Who Knew I Had A Social Life in London? Part 1 of 1.

This is the first installment in a series I’m going to call: WHO KNEW I HAD A SOCIAL LIFE IN LONDON? In which there might be part two or there might not be. Fascinating, right? STAY TUNED.

A couple months ago, I sent an @ reply to Paul Carr (SF-based British columnist at TechCrunch and published author) and apparently he looked at my blog, we started talking about traveling and, well, one thing lead to another and I was suddenly being invited to his birthday party in London. Which, was really awesome, because, little did HE know that, ever since his first column at TechCrunch, I’ve had a total mindcrush on him. And, embarrassingly, when he insisted I go to his party, I got a tad giddy and may or may not have started planning my outfit two months prior to the party. SO SUE ME I’M A TOTAL GIRL.

The day of the party, I deliberated. I’ll admit it. I almost pulled the, “Gah! I don’t know anyone there!” excuse and stayed home in my pajamas (sorry, Paul, it’s true) and ate pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream while thinking about all the cats I’d have when I was alone and single forever. But, instead of acting like a total wimp (and resolving to never get laid again, whether it be by Paul or not), I decided to go. I figure that if I can survive Italy for THREE MONTHS, I can probably handle a party where I don’t know even the person HOSTING the party. I’m a CONFIDENT WOMAN I CAN DO THIS. GIRL POWER.

Wow, did I really just say that?

Who else vomited?

Eventually, I decided to go, so I grabbed a taxi and it turns out, the party was at this members only club and it was all hidden and inconspicuous and I was all, OMG, this is so awesome. Oh, London, you’re just so adorable I could squeeze you and then dress you up all in plaid!

Anyways.

Got downstairs to the party finally and searched for someone that even remotely resembled the tiny square avatar pic of Paul. Spotted him! Oh, thank god. We had a chat (see? I’m so British now) and people, I won’t lie to you. He’s quite a dashing bloke (and now I’m trying too hard to be British and have probably crossed a line, awesome). I kinda, sorta, developed like an IRL CRUSH. But I was SHY. I know. Me? SHY!? WTF?

I NEEDED LIQUID COURAGE.

So, I got a drink (Maker’s and ginger, my poison of choice). Small talk here, small talk there, and when it’s loud in a bar, I literally (litcherally) cannot understand a damn word these Brits are saying. I think I understood the Italian accent better than the British one. But, regardless of my hearing incapability, everyone was terribly gracious. It was weird being around tech people again, I’ll tell you that. Most Italians I met still used Hotmail. Gasp! I know, right?

At one point, I went over to Paul. On his Twitter bio, it says something about him being a dick. And, while, I applaud him for such uncanny honesty, I call his bluff. And, then called his bluff to his face, which I’m sure was charming (read: not). Also, these quotes are not accurate. Hey, I never said I was a journalist, so GET OFF IT.

“Hey, so, you’re not really a dick.” Me. Awesome. I’m smooth.

“You don’t know me very well.”

“Yeah, well, that’s true, but dicks don’t usually have so many friends.” There were, like, a lot of people there.

“Oh, these people? They’re not my friends. I hired them to impress you.”

“Ohhhhhhh!”

Swoon? Or creepy?

Swoon!

Also? How would one go about hiring a bunch of people to pretend to be their friends? Craigslist? Google? Is there an app for that?

I chatted with more people. Drank more drinks. Tried to be on my absolute best behavior because I wanted to make a good first impression and because, admittedly, I was really not used to drinking very much, so when someone handed me this strawberry daquiri along with my Makers and ginger, I was all, THE HELL!? Is everyone in London trying to get me drunk!? To which the answer is always, yes.

And you know what was awesome slash awkward? When people asked me why I was there or who I knew.

“Oh, I met Paul through Twitter.”

Which is about one step up from, “Oh, I met Paul through MySpace.”

And, then I had to awkwardly explain the story about how I tweeted at him and he found my blog and blah blah, now I’m here, YAY! LET’S TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE! LIKE, MMM, STRAWBERRY DAQUIRIS! ANYONE WANT A SHOT? GOD THIS IS AWKWARD!

I stayed until about 2am, sad to say that I didn’t make out with Paul (which, yes, I wanted to, but, shhh).

I’d say, all around, I’m giving myself a big huge pat on the back for going. It’s one thing to go to a networking event alone where you don’t know anyone. It’s another thing entirely to walk into a private party where you don’t even know the host, save for some quick @ replies here and there on Twitter.

And, well, now I’m going to go hide under my blanket, because the things I said in this post are terribly embarrassing. You see what I do for all of you readers out there? I WRITE SHIT I SHOULDN’T WRITE.

You’re welcome.

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