Kickin' It Austrian-Style, Take 2

The night doesn't begin at The Londoner this time, but don't worry—it will surely end there. El Dilector invites us to have drinks with him and his new German friend Denunziant. She takes us to a quiet out of the way bar where we can actually talk. What the hell?

Denunziant introduces my sister to a new drink: Radler. As my sister takes to this drink like bees to honey, she has earned the nickname Radler. (For those of you wondering, a Radler is half beer and half lemonade.) Radler is with child, and since we insist on asking Denunziant roughly one million questions about Germany, about skiing, about her culture, about…well…everything, Radler's husband asks her to tell us her favorite German boy name.

"I think it would be Timo," Denunziant tells us.

Radler's husband, who from this point forward shall be known only as The Timo, takes to this name like Radler to Radlers. He begins referring to himself in the third person as the The Timo.

"The Timo would like another beer!" he declares, and Radler shakes her head sadly in despair. Poor Radler.

And then—It's Phrase Book Time! On our journey through the phrase book, while we butcher the German language and Denunziant laughs (or cries) at us, we learn to say:

"I'm married but adventurous." (Because The Timo could use this phrase at The Londoner!)
"Do you believe in extra-terrestrial life?" (Because everyone needs to say this to at least one person while traveling through Germanic lands.)
"Stinkefinger!" (Which means, well, to give the bird, the finger. This will prove the source of unending entertainment for the rest of us. Again, Denunziant? Probably not so much.)

Denunziant has to work in the morning and The Timo decides to take his Radler home. It looks like El Dilector and I are heading back to The Londoner, which, while it smells like puke, is still a fun bar.

The party is still pretty live even though it's a Sunday. Again, the dancing on the chairs and booths. I love this! Why can't we do this in the States?! It's just not fair. I think I will become an international citizen.

While we're at the bar, I notice one handsome man groovin' to the beat. I point at him; he points at me…oh no, he's not…yup, he's asking me to join him on the seat. How the hell am I going to climb up there in these heels and this skirt? Oh, my, there's a gentleman to help me. And yes, I'm dancing with the handsome man in a chair. Woohooo! Kitzbuhel rules!

And—it's bonus night, kids—my handsome man is not jail bait and he even speaks English. Well, it's the damn Queen's English, which means we don't really understand each other. And it means he has a wicked—did you catch that sarcasm?—sense of humor. Oh yeah, this guy is funny. As in British humor. English sarcasm. DO YOU GET IT YET?

We're going to call this one Dodi, as in Dodi al Fayed, and it's a long story only The Timo really understands. Plus, Dodi is just really fun to say. Dodi is also really fun to kiss, as I discover my hidden appreciation for English talents and Dodi discovers he likes Texans. And he really likes my butt.

"Can I take your ass back to England?" he asks.

"Hmmm. Just the ass?" I ask. "I'd kind of like to go too."

As we make out, we forget about drunken El Dilector, who is taking "pictures for memory" (shout-out just for you, The Timo) and talking to the ladies. That's about when I notice a rather familiar keychain hanging behind the bar next to a bottle of vodka.

"El Dilector!" I yell. "Isn't that your key?"

"Huh?" he looks up and peers toward the bartender, who has taken the key off the peg and is examining it.

"El Dilector, that's your hotel key. Are you giving it away again to the highest bidder?"

"Oh shit, you're right," he tells me. The bartender wants to know what room number is on the keychain before he hands it over.

I pray El Dilector can remember…and he does, and the key is restored. I sure as hell didn't want his stanky ass bunking up with me tonight!

Suddenly it's 3 a.m. and El Dilector is leaving. At the exit, he turns to us and yells, "Take care of my sister! I will kill you!" while pointing at Dodi and making a motion to slit his throat. He'll take a few steps, turn around and do it again.

I'm busy wiping water off of my face since Dodi and I got sprayed by the bartender's squirt gun as punishment for making out. Where were those guys last night with the Jail Bait couple? "What the hell is he doing now?" I mutter.

"Heh. Your brother is pretty cool," Dodi says. "About taking your ass back to England…"

Good night, Kitzbuhel.

-Shakira 01.23.04