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.