My first day of classes...

was actually on Friday. But here are some highlights brought to you by the magazine for children:

Global Business Strategy - Prof gave us the green light to make fun of gays

Environmental History of Europe - Introduced myself as "Scott, but if that's too difficult to pronounce, you can call me by my Chinese name, T. Guy Minetti"

Nordic Mythology - taught by Beardruff, Keeper of the Cosby Sweaters and God of Shitty Jokes

Danish Politics and Society - learned that the Baltic is a vital Scandanavian shipping channel, despite its unenviable position on the Monopoly board

And now, the hardcore sex. Last night was one to remember, if not for the sexual re-education I received at the hands of a Faroe Islander, then for the copious amounts of ginko biloba I ingested per my celebration of the Chinese New Year. For those of you with a subscription to Penthouse Letters, I invite you to read on. For those of you related to me, please, do not. For those of you who trade Dead tapes, check out 2/11/70 at the Fillmore East. Best Lovelight ever.

What do you say to a woman who asks you to stick it in her ass? This is just one of the many questions an American student will ask himself when studying abroad in a foreign country, along with "Are you sure these grades don't transfer?" and "Where is the nearest embassy?" Last night, I found myself unprepared to answer that question when it was posed to me by a naked, 23 year-old aspiring actress. I can't be sure what films she has appeared in, but I'll be looking behind the black curtain at my neighborhood bodega tomorrow.

I picked her up at Welcome Back Party hosted by the kollegium, conveniently held downstairs in a good-sized room with two poorly-stocked bars manned by poorly-trained student bartenders. But the booze was cheap and the party was bumpin'... eventually. I first strolled in with the Krew at around 10:30, and I was instantly reminded of my 6th grade dance not only because the DJ was spinning Now That's What I Call the Worst Music From the Mid-90s, but because the room was split down the middle with us Americans on one side and the Danish students on the other. We had a lot of Danes in our 6th grade class, and we kept our distance.

We headed for downtown to check out a new bar, but after getting lost amid the windy and winding streets and realizing that it was a mistake to leave the warm confines of the kollegium in the first place, a few of us returned home while the hardiest sought out a familiar Irish pub. Sam and I decided to revisit the kollegium party before calling it a night, and we were happy to find a bigger crowd with lotsa fine Danish ladies. I ordered a White Russian and let the power of The Dude wash over me. After several unsuccessful attempts at breaking into conversation, I met Paula. Or maybe it was Pola. But it might as well have been Emmanuelle and she may as well have been sent from space to give me a lesson in hedonistic love.

She told me she was from the Faroe Islands, which is probably the coolest thing I had ever heard. They've got puffins in the Faroe Islans. Puffins. I told her I was from New York, which is probably the coolest thing she had ever heard. We've got pigeons in New York. Pigeons. It was that easy - she wanted to sleep with a New Yorker, and I wanted to watch.

Most of the girls I've seen in Denmark are so beautiful that I wouldn't even know what to do with them if I had them alone in a room. I'd be like, "So, you wanna make origami? Or, um, I've got the Sunday crossword puzzle... we can do that. They’re pretty hard on Sunday." But Paula was different. She was hot, in a porn star kind of way, but had an engaging personality and was very open with me. She told me she was a people person, a good listener, but above all, a whale eater. She explained that it is Faroe Island custom to kill and eat the whales that swim too close to the shores. In America, "I eat whale" would be a conversation ender, but in Denmark, I took it in stride and showed Paula upstairs to Chez Rogowsky. But after hearing about the whales, I was worried about the puffins...

It didn't take long before she had her teeth brushed and we were all systems launch. But before I get into it, I’d like to take this opportunity to go on record as saying, I am a proponent of safe sex. Also, I am not a racist, I don’t support cancer, and I think we should bring our troops home. But it has been my experience that of the two genders involved in sexytime, the female is the more safety-concerned party and will be adamant in her inquiry as to the condom supply, to the tune of, "You have a condom, right? You've got condoms? I've got them if you don't, but you do have them, don't you?" So you can understand my hesitation when Paula suggested in a cautionary manner, “You might want to put a condom on.” I might want to put one on? What exactly could she mean by such an admonition? "You might want to put a condom on, because my toxic cesspool of a vagina will dissolve your little man on contact." "You might want to put a condom on, because the moon is right for baby-making, and I want a kid with dual citizenship.”

Eager and already naked, I shrugged off Paula’s pussy disclaimer, secured the prophylactics (Frommer's suggests triple-bagging), and strapped in for the ride of a lifetime. This girl was an All-Star, as voted by the fans, and when it came to fielding the positions she was like Bert Campaneris circa 1965. I, on the other hand, felt like a bullpen catcher chasing down passed balls to the dugout. The whole time (11 minutes, 49 seconds) I kept thinking about Mike Birbiglia’s sports analogy: Sex is like tennis, because you’ve got to find someone of your own ability. Otherwise, it’s just a whole lot of arm flailing… “I’m getting nothing over here. Do you have an underhand serve? You must have had a lot of lessons.”

Paula definitely had a lot of lessons. She told me afterwards that she’s been “doing it for 10 years” (i.e., since she was thirteen) and that she’s lost track of the number of partners she’s had, but she estimated “over thirty.” We all know that means 70 plus. That also means, I’m checking the phone book for a cock doc.

And so went my first one-night stand. She stayed the night and jetted in the early afternoon, leaving me with two less Tylenol caplets and a lot more dirty laundry. But as it happens, that may not be the last of Paula after all – she’s moving into the kollegium in March, and she told me to look her up. I told her it all depends on whether it stings when I pee. Until then, I’m chalking it up as another crazy Danish experience that I’ll be sure to tell the grandparents. They’ve been there. You’ll be there too, and when that day comes just remember – you might want to put a condom on.

FUN FACT: Last night was also the one-year anniversary of my stand-up debut, 5 minutes in front of 300+ students in the Arellano Theatre at Hopkins. Who would have guessed that one year later, I’d have my finger up a stranger’s ass? Just goes to show what comedy can do for a guy.