Can't Handle a little Snow?

Londoners everywhere panic at the sight of snow. If it's not panic, they respond with bewilderment, confusion, seclusion, or amusement.



First, the whole city shuts down because a little bit of snowfall. To be fair, it was their biggest snow in 20 some-odd years, so I guess it is excusable. But everything in the morning was shut down. Buses did not run, the Underground was closed, stores, shops, cafes, banks, the Post Office! All closed. People didn't go in to work, schools were canceled. The city was literally frozen.

If people weren't freaking out from the snow, or hiding from it inside their living rooms, they stared at it in amazement. I took a walk and on the same street I saw 3 different groups of adults working on snowmen in front of their flat buildings. Snow reverts all Londoners to the age of eight. And they will stay that way until the snow melts and they are forced to go back to work.

That night I went to the Union for some drinks and to watch the game. Never have I seen a larger snowball fight. The entire quad was filled with grown-ass boys hurling snowballs across the sidewalks. Hitting each other and anyone who dared walk in between them.

Sitting there, smoking outside of the Union, I thought it quite silly. You know... all the fuss over snow. They are acting like children.
But then I thought to myself, I like the sense of jollity it brings out of this stereotypically uptight people.
Brits are fun too! They know what it is like to want to be a kid again.
I want that too!
So I jumped right in, rolled around in snow, and showed them how to make snow angels.
(Of course that also might of had something to do with the number of pints I had consumed prior to wandering back out into the frigid breeze.)

Tea time

Who would have ever thought....

Melissa, Leah, and I thought it would be great idea.
We making bank.
Tea is awfully tastety. :)

UPDATE!!
CCTV.
News.
Ack.

Curly McBartender

Cheapest bar we can find... young-ish bartenders.
Since I drink a lot, I am usually up at the bar. So Curly is shy and tries to flirt. He's hopeless, really, he is.... but why not flirt? Maybe I'll get a free drink out of it.

Anywho, this guy probably thinks there was more in it for him than that.
I gave him my number one night, a)because i was quite drunk, b) because his attractive manager somehow coerced it out of me and then gave it to him. As they were talking behind the bar , I could not hear anything they were saying, only laughed whenever I could tell I was supposed to, and just smiled and nodded the rest of the time.

Homeboy Curly then proceeded to call me or text me on his off nights... Do you not get it? NO, I do not want to hang out with you unless it involves you mixing drinks for me with a bar in between us.

So he might be a curly-headed creeper, but here are some fun tidbits I learned about him:

He is a recovering alcoholic.
He is Buddhist. (I think this came out as a result of the alcoholism.)
He is an aspiring screen play writer.
In fact- he just finished filming one of his screenplays.
It was a thriller/horror film about the gangs of England. (???)
He is engaged.
He is marrying an American woman whom he has never met. Just so they both can qualify for citizenship in the other's country. (He invited Melissa to the wedding.)

Slurrbowl

At the Union until 5am. After successfully making it home I climbed up the stairs, fell a few times trying to get into pajamas and then in bed, get stuck between my end table and my bed- trying to answer a yeeess to my roommate's inquiry Are you alright?? and then finally passing out. Only to wake up in the morning with a massive hangover, a cold sweat, dry heaving for twenty minutes over the toilet, a cigarette, and slow walk back to my bed to sleep for another four hours. This was how the night ended, let me take you back to how it began...

I was kind of bummed when I realized that the Superbowl started at midnight here. No TV to watch it, and no pubs left open to view it there either. But then, a sign in the Union hallway. Superbowl Sunday: Drinks available until the end of the game! Hell yeah... now to just find someone to go with on a Sunday night.

This might be a tough feat, especially since it is like pulling teeth to get these girls to go out anyother night. So, a few people said they were in, I even mentioned it to one of the guys that was passing by our room when I was talking about it. He stopped in, chatted a while, then asked if he could go with us because none of his roommates were going.

Sunday rolls around, all the girls are out, (psh, figures), but this guy asks me if I am still going. Well sure thing, I just don't want to show up by myself in case no one i know is there. So he meets me at my place, quarter til 11.

Before I number my drinks, let me inform you that I had two pints before I left.
According to guy, I had eight or nine pints at the Union. So total I had ten pints, the beer I was having also happened to be stronger, not to mention how fast I drank all of these. Well point is, I was wasted walking home. And terribly drunk due to the following, miserable, morning the next day.

We found a bunch of the other IE kids and sat over with them. I bought my first beer, he bought the next round, so I said I would get the next. He bought the next eight. I never even had a chance to even offer to buy the next round because he was always on top of it, and he'd just bring me a beer back. Whatever, I spent less money, got drunk on his.

I watched pretty much of the first half. Cheering for my team, placing bets (which I never collected on because I was probably to drunk to remember at the end of the night), and explaining the game to some Brits who couldn't quite understand why they got so many first downs- but they already had one 1st down, why do they just get another one?

Half time, I'm not watching Bruce. Fuck I am drunk now, have the attention span of a two year old, and I want to go play. It snowed that night so there was a bunch of guys outside having a snowball fight. I decided I would join in. After a while of snowball fight fun, I had another smoke and chatted with some British students about the game. And out comes guy with another beer for me.

Second half? I'm not sure if there was a second half. Alls I know for sure is that there were two blurry teams, running at each other. There is no telling where the ball is at or who even has it, nor am I able to read the score or keep track of what quarter we were in.

Alls I really remember from being in there is asking, Am I winning?

On the walk home I remember apologizing for getting too drunk, he grabs me by the shoulders, straightens me out, and lands one on me.
After I pushed him away, I said we should probably keep walking. He had to open my door for me because I could not figure out the keys. I went to bed, and when I woke up the next morning, I had the worst hangover I have gotten in MONTHS, and then I remembered... poor kid. probably thinks that last night meant something... or was a date.

Nope, I'd just rather forget about it and pretend it never happened and carry on like normal. However, it is kind of hard to when friends see him staring at me, and then they say things that imply that he is head over heels. Oh, just stop... then your going to make me feel bad or like I was led him on, and somehow this was my fault. And it wasn't!!

the man who calls himself "Michael"

The mysterious man behind the intercom... who the fuck is he??

One night, many moons ago, Jessi and I are stumbling up the front steps. We stop here for a moment and sit down to share a cigarette. We are both pretty drunk, which means Jessi is really loud, and I am easily susceptible to tomfoolery and other playful tricks. So to hear a man's voice coming from somewhere out of the stoop is a little creepy and mysterious.

I know London is being watched by "Big Brother" all of the time via CCTV (Security cameras set up everywhere), but to actually hear his voice?? That shit was trippy.

Currently, I do not remember what he said, nor do I remember what we said, but the fact remains the same, there is a man who speaks to us from the box on the stoop. We do not know who he is, or where in the building he comes from.

Thus begins the search for "Michael". So, when ever I was out on the stoop alone or with friends, every guy that came out of the door or walked into it was asked if they were Michael.

It seems like this character was a ghost. No one was or even knew "Michael". After a few more days of questioning and a few more appearances by the mysterious voice that goes by "Michael", Leah finds one guy who she thinks looks like someone who would do such a thing. So we carefully watch him.

At the Lion King I was sitting by the suspect, so I asked him, Are you Michael?, he laughs and said, No, I heard about it though. I didn't think that this was too suspicious because this particular character is friends with one of my roommates, and I am sure she could have shared with him.

However, the next time the voice spoke. He knew who he was talking to, knew us by name.... then he started to get a little attitude. I couldn't tell if he was joking around, or taking our joking a little too serious. Well while some of the girls were having this intense conversation with "Michael", I snuck inside and put my ear to every door to see if I could find the culprit. We figured he has to be close in able to hear us outside in order to pick up his phone to talk over the speaker to us.... Well ladies and gentlemen, we found him. Flat 2, real name: Derek.
Creepy? Weird? Too much time on his hands?