From fish and chips to bangers and mash, I tried it all when I was in London last month.

This was my first international trip, aside from Mexico which I don’t really count because I live an hour away from the border and could fill up an entire passport in less than a year.

My dream has always been to go to Europe because my dad’s side of the family is from Northern England and my mom’s side of the family is from Italy. I thought I would start with the country that actually speaks English first.

I got all kinds of advice while planning for this trip. Things to do, where to go, shows to see, places to eat, how to stay safe, how to get from point A to B, but some of the most useful information was that if someone asks me for a “FAG”, I do not have to hand over my best gay friend. They just want a cig. I already knew that, but it’s always nice to confirm those things.

Another was that gay men in London are referred to as “poofs, poofters, and benders”. I wondered if I would actually hear those terms while there…and I did.

I found a little neighborhood Pub in Hyde Park, around the corner from my hotel. I would go here to relax after my long days of sightseeing. This little Pub is where I found my version of Heaven.

The minute I opened the door, god’s light shown down on me as I looked around and realized that I was the only girl there, aside from the two female bartenders. Don’t get me wrong, I love my gay bars, but there is definitely something to be said for being the only girl surrounded by men that were actually straight and wanted to hang out with me for other reasons than my sparkling personality.

I made my way to the bar and ordered a beer for two pounds. It did not take very long for someone to strike up a conversation with me. He was twenty something, really tall, very cute, and his accent was to die for. This is when I heard him refer to my gays as “poofs”.

The downside to me being the only girl in the Pub was that the Pubs close at 11:30pm. Have you ever heard of such a thing? I am barely getting started! I asked the hottie where we could go. He said we could go to SoHo but it would be full of Poofs.

I told him how much I loved poofs! We never did end up going. Instead we hung out outside the Pub, smoking fags, and chatting. I met up with him the next night and we did the same thing. I started to feel like a local. People were beginning to know me there. And if you know me, you know that I am no quiet wall flower. Most people think they are the center of attention until my friends and I show up!

The last blog I wrote was about how my gaydar is 100 % accurate. Going to London made me realize that that super power may only be good in the United States. It completely shuts down when I am around hot, stylish, fashionable Europeans.

I second guessed my abilities the entire time, except when I was at the Pub where I can safely say that the men there where definitely straight. Maybe it was the cool hair cuts, great jeans and mannerisms that threw me off everywhere else I went. Whatever the case may be, the men in London take the whole metro sexual thing to a whole new level. It was brilliant.

As much as I love London, My gays welcomed me with open arms when I walked into IBT’s, my favorite gay bar last weekend. I partied with the bunny boys, and shared lip gloss with Eddie as we belted out our favorite songs in the VIP booth.

I clicked my manolo blahniks and thought there really is no place like home.

Cheers, Fruit Fly