I went to London, and this lousy photo was the only thing I took. :( Five minutes to boarding.
Ok. Ok.
I know I've been terrible at this blogging thing. And even more terrible at this taking photos thing, for myself and for the blog. But now that I'm sitting at the airport, and I have 40 some minutes before boarding my hellish 8.5 hour flight back to the United States, I figured I'd catch up on the, what, last week of my trip?
No time like the present - should really start working on that as a daily credo...
So London.
London.
I guess I can update you on the men - there were five.
Em - a student studying piano from Cyprus.
James - a posh advertising guy
Mathieu - the French chocolatier
James - the Brit I fell for
Jesse - an Australian with a killer ass
Em was a quickie, a dry spell relief. (Granted, my dry spells last days, maybe a week.)
James had a killer flat in a revitalized area of London. He was leaving for holiday at the Canary Islands. Had a bit of fun and wish I could've hung out with him more while I was here. Seemed like a really great guy.
Mathieu called me 'baby faggot' or 'little shit,' in the way only a 26 year old can call a 20 year old. I met him to see the Sex and the City movie for the third time (to do research for my last column really), then we went back to his. A bottle of Moët later, and the rest is understood. Haha. He was the first French person I ever met. I didn't bother attempting to address him in his language, even though he chided me to. Ended up meeting up with him for a second night. He brought me a shopping bag full of chocolate: chocolate slabs, chocolate dippers, chocolate pearls, and more. He shipped me some photos he took that are so Mathieu. Another personality I wish I could've spent more time with. I finally met cocaine for the first time as well, with Mathieu, although I didn't try it myself. Anything that makes your mouth taste like asparagus without actually eating asparagus - not for me.
James.
I don't know where or how or why, but I never expected to fall for a guy who lives, according to the boarding pass laying on my seat here, 3,763 miles from home. I think 20 miles is impossible, most of the time. But I met him. And then I met his boyfriend. And then there was no boyfriend. (Not my fault, I was reassured.) And then he moved into his own flat. And, well, there's only one proper way to celebrate a new flat with a guy you've fallen for. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. :) More on James later.
Jesse was a stop on the way home from work, and we were both just fine with that.
So where to start.
Work got better. I mean, I still sorted mail and read the newspaper for people, but I did it very, very well. My boss was pleased to have another guy on the features staff for once. He was fun. I got to manage the editor for an afternoon, and I hope I did that well. She's fabulous. In retrospect, you don't really realize, as you're dealing with her daily, that she's one of the most powerful presences in the fashion world. It kind of hits me now sitting here in the airport. I saw a woman reading Bazaar on the way in. I smiled, wanting to peek over her shoulder to discover which story she was reading just so I could go, "Oh, I know that person. They're great, really."
James and I went to see Wicked, which was just as good as seeing it in Cleveland. The Glinda actresses in the two versions I've seen have not been up to par, but the Elfaba actresses always seem to be phenomenal. I was talking to James afterwards, and it makes sense actually - Elfaba is the star so more attention should be paid to casting her role. There were these two brats - American, I think - sitting in the row behind us who criticized the first act very vocally during intermission. "This Elfaba, she's like a half step sharp all the time." "Even Idina Menzel, she was the original Elfaba, is so flat on the soundtrack." I really wish appropriate to randomly smack pretentious teenagers. Granted, I'd be permanently bruised from my own smart remarks over the last six years or so, but still - what fucking bitches.
Lizelle took me to both a pub and a Chinatown Chinese restaurant this week for lunch. The pub was just empty, but the experience fun. Lizelle is from South Africa, and I guess I probably sounded the ignorant American when I asked what it was like to live during apartheid. It's like asking anyone what living through a history is like while they lived through it - it was just the way it was. It was interesting to gain her perspective on life in her country, and life in England, through the eyes of another once foreigner. I am eternally grateful for meeting her and the opportunity she gave me. She's an avid tennis player, and I'm thinking of sending her a racket that she wants as a thank you token. And some Hershey's Kisses - when Bazaar's deputy art director went to the States last, she asked him to bring her some. He did, but she was out the day he returned and office seemed to consume the entire bag for her. I'll send her a pound or so, I think.
I saw the most lovely film Friday night with James, after we spent the afternoon at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich. Saw a planetarium show (yes, indulging both our nerdy sides) about black holes. The film at night was "The Edge of Love," starring Kiera Knightley, Cillian Murphy, Sienna Miller and Matthew Rhys. The story of Blitzed London, everlasting love and a sort of coming of age post-maturely. Here's a link to the official site: http://www.theedgeoflove.co.uk. It's not slated for a U.S. release, but I hope it does come over. I'm going to be getting the DVD either way, and I'll probably have to import the soundtrack as it's too late to get it now.
Twenty minutes until I'm on the plane. I do believe I am the only person my age traveling on this flight. It's a booked full flight, but there are certainly not 120 people sitting in this waiting area. Only about 50, including myself, at present time. On the flight here, I had an entire three seats to myself. It'd be great to have it again on the way home. I did forget to buy some sleeping pills - again. I really need to sleep, or not really I guess. When I arrive home, it'll be 8 p.m. here, so I'm just waiting to crash at about 7 p.m. Ohio time. We'll see. I was up late last night.
I don't know what more there is to say. I have no idea what to write for my column this week. I feel I may have more to say about London. Some sort of London wrap up. Maybe. Again, I apologize for the patheticness of this blog. Next time I'll be a mojo blogger extraordinaire.
So, at least for now. Thanks for reading. Facebook me, or something.
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