Tag Archives: wildlife

Wizards, fox-roaming, and a mild cocaine addiction

30 Nov

I knew she was drunk when she repeatedly picked up the receiver in the public phone booth to ask for the Minestry of Magic.

When that didn’t work, she started hollering:

“Dumbledore, Albus.  Just trying to make this damn phone booth work m’am.  Just a muggle in need.”

It was two days after Christmas.  It was cold.  My cousin and I were stalking the streets of London in search for excitement.

Being two outgoing American ladies, we managed to finagle our way into a conversation that led to an invitation for pub-crawling.

Obviously this was a good plan.

Or not.

By the time the invitation was offered, we had both consumed several beverages.  The woman suggesting this great adventure was British and judging by the manner in which she kept licking her gums and disappearing into the bathroom-I’m guessing she was a little too into powdering her nose.

But no matter, her friends were fun.  They knew a club.  We chose to follow.

It was on the trek to the establishment when my cousin and I fell behind due to her fascination with the phone booths.  Well, that and my obsession with spotting a fox.

I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out.

Wild foxes roam about London.  Seriously.

I saw one in front of the National Gallery one day that stopped traffic.  The thing was so tame it wandered up to a woman on her cell phone and started sniffing her shoes.  She glanced down expecting to see a dog, but found a red-furred carnivore lazily seeking sandwich crumbs.

So while my cousin sought out Hogwarts’ finest, I set about looking under parked cars for Robin Hood.

It took us some time to catch up to the others.

By the time we did we could no longer locate our sniffing companion.

Not that it mattered.  The club was interesting and full of characters.  I talked to a man who claimed to have seven toes on one foot.  She managed to get herself tangled up in a conversation where she attempted to convince a British chap that she was speaking with a proper English accent.

She didn’t succeed and I didn’t get a proper toe reveal.

As the club grew stale, she and I wandered back outside in search of a taxi and the warmth of our beds.  Giggling in the car, we came to the conclusion that we’d just started our own Christmas tradition.  Forget roast goose, with pub-crawling, wizard-seeking, and near fox-spotting this was true holiday bonding.

If Dickens was watching, I’m sure he was proud.

Taming the lioness

19 Nov

He looked like Johnny Depp.

He was writing in the corner of the coffee shop.

I was 22, I was single, and he was smoldering.

It was a recipe for disaster.

Donning his white t-shirt, faded jeans, and leather jacket, the perfectly messy bed-head and unshaven chiseled jawline were far too overpowering for my bad-boy prone nature.

When he sauntered over and gave me the napkin with his handwritten poem, smiled, and asked me to dinner, I stammered a yes while gazing doe-eyed at him.

silly doe, you have no idea what you're doing...

 

For the record this was not the first nor last time my idealism would get me into trouble.  But that is neither here nor there.

Three days later I met him at a restaurant.

Donning stilettos, dark jeans, a sexy top and my own leather jacket I met up with Casanova at a bar.

It took him approximately two minutes before it began.

At first I didn’t think I had heard him correctly, so like an idiot I leaned in across the table.  Pressing his lips next to my ear, the guy I had gazed so longingly at whispered this into my ear:

“What’s it like knowing you have the attention of every man in this room?  What’s it feel like to be a woman with that much power?”

Leaning back and glancing around, I double-checked my outfit.  No one appeared to be noticing me.  The restaurant was near campus, so the place was crowded with hot girls, I was hardly a rare commodity.  Keeping a safe distance from his cigarette whispers, I responded:

“No one here is looking but you (clears throat, blushes a bit-silly young Ryan).  So should we order some wine or-‘

I got that far before he unleashed an intense monologue.  Shakespeare could not have written a longer pile of metaphorical nonsense.  During this speech, I slowly lowered myself in my chair-willing the table to come to life and eat me in one solid, painless bite.

The opening line was barked with such intensity I did a double take at my formerly sexy tablemate:

“Ryan, you are like a lionness”

Clearing my throat, I tilted my head to one said and began to ask a question but was instantly interrupted again-

“Every man in this room.  Every one of them, including me, is your prey.  You move, we watch.  Wanting to be devoured.”

Let’s take a moment to note his voice was loud.  Seriously loud.  Loud enough that now people were starting to stare.

I’m pretty sure most of my fellow diners just wanted their chicken wings to arrive, but his volume made them turn their heads-which convinced him of his initial interpretation-that they gave a damn about what he said.  Not true, but lets just agree-this guy was delusional.  The sauntering bad-boy (who was rapidly becoming a typical freak my magnet loves to attract), seemed to picture me as this creature:

Stoic, graceful, proud. Ability to kill in an instant.

With growing embarrassment, I was feeling more and more like this version of his story:

Naive, idiotic. Maintaining ability to follow moron to dinner.

When he started referencing the primal nature of fornication as if he were the first man to conclude this theory (neanderthals the underworld over simultaneously turned in their graves); I left to go to the bathroom.

I couldn’t bring myself to sit staring at him while he uttered words like raw, natural, wild, and animalistic in reference to what he had hoped would be our after dinner plans.  Each whisper was so creepily rehearsed I was sure he’d given himself a peptalk in the mirror earlier in the evening.  Locking eye contact, he tried to stroke my cheek with his forefinger while proclaiming his desire to ‘tame’ me.

Wrong girl Tarzan, wrong girl.

I called my best friend from the bathroom, scheduled the appropriate emergency phone call for five minutes later, and returned to the table.

At this point I had been in the restaurant a total of ten minutes.

He may have looked like Johnny Depp.

He may have been a writer.

But even at 22 I could tell-this tribesman was far from warrior.