That time of the year rolled around again: Erlanger Bergkirchweih.

This beer guzzling phenomenon can also be referred to as the event many a teenager(and sadly or maybe not so sadly many non-teenagers) save up for all year. This magical fest is everything it is hyped up to be. Starting with the long walk through sun kissed fields carrying one or 3 crates of beer, running into too many people you know and sharing a Klopferle with them, eventually you somehow make it to the music and German “Tracht” infused party. I can’t even explain it. It is amazing. And somehow I always manage to spend exuberant amounts of money there along with every other person attending. It is amazing. That is worth repeating a hundred times.

You will lose everyone there. You won’t have service. Your phone will die. You will fall off the table you’re dancing on at least 4 times. The music will be too loud. Then the music won’t be loud enough. They will play “Summer of ’69” too often, yet never often enough. You’ll fall in love set to “Sweet Caroline”, then forget who you fell in love with and move on to the next table full of random people who are bound to be your best friends within a song and a “Cheers”. And you will drink a lot of beer.

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Day 5

It is day 5! Halfway done! Crazy how fast it is going.

I am feeling really okay. Not hungry at all, and if I am then I drink some juice. Bim bam. Maybe I won’t stop and I will just drink juice my entire life. Just kidding. I already have an extensive list of food I will be eating which includes 4 different burgers from 3 different restaurants. But I do think I will change my approach to the way I eat.

Additionally, doing this detox has made me realize how many activities in the realms of my very dynamic and exuberant life revolve around eating and drinking and eating more and drinking and eating a cookie and drinking a beer and eating everything. Never in my life have I been a true activist of organizing so many recreational activities as now. I have been to a lake for an afternoon outing where we played cards for about an hour. I went bowling, because it sounded like fun. When have I ever done that? Answer: never because I have never been 80 years old, until now. Bowling was actually super fun and I was very good at it and it mainly had to do with the fact that 50% of the people playing were consuming an alcoholic beverage of some sort and my fellow sober sisters weren’t exactly Olympic trained bowlers. Proceeding to my next recreational activity, this I believe the true frosting on the cake that is detox-hobbies: mini golf. Remember when your weird uncle who wears purple a lot and smells kind of like a mixture of bananas and mold asked you if you wanted to play mini golf when you were 7 and you just knew you didn’t and since then you’ve always know no good thing comes from mini golf? Well it turns out it is a very humorous way of passing time. I am terrible but it was very cute to watch the 8 year old behind us make nearly a hole in one every time and experience all 7 of us full grown college educated adults smile with a little bit of hate every time we realized again how much of a boss this kid is. How is this kid such a boss? He was truly the Iron Man of mini golfing. It must be something, maybe he drinks a lot of milk or pediasure.

Well, today I just went into the sunny city for a juice with the fellow drinking gals, less retired-golf-addicted-khaki-wearing-60-yr-old activity and more regular 20 year old hours of the day. 🙂

A Day at Sea

The weather has been unbelievably NOT German, and by that I mean the sun has been shining and I have not been forced to wear the IKEA blanket version of a mammoth’s hide. So, we decided to drive to a lake nearby and lather ourselves in sunscreen. Alright mainly me. Ok it was Zinc Oxide, but otherwise I would look like *this* today. Yeah, there’s nothing there because I would be in a hospital somewhere, under a heavy dosage of Vicodin and unable to man any photographing device.

All in all the lake was very pretty and it was amazing to lay around in daisy sprinkled grass.

What to do when You Aren’t in Chinatown

After an impulse buy in Chinatown, San Francisco, we had to at least come up with some sort of a project for our new snazzy outfits. The mustache, of course, is real. No, it really is. Stop looking at me like that. As is the horse. I did find it strange that that blonde girl with the braids didn’t have a face, but who am I to judge right? I think her name was Sally. Strange name: doesn’t really fit to a native Bavarian girl avec horse.