Travel Tuesday: I pooped in Hitler's Toilet

So...It was not exactly Hitler's toilet, in fact, if you know your history, you'll know that Hitler hated Eagle's Nest it was situated so high on the mountain. Nice try on the birthday gift assholes. And the home that he did have close to Eagle's Nest was uber bombed by the Allies...but I digress. This is about poop, my poop, disgusting poop.

If you don't like poop, stop reading. Because this is about me pooping. I am giving you so many fucking warnings here.

So I was in Germany for my honeymoon this past October. It wasn't my first time in what I consider "God's land" but I was on my honeymoon and dead set and making a bunch of memories in some awesome places, those places being Hitler's summer retreat we all know as Eagle's Nest. Its the one place that remained semi intact after the war, and the looting of Allies. Totally justified, it is the spoils of war, but sad for some of us historians. But still, the place is pretty fucking cool.

Our nights were filled with beer and debauchery as we explored the rebuilt streets of Munich. We were, after all, in the land of beautiful beer, and we'd managed to make friends with an Iraqi refugee bartender who HOOKED IT UP. He also felt it pertinent to inform us that he comes from the same town as ISIS. We didn't know how to take that information, but he gave us the biggest smile as he complimented us on our bilingual skills of Spanish, English, and drunk German.

Here's the thing....I have IBS. And drinking beer makes me super sick. It's so fucking good, but in the last three years, I have switched to wine, or tequila. It's a beer lovers nightmare, because Gluten free beer is the biggest bullshit known to man. And I don't even think its the Gluten, I think its that God knows that I enjoy something so amazing, so he's punishing me for my vices. I know it is only a matter of time before I start violently reacting to Tequila. So I cut back. But this was my honeymoon, and cutting back is for bitches. I was going to drink my God-smiting beer in Germany, just like a German, with my Mexican husband and Iraqi best friend for the night. I did not care. I got the heaviest, most flavorful beer, and I savored the fucker till the last drop. Then we had more beers, then we stumbled to next beer haus and drank the shit out of their beer. I metaphorically flipped off the heavens with every drop that danced on my lips. It was mine for the taking.

It all seemed fine. I was on top of the world. I had even managed to confidently walk in to the one of a million sex shops and not feel like a perverted whore. I was good.

We woke the next morning panicked. We had slept through the alarm, and the bus was leaving to Eagle's Nest in 40 minutes. Showers were rushed and breakfast was optional. This was the last tour to Eagle's Nest before it closed for the winter and I was NOT going to miss this opportunity. I was determined and brazen enough to say a "fuck you" to the U-Bahn ticket machine and get on the fucking train without paying. I was so bad ass. Hell, we even made it on the bus. My partner in adventure, affectionately called husband, was sooooo hungover. and the ride up the mountain wound horribly. He vomited, a lot. I was concerned, but a little vomit was not going to stop this from being a supreme trip. He's miserable, and I am cold. But we were there.

We arrived to Eagle's Nest. It was beautiful. A waltz through a tunnel, with a quick hop in the elevator and bam, you were there. The dining hall, deck with the view of the mountain, the mantle where the american troops carved their names...it was mine for the experience. this was the place created as a gift for Herr Hitler's 50th birthday.This place, along with the parking lot in Berlin over Hitler's bunker, was hallowed ground for WWII history buffs, and I was standing in it.

I'm basking in the glory of history when I felt the rumble, a tap dance upon my intestines. And then a flash mob dance, and then wave. It was shit that I felt pummeling through my innards and making its way to my rectum. Without hesitation, I lean in to husband's ear and lovingly whisper "I'm going to poop". The look of panic is shared between our gazes as we briskly make our way to the bathrooms. A small line threatens my dignity, and my pants, but my Jillian Michael squats (and premature kegel exercised) are saving me from total explosion. The stall opens and without hesitation, I push myself in to the stall, dropping a pre-unbuttoned pair of jeans and decimating Hitler's summer retreat toilet. It was the shit to end all shits. And it was awful. I was sweating as the poison raced out of my ass and in to the toilet. My intestines were re-positioning themselves. My nostrils were burning while my eyes were stinging as the smell of my crap filled the bathroom.

It was at this time that I realized that I was completely alone in the bathroom. No sooner had I made that realization, did I see that the toilet paper was completely out. Normally in this kind of an emergency, I would use the toilet seat liners to clean up as much as possible until I could safely pull up the trousers and waddle over to the next stall. But in my quest to expel in a toilet and not on my pants, I had failed to check the liners as well. And guess the fuck what, I had no toilet paper liners. But wait! I could always text my husband to ask a woman to come in and help his wife. But you have to remember, I am in the fucking mountains. I had no reception. I could not send a fucking text. Nothing. And my ass dripping in shit. Literally dripping. Had I attempted to pick up my chonis, they would have been covered in shit. Shit, I tell you! And there was no guarantee that the shit would be contained to my chonis. The devastation that was my butt was enormous. The shit could have been anywhere if I stood up.

So I sat there, waiting for a woman to pee. It's the one fucking time women don't have to pee desperately. So I waited a long fucking time until an Asian tourist took pity on me and understood that I was asking for toilet paper. She laughed at me (if it wasn't for the toilet paper I would have killed her. JK...sort of).

"I was getting nervous" my husband exclaimed 20 minutes after I had first walked in to the bathroom. "Yeah, there was no fucking toilet paper and I had to wait for some asshole to walk back in to the bathroom". He lovingly laughed as described the ordeal. At least I can say I shit in Hitler's toilet.

Travel Tuesday: Mexicans in Germany! - The Honeymoon Part I

It should be known, if it has not been established, that I am in the midst of planning a honeymoon, and the wedding prior to the honeymoon. My goal is to marry the best guy ever. That part is almost to completion. My second goal, is to introduce said best guy to my favorite country outside of Continental America. If this is your first time reading one of my posts, you will have to ask yourself "what country could that be?" Otherwise, from my multiple odes to Alemania, you may already know. The third goal is to have the reader join us on the honeymoon, in a literary manner, not physically. The cynic in me is tamed by contributing to my blog and allowing you to follow my neurotic road to travel bliss, dare I say, it brings me joy. So here it is, the words, the process, the mind behind the decisions we will make on our honeymoon travels.

It is a given that we should spend time in Germany as a post celebration to our union. The honeymoon was booked before the  wedding date was settled. If it was not clear before, I love my travel. I am serious about my travel. Don't fuck with my travel. This had been the dream I would whisper to my love even before we vocally said "this is it, you are the one". I wanted to introduce him to the beauty of Berlin. I wanted him to drink the beer. I wanted a beautiful excuse to return to Germany for the 4th time...this was definitely it... Since we were so close, and because we love our beer, it was only logical that we decided to include a trip to  Belgium...drinking a beer in an Abbey while quoting Colin Farrell is on everyone's bucket list...right?

But the trip can't only be about beer... Well it  can, but I am older than I was the first time I was in Europe and drunkenly kicked a tour bus' glass door in before hauling ass down some alley with a fake sword in tow. Recreating the scene for my love would be awesome. Getting arrested would not. The debauchery that once flooded my excursions can only be allowed to trickle. I can't be continuously drunk, I can't bounce back from an all night drink and dance fest in order to wake and tour the cities. It just does not work like that anymore.

I am unsure of how we will handle the need to be young at a time when we are slowly feeling our age in a country that is woven with interlacing strands of  history and present future. Will we acclimate to a the time  change or sleep though a game of Eisbaren Berlin Hockey? I suppose I will leave that for a later post.

Travel Tuesday: If you can't Travel, Watch a Movie

Travel and Movies. I can't get geek out any harder than if I was to include reading and travel. Which I can. In the last decade, I have traveled to Italy twice, Germany thrice, Mexico, Czech Republic, Greece, and a multitude of continental U.S. States. I have jumped in a car to vegas and LA, hopped on a plane to San Diego, a train to Oktoberfest in San Francisco. No place has been too close or too far for me to visit. I love to travel. I love to write about my travels. I love to read a book, watch a movie, and dream of the settings of the story, In the following Travel Tuesday segments, I will introduce to you the films that have inspired my lust for world gallivanting. 

Despite my journeys to a number of countries, the vast majority of the world's canvas has yet to carry my foot print. That is not to say that I do not to continue to dream of the day that I bless these locations with my wit and charm. For the moment, however, I have films to fill my head with visions of Spanish threesomes, drunken exploration in tokyo, making friends with a midget in Bruges, and having an affair with Ralph Fiennes in Africa. Sometimes I do it all at once, but then reality slaps me in the face and reminds me to save my money and actually get my ass on a plane. So in the interim, here is a list of the places I plan to visit, and the movies that inspire my dream to travel. 

Belgium - In Bruges

If you have not watched "In Bruges" then you have not lived. I don't care what you think about Colin Farrell, this movie far beyond redeems any reservation held against him in any way. He's a genius in an awesome movie that is set in the city of Bruges. For the readers that are well acquainted with me, you will already know that I love my beer. Not shit water beer, I mean good beer. The kind that leaves morsels of flavor on your pallette long after the beer has retreated from your tulip glass and settled in your bowels. PLenty of beer drinking is done in this movie, and plenty of the drinking is done in a setting of medieval buildings in a place that is often described as "the Venice of the North". Colin Farrell's character hates this beautiful place. He spends his nights wandering the cobble stone streets wishing he could get the fuck out of there. So he distracts himself by keeping the company of a drug dealer and midget. Now I might be a little naive, but I seriously want to meet a midget in Bruges. When I travel to Bruges, it will be with the hope that I am going to share a beer with a midget. A midget in town for the filming of a movie. It has to happen, or Bruges is going to fucking suck just like Colin Farrell said. 

Spain - Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Besides the fact that Barcelona is beautiful and rich in architecture and history, you have a threesome with Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem. I don't know about you, but those two are the hottest Spaniards ever. Sure, I want to visit Barcelona, drink wine and immerse in the culture. But I really really want to be the turkey in the Javier Bardem/Penelope Cruz sandwich. According to this movie, a girl eager to find herself and develop her passions can get scooped up by a world renowned artist and his super hot, albeit, bat shit wife. Sign me the fuck up.  

Japan - Lost in Translation

Tokyo is the back drop for what is easily one of my favorite Sofia Coppola films. She managed to capture the a beauty that is often lost in a modern metropolitan setting, and create a world of wonder. while still allowing for the traditional aspect of the culture to inspire your absolute nee to travel to Japan. In an attempt to create transperancy, I will tell you that the prospect of traveling to somewhere like Japan terrifies me. Not so in the sense that my life would be in danger, or that Japanese people are a violent. It is quite the contrary. My fear is that in being raised here in the States, my manners and loss of my own culture at times, may contribute to an act that may be viewed as a rude American. Never has this thought been more apparent than in the prospect of traveling to Japan. What if I did something to offend them? What if I come off as an animal? What if I can't hide the "what the fuck is that on my plate" face when they bring me what I thought was going to be chicken katsu?

Africa - The English Patient

I have an obsession with Ralph Fiennes. I also have an obsession with Egypt. Egypt is in Africa. I want to go. Maybe I will run in to Ralph Fiennes, maybe it will happen in a pyramid. Who knows, but maybe.