Summer is Blazer Prepping Season

Okay, transferring pics from the iPhone isn't as bad as I made it out to be. It is definitely more difficult than it should be, but it's probably because I'm used to picture files appearing as an external hard drive rather than a camera wizard. If that sounded confusing, it's because it is. Anyway.

So when I came back from Europe, I weighed in expecting about 5-7 lbs weight gain from all the booze, carbs, lack of protein, and messed up sleep patterns. But it was only 2 lbs! We did walk a lot, which probably resulted in the loss of a couple of inches around the waist. I almost fit into my favorite bootcut jeans that I had to retire back in 2nd year of grad school. And it turns out that I fit into my cream/beige blazer that I bought around that time!

(me, 25 lbs lighter)

I never got the sleeves fitted because I have never worn it outside. It is physically impossible to wear a blazer for 10 out of 12 months in this Texas heat, and so there was never the occasion to pimp this rocking jacket with the salmon/red/pink shirt.

And if you look really closely, that pocket square is made from a very thin piece of 8.5"x11" printer paper. We met this very metro Swede on our eurotrip who reportedly spent the equivalent of $40 on a hot orange pocket square to complement his blue blazer. And though I almost vomited at the thought of spending that much on a piece of hemmed fabric, I must admit that combination looked spectacular.

So when I do get my jackets altered (I also have a blue blazer with brass buttons), I'm getting a few pocket squares to go with them. I'm thinking white, blue-green or turquoise, orange, and pink.

I saw this outfit while window shopping in France:

I dig the waist-hugging fit, but this jacket is a bit more white than cream; cream allows for more combinations in my opinion. Plus, I only spent $40 on my jacket in 2005; the price for this French one is obscene!

Failed Pickup in Prague

Oh man, Prague was ridiculously fun! But the best parts are secreted between my travel companions, my journal, and myself. If you want to read about a fun Prague experience, go yourself then write about it. Trust me, it will be so much better that way.

I'm healing (hopefully) from this objectification-of-women disease I've been suffering from as of these past couple of years. Well really I've probably had it my whole life--I just didn't realize it until a couple of years ago. To be fair, I objectify dudes too, just not in a sexual way (though one could doubt that considering the Nice post). It's so much easier to view people as a collection of traits: physical, mental, and material. But that's wrong. I don't want to be viewed as some muscle-bound (getting there!) smart dude who makes a six-figure salary. While those things do describe me, I am so much more. And people are so much more. Please excuse the armchair psychology/philosophy.
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So I did intend to meet people on this Europe trip. If it was a bad experience, it's not like I'd ever see them again, which took away from the awkwardness of talking to random strangers. It was surprising the number of cool people (men and women) whom I didn't keep in touch with through Facebook or other means. It made me realize that there are nice, friendly people everywhere if only you were nice and friendly. As the saying goes, "It's nice to be nice."

But of course I am a dude, and try as I may, there is always that undercurrent sexual tension whenever a man talks with a woman. And that undercurrent becomes a raging river once a little alcohol gets in the way. One bit of advice for Prague: try not to get too drunk off of the really good $1.50 beers.

Fortunately, concurring with my desire to not be that guy anymore, I won't go into the blow by blows. I hesitated to write this post, but I just had to immortalize the stupid drunken notes I made on my phone while on the Drunken Monkey Pub Crawl. It's 400-500 Czech kronas which translates to $20-25. Do it! If the fellow pub crawlers suck, then drink some more until they don't suck or until you just don't care anymore. Disclaimer: g does not advocate drinking as a way to solve problems, though it can help immensely.

(I'm surprised I actually don't have a pic from the place, so this will have to do. Notice the dude rocking the Astros cap in the bottom right pic. H-town represent!)

Note 1 (on Reminders iPhone app): Oh snap theyre playing dreamland!

After playing beer pong the weird UK way (bounce-ins only, no shooting directly into the cup) and the American (the real) way at the opening bar, I was sufficiently sauced when we started to crawl. And in one of the other bars, they played a song from Robert Miles's Dreamland. Really trippy when you're not expecting techno/trance/New Age, but oh so welcome. I really dig chill-out music.

Note 2: Don't call a Brit an ahole for stealing a Finn :(

By the third or fourth bar/pub, I slowed down the alcohol consumption to practically nil. The power-2.5-hour was over, and I didn't quite feel like paying for drinks that I wouldn't remember, even if they were only the equivalent of $3. With increased sobriety, I also gained increased wherewithal to notice all the hot girls all around me. Again, go to Prague!

So I approached a few of them sitting on a nice comfy couch, with the excuse that I was just resting. Struck up a conversation, then encountered the dreaded s-- test: "You know I'm not going to sleep with you tonight."

Casually, smiling, "I don't want to sleep with you either. I'm here for the culture. Besides, I'm not an easy guy; you have to work to get me into bed!" With that, I did a takeaway to talk to the other girl. But a couple minutes in, I see the first girl making out with a skinny Clark Kent looking jerk replete with large, black wayfarer-like glasses. Totally distracting, and upsetting to me since I was still buzzing hard.

A while later, we all make our way outside, and I complimented the guy on his victory by calling him an a--hole, which apparently to Brits is a severe insult. Guy was about to start a fight then and there. Being a lover and not a fighter, I offered a defusing apology and stepped away from the pugilist. Not worth my time.

Note 3: Don't drink when you're running game especially when you have a chance

The next place I was still distracted from the earlier proceedings. That's my excuse for fumbling through conversations, etc. The other pub crawlers bought me a drink which helped ease the pain and frustration. Again, alcohol does not solve problems! :)

Note 4: Being drunk and or buzzed makes you vulnerable to old habits

We eventually called it quits and walked along the main thoroughfare of Prague, to enjoy really delicious  drunk junk food from street vendors. I had a fried cheese sandwich with a Duff beer*. It was like a giant mozzarella stick garnished with a tartar-like sauce and encapsulated in a hamburger bun. And if that sounds utterly amazing, it's because it is! Kind of like having a Spicy McChicken & Double Cheeseburger after a night out, except I washed it down with more booze.

When we got back to the hostel, I apparently recounted the Brit/Finn story a number of times to my bunk-mate, because a couple days later when I told the story, he shook his head saying, "Dude, you're still on that?"

And so that is hopefully the last time I tell that story. For all I know, the Brit and Finn could have came together and I was the jerk for trying to make a move. Oh well, I had a great time regardless. Her loss, yes?

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*The beer was awful even after a night of drinking, so I can't imagine how much it sucks when sober

Brave Old World

I am back! And though Europe was quite a blast, a month in foreign lands is long enough for this Texas boy. I've been dying for a good chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes (with cream gravy), mac & cheese, and fried okra, but I will have to wait just a bit longer while I get back into my workout/eating right rhythm.

A month is far too much to encapsulate into a single post, so just some thoughts about how the Old and New World can learn from each other.

New World pro: free water. In the States, there is almost always a water fountain just outside public facilities. Though it may not be the cleanest, it is certainly available, and it's free. There is almost no free water in Europe. Order water at a restaurant in Europe and you'll likely pay a few euros for bottled. They also like their fizzy Perrier-like water, which can be pretty awful if you're not used to it.

Coming from a place where I was regularly consuming about a gallon of water a day (16 glasses), I felt so dehydrated most times. After only a couple days back, my hands are soft and moisturized again (and I don't use hand lotion). The lack of readily available water is also one of the reasons why I didn't work out much in Europe. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it. Fortunately, I only gained a couple pounds. No worries; those pounds and its friends will be leaving soon enough.

Old World pro: The price you see is the price you pay, ie tax and gratuity included. You can't imagine how convenient it is to pay straight sticker price. If the price is 4.50 euros, then you're going to pay 4.50, not 4.87 with 8.25% tax. And not having to tack on 15% gratuity is amazing. Europeans were shocked to learn it's standard to tip 15% on okay service in the States. "At restaurants in the States, you look at the price then add another 25%. That's the real price." "What? Really?" "Yep. If you can't afford tax & tip, you can't afford the meal."

My traveling companion did make a good point, "In the States, you have the option of not tipping them if you don't want to. Here, it's already included in the price." But living in such a tip-driven society, it feels awful not tipping, like if you were to ignore the collection basket at church.

At a steakhouse in Amsterdam, I think the waitstaff was extra friendly to me as an American, thinking I'd leave the standard hefty tip. In hindsight, I should have left a couple euros, but I needed them for FEBO! An American waiter/waitress would probably have run after me screaming obscenities had I stiffed them.

Another thing, they do have 1 and 2 cent euro pieces, but its use is much less common than the penny because of the tax included thing. Though to be honest, it doesn't matter too much to me since I use cards for pretty much everything.
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How scattered are my thoughts tonight? At least I'm not drunk to the point of amnesia! I made a $10 bet shortly after that last blog post that I would not get back to the hostel 3 hours after my travel companions without good reason. And so for the rest of the trip, I respected the effects of alcohol. That doesn't mean that there aren't stories which have been safely sealed away under the principle of Mutually Assured Destruction. What happens in Europe stays in Europe :).

(attempted photobomb which actually turned out to be a nice contrapposto pic)

Le Royale Cheese

I am going to ignore that I somehow got back to my hostel without getting jacked. I believed before I passed out that I was following a gay Brazilian and a New York girl to some club. I managed to dance somewhat successfully given my intoxicated state and I might have even kissed a gay guy(s). But the recolllection now that I'm safe in my hostel, locked outside of my room is a bit fuzzy, like all good drunk stories tend to be a bit non-kosher. It is almost 7AM.

It is warm, and the only difficulty lies in a funky keyboard which is almost QWERTY but not quite. Did I mention that I cannot get into my room? Anyway. The events of the last 2 hours are significantly strange to me. I gained consciousness somewhere on the outskirts of Nice, France, without the benefit of a map. My iPhone does not have GPS nor unlimited internet as it does in the US. I was following some girl and a gay guy trying to make progress with said girl, but as we see from this post, I had most likely failed (or had failed or will have failed). So I made my way to landmarks, most notably the Mediterranean Sea.

In the daytime, it is a brilliant shade of azure blue, a color which you can't imagine without seeing it in person. At night, it taunts you of your own frustration in finding a place to rest your head.

But I conquered this foreign obstacle even if I cannot get into my bed. I have reached my final destination to blog at 6:30AM local time. I cannot get into my room, but I am not dead or missing. I am alive and well, and surprised that I somehow made it back to where I should be.

Which is quite beautiful in the daytime with its azure waters, but in the night, it is a bit bland, especially when you're trying to find your home for the next few days. It ended up being okay, since Europeans are quite nice, even in the darkness.

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I honestly cannot believe that I let myself indulge in crazy matters that I have done in this foreign country. I had fully intended to eat a nice dinner of pate and cheese on French bread and maybe have a glass of wine to unwine before going to bed.

But I ended up putting on my pink dress shirt. slacks, and dress shoes not very much later. Which was quite fun when I knew what was going on. Somehow, my separation of reality and extant reality kicked in, and I panicked.

I figured out where my hostel was and I trucked back home in the dark, guided by the sound of the crashing waves on the gravelled shore. Even without a cell phone, I somehow remembered the name of the hostel where I was staying, though I cannot call nor text my friends to open the door.

Which is fine, because it is my own damn fault.

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It is okay, because Europe has treated me grandly so far.

I had hoped to get my Royale Cheese whilst on my quest for home, but alas, I may have to do that tomorrow.

No worries. The last dude in Barcelona had a saying: No pasa nada. Loosely translated to don't worry about the past.

And I am not. I live in the present, and the present is quite fun, even if a bit unexpected!

I will get my Royale Cheese before I leave France though!

-g