Jess ♥s Type


Brighton by the Sea


I had an inkling that this was where Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett were in that acid-trip of a sequence in Tim Burton's arty-farty-blood-party, but I wasn't sure until I stepped onto the pier and I felt it.  

And oh my Brighton, I swoon for you. Aside from the pebble beach. How do you walk around barefoot in the summer? And your shops are all selling sandcastle equipment. Pebbles don't work like sand, I promise. But good luck there! I'm sure it will be fun. Or maddening. Have you ever been around a frustrated child? Thank god you didn't raise me on Brighton's pebble beach tryin' to make a sandcastle. I would have thrown a fit

I almost threw a fit when we got off the train and our Oyster cards didn't work. For the uninitiated, The World Is Your Oyster and you use your card on all transportation in and around central London, including the outlying suburbs, but apparently, not Brighton. Ride at your own risk without a ticket because you might be faced with a £20 fine. We explained our situation to the ticket counter, and this is the first time our American accents came in handy. They issued us tickets right there and with many sincere, dumb American apologies and £8 we had tickets for there and back. Phew.  

Off we went through Brighton in search of the beach behind a woman with the cheekiest and most unflattering pair of underbutt hotpants we first noticed on the train--seriously, ladies, you like putting your naked ass on the seats of public transportation? Dress however you want, but really this is one trend I'll be excited to see die. But if you ever try and steal my leggings-as-pants back from me, me and my young twenty something legs that look great in leggings-as-pants will kick you six ways from Sunday. 

We popped in Urban Outfitters, because it's seriously fascinating to see how things are priced here. Verdict: I will not be shopping at Urban while I'm in the UK. The prices are the same and the states, but in pounds, not dollars. Though, Paige, if you see that velvet pink skull bank, or the cat flask, the gray cat not the white one, in the US... I'm kind of obsessed. Wink wink. 

Seriously, do they just pay the English more here? How would any self-respecting hipster justify those kinds of prices. Pounds are so expensive. But word to the wise, if they ask you if you want to pay in pounds or dollars at Topshop? Your answer is pounds. They charge you twice the price in dollars when the exchange rate is only 1.6ish. That is, before the government shutdown, it was. God, I wish I could be watching The Daily Show right now.  

We found the beach, we found the pebbles. I put my feet in the ocean. The same ocean I always put my feet in back home. Seriously, isn't Earth just the coolest? Posed for some pictures, and combed through all the pebbles in search of ones we could turn into jewelry. We're art students, stop looking at us like that.   

And then we ran to the pier because: ROLLERCOASTERS. 'Nuff said, you don't want to read about rollercoasters anyway, you want to see all of my pretty pictures of Brighton. That's why I'm writing this post.  

As the sun started to go down and the wind turned from pleasant to so so chilly, we headed for the arcade, and were scammed out of all our laundry money until Claire hit the jackpot and five hundred tickets came spewing out. We got Jiwon a minion because she's seriously obsessed and the claw machines are seriously rigged, and besides, all the other prizes sucked anyway--they were out of union jack shot glasses, the inhumanity.  

When we walked out again, it was dark. I'm still a little bitter about missing the sunset, though the cloud cover was killer as we watched the last rays fade away, and we probably wouldn't have seen much of it anyway. Michal and I took a turn or four around the Brighton Wheel and spent fifteen minutes with the snarkiest British commentor ever. "And there is the hotel Oscar Wilde stayed at on several occasions, ahem." Ahem? What do you mean, ahem, snarky commentor? I don't understand your British humour. Elaborate, please! And then we had dinner in Brighton's version of Olive Garden, but without the free breadsticks, just a salad bar and as always, salad bar equals yuck. I won't name names, but seriously. How difficult is it to cook a hamburger? I begin to understand what they say about British food being bland because, sigh, this meal was a yawn. And I'm not yet old enough to be flattered that I get carded everywhere I try and have a drink. Do I seriously look like I'm under 18? That's so cute. No it's not. Stop it. What you should be concerned about is your abysmal culinary offerings. 

The train ride back was almost too much to handle. Though it's not like I was waiting on the promise of a comfy bed back home, mattress topper or not, those things are not comfortable. But the best way to pass the time home? Korean dance music. Do yourself a favor, and look this one up. 



Jessica GrisctiComment