This past September I traveled with friends to Europe, visiting Slovakia, Austria, Germany and Denmark. It was friggin’ amazing.
Our first stop was Bratislava, Slovakia. We didn’t have a lot of time before Vienna and, with Bratislava only an hour away, we thought it could be a fun place to explore. None of us knew much about Bratislava, but figured we’d have a blast. Later on we found out that Bratislava is very popular among Europeans for bachelor/bachelorette parties.
It was tagged on walls everywhere. These Bad Kids really got around.
Our first night was pretty tame, as we were tired from traveling, so we walked around a bit, had a nice meal and, later, a few drinks back at the hotel before calling it a night.
By the second night, I was ready to go out and get crazy. We went for a typical Slovakian meal, which consisted of meat, potatoes and more meat. These people knew how to feed, and I was ripe for feeding!
That last sentence didn’t make much sense, but lay off me…I’m starving!
We walked into the first bar that looked like there were seats available. Hmm…that’s odd. Foo Fighters circa 1995 was playing. And there were a bunch of men all singing along at the top of their lungs while pumping their fists in the air.
Conclusion: Slovakia is a BIT behind the times.
Also in Slovakia: They do not measure the shots being poured for your drink like other European cities. They just poured. And poured some more. And poured. My first Captain and Diet I almost choked on, it was so strong. And I like my drinks like I like my men.
And well hung.
Well, that’s basically how I like my men. But if there was an option to have a hung or not well hung drink, I mean, I’d probably chose well hung. Right?
After several drinks and shots, I started doing things like this:
So, obviously the night was on a downward spiral.
We hit a few more bars after the ‘90s alternative rock bar.
Apparently at the late late bar, I refused to leave. I began befriending random Slovakians, asking them about the mysterious Bad Kids we kept seeing everywhere. To which the response was: “No! We good kid here.”
Seriously. Who are these bad kids? And why are they considered so bad? If you tag something on a wall, does it automatically mean it’s true? Like on every half block?
If so, I plan to start a tagging regime that I will entitle, “I’m tall, I’m thin, I’m sexy, you want me.” That also may be the name of my first book. I expect at least one or two books that my parents purchase to FLY off the shelves.
Eventually my friends talked me into NOT getting raped by a big, dirty Slovakian and going back to the hotel with them. I must have gotten a little Bad Kid in me, though, because when I got back to the room I was like a kid in a candy store. Or a kid on crack. Or anyone on crack.
I apparently spent 15 minutes in the bathroom talking to myself and laughing hysterically. I’m not surprised, as I actually am pretty hysterical. If you can’t make yourself laugh, who the fuck cares if you make anyone else laugh?
I exited the bathroom and began to change into my pajamas. At this time, something major clicked in my brain and caused me to go absolutely nuts. Something also clicked in my travel mates’ heads, as they realized it was going to be a LONG 12 nights.
Dressed only in my bra and yellow thong, I began to hop and dance around the room as if I was trying out for some sort of hip hop video. The beat of this video was me yelling “Bratislava Style! Bratislava Style!”
I was kicking. I was stretching. I was bending over. I was jiggling. I was wriggling. I was dancing. All to the beat of “Bratislava Style! Bratislava Style!”
Need I remind you, I was wearing only my thong.
At one point I apparently performed the plow pose in yoga (apparently my low back needed a good stretch) and muttered to myself, “That smelled kinda weird. I’m not going to do THAT again.”
Any kind of “style” should include having your ass covered up. Especially if this style involves wriggling and jiggling and practicing yoga.
If Bratislava found out the type of “style” their city would be a muse for, I’m pretty sure I’d be locked up in a cell right now having cigars put out on me. As my friend Amanda so accurately stated: “In Bratislava, if you get in trouble, you’ll likely never live to see the light of day. In Germany, if you get in trouble, you might have something weird put in your butt, but you’d survive in the end.” There were some pretty shady characters in Slovakia.
The next morning I woke up in my yellow thong and began to have flashbacks of the night. I was super hungover, though, and couldn’t even be bothered to feel embarrassed. We had to quickly gather our belongings to make the train to Vienna.
While getting ready, instead of putting on pants, I opted to tuck a hand towel into my thong like a make shift loincloth.
Again, why am I still single????