Of course, by Fuzzy Little Foreigner, I am referring to me and the fact that I went on a 10 day trip in Germany.  I went on strike and didn’t shave my legs (I know TMI) until the night before I came home.  Can you say Woooolie-Boooooger?

I never realized eating in a forgein country would be so damn difficult.

First, I am the second pickiest eater you will ever meet in your life, behind my step-son… he’d have starved to death.

Ok, being the typical American tourist type, not to mention a closed minded, livin in the box kinda girl, I never realized that Chinese people that run a chinese restaurant in Germany wouldn’t speak English.  It was odd to me that they spoke Chinese and German. But, the place was across the street from our hotel, and smelled really, really good.

Won-Ton Soup: #3 on the menu.
Mini-Spring Roll:  #2 on the menu.
Cashew Chicken:  #42 on the menu.

Best Won-Ton Soup I ever have consumed… EVER.

Since I am afraid of anything ending in -wurst or-snitzel, I steered clear of tradtional German food.  God forbid I pork-peniswurst or something like that.  It’s not like I can translate German to English very well.

We were in Pforzheim the first several days, so, we ate Chinese food at the same place on Sunday and Monday nights.

The Tuesday night, we switched off for some Itatlian. The spinich manacotti was yum and the wine was a-flowin.

The Wednesday night, we were gonna give the Brazilian place a crack, but I wussed out, paid for my beer and ran away.  The couldn’t speak English and I couldn’t figure out anything but shrimp from the Brazilian/German menu and I don’t do shrimp.  So, we ended up back at the Chinese place again, where we were greeted with..”Hello. You wanta Coka Light and Hotta Tea, yes?”

With a sweet smile I tell her, “Of course and can we have the same table by the window?”

I know she had to be thinking… Crazy American bitch won’t eat anything.

Then we went to Hannover…

Thursday night we ate food from the hotel bar, which is always tasty with beer.

Friday night, we had another awesome Italian dinner with the owner of my company.

Then to Munich…

Saturday night, I finally broke down.  Mom took me to a Beer Garten (pub) in Munich.  Oktoberfest was over, but you couldn’t tell it by the guy on the table who had a bucket on his head and was leading the whole place in a sing-along.
After several pints of some delicious brew, I was starting to pack a nice buzz.
So, I broke down and ate stewed steak smothered in roasted onions (DAYUM!!) and potatoes. 

The beer was the best ever though. It didn’t have that watery as piss taste to it.

Sunday night, we found us another Chinese place. It was pretty tasty too.

So, I guess I totally blew the opportunity to expand my culinary palate… NOT!

I do know one thing for shizzly: Germany  has the corner on the ice cream market.  It was grub, and I had my fair share.

I am sad to say that my addiction to Chinese Food was abruptly halted as a result of the ongoing battle with the Fortune Cookie Nazi.  He won, I lost; no MSG, salt loaded, sugary goodness for Diva.  Dammit.

So, I come home from a business trip and OG tells me that while I was gone, she had went to said establishment to partake of take-out as her man had taken ill.

She went to the self serve bar, I remember so well.  She filled her to-go boxes with treats of all kinds…

She went to the front to pay our friend the Fortune Cookie Nazi…

“You need-a any sauces today?”  He asked.

“No.  I don’t think so,”  she politely replied.

“Well, you must-a take the fortune cookie,” he tells her.

A light bulb went off over her head.  She knows first hand that I’m not kidding when I say he just won’t give me a fortune cookie.  That he has an inner drive within his deep dark soul, which keeps him from simply dipping in and giving me my friggin’ cookie. 

What’s wrong with a brother when he won’t even share a 5 cent cookie?  He would give me a truck load of sauces, chop stix, but no damn cookie.   All I want is my cookie!!  Why can’t you just give me my cookie!!!

I’m going to go rock back and forth in the corner now.

I just hate craving that damned chinese food from that damned yummy place over here by the office. 

I mean, I get a craving for it and I decided that, despite the fact I know that evil ass munch won’t give me the fortune cookie without a square off in the middle of the parking lot, I was going to go have me some tastey morsels of saucy goodness.

So, as usual, I go in, get my little styrofoam container, proceed to the buffet of happiness, load up my choices and go to the register to pay.  I set my container on the scale, as they charge for buffet to go by the pound.  This is where it the ugly gets on.

So, everything seems to be going smooth.  I’m mentally preparing for the fight for the fortune cookie.  I intend to win this time. 

“You need sauce or fork?” he asks me all smug like.

“Nope. But I want a Diet Pepsi,”  I tell him.

“Diet Pesi!” he calls out to the chick at the waitress station.

She totes it over and sets it on the counter as he rings me up. 

“That be $4.62,” he tells me.

UH OH!  Houston we have a problem.  Diva don’t carry cash.  Just something I don’t do.  It’s way too easy to use my debit card to have to fool around with dollars.

This ass munch “only takey the credit cawd fo ova fi dolla.”  Hasn’t he seen that VISA commercial that shows the world is officially going plastic???

Still yet, I try to slip it by him.  I pull out my debit card with VISA logo and push it toward him.

“We only take cawd fo purchase ova fi dolla,” he reminds me.

“Look guy, I don’t have any cash.  Well I have a handful of change in the bottom of my purse, but not enough,” I tell him as show him my empty wallet.

“You always can get another drink take wif you,” he tells me.

“Uh, no. You can run my card or I’ll have to leave it,” I tell him, now pissed.

“Well, I not running cawd.  You get cash, come back,” he tells me.

“OK, fine!”  So, I walk out the door.  No lunch, no friggin fortune cookie, and definitely no balls to tell him what he could do with his no useless carton of to-go.

God Bless Taco Bell.  They’ll takey my debit card for an eighty-nine cent bean burrito.