What’s My Line?

7 Mar

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Waking up hung-over on Monday morning to a note in my phone that described the Milky Way as the freckly ginger of the universe and a Google search for “balls” I realized that once again gay Christmas had been and gone and had taken with it the little bit of remaining dignity that I had been stockpiling for the winter months.

Cut to Saturday night at the Gatsby Party[1] heaving with Swedes. I find myself asking the age-old question: Gay or European? Rather than make any concerted effort to solve this ongoing conundrum or even approach the midriff baring, makeup wearing, Aryan guests I started talking instead to one of the hosts’ brothers, Mr. Potter.

* Mister Potter. Our new celebrity. *

Mr. Potter is a 26ish Law grad with a cute smile and huge vocabulary. And me, being several drinks deep, thinks it’s a good idea to try and engage him in intelligent conversation. After failing consistently to understand any of the legal jargon he was spouting I decided it was time to change the subject.

“Is that a young Lee Lin Chin on your shirt?”

Smooth! I’m informed, cultured and marginally concerned with the often-idiosyncratic dress of the weekend presenter of World News Australia on SBS.

“No. It’s Aung San Suu Kyi.”

Ah, minor setback. Doesn’t matter that I have no idea who that is. Will think a witty non sequitur before-

“Is that Lena Dunham, naked on a toilet and eating cake on your shirt?”

Fuuuuuuuuuck!

* It was a brilliant…Post-Modernist masterpiece of oratorical fireworks, really. *

I resolved instead to spend the rest of the evening making crude jokes about our host needing to sit on a stack of phone books to fuck her tall Swedish lover and finishing any drink in sight.

* I’m drunk. What’s up bitches! *

Later in the evening after hitting the clubs and dancing to Robyn (sans yellow mesh shirt) I heard that Mr. Potter had relocated the Gatsby party to his house around the corner. Me being substantially more intoxicated and determined to recover from my previous indignity I decided we had to go. Even with the unfortunate knowledge that my ex just so happened to be there too.

* Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen. Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen. *

I walked straight past him looking flawlessly intoxicated, and parked myself next to Mr. Potter. Hours later as the party was thinning out and I was getting up to leave, Mr. Potter said I should stay and we can watch an episode of Girls. Be still my beating heart! We went upstairs. The episode finished. Then I got up at 11 to go to work.

I win.

After the successful weekend that was I finally had my date with Mr. Sheffield on the Monday night. Not the best timing considering I had just done a nine to fiver after a five to niner and all I really wanted to do was be horizontal.

* Yeah. Be still like vegetables. Lay like broccoli. *

To be honest though as far as first dates go it was pretty damn good. I got out of the whole “what do I wear” dilemma by coming straight from work and knowing that I had work the next day meant it could only realistically last for 4 hours maximum.

* You wanted cake, you got cake! Now EAT IT! *

There was delicious pizza by the slice, good conversation and a variety of imported hipster beers including one called “Narwhal” that probably spent 69 days in a moustache shaped barrel in Nick Cave’s basement.

We did the whole getting to know you thing: family, schools, friends and Jennifer Lawrence. He also has a job with a salary and is genuinely interesting! The night wore on, we played pinball and then he walked me to the bus stop and kissed me goodnight.

Date two is lined up early next week!

* Not with a fizzle, but with a bang. *

Finally before I go, I watched Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion today for the first time and I loved it. But I have one major issue. Mira Sorvino’s accent. Honestly, did she spend the majority of her time off screen sucking dick? Because she swallows every vowel like she’s being paid for it.

* Have a “Romy and Michele” day! *


[1] The Gatsby party was less Flappers and Philosophers and more of an excuse to invite the person you love under the guise of an extravagant party. Watch out Ryan Gosling.

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One Response to “What’s My Line?”

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