A Toast

Last night was so happy/sad. My fellow Americans are leaving tomorrow.

It was our last Death Disco together at Notting Hill Arts Club and it was somehow as mind-blowing and hyphy as the first time they took me there.

All were in attendance, including this 50-person horde of maybe Australians? I got invited to a barbecue in Queen's Park this weekend, but anyway.

When I think of how we've befriended an entire bar staff and about 10 other rotating cast members at this place, I really have to laugh.

Sebastien turned 29, birthday shots and kisses. We hung around late and I learned that my new friend is friends with my old friend, rather friend's friend from Brazil.

There was a photoshoot with my name on it. Goodbyes, hugs, kisses. I can't believe one day I'm going to leave this place too. I'm going to miss walking into a bar and getting hugged and kissed hello by Frenchy, Asian-y, Julian, Neil, brown guy...I told Neil I'd be coming back with Koko, so those wacky Wednesdays aren't over just yet.

2 Days, 2 Celebrities

Just ask Coolio here, the past 2 days have been a whirlwind.

I probably had too much fun, but I only live once, right?

Right.

On Tuesday a group--no, a gang--of us from Goldsmid went to Ministry of Sound, this multiroom dance club at Elephant and Castle. We didn't get there until 1, and Shehnal's
boyfriend's friend Rishi lives with one of the DJs, so it didn't really matter.

This place was insane, you would enter one room and then be borne from it into another. All very uterine.


So this kept happening and then Rishi leads me into this large performnce space and none other than Coolio is rapping onstage, pictured above in the white tee.

Then last night we went back to Notting Hill Arts Club, where halfway through the evening a buzz sweeps the room and Johanna shrieks, "The guy from Twilight is here!!" Granted, I've not nor will I ever see Twilight, but I did learn that he was also Cedric Diggory, the one who dies in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. A sad moment in Harry Potter history. Here's Sarah talking to him, Robert Pattinson:

Everyone in this tiny underground hovel was on his nuts, and I felt kind of bad for the guy. I didn't approach him to take a proper photo. Either way, he looks like an Alaskan dog and he looked well shite in that grungy shirt. I wonder if he took home a Debbie Harry type, or just left with his less attractive (sucks for him) male friend who looked very, very bored.

Today I was nearly hit by a bus while I ran from an overly friendly giver of directions. Why should directions end in, "Do you want to get coffee?" Why can't people just be nice, and then leave you the hell alone! First the construction worker, then this fellow--enough is enough. I am but a child, okay fine, I'm a very busy young adult for the time being, and I'd much rather have a nice we're-both-from-Africa convo on the street with someone who's clearly too old and should know better. I don't want to get coffee. Coffee is a drug that should be taken to the face while getting dressed or running to catch the Tube. I'd rather read or watch a Russian movie. Yes, I am that girl.

But this was nice, the right kind of nice, and where I'd have least expected it:

"I hope you end up with someone who deserves you."

Not followed by, "like me. Wanna bang?" Just simple sincerity. The way it should be.

It's good to be around obscenely loud people, makes me miss my Pittsburgh droogs:

We're all part gay...in the dark.

Trainspotting at Notting

Words cannot explain.