First: I’m posting now because Kelly said she couldn’t keep looking at the post with the cheese because it was making her hungry.
I would just like to say that there is a reason Americans have a bad reputation for being mindless, soulless idiots here. But guess what? I’ve met my fair share of drunken, unreasonable Brits in New York City, too. And I bet normal British people hate them. Just like I hated the Americans who had this conversation on the way home from the Chelsea v. Napoli match:
Girl: Where do you live?
Pretentious Male UWS’er: St. John’s Wood. It’s by Paddington.
(Marissa commentary: I guess so, dude.)
Pretentious Male UWS’er: Uh, yeah, I actually kind of live in a famous neighborhood.
(Marissa commentary: Um, sorry, what neighborhood is not famous here?)
Girl: Oh? Where’s that?
Pretentious Male UWS’er: I don’t know if you’re familiar with the band, The Beatles? They have an album called Abbey Road? My place is actually on the cover.
I don’t even remember how the rest of the conversation went (except that he revealed he’d lived on the Upper West) because I was so annoyed anyone could present the POSSIBILITY that someone would not know who THE BEATLES were. Chris, as usual, was amused by how annoyed I get with complete strangers. I’m sorry—it just bothers me that they’re going to procreate and my poor kid is going to have to work with their stupid kid, or set up an HSBC account with them. And in twenty years their stupid kid is going to be on the N train being like, “I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of a building called The Empire State Building? But, I like, live right by it.”
Worst part? He wasn’t even trying to impress her because he was married. Which, yes, I also listened to him say. Listen, they were standing directly in between me and Chris and I had to look somewhere.
So, I guess the actual important thing we did yesterday was attend the Chelsea v. Napoli match in Fulham, which was super awesome. We’d been to an Arsenal v. Aston Villa Premier League match when we were here last May, and were disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm we’d heard so much about. Let’s just say: WE GET IT NOW. Last night was insane. So much swearing. By twelve-year-olds with their dads, and old men, and ladies. (Not very many ladies, though.) And the singing! I love the singing. Watching soccer is so much more lively and participatory than any other sport. It almost can’t qualify as a “spectator” sport. Because there is not a silent moment in the entire 90 minutes of play (or 120, as it was last night, and I’m still not entirely sure why, but that’s what you get CHRIS, WHEN YOU DON’T PARTICIPATE IN THE BLOG).
There were like, 20 more things I was mentally making note of last night to tell you guys about and I know you’ll be surprised to hear this, but: I forgot them.