London ... CAN SEE YOU!
Jul. 20th, 2005 12:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
d_aulnoySo, I'm in London.
I took the redeye from JFK, seated next to the Chattiest Woman in the World. She was very nice, somewhat elderly, entirely helpless, and very hungry for conversation: every five minutes, she would ask me for some trivial favor (to turn on the light, off the air, or *on* the stewardess) and it would turn into a ten minute conversation - was I from New York? Really? How did I like it? Despite that, I did finally manaage to finish the HBP (which Veronica sits behind me reading), but I'll restrain myself from sharing my opinion of it (because she's threatened to kill me if I spoil her).
Also, because I have FAR more entertaining things to post about.
Because, my life? Is, as we all know, WEIRD. And the weird? Is apparently not at all related to where I am, geographically speaking, because Le Weird C'est Moi.
Men in London are much more ... ardent ... in their admiration. I'm generally oblivious to this crap (I mean, my mother will mention it to me occasionally, and I'll be all "Wha ...?") but even *I* am noticing it, because, for one thing, I've been asked out for coffee more these last two jet-lagged days then I have for the last year.
And, broadly speaking, oky, great, cool.
EXCEPT.
Today, Veronica kindly played guide by taking me to Islington to window-shop. As we rode, we passed the Pirate Bookstore. Being us, of course, we promptly started planning out what the sections would be (Fiction, including _Piratica_, _Treasure Island_, _Robinson Crusoe_, etc., How-To, including _So You Want To Be a Pirate ..._ and _Keelhauling For Dummies_, Nonfiction, including _Smee: A Biography_, on and on and on) before getting out to shop.
(I almost killed my own jet-lagged ass by stepping out of the way in an overpriced vintage clothing store when an employee asked me to, and stepping neatly *into* the very steep stairwell, narrowly avoiding a teeter on my narrow heels that would have led to my immediate death. Veronica has warned me that, if I die, she will kill me, because she is scared of my parents.)
But on the bus-ride *back*, trying to figure out why the hell I was so tired, I got into an argument with Veronica.
"Why am I jet-lagged *now*?" I asked indignantly.
"Because you're getting OLD!" she replied triumphantly.
I, of course, argued that I was not, she argued that I was, ad infinitum (no, seriously, we cubed infinity several times) until she reasonably pointed out that the only person who didn't age was Peter Pan. I added Dick Clarke, she got in Johnny Depp, we voted in Dorian Grey ... and then we observed that the bus wasn't moving, like, at all. We promptly christened it The Bus of the Undead. Then Veronica pointed out that if I didn't age, that put me in their eternal company on the Bus of the Undead, and that one was a prepubescent boy, one was homosexual, one was old, and that that meant that I would have to sleep with Johhny Depp (Veronica is outraged by the fact that I am not attracted to Johnny Depp, and was delighted to find a way around my objections). So, naturally, I went for Dick Clarke. Veronica argued that he was a mummy, and that mummies didn't have sex.
And a man in his sixties turned around, smiled sweetly, and said "Oh, YES, WE DO." before putting on his sunglasses and getting off.
We proceeded to go bacck to tryying to decided if the zombie pirates would ride the Bus of the Undead to the Pirate Bookshop without missing a beat.
Later, we went out for a very nice dinner with her friends E and T. Conversation inluded both of the above topics, as well as the time that a student took their pants off in class to be told that the could be seen, and my internet stalker.
And, you know what?
We Called Down the Fire.
Because, on the tube ride home, as we sat there waiting for the train, joking betwixt ourselves, a voice crackled over the PA system, and I sarcastically remarked that it would be nice if the announcements were, y'know, audible.
IT HEARD.
Because, next?
The speaker right over our heads rumbled something out. And Veronica looked at me, and said, "Did that just say what I THINK it said?" And the speaker helpfully repeated itself.
It said, in the voice of slasher films, in the voice of Darth Vader, in the voice of the Announcements of the Undead: "I CAN SEE YOU."
And I *cracked up.* And she said, "Okay, we're going to DIE now, and you LAUGH?" And I said, "Well, that's my reaction to stress." And a scream sounded from the far end of the platform, and she decisively said "WALKING NOW!" and pulled my giggling ass to safety (i.e., the other twelve people at the far end of the platform who hadn't heard a thing). And, finally, the train came, and we shrieked "I CAN SEE YOU!" at one another hysterically for the entire ride, to the bemusement of many Londoners.
But, jeeeeeesus. I can get aggressive London men, I can get coincidence, but THIS? Is ridiculous.
My life is weird.
P.S. - I am going to hell for grabbing Veronica by the shoulders on the dark walk home from the tube station while screaming "I CAN SEE YOU!" in her ear.
P.P.S. - Veronica wants you all to know that I type too long and to loud and to hard.
P.P.S. - Whatever. I CAN SEE HER.
I took the redeye from JFK, seated next to the Chattiest Woman in the World. She was very nice, somewhat elderly, entirely helpless, and very hungry for conversation: every five minutes, she would ask me for some trivial favor (to turn on the light, off the air, or *on* the stewardess) and it would turn into a ten minute conversation - was I from New York? Really? How did I like it? Despite that, I did finally manaage to finish the HBP (which Veronica sits behind me reading), but I'll restrain myself from sharing my opinion of it (because she's threatened to kill me if I spoil her).
Also, because I have FAR more entertaining things to post about.
Because, my life? Is, as we all know, WEIRD. And the weird? Is apparently not at all related to where I am, geographically speaking, because Le Weird C'est Moi.
Men in London are much more ... ardent ... in their admiration. I'm generally oblivious to this crap (I mean, my mother will mention it to me occasionally, and I'll be all "Wha ...?") but even *I* am noticing it, because, for one thing, I've been asked out for coffee more these last two jet-lagged days then I have for the last year.
And, broadly speaking, oky, great, cool.
EXCEPT.
Today, Veronica kindly played guide by taking me to Islington to window-shop. As we rode, we passed the Pirate Bookstore. Being us, of course, we promptly started planning out what the sections would be (Fiction, including _Piratica_, _Treasure Island_, _Robinson Crusoe_, etc., How-To, including _So You Want To Be a Pirate ..._ and _Keelhauling For Dummies_, Nonfiction, including _Smee: A Biography_, on and on and on) before getting out to shop.
(I almost killed my own jet-lagged ass by stepping out of the way in an overpriced vintage clothing store when an employee asked me to, and stepping neatly *into* the very steep stairwell, narrowly avoiding a teeter on my narrow heels that would have led to my immediate death. Veronica has warned me that, if I die, she will kill me, because she is scared of my parents.)
But on the bus-ride *back*, trying to figure out why the hell I was so tired, I got into an argument with Veronica.
"Why am I jet-lagged *now*?" I asked indignantly.
"Because you're getting OLD!" she replied triumphantly.
I, of course, argued that I was not, she argued that I was, ad infinitum (no, seriously, we cubed infinity several times) until she reasonably pointed out that the only person who didn't age was Peter Pan. I added Dick Clarke, she got in Johnny Depp, we voted in Dorian Grey ... and then we observed that the bus wasn't moving, like, at all. We promptly christened it The Bus of the Undead. Then Veronica pointed out that if I didn't age, that put me in their eternal company on the Bus of the Undead, and that one was a prepubescent boy, one was homosexual, one was old, and that that meant that I would have to sleep with Johhny Depp (Veronica is outraged by the fact that I am not attracted to Johnny Depp, and was delighted to find a way around my objections). So, naturally, I went for Dick Clarke. Veronica argued that he was a mummy, and that mummies didn't have sex.
And a man in his sixties turned around, smiled sweetly, and said "Oh, YES, WE DO." before putting on his sunglasses and getting off.
We proceeded to go bacck to tryying to decided if the zombie pirates would ride the Bus of the Undead to the Pirate Bookshop without missing a beat.
Later, we went out for a very nice dinner with her friends E and T. Conversation inluded both of the above topics, as well as the time that a student took their pants off in class to be told that the could be seen, and my internet stalker.
And, you know what?
We Called Down the Fire.
Because, on the tube ride home, as we sat there waiting for the train, joking betwixt ourselves, a voice crackled over the PA system, and I sarcastically remarked that it would be nice if the announcements were, y'know, audible.
IT HEARD.
Because, next?
The speaker right over our heads rumbled something out. And Veronica looked at me, and said, "Did that just say what I THINK it said?" And the speaker helpfully repeated itself.
It said, in the voice of slasher films, in the voice of Darth Vader, in the voice of the Announcements of the Undead: "I CAN SEE YOU."
And I *cracked up.* And she said, "Okay, we're going to DIE now, and you LAUGH?" And I said, "Well, that's my reaction to stress." And a scream sounded from the far end of the platform, and she decisively said "WALKING NOW!" and pulled my giggling ass to safety (i.e., the other twelve people at the far end of the platform who hadn't heard a thing). And, finally, the train came, and we shrieked "I CAN SEE YOU!" at one another hysterically for the entire ride, to the bemusement of many Londoners.
But, jeeeeeesus. I can get aggressive London men, I can get coincidence, but THIS? Is ridiculous.
My life is weird.
P.S. - I am going to hell for grabbing Veronica by the shoulders on the dark walk home from the tube station while screaming "I CAN SEE YOU!" in her ear.
P.P.S. - Veronica wants you all to know that I type too long and to loud and to hard.
P.P.S. - Whatever. I CAN SEE HER.