Yesterday Joel and myself met up, got some grubberino (Danish, for food. Really? No, not really. Food in Danish is Fjolgskold. Really? No, of course not), and then worked out, with what would be unanimously recalled as a great workout. Thanks Joel. It was great until Joel told the people at the front desk that the music was too slow and "made him want to nap," at which point they burned us a playlist of workoutable music, after two songs of which me and Joel left (because we were done toning, not because of the music.) What a prick. (<3).
Got back, made myself a stuffed bell pepper, stuffed with frikadeller (a danish meatball with more unkosher ingredients than your tiny head could even BEGIN to comprehend) and egg, and topped with waffle fries and cheese. After roasting all of it in the oven, I salted the fucker and ate it, with some bread and pesto olive oil.
Nota Bene: I don't want to turn my blog into one of those things that I try to be entertaining by using cuss words and being foul, but I think the phrase "I salted the fucker and ate it," to be exceedingly amusing. Exceeding of what? Unclear. Maybe minimum standards for humor? I don't know.
Everyone (and by everyone, I mean about 20 people) met up to go Rust, which I knew would be a not-unhoppable-but-still-formidable-road-block in my Dry Weekend plan. Rust? What's Rust? Really? You don't know what Rust is? You're kidding right? You're not? Oh, wow. I'm sorry, it's just that, no, no, it's cool, it's just that, okay, okay. Yeah, okay, we'll meet up later. Yeah, give me a call.
Okay, so Rust is Norrebro's (my neighborhood) hottest nightclub. So hot, there was a shooting a couple of weeks back. But seriously, the best place to go nearby apparently. So while everyone was pregaming and asking me why I wasn't and I was telling them I was having a Dry Weekend and then them giving me their regards I sort of felt like the kid who "sprained" his ankle in 5th grade and got tons of sympathy even though it didn't hurt at all. So we went, and including coat check, it was 70 Kr. (about $12).
Highlights of my Dry Rust Experience:
- Being a sober participant and observer of dancing. If you ever watched two animals court each other and thought it was nothing but instinctual, go to Rust. Actually, go anywhere where people are dancing and trying to get laid.
- The bartender I ordered from. For such a dancy bar, the bartender was just a genuinely nice guy. When I asked for some sort of energy concoction he tried his hardest to find something, and was very regretful when he couldn't. Then later in the night he sarcastically told me to not act so drunk but non-sarcastically to keep a good look on my friends.
- Making a 7-11 run with Tiffany as she bought a hot dog of sorts and I bought a banana. Nothing to see here, it was just a pleasurable banana at 2 in the morning.
- The delicious Schweppes Lemon I ordered at the bar, and although it was 20 kr., that's about what I would have paid if I got one at a 7-11.
- Waking up near noon after going to sleep at 4, and not feeling terrible.
- Paying to dance. No man, or human (but especially no man) should ever pay to dance. The right to party and dance is alienable, but may be fought for (that was a reference to a reference.)
- Rust was less than awe-inspiring, especially for a Friday night at the end of the school breaks when the club was supposed to be bumping.