Oktoberfest.

Have you ever woken up on a Sunday morning and thought "what the hell happened to Friday and Saturday?" Have you ever looked at your cell phone for clues, only to find that drunk you was smart enough to delete all evidence so you wouldn't have to look at it when you blacked back in? Have you ever got on an airplane, still drunk, and realized that it took you to Frankfurt instead of Copenhagen? Welcome to the best weekend of my life.

After four full days of recovery, I am finally ready to talk about Oktoberfest.

We got kicked off of this ferris wheel.

On Thursday night, I was reunited with my two best friends in the lobby of the Munich Marriott. On her way to give me my "welcome" hug, one of them tripped and fell on her face. I have never been happier to see anyone in my life. We proceeded to the hotel bar, where we convinced a Swedish man that A was an A-list movie star and we were her hair and makeup team. We were off to a good start. He did not buy us drinks (as we were hoping he would), but he did invite A to have a home cooked meal in Sweden while she is there shooting her (imaginary) movie next week. Not a total failure.

We woke up early on Friday so we could get to the tents before 9. I use the term "woke up" lightly, as I don't think any of the 8 girls we had shoved in 3 beds slept for more than an hour.  Cozy. Before we got into the cabs, I thought it would be a good idea to go to the ATM. Unfortunately, I did not quite understand the conversion rates. Did YOU know 400 Euro isn't the same as $400? It's seriously confusing.

So like, Do you work out?

Our Fan Club

There is no way to fully describe how amazing Oktoberfest truly is. It is like Disneyland for alcoholic adults. We walked into the tent, and 2000 German men started cheering for us. We found a table and ordered beers. Our waitress, who was wearing traditional Bavarian dress, immediately hated us. Nevertheless, she came back carrying 10 ENORMOUS beer mugs (four of which were smuggled home in our carry ons)-- the lady had talent. She also pinched us, yelled at us and blew a whistle in our faces for dancing on the tables. Bitch.

After getting sufficiently drunk, C. and I decided to go on the rides. Beer and roller coasters? Why would that not be a good combination? After spending $40 to go on three rides, all of which made us sick, we went to go find Pretzels. The biggest, most amazing pretzels in the world. Then we went to find our friends, and took a nap on the table. Everything from that point on is a blacked out blur (it ruled!).

Vomz

Nomz

No one even looked twice.

All of a sudden, it was 10pm and A. and I realized we had been at Oktoberfest for 13 hours and had no idea where our friends were. Apparently, they had left after our nap-- 5 hours before we realized they were gone. One girl got COMPLETELY lost, ended up at the wrong hotel and sent $400 worth of text messages from C.'s phone. Another girl met a boy and spent the rest of the day on a date. They went on rides together and went out to a four course meal. The pictures are unreal. A. and I somehow made it home, which proved to be a challenge considering we had to walk up a large hill (which we had earlier taken a nap on-- we thought we were in The Sound of Music) and both kept falling and rolling down to the bottom. We got home, went to bed, woke up and did it all again.

Go big or Go Home. Cheerz Bitchez.

Day 2, we switched to lemonade beers. We all only blacked out once that day, not twice.

There is no way to fully describe how amazing the weekend was, mainly because I am trying to get a job after I graduate. If you are ever given the opportunity to go to Oktoberfest, take it. I plan to go back for my bachelorette party. I would also like to take this opportunity to say a sincere "thank you" to the Professional Business Fraternity in which I am a brother. Without the skills I learned during pledging, there is no chance in hell I would have survived this weekend. Or been able to successfully chug a beer with 10,000 German people cheering for me.

#fratstars

L'Shana Tovah!

Get at me boiz

Tonight, I cooked Rosh Hashanah dinner. Now that I am no longer dating a 6'7" aryan athlete, it seems like a good time to start preparing for Jewish wifedom.

Before I got to Copenhagen, the only thing I knew how to make in the kitchen was a mess.  I literally didn't know how to boil water or crack an egg. Now, because I can't afford to eat, I have had to learn. I must say, I have become quite the chef. Some of my specialties include pasta, peanut butter and jelly and steamed vegetables. Tonight, it was time to tackle noodle kugel.

I am not super Jewish. I haven't been to temple in three years and can barely recite a prayer. I did, however, have an AMAZING Bat Mitzvah that involved me coming down in a swing wearing a top hat singing "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend." It was Moulin Rouge themed-- I guess my dad didn't realize the movie is about a whorehouse. Basically, I'm only into the Jewish stuff for the food and the party. So when my friend Gayle suggested we throw a traditional Rosh Hashanah dinner, I was in.

We went to the market, and I was on a mission to find egg noodles and pecans. They had neither. We settled on Ramen noodles and raisins instead. Real chefs know how to improvise. Gayle made a chicken, simmus and Israeli Salad. And I made Asian kugel. It was a huge success: everyone (including our 30 year old Danish male roommates) sat around drinking wine and talking about their sexual histories. Pretty similar to Weiner family dinner.

After tonight, I am officially ready to get married. JDate here I come!

There is a Special Place in Hell for Fashion Bloggers.

When In Denmark, Do As The Vikings Do

Have you ever done something solely for the sake of the story? I have. I once made out with a boy wearing head to toe pink spandex suit, just so I could tell people I had done it. And because it was really, really funny. It is for these same reasons that I found myself spending the day at the Laejre Land of Legends.

;)

DIS offers all kinds of day trips for students to immerse themselves into Danish culture. I thought they were all super lame, until I found myself stuck at home alone on a Saturday afternoon while everyone I knew was rock climbing in Sweden or biking the coast of Denmark. It was time to reconsider. When I went to sign up, there was only one trip that still had space available. It was advertised as follows:

Be a Viking for a Day at Land of Legends Lejre! On the day you will be greeted by Vikings who will take you to the Viking Marketplace. During the day, you will be doing hands-on activites as well as 'jausting' with each other in different games. You will also get the opportunity to prepare bread and butter and 'Vikinge Gryde' (Viking Stew) with the Vikings. After you've gorged yourselves on Viking Stew, the Vikings will provide entertainment in the form of the telling of an old Viking tale. As an extra bonus, Lejre will be hosting the Nordic Championships in Role Playing the weekend of Sept. 17th/18th- so while you are being a viking for the day, chances are you will see trolls, wizards, goblins, knights and princesses running around the historical site!!! 

I can't wait to see you and
your whispering eye

My friend Katherine and I thought it would be absolutely hilarious to get a big group together (preferably of hot guys) and watch a LARPing tournament. Apparently, nobody else thought so. There ended up being 10 people on the trip. Even our close friends thought we were huge weirdos and refused to sign up. I think they might have been onto something.






The time came for our big day at Viking Land, and somehow I managed to get myself out of bed at 7:30 on Saturday morning. I was in rough shape, as evidenced by the fact that I thought it would be socially acceptable to wear sneakers, a bright orange fleece and a fur muff. Vogue would be proud.

We arrived at the Land of Legends at 9:30, only to discover that the park doesn't open until 11. The bus driver had to go to Sweden, so he kindly left us to entertain ourselves in the middle of an empty field. It was too cold to stand still, so we started walking around on the trails. Mind you, it was approximately 40 degrees and everything was soaking wet. Not ideal. If I managed to survive the "adventure" without contracting Limes disease, hypothermia or whatever pandemic the alien slugs here carry, it would be a miracle

Just enjoying the scenery--wtf am I wearing.

Finallllllyyyyyy it was time to enter *THE LAND OF LEGENDS*. We were greeted by a woman wearing "Viking" attire (where the hell were her horns?!) and led to the Viking  village. There were no trolls, wizards or goblins to be found. There were only three sad looking "vikings" sitting around a camp fire. Major let down. They split us into three teams, and we had to compete in various Viking tasks:

1. Making Fire

They handed us a piece of flint, a piece of iron and some "tinderflagen" and told us if we didn't get it to burn, we couldn't eat. I chipped two nails and gave up without having made so much as a spark. Some of he other kids conveniently brought lighters (hmm.....), so they won. And found the whole thing a lot funnier than I did

2. Sharpening a Spear

I held a piece of iron over a fire, then banged on it with a hammer. I have to say, it was really nice to see my education going to good use.

3. Churning Butter

Me. Churning butter. Seriously?

4. Shooting Arrows

I came closer to accidentally spearing a human than hitting the target. The humans were behind me.

By the end of the day, I was cold, wet, exhausted and miserable. The good news is, the cost the trip includes a season pass to Land of Legends. The season ended yesterday. By far the best $100 I have ever spent.

What I Expected

What I got.

Macro Sunday

In my opinion, you are never truly at home in a place until you have done a walk of shame. In this case, my inaugural stroll consisted of walking from my own couch to the ATM barefoot, in my clothes from last night to get money to pay a locksmith. It still counts. As I lay in my bed watching Snooki and Deena get lezbionic on the new Jersey Shore, having what the Harvard boys (namedrop) call "Macro Sunday," I can't help but feel like I have finally adjusted to life in Copenhagen. Here are some highlights from the last few days:

1. I ate something called a "sushi dog." It is sushi, in the shape of a hotdog. Talk about embracing Danish culture.

2. Friday night, I met and made out with a beeeeautiful Danish military man. As usual, I managed to make a complete fool of myself, and later found out he will be moving into the room next door to mine on Friday. We get to share a kitchen and a bathroom! Not awkward. Remember Derek and Meredith on episode 1 of Grey's Anatomy? Stay tuned for that development.

3. I went to my visiting family's house for dinner. This required taking two trains and a bus. Considering I am from the suburbs of Rhode Island and refuse to leave Georgetown for anything other than a basketball game, I am not exactly educated in public transportation. I thought I had it figured out, until train #1 broke down. Of course, all of the announcements were in Danish so I had no idea what was going on. I was playing solitaire on my blackberry, totally oblivious, until someone tapped me on the shoulder and indicated that I should look around. I was the only one on the train. I ended up stranded in rural Denmark for an hour, until my visiting dad came and picked me up. I accidentally called him by the wrong name. The whole night.

4. Saturday night, I came home from the bar (after casually eating everything in 7/11) only to find that I had lost my keys. Alison and I spent 45 minutes trying to kick down the door (sup Benson and Stabler), then realized that the scaffolding outside made it possible to scale the building and get to my window. I am TERRIFIED of heights, but somehow made it up two stories on the outside wall, only to realize the window was locked. Not one of our best laid plans.

5. Sunday morning, After calling a locksmith who did not speak english for 8+ hours, someone finally arrived to open my door. Not surprisingly, the bobby pin he was trying to finagle the deadbolt with proved to be unsuccessful, and he had to whip out a power drill. Two hours and $400 (surprise mom and dad!) later, I don't know whether I should be laughing or crying. Thank God my roommates made carrot cake.

Princess Meets Princess

It's my chance to shine--SWEET 16

Anyone who knows me knows that I am OBSESSED with Disney Princesses. Every birthday party, from the age of 2 to 20, has been Princess themed. Seriously -- for my 18th my mom decorated a bar on Thayer Street with cutouts of Cinderella and Belle. My former boyfriend was horribly embarrassed, but I was super into it. After all, I'll take any excuse to wear a crown.

I always really loved the Little Mermaid, but because of my "ethnically ambiguous" look I was always stuck dressing up as Jasmine. Looking back, she was kind of a badass -- she got to wear a belly shirt and walk around with a tiger. Not too shabby. Once, my friend Emily had a Jasmine-themed 4th birthday party. My mom's dressmaker made my costume and it was way better than everyone else's. I felt like a total rockstar all day, until the pony they hired kicked me in the face. I digress.

Apparently, most of the stories we all grew up on, including The Little Mermaid, are based on Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales-- and we all know how the Danes feel about that guy. When I found out there was a statue of the Little Mermaid here in Copenhagen (it was one of the three things I knew about the city before I got here) I was DYING to go. A chance to see the real Ariel?!?! Sign me up.

So today, Lindsay and I ventured to Osterport to see the Little Mermaid statue. It was actually really cool, and we got a pair of nice Asian tourists to take our picture. When I got home, I thought it would be a good idea to read the Hans Christian version of the story. Big mistake. Apparently, Disney got extremely creative in their interpretation of the story.

Disney's Version:

1. Beautiful Ginger Mermaid Princess falls in love with a human prince. 
2. Beautiful Ginger Mermaid Princess gives her voice to the evil Ursula in exchange for a pair of legs
3. Beautiful Ginger Mermaid Princess uses new legs to attempt to seduce human prince (now you get why I love her)
4. Evil Ursula steals her man
5. Human prince spears Evil Ursula and she dies. Strangely reminiscent of the time I tried to eat Octopus at Nobu. 
6. Beautiful Ginger Mermaid Princess and Human Prince are married by a priest with a boner and live happily ever after

Hans Christian Andersen's Version:

1. Mermaid falls in love with a prince and gives Urusla her voice in exchange for a pair of legs (like in the movie)
2. Instead of giving her a set of sexy new legs, Ursula splits Mermaids's tail in half and she bleeds. Everywhere. (not like in the movie)
3. Mermaid goes to land to find the Prince. When she does, he laughs at her bloody tail and commands her to dance for him. 
4. Mermaid finds out that the prince is set to marry another woman, and if he does Mermaid will die.
5. The prince marries the other woman.
6. Mermaid is told she can can only survive if she kills the Prince. 
7. Instead of killing the d-bag in his sleep, Mermaid decides to believe in true love, hoping it will save her (#notbetchy)
8. Mermaid's plan fails
9. Mermaid dissolves into sea foam and has to do 300 years of good deeds

...Not exactly the happy ending I had in mind. Turns out, HCA was a pretty sick dude. He had an abusive alcoholic for a mother, and his childhood traumas are made pretty evident in his work. Ever notice how Disney characters never have two parents? Cinderella, Bambi, Dumbo... the list goes on. Thanks a lot, Hans. If only Nemo's mom had survived, maybe the poor kid wouldn't have gotten lost*

Dad? Daaaaad?

*side note -- Hans Christian Andersen did not write Finding Nemo. If you thought,

 even for a second, that he did... you're an idiot.

Sometimes when I ask for directions, I pretend to be British. 

I just found a Facebook message from an Italian boy I met at a bar asking me on a date. From three weeks ago. I think it's a little late to say yes.




--I did it anyway. 

Western Denmark: Europe's #1 Party Destination

This past weekend, I spent some time in the glamorous Western Denmark with my Communications class. The area isn't on anyone's list of "the top places to visit in Europe," but I was actually pleasantly surprised by the way the trip turned out.

Look mom I'm on TV!

Thursday morning, I dragged my overstuffed suitcase onto a coach bus around the crack of dawn, and settled in for a 4 hour ride. We apparently went over the third biggest bridge in the world, but I was asleep and missed it. Typical. When we arrived in Odense, we went to a media museum where we were asked to produce our own News segment. I obviously wanted to be the host (because I am an attention whore), but forgot to raise my hand and was stuck doing an interview about Sensation White. As if I know anything about raves, other than how to get kicked out of them. Still, I got to be on camera, so I loved it. I also felt really smart namedropping DJ Winterfresh, as someone who I hoped to see play Sensation. (Seriously, that was the only DJ I could think of.) Everyone was really impressed.

No Autographs, Please.

That night, we went to dinner where I ate Weinerschnitzel (thats my
name!) and drank beer and felt super European. Then we went to a Jazz concert, where I realized that I will never be intellectual enough to appreciate Jazz music. And that the only people who are intellectual enough to appreciate Jazz music are at least 83.

Friday we woke up and went to a PR firm called E-Mergency Creative. The head "Graphic Surgeon" lectured us for two hours, and offered useful advice on how to stand out in the business world, such as "tell your employers you think they are fucking crazy" and "when you e-mail a resume, use the subject line to make the recipient think you are sending them porn." Thanks Brian, I will keep those tips in mind next Spring when I am re-applying for Vogue. Maybe I will be able to get Anna Wintour's personal e-mail? In his defense, he did offer us red wine that we could drink out of blood bags. It was 9am, but still greatly appreciated.

We then went on a "Hans Christian Andersen Walking Tour." It was the first of the three I am scheduled to go on this semester. They really love Hans Christian Andersen in this country, and enjoy showing off every place he ever set foot. Here are some things I learned on my tour:

• Hans Christian Andersen wrote 300+ Fairy Tales 
• Hans Christian Andersen invented the internet
• Hans Christian Andersen was the first man on the moon
• Hans Christian Andersen is a direct descendent of God and Aphrodite

Don't get me wrong, I love The Little Mermaid just as much as the next aspiring princess, but these people are completely obsessed. It's weird.

Handsy Christian Andersen

After posing for pictures with 6 (six!!) different HCA statues, we got on the bus and went to the European Film College. The school was in the middle of nowhere, and there were 120 18-25 year olds running around in costumes filming movies. It reminded me a little bit of rehab. I kind of loved it. We all went out to a traditional Danish dinner where our teacher treated us to our first (3) rounds, then headed back to the hostel to get drunk and watch Danish TV.

Zo Vision

Saturday morning, we woke up and went paintballing. That sucked. To make up for the trauma we endured, our teacher treated us to a wine tasting at a local vineyard. The wine was not very good, but we obviously drank it anyway. All of it. Then we went out to a beautiful lunch on the water, where we were offered delicious food and *hot* waiters. This guy really wanted to get back on our good sides.

Finally, we drove to the Aros Museum in Arhus. The exhibits were all interactive, and seemed even cooler because we were all drunk from the wine tasting.

Considering the last field trip I went on was to the aquarium in 7th grade, I am pretty sure that getting drunk and shooting guns with my teacher are the most fun, least educational school sponsored activities I have ever taken part in. Look out London, here we come.


Countdown to London: 18 days

First Half Naked Boy I've Seen in a While

A Girl's Guide to Hunting and Being Hunted

There are few things I hate more than spending time in nature, but guns and getting dirty happen to be two of them. So last week, when my communications teacher announced we would be going paintballing, I knew it was bound to be an absolute nightmare. Did he really expect me to wear recycled camouflage and subject myself to rolling around in the mud and being shot at? Yeah, not happening. Why someone would ever think that taking a group of 40 girls paintballing is a good idea is truly beyond me. They really do do things differently here.

Pretty Princesses 

When the time came for our 8:45am departure, I was still drunk from the night before and was in surprisingly good spirits. This lasted approximately 8 minutes. We pulled into what I can only assume is the European version of a trailer park and were met by a large bald man on a four wheeler. The whole thing reminded me of my summers in rural Maine. I was under the impression that hicks were unique to America, but apparently they breed such gems in Western Denmark, too. Baldy led us to a rack of camouflage onesies and told us to find one that fit. The suit I ended up with would have comfortably fit a Patriot's linebacker, and did not have any protective padding. Super! I tried to style the look a little bit by using my ammo belt to cinch the waist (#vogueproblems), but I got yelled at for wearing it wrong. Clearly they are not familiar with high fashion in Ebeltofft.

My teacher is clinically insane, but at least he has nice muscles

Once we all looked sufficiently homely, 4-wheeler Bob ushered us onto the course. It was muddy, wet and covered with enormous alien slugs. My personal hell. Bob split us into two teams and attempted to explain the rules. I ignored him and tried to figure out the where the best place would be to sit in fetal position until the 20 minute game was over. When Bob honked his horn to mark the start of the game , we all took off running. To our respective hiding places. Of course, no one had any intention of actually playing the game (I'm pretty sure it was some sort of "capture the flag" thing -- but I barely understood that game before there were guns involved). We just wanted to survive. (Yes, it was really that dramatic). Within the first 40 seconds, I tripped and spilled all of my ammo. So at that point, not only was I uncoordinated and hungover, but I was unarmed. I found a promising looking stack of tires and posted up, refusing to open my eyes until the game was over. I know I sound like a total baby, but in my defense everyone had the same idea, and we were actually arguing over the prime hiding spots. The only person who was actually into it was our teacher. At one point, I looked over and this guy was shooting at me from up in a tree. Are you kidding me? At least he waited until Add-Drop was over, tricky bastard.



By some stroke of miracle, I survived round one. We went back up to the safe zone, thinking it was over, when they announced that Teacher had been kind enough to pay for more paintballs so we could play another round. Surprise! This guy is a serious sicko. After the horn blew, I lasted 2 and a half more minutes before I was throwing my gun down in tears and storming off the course. It was bound to happen. Teacher fired four shots into my back from 8 feet away. Effing sadist. 


Surprisingly, I was one of only two girls who quit mid-battle. The other girl had a nosebleed and was concerned that she had broken her tooth. Seriously -- what kind of school subjects its students to this stuff? We watched the rest of the game from the back of Bob's 4-wheeler, nursing our battle wounds and PTSD. At least he offered us beer.


Final score: Paintball-1 Zo-0

Culture Shock

I know what you're thinking. How could anybody feel culture shock in a city where everyone is white, friendly and speaks english? Au contraire. It has definitely been harder to adjust to the Danish way of life than I ever expected. Here are a few of the things that have really made an impact:


7. Danes Don't Look Like Me

One thing here is not like the others...

I should be used to the whole "only brunette in the room" thing by now, considering that 99% of the people at Georgetown are blond bombshells. Here, though, they are on a whole other level. Everyone is tall, pale, blonde and blue eyed. My "ethnically ambiguous" look (thanks, Charlotte, for that surprisingly accurate description of my appearance) simply doesn't cut it here. As a short, dark Jewish girl with an untamed "nest" of hair, I do not fit in. The other night, though, a drunk homeless man did tell me I was *the most* beautiful girl in the world. So maybe there is hope. (He asked for money almost immediately after ... but it still counts ask me.)



6. Danes Have Dirty Water
Upon arriving in Denmark, we were informed almost immediately that the water was infected with E. Coli. This meant we had to use bottled water for everything. Surprise! You're back in Punta Cana! I know I have complained about the prices here in almost every post, but let me just remind you that a bottle of water costs $5. So I basically had to pay every time I brushed my teeth. If I wanted to rough it I would have gone to India. At least there I could have become a Bollywood superstar.




5. Danes Follow the Rules
After living in New York this past Summer, I like to think of myself as a highly educated J-Walker. One pretty much has to be in order to stand any chance of making it to work on time in the middle of Time Square. I would sprint in front of cars to make the light and casually stroll along to the beat of the blinking red hand.  Here, that kind of illegal activity just doesn't fly. (Sidenote-- I got cited for J-walking in LA last summer. That city is weird and law abiding too.) In Denmark, it is expected that you WAIT FOR THE LIGHT TO CHANGE BEFORE CROSSING THE STREET. Can you imagine?! Let me just say, I have had some serious trouble with this, and am convinced that I will lose a battle of "girl meets bike" over the course of the next 3 months.



4. Danes Drink Beer
I don't.


3. Danes Don't Date
The other night, we were at Kulor bar when one of my friends hit it off with a charming Danish man. After dancing and getting to know each other, the man asked her if she wanted to "meet him" in the bathroom. Excuse me?!?!?!?! When I asked my Danish male roommates about this, they told me his presumptuousness was entirely normal. They are extremely open about sex here, and therefore treat it very casually. Apparently, many Danish girls would have happily followed my friend's suitor to the back stall. Luckily, we all know better. Oh, and heres a fun fact: 1 in 10 Danish people have Chlamydia.


2. Danes Like to be Naked

My one complaint about my housing here in Denmark is about the bathrooms. To put it simply, they are disgusting. There is one toilet, one sink and one shower for 6 people, which is a little overwhelming for someone who has never had to share a bathroom before (Thank you, Village C). Because of this, I have taken to showering at the gym every day. The locker room is like a spa, complete with a steam room and sauna, and the showers are amazing. There is only one problem: they don't have doors. Most nights I am the only one left in the building (they usually have to kick me out -- I am that hardcore), so I was not faced with Danish nudity until last night. Two women made their way into the stalls on either side of me (separated only by frosted glass panels) and proceeded to step outside of the showers periodically to converse. Completely buck naked!! It was a little much. Apparently, according to Danish standards I am a total prude (Ha!). Upon further research, I learned that some families walk around in their underwear, or even naked, together in their homes. I am meeting my visiting family on Saturday, and I am realllly hoping that they are not one of those families.


And the biggest, most difficult culture shock I have experienced....


1. Danes don't wear big necklaces.

This only added an extra 15 pounds to my luggage. NBD

For anybody who knows me and is familiar with the way I dress, this is a huge problem. One of the first nights we went out, Danish men kept coming up to me and telling me that they knew I was American because of the way I had chosen to accessorize. But my mom bought me the necklace in Morocco! It isn't even from America! For now though, I refuse to give up my signature statement pieces.






Although I am still working to get adjusted, I have a feeling I will never fully assimilate into Danish culture. I am far too *me* to ever become a beer drinking, law abiding nudist. As Amanda Bynes' love interest in What a Girl Wants (who am I kidding. I know his name is Oliver James) wisely asked, "Why are you trying so hard to fit in when you were born to stand out?"

The only European boy I've ever been attracted to (besides Bruno)