SWEDEN! Days 1 and 2

Let me begin this blog post by throwing a few disclaimers out there:

1)  Sweden was, hands down, one of the best weekends of my life.  So when I go off on tangents to consult the thesaurus for other words for "amazing," feel free to skip those parts.

2)  Lots of highly entertaining, but also highly embarrassing things went down in Sweden.  In the interest of full disclosure, I'm just going to tell you everything, and I would appreciate it if you would at least make an effort not to laugh at me too hard.

3)  There are a TON of Sweden stories, which I am going to spread out over a few blog posts.  Even such, this will still be something of a novel.  With a hella lot of pictures. So it's more like a really, really really overachieving picture book, only with more profanity involved.

Ready?  Here we go.

Sweden was fucking amazing.  No, really, it was absolutely spectacular, absolute perfection, and I couldn't have asked for anything more.  There was pizza.  There were boys.  There were Halloween masks, a robber, and racist jokes.  Marina and I spent a good part of the weekend periodically looking at each other and then saying something alone the lines of "I can't believe we're having this much fun."  I'm still slightly euphoric from the Ben and Jerry's and lack of sleep, but I know awesome when I have experienced it, and Sweden was AWESOME.  There's a lot to cover, so I'm just going to break it down day by day for you.

Day 1.  Thursday, October 20th.  Pre-Sweden.

I took an evening train out to Lübeck, to meet up with Marina and her coworker Chris, the other half of the Charina experience from Köln.  We all went out for pizza, and then were faced with a problem.  Our plane left for Sweden (well, technically Belgium, but whatever) at 6.50 in the morning, but the buses from Marina's flat to the train station stopped running at midnight.  So, we (logically) decided the best option was to squat at Marina's job in the city center (she has keys) until 2.30 in the morning, whereby we would then walk to the train station, catch a 2.50 bus to the airport, arrive at 4.30 AM, and then hang out for two hours.  We did it.  We did not sleep at all.  At some point in the middle of a conversation, my voice suddenly dropped two octaves, in a particularly wonderful case of laryngitis that left me sounding like a bad phone-sex operator.  And when we walked down to the train, we discovered it was also arsch kalt outside, which meant that poor Marina was somewhat dying in her very fashionable, but very un-windproof bomber jacket.  I on the other hand had my super duper LL Bean coat, courtesy of my mom, which is meant for -40F conditions.  I had a voice like a hooker but I was snug as a bug, and had zero issues rubbing it in Marina's face, while managing to sound like I was on cigarette break between blow jobs in Atlantic City. Win.  

Day 2. Friday, October 21.  Arrival (and parties) in Sweden.

The first thing Marina and I noticed when we arrived in Stockholm was that the men were beautiful.  Like, it was like we'd stepped into a Disney movie and everyone was a prince.  Fitted jeans, scarves, really attractive facial hair...it was wonderful.  Also, the Swedes are currently rocking a weird hairstyle, where they shave the sides of their head quite close, but leave the top long and then slick it back.  This sounds hideous, but in practice, Marina and I had trouble concentrating on important things like where we had to go because we were too busy being distracted by the Swedish hotness. The second thing we noticed was that we a) did not speak Swedish, and b) had no idea what we were doing.

Eventually, with the help of some super Swedish nice-ness (they're attractive AND friendly!), we located our couchsurf's building, snuck in, and then realized we didn't know where he lived.  It was six stories, all with names on the door, and we went door-to-door like trick-or-treaters (not that they usually go sounding like AC hookers, but whatevs), up and down all six floors, looking for his name.  No go.  So we decided to call him.  Except I couldn't figure out how to dial numbers to Sweden from my German phone, and eventually Marina had to step in and set me straight.  As it turned out, he lived on the top floor, so we traipsed back up all the stairs and met Couchsurf Boy.

Our initial impression of Couchsurf Boy was that he seemed quite nice, and had the fabulous Swedish hair thing going on, but he was rather slow to warm up.  But he invited us to go with him to the supermarket, which we did, and then we separated for a bit so that he could actually get shit done while Marina and I ran around on an island.  Things we did not realize until we saw Stockholm from the air: the entire city is build on an archipelago.  So you can basically island-hop as you please, much like in the Pacific Theater during WWII, except with less body parts being blown in your face. The island we wound up on was called Långholmen, and it features some rocks, some trees, and an old prison that's been converted into a hostel.  Totally badass.

Then we headed back to CB's place, and hung out there for a bit before deciding to run around the city a bit. CB told us all the places to go, and all the places to avoid, and we were off to see the city by night.  And it was lovely!

Around 9PM we met up with Magnus, a friend of ours from way back when we all studied together in Konstanz.  Magnus lives two hours outside of Stockholm, and has been saying for the past three years that if we ever came to Sweden, he would meet us.  And he totally did, he borrowed his dad's Stockholm apartment for the weekend, so we got to hang out EVERY DAY.  I can't properly put into words how wonderful it was to see him--it's always awesome to see old friends, but we get on with Magnus so damn well, it was magical.  Plus, the boy more or less grew up in Stockholm, and it would have been impossible to ask for a better tour guide.  

Magnus immediately took us to a bar on the 26th floor of a skyscraper.  Superbly posh Swedish rum cocktails and panoramic views of the city that were amazing.  Then he decided we were going Swedish clubbing.  Here's where it gets entertaining and awkward.  Hold on to your pants.

As soon as we walked into the club, there was a boy staring at me.  I'm usually pretty oblivious when it comes to these things, but not even I could miss that particular look. It was serious.  But I was all "Meh, whatevs," and the three of us just sat at the bar drinking, until Marina decided to whip out the camera and start taking pictures. Except Marina has terrible aim when it comes to group shots, and someone's head kept being cut out of the picture.  I turned around to get my drink, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marina hand her camera off to someone.  When I turned back around, who was our photographer but Mega-Stare Guy himself.  Smooth, Mega-Stare Guy.  Well played.  Here's the picture he took before he started hitting on me. Note that everyone's heads are in place.

Mega-Stare Boy's opening line was to tell me I had fairy-tale hair, which I found amusing.  Like all Swedes, he spoke better English than we did, plus German, plus French.  I talked to him for a while, then got hit on by his friend while he disappeared, only to reappear a minute later with a round of shots.  For the record, I may be college-educated in Jersey, but I can't do shots.  I embarrass myself, always. ALWAYS. Then he (followed by his friend) asked me to dance, and I was all "No, really, I'm a terrible dancer."  He made me give him my email address.

Sometime later, after those two had disappeared, Marina and Magnus forced me to dance, which I only reluctantly agreed to, because Marina had more or less threatened to kill me if I didn't.  And let me say it again:  I CAN'T GODDAMN DANCE, PEOPLE. The stages of my dancing can roughly be broken down into the following cycle:

  

However, this piece of awful did not stop Plaid Shirt Boy from dancing with me.  Plaid Shirt Boy was, as the name suggests, wearing a Plaid Shirt and rocking the weird Swedish hair.  He was very nice, very drunk, and thought I was much funnier than I actually am.  He also thought it was cool that Marina and I live in Germany.  Then his friend showed up, kicked Plaid Shirt Boy aside, and danced with me.  Plaid Shirt Boy's Friend was very nice and kept touching my hair.  Shouting over the music, he told me all about how he's half French, lives in Paris for most of the year, is generally badass, and likes my hair.  Yep.

After he wandered away, I danced (read: sprinklered) over to Marina, who was watching Magnus impress two Swedish girls with a home-grown dance move he called "milking the bull," which you can probably picture in your mind.  Marina and I ran off to the bathroom, and thirty seconds later, we found ourselves joined by Magnus' dancing partners.  "I know you!" yelled the one girl, pointing at me.  "I saw you dance.  Your dancing is a--" here she raised her arms up over her head, "--CATASTROPHE!"  As it turns out, the Swedes are almost as honest as the Germans.

It should be noted that for the rest of the trip, whenever any of us needed to reference any vague problems, such as train tickets or expensive food prices, we did it Swedish style.  I.e, throwing our hands up over our heads and yelling "CATASTROPHE!"

After we rejoined Magnus on the dance floor, Plaid Shirt Boy danced (read: stumbled) his way on over to us.  Grinning broadly, he threw his arms around Marina and me, and yelled, "Look!  It's the Aryan Sisterhood!"  Which left me completely floored.  I stared at him for forty-five seconds with my mouth hanging open, trying to figure out how one reacts to being referred to as the "Aryan Sisterhood."  Then I burst out laughing.  I figured it anyone questioned me, I could just blame Mega-Stare Guy's shot.

Suddenly, I felt someone touching my hair.  I spun around, and Plaid Shirt Boy's Friend immediately kidnapped me, and wouldn't let me leave until the club closed.  I ran into him at the entrance after picking up my coat, and he said, "Let me kiss you on the cheek!"  So I did.  Then he said, "Now both cheeks, like the French!"  So I did. Then he said, "Now on the mouth!"  And I went to say something along the lines of "Wait, what?" but I was too late.  Like the graceful swan I am, I may or may not have freaked out and then scampered.  It's how I roll.  

Marina and I said goodnight to Magnus, and my bad dancing/surprise Swedish stealth kiss had gotten my blood pressure elevated, so I threw my fairy-tale hair up with a pencil.  Marina and I met up with Couchsurf Boy, who pointed out astutely that I had a pencil in my head.  "Yes," I said, "it's so that whenever I feel like desecrating walls or graves or general public property, I always have a writing utensil handy."  He said, "I feel like doing that RIGHT NOW," pulled the pencil out, and graffitied "Stockholm Rules" on a particularly attractive piece of blank wall.  Note to self: next time, put hair up with a can of spray paint.

And that's Day 1 and 2 for you.  Marina and I were running on 36 hours sans sleep, and fell asleep as soon as we crawled onto our air mattresses.  Up next tomorrow: That Time I Paid A Russian Dressed Up Like A Viking To Kiss Marina.