So tired

They say that going to London changes you (or least that's what I was told when I got here). And they may be right. It's not London, per se, that has a great effect on people. It's just that when you move to any new place, you grow and change. I see now (and I knew it then) how profoundly I had stopped growing in the States. That's why this is the best decision I could have made. No one likes stagnation and I'm a much happier person these days primarily because I'm growing and evolving as a person. It's an important lesson for life.

Anyway, I went clubbing again last night! Some people may have the constitution for this, but I certainly don't. We started at the school pub and went from there. I got in about 430 this morning and was very hung-over for most of the day (and had to go to the bank to finalize my account details and class because he can't be there on Thursday). It was a rough day. Lesson learned, I suppose.

One anecdote about the evening.

We ended up at Cheers, which is an abomination in itself, but it was Monday and it was open. I had come straight from school, so I had my backpack with me. I checked it at the coat room when I got there. Well, went I went to claim it, guess what? No bag. Thus began a saga that involved me going into the coat room and digging through all the bags there, the assistant manager coming over searching for it, and finally being told that it wasn't there and I could try in the morning and hopefully it would turn up.

This was unacceptable.

My friend Justin, seeing that the assistant manager was Spanish, told me to just act naive about the whole thing and "let him do the talking". All of a sudden, Justin is talking rapid-fire in Spanish and things are happening. The real manager comes over, he buys us some drinks and tells us to just have a drink and we'll see what happens. They go off to do something.

Justin tells me that he told the guy in Spanish that I'm some rich VIP who was his "charge" for the night and that we didn't want to keep the "car" waiting much longer. He also told them that we would need to file a police report and contact the embassy. Apparently, I look young enough to pull off the whole "son of a VIP" role.

Finally, the manager comes back and is very apologetic, explains its not there, takes my number, gives me his card and is extremely accommodating. But, in the nick of time, someone returns to the bar with my bag. They had given it to the wrong person, but he was the honorable sort. Lesson learned. Don't go to a club/bar with a backpack.

I have to say, I'm enjoying clubbing, but it's not really a place to meet people. It's somewhat frustrating to be a single guy, in a city of available attractive women, and yet continue to have difficulty finding a nice girl. And when I do meet a nice girl, she's either married, engaged, or moving to Paris in 5 days.

Ok, I'm done whining. Good night folks.