“Update your blog, missy” -Geneve
Well, if you insist. So, an insane amount has happened since I last posted on here. But first, even though I’m about a century late on it, here are the highlights from when my main squeeze Julie (whose blog can conveniently be found here) visited my personal slice of study abroad paradise aka East London:
– Attempting to sightsee Friday afternoon with Jules… but really that just resulted in shopping at Oxford Circus for a minimum of five hours while jacked up on Starbucks mochas.
– That night we ended up at a club… or at least Julie and I did. We strolled right on in because I’m morally opposed to paying for anything, yet the rest of our gang was unknowingly stopped.
– The thing is, I’m sure with a little persuasion they would have easily been allowed past the velvet ropes… until a certain member of the group decided to drunkenly comment on the bouncer’s appearance. The colossal, ornery-looking Russian bouncer’s appearance.
– Apparently, he doesn’t appreciate hearing about how “gay” his fur hat is. Imagine that!
– So that was a solid hour: Jules and I dancing our hearts out, then realizing we were alone, then returning to referee the fight that had escalated between The Russian and our friends, and then forcing an apology out from our side, “Sorry, dude. I guess your hat isn’t that gay.”
– We subsequently made the executive decision that perhaps our night would best be spent at a different Central London club. Especially after The Russian ever-so-eagerly mentioned that he was off work at 3… and then we can see “how tough my friend really is.”
– (I later told the squad I was unapologetically Team Russian. Don’t use “gay” as an insult, people!)
– Anyway, different location, same situation I have been in a million times before: the bouncer picks me out of our entire group of 12 because he’s unconvinced I’m legal. Look, buddy, I’m fully aware my doppelganger is Bambi; that doesn’t mean I want to hear you blubber on about how “I’ll learn to appreciate it when I’m 40 and look half my age.” Marti, I blame your genes.
– Best conversation of the night had to be while traveling on a double decker:
Julie (to me): “We need to find a WiFi hotspot.”
Random old man: “I know where one is.”
Julie: “Really? Where?”
Man: “In my pants. Wanna take a look?”
– Overall, Friday was fun, yet nowhere near as eventful as Saturday…
– Fast forward to about 1 am or so. As usual, we were zipping through Central London on the top of a double decker, and as usual, we’re a good hour late to the club.
– After getting in a brawl with two English toads/men, Julie and I somehow got separated from the other girls… in retrospect, plunging off the bus at a random stop probably wasn’t our grandest idea.
– The logical response would’ve been to book it over to the club considering we had a table reserved for us and free bottle service (I knew meeting randos on the tube would somehow come in handy! Sure, I had to endure a few questionable comments about how cute I was, but in the end, it was mostly worth it)… but rationale goes out the window when my dear friend Jose Cuervo is involved, so we decided to load up on carbs instead.
– Realizing we were now a solid two hours late at this point, Julie and I bolted to a bus stop… and that’s when we saw her. One second this girl was perched on the bench and the next she’s faceplanted on the cement drooling, looking even more ratchet than I do at the end of finals week. Honestly, it would be made a great picture for some anti-drinking college campaign; all they needed was text below that read in bold letters “THIS COULD BE YOU.”
– And no one even reacted! They were acting like a single white female (well, technically Asian in this case) being basically comatose on the sidewalk was completely normal. Maybe because it was?
– Either way, I propped her back up and tried to Heimlich some answers out of the belligerent Brit. What was her name, where she was trying to go, and so on.
– Side note: when I later shared this story with the rest of my class seminar, one guy shouted out, “Oh my god, you are SO AMERICAN” at this point. Me: “Why? Because I actually help people?” Him: “Yes. Exactly.”
– Anyway, coincidentally enough, the words I could make out (as she casually threw up over her shoulder and scrambled through her clutch for cigarettes) were that she was, in fact, a Queen Mary University of London student and lived on campus. Her boyfriend’s building was a mere ten-minute walk from mine.
– So, for reasons that escape me, I chose to ignore the fact that I had a good 10£ worth of tequila in my system – oh and no bloody clue how to navigate the bus system without Jen and her nifty iPhone maps.
– By 4 AM, Julie and I had made friends with a helpful Polish couple, spoke on the phone with the girl – Sue’s – parents, texted back her friends who had apparently been hunting her down for three hours now (which, trust me, was no easy feat on a crappy Blackberry keyboard; responding “Yes, Sue is alive” is not as simple as it sounds), watched Sue throw up in a Pringles can AT LEAST a dozen times, and cleaned her off with disinfectant wipes this sweet old lady gave me. Whew.
– Apparently, miracles do indeed happen because Julie and I tracked down Sue’s boyfriend’s dorm and returned our plastered Pringles puking pal to him and the rest of their crew. I remember talking to one of her friends and she was shocked Julie and I took the time to a) endure the excitement that was Sue and b) bring her home unscathed.
– But, I mean, she was a young woman alone in the middle of downtown, late at night, and could have easily been taken advantage of. Isn’t it human nature to ensure she’s safe, even if you’re strangers (or even if you’re not exactly in the most sober state of mind)? Perhaps not, but I’d like to think so.
– Okay, so, maybe I’m just soft. Julie, on the other hand, is a tad more resourceful. Also painfully wasted. We arrive back to my dorm room and as I’m ready to collapse into bed, she reveals she had stolen miscellaneous items throughout the night – including some from inside Sue’s friend’s apartment – and I swear to God that girl must have Hermione’s bottomless bag. The goods included but we were not limited to Clinique face wash, a roll of toilet paper, a plate, a teal stress ball, and a can of beer. Yes, I’m just as confused as you are.
– In conclusion, another not-so-boring weekend, and I recommend all of you out there know your raging limits. In a perfect world, everyone would be overly helpful Americans like me who ensure you don’t vomit on your hot pink pumps because they’re way too cute to get ruined… but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that just isn’t the case.
The Art of Being Basic 