Yo, thanks.

"As for the people of Paris, they are mixed but not melted. A strong display of personal identity reminds us that the individual cultures are to be celebrated, and accepted where they can not be understood. Civil discourse is an art form (a well-regarded on at that) that pairs thought and action. People protest here, and it is meaningfully done. Rather than repressing inner concerns, the French populace finds means to relieve themselves of civic passive aggression. Yes, young guys fight in the streets after succumbing to alcohol, always at hand, but they don't use weapons: they are bruised but not broken. Call it what you will, but I'll call it respect.

Exposure is what leads to respect, and it is perhaps the most important gift we can take away from the ideas of urbanism. Disregard is all too easy when you never cross paths with starving immigrants or wayward travelers. Standing face-to-face, sharing in our joys and our appreciation for beauty: you cannot deny our shared humanity."

from: http://www.good.is/series/emails-from-afar

A quote from an article my friend/ex roomie/life partner had sent my way a little while ago. I was reading it on the train ride back from work to Paris and decided that when I looked up from the paper, everything around me was a bit re-arranged. In a good way, and in a small way, but a new perspective nevertheless. It warranted some sort of written acknowledgement; something perfect for hmmmm...i dunnno, a blog.

Only being in Paris for a relatively short amount of time, there are endless amounts of well, everything to absorb. These range from politics, language, food, people, architecture, why the hell every country just doesn't get shit straight and make a universal electric outlet, more, and even more...and alas it is all too difficult to absorb or even begin to grasp. Sometimes, you need the help of other people's views, other people's stance on what is going on around you, to understand, in agreement or not, what you really think. Although this article gave me a new, slightly clearer prescription as which to see Paris, it made me think, above all else, about the way we help one another see through our times.

In my case, I have received numerous emails, facebook posts, skype chats that include thoughts from philosophical stimulation down to a simple idea for a recipe. But they are all serving the same purpose in my life... to help. Helping remember who I am, comes from these emails, these people, these family members, when I am being thrown a new culture and language and it seems impossible to make sense of the coffee in front of me, let alone myself. Reminders usually come from Christina and my family by means of new health findings, exchanging of dinner ideas, and ancient stories that are reminiscent of what once was and what those stories have created. From Megan, I am often pushed to view events and people from a new perspective, given the tools like this article to jump out of routine and take sight of the new that happens daily, the amazingness and continuous new that is easy to look past everyday on your same route to/from work. From my Schmoopies on the East Coast, I am continually reminded of what is to come and the joy of planning and spontaneity play ensemble. And my new friends, in Paris, who discover with me what is changing and unchanged in the beautiful city that I am so lucky to drink coffee in everyday. And the list goes on and on.

But, yes, they all help. And without them I would never see how much closer I have become to people, in some ways, by being even farther... Because it is, in fact, these people who wake me up everyday, who allow me to see more Friday ahead of me than simply metro, train, bus, school, and return. These Americans who allow me to see Paris. And sometimes its just a link to an article, or a chat, or funny picture. But I guess I just wanted to say thanks. A semi long rant.... just to acknowledge and say merci.

Paris at night. Like a flippin painting.

Gotta Love A Creep

Although, yes it is true, that my work hours during the week are practically so non-existent they might even make the lovely Ms. Paris Hilton look like an overachiever....but nevertheless I do spend quite a bit of time in transit. Actually, I might spend more time en route than I do trying to get frenchies to pronounce "mouth" and not "mouse." And, I actually enjoy it...most of the time.

Friday afternoon, reflecting on my 9am. RER train ride from Paris to Chelles-Gournay:

Whoever said that a little white lie isnt at times beneficial slash necessary is well, basically, full of crap. This morning, while on my way to my sorry excuse for Friday work, thanking the lord my first two classes were cancelled and thinking maybe, just maybe, that I am the luckiest gal dans la monde. And yes, sometimes it only takes 2 hours of extra sleep to reach this state of hyper-optimism. But alas, about 1.5 seconds after I sit myself into a comfy, warm spot on the nearly deserted train, I was spotted, of course, by a creep. And let me remind you, that I may not speak fluent French, but creep I speak better than English. So, I knew immediately.

It started innocently enough I guess, with the typical, "Bonjour Mademoiselle", which is where I should have immediately corrected him to say, "Madame." Ok, you live, you learn. Of course after the first word left my mouth, the conversation, as usual, is given more fuel since I am clearly not French. After a bit of back and forth, I thought I gave off the clear message that I was so not interested. I mean I pushed my earphones in deeper, stuck my nose further in my book, and gave 1 word answers. What else does a girl have to do to give off the "Don't Talk to Me, its a Fuckin Friday Morning" vibe? But this guy is ruthless, and keeps truckin. I would rate his creepiness around a 15.1 on the rictor, so I started mentally perusing my purse for usable weapons. Chapstick, french health magazine, well the apple might do, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to want to eat that later...

Ahhh, ok, pay attention. What the F does this guy want? Well, I know what, but that just ain't happening. So he asks if I have a boyfriend, and I don't even let him finish when I white lie, "Oui! C'est tres serieux!"

He keeps interrogating with a smile, "Girlfriend or Boyfriend?"

What I was thinking: " It doesn't flippin matter, because either way I wouldnt touch you with a 10 foot pole that someone else was holding, mister creepy McCreepster, creep, creep, creep."

Real Answer: "Boyfriend."

Next question: "Well, how long have you been dating for?"

What I was thinking: "There is no boyfriend. And thank you sir, because I won't be able to think about men for approximately one decade or until your image has been completely erased from my memory. Now go away. Its early and should be the only creepster occupying this train car."

Real Answer: 15 glorious years.

He then proceeds to tell me that he is patrolling this train for potential girlfriends. Say What?? Yes, he is in search of a new "petite amie" and thought the best place to start was the 9am train to a Paris suburb. Huh. So he finally excuses himself, realizing he is getting nowhere and of course, seeing that I am reaching for my apple of a weapon to launch at his head. He continues on, throughout the different cars, returns back when a few more people had made their way onto my train car, stops and glances at a new lady figure for an overly awkward 30 seconds, and continues on, seemingly unimpressed. Umm, I am suppose to take that as a compliment? Well, I don't.

Ok, so maybe Im giving this guy too bad of a time. I mean, I have to give him props for originality. Using the RER train as an economical stand-in for a speed dating event...hmmm...creative? But, o mon dieu, maybe I was better off not having classes cancelled. But, again, I revisit the thought that I am the luckiest girl in all the world...heck, I didn't even have to use my apple.

Bon Dimanche, A Tous!

I am fully ashamed to say my friends, that it has taken me approximately...well I'm not so great with arithmetic...but its taken me wayyy longer than it should have, to finally make it to my first Marche Bio or Organic Farmers Market. Et oh la la, holy shitness, I was so upset with myself for never having visited this wondrous event before. The Marche Bio at Rue de Raspail, is flooded with everything your little natural heart could imagine. Everything from organic soaps and bulk oats to the most colorful and beautiful looking fruits and vegetables. Yes, the price is a bit steep, and yes the clientele might be a bit hypocritical in their full length furs, but I couldn't take my eyes off all they had to offer...

Ah Ha! My first view of the motherload. It was pretty packed, but of coarse the French made the event politely tolerable, although I wouldn't mind never hearing another "Pardon" again. Anywho, at the start my hunt was for: new varieties of apples, fresh spinach, and some crumbly cheese. Lets see how this one goes...

So far so good, as I hit the jackpot. I have never seen so many different types of apples in one place...not even Whole Foods, my friends. I decided to pick the "Juliet", a crisp flat variety that snaps loudly and ain't too bad on the taste buds either. I still prefer my pinkladies. And one more thing...can anyone give a diagnosis or hell, even an uneducated opinion on the point at which one has an apple addiction. Averaging two a day, I think I might qualify. My ass thanks the lord its not a brie dependence.

Ok, dammit. The market just haaaaad to do this to me. It doesn't stop at wonderful looking produce, but they have everything else too... soaps, dish washing liquid, bath salts, stainless steel organic pans?? Well, the market promised everything was organic. And who am I to argue with the french...in french? Pas moi, I say. Anywho, in short, everything to make a this girl grin like a...hmmm..i got nothing this time. Just grin really widely, i guess.

Ahhh et now, the understanding of the origin de la oh la la.

My last stop before prying myself and my wallet out of this black hole. Can you say 15 types of salt? This is too much....I'm done. What I actually came away with? Fresh spinach, a new variety of apples, Roquefort cheese, lavender bath salts (oops), and honey candies (oops encore)

Side note: While patiently waiting to buy my sea salts from the kind older vendeuse, the lady pauses with one customer to answer a question from another....and one dude throws his hands up in the air, going on about how long he has waited and how this poor old woman had done him some sort of injustice. They fight a bit, and he storms away....all this commotion for sea salts? Doucement fellow. But alas, this is how many French go about their lives, with passion, warranted or not.

I just like public transportation, okay?

Later that afternoon, I rendez-vous-ed with KK to grab some soup and tea at one of our new favorite places. As always, we made headway by solvings some of the worlds problems, discussing stripes and their place in the world, and the bizarre idiosyncrasies of la vie francais.

Et viola, c'est moi et mon dimanche. Une petite americaine, very content with the Sunday happenings. What more could I ask for really? A little yoga, farmers market, tea time, and my roomies didn't even die from the chicken that was left to defrost on the kitchen counter all night. I mean, it just doesn't get better than that. Bonne Semaine a tous.

Un Spectac: L'ordinaire

Ive been realizing lately, that surprisingly enough, when I'm at my happiest, I have less going on, less stuff around, and more time to enjoy things that generally aren't considered all too spectacular in everyday life. But, these string of un-noteworthies are indeed together more than wondrous. What has been making me smile wider the past few days:

A new tea room stumbled upon in Paris, just because of a new route to get to an old destination, has the most perfect tea, lighting, and ambiance. Complete with a fire in the corner and the tall, dimly light room covered with old books climbing up and down the walls....it just makes you want to crawl up in a booth, order the wondrous vanilla concoction or “old man's tea” (no joke, not translated) and do a little light reading, I dunno, lets say, in a natural healing book.

So I met a stranger, in French, and had a continuous conversion without too many awkward moments (a triumph in any language) the entire train ride (35 min) back to Paris from work. My head hurt a bit after, but damn it felt good.

I fell for the first time in Paris...yep, running (late) up the escalator from the metro, and voila...face plant. My mom should be glad to hear that I miraculously escaped death, and managed not to get my socks or sweater caught in the moving staircase...a fear of hers since I can remember. Anywho, I just got up, smirked to myself that its been way too long since I had a good fall, and kept running without a wobble in my step. I didn't even need to refer back to the people behind me to know if they were laughing. I know they were, and if not, I'm officially worried about the French. Come on, tall, ganguly, American in that silly beret smack down on the escalator floor? They mustn't see that one too often.

After spending dinner #2 dinner with the roomies (j'ai de la chance!) I took advantage of another beautiful Parisian night to walk along the beautiful streets where the lights hit the grooves all too well in the buildings. A cafe and some journaling later, I relish the idea of being able to prolong my nights with this beautiful city as much as possible.

I saw a truly independent movie, only playing in 3 tiny theatres, and just in Paris, about the impact of music of bringing Israelis and Palestinians together towards peace. Afterwards, the French ambassador in Israel spoke and the producer answered questions. It was so french. One viewer's question could literally be inducted into the Guinness book for all time longest inquiry. Others were already making plans on how they could send this film around the world through ipods, tvs, microwaves....you name it. The best thing...I actually got what they were saying.

Carole, my roomie, and I spent the evening together, bonding, in french, over real subjects, in french. My grammar might suck, but we still understood one another. Just two people, trying to make the best of life, in different languages. I met her dad for the first time, as most of her family joined us after our dinner of African Peanut soup for some whiskey and cigars. I just sat back and took it all in. Her mom even asked me how I got the Thanksgiving turkey to taste so good. Response: BUTTER. Oops!

We turned the heater up, and with my back plastered against it at the moment, I 'm almost on FI-YAH.

After seeing the 2009 Cannes pick, Agosta, I am realizing how flipping damn lucky I am, to be in Paris, with truly great people, watching the snow fall on the beautiful streets, sharing meals and laughter, and most importantly being thankful that I'm not a pagan, woman, or just flippin present in 391 AD.

Hashing out the events de la quotidien with KK over overpriced delicious cafes and un carafe d'eau (bais ouais), we cover and recover topics...and it never seems to get old. A newer addition to the scene: dating avec un peu de la style francais. A year ago KK had graciously enough gathered information from a french man that the dating scene works a little different here. Apparently you dont date around. You date one person at a time. Not three, or the entire city of NY, if you have more of a Samantha Jones style. Soooo....KK points out that when we laugh at the falafel guy when he calls me his girlfriend, he might not be laughing along with us. God, I hope this is just one perspective. An inaccurate one to be more clear.

Seeing the Eiffel tower on an above ground metro line. Especially at night, on the hour, when it sparkles more than figuratively. It just hasn't gotten tiresome yet.

Yep, yes, ouais, oui....this city is being rather good to me....smelly peeps and all.

Ba, Ba, Back a Paris

After a heartfelt goodbye, several thoughts were crossing my mind as I crossed the ocean, mostly why exactly I ever leave California or my family. But alas, I was reminded by the amazingness that is Paris:

1. Cafes. First day back. Hadnt slept in, I dont know, approximately a billion hours. Why sleep when you can reunite with the one and only KK over a pick-me-up, rather known as a decaf espresso. We are becoming creatures of habit, already sipping boissons chauds at Cafe Philosophes a few times since returning. The food servers almost looked relieved, well almost, to see their loyal clientele back to sip endless hot chocolates and coffees while laughing harder than anyone else in the place for hours upon, well, half hours, I guess. How can this always be so fun? Well, it just is.

Meet the roomies: C'est Ombeline (left) et Carole

Carole's famous heart attack of an appetizer: a bit of spinach, mostly creme fraiche, a slab of goat cheese, and topped with an egg. Its delicious, but come on an empty stomach will ya.

2. Playing Catch Up. As I attempted to find room for my seemingly endless stash of peanut butter and bizarre american cooking ingredients (even to Americans), my roomies came home and we had a wonderous late Christmas dinner....just the three of us. We sat around the table, catching up, as best as we could, without hardly any awkward, I don't understand what the fuck you are saying moments. They cooked an entirely bio (organic) dinner, and I'm not sure if it was in my honor, but Ill just pretend like it was. They were too cute, pointing out that they made the effort to make the meal semi-vegetarian with chicken and salmon....I love that the French's idea of semi-vegetarian is my mom's idea of an overloaded meat meal. Gotta love them. And as always Carole cooked up one mean feast. Then as Ombeline cut the traditional cake of January, complete with a hidden ring, I was ordered to get under the table. Hazing much? We exchanged christmas gifts and wow, I am so impressed with how well my roomies got me! I mean first the bio food and now! An oversized tunic sweater with a belt. Too Perfect. They explained to me their rationale: "Well, you always wear leggings and a (semi)long shirt, so in continuing with this theme....viola!" Well, I love it. A couple days later, at brunch, Carole would explain to a friend that my californian style is a bit sexy, complete with leggings and not much else on the bottom. Yes, I get shit for this in New York, and Paris, around the globe really. Mais, c'est moi! They rejoiced over the converse shoes I bought them, and looked skeptical about the peanut butter See's candy. I will win them over eventually.

3. Les Soldes. Just the luck of my meager teacher's bank account. Twice a year, thats right just twice, there are legally allowed to be sales. Well, now is the time. It pretty much works like this... You drink a coffee, then you shop (aka push and shove your way to the good stuff and strip in the middle of the store while the bored looking men don't look so bored anymore....esp in the lingerie section...woop woop) ok, then you have a coffee, maybe a hot chocolate, shop, shop, and have something to eat. Oh, and then you shop again. Its pretty hardcore, but more fun than anything. The city seems like a zoo, with people coming from every which way to take advantage of the great prices. Everything is on sale! well, not the food. Its alright, veggies arent that expensive...

4. Ze Yoga. Well, I guess this is just what I love about the world. I can pick up a yoga class practically anywhere. I sucked up my money belt and made it to yoga for the first time in Paris. It was necessary. Yes, its twice the price, but Im an addict...so im going ok!? I just cant go 6 times a week. The studio is beautiful, they offer classes in English, although the "bikram" studio is not quite that. At one point in the class, I began to feel a draft coming from outside. Ummm....hellllo?? did you know that bikram= 105 whole degrees of sweltering goodness ? Well maybe they got the temperature mixed up when they were converting Fahrenheit to Celsius, but damn not so hot. But, it was amazing nevertheless.

Other great things since I have been back?

1. Amazing dinner at a vegetarian restaurant. I have no clue what they served me, but it was delicious.

2. Two of my favorite things together: Peanut butter and Paris. Did I mention I have peanut butter here now? I think this officially makes me have peanut butter issues. Costa Rica, peanut butter issues. Paris, issues. At least New York had a restaurant completely dedicated to the substance. Ok, I admit it alright...its my crack.

3. Falafel. Although, we cheated on my Falafel guy and tried somewhere else. They both are so good. I'm so confused.

Things that aren't so great since Ive been back:

1. Its fucking cold here.

Looking forward to:

Visits from.... Kimmmmmmer, Schmoopie!, Megan and the craziest Hensel of all

Travels to....the south of France (this weekend), Prague, Germany....who knows what else...

Dinner Parties....Showing Paris the real California Mexican Later this month.

Theme Party....The roomies and I are throwing a grand fete the 12th of February...this should be interesting....

My next school vacation...already in about a month. Love the French.

A bientot!

HOMELAND, at last

Ah, the past three weeks, filled with crazy family, suspicious baked goods, yoga, and fireplaces that really arent too necessary in sunny California. I almost didnt get on the plane to come back. But really.

I guess in my old age, o goodness 24 in a month and a half!, it is getting harder and harder for me to leave my family. In many ways, I was much braver as a nine year old than I am nowadays. But I guess I didnt realize as much what I was leaving behind..... Comme ca...my wonderous winter break:

Our family is strange. I think we are much more wild/strange/etc etc than many normal American families (whatever that means), let alone the Frenchies. Case in point, Steve Stein. Always making other people laugh, but first and foremost,Steve Stein is always making Steve Stein laugh. Love you dad.

As a Hannukah/Christmas/Kwanza gift, Steve Stein took us to San Francisco for a couple days. We browsed, we of course ate well, and took in the Christmas and palm trees plus the sunny weather at the same shot. I'll take a palm tree over a white Christmas any day. No matter what Kevin McCallister says.

Ah, welcome to the Stein cookbook collection. Vegan, Mais Ouais! Organic, Duh. The Temple Holiday Food Handbook? Yes, even that one too. We welcome it all, well, maybe not Meatlovers Paradise, but Im sure we even have that one tucked away somewhere. Although it might seem overly simple, nothing made me happier than a plate full of no french beef, chicken, creme, cheese....esp sharing the same dish.

Combined time spent with Codoni-Schmitts? Approximately 7,435 hours. It was AWESOME. We really did everything with Susie and Scmitty....movies, New Years Eve complete with explicit infomercials, christmukkah dinner, Christmas dinner, France/Italy/but mostly Italian dinner. Schmitty and I even drank Dobleback beers that my cousin Mickey told me that not only could I not buy them in the US, but I couldnt even buy them in northern Germany. Way to show him Safeway.

Christmas, as always was more than wonderful. And came with Challah. Holla.

Hell, I even had fun with 2T.

The list goes on and on: veg baking and bonding with xtina, there not being 9 hours difference from friends/fam via telephone, CoCoro, hiding cookies from my dad in the cupboard, spending more time at the sacramento co-op than the combined state of California, meals without the following: meat, cream, butter, lard, creme, etc, etc, the fireplace, seeing Jessapena's (the devil cat) stomach almost touch the floor, being loud...in English. Oh, and looking out Shaina's window. Yes, yes its getting harder to leave. Maybe, just maybe, next time I wont.

Das ist Guuut

Its a bit overdue, but I couldn't forgo the details from my first visit to my future new home. Welcome folks, to the incredible Munich, Germany. Everything here is, well, substantial. At least way more substantial than Paris. The men, the beer, the noise level. Instantaneously, I felt at home in this ridiculous place.

I hadn't seen the German components to my family tree in about 15 years, so I wasn't sure who to look for or exactly what to expect when Mickey came to fetch KK et moi at the airport. Being my dads side of the family, I was sure that these people were a little more than crazy. And Alas! How correct I was. In the first 5 minutes, we were laughing over old family stories and Mickey was trying to explain to me our family tree, which in reality is more like a lamp post. I guess the incest explains the kookiness? Anywho, Mickey takes us on a quick driven tour of Munich before we make a pit stop by the apartment/hotel he is letting us stay in complete with beers and cozy blankets. Cant ask for much more in freezing Munich.

And then the craziness ensues. While Mickey is preoccupied this way and that, alternating between business phone calls and playing family tour guide, we somehow end up at a very local beer-garden. KK and I take in the substantial surrounding, food, and people, and are introduced to our escorts for the night (or something like that), Dennis and Colby (Jack). These guys are definite dudes (and I looove DUDES) who I immediately impress by knocking over a half liter of beer right onto Colby Jack's pants. Oops! Mickey starts hysterically laughing and pointing to his crotch attempting to make “loo” jokes until, and a bit after, the beer evaporated into the beer-garden air. I got shit for that one for a while. So, back to the events at hand. We, more wine drinkers than beer aficionados, more vegetarians than carnivores, are ordered the following: 1 plate of sausages, mashed potatoes, potato dumplings, pork, sauerkraut, red cabbage, chocolate cake, apple strudal, and 3 kinds of beer that appear to be bottomless. Did I mention we weren't even hungry? Holy moly. Looking around, taking in the surroundings, these people are bigger and louder than most I've witnessed, and their mugs and plates definitely mimic that. We hit it off with the boys, and 3 doppelbocks (but in actuality much less as I kept pouring mine into Dennis' liter mug), 3 hours, and a whole lot of miscommunication later, Dennis and I are standing on the booth of our table, attempting to dance for the rest of the restaurant. Hmmm....we decide to take this elsewhere.

Quick lowdown on the boys:

Colby Jack: The tall, lankier of the two, he is your typical late twenty something asshole player type, trying to be smooth with the ladies even when he has remnants of an entire beer on his pants. The smarter of the two, speaking English, although not quite understanding when I call him a “creepster.”

Dennis: even more substantial than your average German, adorable in that free spirit, just wanting to have fun way, but complete with a whole lot of muscle. His English is fairly non existent, but understands when I respond to his love confession with , “oh, God, not another one.” He says that's his line. This guy is mine.

The five of us are dancing our way through the snowy baroque-ness that is Munich. We pop into a wine bar and witness and then take part in, although just for a moment, some dancing reminiscent of a type of German ho-down complete with lederhosen. We pop outside again, continuing to frolic through the streets, meanwhile being exchanged between Dennis and Colby Jack. What fun! At the point, I'm not sure what my cousin(?) thinks of his long lost family member. We reach our final destination, the German discotheque, finding ourselves on platforms dancing, in dark hallways at moments, and being handed vodka red bulls in the process. (O Lord, WHY?? Why did they pick that? Anything but that! or that's precisely what we moaned later that morning) After watching these macho type boys demonstrate pass the ice cube, KK et moi look at each other befuddled, and then partook. The night gets fuzzier, the smiles wider, the arms flail-ier. While being swept around the club by this Dennis character he accidentally bumps into the German, crazy security guard and ensuite....kicked out. Damn, these Germans are tough. We decide to steer clear of the situation and stumble home. 20 minutes of trying to separate ourselves from the boys, 15 minutes of trying to pronounce the name of our street to the cabbie, and another 10 unlocking our door, we fell into bed at 4am, some still with contacts, trying to forget that we hadn't been in this horizontal position for a good 24 hours.

The next morning, one of those huge sunglass and coffee mornings, after we had a quick photo shoot in the snow, we meet up with more long lost family and old family friends. My aunt(?) Renatae suggests the liver dumplings soup and fried fish since it is LIGHT??? and I've had enough meat to last me for the rest of my life. I look over to Mickey and am surprised by the reasonable lunch he has in front of him, thinking its fried egg on toast, except that isn't toast, its pork. They slay me. The lunch was complete with crazy family stories and laughter. I felt so at home in this crazy German world. For once, I was face to face with where my German family stems from and I felt more like them in one day, than 3 months in the other European country overflooded with stripes and moustaches. Renatae continued to take us to the Christmas markets, where we perused great architecture and the spirit of a snowy Christmas season. Of course they love us through food, feeding us gluhwein (hot wine) made to perfection, roasted chestnuts, chocolates, and then resting our feet to eat a supposedly famous dessert in the middle of old Munich. The markets are truly extraordinary, a must for any Christmas freak, like myself.

We haven't even been here for a day, and I feel as though it has been forever, and finally my unter schwester Shaina arrives and after some quality sibling time together, we take off to Hofbrau House and somehow end up drinking liter beers with the US Olympic Bobsled Team. I could go on forever baby, but honestly the more I think about this weekend, the more my liver and stomach start spasming.

Upon departing from Munich and returning back to my “real world” that is anything but, I have decided that if there ever needs to be extreme shitty times to balance these incredible ones, that's ok by me. I leave with invitation upon invitation from family and friends to return, and I hope to....maybe for longer than they expect.

Next stop: Detox. One thing I can always count on good old California for....