What with the sitting around not cleaning and not packing, and then cleaning, and then packing, and mostly with the out all day trying to see everyone before I leave, there hasn’t been a whole lot of blogging time. I mean, really, when you have a nice boy take you out to dinner on Friday, and a nice boy cook you dinner on Saturday, and a nice girl throw you a good-bye party in her backyard Sunday, you sure just go along with the flow, because you know that you can always, even if you get to bed at three a.m., wake at seven and throw yer bizniss in the bag before you have to motor. And even then you will still have time, the day you leave, to lunch with India and Schmio at Bar Tabac while the rain comes down outside, all mopey-like.
Neways, weekend recap. So: the boy? with the phone number? and the tall? and the smiling? We went out Friday night, yes he is tall, he has a ride, he is sweet, he called the next day. Nice job, boy. Maybe catch you in three months.
At Jeff’s in Brooklyn Heights Saturday night, over cheddar and tomato pie, and asparagus, and then lemon cake for dessert, we watched Kill Bill and like an hour of QVC, where they were hawking beaded American-flag T-shirts to celebrate our freedom this holiday weekend. When we arrived on the QVC channel and there was a large woman in a red T-shirt and a matching red handband-like roll of cloth around her forehead sitting next to a very eighties-looking woman in an oversized nautical-print sweater, Jeff said, “Oh, this is gonna be great.” And then it was. They were all, “This comes in purple and”—breathlessly, emphatically, orgasmically—“black.” “Oh, look at these beads. Hand-sewn. Would you call this a gajillion or a bajillion?” “Oh, that’s a bajillion.” “Hee hee hee.” “Hee hee hee.” We just couldn’t. look. away.
Sunday afternoon on the B61 to Williamsburg, Jeff and I were carrying red wine, white wine, sparkling wine, a flower pot with one pink flower, a chocolate raspberry tart, and twelve chocolate cupcakes Jeff baked. At Vio’s, the backyard party was sweet and quiet. Plates of cheese and fruit and prosciutto and bread and salads. A green tablecloth. A Tiffany lampshade masquerading as a candleholder. Two bowls of chocolate mousse. Dusk and rose petals. Music in the perfect air. Moon lighting. Bellinis. Laughs, kisses, hugs. Midnight.
Neways, weekend recap. So: the boy? with the phone number? and the tall? and the smiling? We went out Friday night, yes he is tall, he has a ride, he is sweet, he called the next day. Nice job, boy. Maybe catch you in three months.
At Jeff’s in Brooklyn Heights Saturday night, over cheddar and tomato pie, and asparagus, and then lemon cake for dessert, we watched Kill Bill and like an hour of QVC, where they were hawking beaded American-flag T-shirts to celebrate our freedom this holiday weekend. When we arrived on the QVC channel and there was a large woman in a red T-shirt and a matching red handband-like roll of cloth around her forehead sitting next to a very eighties-looking woman in an oversized nautical-print sweater, Jeff said, “Oh, this is gonna be great.” And then it was. They were all, “This comes in purple and”—breathlessly, emphatically, orgasmically—“black.” “Oh, look at these beads. Hand-sewn. Would you call this a gajillion or a bajillion?” “Oh, that’s a bajillion.” “Hee hee hee.” “Hee hee hee.” We just couldn’t. look. away.
Sunday afternoon on the B61 to Williamsburg, Jeff and I were carrying red wine, white wine, sparkling wine, a flower pot with one pink flower, a chocolate raspberry tart, and twelve chocolate cupcakes Jeff baked. At Vio’s, the backyard party was sweet and quiet. Plates of cheese and fruit and prosciutto and bread and salads. A green tablecloth. A Tiffany lampshade masquerading as a candleholder. Two bowls of chocolate mousse. Dusk and rose petals. Music in the perfect air. Moon lighting. Bellinis. Laughs, kisses, hugs. Midnight.
posted by stellou at 8:13 PM
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