My Hangover is Serious

Excuse me if this post lacks clarity, but my current state of affairs would be paralytic to any lesser of a person.

The Turkish representation in the flat has increased 16% leaving me the 2-1 minority. You see, Sarp's cousin is visiting from Turkey before August when he will be conscripted to a one year mandatory military term. The expectations around his arrival were therefore quite grandiose. As I hear military beef with the Kurds isn't such a blast.

The Danube river has been flooding in a big way. The rain has been all kinds of annoying on it's own but has now led to thick clouds of mosquitos consuming the sky, as soon as the sun starts it's slow amble below the horizon. Lucky for me, I have never really been bothered by mosquitos. Maybe my blood is gross? I also find some sick, twisted pleasure in watching other people suffer. I only begin feeling bad when friends are so obviously overcome by paranoia, left imagining bites and slapping at nothing. I think it might be another reason I miss camp.

Last night we did a little pre-funking with some of my coworkers before heading to Harley Bar. The caliber of those who frequent it keeps me coming back, and I don't mean the Skin-Head bouncers. One of the bouncers had a huge SS-Swastika tattoo. It's disturbing. On the note of neo-nazis, I almost got into my first serious altercation with one. Allow me to elaborate.

I had just waded up to the bar with Sarp's cousin, to freshen my drink of course. A man in his late twenties with a freshly shaven head and steroid infused pipes was directly to my right. Towering over me. Maybe I stepped on his toe, or accidently elbowed him, but I'm pretty sure it was premeditated only by my inability to communicate in Slovak and the increasingly Jew-esque appearance of my hair. I fear cutting it will result in disaster. Having just caught the bartenders eye I was about to place my order for another pivo (beer) when the veritable goliath exploded with ire, making me the unjust recipient of a verbal lashing, of which I could not comprehend a word. Not one to look for conflict on the best of days, and given my blood alcohol content and the number of like-minded sympathizers this behemoth probably had, I did my best to apologize and convey to him that I didn't speak much in the way of Slovak. It didn't do anything to diffuse the situation although he eventually got his point across by repeatedly yelling "This Harley Bar, Slovak!! No English!!" Realizing by his crescendoing voice that my apologies and broken Slovak were only fanning the flames I promptly ordered 6 tequila shots. I lined them up in two rows of threes, looked him in the eye and said "Som, Kanadsy. Na zdravie!" (I'm Canadian, cheers), before handing him his first glass. He only took half the second shot and declined the third. I shook my head, called him a bitch and walked away.

In retrospect I was quite lucky. Tequila is generally not my potable of choice but deliciously enough they serve it here with cinnamon and orange slices instead of the classic salt, lemon combination. I spent the rest of the night with friends and beautiful girls so all in all not a bad time.

I can't decide if I should go back to sleep or make a liter of coffee. Probably the latter, I hate sleep.

ASIDE: This is a neat idea.

ASIDE II: If anyone is looking to bank some serious coin I suggest they contact me about opening a Starbucks in Bratislava. There's isn't one here yet but based on my observations so far I have great reason to believe people would drink that stuff up in a big way, I'm telling you. Seriously, I need a business partner with some seed money, call me.