Mormans with Lacy Tights and Short Skirts
Sing it with me folks, "I like a girl with a short skirt and a looooooooooooong jacket." Oh, yeah!
OR if I am in London (and I want to do as the Londoners do) then I have to wear super skinny jeans or stretchy pants with some kind of Robin Hood type slouchy suede boot. I kid you not this is the uniform of choice out here and every female wears it-- young or old, short or tall, skinny or fat. The other option for birds on the make is an itsy bitsy teeny weenie skirt with woven/lacy/funky/holey tights and, again, aforementioned boots. Never fear if you have no idea why I'm telling you this, it will come up again in a bit.
Super-guide (Jamie the never-lost urban-tracker) and I had a great day...we hit the gym at about 10:00 (about 4:00am CST--- which is pretty much what time my body thought it was). I had my ass kicked-in by some nutty cross-training machine that made me wish I had remained on the couch where I passed out last night in total slap-happy exhaustion. But no, I persevered and managed to get 35 very painful cardio minutes in before I headed over to the free-weights and attempted to convert kilograms to pounds so that I would know how much I could actually lift. 1 hernia later I figured out that you shouldn't go to the gym in London unless you really are awake. I left Jamie there and headed home on my own, way to go me-- I didn't get lost or hit by a car coming from the "wrong" direction.
On a much higher note we did get to Covent Garden, where I picked up a couple of gifts and then we went to the National Gallery...which was awesome. I have to admit that I also hit a Starbuck's up for a double-cappucino non-fat take-away. Tacky, I know, but I just couldn't help it-- it was right there calling my name and as we all well know they put crack in their coffee and I just needed my fix. Interestingly, if you buy your coffe and want to stay in the space you pay an extra 20 pence for the priveledge...take away is cheeper, lucky me.
Round about 18:00 (after 1 much needed power nap) Jamie and I hit the bricks in our finest...and met John at an incredibly swanky super-duper shee-shee bar/club where his co-workers had "the gold room" reserved. Oh yes--let the stupid British fun begin. Since I didn't want to stand out as an American I was wearing the uniform: itsy bitsy teeny weenie skirt with lace tights and boots. Let me just say that if I wore the same outfit in Chicago I would be: A) a freakin' moron cause it's cold and B) a ho. Also, for those of you who are interested in the cost-of-living difference the drinks Jamie and I had last night were 9pds or for you math wizzes about $18.00. No doubt my fiancee is reading this and shuddering at the thought of me spending $18.00 for one drink, well then he would really hate to know that my entree at dinner was a wopping $37.00 and that was not for a prime cut of meat either.
We met the people John works with and interestingly they didn't volunteer names even when I told them mine (I had to flat out say to every single person, "And your name is?"). Instantly, Jamie and I became "the interchangeable American woman." Basically, if I met 1 co-worker and she met another they would later think of her as Flo and me as Jamie and/or some single incarnation of each other. (No we were not dressed even remotely alike). A few people also came to the oddball conclusion that I was John's wife and she was the visiting friend (a mistake that didn't go over well and was rapidly corrected). One man, who we'll refer to as "Mr. Two Drinks at Once" decided that he loved my tights...and would not stop talking about them or staring or well, he was rather interested in them and, I guess by proxy, me. He was also interested in why I "stalked the Ramsburgs" by coming all this way to see them and then crashing at their flat. We told him we were Mormons and that I was John's second wife. Now, telling a Brit that you are Mormon means two things happen. The first is stunned silence while the second is major backslapping and high-fives for John who had scored himself two wives. I would have thought that two wives would be considered, by most men, as double the headache, but hey what do I know. We left the gold-room 'round 22:00 and trekked endless blocks to a pool pub. It was a yicky smoky place, but we stayed till 24:00. Jamie had lots of time to make new friends and it was, overall, a great great night. There was also one individual who literally sang his way through the night with random Bob Dylan lyrics...he didn't converse, he just looked at you and sang a lyric in a crappy pseudo-American drawl. I imagine that he chose Bob Dylan cause he thought we would appreiciate it as Americans, matter of fact John did. I have no words for John.
We navigated the tube back home where I counted no less than 5 piles of vomit...note to transit workers: if there were trash cans in the tubes, people might choose to throw up in them rather than all over ever single other surface, but again what the heck do I know?
Anyway, lots of love to America and more tomorrow...
PS-Dad, I had Welsh black-rib steak tonight! I'm on a Welsh roll here!
OR if I am in London (and I want to do as the Londoners do) then I have to wear super skinny jeans or stretchy pants with some kind of Robin Hood type slouchy suede boot. I kid you not this is the uniform of choice out here and every female wears it-- young or old, short or tall, skinny or fat. The other option for birds on the make is an itsy bitsy teeny weenie skirt with woven/lacy/funky/holey tights and, again, aforementioned boots. Never fear if you have no idea why I'm telling you this, it will come up again in a bit.
Super-guide (Jamie the never-lost urban-tracker) and I had a great day...we hit the gym at about 10:00 (about 4:00am CST--- which is pretty much what time my body thought it was). I had my ass kicked-in by some nutty cross-training machine that made me wish I had remained on the couch where I passed out last night in total slap-happy exhaustion. But no, I persevered and managed to get 35 very painful cardio minutes in before I headed over to the free-weights and attempted to convert kilograms to pounds so that I would know how much I could actually lift. 1 hernia later I figured out that you shouldn't go to the gym in London unless you really are awake. I left Jamie there and headed home on my own, way to go me-- I didn't get lost or hit by a car coming from the "wrong" direction.
On a much higher note we did get to Covent Garden, where I picked up a couple of gifts and then we went to the National Gallery...which was awesome. I have to admit that I also hit a Starbuck's up for a double-cappucino non-fat take-away. Tacky, I know, but I just couldn't help it-- it was right there calling my name and as we all well know they put crack in their coffee and I just needed my fix. Interestingly, if you buy your coffe and want to stay in the space you pay an extra 20 pence for the priveledge...take away is cheeper, lucky me.
Round about 18:00 (after 1 much needed power nap) Jamie and I hit the bricks in our finest...and met John at an incredibly swanky super-duper shee-shee bar/club where his co-workers had "the gold room" reserved. Oh yes--let the stupid British fun begin. Since I didn't want to stand out as an American I was wearing the uniform: itsy bitsy teeny weenie skirt with lace tights and boots. Let me just say that if I wore the same outfit in Chicago I would be: A) a freakin' moron cause it's cold and B) a ho. Also, for those of you who are interested in the cost-of-living difference the drinks Jamie and I had last night were 9pds or for you math wizzes about $18.00. No doubt my fiancee is reading this and shuddering at the thought of me spending $18.00 for one drink, well then he would really hate to know that my entree at dinner was a wopping $37.00 and that was not for a prime cut of meat either.
We met the people John works with and interestingly they didn't volunteer names even when I told them mine (I had to flat out say to every single person, "And your name is?"). Instantly, Jamie and I became "the interchangeable American woman." Basically, if I met 1 co-worker and she met another they would later think of her as Flo and me as Jamie and/or some single incarnation of each other. (No we were not dressed even remotely alike). A few people also came to the oddball conclusion that I was John's wife and she was the visiting friend (a mistake that didn't go over well and was rapidly corrected). One man, who we'll refer to as "Mr. Two Drinks at Once" decided that he loved my tights...and would not stop talking about them or staring or well, he was rather interested in them and, I guess by proxy, me. He was also interested in why I "stalked the Ramsburgs" by coming all this way to see them and then crashing at their flat. We told him we were Mormons and that I was John's second wife. Now, telling a Brit that you are Mormon means two things happen. The first is stunned silence while the second is major backslapping and high-fives for John who had scored himself two wives. I would have thought that two wives would be considered, by most men, as double the headache, but hey what do I know. We left the gold-room 'round 22:00 and trekked endless blocks to a pool pub. It was a yicky smoky place, but we stayed till 24:00. Jamie had lots of time to make new friends and it was, overall, a great great night. There was also one individual who literally sang his way through the night with random Bob Dylan lyrics...he didn't converse, he just looked at you and sang a lyric in a crappy pseudo-American drawl. I imagine that he chose Bob Dylan cause he thought we would appreiciate it as Americans, matter of fact John did. I have no words for John.
We navigated the tube back home where I counted no less than 5 piles of vomit...note to transit workers: if there were trash cans in the tubes, people might choose to throw up in them rather than all over ever single other surface, but again what the heck do I know?
Anyway, lots of love to America and more tomorrow...
PS-Dad, I had Welsh black-rib steak tonight! I'm on a Welsh roll here!
posted by Jamie & John | 5:04 PM
1 Comments:
$18...good thing I went out to find new revenue streams over the weekend. Glad to hear you guys are having a great time...I got your message, but intl calling from the cell is more of a pain than I realized. Lots of goings on hear in the 7 degree (thats Farenheit) weather. See you Monday...next trip to London, I'm in !!
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