Frankfurt. Who knew that word was full of so much promise? We came back from a crazy week of day and night partying, drinking and networking at World Hosting Days and somehow, we happened to top it in our first night back in Frankfurt.
We drove back from Europa Park in Rust, Germany—just the three of us, Nick, Caroline and I—and two of us stayed here: you know us, the social misfits from Texas, Nick Nelson and Judah Johns.
We thought that tonight was going to be a chill night. Shoot! I tried to take a nap at 10pm and it didn’t happen; so we headed down to the hotel bar. We just happened to be staying at the best hotel in Frankfurt, The Westin Grand. I only say this because of what happened over the next 3 hours… starting at 11:30pm.
Nick and I headed downstairs, intent on having just enough drinks to put us in nap mood—and here I am writing a story about the whole thing, hours later. We got to the bar and met our rather boring bartender… and we ordered some randoms, steadies. Drinks that were made for getting is what we got… and then the bartender asked us where we were from and the night went from tourists dealing with a bartender to Texans working with a world class mixologist: and the night went from convalescent home to Roman Orgy.
I will write more about our drinks with Mr. Fahid later, when I find the photos that we took of each and every single one of his creations: drinks for the gods, Greek or otherwise.
Mr. Fahid, a Turkish Gentleman from the days of Jules Vern and Phileas Fogg, showed us that Germany has more to offer than just great women… it has drinks and mixologists (I hesitate to call him a bartender because the drinks and aperitifs that he made for us were made to wine and dine kings and queens, and then get them drunk!) to compete with America, and possibly win!
We shared concoctions that would make a Buddhist monks cry, Catholic priests marry and make atheists believe in God: and we loved them. We loved the drinks so much that we took a photo of each and everyone that our drunk brains reminded us to document.
Imagine how you would feel if you somehow found a genie in a lamp and it turned out he made libations that made you feel you were high on hallucinogens while making out with Heidi Klum… that was us. There are drinks that are amazing, and then there is what we had tonight—diamond crusted chalices of the truth serum from the fountain of youth. They were so good we called up a guy in New York that is in upper management with Star Woods to make him aware of the talent and bravery right under his nose.
We had drinks, from the “Guilty Conscience” of Dan Dunn’s ‘Living Loaded’ to a concoction with $500 tequila to a passion fruit themed libation for Thucydides himself to a drink made just for us that we were given the immense privilege of naming—and that you can look for in the drink menu here at the Westin Grand Frankfurt in the not too distant future—“The Hank Moody,” and we loved them all—like children from different mothers, but still from our loins. “The Hank Moody” was made by a god among men, Mr. Fahid; named by us, but first thought of by that ingenious fellow of a Texan, Mr. Nelson; and downed by me, chief among socializers and imbibers, Mr. Johns: and we realized on the first sip, this drink will make women do our bidding, make men want to be our apprentices and make us heroes in bars around the world.
We don’t play; and we aren’t scared: this night made us aware of our sensitive palates for the good stuff, and it also reminded us of our roots, making people happy. And we will, with our new drinks, continue “WINNING!”
I have lived a normal life. If you call being the eldest of 7 kids born to missionary parents on a teacher’s salary in the 4th largest city in the US, deep in the Heart of Texas but now living alone across the oceans in dreary London, living the dream and having a job that I love but question every day normal. Then yes, I am normal. But I know that I am not normal. I am not even close. You see, I know that I am blessed. I have a very unique life. I am part of one of the most talented and fun families that you will ever meet. My parents are incredible: you’ve heard of the Greek gods? Yeah? My parents are up here. Yup. Right above them. My dad has somehow managed to not only have 7 kids, but provide all of us with a great life. I made it through college and I have 3 siblings currently in college, and another starting next year. And the last 2 kids are way too smart for their own good. Scary smart is how I refer to it. Scary smart.
My family has been in Houston for quite some time now. Before that, my parents were missionaries in Mexico. They were living their dream and passion out. And then God called them home. He gave them my younger sister and all of her medical problems to teach us all where home really is: wherever it is that God puts you. I am proud to say that I am a Texan—a 7th generation Texan, mind you.
I now consider myself a displaced or better put, Outsourced Texan. I like to think of my country being better than any other in the world. No place compares to Texas, which is why I think of Texas as exporting its talent to other parts of the world. Now I know that sounds pretentious—and it is—but I have far too many examples that prove it true, even if you discount my own (and I’m okay with that).
I think that I enjoy writing far too much to ignore it. Lately, I have found myself thinking of living the life of a writer—if that makes any sense… but it does. I love words. I love thinking on paper; putting my thoughts into words. I don’t know if I have the knack for words on paper for the purpose of business like I am doing now, but I intend to do my best and see if it can work. If anything, I know that I have the ability to impart a little knowledge when I put my mind to it; and at the least, be slightly amusing and entertaining when nothing else works.
Normally, I pay more attention to grammar and the like, but at the moment I am just letting things flow… because this is not planned. I am doing exactly what I want to do, and maybe see myself doing in the future, writing for fun and for life. So, Daddy, Dr. Lence, Nanny and Dr. Hallmark, here’s to you, my greatest influences in this thing called writing. I’ll remember to read my words aloud to see if they make sense. I’ll stop to ask “What does it say? What does it mean? And why does it matter?” And I’ll do my best to make sure that it flows well, in some sort of semi-coherent, Blue Primer English.
Some parents worry that their kids will get away from them and forget their roots. Well, I doubt that happens to me. I am proud of my raising. I was “raised by hand” and am grateful to those that cared enough for me to do so. I may not be scary smart, but I’m not scary stupid either. I know the right way. I know that I struggle and that it hurts all of those that have sacrificed themselves for me, but I have not forgotten. Maybe writing is a way to get back to it all? So forgive the embarrassment I cause when I do, because you can be confident that I don’t intend for it to be that way. I want to honor the 5th Commandment.
But I stray from what I wanted to say by saying something that needed to be said, in my overly wordy style: I like to write.