A Viking Tale


Hi guys! I’m back! I apologize, but even the most committed pr0-bono bloggers occasionally have to take a short break in favor of.. Proliferating their alcoholism? Field research? Luckily for us, New York provides both in abundance, offering a two-week plethora of holiday festivities that finally reached their cumulative peak this past Saturday, bringing alongside a Dbag Dating fairy-tale that truly captures the holiday spirit!

It was a beautiful, slightly frigid evening in New York City. After a civilized holiday cocktail, followed by an equally civilized dinner at Indochine, my two girlfriends and I headed to a late-night holiday rager, held at an old-school downtown New York venue. The event was predominantly populated by lithe women draped in fur and sparkles and tastefully sheer Self-Portrait dresses, clearly on the hunt for fresh 2016 prey. Since my faux-French laissez-faire ass had chosen to forgo all the aforementioned sartorial efforts, there I stood, on the outside looking in, resembling the Grim Reaper / Grinch that Stole Holiday Sex Appeal, in my jeans and oversize Stella McCartney coat.

That is, until I saw him.

He was incredible. In a sea of prepsters and Jewish boys with ironic reindeer headbands, he walked in like Moses parting the sea. Except, instead of Moses, he was a viking! Yes, a viking, exactly like the ones that you see on those  trendy TV shows (think Vikings, Game of Thrones, Braveheart), fighting bloody battles and forever changing the course of medieval history. He took up about 2 x 7 feet of space – maybe more, considering the long locks of red hair that cascaded down his back in a mane-like effect that would have made the Lion King jealous. On the vast plain of his body, he was wearing what could only be described as enormous fisherman’s cardigan, inspiring the vision of a young widow knitting sorrowfully in a tiny seashore cottage, while starting into the deep blue sea, hoping for her man to return. I will stop before I let my imagination and misplaced cultural references get the best of me.

Back in the real world, I was mesmerized. Everything about this man was a stark juxtaposition to the rest of the venue, making him absolutely perfect in my eyes. I flashed  a gleaming smile. He smiled back and said hello, revealing a deep Welsh accent that only enriched the budding fantasy fiction erotica in my head. As I had assumed by his commanding presence, he turned out to be the proprietor of the place, and, before long, we were enjoying complimentary glasses of Pinot Grigio and discussing his life-altering experience at Burning Man. He invited us to his table, populated by a few of his Burning Man brothers and lithe 22-year-old yoga students (granted, he was also a yoga teacher), who flocked to him like their own personal shaman. I hung out there for a good thirty minutes, listening to deep house and chatting with the girls about their aspiring acting careers (God bless them), while Viking Man gave me a back massage and told me that he was going to re-align my chakras. “Your heart is closed. But with a bit of work, we could open it up again.” What else could a girl ask for?

The next day, I was sitting at brunch in Williamsburg, Googling photos of my new beau, when my yuppie friend had the audacity to comment on his beautiful red locks: “Can you imagine finding one of those hairs in your BED?” I decided that revenge by way of shock therapy was in order, and invited the Viking, who had been texting me since morning, to come meet me in Williamsburg. He agreed.

Around 6pm, he showed up. I had forgotten how awesome he was. His Sunday outfit was even better than his Saturday one. Bright red pants were complimented by purple New Balance sneakers with green stripes. A beige fisherman knit shirt (presumably from the same ‘Widow by the Sea’ collection as the cardigan) hung from underneath a gray leather motorcycle jacket that was zipped so tightly, it was practically bursting at the seams. The infamous cardigan was layered on top of the leather jacket to provide warmth. It was fabulous. My yuppie friend ran home to her hubby, screaming Viking murder and informing the yuppie group chat that I had gone off the deep end.

We headed to a neighboring bar that resembled an Irish pub and once again transported me to some magical setting, perhaps this time in rural Ireland. The Viking was nice and well-mannered and interesting to talk to, although I did detect a hint of boredom – or was it fatigue? In any case, he seemed to be constantly yawning and nodding off, even as he halfheartedly attempted to kiss me. That is, until the conversation circled back to Burning Man and consequently led to hallucinogenic drugs, which is when he finally woke up and began passionately  convincing me that it was integral for me to try LSD at least once in my life. “I would drop acid with you,” he told, staring into my eyes, an offer of a true modern romantic. I momentarily considered it, before thinking of my poor mother and politely changing the subject.

The Viking had to return to the city to join his friends at the Babel, a weekly “experience-driven” party at the Bowery hotel (i.e. small-scale Burning Man), and so we wrapped up and headed to the L train. Now, I believe that it must be hard to surprise the weathered hipsters on the L train, especially considering that a muscular break dancer was performing acrobatic moves on the other side on the car in an effort to collect some last-minute holiday cash. And yet, I promise you that every single person in that train car was staring at me an my Viking, especially when he leaned in and once again tried to kiss me, his long red locks intermingling with my light brown ones. Needless to say, it was a proud moment.

Once we got back to the city, the Viking headed to Babel to go wild with his Sunday-Funday-no-work-on-Monday crew, halfheartedly inviting me to join. I politely declined and headed to Whole Foods to go wild on the kimchi bar. Over my fermented vegetables and Good Wife on Demand, I dismally acknowledged that I was too old – or maybe just too lame – for  Burning Man and Babel. Sadly, my Viking ship had sailed.

P.S. Want more Viking action? Check out this Viking Pinterest board! Promise you won’t regret it!

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