I never understood how a person could wake up in bed next to a complete stranger after a night of hard drinking. Then it happened. And I was completely sober!

And he (his named turned out to be Mark) told me that I had woken up in the middle of the night and cussed him out before falling back asleep.

What can I say? Jet Lag is crazy.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as depraved as it sounds. The summer overseas program paired its students together and assigned them rooms in this hotel where we were going to be living and studying Shakespeare for a month. My roommate arrived really late at night while I was asleep... and I'm a really deep sleeper, so I didn't even know he came in until the next morning when I woke up.

And the beds were kinda funky. It was two full sized beds that were pushed together. A couple of my friends pulled them apart, but the maids would always push them back together in the morning... hmm... so I always had this fear that during the night, I'd be caught up in a dream and roll over and start humping my roommate's leg like a dog in heat. Who knows? I never had a wet dream, but there's a first time for everything!

Sleeping in such close contact with each other did produce some sort of strange intimacy. I'd laugh at "my Mark's" strange little idiosyncrasies and then he'd call me a slut or something.

Anyway, I worked my ass off in the class and still just got Bs. But I'm over it. Besides, I got to watch a bunch of plays in England for free (well, sorta... as long as I don't think about tuition costs), lust after a couple of the actors (eh, they were pretty average looking, but the accent was cool!), and dine on way cool English cuisine (what can I say? I actually like eating lots of bland meat and potatoes!).

Too bad I was out in the middle of nowhere and there was absolutely no gay life around for miles. I did find out online that there was this gay owned and operated pub called The Queen's Head. (Really cool t-shirt they have for sale. An aristocratic woman on the chopping block with lots of blood oozing out.) 

But the town is such a tourist trap,  with Shakespeare's grave, birthplace, and the Royal Shakespeare Theater and all... So it didn't look too "gay" during my first visit (no pink, lavender or rainbow ribbons to be seen, nor any Abba or Madonna to be heard). It was virtually deserted, since it was like noon on a Wednesday or something. But I decided to go back one more time before I left Stratford. It was Friday and the place was packed. Immediately upon arrival, this guy greets me as if I've known him for years!

So... I give him a polite smile and that oh-so-cool flick of the neck nod thingy like I'm kicking it California g-style or something, but he doesn't let up. He calls me over to the group he's with and we chat. Turns out he's some sorta of car racer or something and he was traveling around doing a tour... something like that. And he was in "the States" recently and shacked up with some hot chick in West Covina.

But then we exchanged phone numbers... in case he ever comes to LA again.

So was I just cruised in a potentially gay owned and operated pub? Or was this bizarre encounter just a part of pub culture... the by-product of lots of Guiness in a short period of time?

Hmm... he WAS kinda cute though...