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I've decided to kind of split up the next few blogs into a few different entries. If I were to try and tell you all about my week in one, it would be far, far too long. I'll try to do it in under 5 though, so they can all remain on the main page. Hopefully you've scrolled to the end so you can read them in order.
So Thursday night we decided to treat ourselves to a last-night-in-Malmo type of party. Keith and I went to the Pickwick, the only pub we found that had a true "Happy Hour" as we understand it. I brought my camera with me because I had failed to take a single picture the entire two weeks. I felt so stupid stopping and taking pictures of stuff we'd passed a hundred times before. There is nothing to transform yourself into the perfect tourist like a few Heine pints. We were snapping pictures of everything and everyone and laughing our asses off. So now it's time for dinner.
We would meet Paul the Englishman and the Dweeb in the lobby every night at 7 before we walked to dinner. So around 7 Paul comes down before the Dweeb and we all kind of looked at each other and at the same time said, "Let's go!" Well, really, Paul said, "Shall we?" but same idea. We decided that for our last meal we would enjoy some free time from the Dweeb and it was a great time. We had many more beers with dinner before heading to our favorite little Irish pub for some darts. I was so on fire the first round. They were both like, "Damn, you did learn a lot the other night." But trust me, friends, as the time went on and the beers went down, I started having trouble even hitting the fucking board. It was getting sad so I had to excuse myself.
The next day I was so hungover and tired. I was pretty much just blatantly sleeping at my desk without trying to hide it. What were they gonna do about it? Around 2 I split a cab with Paul the Englishman and we went to the Copenhagen airport at Kastrup. We said our goodbyes and split ways to find our gates. I had a couple hours to kill so I decided to exchange some money into Euros when a familiar voice said, "Better yet, why don't you waste those Kroner on pints?" Oh, Paul the Englishman! He'd found me as we both waited for our flights so we sat and got drunk one last time. It was pretty good for my nerves because I had no fucking idea what I was doing or why. Just going to Paris for the fuck of it. Tres not my style. So off I went into the great unknown. I still miss Sweden, but as you'll see ... it was not the best part of my vacation afterall....
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