One of the funniest Ugly Betty lines ever. A loved up Vanessa Williams waltzes in wearing (shock!) jeans. Her assistant is shocked! Shocked!
“Jeans?”
“Aren’t they fabulous! (Boyfriend’s name that I can’t remember) took me to an outlet mall. I shopped next to fat people!”
I haven’t talked about this developing situation yet– but it has me more worried about things than I have been in a long, long time. . .
Two years ago today I arrived in London. One year ago I started my new job. Nothing so auspicious this year. . . although I do know that if there were to be a zombie attack at my place of employment that Ewan would be the man to stick next to because he has the zombie escape route all figured out.
According to Ewan you need to always be prepare for the unexpected zombie brain offensive.
Friday night Claire and Dan drove down to see us and we went to a Japanese in our hood and shared two bottles of wine between three of us.
After we went to The South London Pacific and drank wicked strong concoctions with little cocktail umbrellas. The cocktail umbrellas ended up as hair decorations, as they do when you imbibe wicked strong drinks with dark rum and pureed fruit.
It was the fifth anniversary of the bar and the joint was jumping. Stuart was on call so when he got paged to go deal with work drama there were no boo-hoos from him since he didn’t dig the place. (I haven’t quite decided if it was a real page or not.) In any case it didn’t matter as Claire, and Dan loved the place so we happily twisted the night away and played a few games of table football (foosball).
A bit after two we found ourselves standing outside and realized that each of us hadn’t wanted to leave, but had thought that one of the others had wanted to leave. We considered going back in but decided to hail a black cab and go home instead.
Plopping into bed, I decided to hit on the man that was lying there. Luckily it was Stuart. At two-thirty in the morning, he wasn’t having any of it.
Curled against him, feeling rather. . . frustrated. . . my arm draped on top of the duvet across him, I felt something. Something that normally would lead a girl to think that even though it was two-thirty in the morning that the boy laying next to her may indeed be. . . er. . . interested.
“Then what is that?†I patted the lump under the duvet.
“THAT is my arm.†Stuart lifted his arm and waved it.
“Oh.â€
We laid there in the dark.
“You do know that was a compliment then. Confusing the two.â€
“Go to sleep Thomas.â€
In a few moments I was snoring.
Upon reflection, people that don’t drink in the Rat Pack sense of the word get to live also.
That is all.
Well, not quite all. . . All y’all know that the other post was tongue firmly planted in cheek, yes? Other than the grathiath people. They deserve a good pistol whipping.
“His name is Blane? Oh! That’s a major appliance, that’s not a name!” Ducky in Pretty in Pink
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I’m white. What I mean is. . .I’m lame. Being white is like being one of the bad guys in a 1980’s John Hughes flick. Someone named Mitzy, Bitsy, Bunny or Blane.
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There are times when I don’t feel white. There are times when I feel that I have shaken off of my drabness and I am almost cool. It usually occurs when I feel superior and smug in the wake of someone who is even whiter than me.
Today it happened at lunch in a tapas restaurant, Mar Terra around the corner from the salt mine in Soho. I was sitting there happily reading The Guardian when two men and two women having a business lunch were seated behind me. They had east-ender mockney accents - one of those accents that when you hear it, you don’t think it’s possible that there are people walking around speaking English that way- Not a cute Michael Cain cockney, more of a chalkboard scratching, throw yourself off a cliff rather than listen to it a moment longer Jade Goody.
Of course there was the ubiquitous, “What are you doing this weekend†talk. They were all getting pissed (drunk). The UK is like University (College) where people consider getting drunk to be a social activity. My paradigm is slightly different- I go out and hang out with friends for dinner and or drinks and sometimes (often) I end up off my tits. However, it is never my goal to end up off my tits. In contrast, an Englishman typically will have the end goal of not remembering his entire Friday and or Saturday because of the volume of alcohol they have imbibed.
My first smirk came when one of the women said that she can’t eat spicy food.
One.
In my mind the food in Spanish restaurants is not spicy. Garlicky? Yes? Spicy? No.
Two.
I know that most people here seem to think that food in Spanish restaurants is REALLY spicy. Do I think they are nuts? Yes. But if you think the food in a restaurant is spicy and you don’t do spicy food (because you are white and lame) WHY ARE YOU THERE?
Three.
I think people that don’t like spicy food are on principal useless and should be shot. I realise that this might be a bit extreme, but ultimately it is for the better good. It’s Darwinism, except different.
Smirk part deux came when after they ordered and they said gracias. There is nothing wrong with saying gracias per se. . . but they said it with the Castilian lisp, “Grathiath.†All four of them did it.
I had a sudden flash to the Enchilada Sketch on SNL with Jimmy Smits. He’s in a room with all of his WASPy colleagues. . .
Julia Sweeney: “Why don’t we order some MEHEEECAN food?”
Dana Carvey: “I’m in the mood for a burrrrrrrito!”
When Jimmy Smits orders an enchilada, no one understands him until he says “EN-CHEEEEEE-LAAA-DA.”
So I laughed inside at their whiteness and their lives that revolved around their Blood Alcohol level.
Me, what am I doing this weekend? Claire and Dan are in town so we are going to dinner then we are off to a tiki bar, The South London Pacific. I can’t wait for their yummy cocktails. I mean. . . it’s not about getting drunk. I just like the taste you see. . .and the company. . .
Not only do we have cable, we have a DVR (Digital Video Recorder)!!!!!!!!
I know c’est tres pathetique mais, of the things that I miss about my old LA life– one of the things right up there on the list is cable and my dvr (other items? friends, my car, my cats, NPR on Saturday and Sunday mornings, hopping on the subway to Hollywood and Vine and walking over to the Arclight to see a movie- WITH NO COMMERCIALS AND LOTS OF PREVIEWS LIKE GOD INTENDED, cheap Thai massages and Bass beer. I know Bass is an English beer but I haven’t yet found the stuff in London. The yobs here like their Stella.) but now– now we have cable!!!! MMMWWWAAAAHHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAH -that’s my evil laugh. . .
Because of the fight between Virgin and Sky, we don’t have Sky movies at the mo, but I’m sure it will be resolved at some point.
Until then, we have CNN, we have Bravo, we have the Discovery channel.
So what do I do when I dig around at the buffet of TV viewing that I have now available to me? I put on Grand Designs.
Grand Designs is this fantastic show where you see people in the process of building their dream home from start to finish with all the drama and tears and then in the end you get the big reveal of how pretty it is and all the drama and the tears and the thousands of pounds seem somehow worth it and you covet their house- except for a recent houseboat episode. That was a disaster. (Can you tell I watch this show a lot? A 2nd fav of mine is Location, Location.)
After a few moments Stuart says, “Didn’t we have this before?” (Before with our freeview box).
“Yes. . .”
“Thomas, we have all these channels. Put it on something else!”
I threw my toys out of the pram, “But I LOVE this show!”
I’m about to watch The Daily Show with my boyfriend Jon Stewart. Even better than watching The Daily Show with my boyfriend Jon Stewart, I have set the DVR to record every Daily Show with my boyfriend Jon Stewart. . .
I is sooo happy!
Click away if you don’t. . .
But if you do–
Look. . .
At
My
Foot. . .
AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Ain’t it purdy? 
Ten days after I got trod on it’s still really bugging me so I went to the doc today and they sent me to get it x-rayed (good news- the radiologist didn’t see anything. Will see what the doc says)
Went to Bolingbrook hospital for the x-ray. The place has got to be haunted. It was built in 1880 and it is a creepy quiet place. It is The Shining of hospitals.
I need to try and not hurt myself anymore. I have this vision of myself shuffling along in a zimmer frame (walker).
gnome
Originally uploaded by treefrog girl.
Ben, one of my work buddies from back home found a picture that he had taken a few years ago and sent it to me today. . .
While I was away on vacation in Hawaii he kidnapped my desk garden gnome.
You will be happy to know the gnome was returned to me although he does get a little jumpy if you make any sudden movements.
Any donated funds are not tax deductable and will most likely be used to purchase something that is very bad for her.
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All words © Nicole Thomas unless otherwise credited.
Not that I think that anyone would be silly enough to steal my ramblings, but in case you may be thinking about it. . . the very act of my writing this means that I own the copyright. Really. Look it up.
So, please don't plagiarize. It just ain't cool. And what I say just isn't that interesting. Trust me. Most of my friends don't even read this.
That being said, I do subscribe to the T.S. Eliot philosophy of "Immature poets borrow, mature poets steal." There is a difference between Stealing and stealing. . . This is not to say that I am mature. If anything. . . I'm rambling aren't I? That's what I do. I ramble. So, yeah. I'll shut up now.
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