Drunk Post #1. I'm cool?

Hey di high mother fuckers.

I'm not quite on board with the drunk posting thing, but we'll give it a shot.

Let me get down to biggity business. Hooters was fucking awesome. After an hour of merely 7 dudes, 17 more dudes rolled through and we (read: Brady) convinced the absolutely beyond even justifiably describable smokeshow waitress to open the basement for the 24 dudes anxiously waiting for a seat in the Hooters' main room. Now two things happened here. A shitload of dudes showed up, and our waitress was indescribably hot. I'm not one for redundance, but this lady was probably the hottest woman I've ever seen in the flesh. I would have snapped a photo, but I'm pretty sure that at the time I did not think my camera phone was worthy. I did, however, snag a shot of the first two pitchers we were served, both of which were unlike any pitcher I've ever been served in the past.

Each of these gems cost $5.75, and both of these gems were filled with Pilsner Urquell that hadn't traveled more than 35 miles. Shitty language and rude locals aside, this is the second greatest country in the world. Numero uno belongs to the you ess of aye, to which I'm pretty sure I can attribute the invention of the bacon cheeseburger.

This BCB was so good that I actually had to remind myself that my blog entry about hooters wouldn't be funny unless I provided some photography. You're looking at 45 seconds worth of consumption, and this was like a three-quarter pound hamburgeezy. I'm now 97% certain that the thing I miss most about the states is the abundancy of cheeseburgers, with breakfast meats are coming in at a very close second. Regardless, I polished off that photograph in under 100 seconds. Afterwards, I drank a lot more delicious cheap beer and groveled at our waitress. #RedefiningDimePiece

As I said, more bros arrived, and after that some of the CIEE babes arrived. We decided (or failed to not decide) to remain on one tab. Poor decision, because when it was time to roll, I captained the bill calculation and crown collection vessel, which made me very sober and thereby very frustrated. Hands down the worst decision I've made abroad. Word to the wise, pass on the calculation torch when there are 30 drunk kids waiting to leave without paying, cuz they bounced and left the triumverate of bill calculators, Matt, Graham, and myself, six or seven hundred crowns short. So we each had to shell out an extra 200 CK each to keep our ridiculously perfect looking waitress from lighting us on fire.

From Hooters we went to the infamous 5-story music club in prague (the biggest music club in eastern europe!!!!!). This massive, balmy, uber-advertised sin-house boasted 5 stories of bars and dance pits, each with a different theme. And each overflowing with dudes. I havent rubbed up against that many blue and white-striped button downs since the Bengals won the superbowl, which I'm almost certain has never happened.

When we arrived, a couple of the dudes from CIEE were beefin' with a couple of other dudes from the infinite pool of duderino (if you're not into the whole brevity thing) that was fueling this club. Which was tres lame, because nothing disrupts a good time like a pointless half-fight between two jacked up crews. After the tension fizzed, it almost got fun, but our patronage was seriously hindered by the fact that no one wanted to or could try to make their way onto the dance floor. Surprise surprise, wall-to-wall sausage.

So the 20 or so CIEE scholars present did their best to recreate the dance floor within a 15 foot by 15 foot space next to the bar (on level #4, which was dedicated to "radio hits"). Shit was alright. But not much beyond that. Honestly, the club scene is getting old, especially when the club scene involves tangentially grinding with 3 men you don't know.

And then I walked home. And then I bumbled around the dorm for a while. And then I threw up post #4.

This shit might get addictive.

Hollaaa,

Dolan

Snapshot Saturday!

I'm gonna start doin' the whole alliteration thing because it's really cute.

Anyway, I am in some state, my friends. The left side of my body feels like I got suplexed by the Big Show, my nasal passages are more clogged than a Whitecastle septic tank, and I think the war wound I mentioned in entry #1 is developing a post-impact infection.

Yes, I did have to shave the area around the gash because the band-aid gum was ripping out patches of my leg hair.

Forgive the gruesomeness, but a picture says a thousand words right?  I'm no doctor (but I am an MD - classic Mike Dolan line), but I think I can chalk the infection up to the fact that, unbeknownst to me for the first 5 days of medication, the surly old lady at the pharmacy sold me Czech Anti-Itch cream and not Czech Anti-biotic ointment. This fucking language, man.

The source of the uncomfortable numbness presently running up and down the left side of my body is less identifiable, however. Either I took a drunken tumble last night (doubtful, I have excellent balance) or the undersized bed in my spacious single room is finally taking a toll on my body.

My shitty, undersized bed. And for some unknown reason, my green crocs.

This "bed" sucks. It is hands down the worst place I've ever slept, and I have a lot of experience not only sleeping in general, but sleeping in uncomfortable places - namely, four consecutive nights in the driver's seat of Kyle's mother's minivan at Bonnaroo, in a pool of melted Vanilla McDonalds milkshake in the backseat of Curto's jeep this past May, and last but not certainly not least, the grooved plastic seats at airport gates that are designed specifically so people cannot sleep on them. But no, the wooden board upholstered with that scratchy, checkered bullshit that the kind people who furnished the dormitory call a bed trumps them all.

I awoke today at 3 pm, which meant I slept way through my 8 am alarm (if I even set one) and missed the CIEE day trip to some wacky church made out of bones at the outskirts of town. I feel like a major doucher for missing it, but I wasn't the only one absent, and apparently it wasn't even that cool. Instead, I cleaned and organized my room, made some lists, and (39 hours after I started it) finished my laundry. I think the dryer heard I was talkin' shit, though, because it ate part of my grey hoodie.

Which really blows, because now I can't zip. My only option for increased warmth rests upon the neck toggles, which also blows, because tying those turns my hoodie into a cape, and I have no interest in dressing like a 14th century villain. So I'm down to one hoodie, which is never a position I like to be in.

But that's neither here nor there. I have new information, man.

Last night was interesting to say the least.

Some background info: Miska, the major sweetheart that lent me her laundry basket, was medically warned against drinking for the past 4 months. That's because she was a CIEE Czech buddy last semester and drank so much that her liver probably began to resemble a sun-dried tomato. Well, yesterday marked the end of month #4, and Miska was ready to ride. So was her fan club (12 dudes), and the 13 of us pregamed in the dorms before hitting "Retro."

Miska and her fan club

Retro was a scene. Until last night, the fleet of drunken CIEE scholars have been patrons of the bigger, more tourist-oriented clubs in Prague. Americans or other non-Czechs have more or less dominated the inebriated landscape for the past two weeks. Not last night. Retro is a place for Czechs who speak Czech and dance Czech and drink Czech. We Americans were in the minority, and that was unsettling at first.

It was unsettling because a Czech bride-to-be was in the throws of her bachlorette party, which I'm pretty sure was whore-themed, because everyone was wearing bunny ears and groveling at naked dudes on-stage. Just as an aside -- based on the comings and the goings that came and went at the Retro bachlorette party last night, I hope I never marry a Czech woman. But I might, because almost all of them are smokes. And these women were no exception.

This clip was taken right after the fiance was courted by a number of very strong, very naked Czech men. The scene resembled what I think a Calvin Klein underwear photoshoot would look like if Calvin Klein staged their photoshoots at grimy Czech dance clubs.

The Bride-To-Be and her nudey courtier of choice

After the culture shock wore off, and the shots of tequila wore on, I hit the dance floor hard. I know I had a fine time because I don't know how I got home, and I only spent 500 CK (~$25), which means I was dancing more than I was drinking.

Hopefully something of the like occurs tonight.

I'm kicking it off at Hooters in about half an hour with some wings and some college football. Seeing as I don't follow sports, I don't know who is playing, but I'm doing my best to fit in with the bros in the program, so college football it is. But I'm going mostly so I can see how perfect the waitresses' breasts are. The entire population of Czech women rock C's at a bare minimum, so I can barely imagine what kinda cups are gonna be providing the support at Hooters tonight. Whew. I'm pumped.

I'm gonna put up a facebook album soon. And possibly some of the absolutely hysterical moments I captured with the flip two nights ago. So like call the media, cuz this shit is gonna be EPICCC (I kid).

And it goes without saying that my heart and soul is in America tonight. Never forget.

American Embassy adjacent to Prague Castle.

Until next time, yours truly,

Marty

A Drunk, Sick, Formerly Ambitious American Has Spent a Fortnight In Prague

Well I'm not drunk right now. And the whole ambition thing is just gonna be on the backburner until real class starts on Sept. 17. But I'm sick as a diggity dog. And barring any unforseen quiet nights, it should only get worse from here.

Today was the first day I've comfortably worn shorts. And man was I comfortable.

But that was after the 3 hour fiasco I like to call my Friday morning. Today's Intensive Czech lesson was supplanted by a program wide trip to the Czech/Prague police department so that we can all have our visas registered and won't be taken to gulags or some shit. Well, I woke up a little late (well, the cleaning lady woke me up, and I was very late) so I had to navigate myself there. As clean and well-labeled and as fairly simple as the entire Czech public transportation system is, it is inevitable that a solo-sojourn into the suburbs of Prague to a police station that doesn't even have a fucking sign that says "Poliz or Politizca" or any sign at all will be a convoluted, ass-backwards adventure. And today was no exception.

I managed to get to my metro jump-off spot just fine (Karlovo Namesti - Charles Square), but three early car departures, one misdirected bus trip, and seven calls to Hon (pronounced "Jan," who is a particularly fantastic member of our "Czech Buddy" team) later, I arrived at the police department. Only to find out that Ivana, one of the program coordinators who the night before told me she was 90% sure she had my passport in her possession, did not have my passport in her possession. And I did not have my passport in my possession. So I left. As much as I wanted to join the giant CIEE hangover that was festering in the police station lobby, I was not having anything short of my undersized bed in my spacious single room. So I mumbled and grumbled the entire way home about how my irresponsible program leader lost the single most important document I own as an American staying in a very foreign country for a prolonged period of time. And then I got home and found my passport. Guess I'm the asshole.

I returned home to the mountain of laundry that had magically amassed itself against one of the walls in my room. Seriously, like 700 pounds of laundry. Every single clothing item I brought minus my tweed sportcoat and my C-Webb michigan jersey was stuffed into the European (read: undersized) laundry bin that another one of the Czech buddies - Mishka, a major sweetheart - lent me on day 1. Now let me tell you something, I hate doing laundry. There's a reason I purchased the double-king size portable laundry bin from Target, and there's a reason that same laundry bin is about 2 loads away from evaporating into thin air. Ya boy owns and wears a lot of clothing, and ya boy likes to do laundry about once a month. Well turns out I couldn't fit all 22 of my v-necks, among other luxuries, into my suitcase, so I packed a little light and I only have about 2 weeks worth of clothes here. All of which was shoved into a corner and stankin' my room up to high heaven.

So I started the laundry process at approximately 11 am. It is now 7:45 pm, and one load (ONE FUCKING LOAD) has made it into the dryer. The washing machine in the basement has a TWO HOUR cycle period. TWO HOURS. How the fuck hasn't someone in the Czech republic said, "Wow, I spend 20% of my week doing laundry because we manufacture extremely inefficient laundering appliances. This should change. Maybe we can that new Maytag or even a GE from 1982 and we could spend that 20% of our lives rethinking our conception of breakfast [much more on this later]." I thought doing laundry in Finlay sucked. But no, I'd take some jackass shifting my load of whites around 7 times and leaving a trail of sticky notes about it over this slow bullshit any day of the week. Doing laundry in the Czech Republic sucks.

What's even worse than just your basic laundry frustration, however, is having to panhandle for the 60 crown-per-load (approx. $3) from the girls that live on your floor. I got pickpocketed 8 days ago. I informed TD bank about this 8 days ago. I asked them to ship me a new debit card 8 days ago. 8 days from then, I'm still without a debit card, and I'm about $130 in the hole with 3 different kids. Word to the wise, if you're studying abroad, get yourself a MAJOR BANK DEBIT CARD. Same thing happened to two other dudes in the program. Their cards were at a Prague Fedex location within 48 hours. TD bank, on the other hand, is still recycling the asian grocery bags it will use to make my new card. But I digress..

Not wanting to badger anyone else for another loan, I decided to exchange the approx. $260 american cash I was saving for a trip to a EU country (more euro bang for your buck with dollars than czech crowns). Josh told me I'd get the best exchange rate at a casino. Well, Josh, two casinos and two offers of 14 crowns to the dollar later, I've decided you do not get the best exchange rate at a casino. You get the best exchange rate at a changing house. Go figure. So after I changed out of my sweaty long-sleeve outfit and into some cool shorts and a light fliggity flannel, I headed back out into the jungle we call Prague.

Got to Karlovo Namesti just fine. I've gotten leg 1 of the transportation system down pat. But it should come as no surprise that I got lost as FUCK from there. Seeing as the absolutely-non-english-speaking and mildly bitter employees at T-Mobile-CZ refused me the data plan, I've been without google maps for a fortnight and I'm just dying. Honestly, how in God's name did people get anywhere that wasn't routine without gmaps? Either everyone was smarter in 1999, or people spent a lot of time being lost. I sure as shit have. So I gave up on the change house bing! recommended and went somewhere else. Flexibility is the name of the game, fellas.

After my tram ride home to Karlovo Namesti (it's really just the metro that fucks you up. at least when you're above ground you can see that you're nowhere near where you want to be), I stopped off at the Czech-equivalent of a Korean green-grocer to grab some room food. Although the grapes were not seedless (I discovered this after I eagerly scooped a bunch and popped one, putting me past the point of no grape return), the strawberries were the most pristine little pieces of fruit I've seen in years. I polished those off on the walk home. Fuckin' delicious.

Which is surprising, considering most of everything I've purchased in a grocery store has been super mediocre. The restaurant food has been almost fully satisfactory, and the street food BLOWS, but the grocery store food lies somewhere in between, on the BLOWS side of the fence. I think I'm probably just not buying the right things (there's actually a pretty good selection of western-looking food, it just has czech-looking labels, which are entirely incomprehensible and unintuitable), so I'm just gonna do the trial and error thing and hope for the best. Shit is definitely cheap though.

One bone I absolutely have to pick is the Czech breakfast. I won't rant, for ranting changes nothing, though I wish it did. But really, sliced gouda, salami, and steamed hot dogs as your morning protein? Come ON. Would it kill you to warm some ham up at least? I really really love breakfast meats. Like there is not a bone in my body that wouldn't rank meats of the breakfast variety as far and away my favorite variety (versus lunch meats - cold cuts, or dinner meats - steak/chicken/pork). Breakfast sausage, bacon, ham, fuckin' scrapple, even turkey sausage and turkey bacon. Love it. Want it. Can't live without it.

But none of it is here. Not one little morsel of a sausage patty or a measely drip of bacon grease. It kills me. And on top of that, the eggs are extremely weird tasting. I can't quite put my finger on it - maybe I'm just used to the taste of eggs birthed by American superchickens at a rate of 6000/hour - but I don't like it in the least. I can't wait to eat a red, white, and blue-yoked American egg again. With some fuckin' scrapple.

Aite that's it for now. Time to start the engines again. I know I complained a lot, but I really am having a blast. It just isn't home, which is good and bad for more reasons than I can identify.

Stay thirsty my friends,

Fartin Jay