Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The most repugnant of smells.

The years of 2001-2004 are well documented in my previous blogs. I was in a state of turmoil, unable to get move past high school and emotionally stagnant after a past relationship. I dealt with these issues by obsessively working out. I had a body image problem similar to an anorexic except exactly the opposite. It's commonly known as the Adonis Complex.  As I slowly recovered and moved past this time period in my life, I soon reconized the absurdity of my actions.  Those three years completely stunted my social and emotional growth.  I was eventually able to move past those early issues and begin living a productive life.
  Whenever I see someone that is way more muscular than a human being should ever become, I assume there is an underlining issue. The media has sensationalized overgrown muscles. Individual don't realize how unattractive they appear to the common person.  Yes, there are exceptions like Triple H, Vin Diesel and my brother.  They all look pretty damn good and as far as I know, don't have major self image problems.

London, April 28, 2011, 10:00 PM
  After the play "Cause Celebre" at the Old Vic Theater, the two gentlemen I attended with and I stopped at Tesco for dinner. It's popular for people in London to stop for lunch or dinner at this grocery store chain. I purchased a Ploughman's sandwich, two pork pies and a water for three quid. These cheap meals were necessary to make the budget I set for the trip. After buying our food, each of us went our seperate ways. It was the first moment I spent alone in Central London.
 There was a rare sense of familiarity in my conscious. I felt aberrantly akin to my surroundings. Alone in an unfamiliar US city,  I am fearful and hesitant, while walking in the London Underground, I was peaceful and confident. Four girls ascending up the giant escalator in the Underground waving British flags and glancing in my direction. They were undeniably celebrating the Royal Wedding a day early.  A sinister smile adorned my face. I relished in the moment.

  London- Hammersmith and Broadway,  11:30 pm April 28

   Although I had been walking, socializing and soaking in the city' sights all day, I felt oddly energetic.  I was staying at the first of two hostels. This night was St. Christopher's. Yes... Just like my name.  A bar/ night club called Belushi's occupied the bottom of the hostel. A stair case led from the bar to the dorm like rooms. Rock music graffiti decorated the walls. A huge mural of the "London Calling" album cover stood out.  If there was ever a swell night to stay out late for a pint, this was it.  
 I drank several pints during the day but never reached a level of intoxication. I didn't plan to drink much at Belushi's bar, only a pint before heading to bed. I ordered a Foster's draught on sale and stood at the bar.  People began mustering through the doorway. A few minutes after I arrived, two gentlemen appeared beside me.
    One of the men possessed the biggest arms I have ever seen in person. He looked cartoonish, like Jonny Bravo with a form fitting white T-shirt. He had spiked hair
with frosted tips and an artificial tan.  His voice sounded like an Austrialian Mike Tyson. I tried to speak to him but he brushed meappeared off. He appeared insecure in the vicinity of people.
  I finished the Foster's and made small chat with the people that had accumulated at the bar. I befriended two Welsh women that arrived on the train that morning to attend the Royal Wedding. They made it their mission to get me to dance with them but I politely declined. Finally, I met a drunken Englishman. He was in his 30's but pounced around the bar waiving his arms like a teenager. He smelled of stale body odor.  Although I told him I wasn't drinking more, he bought us a round of shots.
    Moments before I was ready to leave, the big Australian man came walking back to join his mate at the bar. As he inched closer, a dense cloud of the foulest, most repulsive odorfollowed him. He had crop dusted the bar with his protein enriched fart. It reeked of a culmination of rotten eggs, day old red meat and a rotting corpse. Disgusted looks loomed on the faces of every person within ten square feet. One of the bartenders appeared to slightly vomit into her mouth.
 The big fellow stood there surreptitiously, as if he were not the culprit. I was appauld, not only about how a man could produce such a repugnant odor from his anus but how I used to embrace this subculture.  Once the smell dissipated from the room, so had my urge to be at this bar. They weren't even playing rock music. It was time to fall asleep and awake for the Royal Wedding.

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