And If I Die, Promise You'll "Weekend At Bernie's" Me

News Update!

From Angeles Crest Hwy (pictured) and my house, the ancestral manse of Fairhaven, you can gaze upon the dystopian future that is dry season.

"Three days of low humidity and temperatures that hit 99 before noon Thursday in downtown Los Angeles sapped the vegetation of moisture."

California is on fire, which is fine, but this time it might possibly be an inconvenience (to me). Like WWII rationing, but worse, because I actually have to deal with it. Before evacuating, my parents asked if there were anything in particular I would like saved. I proposed the following:

1. Pool Floaties/Toys

Put all pool floaties actually in the pool, in the hopes that they are there able to ride out the storm in relative safety. Then, even if I don't have a house, I can still lounge comfortably.

2. The I-WE ARE OK/ NEED HELP sign

(also a disaster)

In the face of finally achieving its actual potential usefulness, some confusion has emerged and threatened to undermine the entire operation. A real defeat snatched from the jaws of victory, as it were. When the disaster strikes, what if takes all windows along with it? Not to mention the sign itself isn't even laminated so I doubt it would survive anything much stiffer than a warm breeze. It's possible he intended for it to be placed on a floatie and put in the pool, proper side facing up, but if that's the case then clearer instructions would have been nice. This is probably why he left his phone number on the manual. Regardless, Mom and Pop taking it to grounds that aren't currently a flaming pyre seems the best possible solution until we can get this straightened out. Maybe the next act of God.

3. This was seriously all I could think of. The first one came immediately, the second I had to call back about. So now I am taking requests.

Actually the real news here is that they aren't using this as an excuse to kill my poor old dogs.

Cheesecake And A Nap

Woke up with death mouth and the recipe for mayonnaise still pulled up on my phone.

Ann get out of the hospital and keep my wig game proper. No more Fratoberfest.

Hi. I'm In Delaware.

So effectively doubled the length of my trip through September, unfortunately also bailed on Greece. Spend more time on the Croatian coast, head back to Germany eventually, see some Grant. The Plan.

Later, nerds.

Put The Bunneh Back In The Brox

Sunglasses!

The Italian Giuseppe, or "juice" for short. Boys.

Men.

I have learned how to grab screenshots (finally) thanks to Ann. So you get these now!

Oh trains. But a "we got 5000 dollars" dance party across the Croatian countryside in our own train car, curtains closed? Party, bonus.

Mirogoj Cemetery

Pretty great place to spend a hot afternoon. Considered kind of a big deal among European cemetery parks, but acts like it isn't. The Fonz of landmarks.

Oh you.

A corner office in this place is great if you can get it, but these earlier Jewish graves have aged pretty darn well.

Wait for it...

"These are not the headstones you're looking for"

Hey Jealousy

The city of Zagreb is kind of a thing. You get your passport stamped about twenty-five times between Slovenia and Croatia, and next thing you know you're in the land of Nikola Tesla and uh, this guy, in Trg bana Jelačića, the central square.

A whole heap of the statues are uplifting as all get out, featuring bondage and nooses or sometimes bondage and nooses AND a mandolin (?) Most are without placards, so you just have to love them for their personalities.

Zagreb, the city of good times and great oldies.

The Dolac Market is apparently the biggest/best known outdoor market in Zagreb, and features the national bird-- the red umbrella.

What it is distinctly lacking in, however, is smoothies. Delicious, life-giving smoothies. See, let me tell you a little something about Croatian beer. It is, perhaps, a tale as old as the drink itself. It is a tale of frothy brews, ponytails, and heartbreak.

First of all, the beer: As it turns out, I am allergic to being alive after drinking it, which is both the best and worst thing ever. I only had two drinks, Lahey, but you'd better believe I was basically under the table afterwards.

On ponytails: The waiter who served them to me had one. When I mentioned it was my first time trying it, he muttered "I can tell" as he walked away. sa-goddamn-woon. Just don't even bother trying to add up all his qualifications on my dreamboat checklist, because I tore that up and created a new one that's just the snapshot of him I carry in my heart. Told my parents I was marrying a Croatian waiter and moving to Zagreb and oh Meryl what a card she is, ha ha but no, I'm serious. This is real.

Why the heartbreak then, you ask? Well I also told my Mom about my embarrassment at the foot of Mt. Foreign Lager, and her first response was that I'd have to tell Eli. Really. Guess I brought this on myself by inviting him into the home, not to mention PBR bottles and Point Break. Such, such the facepalm.

Croatian countryside outside of the city is beautiful and green and about 60 degrees cooler than Zagreb.

We're getting out of dodge and heading for the Dalmatian Coast.

Boy Crazy As A Babysitter

Oh hi trains, fancy meeting you here.

(Dresden)

Germans

Some rebuilt Dresden

Concert by the Seine near Notre Dame

In The Business Of Business

Strap in for a double dose of vitamin the pictures speaking for themselves, people. I'm in Croatia.

But first:

On the train from Praha to Munich, Snidely "Czech" Whiplash appeared out of nowhere to twirl his mustache, tie damsels to the tracks, and steal Ann's (lady?)bag. Wherein our hero A. leapt off the train in hot pursuit 2. gave him both barrels of Truth and Justice and D. managed to jump back onto the train, buxom belongings once again in tow, while the engine was pulling out of the station and off into the Central European sunset.

This is a true thing that happened, except it also included a totally punk girlfriend with blue-streaked hair and fake converse high tops. I'm buying Ann a cape and a HAMMELT.

My Scarf, Strong Black Woman

Choklat Choklat Choklat. Ahk.

Okay so backlog time, and we'll start with German Cathy because hers is a condition to which we can all relate (food, failed relationships). In Germany this basically just means Dresden (unless you're in the market for a tour through dirty windows or train stations, all, in which case boy am I ever the guide for you).

SPEAKING OF:

Here is the lasting memento of my Deutsche Bahn train hobbit soulmate. It is important to understand that "Pirna, Bad Schandau, Decin... [dramatic whistle]" is just his way of saying I love you back.

See here wants to head back to Dresden, where we first met. That is so us.

Actual brat (ein):

A businessman's dinner:

"currywurst" = bratwurst + curry (fast food?)

Simple equation for German food: meat + more meat + x = chowtime, where x = meat. And in this crazy world where up is down, soup means a medieval cauldron of hot dogs. German hot dogs.

We're considering going back to Germany because A: it's the place to be?? (so it would seem re: coming down the pahty pike) B: Pirna, Bad Schandau, Decin all looked amazing. We're sharing a room in Croatia with a couple tall drinks of German water at present, and what I'm getting at here is that I'd better get used to it because damn if I don't hear wedding bells already.

It's A Ham Melt Kind of Day

Trains all day, now the overnight to Zagreb (Croatia). Pics starting again tomorrow. Later nerds.

Time In Praha, A Series of Open Letters

To the individual who stole my scarf:
maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan

To the cute Czech boy who wanted to dance:
Call me.

To the bar that closed after the sun had come up:

WhyGod.

To my mangled face:

:(

But to my new bionic wonder hands:

awesome.

To my Czech Italian restaurant boyfriend:

My heart will go on.

To the 4hr train to somewhere with standing room only on which I had a level orange hangover and the barfs:

you know what you did

To the open window I considered throwing up out of:

I owe you flowers and dinner. (Call me.)

To the 17yr old German going to Munich:

Maybe when you're older.

To the city of Prague:

...

Ann Made A Party

A LENNY KRAVITZ UPDATE:

Swedish (left) and Fish (right)

My computer apparently doesn't like Czech internet, so I can't really even steal pictures from online to show you where I am. In light of this calamity, I have instead chosen the giant metronome in Prague as the key to your visual understanding of the city as well as to remind you of the steady beat of my heart for you all, even while so far away (no Elis allowed).

Since being here I may have stolen a Swede's bed, but one Anton Q SwedishChef stole Ann's heart. It would seem that for our foreign roommates the size of pants/length of hair relationship is inverse. My future ex-boyfriend Emil is pushing about 10 ponytails, so you do the math. (They are very small)

In other news:
The only correct response to "you lahf dirty dancing" when Time of Your Life is playing is yes, yes I do lahf dirty dancing. It is actually the only thing you need to know about Praha at all. Nobody puts Swedes in a corner.

Beer is cheaper here than water, and I think I may have a European hangover.

PRAHA

GET INTO IT.

Of All The Geshmack's, Mango Is My Favorite

Not that long ago Dresden looked like Middle Earth.

Martin Luther, the Saruman of Germany.

Reconstruction on Frauenkirche (above/below) began in 1993, and was finally completed and the church reconsecrated in 2005. Climbing to the top of the dome costs E5 if you're concessioned (student, old, female etc)

Ya?

Afterwards there was Bratwurst:

It tasted like Bratwurst and went well with the Elbe River and breeze. It's possible there were also waffle cones and vendor boys who didn't want to speak German with us even though I learned how to say "small". Foreigners.

That's A Hell Of A Place To Be Coming From

It's safe to say that I don't know much German, and the Germans aren't all that interested in getting to know much about me. So since the one month I managed to find myself in Dresden Grant Margeson was back in the US, I've pretty much just been playing it fast and loose.

The majority of my German?

Yeah, that's right. Cool Runnings. The best of all possible movies. Hearing "ein zwei drei" makes me look around for a pretty lady to try and push down some ice, which would make sense if this were winter or, say, Sweden. I can still start fights with Jamaicans though so I've got that going for me, which is nice. Another day here and there's no way I'm leaving without a 'Peace Be The Journey' tattoo of some sort.

SAY SOMEVING.

I Would Like to Leave This Show

From Vladamir and Estragon to Bernd das Brot.

German is just like English, we said. Switch a few letters, we said. Of course we can make a connection in Dresden with only 8 minutes WE SAID.

You know what else we said? Danka. Danka a whole, whole lot to the Deutsche Bahn man that let us ride around for free during a downpour while he tried to figure out how two silly American girls could get to Praha in the middle of the night until he realized it was impossible and escorted us back to Dresden.

So yeah. At least I have a new boyfriend.

Is Your Hostel Jazzy Accessible

So you get pictures from London, because that is the last time my camera worked. It's just that kind of girl.

Not only is this a pretty good Extras crossover, but MAN: I FEEL YOU. (We didn't get to see this, even though we tried. Apparently poor matchstick girls aren't allowed into "real theater")

In fact we even stayed in a real prison/prison cell.

The peephole on our door:

The old barbed wire from the cell window that surrounded the building. Or Western Europe, metaphorically:

How about some more London food?

1. This is fish and chips. What you see is about as far as I got but you know, good hustle.

2. Then this happened, which is the best

No we didn't eat there, but wanted to keep it on a pedestal. Recommend with: the Vader/McDonald's ads in Paris

Until I transfer pictures from Ann's computer or find a battery charger you're stuck with my couple of days in London. In your face? (Well not to mention that internet is now a myth and trying to find it feels like sailing for the new world. Whatever that means.)

The Salmon of Capistrano

Upon reflection, our story with rail travel here reads much like Goldilocks. The first station agent was adamant in the fact that trains had yet to be invented, and that we were sorcerers. The second was just awash in trains. Drowning in trains. Imagine how many trains you could shake a stick at, then double it. That's nowhere near how many trains he had. Finally we got the middle Eurail porridge but it didn't even matter because our hero has a tattoo watch with the hands always at "goof time" rather than the actual ability to accurately read a clock so it took her over 4 days to get to Prague the end.

And for the record: Harry was right. The French are assholes.

And Even If I'm So-So, You Won't Know

Yeah, so this happened:

The English version of Moon's Over My Hammy. Have yet to find some sort of Hooburrito, but this is too close to my heart to just give up.

ALSO:

Sister Act the Musical. Traditional black cop/white cop comedy, with Whoopi Goldberg to voice the introduction. Get. It. Ready.

PLUS:

That's pretty much "London, all" except for every internet ever costing hundreds of American dollars per minute in the entire nation but McDonald's, which is sovereign and/or an embassy. NASA may own space but goddamn Limeys own the information superhighway.

IN ADDITION TO:

Leaving for Praha tomorrow after I wear another dress and maybe also gloves as befitting a classy lady.

Update:

He was definitely not British.

They All Look Alike

(Photo Credit: Uhura)

Some British (?) guy just asked me about the internet here. I will let you guess whether or not I was able to help him.