How to hook up in a hostel

So after your latest coke bender you decided you needed to do a sober month. That allowed you to scrap together enough cash for a shitty Norweigian Air flight to like your 9^th favorite city in Europe. Now after drinking Aquavit in an Oslo pub all night some Finnish chick has decided she would like to blow you.

That’s great! But it’s not like you can just stroll back to The Generator hostel and kick out all your roommates so you can pound some strange from Helsinki. No, this will be a challenge and I’m here to guide you through it.

Hooking up in a hostel is not too dissimilar from hooking up in your cold dorm. Except if you just blatantly go to town on the top bunk, don’t expect a high five from Fat Steve the spring pledge. No you’re far more likely to get a code red from Javier and his boys from Argentina. To save you this moderate discomfort, let’s get creative and explore alternate options available to you.

1.     Rec room

Every hostel has a rec room. It has pool tables, foosball and lots of comfortable couches for reading books and stuff. This is usually the first place I go when I’m traveling alone. I sit around drinking vodka until someone talks to me. It’s incredibly effective. It’s also a wonderful place to fuck. The last hostel I stayed in had a series of hammocks in the rec room. Do not attempt sex in the hammocks. It’s hard to even nap in a god damn hammock, it’s one of mankind’s biggest myths. Hammocks are bullshit. No instead bang it out on the pool table, makes for a better story anyway.

2.     Movie room

This one is obvious, as it’s likely that the first place you ever got a blowjob was in the movie room of your rich friend’s basement. There is also usually a smattering of American movies from the 80’s and such, so if you need to set the mood you should be able to throw on the ‘Take My Breath Away” scene from Top Gun. Full disclosure: you may not be the only one fucking in the movie room, but you weren’t the only one fucking in chapter last year for homecoming either. It’s basically an orgy, only international so better.

3.     Shower

Your hostel will likely have one of two set-ups. Either you will have like 8 bunks in a room, 2 showers and a bathroom…or there will be banks of showers down the hall. If it’s the latter treat that thing like the fucking Coachella campground showers, no shame. If it’s in your room, well I hope  Ani from the Czech Republic doesn’t scream too loud.

4.     Bathroom

Technically there is more room for activities in the bathroom than the shower. That said, hostels aren’t necessarily known for their 5 star meals so if you want to get it on in a bathroom that is shared between 8 to 400 people proceed at your own risk.

5.     Gym

Yes some hostels even have a small gym (that never gets used) so if you’re trying to get in a little late night cardio it’s never a bad call.

6.     Outside

Depending on the weather where you are this could be a fun option. I’ve had hostels with back patios, pools, hot tubs, beaches and nearby parks. Remember there is no open container law in most European cities. If you want to steal a bottle of Jameson on your way out of the pub and take it directly to some large public square with your slam piece, you are (mostly) within your rights as an American.

7.     Top Bunk

I mean if it comes down to it, you’re not going to say no. My advice get in, get out. No one is trying to have a premium sexual experience in a $14 a night room. Make sure your shacker leaves immediately and you should probably try to be gone too when all the roommates wake up. Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’re checking out today. But you know what? If they give you some funny looks, fuck ‘em. They can eat a bag of dicks. Should’ve had their ear plugs and sleep masks ready. You’re on a god damn vacation.

A Copenhagen Epilogue: Day 7

Yesterday I woke up 6,000 miles from home in a bedroom full of Spanish girls yelling at each other in Catalan about who forgot to bring the birth control. (TIL in Barcelona, girls share contraceptives)

Now after 16 hours of planes, trains and automobiles (and a somewhat unprofessional customs agent asking me how many Danish girls I fucked) I'm back home.

Finally diving into some emails, it looks like we're getting a Palm Springs house together for Memorial Day. I've got a wedding coming up, a Bachelor party in San Diego and apparently there is now a wesbite that tracks individual stats for my Softball league.

My trip to the desert, my trip abroad, it already seems like a lifetime ago. All the while I am now left to pick up the pieces and get my shit together. It's like the Sunday scaries, but worse. I honestly haven't had this much anxiety since I graduated college. Seven years later, I still have that feeling of 'now what?'

I could put together a scrapbook of my trip? But I only took like 5 pictures. I forgot a charger so my phone was barely on, even then I didn't turn on data. Apologies for the weakness of my snap stories!

I guess I'll get a job, maybe? Or maybe I'll just sit around and day dream about moving to Europe for a few years while I'm still young. Everything seems so much simpler over there. But before I slip into the minutiae of my day to day life in Venice, I'll leave you with one more tale from my travels abroad, think of it as a palate cleanser.

***

When I think about the 'almosts' in my life, it's shocking that I ended up where I am now.

After I graduated high school, my mom offered me a chance to spend the summer in Europe with her and my brother. I declined, thinking it would be more fun to hang out at shitty Indiana lake houses with my high school friends. I suppose I had a fine summer, but I need you to know that I turned down an all expenses paid 3 week vacation to Europe at the age of 18.

Around that same time, I almost didn't go to IU. I had such a shitty GPA that it was seriously i doubt that I could get into Indiana. I knew a backdoor into Purdue which was to apply to the Agriculture School. I was accepted almost immediately. Indiana took forever. I'm pretty sure my Cathedral High School college advisor may have casually dropped in my file that I was the Great Grandson of a former university dean and trustee, after this I received my acceptance a few days later.

I almost didn't go abroad. My seven roommates and I waited until the very last day to send in our applications to the Florence program. We were rejected as they had filled up already. In a panic, I scanned all of the available programs that were still open. One. In Maastricht, Netherlands. You ever hear someone talk about their wild semester in Maastricht? At the 11th hour someone was able to talk the small Liberal Arts school Marist into letting seven IU bros piggyback on their study abroad program in Florence.

And then of course, I almost didn't move to LA. The same day I got an offer to move my life out here, I got a phone call from someone a Groupon, saying that they would love to have me.

It would have been so easy, to just stay put in my million dollar brownstone, with two of my best friends and continue drinking myself into an early grave. But for some reason, I didn't, I took a risk and moved to LA, and I can't imagine my life here if I didn't.

So when I think of three of the largest events in my life; going to Indiana, studying abroad, moving to LA it's crazy that all three of them came SO CLOSE not to happening. The fact that all three did is actually a miracle.

Going to Indiana, I decided what type of person I wanted to be and developed friendships I will appreciate the rest of my life. Studying abroad made me appreciate the world for how vast it is and how small I am, I was bitten by the travel bug, something that will never leave me. Moving to Los Angeles, I learned what it is that I'm really passionate about, what I think I want to do for the rest of my life.

Almost. Didn't. Happen.

So I would urge anyone that has an 'almost' in their life, take the plunge.

Of course, my life would probably be much more streamlined and predictable if I played it safe once in a while. It would take away from all the massive peaks and valleys I experience on an annual basis, but then again, what would be the fun in that?

Always life life to the fullest and do epic shit. Never have regrets because you came down on the wrong side of 'almost.'

Copenhagen: Day 6

By the time you're reading this, I will have left the Kingdom of Denmark. I'll be seated next to an old man on a 787 who has waited his entire life to go to Los Angeles. Or maybe I'll be seated next to a USC Junior who just finished studying abroad and is going to see her family for the first time in 6 months.

Tomorrow when I get home, I'm going to sleep for a week. Maybe longer. I'll see you in June.

14 days ago, I was hiking Temescal Canyon and I had a panic attack. I checked my bank account and I had something like $1,200 to my name. Somehow I partied for a week at Coachella and crawled around Scandinavia and my debit card hasn't stopped working.

I realize that the things I do are irrational, but I break it down like this:

Would I have regretted not going to Coachella for the rest of my life?
Would I have regretted not going to Denmark for the rest of my life?

If the answer to one or both of these is yes, then the simple answer is to go.

And that may sound severe...it's just a music festival bro. It's just a trip to some place far away, at some hostel, alone...

While that may not appeal to you, things like this are my reason for existence.

As we grow older, my peers will likely have nicer apartments, go to nicer meals, drive faster cars.

I will have better stories.

Like this one...

I'm sitting in an empty bar. Well, empty except for me, 9 Irish girls, 3 Norweigian girls, 2 girls from Amsterdam, a couple chicks from Cal Poly and an Australian girl.

There is an Irish dude too, I forget his name.

I've joined one of those 'pub crawl' type things because it's a Tuesday and I feel like my best chance to find some people to hang out with is join something organized. For $20 they promise you 8 shots and to introduce you to some peeps to drink with, not a terrible deal when you're traveling alone.

Demographically tonight, I have hit the jackpot. I'm pretty sure at least 60% of these chicks would go home with me if I asked nicely. So far it's a good last day.

I rented a bike this morning, I rode it to the Carlsberg Brewery. Then I did a walking tour of Denmark and learned stuff.

But now I'm sitting at a table with 9 Irish teachers, all 25, 2 pairs of them have the same name. I've already forgotten, it's something really Irish. I think there is a Julie or a Julia.

The girls are a bit restless, I suppose it's because aside from us, the bar really is empty. Everyone is asking our bar crawl leader for some place a little livelier.

"Sorry, it's a Tuesday."

People start to leave, I look down at my phone. It's 2am, shit. I wasn't ready for the night to end.

Ever since I got here, I had been looking for the 'Study abroad bar.' I just wanted to get fucked up with some 21 year old Americans. Where was the Tiger Tiger? The Opium? The Yab/Central Park/Mericana/Twice/21/Space/Lochness?

I was walking home but decided I needed a hot dog. They're big here, it's a thing. I made a wrong turn and suddenly I heard some thumping bass, I followed it a few blocks, I accidentally walked through a construction site...and there it was. A line.

It looked like so many of the douchey bars I've been too all around the world. Some guy in the front was smoking a Camel Crush and wearing a USC shirt. I look at the sign 'The Tequila Bar'

*Does quick Yelp search*

Cheap tequila shots, lots of frat bros, rude, loud, disgusting. One star.

I was home.

I walk in and immediately some Swedish girl tries to pawn me off on her tall friend. I'm not morally opposed to the tall friend because I can only imagine how popular our future children would be, but tonight I'm on a mission.

I walk to the bar and order 10 shots of tequila. I don't know why, I don't really like tequila.

I take the first one, I take the second one.

Some guy next to me chimes in.

'Did you order 10 shots of tequila, for yourself?'

I look at his hat, there's a familiar logo on it.

'You go to IU?'

'Ya we just finished our last final today, we go home tomorrow.'

He's with 2 buddies and 2 chicks.

At this point I'm sure I said something preachy like 'you don't know how great this is, it's the best time of your life blah blah blah...but the message was.

Let's not go to bed tonight.

So we took tequila shots at said bar until they kicked us out around 5am. On the way out the door, we stole a bottle and drank it in the King's Garden, a nice little park behind my hostel. It felt very Danish to be honest.

I came to around 8am, one of the IU bros tapping me on the shoulder.

'Hey man, sun is coming up we have to go pack, Maybe we'll see you at the airport.'

I came back here to sleep on the hammock for a couple hours before packing.

I remember the day I got back from abroad. I landed at the Detroit airport at 8pm and I made my dad take me directly to a Buffalo Wild Wings. I slept for 28 hours straight then drove down to Bloomington to get fucked up at Kilroy's. I moved to Chicago for the summer shortly thereafter and had the greatest summer of my life, followed by Senior Year, the greatest year of my life.

Coming back to Europe, staying in the same type of hostel I stayed in 8 years ago, doing the same stuff, it feels like nothing has changed.

But of course everything has changed. I'm almost 30, I have responsibilities now. Well at least I do back home. When I come over here, I feel like there are no rules, like none of it is real. It's as if I am logging into a video game that escapes me from my real life. I understand why ex-pats do it.

But...

I like my life, I'm excited to come home and see everyone. I'm excited to lay on the couch and watch Netflix. I'm excited to badger my roommate to bring me home pretentious juices and I'm excited to send 2am 'u up' texts to people that I shouldn't.

If you ever see a cheap flight, just do it. Maybe other people will join you, maybe they won't. It really doesn't matter. You'll have a blast and you will definitely grow as a person. It's a talking point for the rest of your life.

I will never forget Copenhagen and to be honest, I'll probably never come back. How can I when there is so much left to do? I have to go visit the Scots in Glasgow, I have to make it back to London, I have to go see Eastern Europe. I hear Oslo is nice, I've never been to fucking Australia.

Travel solo, travel with your friends, travel with your family, it doesn't fucking matter. Just get out of the house and go. There is so much cool shit out in the world. We are not the protagonist in our own novel, we are merely supporting players in this crazy world.

I'll be home Wednesday night and I'll surely crash off of this outrageous wave I've been riding, but within a week I'm sure I'll fire up the old Skyscanner.

Departure: LAX
Arrival: Anywhere

Copenhagen: Day 5

Look at this dog.

It's cute right? This dog is a good boy. He looks to be some type of Spaniel/Terrier hybrid. I would hang out with this dog.

This fucking dog is a narc and he almost got me deported.

Allow me to explain...

On Day 5, I decided it was time to spread my wings a bit. After all, it would be a shame to come all the way to Europe and stay in one city the whole time. Instead, I decided I would take a 30 minute bus trip to Malmo, Sweden for the day.

Running late, I just threw on an outfit I had already worn this week and jogged to the bus stop. As I boarded the bus driver asked me if I brought my passport.

'Going to Sweden isn't like it used to be.'

I didn't understand what he meant, but I boarded and buried myself in my book.

The next thing I know, we are crossing the beautiful Oresund Bridge from Denmark to Sweden. Shortly thereafter we are pulled over at the Swedish border.

Immediately 6 POLITA officers board our bus and start checking everyone's passport. EU folks and Americans like me face limited scrutiny, but the Romanian sitting next to me is given a hard time. What are you doing in Sweden? How long will you be here?

See it turns out, Indiana isn't the only place that doesn't want a fuck ton of Syrian refugees. Sweden is just find with their homogenous Nordic population, so these border checks are fairly new. I assumed the process was over until that fucking dog boarded.

A little Romanian child runs down the aisle yelling 'puppy!' The Swedish cop swatted the kid away with such callousness that for some reason I began to feel nervous. But then the little drug dog came right up to my row and jumped on my lap.

'What the fuck is this?' I'm thinking. I have had a drug free week! I have nothing in my pockets! I guess I took a few hits of a joint at Christiania 2 days ago, oh fuck, am I wearing that shirt?

The dog then turns his interest to the Romanian and really starts giving him the business.

'Sir do you have anything to declare?'

No.

'Sir are you carrying any drugs?'

No.

'Sir have you been exposed to any drugs?'

Well, yeah I'm on vacation...

The border cop is not amused.

'Please come with me sir.'

He turns but then pauses, looking directly at me.

'You too.'

Oh, I don't know him. I live in California. I don't even know where Romania is.

'Sir, please step off the bus.'

We are taken to a back room where men with gloves search us for contraband. It wasn't full cavity or anything, but slightly more intense than an airport screening.

'And what is this?' A Swedish cop has just found a pre-rolled joint in my Romanian friend's pocket.

'I must have forgot.'

Deport him! The American is fine.

And just like that the Romanian guy was sent walking back toward Denmark while I boarded the bus to finish the trip to Malmo.

The rest of the day was fairly insignificant. I read a book in a Swedish park while drinking some truly horrific Swedish beer. I went to a museum and learned about the secret Swedish buses that rescued Scandinavian POWs during WW2...oh and I had some more Wok. Sweden has great wok too.

I got back to Copenhagen just around sunset and had a pint on the Nyhavn (it's what you see when you google Copenhagen) then I spent the night playing darts with some University of Waterloo kids that are here studying abroad.

One of the girls is the social chair for Kappa and she wanted to know all of my stories for being a real life American frat boy.

'OMG SO YOU GUYS LIKE HAD A HOUSE?'

'Ya, 100 people lived in it.'

'AND KAPPA WAS ALLOWED TO HAVE THEIR OWN SEMI-FORMALS AND DRINK?!?'

'Ya it was called Kappa Kapture and only the coolest people on campus got invited.'

'OMG AMERICAN COLLEGE SOUNDS AWESOME!'

That new Mike Posner song comes on. I point at the speaker.

'We had this dude play in our back yard.'

I lose in darts for the third consecutive game to some 19 year old kid with an almost comical northern Canadian accent and decide it's time to go to bed.

I make it upstairs to find that i have 5 new roommates, all chicks from Barcelona. They are passing around a bottle of Jameson.

'Tu bebes Jameson?'

'Si. Yo bebo Jameson.'

Copenhagen: Day 4

Lucky you! While you're getting ready for Pacers game 7 and Game of Thrones, you get bonus content for your Sunday afternoon. As much as I would love to go to bed right now, I'm so damn sad about the fact that I just read a John Green book in which (SPOILER ALERT: There is teen romance and someone dies!) I need to decompress for a little bit.

So let's discuss day 4. 

We already discussed how I woke up today, my bunk mate was getting recruited by an extremist terrorist organization via good sex and uppers. That's actually a fairly solid strategy. There isn't a lot I wouldn't do for good sex and free drugs. BUT I DIGRESS.

I went to a football game today.

I had my fifth Wok of the trip, napped on the couch until 5 and then walked the two miles to the stadium. I arrived and got a ticket for half price off of some Danish bro who was trying to sell his dad's comp tickets. I got cheap admission, he gets beer money. Everybody wins.

This is where shit went a little off the rails. I noticed almost immediately that I was catching some dirty looks from the people around me. I didn't particularly know why. I was alone, I wasn't wearing anything particularly offensive (plum sweater and black sweat pants) and I was just minding my own business.

I bought a beer that came with a lid for some unknown reason (more on that later!) found my seat and proceeded to cheer for the home team.

Within minutes, I was being pelted with lids, which the rowdier fans frisbee at the people they don't like.

FC Copenhagen takes an early 2-0 lead and I cheer and smile, look for high fives...

Nothing.

Just lids.

Is it really that obvious that I'm an American?

Do people actually hate Americans that much?

Anytime the opposing team does something well, there are leering cheers hurled at me in a language I don't understand. I'm starting to feel quite sad, my hostel friends are gone and everyone at a Danish soccer match has decided to hate me.

When the visitors finally DID score a goal to bring the score to 2-1, a 5 year old boy walked up to me and punched me square in the dick.

"What the fuck?!?"

His older brother and all of his friends stopped laughing and looked at me very seriously...

"You are...American?"

"Yes I'm a fucking American, why is your brother punching me in the cock?"

"You are wearing purple..."

"What does that mean, do you think I'm gay or something?"

He points to the visitors and I feel like an idiot. They are wearing dark purple jerseys. They mistake me for the enemy.

"You look Danish kind of and we thought you were being a dick by sitting in our section."

"No man, I live in LA. I'm just here to watch the game."

"And you are rooting for Copenhagen?"

"Ya!"

He mutters something to his friends that do not speak English. Then one of them cups his hand to address the crowd.

"HE IS NOT FOR MIDTJYLLAND! HE IS AMERICAN, THE SWEATER IS COINCIDENCE."

One old man in the back yells back.

"han er for kobenhavn?"

I address the crowd.

"HAN ER FOR KOBENHAVN!!!!"

There is rapturous applause. My penis is no longer assaulted and the entire second half 18 year old high school Danish kids bring me beers and ask me about America.

"Do you know George Clooney?"

"No, but I saw Kevin Spacey in a bar once. He was flirting with a dude."

AHHHHHH HOUSE OF CARDS, GIVE AMERICAN A BEER!

The Carlsbergs are sold in 5 packs at Copenhagen's stadium. Every time someone would go to concessions they would be sure to designate one of their 5 for me.

The game became fairly close in the second half with Copenhagen finally pulling it out 5-3.

"Come out with us American, we don't have school tomorrow!"

One of them even offered up his mom's basement. There was a long moment when I considered hitting the town with a bunch of high school seniors who had the day off tomorrow. I imagined sitting in a basement playing beer pong with the 'cool girls' of Copenhagen High. 

I would probably hook up with one of them because I was a novelty. And it would be a hell of a story.

But then I remembered that all these kids were born in 1998. I had kissed a girl by 1998, I had seen 6 Michael Jordan titles by 1998. 

I mean it's only a 3 year violation of half your age plus seven...

No. I'm going home to get a good night's sleep before Sweden. I am going to read my book.

It's only midnight. I have Anders' what'sApp info.

Maybe I'll send him a text...just to check in,

Copenhagen: Day 3

"I'm pretty sure you are being recruited by Isis."

One of my hostel roommates has just gotten back from the 'best night of her life.' There was this wonderful Danish boy that bought all of her drinks, paid for all of the taxis, got them a hotel room, had tons of cocaine and managed to rip off five rounds of sex.

But he was also Palestinian. And in the army, but not like the Danish army, something different.

He's going to visit her in London soon and I imagine he will drag her back to Syria to become an Isis sex slave. Or maybe he was just like every Persian dude in LA that likes fast cars and wears too much gold. Probably that.

Day 3 was a fucking whirlwind. It will also be remembered as the day I was hungover as FUCK at Tivoli Gardens. Tivoli Gardens is essentially Six Flags if there were also 40 5 star restaurants at Six Flags. But as we covered earlier, I am exclusively eating Wok this trip. So I was there for the rides.

As someone that grew up going to Disney World, King's Island, Cedar Point and Great America, I know my way around an amusement park. But this is something I take for granted as an American. A lot of foreigners have never been on a roller coaster before. They flipped their shit over things like a roller coaster with an inverted loop or the drop zone type rides.

I just worried I was going to vomit on to some poor unsuspecting tourist below. I did not vomit. This made the day a success.

Saturday night was the last night for all of the friends I had made in the hostel. They wanted to go out hard. I wanted to go to bed, but I'm a trooper so I walked upstairs to my room and took vodka shots by myself until I felt lubricated enough to be in public.

All the homeys also desperately wanted to get laid on the last night. It was a big topic of discussion at our table during happy hour.

Me: But how does one close when staying at a hostel?

New Zealand: The shower; duh. It locks and everything.

Scotland: There's more space in the bathroom. Just put the seat down and have a go.

Australia: Oh fuck it, just shag her in your bed, this is a hostel, people know what they're getting themselves into.

Fontana, WI: Ya I bring ear plugs and an eye mask everywhere for that exact reason.

People at Coachella were less savage than this group.

So we all make plans to visit each other some day and begin our tearful goodbyes before Scott (A real life Scot) tells us that we will be going to a Scottish bar called The Basement. I walk in and instantly notice a foosball in the corner. In my limited experience in dealing with Scots, if you want them to like you, being good at foosball is a good start.

I am good at foosball.

Four straight wins later I was chanting and dancing with the boys and they were buying me drinks. This is when the Danish girls started to notice me.

'Are you American?'

How could you tell?

'Danish boys don't wear Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirts.'

I see.

I've noticed some super strange things about the Danish culture so far. First, they are weirdly affectionate. I'm not talking about PDA either, I'm talking like bro to bro touching or sibling love. I sat in an hour long line at the theme park yesterday behind some 24 ear old dude who was inappropriately fondling his 12 year old sister the entire time.

Or maybe it's just OK to fuck 12 year olds in Denmark, and I read that situation totally wrong.

The other thing I've noticed is that their taste in music is atrocious. I have heard no less than 14 Linkin Park songs since I've been here. And they fucking love it. It's like they are stuck in an 8th grade vortex of 2001 when Rap/Rock was cool for like 2 weeks. I bet Limp Bizkit still sells out shows here. Anyway this has a point I promise.

I'm dancing with a cute Danish girl to something reasonable like J Cole and then I go to get a drink because I have instituted a one song policy to avoid overheating (sweating like a maniac)

But she stops me...

'Wait! This is my FAVORITE song, you must dance with me.'

The song? Sean Paul 'Temperature'

I thought maybe she just didn't want me to leave and go find another girl. But she like really LOVED it. So much so that she asked the DJ to play it again later in the night, which he did.

Eventually, all of my friends found someone to go home with, leaving just me and Scott and a smattering of Danish girls that would probably go home with either of us out of boredom.

'It's 4am man, I think I'm gonna hit it.'

You can't Dave, it's my last night.

'I'm done man, I can't chase the night.'

All right, I'm gonna stay, I've got 2 hours left to make something happen.

And I'm sure he did. Me on the other hand? I crawled into my top bunk with the odd realization that my trip is only halfway over. Tomorrow I'm going to have to make new friends at the hostel. Maybe they'll be from Canada, maybe Spain. I don't know yet.

I do know that in just 3 days of traveling solo, I've learned a lot about myself, the similarities and differences between seemingly similar cultures and how the world views us.

So far this trip, I've been the token American, but as my hostel family pointed out, that's not always a bad thing.

Ok happy hour is about to start. Tomorrow you can learn what it's like to get smashed at a FC Copenhagen match with a bunch of Danish high school kids.

Copenhagen: Day 2

Sometimes I read this blog a few days after a post and I become disgusted. It’s not the content that I have a problem with, it’s the pathetic grammar and sentence structure. I then think to myself, ‘man imagine how dangerous I would be if I had an editor.’

I had a similar thought on the dance floor last night, imagine how much I could crush if I didn’t sweat more than any person on Earth.

Last week at Coachella it was fine because literally everyone is gross and dirty, but not last night at The Aloha Bar. I was the only one.

I went home for 2 separate wardrobe changes. Literally left the bar, walked into my hostel, past 3 sleeping Argentines, rifled through my bag to find an off white t shirt (it’s hard to tell when an off white shirt is wet unless you touch it) went back to the bar and tried to recreate the magic that Justin Bieber’s ‘What Do U Mean’ gave me.

But that’s not really important. Day 2 was full of fun surprises and poor decision making by me: bad decisions with girls for sure and horrendous decisions in fashion. I wore shorts and flip flops on a 5 mile walk around Christiania in 40 degree weather. ‘Why’ you ask...because I am an idiot and an American and my privilege runs amok. I needed all the Danish people to know that I am a preppy bro who rocks Rainbows and a popped collar.

I don’t think anyone was impressed.

I woke up today at about 2pm local time because I was dancing on tables at an Irish pub until 5am. My hands are shaking, my body is starting to fail me.

My God, how is it only day 3? Fortunately there is a Amsterdam Wok 2 Wok clone down the street and I think it might be able to bring me to life. Wish me luck friends.