The Fuhrer of My Heart?????

Last night I was reminded why I always date awkward dudes who aren't particularly attractive to anyone but me.
It is because I am really awkward around hot people. Hot men especially.
Remember how I lived in the quaint Sydney suburb of Lilyfield, with a flatmate who was a hottie-mchot-hot German guy?
He was so hot, it was awkward for me to live with him. Seriously. I didn't poop for about 6 weeks. I was also really awkward, and since he was mostly studying and not too chatty, we would have sporadic 10-minute conversations where I babbled like an overexcited schoolgirl and he spoke with sharp German efficiency.
One time, I came upstairs and he was in the common area at his computer (per usual), wearing no shirt. I got really flustered and excited, and said, 'Dude, why are you not wearing a shirt? Put on some clothes.'
Unfortunately, he did not know it was Opposite Day, and what I really meant was, 'Dude, can you please take off your pants as well, and spoon me?'

He has the features I have discovered are quite common in the German man: a chiseled jaw and lips like a girl. Seriously, I have been swooning over these strapping lads. I love it!
Anyway, he is back in his homeland and I got to see him last night. I was really excited to hang out, even though we weren't close, mostly because he's just so damn fine, you know?

He suggested we head to a place called Winery, which warmed my heart because he knows I don't like beer, and I know that's all he drinks. It was a cool spot, where you only pay 1 euro for your glass, drink as much as you want, and pay what you feel you should. It might actually have taken the place in my heart that was once reserved for the Bourgie Pig, which has simply become to bourgie for me to afford.

Anyway, we were meeting up with some of his friends, which prevented me from probing deep into his soul as I'd hoped. I was late to our meeting, and being an efficient German, he chastized me thoroughly. I don't know if this is possible, but he was actually hotter than I remembered. This instantly caused me to start rambling about what I'd done so far, and how huge my crush was on Berlin, and my time with the gay mafia (I can't say more about them, for obvious reasons). This ridiculous rambling and interrupting took place whenever we'd start to chat throughout the night.
I was so rude and silly. Of course, because I want him so bad that I can't really think clearly, I have told him about man drama--you know, I'm trying to de-sexualize him and treat him like a gal pal, in hopes of making myself less weird.

It does not work. Now I just feel like this really hot guy knows way too much about me.
Like the fact that I was worried about "my vag hanging out" while riding a bike in a short dress through the streets of Berlin.

I did get to know much more about him, though. Apparently he has siblings, is getting a master's degree (can i call it a 'fuhrer' degree?), and has had his heart broken by a girl. He may have lived on struggle strasse briefly (more on that later). He has a lot of female friends, but not in the sketchy way. He is really funny and we spent an inappropriately long time quoting 'Team America'.


He is certainly a unicorn.
And he lives across 6 times zones.
Clearly this is the safest crush I can have at the moment. Nothing has happened, there is no way he could hurt me, our interactions have only been positive, and he doesn't have red hair! There's no chance in h-e-double-hockey-sticks that he would ever want me, and I can simply think of how pretty his face is.
I think the cold storage shed where my heart used to be can only deal with this much risk at the moment.
Who have I become?

London Calling, Pt. 2

I am currently in Spain, sitting in the oficina of my step-aunt and uncle. If this post contains several typos, I apologize in advance; i am having problemas with this keyboard.

anyway, i got in to spain at noon yesterday, and hadn´t slept since friday night-- and even that sleep was questionable. It was a whirlwind three days, involving meeting relatives I didn´t know I had (an unearthing daddy drama), going on a "magical pub discovery adventure" with a friend who hadn´t seen in 2.5 years, and getting crunked on the streets of LDN. Things I´ve learned:
- Brits don´t think it´s funny when you´re walking through the tube/subway station and start singing "America, Fuck Yeah! Coming again to save the muthafuckin´day, yeah!"
- Chips means "french fries." And, funny enough, actual potato chips are called ¨crisps."
- The customer is never right. The sassy attitude of the English server makes no apologies for f-ing up your order.
- You can not go walking around Notting Hill asking strangers where you can find Julia Roberts.
- The English lad epitomizes the word "strapping"-- you will never get osteoporosis on this side of the pond.
- The next time Brits start talking about fat Americans, remind them about the English breakfast: beans, toast, eggs, bacon AND sausage, roasted tomatoes and mushrooms. Seriously, all as on meal.
- I am indeed not black enough. When meeting my Nigerian relatives, the question of my "African side" was raised, as it was a bit upsetting to them that I interact with the white Other and had no Nigerian pals. If only they knew about my romantic life.....