Great Brotain

Hey folks. This post technically counts because I am sitting at Charles de Gaulle Int'l waiting to leave for New York. Despite France's best efforts, I made it to my gate on time, as the crack security staff decided today wouldn't be a great day to show up for work. Not to sound morbid, but for all you terrorists out there, the security at CDG is currently being run by "super emergency security personnel", a/k/a the cashiers from the duty free wine store, so now's your chance! This post's another Sauce's Time Machine Experience™, which means you should sit back, relax... and prepare to find yourself in London 3 weeks ago! Being that in France, if they hear a holiday is celebrated in America they make every effort to completely ignore it (see: Halloween, Hannukah) I decided to take my talents up to London for the Thanksgiving weekend. Thus, I dragged my tired butt to the Gare du Nord at 8am on November 23rd to hop on the Eurostar. This trip actually had a dual purpose: not only did I want to enjoy some of London's finest imitation Thanksgiving fare with my aunt and uncle, but I was also visiting some special amis et amies from my high school days, headlined by none other than Brooke "I like to cook" Baldinger! BB quite graciously invited me to stay with her and her 8 (!) girl roommates for the weekend, which I accepted literally instantaneously. What can I say, Sauce loves the ladies. Well, actually, before I got to her place, I spent two nights chez my aunt and uncle, who live in Notting Hill, which is SO COOL! (UPDATE: IN THE USA NOW. I FLEW HOME.). Uma Thurman lives a block away from them, I kid you not. After getting into St. Pancreas train station, the weirdest/most pancreasy train station in Europe, I met up with Uncle Phil, who has the same name as the dude on Fresh Prince but is neither black nor old nor a Beverly Hills resident. With my uncle, I went to the Royal Automobile Cub, which is like a social club for rich old white dudes. It is located on the Pall Mall, which is a real place, and it looks like the kind of place where Sean Connery knocks back a few cold ones before banging Ms. Moneypussy. After setting a new low for the club by walking in with my Orioles hat on, I went to their fitness center, followed by the sauna/steam room, which was AWESOME. It's exactly like the scene in Eastern Promises where Viggo Mortensen gets attacked by the Chechnyans, minus all the blood/Eastern Europeans. Basically, you heat up in the hot rooms, then you can go into the steam rooms, which are so hot it is hard to breathe, and then you shower off in a giant communal room, and then you can go to the plunge pool to cool off. It's basically a massive Jerry Sandusky wet-dream scenario. What's more, afterwards you can shave in the locker room, as they provide razors/lather, and also comb your hair with some crazy English pomade. All that's missing is a little Chinese man to trim your ball hairs. Maybe I missed him. Apparently I wasn't there on a coed day. Since this is 2011, you have to let women come, so 3 days a week women are allowed at the club. And they partake in all the sauna/shower activities. With. No. Clothes. On. I'm moving to London. Enough of the one-percenter shit, though. After Thanksgiving dinner (an admirable effort by a nice English restaurant), I went off to Brooke's to spend the next 3 days. She has an awesome place, right next to Chipotle, and what's more, her and her friends like to pah-tay. I was probably drunk for 75% of that weekend. I literally don't remember the first night. What I do remember is going to this place called "Church" on Sunday (not the God place). It's a club/bar that's open noon-4 on Sundays, intended for heathens to come shitfaced, in costume, and do bad things. Brief list of activities: 10:30am: wake up, get dressed, take 9 shots. 11:30am: meet Australian professional rugby players on the Tube. They are also going to Church. One of them is wearing a full-body elastic suit designed like the Australian flag. 12: get to Church. I am in line behind 4 people dressed like Jesus. For some reason we buy more alcohol. 12:30: accosted by group of gay dudes dressed in down vests, thongs, and glitter. Narrowly escape. 1:00pm: Stripper with literally the biggest tits I have ever seen comes on stage. No idea why. 2:00pm: put on Tutu. Pose with Brooke & friends, who are also in tutus. Finish 4th beer. 3:00pm: I am dead.

I somehow made my train that afternoon, and sobered up at midnight. Folks, if you go to London, go to Church. It will make your trip. Big shout outs to Brooke and friends, who made that trip unreal. Ok, I literally am not in France anymore, but I'll probably post a couple more times. Keep the dream alive and all that. Also solidarity with AI, who is I-don't-know-where, but it definitely isn't here. Ok bye!

P.S. Vinay, hope you've enjoyed the blog! Have a great next semester!