In which Lisa finds where the frat boys of London are

So you remember that guy on a sticker whose picture I took way back in my first week here? I said I didn’t know who he was and made fun of his hair. I’ll refresh your memory:

That’s Boris Johnson. He’s the new mayor of London. And yes, his hair still looks like that. He recently beat out Ken Livingston, who had been mayor in town for quite some time, for the position; you probably read about the elections over in America, or, if you live in England, you probably went down to your local Ladbrokes and put a tenner on who you think would win. Well it was Boris. And one of the first things he did as mayor of this town was to instate a new law that prohibits drinking on public transportation. That’s right…prior to June 1, you could sip on some gin and juice while riding the Bakerloo line, chug a Magners on a 390 bus to Oxford Street, or guzzle Johnny Walker Black on the DLR train to London Bridge. So you can imagine the chagrin the drunks, the under-25 London population, and recently-laid-off people felt when they heard about this new law. But they weren’t going to take this one lying down, or passed out in a Soho doorway as the case may be. Oh no. They would go out with a bang. With, of course, a little help from something I like to call Facebook.

A couple weeks leading up to “Tube Day” as it was called, multiple Facebook groups were started with the sole intention of forming a party on the Underground like no Underground has ever seen before. Boris could take away their drinking rights after June 1, but Saturday May 31 would still be theirs. And so messages were sent, posted, and forwarded to more than 15,000 people and pretty soon there wasn’t a dude-mush in the city who didn’t have plans that Saturday to buy a case of Bud heavy, grab their funnel, and make their way to the nearest Circle Line station to revel in the last moments of acceptable public boozing.

But the geniuses behind the London transportation system would not be intimidated. Sure, they were aware of the impending debauchery about to be laid at their feet, but somehow they trusted the public to behave themselves and so, in all their wisdom, they did not increase the amount of employees scheduled to work that night. Well, I’m sure you all know where this is going, so let me just enlighten you with some statistics of the night:

Liverpool station closed due to overcrowding
Baker Street station closed due to overcrowding
Euston station closed due to overcrowding
Euston Square station closed due to overcrowding
Aldgate station closed due to overcrowding
Gloucester Road station closed due to overcrowding
17 arrests
4 Tube drivers assaulted
3 other members of staff assaulted
2 police officers assaulted
50 staff verbally abused or spat at
Quote from a random dude-mush: “There were people’s sweaty armpits in my face but I didn’t care because I was drinking.”
Quote from The London Times: “But what started as a happy drinking session descended into chaos as drunken revellers jammed stations, fought, vomited and damaged trains.”

I’m not saying I’m the world’s smartest person (though a case can certainly be made), but even I saw this one coming from a mile away. Oh, and while there were no statistics reported about the increase in the amount of urine found in the stations, I’m sure you can all take a stab at it.

Here are some more visuals for you:

Winky Face ;)

This weekend I was told I remind people of Sarah Silverman, Ellen Degeneres, and a penguin (not in the same sentence). I don’t mind the first two (although I’m not fucking Matt Damon), but a penguin?! Ted has been telling me that I look like a penguin since the 7th grade. Have I really not changed so much that after 24 years I still resemble the same arctic creature? And why, for the love of God, do people say penguin? Is it the combination of white/gray and black hair? The small stature? The propensity to waddle instead of walk? Or perhaps it’s my habit of laying eggs and then finding men to sit on them? Well in any case, I suppose it’s better than when my “friends” told me I looked like Filbert, the turtle from Rocko’s Modern Life.

Jews are not people to pass up a sale. This includes my mother who will call London from the Houston airport to ask me, nay TELL me, that I need a Swatch watch because they are 40% off.

I went to a barbecue/barbie/braai on Sunday (you know, to celebrate Jesus H.) and HOLY FUCK was it cold. This weekend was crazy for London weather – I saw lightning/thunderstorms, snow, hail, and sunshine all in the same day. But Sunday was mainly just cold. So I chose to warm up by standing near the grill. The only problem with this strategy (other than when some goofs drunkenly threw a phonebook on the coals) is that my peacoat now smells like burnt sausages. I forgot to wash it last night and so today I’m sure my co-workers and the people on the Tube are wondering what that disgusting, yet savory, smell is.

(Speaking of co-workers, G loved his hug this morning. He lingered a bit too long, but he’s helping me run reports today so I let him.)

After the craziness of the barbecue had died down, about 5 of us were left sitting on beanbags watching awesome YouTube music videos like Travis’ cover of Britney’s “…Baby One More Time,” Tegan and Sara’s “Umbrella” rendition, and Damien Rice doing his version of Radiohead’s “Creep.” But, and here is where you need to get ready to run to your computer, I was introduced to two videos that give “Oh My God Shoes” and “What What in the Butt” a run for their money. The first (search for ‘woman punch’) is a 9 second clip of a woman getting sucker-punched right in the face (oh MAN is it hilarious), and the second is a series of this crazy cartoon called Happy Tree Friends. A word of warning about these so-called Happy Tree Friends…even though it’s a cartoon, it was disturbing enough that I almost ralphed. I still recommend you check them out for yourself, though. Just maybe refrain from showing your children. (And yes, I’m going to hell.)

Sidenote – has anyone ever watched, I mean REALLY watched, old Betty Boop cartoons? I’m pretty confident in saying that the people who made those cartoons were on some serious drugs.

Snippet of a conversation between my mom and dad at dinner last night:
Mom: You know that woman in our condo building who loves you?
Dad: Which one?

P.S. JK about G.
P.P.S. It’s funny to type JK and mock the rest of the world. LOL.