the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

I went to Munich last week to spend a couple of days with two of my favorite people and to drink German beer. Mission accomplished.

Here's a gratuitous pic:

That's me and Alvarummel--the big nose gallery.

As with everything else Alvarummel, there's a story here.

The adorable I'm-still-one-inch-taller-than-a-dwarf chick there is Cela Alvarez. She and I went through Officer Training School together. It quickly became apparent that we were both the oldest, fittest, and most sarcastic bitches on campus. (Indeed, when the upperclass needed more females to compete in the Joint Military Athletic Competition in Pensacola, we were the only underclassmen selected, old bitties that we were. I ran and she did pullups.) Predictably, we became fast friends.

Unpredictably, we remained fast friends. I mean...we met during one of the most intense physical/intellectual/emotional experiences of our lives. These things have a way of bonding people. It's not so common that bonds last much longer than the experiences that birthed them, though. Eventually, the experience falls into the past and you realize you don't really have much in common. This did not happen with me and Alvarez. Turns out, we have one of those rare friendships that remains just as fresh, interesting, and amusing as it was in the beginning, even if we go years without interaction.

That handsome dude with the specs and the dorky blue hat is The Rummel, her husband. Well, his name is John. I even use that name from time to time.*

* Usually in oblique reference to "the facilities," but sometimes in reference to The Rummel hisself.

They've been an item since well before OTS, but never bothered changing their names. It just seemed like too much expense and trouble, and for what reason? Plus, changing their names would render obsolete their favorite pet names for one another (Alvarez and Rummel).

"Alvarummel" is Cela's coining, I think. You see, after we got out commissions and staggered forth into the world to defend the Constitution against all enemies foreign and domestic, I saw them both simultaneously exactly once, shortly thereafter. They were stationed at Beale AFB and I was down the coast at Vandenberg AFB. I drove up and happened to catch them in the same country at the same time. (Yes yes, they were in the same house, but since that time, I've found it increasingly difficult to catch both on the same continent at the same time. Maybe that's the secret to wedded bliss.)

When we (Mich had moved to California by then) went to visit, we saw John. Then we moved a couple of times and ended up in Colorado, where Alvarummel is from. This entitled us to visits from them--but never at the same time--through the years. I began to snark about my Clark Kent-Superman suspicions, and Alvarummel was born.

Anyway. I was on about Munich, wasn't I?

I've never been to a proper Munich Oktoberfest (most of which occurs in September*), and I didn't this time. This was, instead, a Curtfest.

* I know...right?

Curt is a Rummel (I think) and turned 70 last Wednesday. They'd originally planned to celebrate his birthday on Oktoberfest, but the Rummel clan wasn't aware that they needed to have tents reserved a year in advance to carry that off. They seem to have the same planning skills I do.* So they ended up reserving spots at the Haufbrauhaus downtown Munich for last week, on his actual birthday.

* There is a reason I end up having odd adventures when I go TDY. I don't think to get a hotel until the usual "American" ones have been taken.

So I flew into Munich last Tuesday around 5pm. Alvarummel met me just past customs and just about hugged me to death (or vice versa...I forget). We popped into a grocery in the airport and selected our brews of choice, as the trip to the center of Munich would take a while. Then we boarded the subway and set about our gossip. And enjoying good beer.

German beer is outstanding. Belgian beer is amazing, I admit, but I have a weakness for a natural wiesbeir. Or maybe several weaknesses.

We got to the hotel Italia. Alvarummel had procured a room here and had an extra bed dragged up and outfitted for me, b'cuz I don't think ahead and because I'm cheap and because why the hell not. We dropped out bags and ventured forth into the evening, me without a camera.

Here's a pic I took that night:

We wandered around in the centrum and met his cousin and her hubby and a couple of other folk. The night was late but wonderful, then Cela took us back to the hotel like a homing pigeon and we all crashed.

Cela had told me ahead of time that I was welcome to sleep in the same room with them if I didn't care that John slept commando and she snored. I said I didn't care, so long as they didn't care if I farted. Much.

It turns out that she actually does snore, though. Thankfully, I had my sleep meds, some beer under my belt, and she had those miraculous wax earplugs she first introduced me to in OTS. I slept like I was dead, or so I was told.

I generally sleep on my back, see. I have had various back and knee and hip and neck problems, and have learned over the years that the best way to sleep is either on my back or on my side with a pillow supporting my head and one between my knees. I had one pillow that night, so I slept on my back. Because of my recurrent shoulder problems, I'm careful to nestle my shoulders into the mattress and relax my arms, either to the side or on my belly.

I think I was the first to wake the next morning. I had to eliminate. I came back to bed and was unable to simply doze back off, so I grabbed my Kindle and read a bit. Then I dozed off. On my back with my head settled into a pillow and my hands on my belly. Cela and John woke shortly thereafter and saw me. John said, "She's going to be buried like that."

Cela: Maybe she's already dead.

So that afternoon, we arose and ventured forth into the greater Munich area, where we conducted an inpromptu tour of the insides of barrooms around the city center. It was more walking and talking than drinking, to be fair. We bitched about how The Rummel was a captain almost immediately (he was given his nursehood and got his commission as a 1st Lt, then shortly thereafter pinned on captain. Damn Army). We caught up on times past, of which there are many, always. Like I said, Cela and John travel a lot. John was a kept man in California, while he worked on his nursing degree (and how many men wouldn't just kill to be in his shoes, irony aside), then when he went active duty Army, Cela decided that was cool and he should support her for a while, so she went Reserve. She still travels a great deal, what with her specialty and mad skilz. She most recently returned from a few weeks in Uganda.

I wish I could tell you witty stories, but while we shared many, there are precious few I want recorded for posterity. It is enough that Alvarummel and I share them.

d