New Years in London

I'm a bit behind on blogging simply because we don't have access to an actual computer. I'm using my smartphone. How savvy of me.

So, London. Where to begin? I'll skip over the boring shit and get right to the gold, which was last night, New Years Eve. Meesh and I had no plan, no tickets to any venues, and no direction, really. Our first hostel was in Feltham, (we've since relocated), which is about an hour outside of London. That commute was fucking inconvenient and exhausting.

We started our night in Hyde Park and had our first meal of the day: greasy fish and chips accompanied with some stellas which we frugally bought a few days before at a grocery store. I've never been this hungry in my entire life. I'm going to come back home ten pounds lighter and Michelle will come back looking like a skeletal baby bird, the poor dear.

After our meal, we were a bit drunk and got on the underground tube, which was free on New Years Eve, so it attracted every drunk British, Italian, and French idiot. People were swigging champagne bottles and chugging beers on every seat. One such drunken British boy, clad only in a t-shirt even in the 30 degree weather, provided great entertainment for Meesh and I. He was hollering and singing, "You Spin me right round baby, right round. Like a record baby", and swinging around on the poles of the tube, hitting sophisticated business men with his flailing legs.

We got off in Camden Town, a trendy-ish East London neighborhood with a good bar scene. We sat in front of a Mcdonalds and sipped on our stellas until a punk-looking fellow approached and told me I looked like an old kindergarden classmate who was obsessed with horses. Wonderful. As slightly offended as I was, the fellow ended up being quite interesting, and chatted us up for a half hour. He joked that we resembled Jay and Silent Bob, which is pretty true to form, seeing to as Meesh was wearing a beanie.

We haven't encountered any Anti-American Brits at all. Everyone has been extremely kind and curious as to what the fuck we're doing here. They are as surprised as everyone back home. Traveling American girls are apparently a rarity.

After Camden Town, we got back on the tube to hit up another trendy, hipster-esque town called Shoreditch. Yet again, there was another group of rowdy British men. One dude was going off on an incredible rant about why his friend should move in with him. Exclamations of socialism, the dark side, and bacon sandwiches were made, and Meesh and I succumbed to a fit of uncontrollable laughter. The boys began to talk to us, and we realized we were getting off at the same stop as them, which they were particularly amused at since most travelers don't know to venture there. They were nice enough to walk with us to the bar areas and invited us to spend the evening with them. They were in their late-twenties and art directors of some sort. We happily obliged and went and had a beer with them.

After the beer, they took us to some underground, secretive rave thing in a basement across the street. There was no guarantee of us getting in, and they had purchased tickets weeks before. When we were arrived, the bouncer, a large black man, was skeptical about letting us in. The boys pleaded with him, "C'mon, they're from Los Angeles!", and he was like, "I'm from Kenya, what's your fucking point."A few persuasive statements later, and I made friends with this bouncer, and he let us in. I always make friends with the bouncers. As soon as we got into the rave, shit started to get wild. It was ridiculous. The music was a horrendous mix of throbbing bass over a lowly heard rap song. Honestly, it sounded like they played the same song continuously for four hours. It was so cramped with sweating, drugged out Brits, and Michelle was hating it, of course. Sweating hipster Brits with dilated pupils, and disco-ball dressed girls with wide, unblinking eyes, danced by us. Unsurprising. Meesh and I were sitting on a stoop outside the rave when some sketchy motherfucker offered us some MDMA. Nah thanks, mate! When the clock struck midnight, Meesh and I were showered with kisses from our four mates. I was dancing with one of them and he kept yelling, "I NEVER WOULDA THOUGHT I'D BE DANCING WITH AN AMERICAN GIRL ON NEW YEARS!" Dude, I never thought I'd be dancing with a British dude, whom I met on the tube, in a fucking undergroud rave.

Meesh quit drinking after her fourth beer, which is the most she's ever drank in her life, so I can imagine it was quite overwhelming to be drunk for her first time on New Years Eve at a fucking rave in London with four British dudes. She was wearing a beanie and everyone kept asking if she was hot in her 'bobble'. Quite funny. She was. We had to leave and sit outside a few times, which was forbidden, but the bouncer was lovin' us, so he allowed it.

Finally at like three or so in the morning, we left and walked around to look for another venue. There was a collective agreement that the music was horrendous and it could no longer be tolerated. We went around Shoreditch looking for some weed. Instead, we encountered a Polish dude with cocaine. Nope, not happening. We walked for like a mile until the dudes decided we should all go back to one of their places in Camden for drinks.

In regards to the boys: we didn't get a creepy or sexual vibe from them. More like, a big brother companionship. They didn't try anything. I'm not so naïve that I didn't think about what could go wrong, but we had Meesh's exacto knife on us, so I felt a bit more secure.

We walked about three miles to one of the dudes' flats. We passed a cemetery where Karl Marx is buried, which I was fucking enthralled with. Meesh and I are going to officially see the grave tomorrow or something. Anyways, we had almost reached the flat, when a group of wasted British girls started following us and asking if they could come to our 'Sausage Party'. It was funny until they actually walked into the flat, sat down on the couch, and started telling us their sorry life stories. Finally the bitches left, after loudly exclaiming how weird everyone was. The dude put on Joy Division and I died, because I love Joy Division and I was sitting on a couch in London, with a rum and coke, and a cigarette, whilst listening to Ian Curtis' melancholy croon. After some Morrissey and The Cure, political discussion and culture comparisons, we ended our night at 7am, and walked with two of the dudes to the tube. One of the dudes still had his glass of rum and coke. Imagine a British dude, drinking out of a glass on the subway, serenading Michelle with 'Michelle', by the Beatles. That's essentially what happened.

We made our way back an hour into Feltham. No sleep for 24 hours. Once we got to Feltham, we checked out of our hostel and made the same trip back to Kings Cross, where we are now.

Fuckin' London, man.