I don't tell these stories because I'm proud of them. I only tell you these stories because I find them amusing, and maybe you will too.
Moving to my small town could very well have been the worse move I've ever made in my life. Living amongst the Stepford Wives and mini vans isn't really my cup of tea. The only tea I like happens to be Long Island Iced Tea, and even in this town a couple of those won't drown the pain. As far as finding a boyfriend, you can just forget that. This is a city where finding a single man with a full set of teeth is impossible to find.
What I'm saying is that I have to escape as often as possible. One cold December evening I decided to get a hotel room in the little German town of Frankenmuth, Michigan - just for the hell of it. I figured I'd have a few drinks, and do some holiday shopping the next day.
The first thing you have to understand about Frankenmuth is that it's cheesy, and makes no apologies for it. They claim to be a German town, so all of the buildings have some sort of German flare to them. When you're not watching the Pied Piper of Hamlin chasing the rats out of town, you can buy beer steins and lederhosen. My Austrian mom told me that once we were there with her parents, my Oma and Opa, and some dude was singing Nazi songs. So you see, in Frankenmuth, you get the whole package.
So, out I go... and I belly myself up at a bar. A couple of drinks turned into several, and I met a group of people there for some sort of pharmaceutical convention. The bar closed at midnight and a couple of guys asked me if I wanted to go with them back to the Bavarian Inn Lodge - the hotel they were staying at, where there was an open bar. I can't remember their names, so I'll just call them Frank and Muth. Frank was a hotty, tall, dark hair and handsome. Muth, on the other hand, was wearing a Nascar racing jacket; so that automatically puts him out of the running.