Holy fuck Brazil was awesome! Pardon my Portuguese! (See what I did there...get it? ohhh yeah). Guys, I am super cultured these days because I just spent a ridiculous 4 days in a country full of beautiful people, beautiful weather, and delicious food. I can't even put into words how much fun I had...butttt I am going to because thats what I do. So really I am a liar. I can put it into words and here begins the saga of Brazil.
The last time I left the country was in 2010 when I went to the Middle East with a UMD sponsored trip. I didn't really worry about booking my flights, hotels, or making sure things got to places when they needed to because everything was planned for me. Luckily, a lot of the same things were true for me on this trip because it was all for work. I booked my own flight but the hotel and most of the activities were taken care of for me by my job. What I wasn't expecting was the intense and dramatic way in which I would finally ended up in Brazil.
I arrived early to the airport on the day of my departure to give myself enough time to make it through security and met up with one of my coworkers, Daddy Raids, who was traveling with me. (What I really mean is, I got there early so I could get casually drunk before my flight.) We made our way to our terminal and were pleased to find a Green Turtle not too far from where we were going to take off. After several beers we boarded our plane and just sat. We sat for a few minutes and then they made the announcement that there was paint on the antenna and that they would need an hour or so to replace the antenna. I want to repeat that for you. There was PAINT on an antenna and they couldn't fly....
What this also meant was that my coworkers and I were going to miss our connecting flight in Detroit (No, it doesn't make sense why I would fly North to go South...and no, I didn't question it until much later.) that would get us to Brazil. We scrambled for a few moments trying to figure out what we were going to do and finally found flights that would take us to Atlanta that would then connect us to Brazil, having us arrive only one hour later than originally planned. This seems perfectly normal and calm, right? Welp, don't you worry your pretty little heads....nothing in my life is ever even remotely calm. The flight out of Baltimore was at 7pm and the flight out of Atlanta was at 9:35. My plane would arrive at 8:57pm and give me a little less than 40min to get off of my plane and get from Terminal A to Terminal F, which is only accessible by train. (I hate math. I hate math so incredibly much.)
By the grace of some higher being we made it to Atlanta earlier than expected, but not that much because that would make my life easy. I ran through the mother effing airport and was sweating like...like....like an animal that sweats a whole freakin' lot. Now, this is a big deal because I have very strict rules about when I will and won't run. Usually the rule is that I will run from wolves or I will run towards chance encounters with gentlemen friends. (Surprisingly, I will run towards a chance encounter with Taylor Lautner...the only wolf I will let pounce me). I now have to make an amendment to this rule and add "Will run to make flight", which I don't feel good about, but I will let it slide. Mainly because I made it onto my flight with moments to spare.
(nom on some margs)
The last time I left the country was in 2010 when I went to the Middle East with a UMD sponsored trip. I didn't really worry about booking my flights, hotels, or making sure things got to places when they needed to because everything was planned for me. Luckily, a lot of the same things were true for me on this trip because it was all for work. I booked my own flight but the hotel and most of the activities were taken care of for me by my job. What I wasn't expecting was the intense and dramatic way in which I would finally ended up in Brazil.
I arrived early to the airport on the day of my departure to give myself enough time to make it through security and met up with one of my coworkers, Daddy Raids, who was traveling with me. (What I really mean is, I got there early so I could get casually drunk before my flight.) We made our way to our terminal and were pleased to find a Green Turtle not too far from where we were going to take off. After several beers we boarded our plane and just sat. We sat for a few minutes and then they made the announcement that there was paint on the antenna and that they would need an hour or so to replace the antenna. I want to repeat that for you. There was PAINT on an antenna and they couldn't fly....
What this also meant was that my coworkers and I were going to miss our connecting flight in Detroit (No, it doesn't make sense why I would fly North to go South...and no, I didn't question it until much later.) that would get us to Brazil. We scrambled for a few moments trying to figure out what we were going to do and finally found flights that would take us to Atlanta that would then connect us to Brazil, having us arrive only one hour later than originally planned. This seems perfectly normal and calm, right? Welp, don't you worry your pretty little heads....nothing in my life is ever even remotely calm. The flight out of Baltimore was at 7pm and the flight out of Atlanta was at 9:35. My plane would arrive at 8:57pm and give me a little less than 40min to get off of my plane and get from Terminal A to Terminal F, which is only accessible by train. (I hate math. I hate math so incredibly much.)
By the grace of some higher being we made it to Atlanta earlier than expected, but not that much because that would make my life easy. I ran through the mother effing airport and was sweating like...like....like an animal that sweats a whole freakin' lot. Now, this is a big deal because I have very strict rules about when I will and won't run. Usually the rule is that I will run from wolves or I will run towards chance encounters with gentlemen friends. (Surprisingly, I will run towards a chance encounter with Taylor Lautner...the only wolf I will let pounce me). I now have to make an amendment to this rule and add "Will run to make flight", which I don't feel good about, but I will let it slide. Mainly because I made it onto my flight with moments to spare.
(Ohhhh yeah...lets be a wolf pack of 2. Shut up...you know he's legal)
Anywayz, we got down to Brazil and were promptly left without our bags for a couple days. Luckily for us, Delta said they would pay for us to go shopping for clothing for our conference. So, my momentary drama queen freak out about not having my bags turned into sheer joy over my ability to go on a shopping spree in Brazil. (I'm a fickle pickle who loves free shit, sometimes my half-jew really sets in)
Once I was settled in with my new wardrobe and a solid shower, I was ready for the opening dinner and the night that would follow. Everything went off a lot smoother than the previous 12hrs had and I got work tipsy off of Brazils national drink, the caipirinha. (Wait, did I just say that right. Do they have a national drink? Why, yes, yes they do. #inlove). I literally had died and gone to heaven. Not only was I sent to Brazil for work, but then I have the luck of finding out that there is a NATIONAL drink. I just...I just couldn't. Unbelievably happy. Life was good.
(Foreign men, free clothing, and a national drink...its like Christmas morning)
The next day came a little too soon, but was interesting enough. Meetings galore and an unbelievable amount of food was served. (Seriously, I think I might've consumed an entire cattle farm while down there. And I would do it again...suck it vegetarians. Jk, lolz, power to ya). When the evening time rolled around I ended up going out with a group of colleagues to a bar called Wall Street in downtown Sao Paulo. The prices of the beers depend on how many people are buying them that night, the more people buy a beer the higher the price ends up being. Every once and a while there will be a "Wall Street Crash," where all of the prices are brought back to a basic price. What was great was that all of the beers were 40s. (Did I mention heaven yet?)
The best part in the evening came when I was leaving one of the rooms with one of the women on my trip when this beautiful Polish girl interrupted us.
Polish Girl: You speak English, no?
Me: Excuse me? Yes?
*My colleague proceeded to walk away without entertaining any of this.*
Polish Girl: Oh no, I made you girlfriend made, no?
Me: HAHAHA, no she is not my girlfriend. Not like that at least.
Polish Girl: Oh how good, no?
I was confused, I was lost, and I was intrigued. (Sounds like the first time I kissed a boy. ZINGER to 15 year old me! BOOM. 2004 Burn...yes, I am still single.) This girl then kept hugging me and holding onto me, finishing all of her sentences with an inquisitive "no" that continuously made her less and less attractive.
Polish Girl: You're from America, no?
Me: I think I am answering you....yes, I am from America
Polish Girl: You have fun in Brazil, no?
Me: Again, trying to understand but....yes?
Polish Girl: So much fun, but girls are prettier in America, no?
Me: Well, I think there are beautiful women everywhere
Polish Girl: But foreign girls in America are that best, no?
Me: I like diversity, so sure?
This went back and forth for a bit before she hugged me and told me she was going to find me before she left. Completely flabbergasted I turned to my group as the congratulated me on being the first person to be hit on in Brazil...and yet they were also laughing. (SURPRISE...everyone knows I'm gay at work. I apparently can't hide it...except from Polish Girls). The creepiest part ended up coming closer to the end of the night when my Polish lovah slinked over and put herself right in between myself and the rest of the group I was with.
Polish Girl: You have fun tonight, no?
Me: Yes, I have fun tonight
Polish Girl: I see you again, no?
Me: Well, I am only here a few days...so I don't think so
Polish Girl: I see you tonight, no?
Me: I mean, you are seeing me right now, so yes?
Then a colleague of mine stepped into the conversation.
Life Saver: Ummm, my boyfriend is with me tonight.
Polish Girl: Oh, so sorry. We all have fun, no?
Me: Uhh, yeah I have to stay here with my girlfriend. Sorry
*Polish girl slides up and gives me a hug*
Polish Girl: You come over to my place later, no? I am staying downtown, no?
Me: I just...I don't think...
And like that she was gone with the wind. She gave me her hotel and room number as she finished hugging me and then bolted out the door. I was left questioning my life choices. I haven't been hit on by a girl since I was too young to be considered homosexual. (HAHAH...who am I kidding...I've always been considered a glitter lover). My colleagues continuously ridiculed me for the rest of the night...but I had the last laugh because I was the only person to get hit on that fine evening.
Alright friends, I am going to have to update you on the second, more ridiculous night tomorrow. For now, just revel in the fact that I went all the way down to Brazil to meet my sexy new husband and instead got hit on by a grammatically confused Polish Girl. Apparently I would be quite the lothario if I were to move to Poland...#semiwinning
Fabulously Lost: Newly minted switch hitter
Polish Girl: Confused and aggressive
Brazil: Amazeballz
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