Subject::the lush life under the knowing smile of chesire cat
so hi! i thought i'd take a stab at changing lanes up in this emailing mo'fo' frenzy. so ok. here i am. i'm home from a quiet night at the local piano bar. everything started up late for me because i put things off to the very last possible moment. and the result is just lateness all the way around. but its alright. everyone is safe and in one piece and all is well. i know because the yellowing moon smiles its cheshire cat smile.
so it ended up being about six of us or so. bigoscar (i know you haven't met him at all or some of the others i may from time to time mention but go with it a little..) didn't show even though he said he might like to drop by for a couple of drinks. it's understandable why he didn't.. he has to work early tomorrow.
so there we were. little oscar, toni, the oscars' friend genaro (pronounced: HEH-narrow), myself and two others (a couple, if you must know) are sitting in a very strangely shaped rounded-edge square formation with two cutesy round tables floating along in the middle. its about nine o'clock and really, thankfully, not as packed as it would have been if it had been friday night. toni gets first round and i order a whiskey sour, genaro isn't drinking and little oscar is having a whiskey n' coke. no one is singing yet, or maybe its between singing sets, and the music is going all sweet and fast. the trumpet player, eddie, has a mute on his horn. the drinks come, we clink glasses, mumbling, then sip. toni says, "mmm. that tastes like twelve hours too long was too long of a wait," or some such zinger. we chit, we chat, we're ok. 'til i start to feel the blood in me boil. there are girls meeting girls (all diff'rent degrees of hot, of course) and all dressed to their respective nines. bleh. they have great bodies but they know anything about anything. they're actually starting to get on my nerves for all their yapping. they do what all children with poor manners do: they ignore the gift of song, set before them, and talk instead. they try to talk over the horn as it plays its melody. smoothing and slipping through complicated turns and phrases.. suggestions and humor. they miss it all. they were awful. i cursed them silently, i cursed their future children with tone deafness, pigeon toe-edness and chipped nails.
NEXT ROUND! little oscar volunteers and i have another whiskey sour.. i'm hoping easy on the sour. no such luck. someone steps up to the plate, one of the usuals. he's really quite a cheerful faced older man, always sportin the same old baby blue sweater. he sings for us a very bouncy version of You Made Me Love You, practically tripping like tourette's over the line "i didn't want to do it.." this man has not had much to drink tonight. more bumps and play from the shirley allen, the pianist i mentioned before. she's quite the cut-up that one.
NEXT ROUND! me. another whiskey sour and my third or fourth glass of water. i have to do it like this because i hadn't eaten anything since noon. things just started to trip and tumble. i was too busy to have anything at all. so i'm trying to tell myself that this is what i look like when i'm pacing myself.
NEXT ROUND! this is where it gets a little blurry. i have my usual topper for the night, a long tall singapore sling. yum. yea, yum but much too singapore and not enough sling. i drink it down. people come and go intermittently, stretching their legs and their ears while i stretch my patience. the girls are still at it. and it kills me that they're sitting there up front.. so close to the entertainment these unappreciative tarts just ignore anyway! bleh. Ooop. empty glass. more water is had and the one couple we were with has to be on their way. they make sure that someone is with me at the table before they go, its only polite. so there i am and there he is and there go the waitress people. one of them, our waitress actually, serves up three bloody marys to the table next to me.
NEXT ROUND is me buying me a drink. a bloody mary. it's perfect.. just the way i didn't know i liked it. two olives and an onion, a silce of lime, and a stalk of celery against the red of the drink makes for good good times.
bathroom breaks are taken, jackets are retrieved, bodies are risen and headed liquidy to the door. i'm fine. i'm still fine. i drive to denny's by the water and discovered, in the process of working through some hash browns, that i am in fact hungry.
we eat.. well i know i ate. in the company of three men.. two boy-men and the one from earlier who's spoken for. he came back to hang after he dropped the wifey off to home.
and now i'm a wreck. i'm a wreck from a very large toon-town clown car. i hate falling asleep sitting up with fingers and keys at the ready when nothing ever comes.
wow. i should never try to write anything after having gotten properly soused.
i hope victoria is sunny and that you are NOT, in fact, a wreck.
--sleep mailing--
j.mee
[yes i know i owe you a couple rounds to come. so don't worry.. you've still got that to hang precariously over me.]
3:28 a.m. - 2003-09-21
Recent entries:
oday.html">the 3 month countdown begins - 05 May 2018
anothrburst.html">another burst - this used to be my playground
newlife.html">begin at the beginning. - 10 April 2008
moody.html">a blanket for a bad mood under the sun. - 25 March 2007
emilludwig.html">...kissing a fool... - 05 December 2006
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