I think it's pretty.


*THE DOG STORY.

Warning: It's lame. I'm serious. I told people cos it's one of those things where you can't really believe how people are, and they began hemorrhaging with laughter, which baffled me. I think it's sort of dumb.

So it was night and I was riding my bike to work. I have a red mountain bike with err, insufficient brakes and I ride at suicidal speed in a reckless style cos I like an efficient way of getting from a to b.
Which means I look out for people and obstacles because a crash would only delay me.
I'm on this really broad sidewalk on the Gitschiner Strasse with a lot of room, minding my own business when up ahead, there appears this old couple.
Like 70 or something.
Wobble wobble wobble.
They shuffle straight toward me so I slow down - I mean really, it was icy so I was at about walking tempo - and am about to swerve in a wide arc around them. I swear I was at least 6 feet away.

But in that instant, I see this weird object, a line of some sort which -? has it's origin in the woman?

Too late, I realize theres a dog on the other end of it and hit the brakes but - no. I'm already tangled in the thread-thin leash and almost flying over the handlebar in an attempt to save what could be saved.
The dog was fine by the way. I think I yanked him off his little feet for a moment but it's not like I dragged him anywhere. It was one of those rediculous granny-dogs about the size of my ferrets, wearing a jacket. I hope the trauma made him wee-wee in his suit.

Now the question that poses itself is naturally: Why, if they see someone else on this very wide space, do they not move the slightest bit?
Ok, they're old, they have the unwritten right to lack common courtesy. Fine. But why don't they watch out for their dog? They didn't even try to pull him over to them, instead they let him jump around on the opposite side of the sidewalk with the leash stretched over the entire space!
It was dark! They were setting me a trap!
I thought that was crude, but this is actually where the story starts getting good.

So I'm standing there practically holding the bicycle over my head with one hand while feeling an urgent need for tweezers to pick the leash out of my spokes, and the woman is grimly gathering up her dog from somewhere to make sure I didn't kill it, and no one says a word. It was obviously their fault but you know, they're old, and this is Berlin, so you can forget about an apology. Or explanation. Or anything, besides what came next.
I'm basically done detangling and about to get going again, when the man suddenly speaks up.

"You should've fallen flat on your face."

Excuse me? I'm dumbfounded. I look at him. I point at myself. "I...I should've?" You have to know that he didn't even say 'face', but an untranslatable synomym derived from the way animals eat. I swear, he was insulting.
"Yes, you bitch - you should've crashed that stupid face of yours right out on the street."
Ok, no reason to be polite anymore.
me: "What the hell are you talking about?? If you can't keep that turd of a dog in check and use up the entire sidewalk with y-" -
"I can do whatever I want with my dog and my wife you little cunt!"
I'm not making this up. This geezer was using the most obscene, most foul, most vile language on me you can ever imagine. Old people aren't even supposed to know those words!
I, of course, reciprocate, and this amusing business builds up into a proper screaming match. We're about 10 feet apart and hollering at the tops of our lungs.
Until he goes: "...and now shut up or I'll punch you in your face!"
That's my cue. I drop my bike and my bag and pounce and push him once or twice, still yelling what the hell he's waiting for then, until I realize after a second:
He's old.
And I tell him: "Forget it, you're ridiculous. I can't punch you, you're frail."

It isn't that I'd have moral dilemma, this guy, although old, seemed virile enough. But it would make me look so dumb in the end. Like what, you beat up a grandpa? You're a champ.
But even more importantly, I saw that saying these words and mercifully leaving would be exactly the most damaging thing for him. You know, the aged patriarch.
So I turn and pick up my bike and I hear him come after me. And this is what breaks the story down to complete hilarity. The tragic thing is, its utterly untranslatable so I'm forced to tell the punchline in german, and then explain.
I turn around to him and he's standing right in my face. I mean inches from it. He's so furious he can't talk. I can't even think of anything smart, but I had just eaten and in that moment of silence graphically tasted my intense mouth sewer. I lifted my head until we could've kissed and with a popping sound, let out a breath that must've nearly killed him.
He pales. And says: "Sie...Sie Jüngling!"

Ok. First of all, he used the polite form 'Sie' instead of the casual 'du' for 'you'. Remember he had been insulting me on the lowest level before so that alone was precious, but calling me 'Jüngling' is...it's...I can't even find a word thats illustrative enough. This is a completely antiquated term for a young man, that has an extremely theatrical sound to it. I had a sudden and very vivid image of him in stockings, finishing off this ferocious duett with "YOU"...wild gestures..."you YOUNGLING!"

So of course, I slowly but surely start chuckling until I can't help myself and bawl with laughter. I crawl on my bike again laughing and ride off in crippled curves cos I'm laughing so hard, I practically howl the entire way and arrive at work late, with tears still running down my cheeks. It was fabulous.


* HAMBURG RECENSION

Ah, what to say... it took me two days to recover from my hangover.

For those that don't know, we had the first germany-get-together, ihr abgefuckten outsider. There aren't many of us here which makes the group a really cute little intimate place and so his whole idea about getting to actually see each other and get hideously drunk together sprung up. So we all packed our bags and went to Hamburg last friday.
In the development-process however, the tiny harmless meeting grew into outragious proportions that made it an official SG-event that advertised Temper, Myra and Bambi as dancers, and also got linked to the Turbojugend.
I'm hard to impress with parties, but seriously, this was insane. What kind of constellation is that in the first place? And I had no idea what was in store for me until the moment I got there. All I knew was that I had to dance, and that was freaking me out.
Dancing in germany is ~different~ from dancing in the US. To keep it short, prostitution is legal here, which means that girls that dance - wheter nude, semi nude, performance or whatever - are closely linked to it. You won't find it in 'normal' bars, and there is always a strong association of being available. It's not as harmless as in america. Especially in Hamburg, practically on the Reeperbahn. (figure that one out if you don't know.)
Myra picked Bexi and me up from the Bus place and we went to her house, which is where we did girly things like dye our hair and do our make-up, and also the first time ever I heard the song we were supposed to take our clothes off to.
(see how well we practiced?)
And I was shattered.
Ok you know, no offense girls you know I heart you but that! 'Beating heart baby' translated to temper-ears is somewhat like 'hideous radio pop for bed-wetters' and 'something I could never dance to!'
But I'm a soldier. I can do this. For my comrades.
And we did.

* Before the whole thing started a photographer shot a bunch of pictures of the three of us together which admittedly are pretty cute, And I'm sure they'll turn up in some journal some day soon. Now if only I could get them too....*waves at Bambi*

* The bar was tiny, and the bar was full. In less than an hour after official begin, the place was packed. No breathing, humid, eardrum-tearing, alcohol-haze packed. As predicted, there where about 15 girls there dressed in pink cotton candy and behaving obnoxiously loud as they figured sg's would, slyly peering over to the real sg's who would then undoubtedly jump up and go: "Oh my gawd! YOU would be such a terrific suicide girl! Here, sign the application form I brought along!"
But instead, we just distinguishedly leaned on the counter, sipping our drinks and smoking.
Or at least I did that, Bambi and Myra where like two bubbles full of rubber balls, they bounced through the bar so fast you couldn't catch them with the naked eye.

* A note: The staff was amazing. They were so anxious to please us in any way, shape or form and looked out for us the entire time. They all had little whistes around their necks just in case anyone would get feisty, since the piercing noise would get the bouncer over here NOW. Isn't that cute?
And of course, the alcohol was all ours. We started drinking hours before anyone else was there. It was a long night.

* We did all sorts of stuff like glide all over the bar, feed people with vodka-lime-grenadine, be overtly sexual all the time, sashay through the crowd, flirt with some, ignore the rest, knock drinks and ashtrays off the counter when we walked over it, spit drinks in each others mouths, drool alcohol down our almost-naked bodies, all the clichees. In between we talked.

* The dance itself...ask the others. I was pissed.

* Afterwards, I sat at the bar, dressed again, and complained about the desorganisation to um...*scratches head*....guy with red mohawk...name started with an S....I did things to him later on...Anyway, him, and the moment he takes a piss-brake this stranger jumps on his seat and starts blabbing some shit in my ear.
How I was the only one that seemed professional and the other two were bitches since they hadn't been nice to him. Then he started discrediting the guy I'd been talking to, bragging about getting all the sg pics illegaly and stating his insulting and painfully old feminist ideas.
And I was wondering....how the hell is any of this going to score him points?
To make it short - in the end he was screaming at me and I, again, got in a fight.
I'm predictable, I know.
But it only lasted about 30 seconds because the bouncer grabbed me. Long enough for some bruises though!

* Yeah, and to call it a night - I went home with aforementioned boy and fucked him. All was good, except the next morning when he awoke to a disheveled, croaking wreck that could barely speak through her cracked lips and swollen eyes: "...do *cough*...do you have a painkiller?? Please!"

I feel sorry for him.