How I am going to be banned from some of the nicer restaurants in the TC.
I met FeeJ, Grooders, Mo-Mo, and Redwright at the Sample Pample for nibbles and wine as a sort of "Hey, I don't have to strip onstage any more for the rest of the year!" celebration. We were wining, dining (butternut squash and pesto make for a BOMB shit pasta sauce, yo. Try it. Quickly now, it's seasonal!) and really frass frass frass. A beautiful thing.
One of the stories traipses into sleep patterns, and Dorajar tells the tale about how I whack her in the face mid-slumber. Not to be outdone, I try to get into the whole "bed hogging" scenario. Where I get up to go to the loo in the wee hours, and come back to her in a pose that is similar to Da Vinci's "Vetruvian Man". No room for buddy. And she takes all the sheets. What? IJS.
And again, in true frassy fashion- I think that a demonstration is in order. You know, so the table can get a better idea of the pose. I look at her and say "Ready?", and before she can respond I shoot my arms out in a cheerleader-esque pose.
Knocking her off of her high-top chair and down onto the floor. Which gathered stares in our direction like the State Fair freak show. Ike Turner, party of one? You can sit next to baby P.
Dora was laughing her a$$ off, but the level of embarrassment/shame/"wtf did I just do" sort of countered any amusement I probably could have garnered. Strangely enough, we had only one commenter stop over and say "Maybe you should stick to restaurants with rubber floors?"
Right. I'm a douche.
(The second party foul, for those keeping score, happened early this year when I tossed a dude to the ground and ripped the shit out of his coat at JP's after KFH. Please. For the love. Don't "attack" someone b/c they are in the arts that are martial. Some of us try to know what we're doing now and then. And your pretty Wilson's leather may get injured)
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