Idiosyncracies and such

We have company. Across the courtyard-like space inside of our apartment we have 4 flat-mates from the UK. Most are from London, and three are women, while the remaining Londoner is a boy who happens to play for my team. Yesterday after screaming to each other from opposing windows I talked to two of the girls, Julia and Emma, who seemed like oodles of fun. Being as one of the girls is named after one of my favorite pop stars of all time, I started up that always fun and familiar conversation. It was moving enough for them to invite us over to watch Sex and The City (which is what Chris and I were watching in our apartment at the same time). After Chris made fun of me for being social and talking to the Brits, I got the boy dressed and we went over.

Most of the girls were really fun and I enjoyed them tons. They had an issue of Now magazine, in which there was a feature on Emma, additionally a not so flattering picture of Victoria Beckham was on the cover. At one point my favorite English girl, named Mimi, and I went to their Piazza facing window, and started chanting to people on the streets in Italian. To any boys that walked by we’d ask if they knew where the hot boys were, to which they usually replied “right here.” Then Mimi and I would discuss if they were worthy of coming up, and we’d ask them if they were omosessuale, and then we’d reply to the guy (regardless of the answer) that “sorry, not hot enough to come up”…at which point laughing would ensue. That was fun for about 15 minutes.

It wasn’t long until the gay English bloke found out that Chris and I liked the boys. This is when things started to change. He kinda became an accessory to Chris and Edgar. The type of accessory that doesn’t quite go with the outfit and that should really be taken off.

After a little more interaction with the girls, we decided to go, as we had plans to attend the always fabulous Christy and Ronita Thursday night bash. Brit boy decided to tag along. At this point, the accessory was severely holding back the otherwise perfect ensemble. In all fairness though, Brit boy had not yet shown his uber levels of sketchiness that he was about to unleash at the unsuspecting partygoers.

When we arrived to Christy and Ronita’s apartment we were warmly greeted, as always, and it was absolutely wonderful to see the welcoming faces of some of our best NYU friends. Their parties are nothing short of spectacular. Jolly Sid’s presence always makes me happy. Jules also arrived, with her luscious locks and sexy exuberance that personifies every sexual fantasy I have ever had. Twas a hot affair, I’m not gonna lie…we be some happenin’ bitches.

As is customary, Christy and Ronita made sure that every guest got as crunk as they possibly could. The place was bumpin’ and there were more people than there were chairs. I was at a corner somewhat squatting down, when Brit boy (after initially hinting at it), in a flirtatious way told me to sit on his lap. I kinda pretended not to hear and kept partying. A few minutes later he told me to sit on his lap again, and I said “no thanks, I’m fine.” To which he responded “what, am I that horrendous?” I didn’t fall for his guilt trip and went with Christy without responding to him. Truth is, he was not horrendous, yet he was far short of being David Beckham, Pierce Brosnan, Hugh Grant, Orlando Bloom, and maybe even Alan Cumming. I just didn’t want to sit on his lap. Apart from his creamage-ensuing accent, there was no attraction there.

After several hours of partying, due to our NYU site trip to Florentine villas in the morning, we decided to call it a night. On the way home, someone asked what the Brit boy’s name was, to which Jasmine responded Humus. This triggered a hilarious response from Julia and Chris, who not only thought it was absolutely hysterical, but additionally they had an inside joke about the chick pea creation, that was all too much for them, and they fell on the floor laughing. If there was ever a time that we felt like drunken American kids in Florence, this was the time. In retrospect it probably wasn’t good that they fell on dirty Florentine streets, but when the buzz is a goin’ logic is always the first to go. Brit boy’s name wasn’t exactly humus, but something very close…we’re still trying to remember. He had given me a note with his number on it (he also drew his number on my hand with a pen), where I could have read his name…but alas I think it got trashed pretty quickly.

As we continued our walk, every respectable notion I had of the English (which was considerable) was flushed down the toilet. Humus, while trying to woo me says “I need to take a poo.” I didn’t respond, but walked farther away from him, and closer to Chris and our friends. At this point Humus was no longer a bad accessory, but a stomach virus whose verbal diarrhea was really doing my head in.

We said bye to the girls when we arrived at our apartment, and Chris and I entered our corridor only to see that Humus was still there…he wanted to come up. At this point Chris and I are trying to figure out the best way to tell him to leave. We hadn’t hooked up, sat on each other laps, or taken a poo together….clearly he had not earned to right of coming up. I then decided to be polite (as Edgar is usually unable to be bitchy to people when in person) and I told him I was going to bed, that I’d talk to him later. He finally left.

Peace, Spice, and Adventure,
-Edgar

Tags: Travel

This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 5th, 2005 at 9:26 am and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.