Last night I snapped. I want to wear my lederhosen in public, dammit, and I want to wear them now. So, I called Philipp and suggested we go to the Hofbrauhaus for a round of beers (which, incidentally, contain a full liter of beer), under one condition: We both wear our lederhosen.
I donned my costly investment, and might I say, looked damn good. While travelling from my place to the HBH, I did not get one awkward or questioning stare from a single person. I love that. I was one of them. I had become a true Bavarian. I can feel the malty brew coursing through my veins right now. Suddenly, I am struck by an urge to leap up, bang my fists on the table, and triumphantly announce, "Ihn Munchen steht ein Hofbrauhaus, ein, zwei, g'suffa!!" (Translation: In Munich, there is a Hofbrauhaus, one, two, drunk.)
I restrain myself. Thankfully.
Anyway, we go and have a great time. Then, Philipp tells me where we are going next.
This is one of those moments where I am positive that my life is being filmed, and that I am the joke of a meta-world that giggles with delight at my every mis-adventure. This is the kind of stuff you can't write about, because it is too much of a coincidence.
A local club was having a Lederhosen and dirndl party. I am not kidding. Preferred entry for those who are dressed in the traditional costume of Bavaria. Let's go!
Philipp and I roll up and party the night away, listening to German music I can't understand, talking to German people I can't understand, drinking German beer that I completely understand. It was awesome. I am satisfied; for the moment. Who knows when the urge shall strike me to don my leather once again.
Besides that, things are rather slow here in Munich. Tourist season starts again during Oktoberfest, so right now it is eerily quiet here. A welcome change of pace, I say.
What else? Today I had a conversation about whether it was the right idea to drop the Atomic Bomb in World War II. Thrilling.
That's its. But, most importantly: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM (and Michael Jackson)!