mere. This lady needs our help." And with that... several very large British gentlemen start walking towards me. The American guys freeze. I have never seen somebody reach for their wallet so fast. He gave me Sammy's money back, we exchanged phone for sunglasses, and I was escorted out of there.


I honestly couldn't believe what had just happened. Americans ae? I'm really sick of my generation. Have a little respect. And for goodness sake. Learn how to hold your liquor.

Here's a picture of the guy who saved us. Looking back, I should have just let it go. But I guess everyone goes Dr. Dirndl and Mrs. Hyde and some points in their life....

Dutch Invasion

It's official. The Dutch are colonizing München. And I'm not complaining in the slightest.

Here's the thing with Dutch Men. They are an elite race which should be studied for their superior genetics. In fact, I think they should be bred. Yes. Bred. Like dogs. The whole world should have a little bit of Dutch in them. I'm serious. Now. One would expect with genes as good as theirs for them to be a little overly-confident and a bit rude. I mean, people would let them get away with it just to be able to look at them. But no. They are funny, loyal, honest, and lemme telllll you. Papa sure raised 'em right.

Oh. And did I mention they all speak PERFECT English? Jeez. Where have they been hiding all my life?


 I'll introduce you to a few:

This is Walter. Having never even left Europe, he likes to tell people he's from Montana. And they believe him. He can solve a Rubik's Cube in less than three minutes. No joke. He and I have an on-going battle to see whose grammar is more correct. Right now the score is 6-4. He's winning. 

This is Erik. They don't make men like him in America. He's smart, funny, and sweet. He eats whatever he wants and has a perfect physique. I've banned him from talking about the amount of time he spends on his appearance. It's not fair that someone naturally looks this good. On a scale of 1-10, I'd say he's about an 11. Yes, even for a Dutch. He might be my favorite ;)

 Here is other Eric. Yes, it's confusing for us too. We've tried to come up with many nick-names. None of them seem to stick. A lot of the conversation is lost to which Eric we are talking about. Eric really did not want to be featured in my blog. Eric trains 2 hours a day, 6 days a week. He tries to keep it cool, but really, he's just a giant lovable teddy bear. And by teddy bear, I mean more like a Ken Doll. Because hugging him is like hugging something plastic. It kind of hurts.

And last but not least, Bas. Oh Bas, the original inspiration for this post. Although technically not living in Munich, there is definitely still room for him in this post. Let me tell you a bit about my new facebook friend Bas. He's sensitive, smart, in law school, he dresses well, and he's newly single. Oh, and did I mention he can dance the salsa like a mad man? He's a miracle worker. He had a room full of women melting in their seats as he gently recounted the story of how he found out he was no longer in a four year relationship. His ex-girlfriend is obviously still in high school. That's as clear as glass. I wish I could tell you the entire story, but I don't want to make his personal relationships public information. I will tell you this. Ladies. Watch out. Gentlemen, keep your girlfriends close by. This 21-year-old is back on the market. And he's coming back with a bang.

So there you have it. A Dutch invasion. With absolutely no complaints here. I'd even say they have an invitation. They could even go Dutch Indies on us. We wouldn't mind.

Auslanderin

I'm American. That's not news to anyone who has met me. Now, I know I'm biased, but personally, I think America is a pretty great country. I also think all foreigners have the same opinion. After four months of living abroad, I am continuously disappointed to find that is not so.

But is it? I mean, I'm one of two American's who hang out on a regular basis... and they really don't let me forget that. Foreigners love to bagg on America.. say how terrible of a country is it, say how fat the people are, how closed minded we are, and how every American thinks EVERYONE believes America is the greatest country in the world. At first it was hard not to be offended. I mean, instant judgement from anyone who meets me. People saying things like, "Oh wow, for an American you're really well-travelled", and "Oh wow, you're American and you speak more than English?". By now. I'm used to it. I realize I can't change where I come from, and honestly I wouldn't want to. Especially when I see things like these American Flag scarfs trending in Germany:

I mean, if my country is so terrible.. why do they talk about it all the time? Why does our flag show up in their wardrobe? Why do all foreigners tune in for our elections? I might regret saying this, but I think people are just afraid and or jealous of what our country has accomplished and the international power we hold.

Okay okay, I'm getting really off track. Maybe I am still a bit sensitive about it. This is not a political blog. The originally purpose of this blog post was to post about a funny story that happened to me in the club on Tuesday night.

After a last minute clubbing decision, Vanessa and I head out to 089 club. We get there and it is really crowded, really hot, and impossible to get a beverage. We are dancing together just having fun, not really paying attention to anyone around us. Suddenly I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look. A strange German kid. In German, he essentially says to me, "Can I tell you something? I think you're very beautiful. And I'd like to meet you." I'm like Ugh. For two reasons: 1. He has to be insanely wasted because only drunk germans hit-on girls and 2. I'm not interested in being hit-on at the moment. So I look at him and say, "Sorry, I don't speak any German." And turn around and continue dancing with Vanessa. He taps me on the shoulder again. "That is no problem! Where are you from?" He asks. "California." I say. "California?? The bankrupt state? Pff your governor sucks." And then he walked away... and I experienced true racism.

Katy Perry, you lied to me.

Keeping Time: The One with the Cast from Night Bus

Something I found very strange upon my arrival in Europe was the vast amount of people who wear watches. Everyone wears a watch! Old, young, cool, nerd-- in some way, shape or form, everyone wears a time piece on their wrist. I found this a bit odd--in America watches are only for Grandpa's and Hipsters. Why is that? I asked myself. Don't they have cell phones? yes. Does this mean they are always on time? no. Three months and some change later, I figured out why: Public Transportation.

In the last couple of weeks, I have spent more time in Munich after hours than ever before. Munich past mid-night is my favorite time to see the city. I have recently taken up exploring every part of it by foot. It's been really fun--despite an instance or two with the police-- and it's nice to be able to spend some quiet time away from everyone in the city. After most people go to sleep, Munich becomes like a small village. The English Gartens are empty, and at certain points it actually feels like your walking through a big forest. I'm really starting to love it. However, there's only one problem. The last U-Bahn leaves at 1:15am. After that, the night bus runs every hour.. from city center at :36 past exactly. And so my story begins.

The night bus is quite an interesting place. It's a normal sized metro bus, with places to sit and stand, but the thing that's different, is every weekend it is full of many characters. You have you quiet old lady that no one knows why she knitting on the bus at 4 am, your business man in a suit on his way to work, your quiet, nerd-like type reading, and then, of course, many drunk German youth speaking super loudly, lovers and haters, of all types of colors. You have you drunk crying emotional girl, Wastey-Pants who is passed out, angry drunk who wants to fight the bus driver, Mr. Friendly who chats you up the whole time-- everyone. It's quite fun to watch. Especially when Mr. Friendly is so drunk he doesn't realize he's chatting up Wastey-Pants, who is in fact, passed out. Meanwhile, old lady is just sitting in the back seemingly oblivious to the time and ambiance, and Business suit is just trying to avoid being thrown up on. It's a definitely a scene to see.

Now, those of you who have spent more than.. well.. five minutes with me.. know that following directions, finding places, and anything involving destinations are not exactly my strong suit. As stated, I know that the bus leaves from Odeonsplatz at 2:36, and again at 3:36. Thanks to my Europeans assimilation, my watch keeps me UTD on the time, and there should be no problem right? WRONG. In the last three weeks, I have managed not once, but twice, to end up on the exact opposite side of town in the wee hours of the morning. How does this happen? Straight up skills. I will give you one example.

Last week after a lovely walk through Munich with this European Dreamboat, I took the 2:36 night bus to Kieferngarten--a direct line, and my stop is the last one. Not easy to miss. I said good-bye to my friend, and in kind of a daze, jumped on the bus. Enjoying the show and still fading in and out of my daze, I wasn't really paying attention to where we were going. They are calling out the stops, and none of them seem familiar. No big deal, I thought, I don't have these stops memorized... so I'm probably just tired. Twenty minutes later.. I look around. I am no where familiar. I ask someone. Sure enough, I'm on the wrong bus. I get off the bus at the next stop. What do I do? My phone is dead. I have no money, no idea where I am. And it's now 3am. Thank goodness there is a U-Bahn station nearby. I cross my fingers. Forty minutes. In forty minutes comes the next train. So I sit down. There is an old lady knitting (I'm not even kidding). Forty minutes later, I catch my first U-Bahn, which takes me to the next U-Bahn, twenty minutes later that one leaves, and I arrive in Münchener Freiheit, fairly close to my house, and a big hub for college students. Sweet, I think. There's a Mc Donalds there.. they take debit cards! The next U-Bahn leaves in thirty minutes, so I got lots of time. Smiling, I'm so happy to have something warm to drink. I walk the block to McDonalds, see those golden arches, go to open the door and bam. It's closed from 5-6am. It is now 5:08. I wanted to cry. So I go to my train, sit, and wait. This drunk guy starts talking to me, and it turns out he did the same thing as me.. only 30 minutes later! We commiserate the entire ride home (he lived close to me). At 6:10 am, I finally get home.

So? straight up skills.

Germans and the Weather

How many times have you heard something along the lines of, "seriously, he was as dull as a rock! All we could talk about was the weather!" If you're anything like me, than many. Here's the thing. In America, talking about the weather carries a certain cliche. It's something we consider "small talk", maybe a "safe subject" that you talk about when literally there are no other options. Let me tell you. In Europe, it's totally different. At any given time, 95% of every European knows the weather forecast in at least three different cities. Not only that, but it's an important topic of conversation. This weekend, I learned why.

Since last weekend was such a hit, we decided to have another picnic/BBQ. This time we chose a nice spot along the Isar River. Everyone brought stuff to grill, and we met up and got the fire roastin'. Now, before I left, my host dad did his usual weather-update before I leave. He lets me know the temperature for the week, and what exactly I should be expecting. As I left yesterday, he warned me it was going probably going to rain. I looked outside. It was a perfect 65 degree day. The birds were chirping. Children were playing. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Rain? psh. I thought. He was wrong once before. And then I left, in my dirndl and flip-flops, ignoring his important advice.

We arrived to a beautiful spring day. There were many people outside and lots of others BBQing. We spread out blankets and food and start cookin'.

Literally, all of a sudden, these creepy dark clouds roll in. We knew we were in for trouble. The first drops start to fall. "It will blow over", says Walter. Two minutes later, the skies are open and are letting us have it. It is pouring so hard. Some run for shelter. Others, myself included, look up and give thanks.

Despite our best efforts. We are thoroughly soaked. But it really wasn't that bad. And then it began to hail. Not just like little hail, but big, hard, chunks of white bullet hail. It really wasn't that pleasant.

        Eric was kind enough to lend Sammy his dry, "E-RAGS" shirt.

Not knowing what to do, we pack up, and head to Walter's house. Now. Walter has brought a BBQ. That begs the question: How does one travel with a BBQ using public transport?
My question was answered: Teamwork.

And honestly, the weirdest thing was, I don't think this is out of the ordinary. Oh you know, just another day with me and my BBQ on the U-Bahn.

Moral of the story is: Next time Bernhard tells me the weather forecast, I think I'll listen.

Nanny Problems: Lessons about kids and the word "urgent"

Now, I'm 24 year old. I not old, but I'm not exactly young. It's been awhile since my mom picked out my outfit, tied my shoes, did my laundry or changed my diaper. I've known for some time how to use the toilet, and haven't gone in my pants for at least a week! I don't mean to brag or nothing, but I can tell when I need to use the bathroom about thirty to fourty-five minutes before I actually have to go. I guess this is one of those things you forget to appreciate as you get older, because life was not always so easy.

Here's the thing with kids. When they say they have to go to the bathroom, they mean, they have to go to the bathroom. Right now. Right then. EMERGENCY. Doesn't matter who you're with, doesn't matter where you have to be. When they gotta go, they gotta go.

As previously mentioned, everyday Filippo and I journey the thirty minute ride to his ice-skating with the u-bahn. We leave from school, where there is a bathroom, and go straight there, where there is also a bathroom. There are, however, no bathrooms on the u-bahn, and no bathrooms on the seven minute walk from the u-bahn station to Olympic Park.

For the third time today, along our journey, Filippo stops me and says, "Mimi, I have to go." and I ask him, "Can you hold it?" and he says, "No." I calmly explain to him that we are only a three minute walk from a bathroom, if he could just wait until then, he could use the toilet. With the most frantic look on his face, he starts to cry. "Mimi, I don't want to go in my pants!", he wailed. I asked him, "Filippo, if you had to go so badly, why didn't you tell me sooner? Remember last time? You have to tell me before you're going go in your pants so I can find a toilet." He starts to cry harder. "I have to go right now!" Not knowing what to do, I look around me. I ask myself: What would Tracy Jordan do? There's no bush, no fence, no mason jars. Just cars, and one thin tree. I mean, the kid doesn't want to pee his pants. Frankly, I don't want him to pee his pants either... That'd be so gross. So, having exhausted all other options, I give him the nod, and, in the middle barrier of the Auto Bahn, he runs behind the thin tree, drops his pants, and let it all loose.

Crisis averted.