a party in St.John's Wood

Fought the overpowering desire to go back to sleep when the phone alarm sounded at 8 a.m. But the thought of losing the coolest flat ever because we had failed to meet the landlady at 9 a.m. was enough to wrench me out of the caresses of slumber. 8 a.m.? What’s so difficult about waking up at 8 a.m. you ask, especially given the fact that I have no responsibilities whatsoever at the moment. Didn’t get back to the flat until 4:30 a.m. 3.5 hours of sleep. And no one who arrives home at such an hour spent the entire night sipping on water and sodas.

The night before Kate took Sarah and myself to some party in St. John's Wood. There was something eerie about the entire affair. The guests seemed mutely frozen in their spots - no swaying of bodies to the music, no wild gesticulation of the arms, no bellowing voices, no lilting modulation of foreign languages. I didn't even discern an arch of the brow! It was very...English, very controlled. In a word, dull. Mejor dicho, constipated.

Just when we began to slacken against the wall to engage in a half-hearted debate to conclude our mutual desire to leave, in comes a strange brownie on our wavelength who invites us to another party. None of us girls actually questioned the situation - leaving a party with a stranger to go somewhere else - until the busride home. He takes us to Paragon, a haven of well-to-do brownies sporting midriffs and designer bags while sipping on Moet and smoking shishas. On the way home, Sarah and Kate chattered away about how, as white women, they were "invisible" in said club. Preposterous! I could only think of the modern truth "white women are welcome anywhere" wink-wink. (Just watch Undercover Brother and it all falls into place). This is all made ironically hilarious by the fact that I was incredibly comfortable, perhaps for the first time in a London club (where no one was obviously pilling ). And in that moment I realized why England is so segregated, and that my experience here will entail me entering the seedy underbelly of Desiland. Oh yeah, and a girl puked on the bus. It looked like uncooked bacon bits covered in glistening yellow spit. Kate's head fell in nauseous disgust as I, unfazed and thoroughly amused, mentioned this.