People as Places as People

I'm not going to formally write this blog. I think I'll write it as like a rant, so pardon the bad writing.

So Here I am, sitting in my room at 2:30am, wishing so bad I could sleep, but

A. I slept for 14 hours yesterday.
B. There is music bumping so loud from Jo's flat that I can actually sing along easily. But, I'm digging the playlist.
C. I have the world's worst cough. Seriously it won't go away and I hack myself awake every three seconds. It's this French cough...Le friends.


Anyway I have like just over two weeks left. I had a wake up call the other day.

I woke up and decided to go to Arsenal. Why Arsenal? I don't REALLY know, I've been pretending they are my favourite sports team the whole time I've been here for no reason (even though watching/supporting sports is the most pedestrian thing you can ever do, keep that BLEGH away from me), so I figured hey, might as well go all out and visit the town and stadium that they are from by myself in the middle of the day. So I did this.
The Stadium was cool, I walked around the gift shop and thought about things I should buy, but didn't thankfully buy anything to further support my fake love of Arsenal. The actual town of Arsenal is just like a boring rural place.
I did find a soccer (football) ball outside the stadium, which I carried around London with me all day and eventually brought home. I hope someone will play with me.
Wait, what am I talking about?
Anyway, oh yeah, the wake up call. So I'm heading out of Arsenal and I think to myself, "What a lovely day to go to Covent Garden and get a ginger bread latte from Starbucks and dick around and enjoy the beginnings of London Christmas. I'm not gay, but my love of gingerbread lattes during Christmas time is one of the gayest things about me.
I thought that, this being my first Christmas since 14 without hand-holding, gift buying, midnight mass, and family-dinner- party-stupid- girlfriend- bullshit... I would be depressed, but quite contrary. I feel very liberated. I love Christmas now. Let me sing in the stupid choir, I'm leading it, Merry Fucking Christmas, I love the cheer, the lights, even the stupid music. I don't know why single people get depressed in holiday time...everyone is happy and sort of nice to you and you save like 300 dollars that you can put towards spending at the bar on Christmas Eve. Love it.
Anyway, the wake up call. So I'm like OK I'll go dick around Covent Garden.I realized when I got there that I had been getting around by not looking at any tube maps. I got to a street in London without looking at a map, I knew where the Starbucks was, and I knew where the market was. I just did all this because, my friends, I have become a citizen of London. I know London. I'm not a tourist anymore!
Time to go home.

So I got my latte and I walked to the market. I bought some strawberries from the fields of Kent for my flatmates because hey, I'm such a super guy, and I really marveled in the whole Christmas thing. I sat down on a stoop to finish my coffee and this bum starts talking to me. I spent 45 minutes talking to this bum. He was from Germany, but like, fucked over the European government or something and has been living unnoticed and non working in Britain for 8 years, and he like robs stores and stuff. I didn't completely understand what he was saying, he did say he has a HUGE drug problem, but I didn't judge. What would Jesus Do? It's fucking Christmas.
So I carried on and I passed by the British Portrait Gallery and I really had wanted to see the Beatles to Bowie Exhibit of the 1960s but no one wanted to go with me so I paid the 9 pounds and went. It was pretty disappointing, but I'm still glad I went.

Than I went home and cooked some Chicken with Curry sauce and pineapples. It was awesome. I ate it and raved about what a genius I am to myself.

That night I hopped a bus to Greenwich and sat in a pub. I watched this dude play an acoustic set and got drunk. The guy played every song I ever played at the Java Joint. I was laughing to myself because like, c'mon, so random. The bartender lady was flirting with me so much but she was like 45. Maybe it was just because I was a young kid drinking in a pub by myself.
"Hey lady, you into young guys with neurotic behavior that read Shakespeare for fun and have no foreseeable income?".
Pass.

So I took the bus home and drunk dialed some friends from the states.
Got in, hung out with Kyle, went to sleep.

That was Thursday.
Wednesday I saw a play called "The Line" that forced me to like it for some reason. It was good. I think I liked it.

Friday, uh, Friday I sat in my room all day and stared at the walls and listened to Men at Work.
We decided to go out at around 11pm that night, so at about 8:30 I began to pregame and I accidentally blacked out and threw up on my flatmates and had to be put to bed by 10:30. Don't remember anything. It all started because Zach said, "You won't finish that bottle".

Today I worked on controlling my hangover, but we did go to the London Jazz Festival in the afternoon and saw some really great music. I love Jazz, it's America's only original music, I was proud to see it played in London. That's my off sense of nationalism. There it comes out.

After that we strolled around this little German Christmas carnival and I ate a Bratwurst and bought some organic apple juice fresh squeezed by this bloke by the bridge. Love it. London does really big things on Christmas, they're all about it. New York you just have the tree, we have like little festivals everywhere.

We, I say we as If I belong here, I'll be back in two weeks. Maybe I'll spend Christmas Eve on Murphy's couch again drinking and watching Flight of the Conchords.

Tomorrow should be interesting. I'm waking up in 4 hours to drink. That's right. We're making a huge breakfast and drinking at 8am, than going to this bar called "The Church" that is only open on Sunday afternoon. It's going to be one of those days.

I booked a trip to Liverpool for next week, the final thing I've been wanting to do my entire life, and for my last weekend in Europe, I am going to Spain...Barcelona. No big deal.

I can't wait to get home though, when I have thoughts like, "I miss living with Justin in Franklin Street", you know I'm homesick.



Cheers-
Andrew



That was Thursday.