my first week was a rush. think "those magical first fourteen days of freshman year at college when the world is your toilet". there was plenty of drinking, peeing, vomiting, eating... then comes the second week of class and it sinks in - i'm still in school. needless to say, the only activity of the first week that remains is eating. anyway, the times were pleasant, the alliances were formed and the roommate-gossip soaked our sheets. but that excitement quickly folded over and gave way to a sort of mini-apocalyptic air about things.
today was my third wednesday of the academic semester and feels like the final beginning of london time.
my day began at the ringing of my alarm at 10:20, and then again at 11:30 when i actually rose up from my bed. my gym routine was out of the question, i had thirty minutes to meet kate at gordon square for lunch and a little fashion-week crashing. even after dressing, leaving, going back and changing i was able to meet her at a respectable 12:45. we skipped lunch and got a good spot in the que (line) for the 1:15 house of holland show. i warned her i had to be out by 1:50 to meet my lunch date in russel square. at 1:25 i was getting anxious and antsy. i was also hopelessly scouring the que for any signs of a vogue friend to walk us in. no luck, only a male higher-upper that i had awkwardly spoken to outside at santo's. at 1:45 i warned kate i had to be out of the show at 1:58. i had by now budged a whole 8 minutes on my original deal. we finally got in at 1:56 and i literally walked in, checked the scene and juggled the idea of staying (versus my oh-so-alluring lunch). i left.
my new friend was not at pret at 2:00 as she said she would be (i was three minutes late). she was also not at the other local pret down two blocks. she wasn't even in russel square where she said she always lunches. i would know, since i spent the next thirty minutes of my day searching for any signs of a tall blonde AA model in ironic 70's porn perv attire. she simply wasn't there, and i made the mistake of asking her "why" on myspace later.
in other news, kate said the show was phenomenal. that sounded a bit melodramatic to me, but her photo seems entertaining:
kate and i planned on crashing the after-party tonight but once i got back to my room, i had a melancholy instinct that it would be an indoor night for me. so i brought my laptop to the cafe in our building and sat with hannah and kelly, each of us on our own system, doing our own thing as had become ritual for us. i watched rachel zoe's shit-show, kelly watched the office (?), and hannah watched 24. we ate alot. then jen came by and jazzed things up with her funny talk and eventual awkward tantrum/exit. and so here began the first night that made me feel alive.
chris stopped by to roll he and i a joint, hannah and kelly and i drank two bottles of wine and we farted and acted and talked and laughed until our stomachs were sore. i love those ladies. hannah decided to take action and toss my sloppy roommate's two week old bananas, which were now shriveling and black. but she couldn't resist a handsome moust-ash before they went out the window..
kelly farted a few times on my bed, which by the way looks like this:
i'm going for vegas stripper meets brainy 90's intellectual.
in the end, as in this post, nothing was really said. there were no life-story talks, no philosophical musings. just two people who spent too much time wondering why their someone didn't respond to them today and hannah, silly drunk-cum-mysterious singer/songwriter who all decided to stay in and be friends.
so now i will be off to bed and leave you with a quick musing: a night in with friends trumps a pret-a-mangier lunch anyday.
oh and i'm really fucking thankful for the arcade fire's "funeral".
oh and i'm really fucking thankful for the arcade fire's "funeral".
