0
Weirdest Lines of the Week
Posted by JSYL
on
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
in
Only in London
[Note: as I write this the smoke alarm is going off painfully, as it does almost every night here if someone so much as cooks on the stove for over 3 minutes. The first time I heard it I was really freaked out and ran out into the corridor. No one else had come out of their rooms. I walked to the kitchen, bleary-eyed, to see my flatmate Richard casually eating leftover pasta, which he offered to me wordlessly by sticking out the bowl in what can only be described as smoke-alarm-comraderie. I shook my head no, and we sat there till it forgivingly stopped ringing. He told me this story about how our other flatmate Mary had once unwittingly left her food on the stove and went to sleep, setting off the entire block's fire alarm, which incidentally, she managed to sleep through. Point being? I hate fire alarms. So appreciate this- us valiant bloggers must document our travels, hail, rain or painful earaches. Props for my committment.]
My newly-furnished mirror, notice any familiar faces? :)
...Okay, so the weird lines I'm about to discuss are actually pretty tame ones all things considered, one of these occurred last week, and we're only mid-way through this one, but hey, catchy headlines sell blog posts right? =p
First Line: Typical unneccessary club-confrontation ala Jane, London Style
Last Thursday I went to this club in central London called O'Nanon, mostly because they promised us free ice blocks at some point during the night- no such luck. Seems like dodgy London club event organisers are no different from dodgy Sydney club organisers. Now, I've already explained how much of a mission it is to get anywhere here, particularly when it's really really cold.
I refer you again to the tube map:
I live right outside Northwick Park station, at the top left hand corner of the map (around 2B). O'Nanon is at Piccadilly Circus, in central London (around 5D). It's quite a trek! I had an excursion near that station the next day (another blog, another day) so I decided to sleep over at my brother's place nearby after my night out, so I wouldn't have to trek it back to mine and out again. How organised of me. I dumped my pyjamas and other junk at my brother's before heading to the club. I was feeling extra pleased with myself when me and the girls found the place, without the hour long line I'd expect after many-a "I know someone who can get us in, my friend organised this, wait lemme call them, wait he's coming I swear" night at Space and other such tragic venues I always find myself sheepishly going back to.
But then. One of the things I would place on my top 10 "annoying ways to ruin a night" list, happened to me. I realised I'd left my ID at home. No, not my brother's home, which was about 10 mins away. My uni home, which was about 40 mins away. And they were gonna start charging big pounds cover charge after 11pm. I was ready to give up and call it a night, sadly admitting defeat to Richard, who convinced me that since the same thing had happened to him and he'd turned around to get his ID, so should I. Two hours later, I'm in. It was a good night, filled with dancing like this:
Tired out of my eyeballs around 4am, we waited in the long-ass 5 level queue to the downstairs cloakroom. This tall black guy tried to talk to me, or push in, or something. Rich, behind me, tired and drunk, said something like, "She's with me, man" blocking him off. THE GUY SAYS: "Its cool she's: insert-inaudible-mumbled-word-that-sounds-like-FAT anyway". Oh no he didn't. I turned and looked up at him. (He was really tall.) After about 4 hrs of travel, a few hrs of lots of sweaty but hilarious British clubbers and desperate Asian guys staring at us like we were the first Asian girls they've seen in London EVER, I was ready to retire, and in no mood for the jerk that always tries to bring me off my high on a good night. This followed:
Me: What did you say? Say it again?
Tall jerk: No, what? I didn't say anything.
Me: Did you just call me fat?
Richard's tattoo-covered equally tall/potentially intimidating friend B steps back, covering his mouth with his fist and saying "Ohhhhhhhh....[snap]"
Me: Did you? Did you say it? Me fat? (Gesturing incredulously to myself, who is half the size of most of the girls there that night)
Tall jerk: No no I said you were FLY. Not fat.
Me: "You sure? I'm pretty sure you called me fat, man."
I walk forward, Richard holds me back: "No no he said fly. Fly."
Tall Jerk: I said fly...no no ...fly...
Me: "DID YOU SAY I WAS FAT OR NOT?"
Tall Jerk, grasping at his last straws: Look, my girlfriend is half Thai, half Chinese.
Me: WTF does that have to do with anything?! You just called me FAT, dude!
Richard holds me back again. New city, new asshole- same drunken over aggressive response from me.
Somehow the rumble quietened down. I don't remember how but I like to imagine that me and Rich kicked Tall Jerk's tall ass and went like this over his crumpled form on the ground afterward:
We are such badasses.
Anyway, after that, we got our stuff and left, our good night in tact, untainted by stupid people.
Second Line: Far Less Exciting
Today, I was in my television practical class, doing a lighting workshop. We were working in groups, and took turns playing model so we could light ourselves. Our lecturer came over to help during my turn. He gave us some feedback on our placement of lights, and remarked: "See how the backlight kicks up her hair? That's great, you have great hair for TV. Your hair would make a lot of money if you sold it to make wigs." *Awkward moment* passed, after which I said, "Um, thanks!...?"
I guess if I start going too crazy with the shopping here I can always shave my head for some extra pounds haha.
Good times.
|
My newly-furnished mirror, notice any familiar faces? :)
...Okay, so the weird lines I'm about to discuss are actually pretty tame ones all things considered, one of these occurred last week, and we're only mid-way through this one, but hey, catchy headlines sell blog posts right? =p
First Line: Typical unneccessary club-confrontation ala Jane, London Style
Last Thursday I went to this club in central London called O'Nanon, mostly because they promised us free ice blocks at some point during the night- no such luck. Seems like dodgy London club event organisers are no different from dodgy Sydney club organisers. Now, I've already explained how much of a mission it is to get anywhere here, particularly when it's really really cold.
I refer you again to the tube map:
I live right outside Northwick Park station, at the top left hand corner of the map (around 2B). O'Nanon is at Piccadilly Circus, in central London (around 5D). It's quite a trek! I had an excursion near that station the next day (another blog, another day) so I decided to sleep over at my brother's place nearby after my night out, so I wouldn't have to trek it back to mine and out again. How organised of me. I dumped my pyjamas and other junk at my brother's before heading to the club. I was feeling extra pleased with myself when me and the girls found the place, without the hour long line I'd expect after many-a "I know someone who can get us in, my friend organised this, wait lemme call them, wait he's coming I swear" night at Space and other such tragic venues I always find myself sheepishly going back to.
But then. One of the things I would place on my top 10 "annoying ways to ruin a night" list, happened to me. I realised I'd left my ID at home. No, not my brother's home, which was about 10 mins away. My uni home, which was about 40 mins away. And they were gonna start charging big pounds cover charge after 11pm. I was ready to give up and call it a night, sadly admitting defeat to Richard, who convinced me that since the same thing had happened to him and he'd turned around to get his ID, so should I. Two hours later, I'm in. It was a good night, filled with dancing like this:
Tired out of my eyeballs around 4am, we waited in the long-ass 5 level queue to the downstairs cloakroom. This tall black guy tried to talk to me, or push in, or something. Rich, behind me, tired and drunk, said something like, "She's with me, man" blocking him off. THE GUY SAYS: "Its cool she's: insert-inaudible-mumbled-word-that-sounds-like-FAT anyway". Oh no he didn't. I turned and looked up at him. (He was really tall.) After about 4 hrs of travel, a few hrs of lots of sweaty but hilarious British clubbers and desperate Asian guys staring at us like we were the first Asian girls they've seen in London EVER, I was ready to retire, and in no mood for the jerk that always tries to bring me off my high on a good night. This followed:
Me: What did you say? Say it again?
Tall jerk: No, what? I didn't say anything.
Me: Did you just call me fat?
Richard's tattoo-covered equally tall/potentially intimidating friend B steps back, covering his mouth with his fist and saying "Ohhhhhhhh....[snap]"
Me: Did you? Did you say it? Me fat? (Gesturing incredulously to myself, who is half the size of most of the girls there that night)
Tall jerk: No no I said you were FLY. Not fat.
Me: "You sure? I'm pretty sure you called me fat, man."
I walk forward, Richard holds me back: "No no he said fly. Fly."
Tall Jerk: I said fly...no no ...fly...
Me: "DID YOU SAY I WAS FAT OR NOT?"
Tall Jerk, grasping at his last straws: Look, my girlfriend is half Thai, half Chinese.
Me: WTF does that have to do with anything?! You just called me FAT, dude!
Richard holds me back again. New city, new asshole- same drunken over aggressive response from me.
Somehow the rumble quietened down. I don't remember how but I like to imagine that me and Rich kicked Tall Jerk's tall ass and went like this over his crumpled form on the ground afterward:
We are such badasses.
Anyway, after that, we got our stuff and left, our good night in tact, untainted by stupid people.
Second Line: Far Less Exciting
Today, I was in my television practical class, doing a lighting workshop. We were working in groups, and took turns playing model so we could light ourselves. Our lecturer came over to help during my turn. He gave us some feedback on our placement of lights, and remarked: "See how the backlight kicks up her hair? That's great, you have great hair for TV. Your hair would make a lot of money if you sold it to make wigs." *Awkward moment* passed, after which I said, "Um, thanks!...?"
I guess if I start going too crazy with the shopping here I can always shave my head for some extra pounds haha.
Good times.
|
Posts
