Danish women. Wow. It’s 5:38 in the AM. Sun is out, birds are chirping, I'm alone in my room. Why? Danish women, they're tough, man. I was at a party tonight, big student party with lots of Danish people. It was in a place called "The Stables," and it smelled like it. I biked there from Radhuspladsen with Brandon and Chelsea on the free Copenhagen city bikes. Pretty sweet deal: you put in 20 kroner and use the bike for as long as you like, then return it and get your 20 kroner back. We found three bikes; we were looking for four so Beverly could bike too, but she had to take the bus with Alan and Shaira who were never taught how to properly ride as kids. I think that's sad. But then again, they weren't the sweaty assholes for the first hour of the party, so I'd say tonight their faulty childhoods served them well.

Danish women. Unbelievable. Some guy at the bar started asking questions about America. He was impressed that I'm from New York - most of these Danes are. One guy was walking around with a Yankees hat. I asked him about it, and he said his girlfriend had gotten it for him when she was in New York. He could have bought it here though - there are Yankee hats for sale all over the place. Danes don't really know much if anything about baseball, but they know New York, and they want that interlocking NY. Except you don't see any Mets hats, and certainly no Brooklyn Dodgers or New York Baseball Giants. Guess that retro trend hasn't yet made it overseas. But it makes you wonder about the international appeal of the Yankees; if they hadn't won those World Series in the late 90s, would Danish people be wearing their hats today? If Mike Gallego were still at short, and Melido Perez and Scott Kamieniecki were still holding down the rotation, would the Yankee hat hold the same cachet?

Danish women. Gosh. I started chatting it up with a beautiful brunette who was about to buy a beer. I offered to buy it for her, and in a moment of un-Danishness, she accepted. Usually Danish women are too proud to accept that kind of charity, but she loved the fact that I was from New York, and she was quick to oblige my American inclinations. She was really into Sex and the City, and I told her I was on the show. I played that guy in that episode about the sex. I don't think she believed me, but she found my stories entertaining. She also liked the OC and said if she had the chance would fuck Seth Cohen. I told her that girls often compare me to Seth Cohen, but I have no idea what he's like really. Sounds Jewish, so we have that in common. Pretty soon after, she mentioned a boyfriend in that offhanded way these girls often do. I told her in America, we have a rule that if a guy buys a girl a drink, and then later finds out she has a boyfriend, he can take the drink back. Danish women, you can tell ‘em anything.

I started talking to her blonde friend. She also liked Sex and the City, and the OC, but she also liked Total Recall and Hercules in New York, and she was big into online gaming. She met an American guy playing Warcraft and flew to Texas to see him. They had somewhat of a relationship, but he was a big nerd, and she was seventeen. This girl was hot, in that Danish way that I have discovered really gets me going, really turns me on. Blonde with shortish hair, kind of choppy like it was cut by her sister, but she probably paid a lot of money for it in a trendy salon. She had a great pair too, man. Stacked, as they used to say. I’m a sucker for big tits any day of the week, and sometimes that’s all it takes. But there was something about this girl that really got it going for me. Maybe it was her grasp of English, which along with the bike riding always impresses me about these Danish women. They really know the language, even the idioms and colloquial expressions, stuff that I couldn’t imagine learning in a foreign tongue without living in the country for a good long while. She had only spent a few weeks total in America - most girls have never been - and she still understood the stupid little things I said and knew exactly when I was being overly complimentary to get in her pants. Being too American, she called it. It could have been that, but it could have just been the tits.

This girl had a boyfriend. They all do, or at least that’s what it seems like. But he was going to break up with her soon, she told me. He had lost the sparks, and she’s the kind of girl who just wants to be liked. Low self-esteem, go figure. She’s jealous of her brunette friend who always gets the attention. I thought they were both extremely hot, but she was right, I went after the brunette first. She looked friendlier, I guess it was. Regardless, I wanted this blonde pretty bad, especially after putting in the hours that I did. I wanted a little something, you know, for the effort. A kiss would have been nice, but that all fell apart after she got caught up in Danish drama with some other guys at the party. She liked him, he didn’t like her, she was upset about it, that kind of bullshit that I can’t stand. There I stood before her, an American – a freakin’ New York American – ready to show her the time of her life, ready to give her the good ol’ New York treatment. But she was too worried about what these doofy Danish dudes were up to. Bogus man, absolutely bogus. So I left with a handshake, pathetic. Told her I hope everything works out, but really, I hoped she’d wake up the next morning and feel miserable for not giving me a try.

Like all good stories, this one ends with a pastry. I biked back to Radhuspladsen, dropped off the bike, and hopped on a night bus to the metro station. It was still kind of dark when I entered the metro, but clearly dawn when I walked out and up to street level. Definitely light enough to play baseball, I knew that. There was an incredibly beautiful woman on the metro with me, with a not so attractive friend. I made an effort of small talk, I asked for one of her french fries. She had a great smile, really tall and those boots - I'm a huge sucker for those boots. The more leg they cover, the better. She was something else, really tall too, commanding. She gave me a fry, and that was the end of it. The two of them got out at my stop, and I passed the hot one again as she was fetching her bike. I told her thanks for the fry, and she smiled again, so beautiful, and said I was welcome. But she biked home alone, and I walked back to the kollegium alone. Well, I stopped at the bakery first for an oven fresh cinnamon roll. When I look back at my time in Denmark, the women will be remembered, but the pastries will be missed.

Danish women. Fuck it, I'm goin to bed.