Friday, October 15, 2010

Like a Fart on the Dancefloor

One thing I definitely miss since moving to London is my girlfriends. I mean, girlfriends aren't easy to accumulate, you start collecting them in high school and you hold onto those ones like a life preserver, and if you are lucky you might pick up a few good ones along the way. Luckily I attend to my friendships like a gardener pruning a rare delicate flower that could die at the slightest whim of bad weather.

Since moving to London though, I can count my friends on one hand. So I was definitely looking forward to my night of Ovaries and Oestrogen based fun.

Went out to Chinatown, had some yarns and magical egg rice from the restaurant creatively titled "Vietnamese Restaurant".. then it was time to go out and get loose. We had wandered past a venue that had people spilling out onto the pavement, people wearing name tags, and more importantly, people holding clipboards. There is always some small part of me that wants to find out if I can trick the people with their stupid high and mighty clipboards and gain access to the party I know nothing about.

So we did.. my tactic is to stand over the person holding the clipboard and use my eagle eye vision to spy a name and then pretend I am that person. Last night the clipboard police must have thought I was a right bit of spastic because I didn't seem to know my own last name. But she let us in anyway.. suckers.

Turns out the event was something called "city socialising" which pretends to be an event for people to meet new friends, but really - it is just a place to hook up and have casual sex with strangers. Talk about a sea of desperation.

Me and my pal stood around like dejected Napoleon Dynamite rejects. If this truly was a place for people to meet and find new friend/fuck buddies, than 90% of the people in the room are gonna die alone.

We decided it was beyond lame in this stupid event we blagged our way into, so we moved to the room that didn't seem so sad. Finally some guy in a suit came to chat to us so we did what any normal weirdo would do, and made up fake persona's to fuck with this guys head.

We were florists, we were exotic, we didn't even have the right names on our name tags. He didn't know who the fuck we were. He said he was a head hunter and we said we were really into trees. He eventually backed away because we made no sense, but he did say he never thought in a million years he would wander into a place like this and meet two florists. Talk about a gullible schmuck.

Then, this is part I feel mildly bad about, some cute naive girl came up to us lecherous lying vultures and wanted to make friends. Poor Sam, she gave us the spiel about having made no friends since leaving Uni 6 years ago, and being all alone in London. I truly felt sorry for her, but we made no assurances, we told her straight up that we were pathological liars who had no idea what the hell "city socialising" was and that every man in the room keeps eyeing us like a supermarket for rapists. Eventually she backed away as well.

The thing is, I can obviously 100% relate to Sam, she has no friends, I have 3 friends, if we had met in a park chasing squirrels around we might have become fast friends. Two Losers equals a great friendship. However this was not the time nor the place.

We moved our two man clown show to the bar and the fool who still thought we were florists came up to us and we felt it was time to burst his bubble and we shattered his world when said that we a) weren't florists, b) didn't own a florist in Hackney called "Lara's Flaras" c) weren't even called Lara. He seemed shocked but not totally put off, that was until I told him and his mate that I was married. He asked what Marriage was like and I told him the best advice I could give a man is to 'Marry your Best-Friend'.. profound. I pointed to his mate in the suit and said "so you should definitely snap this guy up before someone else does" and he goes "I'm not Gay!!!!!!!!" then disappeared into the darkness.... well that's no attitude towards finding true love buddy..

It's sad that announcing to the world that you are married can clear a room, like a fart on the dance floor.

We tried to leave and pay for our drinks, however the numpties behind the bar said their card machine was broken so they wrote down our phone number on a piece of paper and disappeared upstairs. Rookie mistake. So we ran out of there like the Pirates we are. Ha Ha! in your face stupid rape event.

Then we went to another bar in Soho where the normal people hang out, or should I say the incredible drug fucked. I thought I lost my phone on the run from the Rape Bar, which would be the instant karma we deserved for robbing them blind, but then I found it in my secret pocket. HAHA!

So basically what I learned is if you want to make friends in London, don't tell anyone you are married, and pretend to be a florist.

No comments: