I Heart Halloween: 2011 Edition

There seem to be two types of Fall People: "Halloween people" or "Thanksgiving people." Don't get me wrong, I am all for November gluttony, but ever since I was little, the last day of October has held a special place in my heart. This Halloween obsession (documented here, here and here) apparently knows no geographic *or age* constraints, and luckily for me, the Germans have begun embracing the holiday so I was not alone.

Even better for me, a particular German was more than happy to participate. Or, at least seemed to be. I am pretty sure he didn't know what he was getting himself into, and by the time he realized it, he was too far gone.

Reasons why my Berlin Halloween was better than yours (because it IS a competition):

• There was a city-wide treasure pumpkin hunt that spanned four stores and included The German chasing down strangers like a maniac to ask them where they purchased their orange carving prize. Of course they'd bought the last one. Luckily, a stop or two later, we ended up spotting one in a restaurant's fall decoration display! Hooray, they were willing to part with it, and on top of that Halloween miracle, the woman even gave us free ice-cream sandwiches. Life lesson: You are never too old to Trick or Treat. 
• The German lost his pumpkin-carving V card. He watched a professional video ahead of time to know what he was doing. Like they all do. Bwahah. He was very serious about the whole process. Like "I brought this electric power tool to use; do you have the special lemon juice mixture I requested to prevent molding?" serious. Oh, and apparently I have been carving pumpkins incorrectly all of my life. Allegedly you're supposed to carve first, scoop second. What, did you know this?? And you also are supposed to go in through the back, not the top. "The stem has important nutrients so you need to keep in tact." Why do you know this? Luckily this Pumpkin Prodigy found inspiration in my only scrap paper - these adorable French Bulldog note pads (gifted by Ashley, the most amazing gift giver of all time) - so his skills didn't go to waste on something boring.  
• We went to a spooky party. Germans love the ghoul and the gore way more than I do, but hey, I will take what I can get. And if you want to decorate your flat and invite me over to celebrate my favorite holiday, who am I to stand in your way. I might even come bearing jello shots, because, I am a classy American after all.
• I had the opportunity to scream "IT'S ME, MAAAAAAAAAAARIO" at strangers, which is one of my favorite Halloween traditions ever. Or favorite things in general. I was a little nervous we might be the only people at da' club dressed up, but boy was I wrong. In addition to everybody's favorite brothers, I saw plenty of Heath Ledger (RIP) Jokers, Slutty Nurses, and pirates. It was like 2008 all over again! 
• I hosted a brunch that was attended by a child! A real life child to appreciate my spiderweb decorations (special thanks to The German for putting them up) and kitschy Halloween goodies (special thanks to my mom for dragging them across the Atlantic). And everyone at all my food so I wasn't forced to later. Win-win.
• It didn't snow in Berlin, suckers.

Here are a few pics:

Such attention to detail. I love it.

I am technically a spider but really just look like a Slutty Goth, which suits me pretty well, huh?

I Spy: A great use of Halloween stickers and my vintage Troll doll from childhood. 

The inspiration.

Even though I would prefer a real Frenchie (to dress up like a Frenchman), this is the next best thing.

And You May Ask Yourself, Well, How Did I Get Here?

This time next week I will fly to Texas for my friend Lauren's nuptials, in which I will play a very important role as a member of her Best Friends of Honor Party. [Woo Girl moment.]

And, I'm not totally sure why, but for some reason I keep having flashbacks to three and a half years ago when I made the trek to Dallas from New York (technically Philly because saving $100 on that flight was the only way I could afford to go) to witness the first of my college friends Hallie walk down the aisle.

At the time it was all completely foreign. Not just the wedding, but the entire idea of stability. Of being a real person and vowing to be a real person with another real person for the rest of your real person life. But I have no clue how to do that! Clearly a reason why I was just a guest at the (awesome) party and not the one making any promises. 

Anyway, a lot has changed since then. For instance, instead of worrying about surviving the night stranded in the (ghetto) Philadelphia Amtrak station, on this journey I'm mainly concerned about moderating my complimentary champagne consumption during the course of the three connecting flights. [Humble-business-class-brag-combined-with-logistical-complaint right there for ya.]

But to think back to June of 2008 when I was merely a glimmer in my parents' eye. Oh wait, no, I was like 22 and supporting myself (barely). Whatever, I was a child. Now at the ripe old age of 26, I am finally starting to feel like a adult. (Although truth to be told, I had a moment last week where, for the life of me, I couldn't remember how old I was, "maybe I'm 25? Does that sound right? Yeah, that sounds good.") See what I mean, adults are always forgetting things and/or lying about their age! I fit right in!

The thing about this wedding, though, is that Lauren was, at one point, part of my Non-Real Person Manhattan World. She was like me! And then, all of a sudden like a lightening bolt, last week I found myself perusing her wedding registry. (I mean, when there is an option to buy a batter syringe you always go for it, right? And don't even get me started about this wheeled-contraption that minces garlic. Do you know about this? Is this the kind of thing you only find out about when you aren't too busy spending your time "trying to meet someone special"? Because I would be fine skipping ahead to this stage.)

The point is, even though I have no idea how I ended up here, in certain ways I have matured. Maybe not Fully Stocked Pantry mature, but I am getting there. (I own parchment paper, enough said.) And while hopefully the chances of me having to ask strangers to make sure no one messes with me while I pass out on a wooden bench from post-wedding exhaustion are very slim, if it happens I will at least be wearing free slippers while doing so and that makes everything better. And much more adult.

Fall + Castle = Perfection

The weather was crisp this weekend. It had an inspiring lack of humidity that needed to be seized. And, after some self-convincing that we should do something (I had put on eye shadow after all), The German and I took advantage of it while strolling around Mitte looking at The Berlin Lights Festival.  

Berliner Dome Lisa Frank style. 

Halloween! So soon! I can't wait!

The next day, still beautiful weather, he told me he had planned to take me somewhere. But where? He wouldn't say. My only instructions were to dress warmly so we could put the top down on his convertible. Are you crazy? It's six degrees... Celsius. So that is cold, I guess, I mean, it sounds cold.. Anyway, for someone who does not love surprises, it actually beat my expectations when I discovered his secret destination.

Awhile back I had made it known that I should probably see some castles while I'm in Germany. Unfortunately there are none close by, and although it would be fun to make a weekend out of staying at one, let's be honest, I am sort of running out of weekends.

So The German took it upon himself to do a little research, and found the nearby Spandau Zitadelle, a fortress on the outskirts of Berlin. It was perfect.

I mean, there is a MOAT! Although it did lose points for the lack of draw-bridge (could I BE any more high maintenance?)

We learned that the fortress dates back to the 1100s, and has seen a lot of changes since then.

For starters, tons o' different types of hats. I mean helmets. Whatever. 

Not only did we do some learning, we also got to admire the changing colors.
Or maybe that was just me. 

When we were walking up to the tower, a family was coming out. The little boy was crying, "Don't ever make me go up there again!!!" (As translated by The German). Kidz, lol.  

The German locking me up in the tower. Oh no! At least I didn' cry about it like that baby.

Okay fine you can come out. Oh good, I didn't think I was up for the
whole Rapunzel thing, I did just get a hair cut after all. 

Stairs: They don't make 'em like the used to.

View from the top.

We stopped in the medieval themed restaurant for a coffee. Hopefully we can go back for a full feast.

If only to have another opportunity to act like a child.

Just practicing in case I ever need to pose for a statue or something.

This guy looks stoned.
HAHAHAH

"I've completely lost my mind!"

Following our stroll around the grounds and museum, The German found a perfect restaurant for a late-afternoon lunch. Sinatra playing in the background, a view of the water, and one of the most delicious meals I've had in a long time. All in all, a perfect kidnapping (even though it was lacking Polish chainsaws). Thank you!

I feel awkward snapping photos of food in restaurants, but not of adorable little table plants.

Las Ramblas Is Spanish For "Watch Your Purse"

Might as well share with you the last of the Barcelona pictures, right? What else better do you have to do? Don't answer that.

Where the magic happens.

In case you are in the market for something other than a hamster.

Who doesn't love a good food market? 

Most beautiful booth ever.

Bridesmaids make their friends do crazy things all around the world apparently.

Hooray hidden jack-o-lanterns among the produce!

Pinterest has really done wonders for my light fixture obsession. Please admire these bad boys.

I see you!

Adios, Espana!

Guadi's Architectual Fairytale

In the George Costanza "I'm an architect!" secret dream profession sort of way, Antonio Guadi is my hero.



There are few people who have so masterfully captured that creepy creative feeling for mass success (Dr. Seuss and Tim Burton for example), but looking at his works of art around the city, there is no denying that Guadi has left his mark on the world with his Barcelona buildings.

His whimsical style is the only thing I remember from my first trip to there, the last stop on a month-long "backpacking" tour of Europe. Considering I was also suffering from the most painful third-degree sun burn slash sun poisoning I got a few days earlier in Southern France, I have pretty much blocked out everything else, but boy were those buildings awesome.

Here are a few of the photos from his Park Guell and only one lame one from Sagrada Familia because I was not really in the picture-taking mood when we stopped by. But really, I hope you can see them for yourself one day, because I promise these snapshots don't do them any justice.

Someone got a little crazy with her photo editing...

These parrots are fellow Guadi enthusiasts.

Barcelona (Part Uno Of As Many As I Can Stretch It Out To)

Three generations palling around Spain.

Okay enough about The German, let me tell you how the rest of my trip with my mom and grandma went.

I have to say, I love spending time with both of them. They are two of my best friends. But like any close female relative relationship, there are only so many "Do you think my purse is going to be safe??" questions I can handle before the eye-rolling ensues.

I think living in large urban cities like New York and Berlin has left me with a constant, subconscious surveillance of my surroundings versus a periodic panic about my safety, as is the case when you are a visitor in a foreign land. This was coupled with my mistake of warning them that while Germans are a civilized people, Spaniards shouldn't be trusted (based a few '07 backpacking trip compadres getting pick-pocketed on the Metro). It resulted in borderline paranoia.

My mom at the Berlin airport: "Take off your money belt when you go through security so it doesn't look like you have a bomb strapped to you." Dolo: "Good idea." Me: "Why the hell are you need to wear a money belt on the airplane? Dolo: "So we are secure when we get off the plane." Me: "What do you possibly think will happen at the arrival gate?" God love 'em.

So with the exception of our taxi driver's Catalan road rage and the fact he failed to put on the parking break on our hilly hotel street and we started to roll backward after he got out, it was smooth sailing. Or at least nothing that could have been prevented from wearing that damn money belt. (I just cannot get past how sticking your hands down your pants to fetch a few euros is a better idea than a wallet, but whatever, I will get on with my life.)

Anyway, I love those crazy ladies and will miss having them around to iron my clothes and laugh at my stories. But I was glad to have the opportunity to explore Barcelona together before they set sail on their Mediterranean cruise, especially since Dolo has been dying to visit Spain since like forever. When we landed she said, “It’s like I’m meant to be here.” Yes, Dolo, in another life you might have been Spanish. I mean, her name is Dolorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrres after all.

And to make the trip even more fun, my UT KKG pal Ellen flew up from Southern Spain where she is teaching English. Last spring when she got accepted into a program, I made my gchat away message “Barcelona 2012” in hopes that I might be able to come visit. Who would have thought that it would come true (a few months early) because I would already be living in Europe? No one, that's who. 

Since we were only there for a short time, we decided to see it all. Being kind of a tourist snob, I usually turn my nose up at site seeing rides, but mi madre had heard that the hop on hop off buses were the way to go. With great weather (much warmer than what I’ve been dealing with in Berlin, I forgot how much I prefer it), it was a perfect decision.

Here are a few photos:                                                                                

Our chariot. Or one of the 1000 identical buses.

Beautiful buildings, beautiful landscape, beautiful weather.

Because there are not enough creepy pictures of me on the Internet.

A cathedral. It was surprisingly old as well as beautiful. Really don't make 'em like they used to, huh?

The inside was also old and pretty.

I was obsessed with this paint job. Guess I wasn't the only one.

False advertising. What I wouldn't do for some legit migas right about now.

Surprise archaeology tour? Why not. Thanks for being way cooler than just a bunch of old things in glass boxes, Barcelona History Museum.

Don't those things look like dinosaur eggs? Well they are not. The Romans used them to make a weird fish bone sauce. Tasty!

That's all for now. Considering my lack of blogworthy activities this week, I've decided to break up the pictures for your viewing pleasure. How thoughtful, I know. It's like I am trying to be a real blogger or something. Don't get used to it. Or I'll go back to fawning all over The German. I have some great stories about us holding hands in public. Too much, I know! 

Meet The German

Alternate titles for this post could also be:

• "You Have Never Dated Anyone So Good looking"
• Who Knew My Grandma Could Smile That Big  
• He Came Back From Florida With A Tan And Ostrich Cowboy Boots And All He Brought Me Was A Perfect Sand Dollar Because He Knows How Much I Like The Ocean, He Is So Thoughtful And This Is Just A Hidden Attempt At Braggery

Of all the years I lived in New York, none of the guys I dated overlapped with parental visits. On purpose mostly, but also because not a single guy would have been able to handle it. Not that my parents are too much to handle (although they are just the right amount of idiosyncratic to be hilarious), but I knew the way Peter Pan minds worked: Meeting the parents is one step away from Committing to Eternity. Not the case in my book, but whatever. Sorry I like my parents and thought you might too, gosh!

So when The German had stuck around long enough to be in the picture when my mom and Dolo were here, I knew he was the only tourist attraction that they really cared about seeing. And I figured he could handle it. He is a very good sport. 

We planned on dinner for Wednesday night, and I asked everyone what kind of cuisine they preferred. My mom thought having German with The German would be good, but I kept trying to explain to her that going to Berlin for “German” food was like going to New York and asking for “American.” I mean, what is considered American, a hot dog?  Same rings true here. Except in this case, the "delicacy" is currywurst, literally sliced up hot dog smothered with curry-flavored ketchup. It is something you would eat as a small child, except not nearly as good as a corndog, my favorite food from youth.

So instead I settled on a Thai restaurant, suggested by a friend from work. And it turned out to be the perfect choice. The food was great, as they say, sharing (entrees) is caring, and everyone enjoyed themselves.

My family was on good behavior (conversation topics stayed within the sanctioned parameters I had previously deemed appropriate) and they of course adored him, especially since he is a “smile talker” according to my mom. Whatever that means. But either way, I was not surprised by the glowing reviews considering he is probably the most charming guy in all of Germany.*

(*Solidified by him picking me up from the airport.)

P dot S: I told The German that the picture from dinner my mom posted on Facebook received a comment from my dad's cousin (hi!) asking if this was "The German." Ha. I asked him now that his "secret" identity has been compromised if I could post the picture here. He decided that you need to do a little detective work if you want to find it, you know, to keep the mystery alive. 

Perhaps one day he will relent. Either way, just so you know, the following descriptions have been shared with me via email from my Facebook stalking friends: "He's so cute! And SO tan!" and "He is SO goodlooking...like... derek zoolander model good looking."

I mean, normally I am not so vain that physical appearance means that much to me (obviously talking about guys I date, not my own vanity because, duh, that is of paramount importance!), but when in Rome Berlin why not?