Yesterday evening, the monster in my belly demanded food that wasn't breakfast cereal or a salad, so I rounded up a few of the flatmates and we headed to Colchester on a quest for food. Since Alex (blonde guy) has recently misplaced(?) his wallet, we couldn't go to a pub for dinner due to his lack of ID and the fact that he still looks at bit like a 15 year old. So we went to Nando's chicken, a cultural must and a huge Mongolian BBQ rip-off (Seriously! Their shirts said Grillaz in the Mist!) famous for their chicken and their hot sauce (Which sounds like a BDubs to me). Since I am a wimpy vegetarian, I didn't get the full experience, but I did put way too much hot sauce on my veggie burger and it singed away my eyebrows, but that's another story. Since the sock was out and about (and my out and about I mean that it happened to be in my purse) we got some lovely sock pictures before our food came. (First picture is of Reece and Kam, the second is of Alex and his gf from Brighton, Jessica)
We headed back after that and I got all dolled up to go salsa dancing with Ricardo. But when I got ready and went to Ricardo's flat to get him (he's 2 floors under us so it's quite easy to get there) he was pretty much sloshed with the help of Sere and Agus. So I went salsa dancing by myself. I think Ricardo may be out of the picture now. Now if he could just leave my classes, the library, the appartment building and the Waterstones I have grown quite fond of, that would be very nice. It's so much easier to forget about someone when you don't see them five times a day. Back to Salsa dancing.
There are an abundance of female salsa dancers (salserinas) in Colchester, and a complete lack of men (salseros). The two men who knew what they were doing were the instructor (from Columbia- go figure) and DJ Carlos, who wasn't supposed to leave his booth. Since I was the only Salserina who had danced prior to last week, I danced with both the Columbian instructor (who told me my form was Cuban, and therefore all wrong) and DJ Carlos (who didn't care if I danced like a Cuban, because he and I share a love for Shakira and the Merengue). So I danced with those guys for a couple hours (one at a time of course, I'm not THAT good) and when other girls braved the dance floor I took a bit of a break. Some guy who was very sure of his Salsa-bilities asked me to dance and assured me he was quite good, and two steps in his lack of rhythm and style contradicted his promise, and I attempted to lead so that we didn't look like Jason Biggs in "Saving Silverman" where his friend wired his nipples and then kept hitting the buttons, making him convulse while dancing. So...I started leading to save him and I from the embarassment of continuing to do whatever the hell dance HE was doing and he tried to spin me...but didn't let go. I hit the wall, twisted my ankle, and called it a night.
I know I'm a bit of a snob when it comes to things like sock yarn and salsa dancing, but there's a reason for that. When someone is overconfident in their ability to dance and they throw you across the room and make you limp home, it pisses me off. Either you know what you're doing or you don't. If you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch. Asshole.
So today was low-key. I spent most of today reading for tomorrow's classes and keeping ice on my ankle (now down to the size of a grapefruit) and went to the kitchen a minute ago to find this:
A shopping cart in the kitchen of my 6th floor flat and my flatmate, Jess, perched inside it. I don't know why, but it was very funny. It's even more hilarious that she insists on getting pushed around in it for the remainder of the evening. So what do I do to people who sit in shopping carts in the kitchen of a 6th floor appartment? You guess it. I made her hold the sock.