This weekend was a boozefest.
Well, just Friday night as I spent all day Saturday & Sunday recovering/sleeping. Friday night my friend and I went to Brixton, which is in south London. We went there a couple weekends ago and it was fine, had fun, not too much to report. Well, actually there is stuff to report. We went to a pub where they played 70s British rock music and the people who were there were hilarious! Just having the time of their lives, dancing their hearts out to crazy-ass music I've never heard off. I was not judging because I know that pretty much every Friday night back in the States people were thinking the same about me...."what the fuck is that girl dancing to?! and it looks like she's about to break her back, someone might actually need to help her!" Besides the interesting (euphemism being used here) dancing, the night was uneventful a.k.a. no make out sessions in back alleys. It was a lame night, I know, that was until we had to get home. Brixton is pretty far south of where my friend and I live, so instead of taking a £80 cab ride home, we worked out our bus schedules home, so we would only have to pay around £6. Well, if you know anything about London bus schedules, you know they are a fucking mess. There's a joke about how the bus schedules are so random and strange just so that it can confuse tourists, and it sure as hell confuses me. I'm a tried-and-true "tube girl". I love the tube, I get it (now). It stops where it's supposed to stop. The different lines go where they are supposed to go, just like the map says. It just makes sense to someone as geographically and orientationally (not sure if that's a word) challenged as I am. The buses just fuck me up. Just to make sure I knew what I was doing that night, I wrote down the connecting buses, which, luckily my friend was taking the same bus at the start of our trip and then we switch buses at the same stop and each go on our way on different buses. Confused yet? So am I. But I wrote down the stops where I was supposed to get on my specific bus going the specific direction and which stop to exit at, etc., etc., etc. It hurts my brain just thinking about this.
Well, we got on the correct first bus, and this is only because I was not in charge, once we had to change buses, it all went to hell. My friend's bus showed up first and she had hit the booze wall where you just want to get home, you don't care what's going on or who you are leaving type of wall, and if ANYONE understands this wall, it is I. I've bailed from across town, just to walk across highways to get home at early morning hours. I've left without telling anyone to go home, send texts out to gentlemen lovers who I'd like to join me, now that I've made it home, etc., etc., etc. The problem now that my friend had left me, I couldn't find the stop where I'm supposed to pick up my next bus. Whatever, I was drunk and I was going to figure this shit out.
I walked a ways down to another bus stop, and it still wasn't my stop. Fuck. This was starting to look bad. I was really far from home, I barely knew where I was and I had no one to call to help me. FUUCKKKK. Luckily, since I'm a genius, I know the "area" in which I live. I know, I know, I'm a-fucking-mazing because I actually know which "area" of London I live in. I should win the Nobel Peace Prize or some shit. No, I really think they should just send me up to space, or better yet, I should be in control of all the nuclear arms in the possession of the US. Yes, I'm that bad with directions. I found a bus that goes in the general direction of where I live. Cool.
I'm on that bus for about 45 minutes. I was rocking out to my iPod, because I'm so cool and just watched the hundreds of other people taking the buses home at 3am. I had listened to almost a whole playlist on my iPod and I started to think, man, I should be getting close to my area now, but since the helpful fucking people at Transport for London don't think it's a good idea to put maps of where you're fucking going in the buses, I really have no fucking clue. I could have been close to Scotland by then! Luckily we drove by something that looked familiar. Sweet, things were looking up. Then my bus decided to terminate (stop, to those of you commoner people) early. It just stopped at the next stop. It didn't go to my area, like it said it would, it just stopped. Shit, balls, cock face, fuck off, wanker, living shit hell. I got out with the rest of the people and started stumbling in the direction which I thought was home. As I mentioned before, there's no one I can call to ask to help as to where I was going. I have no friends here, except the friend who left me, my parents were in America and besides, it was 4am and I'm sure as shit not calling them even if they were there. Oh and since it is 4am, there were no shops open for me to go in and ask for directions, there wasn't even anyone on the street, so quiet literally, I was fucked.
I stumbled and I stumbled some more in the direction of home. After another 30-40 minutes of stumbling, and this was after over an hour on the bus, I found a street that I definitely know! WOOHOO!!! I was home free. I got home well after 4am and slept until about 3pm the next day.
The lesson that has been learned from this trip: bring a God damn GPS with you when you plan on getting drunk and rowdy in London! Shit!
Alright, now on the the next trip to Brixton.
This Friday we headed down to Brixton and you can be sure as shit I had at least 6 alternate bus routes written down that could get me to the general area of my home. No, shit. I would not be stuck walking around London by myself at 4am. I was prepared! Alright, so we got to Brixton and man it was dodgy! I mean I felt like I walked into South Central or Compton. The South Central bit makes sense because Brixton is way far down south of the Thames, but dude it was sketchy. We called the people we were supposed to meet up with and let them know we were a bit lost. They told us to get back to the station, stay there and they would meet us there. Apparently, I wasn't the only person who thought this place was the ghetto. They did not want us walking around by ourselves, which made sense. Two white girls, with American accents, looking lost and slightly desperate for a drink.....that was just asking for all sorts of shit to happen!
They rescued, I mean found us, and we get to the party and it was in a really nice flat, far, far away from the ghettoness. Speaking of ghetto, while we were walking around getting lost I saw a venue with a billboard with the performers for that week. I don't know if any of you know Star Wars a little bit, or have even seen it, but one of the lesser characters is names Boba Fett. This character is a bounty hunter who actually turns Han Solo into Jabba the Hut in Episode V, The Empire Strikes Back, after he has been frozen in carbonite....ok whatever, I've already lost everyone. But instead of Boba Fett, the artist who was to play that night was Boba Fatt. I just thought that was hilarious and really showed what type of place we were in.
This party ended up being some sort of acoustic concert of sorts. Pretty much a God damn kumbaya sing-a-long. If any of you know me, you know this is not my sort of shit. So we headed downstairs to where the dance party and boozing was going on: my sort of shit. The night kept on going, we were boozing, we were mingling, I was making bff's with a gay boy named Will, I could smoke inside, I was very, very happy. The next thing I knew, it was 6am when we left. Yup, 6am. Again, if you know me AT ALL you know that after a night of boozing, I'm the FIRST person to pass on late night and just pass out. I don't think I've ever stayed up until 6am without the help of some very strong upper-type of prescription drugs. I really don't know what it was, I think London has turned me into a late night partier, crazy Euro-chick and it kind of scares me.
At this point, my friend and I didn't even mess around with fucking buses at that point and we shared a cab home, or in the general direction of home with Will and another guy. I actually went back to Will's place for another drink and some more indoor smoking. The sun had now risen before I even started to think, "Hmm....maybe I should get my ass home". I took a cab home (now I'm rolling large with TWO cabs home in one night!). It was def. 8am when I strolled into my house. To say the least my parents, mainly my mom, were pissssed. My "good excuse" as to why it wasn't bad that I was out until 8am was that I was hanging out with a gay dude. Jesus, I am smart. The next day, once I finally woke up, was not a pleasant one. I was scared shitless of my mom once I actually remembered what the hell happened the night before, but hey, I'm here typing to y'all about it, so I did live through the punishment, but if there are slightly a few more typing errors that is because I am now typing with only one hand.
Lesson learned from the second trip to Brixton: learn how to use a fucking cell phone and call your parents and tell them you're not dead.
Peace, love and kisses bitches!
