2003-08-31 - 10:13 a.m.
Transcript of a cell phone call from last night, 8:30 p.m.
Kaetchen: So am I wearing jeans and heels, or are we doing the sexy?
Beek: We're on the sexy run. Somebody's gettin' laid tonight.
Kaetchen: Clearly I need to change bras.
Beek: What, you're wearing one?
I don't know about Murphy's Law, but apparently there's a whole weird set of karmic randomness that kicks in when you're dolled to the nines, have on your hottie shoes and left the bra at home. To wit:
You *will* run into two guys you went to high school with and haven't seen at least ten years - and said gents will yell your name across a pub full of drunk people until you stand up bewildered to see who the fuck in this place knows your *middle* name. And while you're talking to them, your girlfriends will be giving you the Introduce Us, They're Cute eye, and you'll have to find a way to nonverbally communicate that one of them has serious back hair and the other one's ex-wife has told you far too much about him and his antics in bed. Beverage: McEwan's ale.
Next, you will see not one but two men dancing with skateboards somehow attached to their bodies. Explain that. Beverage: Citron and tonic.
You will know that you look great when a handful of gay guys in town for the Rainbow Festival watch you walking across the room, grab your elbow and say, Damn, Sister. You good! Thank you, babies. I try. But could you point this out to the straight guys, please? Beverage: Manhattan, two cherries.
Then you'll realize that it's midnight and you're fecking starving, so you'll head up the street to the tapa place and order a couple of pitchers of sangria and some food. You'll gorge on roasted peppers and garlicky mushrooms (and sangria), romesco sauce and fried calamari (and sangria). Your two friends will do the girl thing and go to the bathroom together, and while you're waiting for them to come back (and having more sangria), the drunken restaurant owner will come up and grab your foot in its high heel, tell you that your feet are sexy, and kiss you. Eh, not bad. And that will be the most action you see all night. Except, of course, for the action of getting up to pee every twenty seconds because of all the sangria.
Out of the last four nights, three have been spent in debauch. My body's crying out for a break. I did manage a good long 30+ mile bike ride yesterday, which felt fantastic. Tonight I'm babysitting nine-week-old Siana and finishing Puppy Love - all that's left is setting in the sleeves. Finally!!
Oh, and I'm neurotically watching The Two Towers and Season Three of The Simpsons. Now that's an evening.
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former / latter