“Do we eat it or fuck it?”
I feel like I should mention that he actually (surprisingly) did not perform his set with wine in hand. He kept it on a little side table and only drank from it occasionally. But including the glass in this doodle felt apropos.
I’m doing a lot better with writing in my physical journal than I expected. I wish I’d drawn more, though. I’m about halfway through the book and I’ve only got two pictures of cats wearing bowler hats, a really terrible attempt at one of my professors (I made him look like Michael Caine, which he certainly is not), and this one of Dylan Moran.
After a bit of convincing, my dad agreed to change my flight. Chapman very kindly told us to arrange our return flight for July 30, but upon arrival, it turns out that we’ve paid for housing through August 6. Weird, right? My visa doesn’t expire until August 6, either. So I decided that Chapman can go fuck itself and I’m going to stay for an extra week. Yay! So after I finish work on July 28 (this coming Thursday), I’m going to have until the 6th to do whatever my heart desires. Still considering a return to Dublin or possibly heading out to Amsterdam. I’d like to do Edinburgh for sure. Hope I can squeeze everything in.
It’s weird being so close to finishing work, weirder still to think that I’ll be leaving London shortly thereafter. I’ve predictably come to love it and don’t want to leave. Starting to look into coming back on a somewhat more permanent basis after graduation — I have to say, the visa process looks ugly. But I guess I have a year to figure that out. In the meantime, I need to start marking down all the duties that I’ve had over the past two months to reference when I write up my new resume.
Thursday night, Rachel invited me to her house for a dinner party with some of her friends. She’s such a nice girl, of course I accepted. Everyone was so nice, though admittedly kind of intimidating. I probably came off fairly shy, but better to come off quiet than look like an ass, right? I had a great time regardless and I’m rather jealous of her flat, which is like a proper grownup house. Oh, to live a life where I had a grownup flat in London.
Been going to more gigs than is probably advisable from a financial standpoint. I should probably start writing them down, lest I forget them all. I’ve been to three this week so far, and then there’s the festival tomorrow. Last night’s was disappointing, as it was some random band Emily wanted to see at Koko (didn’t care for them), where doors were £7 followed by a £5 rum and coke. Awful. I far preferred the other gig she suggested on Wednesday, which was at some weird venue in Hoxton. Tuesday was Two Gallants and a pint with Joe, who was a very tall Scottish teddy bear of a guy. Not bad, all told. Maximo Park at the very silly, very ice cream-filled Ben & Jerry’s festival tomorrow. I’m not at all embarrassed to say that I am very excited to see Paul Smith jumping and flailing around.
As for today, I think I’m going to take it easy with Spitalfields Market and possibly Pitt Cue Co. for some barbeque.
Regarding post no. 16 — already broke that rule. Well, I broke it the one time in Dublin, when I didn’t really have a choice, but then I went and broke it again on Friday. Sort of. Went to the pub to meet friends (though in retrospect, it was more like a maybe than a definite meeting), had a beer, and they never ended up coming. Fast forward to me chatting and hanging out with some lovely local guys, going to a gig with them, exploring Angel, and generally having a great time! I think provided I keep my wits about me, there’s nothing wrong with having a drink by myself. Especially when it’s just at my local down the street.
I also got to see Dylan Moran today at the Hammersmith Apollo and it was phenomenal. Had an amazing seat in the second row center and the people in front of me never showed up, so I basically just seized their empty front row spot after the interval. I used to obsess over Black Books in high school, so it was really surreal to have the man standing a few feet away from me doing standup. He did make a little comment about how he couldn’t be a feminist because he was a man (side-eyeing that statement so hard), but otherwise he was right on the money and absolutely on fire. Mreasts. What a great experience.
In less happy news, tonight I was the victim of a cycle-by ass-grabbing. Some asshole on a bike thought it would be cool to reach out, have a feel, then speed off before I could kick the shit out of him. I’m not really upset about the incident in particular, that wasn’t such a big deal to me, but the fact that we live in a culture where shit like that (not to mention far, far worse) happens is so frustrating and appalling. I very nearly typed “shit like that happens to women,” and that really just smacks of the whole problem — victim-blaming, etc. ingrained into the very way that we think. Shit doesn’t just “happen to women,” but shit happening because assholes make it happen. There’s a lot more that could be said, but I’m too tired to articulate it sufficiently right now. It pretty much just boils down to asshole patriarchy/rape culture/bullshit. Lovely.
Oh, work. What happened? I really used to — well, enjoying would be going a bit far, but I really didn’t mind work not that long ago. Gradually losing steam, I guess. Maybe after this weekend, things will improve. I certainly hope so, considering Tom’s last day is tomorrow and after next week, Nicole will be gone. And then there will be one, eek.
I don’t know how I’ve become the person trying to drag everybody out. I’ve never been this person before. Truth be told, I’ve always kind of reveled in my role as the person being dragged. But I’ve noticed in the past year or so that I’ve been slowly transitioning into somebody who enjoys social gatherings, strangers, and conversation. Weird, right?
London seems to have been the last proverbial straw. I’ve gone out every night this week so far and I can scarcely express how annoyed I am that it’s looking like I won’t be going out tonight (for lack of willing comrades). How did I get to this point? WHO AM I?
I’ve been doing my utmost to widen my social circles and widen the pool of participants a bit, but it still hasn’t been enough. I’ve made friends with at least four separate local British groups, but still nothing!
As tempting as it is, I’m not about to go out into the big city on my own. I’m not that stupid. As safe as I feel walking around on my own, going to a pub/bar/club solo is just a bad idea. As much as I want to. As many times as I’d like to begin these sentence fragments with “as.” It’s mostly to see if I can kill Carl, if he even reads these. But I’d far rather have a bummed out, shitty night in tonight than wind up in a dumpster somewhere tomorrow morning.
It’s still a bummed out, shitty night in, though.
Before one of the songs, Jarvis told us to dance with the person we fancied. Who was I to argue?
It’s pouring down rain right now. There’s some insane thunder and a dash of lightning, too. Naturally, I took this as my cue to venture out into the wet, cold world to grab lunch. The whole time that I’ve been here, I’ve never really gotten homesick. Just hungry, sometimes. For a burger from Hodad’s or the bacon at Beach Break, mainly. Today, I decided I needed Mexican food. This craving was probably brought on by yesterday’s wanderings, when I walked around Notting Hill talking to my phone tech support trying to activate my data plan. I came across a place called El Camion and filed it away for future reference.
It wasn’t cheap, but not too expensive either — six quid for a regular beef burrito. I wanted the proper steak, but that was more like eight, so beef suited my cheap self just fine. I ran back to the bus stop as quickly as I could through the rain.
Now that I’ve back at the office, I can give my verdict. 3.5/5. When I first opened the foil, I was ready to go to town — but discovered a thin sheath of paper surrounding my warm prize. That was weird. But other than that, not much better or worse than what I was expecting. Ground beef not entirely unlike Taco Bell, not as much cheese as I would’ve liked, lettuce that was odd in a way that I couldn’t quite identify. And they definitely don’t know how to wrap a burrito around here, considering that even though I peeled the foil back just so, in that second-nature San Diegan way, the thing still started to fall apart in my hands.
But definitely not bad considering location. I’ll probably spring for the carne asada some time in the future, just so I can see what it’s like.
I just had the best steak of my life. Served by cute British boys. With a pint of Fruli at hand. Followed by that delicious apple crumble.
THAT WAS THE GREATEST MEAL I HAVE EVER HAD.