I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say that everybody’s mom and dad (or mom and mom/dad and dad/legal guardians) are two totally different ball parks. Growing up, if I wanted to watch “steamy” movies, I knew I could asd my dad and he wouldn’t even blink an eye, whereas my mom would have a shit fit.

Thanks to dad, I got to watch Purple Rain and Pretty Woman when I was no where near old enough to grasp any of it and probably shouldn’t have been exposed to either.

Nearly twenty years later, things haven’t much changed. Dad’s still all about pushing the envelope and mom still likes to play it super ultra safe.

Case in point…

Scene 1: It’s after work and I’m enjoying a beer right before I go pick up DMB for debaucheries including more beer and rounds of Skip-Bo or Uno. Yeah, we’re totally on the cutting edge of all things cool. Obviously.
Mom: Are you sure you’re okay to drive?
Me: Uhm.. yeah. Why?
Mom: Well, it’s just that you’ve been drinking.
Me: Mom, I’ve had a single beer and I’m going down the street.
Mom: I know, but I worry! I just wanted to make sure you’re ok.
Me: It.was.just.one.beer.
Mom: Okay! Okay! But are you sure you’re okay to drive?!
Me: ::deep sigh:: Bye mom.

Scene 2: My boyfriend and I are visiting my dad right before he moves into his new house. As soon as we set foot into his current home, Coronas are shoved into both of our hands. Within two minutes, we find out we’re going to visit this new house with him. He wants to show and tell. Not another minute passes before he’s offering shots of Patron (read: damn good tequila). We both decline, but he definitely indulges. Cut to twenty minutes later and he’s packing more Coronas for the trip because those thirty minutes at the new house would be completely intolerable without more alcohol. Obviously.
Dad: Hey kiddo, wanna drive the Mercedes back to the house?
Me: Uhm. Please and thank you.
[After driving for several minutes]
Dad: Drives nice, doesn’t it? This Benz sure does have some kick. Oh, and Maryland cops are cooler than Virginia cops so punch it.
Me: [Increasing my speed] You got it.
Dad: Punch it!!
Me: I’m already doing a hundred miles per hour (read: in a 55mph zone)!!
Dad: Punch it anyway.

And people wonder where I get my led foot.

I get in trouble for my mouth more often than not.

I just don’t bite my tongue well and I don’t really bother with a “filter.”

In the seventh grade, I was sitting in social studies when Mr. Schuch was giving a history lesson on World War II. In his ignorance, he continuously stated that the Germans did this, the Germans did that and so on and so forth.

I could feel my temper rising as he spoke.

Before I could even think twice about it, I interjected with, “it wasn’t the Germans, it was the Nazis!”

He didn’t quite enjoy that. To be frank, his face turned three shades of red and he damn near blew a gasket.

Either way, I was right and he was wrong.

There are a lot of terrible things that came from Hitler’s reign. I feel a special twinge of guilt every time I think about it. It’s a mixture of guilt and shame, quite frankly.

Yet, had I been alive? I would’ve been shipped off too, considering I am not white.

I said that to a Jewish co-worker of mine since she was bad-mouthing current Germany because of the Nazi era and it pissed me off to no end.

The shock in her face at my quip gave me a sense of pleasure I probably shouldn’t have felt. I mean, hello! Who was she talking to? A black chick.

Either way, it just sucks that to so many Americans, Germany is automatically associated to the Nazi party.

If you weren’t aware, it’s completely illegal to affiliate oneself with that party in Germany and it has been for decades.

While the KKK can still march through the streets of the USA with their hate-speech, it is far from legal to do such a thing in the streets of Germany.

From paying war repercussions (even today) to outlawing the bigotry, Germany has done so very much to get away from the Nazi stigma that I proudly let people know my roots.

I just hope that more people realize that the Nazi regime did a damn fine job of scaring the ever loving shit out its citizens to keep them “in line.” The death camps and horrific genocide didn’t occur until later in Hitler’s power-hungry-scheme. If you went against his party, you were shot, jailed or shipped off.

It was an era of scare-tactics and it worked.

I’ve heard people argue that the German citizens could have done more to stop him. To a point, I do agree. But on the other hand, the country went through a horrible depression in which people could barely feed their families. When a country – any country – is dealing with something like this, and someone comes along with answers and starts to build up the economy, it’s easy to see how Hitler was able to get any power at all. And of course, this all happened before he went totally off the deep end.

Couple that with his pension to kill off his competition and scare tactics towards his own people… and voila.

I know, it’s not really as simple as that. But in a nutshell, that’s what happened. While pointing fingers is something we naturally do as humans, it doesn’t always work.

Remember, at the beginning America didn’t want to have anything to do with it. By the time Hitler was doing the most atrocious of acts while in power, he’d done a damn good job of scaring everyone around him into submission.

It’s an ugly speck in Germany’s history, much like America’s hundreds of years of slavery.

Whilst DMB, Maxie and Michelle sit on the beach and roast in the sun, I am [quite obviously] inside. All right, so maybe that’s not entirely obvious… but who brings a laptop onto a beach?

No one smart, that’s for sure.

This vacation has been amazing. The house that DMB’s family has for the week is literally on the beach. The Atlantic Ocean is currently serving as our back yard. Whenever I look out there, it’s just astonishing to realize how fucking HUGE that mass of saltwater is. Moreover, it’s incredible to think of all the species within its depths. I doubt we’ll ever fully realize how many water dwelling creatures there are.

The thing about vacation is that it’s meant to be relaxing. If you’ve spent any amount of time with me, I’m sure you’re quickly aware of how high-strung I can really be. While I should be letting go and releasing bad energy, I seem to be harboring it instead.

I think I might have a grown-up version of “the only child” syndrome. I know, I know. Stereotyping. Whatever.

The point is this. When I’m out of my comfort zone and totally at the mercy of whomever I’m with, I don’t always act in the most civilized way. Frankly, I can turn into a roaring bitch.

I don’t handle sleepless nights well. I can’t tolerate even the mildest of sound in the middle of the night (there’s a story behind this, but I won’t get into it now). I don’t like not being able to leave whenever I want, even though I have no intention to do so. I just like the option. Because I’m super strange that way.

The beauty of being here with DMB is that she as quick to tell me when I’m acting like a turd.

Lemme tell you something. There are about 3 people on the entire planet that can get away with pulling me to the side, telling me that I need to chill out and I’ll actually listen without getting ridiculously offended. DMB, obviously, is one of them.

I <3 her.

In the same vein, I often wish I didn’t let the little things get to me so badly. I especially don’t need to project my own insecurities and issues on anyone else while here.

I occasionally have that habit and it’s really fucking awful.

I’m a work in progress.

Sometimes, I really wonder how people are able to tolerate me.

As for the whole crew being on the beach, and me sitting inside blogging? Well, I truly loathe the sand. I hate that it gets everywhere. I don’t dig being oiled up for extra crisp tanning and then the tossing of a beach towel showering me in sand granules.

It wigs me out.

Plus, I tan super duper fast and I do NOT get into the ocean. Sharks and jellyfish and things that can sting or stab me live in there. I figure if I leave them alone, they’ll leave me alone.

Right?

Right.

Two things:

1) I have a boyfriend for the first time in half a decade. He’s awesome in 20 million ways. I’m surprised I haven’t yet scared him off.

2) I’ll see y’all lataz! Time to lounge w/DMB, Michelle and the ever crazy Maxie. Ha!

Ok, so this is a free world and you can really do whatever the fuck you want in your own blog. However, this doesn’t mean I have to like it.

1) Every time I see someone write, “FIRST!!!” in a comment section, I want to go to their blog and tell them how fucking stupid their being. Because I like to pretend to be nice, I tend to refrain from this. Maybe one day the waters will part and the clouds will align JUST right and I’ll actually do it

2) Super, duper, retardedly long entries are fucking obnoxious. Look. My reader is subscribed to damn near 200 blogs. Unless you have something really fucking important to say, for the love of all things crispy, don’t write an entire novel per entry. Some writers are damn good at keeping such entries really interesting because it’s not entirely filled with fluff or filler. The majority of folks are not. Let’s pretend I’m sitting next to you and you just.won’t.shut.up about the lint that always transpires in your belly. In real life? I’d tell you exactly how you we’re boring me to tears. In blogland, I skip the entry all together. If it’s got to be long, at least say something. Please!

3) Entries with no spaces. I don’t know about you all, but my eyes react involuntarily upon seeing such a thing. Spaces between paragraphs are a GOOD thing. I promise.

4) Yammering on about the exact same thing for months on end is fucking annoying. Again, it’s your blog. Do as you see fit. But if you’re still bitching about Ugly McFucker who did you wrong 3 years after the event happened, you’re the idiot for caring too damn much. Move on. Even I have done this dumb shit. Thankfully, I heed my own advice.

5) Bloggers who pretend they don’t give a crap about their readership, yet check their blog stats 50 Million times a day. Grab a clue.

6) There’s more, but it’s Friday. I’ll spare you.

Obviously I am the Queen and the aforementioned actually matters. I mean, duh! I’m Deutlich! Don’tcha know!

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Uhm. Please note the sarcasm. I’m just another schmuck on the interwebs. If you’ve somehow gotten offended by my lovely little rant, maybe you should re-evaluate what’s important.