lundi 23 janvier 2006

I am a boozely mcdrinkerson.

So, instead of going to get our groove on Friday night (read: go to a club, and probably definitely meet skeevy guys), we decided to go get our drink on (read: go to a wine bar and drink lots of wine).

Really, would it be so hard to meet normal guys? Yes, I know that normal is a very subjective word, but as I was explaining to my students, talking about moral relativism, even across different cultures, I think you'd agree that mass genocide is generally wrong? That's perhaps extrapolating this point a little too far, but you get the idea. I think I might have to move back to Boston if the trend of meeting guys like the following are the fate for my time in LA:

  1. The old guy writing on an index card. I know Jen talked to him, and I know that he said that he was writing notes to his therapist, but I don't believe him at all. He was paying WAY TOO MUCH attention to our conversation to be only writing to his therapist. As in, he would intently listen to our conversation, then write something down. Notes to his therapist, my ass.

  2. The guys that I totally thought were gay, until they "slipped into conversation" a zillion times the fact that they were straight. They had to do this, you see, because one had overly gelled hair, a fluffy scarf wrapped around his neck, and black nailpolish on his fingernails. Also, he was swirling his wine so damn much that I was surprised it didn't swirl right out of the glass. I'm talking , mini-whirlpool. The other had this obnoxious tweed fedora perched on his head. Cary Grant, he was not. Also, he mentioned that he was a "straight fashion designer" way too many times for my taste. And then they somehow suckered us into opining on topics related to The Rules, which one of them had actually read. Not that it will do them any good. Black freaking nail polish.
Aside from those, there was also the fun little adventure where one minute, we were standing outside commenting on the "interesting" art at a gallery, and the next thing you know we were inside for a pre-preview preview. (I believe it was this one, but I can't be absolutely sure, for it might be this one, maybe they will email us and let us know). I would link to the artist, but are you kidding me? I don't even know which gallery we were at, how am I going to figure out the artist?

Unfortunately, even though We Were Going To A Wine Bar, I forgot to bring the handy dandy wine cards that I had earlier received, because that's the kind of drinker I am. I likes me my wine, but I forget to ever take notes on it. Once upon a time, when I worked for the auction house, I kept a tasting notes database, but could never keep it updated because me? I like to go drinking a lot. And I always forget to write down what I drink. Which is stupid, because I make requests like, "I don't want a Chardonnay, but I don't want something too sweet either, or too minerally, or..." And then I get handed a glass of wine, and I'm like, okay, yippee! Drinkdrinkdrink, with all thoughts of note-taking fleeing my mind.

This time, we took notes on the back of a piece of paper I found in my purse. And now Jen has it in her safekeeping, because all scraps of paper end up in the scrap paper black hole that is my apartment. Someday, it'll all be transferred to the wine cards. As soon as someone reminds me to bring some cards with me the next time we go drinking.