Tag Archives: Christmas

I need your vote … for someone else

Because I’ve been inspired by a fellow blogger who’s been nominated for an award (more about this in a moment) I think I’d like to take this update and give something educational and cultural to you, the reader. Maybe someday with more updates like this it might become readers. But let’s not hold our breath.

One of the great things about the holiday season in Europe and specifically Germany is something called gluhwein. Gluhwein is of course wine heated up and spiced. There are two ways that I know of that you can acquire gluhwein and a third way that you should never, ever, ever attempt (I don’t think it’s actually a method through which anyone has ever successfully acquired gluhwein – it’s kind of like that really hard quest at the end of a video game) to get some.

Paderborn, Germany: Christmas market at the Ra...

These would be a lot more enjoyable in July with a glass of cold beer. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The first is to visit one of Germany’s numerous Christmas markets. As it’s really cold here right now you can enjoy a cup while the wife wanders off looking at shiny things. They even serve them in holiday mugs which I think every wife that’s ever visited a German market instantly refuses to return to the stand from which it was purchased and years later asks ‘where the hell did all these fucking mugs come from?”

That’s the first way. The second way, my preferred method, is to buy it already bottled in the store and then heat it in a sauce pan and enjoy in stolen* market mugs near a nice fire. Provided your spouse can locate the dozens of mugs she has squirreled away.

The third, attempt let’s call it, is to ask a German, any German how to make it. You take some wine, some sugar (of which I guess there are about 45 million types suitable for this purpose), some cloves, 14 oranges, 12 lemons, elk meat (raw), tears from a child, and who knows what else. I promise during each and every description of how they make gluhwein you’re mind will eventually wander away.

I mean I’m glad that the nation is proud of their homemade gluhwein recipes but for the love of god stop ear raping me with your stories of the different kinds of cinnamon sticks you use to stir the wein or wine but you knew that.

So see I was helpful for once!

Okay, okay I know I wasn’t helpful but honestly what were you expecting from a blog called, had a few beers? Yeah I thought so.

In the past I’ve asked you for things and some of you have even come through! Although my call for photos of your (well the fairer sex of you anyway) cleavage on my birthday came up a bit short I mean like only one of you participated!

But this time I’m hoping you can take a moment to go to this website here and vote for the blog, ‘Oh God My Wife is German” as the best expatriate blog. I say

English: Ballot Box showing preferential voting

Consider it your patriotic duty (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

with all sincerity it’s a VERY funny blog. That aside the author was very helpful to yours truly when I first stated blogging (he even linked to me and in fact still does from his blog roll– thanks dude!). So I’m hoping we can in some way help push him over the top so I can say, I’m linked to by the award winning, Oh God My Wife is German, blog!

I’m going to insert the instruction he gives his readers on how to vote because let’s face it, if I try to describe the process you’ll all end up at some website like ratemyrack.com wondering where the funny blog is.

One more thing though. Voting ends December 14th so umm, you basically have to do this right now … go, go do it!

So to help them out:

  1. 1. Go to http://www.expatsblog.com/blogs/1129/oh-god-my-wife-is-german.
  2. 2. Scroll to the bottom of the page.
  3. 3. Fill out the fields under, “Leave some love for this blog.”
  4. 4. I know it sucks to give out your email address. I did it already, and I know I can unsubscribe from Expats Blog whenever I want. If you are uncomfortable with the email address part, don’t even worry about it; just keep reading our blog and know how much we appreciate your time and attention!
  5. 5. If you don’t care about the email address part and you actually leave us a good vote? THANK YOU! If our blog wins, we’ll likely write a special post to thank you for your time!


I didn’t die! Send cleavage shots! Happy birthday to me …

I have some good news.  I’m not dead.

I managed to survive another 365 days in a row without being hit by a car, beaten to death by a topless gang of over-endowed women or liver failure.

Yeah. It’s my birthday.

It might be a sign of age when you have to, for a moment at least, think about how old you are.

I literally had to pause for a moment and do, ‘math’.

Okay I was born in 1970, that’s an even number and it’s the year 2012 that’s also an even number, I was forty not that long ago …. Shit I’m what 42?  No that’s not right, it’s always +1 to the year in October dipshit.  You’re 43.

Fuck, I’m 43.

Which I guess is a deal, only it’s not.   The last major milestone was being old enough to be the president and I have to admit that birthday goal just blew by me unnoticed.   The last birthday I gave a crap about was the 21st because beer is good.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.  We will get to birthday milestones in a moment.

As you will come to understand, I think birthday celebrations for anyone over the age of 21 are stupid but I have no issue with scamming the birthday system for personal gain.

Moar Boobs!

I didn’t die, send boob shots!

To every well wisher, well every well wisher with boobs, I have a birthday request, I want a cleavage montage.   Want to wish me a happy birthday?  Then send me a photo of your cleavage.  Nothing will make me happier than a photo of your cleavage.

It’s what I want.

It’s my ‘special day’ after all.

If you cared, you’d do it.

Make it happen.

And NO cheating for the love of god, I want photos of cleavage taken by you for this special day.  No reposting some old shot you’ve had on Facebook for the last 15 months, I want fresh, new, exciting and fun cleavage taken for me because I didn’t die.

So cleavage shots are my special wish, picture me blowing out the candles on my birthday cake when I see them.

Do it now, I’ll wait.

Okay, are you back, did you post you’re cleavage shot?


English: Soldiers and Staff from the Robertson...

I want to slap everyone in this photo. (Photo credit: Who Cares)

Now that we’re done with that can we talk, I mean honestly talk about birthdays?  Mine, yours, that dude in the cube next to you, everyone’s birthday, can we talk about them?   Lewis Black makes a great point in pointing out that when you’re eight birthdays are awesome because you get cool shit!  He uses a wagon as an example and he’s right, to an eight-year-old a wagon is great, you put crap in it, you move it around and bamo, birthdays are cool.

At 16 you can drive and at 18 you can vote (but you don’t) and at 21 HELLO booze and then, what the fuck are we doing, really …

What. The. Fuck. Are. We. Doing?

After 21 you’re just not dying, really that’s all you’re doing.   Everyone is aging, every moment of every day, why celebrate some arbitrary point that, in the grand scheme of things, is meaningless?

I don’t get it.

I have friends that hate their birthdays because they, ‘got older’.   Here’s a stop of the clue-train friends, you got older reading this.

Happy getting older!

I’ve caught crap from people, for good reason, for making fun of Christmas and they’re right.  I’m an asshole for making fun of Christmas because stripped to its bare bones Christmas is just a winter festival.   It’s dark out a lot, the foods going away and ‘fuck’ everyone is depressed.  Let’s all get together, be happy, eat a lot and give each other a ‘I hope you like it present’ because this is the worst part of winter and it’s about to get better, spring is coming …

Easter is a festival that celebrates planting really and let’s be honest Halloween was originally about harvesting, all good holiday ideas then and now.

Birthday’s I don’t get though, really I don’t.  I appreciate the efforts friends and family go through to make it special, I really do.  I just don’t understand, at a base level, the point of any of it.   I was fully expected to live another year … I didn’t do anything extra-ordinary to get here, I just did.  Hell if my bar tabs are any indication I did everything I could to prevent this from happening.

Shit I’m a failure in fact!  I kid of course.

There is one thing about this ‘birth’, ‘day’ I’m proud of though.   For the last three of my four birthdays I’m spending it at the Joint Multinational Readiness Center working indirectly with Soldiers.  When I retired from the military there was this, ‘woosh’ moment that a lot of people go though I think.   I’m not in uniform anymore, shit!

After so many years of wearing it, it’s kind of weird, or was to me at least.   Suddenly you’re not really a part of the team anymore, sure they recognize you, they thank you but you’re no longer in their camp if that makes sense.

Fortunately right after my retirement Nick Sternberg hired me here at JMRC and I remember thinking, during my birthday, “if I have to work an 18-hour-day on my birthday, doing it helping soldiers is the best way there is to do it.”

I hope I have an 18 hour day tomorrow.

A boob/cleavage montage will totally make that 18-hour day … WORTH not dying!