Thursday, October 27, 2005
After surgery, must not drink
I'm not hungover, really.
I just don't remember yesterday evening very well, that's all.
Another day spent avoiding her eye avoiding mine - it gets easier with practice. Not so much ignoring someone, as simply not really thinking about them, at all.
The workday ground ever steadily towards its culmination, and I fantasized about a nice, quiet evening at the gym, swimming in the pool till my shoulders ached. (80 laps)
Hmm and this time preferably not being touched by the overenthusiastic instructor who has taken it into his kindly head to show me the correct way to do the lateral pull down. (back straight! butt out! chest out! err. what were you showing me again?)
Maybe Shoulders would be there again, maybe I'll saunter up to her and tell her - you have a beautiful gait....
(slap!)
Fifteen minutes from Time my phone buzzed.
Drinks at Mortons?
It had a ring to it. A bit like Breakfast at Tiffanys, I thought.
I wrote Yes! Yes!!! Yesssss! before pausing to check who had sent me the text.
Ah, the injured one.
Yes, please.
Events from thereafter become rather hazy. I suspect she dropped a little rubber ball into one of my martinis.
Something about a lychee martini which was, for once, actually well mixed in this country.
Something about free flow beef sandwiches... actually, I remember those rather well. Sigh.
Something about the Dozer thinking about joining us but actually getting lost in Singapore, what chance that... the local guide meandering around marina.
Something about Melody someoneorother... (Teenage Textbook? I thought that was a book...) wandering up to our table to show the Injured One her pretty, sparkly $160 fingernails.
An apple martini.
Hmm.
Many many rather good looking women (ah so, the old adages are true. Banker women look significantly better than the general variety... and women do become more beautiful as you have more to drink)
Something about all our friends, mutual or otherwise refusing to join us to partake of free steak (with bread)
Vague intentions to sample the cuisine and ambience at Forbidden City.
And then, as I drove, she mentioned her friend was going for drinks at ____
She's a babe. And she's just out of a relationship...
180 degree hollywood-style spin the car around moment.
ok la it was only about 30 degrees, and we didn't really spin around.
But we found ourselves at ____, meeting her friend as she got back into her car to put additional parking coupons up.
Now me, I just kid around about things like this. I don't see babes (malespeak: nine point somethings) too often, certainly not of the eyes-glaze-over-"unh" variety that D, my newly acquired german friend appears to encounter on a daily basis. I guess I don't have a very forgiving eye.
Nine point... something.
Very nine point something. Beautiful smile. And funny, too.
Or was that all the spatlese talking. hmm.
C, her evening companion was pretty funny too.
So were the moose head thingies in the private room we were nearly reclining in.
And the giant red wine glasses they were serving our white in. ha.
And before long, I was genuinely enjoying myself.
So much so that I didn't raise an arm to stop the Injured One from having a fag... the alarm bells in my head were just too anaesthetized to bother.
Hic.
I just don't remember yesterday evening very well, that's all.
Another day spent avoiding her eye avoiding mine - it gets easier with practice. Not so much ignoring someone, as simply not really thinking about them, at all.
The workday ground ever steadily towards its culmination, and I fantasized about a nice, quiet evening at the gym, swimming in the pool till my shoulders ached. (80 laps)
Hmm and this time preferably not being touched by the overenthusiastic instructor who has taken it into his kindly head to show me the correct way to do the lateral pull down. (back straight! butt out! chest out! err. what were you showing me again?)
Maybe Shoulders would be there again, maybe I'll saunter up to her and tell her - you have a beautiful gait....
(slap!)
Fifteen minutes from Time my phone buzzed.
Drinks at Mortons?
It had a ring to it. A bit like Breakfast at Tiffanys, I thought.
I wrote Yes! Yes!!! Yesssss! before pausing to check who had sent me the text.
Ah, the injured one.
Yes, please.
Events from thereafter become rather hazy. I suspect she dropped a little rubber ball into one of my martinis.
Something about a lychee martini which was, for once, actually well mixed in this country.
Something about free flow beef sandwiches... actually, I remember those rather well. Sigh.
Something about the Dozer thinking about joining us but actually getting lost in Singapore, what chance that... the local guide meandering around marina.
Something about Melody someoneorother... (Teenage Textbook? I thought that was a book...) wandering up to our table to show the Injured One her pretty, sparkly $160 fingernails.
An apple martini.
Hmm.
Many many rather good looking women (ah so, the old adages are true. Banker women look significantly better than the general variety... and women do become more beautiful as you have more to drink)
Something about all our friends, mutual or otherwise refusing to join us to partake of free steak (with bread)
Vague intentions to sample the cuisine and ambience at Forbidden City.
And then, as I drove, she mentioned her friend was going for drinks at ____
She's a babe. And she's just out of a relationship...
180 degree hollywood-style spin the car around moment.
ok la it was only about 30 degrees, and we didn't really spin around.
But we found ourselves at ____, meeting her friend as she got back into her car to put additional parking coupons up.
Now me, I just kid around about things like this. I don't see babes (malespeak: nine point somethings) too often, certainly not of the eyes-glaze-over-"unh" variety that D, my newly acquired german friend appears to encounter on a daily basis. I guess I don't have a very forgiving eye.
Nine point... something.
Very nine point something. Beautiful smile. And funny, too.
Or was that all the spatlese talking. hmm.
C, her evening companion was pretty funny too.
So were the moose head thingies in the private room we were nearly reclining in.
And the giant red wine glasses they were serving our white in. ha.
And before long, I was genuinely enjoying myself.
So much so that I didn't raise an arm to stop the Injured One from having a fag... the alarm bells in my head were just too anaesthetized to bother.
Hic.
