Hey, dudes. Permission to speak candidly?
I had a crazy week in London. And now I’m on my way to Texas.
So let’s talk about London. I saw great friends and had a wonderful time; however, I missed the final four hours on the second day of the conference because my colleague lost his backpack [“rucksack”] the night before in a taxi while we were together. How awful, right?
It was Wednesday night. I was sober and hungry. I just wanted dinner. Instead, I got an adventure on my way to The Alibi. We stepped out of the taxi and my colleague’s backpack drove off inside the cab.
And I had no idea where we were… but I quickly learned that Kingsland High Street is sorta like an affected, foreign copy of Brooklyn. Lots of hispters and emaciated girls. Vegans. Kids who need a shower. Although it has the look and feel of ubran NYC, it never quite gets the punk-outcast-artist vibe right.
So we walked into The Alibi and god knows the place is over now that I’ve been there.
There were young boys in skinny jeans and girls with piercings and tattoos. I looked around and thought, “Hang on, I’m with three guys in blue sport jackets and I’m wearing a skirt from Nordstroms. Fuck. I’m old.”
There was also a young lady with us who was wearing a very professional outfit and high heels. After a long day of TruLondon and company of lovely people who paid for her drinks, her ankles were rolling in. And men were noticing. Quite a few of them. While it’s hard to get kicked out of a sketchy bar in London, security guards walked around a few times and gave me the look that said, “You’re the mum. Take care of this.”
Wow, how did I get to be the mum? And where’s my fucking dinner?!
Honestly, the girl was lovely. She was just trying to have fun at a conference. I’ve been there. Does anyone remember when I started telling people that I was Laurie Fucking Ruettimann and it was not ironic? Good times. Thank god I have good friends who sent me home.
So I ‘paid it forward’ with this young woman and insisted, quite literally, that she leave the bar and get into a taxi. I offered to pay her taxi fare and the offer was non-negotiable but getting to the taxi was a journey. As we walked to the taxi stand the woman was yelling —
I DON’T BELIEVE IN GOOD!!!! I DON’T BELIEVE IN GOOD!!!!!! LONDONERS AREN’T LIKE YOU. WE ARE CYNICAL. I DON’T BELIEVE IN GOOD. I DON’T BELIEVE IN GOOD.
Okay, okay, okay. Get in the bloody taxi.
And I still never got dinner. I went back to my hotel room about 2AM and ate some stale Starburst that I found in my briefcase.
So fuck that — I don’t believe in good, either.
And I’m beat.
My week ahead? Well it must be better than the last two weeks—funerals, drunk conference attendees and expensive text messages in the UK.
What’s up with you? Anything new and fun?