Speakeasy to Me

Amidst this Prohibition (http://rt.com/news/czech-alcohol-prohibition-poisoning-188/) a famous Praha singer dropped her newest single titled “Do you know the methanol man?” which refers to the mysterious man who is getting between bitches and booze. This is a thing no man should ever do. Also, the famous singer I just referenced goes by the name of Lady Gordo, a distant cousin of Lady GaGa from the land of El Burrito Loco (she is queen of this late night burrito shop and may even be the inspiration for a frequent member stamp card, stay tuned).

This is Lady Gordo’s latest Teen Bop magazine cover (she is the desired mate of every teen Czech boy)

 Let me give you the melody for this future Grammy award winning pop single—sing it to the beat “Do you know the methanol man, the methanol man, the methanol man” and when appropriate insert “who lives in bumb fuck Czech Republic”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lMOd8WADZZM

(excuse the music video, we had limited time and stage production funds)

This catastrophe has brought about a deep desire for me to reflect upon American history, as always. Back in the day the breezies of our united nation were pissed at their quagmire old hubbies who would roll back home crunk as Lohan and often unleash Chris Brown tendencies. Rihanna would have been all over this Prohibition movement. Talk about a valid reason. But let’s be real here, booze has gone from making women victims to making them bo$$y and independent. Women can own their own companies that sell Vodka to the aforementioned scuzzbags and make bank off of them, they can throw back shots when they wanna make the moves on a foreign hottie (don’t know anyone anywhere who would like to do this at the current moment), and they can pin drink recipes on Pinterest because that’s what highly educated and fierce females choose to do with their time. Let us take a moment to compare and contrast, cause that’s what a good history paper does.

How lady friends used to feel about Prohibition

vs. how all my Praha sistas are feeling

Prayin’ for that shit to return

In the mean time, I am personally opening a Speakeasy titled “Come Get Crunk with Carl”…wait my name isn’t Carl, it’s Carol*. I’ll be mixing some moonshine and nail polish in my Czech tub so come by and drop some korunas on the finest booze Prohibition has ever seen. Let’s party like we’re in the 1920’s.

*explanation of this will follow soon…it has to do with a certain level of intoxication reached in a small Czech town they call Cesky Krumlov where I sold my soul for beer and wine…and then more beer and then more wine…topped off with wine and a tumble down the river

cookies and stairs don’t mix

Backstory: Every day we have to walk up 8 flights of stairs to get to our apartment after also walking back and forth from anything we chose to do that day or didn’t willingly choose to do (aka 3.5 hours of intensive Czech language classes urry morning starting at 9 AM). This fact rationalizes the geographically desirable bakery, Bakeshop, that is around the corner from our apartment building where we bought the soon to be mentioned face-sized cookies.

So, after a day of tours and walking and walking and walking….and walking….all of it added up and we were delusional to say the least (to the point where Michelle and I were wrapping scarves around our heads and dancing like Aladdin characters). We ended up at a random restaurant owned by an Australian man and his dog that would serve us American-ish food and accept our sweats as normal attire. Please infer the non-serious tone about that. Side note, the Australian man also had to teach Alyssa how to eat fish. I hit up the steak and potatoes while Michelle slurped pasta and we all meticulously planned our trip to get cookies after we paid. Enter cookies.

Point of post: It’s a far stretch to call it an epiphany but tonight there was a moment that pretty much symbolized the ridiculous contrast between American and European life. It became increasingly clear while we were huffing and puffing up our stairs complaining about how many more flights we had to go yet at the same time stuffing bites of huge Bakeshop cookies into our mouths, therefore decreasing our oxygen flow and increasing our fatty flow, that we really are not in tune with the Czech way of life. Our lack of being able to make it upstairs because we aren’t Europeans and can’t walk and also the face stuffing because we are Americans who can eat but not walk proved to be a perfect paradox that is our life here thus far. The obnoxious laughing that followed once we realized what we were doing also brought up another issue because of strict quiet rules in hallways that clearly our loud American culture would never condone cause that shit is oppressive and boring.

Moral of the story: Everything we do here makes us realize how American we are.

 

P.S. We were making jokes about our cleaning lady and our landlord (David aka young man with Czech accent who we pay to bring us random pieces of furniture whenever we request) secretly shacking in the locked towel/cleaning supply room in our room while walking down our stairs to dinner and low and behold David was walking up the stairs. Aside from the fact that he walked in on us all pant-less today, I’m pretty sure he has a very high opinion of Americans and could contribute a lot more to this post. Dobry BYE!

evacuate the dance floor aka evacuate the apartment building

Once upon a time there was a girl named Carol. On her first night sleeping in her Prague apartment after going out she decided to take a quick vacation to the building doorstep.

 

With all of her 4 suitcases, repacked. And best part, she was still asleep.

 

No joke I was in a dream that I was on my way to a wedding in Italy and thought I had to pack all of my suitcases and rush to the airport. So basically to leave our room you have to use a key to unlock it and then go down FOUR flights of stairs and leave the main building door which proceeds to lock behind you. And of course because I was on my way to a wedding I didn’t need the keys or a phone so I decided to leave them in the room. Imagine me lugging all my shit while being unconscious down the stairs looking like I’m on a full blown mission. 

 

Long story short, when I woke up I was outside on the doorstep in a fancy going out top and jeans and all my suitcases staring at the door like I just landed on Mars with the fucking NASA crew. So I was locked out of the apartment with all my suitcases with no way to get in and our first day of Czech language class to get to 3 hours later. I started screaming Romeo and Juliet style for Michelle or anyone in general and banging on the door at 6 AM. 

 

Finally, some Czech woman came who lived in the building and let me in while staring at me like I was an escaped convict and probably fearing for her life that I was entering the building behind her. Talk about an epic first night. This was after being on the doorstep for 2 hours and falling victim to a wonderful morning rain shower. Never fail to disappoint. 

 

Whatever, I heard the wedding in Italy was a rager. 

Ode to Gnomio aka King of the Castle

When you are jet-lagged, hungover…near puking…and you enter your new apartment in a foreign country only to find a Gnome chilling there in the entry way there aren’t many ways to explain the reaction. Well, I decided to name him Gnomio and just go with it. I’m dedicating this post to him because he is the King of the Castle, our Prague castle, and he is the center of all pre-games and intense daily conversations. He contributes only in Czech but doesn’t know many words other than “Ahoj” and “pivo” and whatever the Czech translation for “I’m a pimp” is. In this photo we crafted a genuine blunt and local Vodka bottle for him to rock. Also, on the topic of vodka, there was a national emergency declared the other day (mind you after 2 nights of straight downing the drank) that people were dying of methanol poisoning in the vodka. LOL RIGHT?…..no…..

Taken part 2, the vodka series. 

That’s all for Gnomio today, but stay tuned for an in depth description of my sleep walking adventure that resulted in me being locked out of our apartment by myself with 4 bags thinking I was headed to an Italian wedding. Cheers to my life in Prague and stay hopeful that I return in one human piece.