LAST NIGHT

A couple of beautiful girls took me to a hookah bar downtown last night. Promises of the place turning into an orgy with sex swings falling down from the ceiling after 11pm were sadly unfounded (liars). The Mosaic Bar was locked upon arrival, and a man actually opened the door to let us in. Fascinating. Luckily we got the secret password of the night right (Frodo), and the cavity search was surprisingly gentle which made entry a breeze. The ambience I can characterize as Moroccan chic. Arab inspired chandlers with candles found within their mazes were hanging down from the rafters. Shadows danced across the room and draped each drunk face in a veil of mystery. Every time I looked at Doreen, I couldn’t help but imagine her being a Soviet spy sent to seduce secrets out of me! Sadly the only secrets I had at the time was a bit of indigestion. Doubting my divulgance of such intel would be good enough for her spy handlers, we ordered drinks! Persian blankets were weaved through each beam to give the appropriate feeling of a tent located somewhere in the desert. A side room where two people sat enjoying a hookah were lined with red pillows bathed in elegant candle light. The harem feel was appreciated but the seats were not. It was as though I was magically transported back to Grandma’s house, Thanksgiving 1986. It seems my banishment to the kiddie table for the last time in my extensive holiday career was still a sore spot in my heart. Some indignities can sadly never be forgotten.

Service was slow, served by a mid-50 ish gay Arab in a lime green shirt, with Steve Urkle pants who loved to touch my arm every time he came by. His flamboyant demeanor was surprisingly appreciated, and made me reminisce about the rave scene in the mid 90’s. Visions of drag queens sexually harassing me at Club E Buffalo, NY circa 1999 flashed through my eyes as the drinks were served. The physical damage was however worse than the emotional one, 7.50 EURO per drink. Atrocious. Yet, the Singapore Sling was potent. No whiskey Jim? When in a fake Moroccan harem in Germany, you don’t order whiskey out of principle :) 

The gin, cherry brandy, and grenadine mixture allowed our newly instituted fiscal spending plan to get fuzzy, which was a welcome digression from the memories of my language class earlier in the day. The teacher believes in the philosophy of calling you out. Questioning an individual at random, and then working out the answers through your mistakes. My class is a Level 2, so the mistakes come in tsunami like waves. Today I just didn’t have the patience, and initiated my own personal Arab Spring. Throwing my pen up in the air in protest over her teaching methods and refusing to answer was childish I’ll admit, but I am an asshole. When treated like a child, I act accordingly. Rising above it and getting my jesus on is not something in my daily plans. The only answers she was getting out of this angry Irishmen was a big fat middle finger. Thank god for Friday night, and the second Singapore Sling. It dissolved away my anguish like a big fat tablet of Alka-Seltzer, and was the perfect accompaniment to the nights entertainment! Our gay waiter decided to stand proudly on top of the table, gyrating his hips and flailing his arms around like he was drowning. This was all done amazingly with lite sparklers in his hands and in perfect unision to the bass drops of hard techno music now rupturing my ear drums in the background. Impromptu? Amazingly he seemed to have fans, so this maybe a nightly occurrence. We can only hope and pray this is fact. Whatever the uncertainnty surrounding the schedule of the waiters Oscar worthy choreography, it certainly made me feel better. His magical moves took me from zero to hero, and filled my half glass empty attitude up to the brim with joy. I am very fortunate to be where I am, and to have such great people sharing these adventures with me.

As we left the place,and headed back home down the Zeil, the square was packed with drunk custom clad characters celebrating Fasching, loitering among the park benches getting even more drunk. Along the way I saw a fight, a pirate, and some guy eagerly eating a whole bucked of KFC. Poor bastard. The morning shit will be chock full of pain and the colonels secret recipe of 11 herbs and spices. These same people will storm the government office some time later today, and put the mayor in chains in celebration of carnival! A thousand and one WW2 jokes can now go right here________ Please choose your best one, and insert away. Ah Germany. The fun never ends.