"Underground" is the only English word that begins with "und".

How big are Jay and I when we get together? F*cking FANTASTIC.

FINALLLLYYYY I got to see my best friend. Dammit I've missed that boy!

Apparently he refuses to take the Underground, and knows less about this place (London) than probably anyone else in the entire universe. After deciding on a place to meet, we played the phone-call game "stealth mode - sniper - who can find who first" which goes something like this: "OK, are you in front of a place called Top-Shop? What are you wearing? Are you standing by the intersection at the Underground station? Wait. . . I think I see you. . . Are you wearing a huge orange jacket? Nope. . . DEFINITELY not you. . . Oh THERE you are". . . (hides behind the corner so that you can be sure to be the first to pop out at the person).

I flipping adore him. We did what everyone must do when back with their best friends for the first time in too long: Acted like complete fools, screamed at the crowded streets for no reason, come millimeters from being hit by bikers and cars while crossing the streets (look RIGHT when crossing? or wait. . . is it left?), settled our nerves with some sushi, spoke of completely inappropriate things, worked on our plans of how we will rule the world, and then bring it down, and finally, go on a wild hunt for our other closest friends (ECC boys) who should, at this point, be just about touching down.

"Hi, hotel, can I be connected to Joshua Ostrander's room? What? Yes I am SURE he is staying there. . . no no no. . . O S T R A N D E R. . . What? There's another hotel with the exact same name on the other side of town? And you DON"T have their number? How about Greg Lyons? NO! L Y O N S". . .

Once we tracked them down, we rushed to where they were staying like "we were being chased". To end the first night back together right, we brought (three bottles of) champagne to the ECC 's-oh-so-luxurious hotel room (mild exaggeration) and after finishing our toasts, met up with the lovely and LOVED Lee at a "fantastic" bar called Trader Vik's (not Trader Joe's, which Jay ended up asking the cab to take us to. . . Stupid American). Far toooo many drinks called the "Suffering Bastard" can seriously lead to some amazing, blurry times with very shaky days to follow. We shut the place down, and headed to Lee and Jay's home to play some Wii (or break it), and hang into the morning. Good times, Great days.

The following day most of us (Josh being the only one smart enough to call it a night before Vik's closed) spent in manic attempts to recover, or at least settle the shakes.
(Side Note: Of course hanging with the family is an absolute sure and perfect way to spend an entire night, no doubt about that. However, friends and family time aside, the absolute worst idea of a good time in my mind, is a crowded bar with shite music, flashing lights, and insane drunk people all set to "turbo mode").
Eastern Conference Champions, of course, put on an EXCELLENT show. I can't tell you how amazing it was, and how completely satisfied I was, to hang there on Jay's arm, watching some of our favorite's play some of the best music EVER. So much love! SO much.

The night gave way to completely losing track of time (which I suppose means it was GOOD times), and suddenly we are roaming around the empty 3:30am streets of London in search of anything edible.
Food found, boys tucked back into their beds, a perfect conversation and car ride home with Jay, and I am fully asleep about 2.5 seconds after my head hits the (probably germ infested) hotel room pillow.

"FANTASTIC"
(btw. Jay has admitted that if there's one way he will lose all of his friends, it will be by saying "fantastic" all of the time. . . I think I am now determined to accompany him in this fine. . . fantastic. . . journey).