7/28/09
There isn’t that much else to say about Paris, other than the fact that the bus ride back was pure hell, and I nearly got into a fight with some sweaty and belligerent Middle Eastern business men. If those assholes decide that they can dictate who sits where on a cheap ass bus (and why are you taking said cheap ass bus, did you spend all your money on whores because you clearly aren’t getting any? Or did you just blow a lot of dough on a new beating stick for the wife) then they clearly don’t know who they’re dealing with. I’m pretty sure the US embassy would have loved to deal with the beating of an innocent (not to mention adorable) twenty year old American girl. I was ready to provoke them more but I decided it wasn’t worth getting kicked off the bus halfway between England and France. Maybe in better weather, but it was pouring and wet jeans are no fun.
Wednesday we celebrated Lauren’s twenty-first (once again, it was pink themed) and we went to the Ice Bar. It was rather amusing, you get a 45 minute time slot with your pre-paid ticket, and one complimentary drink. Technically it was the Absolut Ice Bar, and needless to say everything down to the chairs was made of ice. They give you a parka and gloves, and it really wasn’t horribly cold in there. I think it’s one of those things that you have to do while in London, up there with taking an obnoxious telephone booth picture and throwing up pork pies in a quaint little British alleyway.
Thursday I journeyed to Camden (punk central, not really my cup of tea) and got caught in the pouring rain, probably karma for trying to venture outside my preppy bitch roots.
Friday, Sarah and I ventured to the Science Museum while everyone else was on their merry way to Amsterdam. Although the irony of the situation saddened me, it was a really cool museum and the Brits really put a lot of effort into their exhibition design. Because they have nothing else. We also tried to go to the Proms that I had mentioned in the previous blog (sadly, without a fourteen year old date) but it was way too crowded and there were no more seats. I guess I will just have to return to America a little less cultured than intended. Fuck.
Friday night we went to a techno, electro-pop, and trance bar called Cargo. Of course Sarah and I ended up getting separated from the rest of Penn because we had to make the requisite bathroom pit stop. This resulted in us being lost in Shoreditch for quite some time, and I started to panic a little because we weren’t in South Kensington anymore, and I’ve started to become nervous when we leave the vicinity of multi-million and billion dollar homes. This could be a problem upon returning to West Philadelphia. We finally ended up in line, but Keith and the others were already at the front of the queue and we waited around for forty five minutes to be let in. I believe it was the first bar, minus Sports Café, where the majority of the people were my around my age. Everyone was dressed in their scene attire, and I was glad I had opted to wear my shirt dress from Paris. Oh how the mighty have fallen. It was a lot of fun, but the highlight was definitely watching the people we came with attempting to dance to trance. A lot of swaying and awkward hand movements, a la sophmore semiformal. It was definitely not like any American bar I’ve been to, and I don’t think there were enough people on harder drugs to make it rave-like. There was no cover, so I’m definitely going back.
Saturday, the remaining girls in the flat who didn’t go to the magical magical world of Amsterdam went to the next best place; Wholefoods. We gathered supplies for a picnic, and I was quite happy with my personal tub of potato salad. (even if everyone else abandons me, I’ll always have my good friend carbs) We sat on the South Bank by the theatre, and watched a break dancing performance. It was riveting, and I would have jumped up to join them if only I had rhythm and wouldn’t look like I was in the middle of an epileptic seizure.
That night we went to Shephard’s Bush to meet at the pub with K’s friend’s boyfriend and couple of his friends from Imperial College. They were quite amusing, but the pubs didn’t have dancing and I got somewhat bored after a couple of hours. Give me a vat of jungle juice, a filthy basement, and a handful of blacked out freshman failing at life, and I’m content. We went back to their place and were absolutely starving, as we’re American and apparently only know how to eat. They then pulled out a party platter of sandwiches from the fridge, like it was some act from the deli G-d’s. I shall remember it as the night I discovered the ploughman sandwich.
Ironically, we watched America’s Got Talent, and it never occurred to me that they showed this crap in other countries. It suddenly dawned on me why everyone hates America, we deserve it by sadistically sending them our game shows. They only have BBC over here, they’re going to take what they can get. Even if it’s only Sharon Osbourne and the Hoff dictating what or what doesn’t fit their loose description of talent.
I don’t even really know what happened last night. We were getting ready to go to Sports Café, and we ended up bumping into a couple of girls who go to Santa Clara and live in our building. They told us they were going to another bar, Whisky Mist, and we could get in for free because they knew the promoter and he had given them a plus five for the evening. We get to the queue, and lo and behold didn’t have to pay anything, they just checked to make sure we were over eighteen and not just coming from prom and such nonsense. Once inside, I realized that we were in one of the most expensive and exclusive clubs in London, and I was wearing a leotard from H&M. (with jeans and a vest, I haven’t turned to prostitution just yet) They had a bunch of little tables all set up along the wall with buckets and decanters of orange and cranberry juice. Every little group of people had a bucket with a huge bottle of Grey Goose, and someone told me those ran for 140 pounds. The bar drinks were only a laughable 11 pounds, probably reserved for the destitute and homeless who happen to wander in there. It was pitch black on the inside save for lights around the bar, and neon lights in between the glass paneling on the walls and ceiling. The promoter immediately got us all glasses of Grey Goose, and I was able to take in my surroundings a little better. After a while, a couple of the Drexel crew left for the sports café because they felt like they were under dressed and they didn’t feel like it was their scene. In retrospect, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking because all of the other women there were wearing tiny designer dresses and were about six feet tall with their heels. Of course this had to be the night I went “fuck it, I’m wearing flats.” The music was mostly electro-pop, the usual Britney Spears and Lady Gaga material and it was probably the most fun I’ve had since I’ve been to London. My memory gets a little fuzzy, but my friends said they would turn around and people would be straight pouring Grey Goose into my mouth from their tables. Thank you study abroad. We took a breather, and on our way to the loo J and I overheard some of said goliath- looking gold diggers complaining that they had just paid 15 pounds to come in for an hour, but that it was worth it. Venturing outside (we had clever little UV stamps on our hands for reentry) we bumped into Leonardo DiCaprio exiting the club. I didn’t see him, but the rest of my friends did. Of course I would be fucking looking the other way. Oh well, it’s not like I’m going to be replaying Titanic over and over again tonight while crying into a huge jar of nutella. That was this morning. Anywho, there were several paparazzi outside and those assholes said they didn’t want a picture of me when I kindly offered. We conveniently caught the bus across the street, and were dropped off directly outside our flat. All in all a good night, with not a pence spent.
To gloat some more, here’s a quote my roomate found, taken from one of the local newspapers. "Leonardo [DiCaprio] eventually decided to move on to exclusive nightspot Whisky Mist, where he spent $10,000 on champagne for his female companions"
That wasn’t us, but you get the drift. Too bad I’m still painfully awkward and can quote LOTR in my sleep.
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