When I was still in the service of the Service, back in late 1996, I was sent to Germany for Operation Joint Endeavor. Basically, we stationed ourselves in Germany for 90-day-tours and handled their aircraft maintenance while the permanent party there flew into Bosnia several times a week. Bosnian women are hot, by the way. I don’t really care too much about color of skin or whatever when I’m on the prowl. But I for some reason thought they were a brown people. No. They’re Scandinavian. White, blonde-haired, blue-eyed snow bunnies. Cute little gorgeous cuties. Anyway, I digress. The point is not the hot Bosnian women. The point is that I was sent to Germany.
It’s funny, by the way, how German women love Texans. Garret and I wore our cowboy hats and boots and the whole getup while we were over there. Every time we would walk into the Irish House (in Germany), the women would immediately flock to us. Have you seen me? I’m not that hot. I guess Garret was. But meh. They loved my hat. And this shitty German rock band that did 80s American Rock covers was playing “Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi when we walked in one time. And every time he would get to the part where he says, “I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride”, he would point to us during the ‘I’m a cowboy’ part. Sigh. Yeah it was pretty gay. But every single time he’d say it, he would point, and every time he would point, everyone in the bar would turn to look at us. So we’re standing there just sort of waving. Every time. I might have gone home with a brown woman that night. Anyway, that’s not the point either.
In fact, I can’t remember the point at this – er, point.
I know that people in forein countries don’t really like Americans a lot of the time. Iceland? Hate us. France? Duh. Germany? Yeah, could go either way. They don’t like Americans, but when they find out you’re from Texas, they love you. I think it has something to do with Texas sort of having been its own country at one time.
I had a girl approach me in the streets of Frankfurt one time and ask me if I thought her face was pretty since she had cocaine sprinkled all over it. Well, I think your face is pretty anyway, m’lady. The cocaine just makes it sparkle. Anyway, when I told her I didn’t speak Deutsch, she said, “Where you from, America?” Uh huh. I’m from Texas, more specifically. “Oooh, I love Texas! I give you a present!” Uh huh. So while I was waiting in the van for the rest of the guys to come back, she gave me some sort of present. But the point is that when she found out I was from Texas, her level of appreciation for me went way up. She thought Texas was dirt roads and cowboys. Sigh.
But whenever I go to a new country, I like to talk to the locals. Mainly the women. The pretty ones. Who are around my age. You know, just to get the female perspective on their great country. It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m slowly sawing away at my bedpost, one notch at a time. When we stepped off the plane in Ireland, the only time I’ve ever been to Ireland, we had several hours to kill before we took off again, heading home to America. I walked off the plane and approached a woman who was standing there giving people general information, and I said, “Excuse me, where is the restroom?” And she replied in a bad ass Irish accent. I guess she was from around there. And I was like, whoa. You have a bad ass Irish accent. Are you from around here? She giggled and said yes, then asked where I was from. When I told her Texas, her eyes brightened. I went to the restroom and returned to spend the rest of my few hours just standing there talking to her. I was so in awe of her accent (her red hair, green eyes and freckles were pretty ridiculous too) that I could not walk away from her. And she was having a bit of fun with my southern twang as well. I think had I not been rushed to get back on that damn plane, and she had not been on duty, I uh… Well, whatever.
But they love us Texans and hate Americans. So I guess I’m not so much an American as much as I am a Texan, yeah? It has its advantages, I’ve seen. Dirt roads and cowboys or not.
Iceland is a place that seemed to cater to me though. They are very open about sex from a very young age with their children. No one thinks much about it over there. I mean, they love it like we do, but they don’t think it’s as big a deal over there. If Janet Jackson’s titty pops out on television they just sort of say, “How ’bout that.” No one tries to raise a stink and file a damned lawsuit over it. Sex isn’t this taboo unspoken subject over there. And therefore, there is a lot less sex crime and disease. They have sex in public, for The Elephant’s sake! When we visited the Blue Lagoon, there were couples up on the rocks just getting after it. They were even okay with my standing there smoking a cigarette while I watched them. Well, not really. But I bet they would have been!
So when I had been there for a few days and got comfortable with the environment, the girl behind the counter at the market didn’t really react when I asked her if she’d like to spend a little time with me. She shrugged and said, “Sure.” Wow. That was the easiest encounter I’ve ever – uh, encountered. Because she was single. They don’t do a lot of cheating over there. Why can’t it be more like that here? Walk up to a woman and say, “Hey, sex tonight?” Yeah, let me check my schedule.
Anyway, this column (although it’s largely about sex) isn’t really about sex. It’s about the differences between our cultures. Where we take very seriously the exposure of beautiful, natural body parts on television, they don’t. They, on the other hand, don’t really want their children seeing violence on regular television. Clearly, we have our priorities wrong.
When I got back from Germany, it was a new year. I had celebrated my birthday, Christmas, Elephant Appreciation Day and New Year’s overseas. And my girlfriend, though happy to see me, wasn’t really happy to hear about too many of my stories. I don’t really leave the country too often anymore. The last excursion I made for the military was to Panama. And had I not run into the thirty-foot plate glass window in front of the women sitting there, and busted my nose and lip open, I might be talking about our relations with them as well.