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.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-07-19 11:43 pm (UTC)And also, you've made the whole subway-slasher-flick interlude sound a lot less creepy than it was.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 12:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 12:27 am (UTC)I've completely missed the student/pants thing. Que?
You know, I think I prefer the "I CAN SEE YOU" over that hyper-chipper "Stand back from the closing doors!". That guy is WAY to happy about doors closing.
Keep up the good work.
P.S. - Pretty sure Robinson Crusoe wasn;t a pirate. A wrecker, perhaps, but not a pirate. Hard to be a pirate when you are wearing goats.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 03:37 am (UTC)oh, god, thank you for being the one to say it, because I was smothering my anal-retentive need to correct, particularly strong since RC conjures up horrible memories for me - half of them having to do with it being so damned boring in parts, especially after he leaves the island.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 06:59 am (UTC)You know, my mind had completely rejected the part where he leaves the island...
Did you ever read the story of the real Crusoe, Alexander Selkirk? Much less building and a lot more weirdness. His spent the majority of his time on the island carving his name into trees and dancing with his cats.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 07:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 04:32 pm (UTC)Hey, any books on parrots in there? Breeding, care and how to properly nail them to your shoulder?
no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 07:56 am (UTC)"I've completely missed the student/pants thing. Que?"
One of us had a student who took his pants off. In class. He claimed to be "too hot" and he was wearing bike shorts underneath, but, c'mon, dude. We *can* see you.
And, second:
"You know, I think I prefer the "I CAN SEE YOU" over that hyper-chipper "Stand back from the closing doors!". That guy is WAY to happy about doors closing."
Dude, I think Veronica was right about the fact that I made this too funny (but, then again, the internet stalker, the string of weirdo dates, and other sundry bad situations seem to have inspired me to crack wise, too, so it's a pretty persistant character trait). In reality, it was incredibly creepy, and I wanted to call the cops to report him.
And, p.s., after THAT experience? I, too, was happy about the doors closing to *get us out of the psychotic station*. I can totally see where that guy is coming from now ...
no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 04:36 pm (UTC)and speaking of heat - when I next hear the "stand back from the closing doors" maybe I should mentally add "because the car is airconditioned and the platform is hot enough to roast a pig, goddammit."
You have to remember you are in england, dear. Calling the cops would only result in uniformed men in silly hats showing up and doing a canon of "what's all this then".
Ha! Vengeance is MINE!
Date: 2005-07-20 02:40 am (UTC)And jesus, if that's just your FIRST day in town (or so), can't wait to see what's in store for the remaining 13... :)
mac
Re: Ha! Vengeance is MINE!
Date: 2005-07-20 07:57 am (UTC)I know *I* am.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 08:14 pm (UTC)(And as we used to say when I was young: "ROCK ON!")
PRO
Date: 2005-07-21 02:53 am (UTC)so, exactly how many invites to coffee are we talking about?