Weather is here. Wish you were beautiful.

The Danish word of the day is: slut (n) which means "the end." Thus, the end of a race is called a slutspurt. I kid you not. Why bike-a-gogo land still uses this word beats me...but then again this is also the country that deems Harem pants as fashionable (why put Heidi Klum in oompa loompa pants?)

Today I spotted 5 fanny packs and 5 muffin tops outside of the Hard Rock Cafe. Glad to know we're keeping the stereotype alive America.

I felt like Christopher Columbus last week because I discovered a whole new world (cue Alladin song). There is a magical place called "the black diamond" along Copenhagen's canal. And no, it has nothing to do with Pirate's of the Caribbean. It's the Royal Library of Copenhagen but called the black diamond because of its shape, color, and black window encasing. But oh so much more. It's the type of place that makes you beg for a 15 page research paper just so you can hunker down in their "reading room." Hey, love makes you do crazy things.

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We took off to sausage-a-gogo land (Germany) this weekend for our "study tour." Here are three vair vair important things I learned:

1-Danes entering a war is analogous to making a "party foul"

2-Tattoes aren't that unattractive. A 60-year-old man who thinks he's the Danish version of Sean Connery is.

3-Shakira's "Waka Waka Africa" song is a stroke of pure genius.

On the first point--the Danes have never had much luck with victorious wars (i.e. never). Their country is geographically small for a reason. For instance, we visited Dybbol which was a key battle site for the Second War of Schleswig (think Gettysburg). However the Danes made three mistakes: a) the Germans had 70,000 troops. the Danes had 10,000. b) the Danes ordered lumber FROM GERMANY to build their forts, so all the Germans had to do was review their orders and know how many forts the Danes had built. c) the Danes wouldn't fire their canons because they were afraid the Germans would fire back. And this is why they lost two duchies and call the war "ill-prepared."

On the second point...well I wont comment on the first part. But the second part has to do with our core course professor Jacob Buksti. I mean he does look like Sean Connery. He is the world's most interesting man. He is the Danish version of Chuck Norris. But all of this is confounded by the fact that young bar go-ers don't want a 60 year old man cramping their style.

The third point needs no explanation. It's just pure fact.

And now to the moment you've all been waiting for--my shenanigan of the week: (this is where the blog title comes in)

A friend once described me as a fly paper for freaks (see also other blog posts). Denmark is filled with absolutely beautiful men who I'm sure are perfect gentlemen. But somehow I attract the overly ambitious creepers. I'd like to attribute this to my warm, supportive, and merry personality...but I think they call it vulnerability these days. Thanks Susan for giving me that bewildered doe-eyed look instead of something more intimidating. Thus this particular shenanigan takes place at Kulor--God's gift to Copenhagen. It's 11:30 and the club is jumpin jumpin (cue Beyonce' song). At this point, people have gotten up to dance on couches, tables, and big wooden blocks on the dance floor. I spot a one-man unoccupied box shaped precisely for my dancing abilities. It was my box...MINE. I gracefully leap onto my box to break out my sweet moves learned from Denise Austin's Dance workout tapes. I am in my prime. When all the sudden my prime is broken as a I feel two hands latch around my waist. I peer out into the foggy crowd dazed by disco balls and flashing lights and spot my friends dancing with beautiful Danish men. But who is this behind me on my block? A sweaty Dane who has invaded my space, smells like absinthe & knock-off old spice cologne, and can't find rhythm to save his life. Not only that, but Clasps-with-Danish-Pride has become like a leech. As I try to leap down from the box, his grasp only gets tighter. Not only has he invaded my land, but now he wants to share it with me? Um no. Despite my desperate attempts at evading the leech, he will not let go of my waist. I think to myself, "Self--remember those old defense moves Larry taught you? Now is the time to use them." Thus I vigorously stomped on his toe with my heel and Clasps-with-Danish-Pride let go! Success! I felt as if the crowd welcomed me with open arms. Pizza was only necessary after that episode.

More to come later.

Vi ses!

F

Stop blog creeping Reese Hale. We'll get through this together.