English: The Language of Love

I´m sure many of you are wondering about Sojourner´s romantic life abroad. After all, what is this blog other than sordid stories of awkward pseudo-romantic and pseudo-sexual interactions? I promise I will not disappoint the pervy ones who enjoy hearing about my "dating." There´s a lot to tell, so you may want to read this in bits.

In summation: The Brits like the blacktress-- especially the American ones.

My first night, my lovely hostess Aditi took me to an Australian bar called THE WALKABOUT. Now, many of you know how much I love a good theme, and this establishment took theirs to the max. The tvs on the wall played loops of tanned people surfing, they had all the local beers on tap, and they even had a ´down under bar´which was downstairs and had kangaroos on the walls.

We showed up (fully pre-gamed, cause the pound ain´t no joke) and took in the multi-culti scene. They were closing early, unfortch, but we were directed to the sister location in Leicester Square (by the way, that word is pronounced ´lester´-- why, i don´t know). We ordered a pitcher and I noticed a random wearing a Yankees hat. I called him over and asked him why he was repping my homeland (the sweater tied around his waist was a dead giveaway that he wasn´t American). Turned out he was from Chile, and we got to practice our Spanish as 10 people-- clearly towards the tail end of a drunken office party-- got crunked on dranks and danced to early 90s American pop hits.

As Aditi and I headed to the bar to contemplate ordering something else toxic and delicious, the dudes in front of us were ordering. Overhearing our American accents, they turned and said, ¨Do you want a shot?" Clearly, I took this shot with eagerness and we ended up chilling with the office crowd, a mix of Brits and Aussies. Before I know it, a 6´4" tall glass of English milk starts dancing with me-- he had a Hugh Grant vibe, with spectacles and paleness. His name was Tristan and he was a barister--aka lawyer. He immediately asks if I want to go outside with him. HAHAHA! I may have been foreign, but I wasn´t born yesterday, Hugh.

After more dancing, we left the dance floor so I could get my English makeout. It was decent. He kept being verbose and English, asking me before he did anything, and kept referring to me as "delectable." He was even asking me to go home with him! eep! I explained to Tristan that in FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL, Hugh was far more bumbling and awkward with Andie McDowell, and I expected less masculinity from him-- and I´d just gotten here and was no way in hell going to the random beaudoir of a strange man, no matter how close to Piccadilly Circus he lives.

More making out occurred and then Aditi and I left. While Hugh and I did the requisite cell number exchange and he told me I "meant a lot to him," I left it as the one-time thing it was meant to be. You can imagine my surprise when, while on my "magical pub discovery journey" with my English husband (more on him later) Hugh/Tristan called me to tell me what a great time he had and asked if I was available for tonight. As much as I was flattered and shocked by his follow-through, I´d much rather chill with my friends than go running after a random Hugh Grant-- it was my vacay, after all; I spend enough time running after dudes in America.

Cut to Saturday night: Celebrating my last night in London, I figured that the best thing to do would be to go out all night, seeing as I had such an early flight to catch to get to Spain. Aditi and I head went out in her neighborhood, first heading to a cocktail bar to just check out the scene. While in the loo, I met this great girl named Michelle, who said she´d help me get my British kiss on my last night. Clearly, we became new best friends, and we ended up going out with her and her crew, which included two random dudes and a woman who Aditi and I called ROCKSTAR. She had short platinum blond hair, wore shiny patent leather pants with converse high tops, and a black wife beater. She was rock n roll personified.

And, in true rock n roll fashion, she directed us to a bar called THE FUNKY MUNKY. I kid you not. At the entrance, I saw a tall, strapping gentleman having his cigarette. I thought nothing of it (other than "holla at an international playa!") and went inside to dance and be debaucherous. Another bathroom run led me to two British girls who wanted to take a photo with me because I was from New York City. This was the second time this had happened to me on my journey, so I was less surprised. Sojourner´s face will be featured in an Australian birthday album, an English office party website, and now probably on two random chicks´MySpace profiles.

Anyway, somehow I end up talking to the tall British man once inside and he bought me a DRANK. We end up smooching, I explain that I´m heading to Spain the next day. He then says he will come to Barcelona and stay with me. HA! Can you imagine?! He swears he´s serious, we exchange contact info, and I head out.

So, that´s that. Fun times, right? There was also the 39 year old Irishman who kept telling me I was very curvy and had a hot body. He looked kinda like Shrek´s half brother, so we won´t discuss that.