Right. Well. Right. This is the first entry into my new and improved blog. And what a whopper I have for you.
All… two or three of you, that is.
Well… anyway, last night I went to The Strand as there was some fashion thingy on celebrating and advertising and encouraging many people with larger wallets than mine to spend, spend, spend on clothes they probably didn’t need but bought anyway.
So there I was… mostly bored… waiting outside Bowie’s store… while otherwise hot women walked by dressed in things that cost more than parts of my computer… and I was playing on my Nintendo DS. Well, you might ask why I didn’t join in on the festivities… well what the bloody hell am I to do? I’m just a techie! I don’t know about social situations any more than I know about trapping wild buffalo with a staple, a steak knife, and an Atkins diet book. Go ask Macguyver. Don’t pester me about it.
Anyway, the night was ending and I’d already talked to Wendell and met the beautiful Ida (who I’m working with at Bowie basically) as well as finally knowing the store manager’s name (Joey, another beautiful girl) and meeting various other people I’ll probably never meet again. Models… designers… hair stylists… random single serve people who are all well and good and very nice but knowing my luck or lack of logic, very few will even see me again and if they do, are unlikely to remember me.
Ok. Moving on.
Ida, Joey, myself and a new fella named Alan Saunders get into a taxi and head to a bar that I probably can’t even pronounce: Kirketon.
The place kinda reminds me of Wine Banq, except without the live music and wine racks lining the walls. Unlike Wine Banq, it did have jazz — real jazz — coming out of the speakers that weren’t exactly inconspicuous. Sorry owners of Wine Banc (Jonathan Zchwartz???) but your place ain’t all that jazz.
Right, well anyway… Ida seems to want to pay for all of the drinks this evening at Kirketon… Kirketon… Kirk-e-ton… it doesn’t even sound like a word. It’s an uncomfortable name. It doesn’t even roll off of the tongue. It’s more one of these names that requires a forklift and a heavy machinery license to remove from an oral cavity before it can be said.
Right. Back on topic, Ida seemed to want to pay for the drinks that night. I’d already said to Alan Saunders — a nice chap (did I just say ‘chap’?!) who’s a restaurant critic with a design show on ABC Radio — that even though he’d offered to buy me a drink, he shouldn’t since with me being poor (I didn’t word it like that) that I’d be unable to buy one in return for him. He was fine with that, and off he went to get me a Scotch on the rocks.
When he came back, it seemed it was Ida who paid.
I’m not sure why, honestly.
Ida is a beautiful girl who seems very smart but I can’t quite figure out why she’d want to pay for all of our drinks.
Anyway, there was talking and low-lit rooms and stuffiness since the room didn’t seem to have the world’s best ventilation and martinis and all sorts of stuff.
There was Wayne Cooper… someone who seems like a decent bloke and a fashion designer to boot. Upon returning home, it actually dawned on me that I had a Wayne Cooper shirt… and probably one that didn’t sell all that well, knowing me.
There was Alan Saunders, who I’ve already mentioned. He’s a restaurant critic, it seems, and has a radio show on ABC about architecture and design. We both agreed that Mexican in Australia is severely lacking and Azteca’s is probably among the best we have.
There was Bowie Wong… who was laughing and… drunk, probably.
There was Ida and Joey who both drank gin martinis.
There was a guy on the other side of the room who seemed like he’d be a model. At one point, I heard a conversation saying how he was supposed to be or how he was going to be the new face of Hugo Boss or something for David Jones. His name was James. I only met him as he was leaving.
There were other random people I probably won’t remember after going to bed in 15 minutes.
And then there was me… stuck in the middle of this and confused as hell as to why I was here.
I mean… this is me… the guy without any real degree of success in his life sitting amongst people who obviously had some… what the hell?
Surely there’s something wrong with the lunar alignment or something. Perhaps there’s someone more suited to this part who’s supposed to be sitting where I am in these terribly uncomfortable leather seats that look so plush and inviting and are about as comfy as sitting on a stone bench.
Less, actually. Less comfortable than that nice stone bench.
And at one point, I started paying attention to the incredibly hot waitress.
It was probably the same time both Ida and Joey started paying attention to the incredibly hot waitress.
There were some short conversations as the waitress cleared up some of our glasses and as we all (Ida, Joey & myself) commented on how pretty she was, I told her that the guy across from me was someone named Wayne Cooper and had she heard of him. I had to check it with Ida, but yes, that’s who he was… and her eyes lit up.
I tried to make a little conversation with the gorgeous waitress, even with how hard it is for me to make conversation with anyone.
I asked her if she was a uni student: she was. Where did she go, etc, etc… and it turns out, she’s interested in film-making, too.
Ida then wrote her email on the back of a card to get her into the guest list for Bowie as well as writing my email on the same card.
I don’t actually know if the waitress — whose name I later found out was Genevieve — will ever actually email me or what-not, but I have a feeling that was Ida attempting to help me in talking with a girl who might actually have something in common with me.
Thank you Ida.
It might not actually happen and nothing will probably eventuate from it, and by that I mean just friendly conversation, but the effort is always appreciated.
The night started lessening with more people leaving and with only a few of us left, those that were left seemed to want to go to some bar that wasn’t all that spectacular… but I’ll get to that in a moment.
As we left, I walked up to the waitress and said that I hoped she’d have a brilliant night. I don’t know why… I just did.
Seriously, if I knew why my brain gets me to do half the shit it gets me to do, I’d know more about myself than what my cat knows.
And he knows a lot. That cat ain’t one to be fucked with.
He’s got claws. Don’t fuck with someone who has claws.
Not unless you’ve got some mutant vision.
I’m getting off-topic, I know, and it comes from being tired, which I am. And I should go to sleep soon since I have an interview at Paxton’s in the morning, which I should probably be fresh for even though I won’t be able to bring my business jacket because…
…after getting into that craphole of a club we moved to after the Kirk-e-ton… some dickhead spilled beer all along the back of my jacket. Yay! A need for dry-cleaning!
Thankfully, it missed my DS. Phew.
However, Ida didn’t come into club nor did Alan. I’m not sure whether they weren’t allowed in or whether they didn’t want to go in or not.
Me, someone who normally isn’t a fan of clubs, went in since Joey said she’d like to have someone there who’s like family, I think.
Having only known Joey for a day, this made a lot of sense.
(If only people understood my brain… the world would be a more confusing place… and I might actually attract girls instead of deflecting them with a weird wavelength aura or something… who knows…)
It didn’t take me long to be bored.
I was beer bathed in a place filled with loud music and hot girls dancing in an environment where I’d look like such a wanker even attempting to dance with them (and I’d probably slip and break my back on the beer that didn’t soak into my jacket when it was dropped on me).
I told Joey I was going to leave within about 10-15 minutes of feeling like such an out-of-place wanker just standing around and doing piss all trying to blend in.
A guy in a donkey suit would have blended in much better than I did.
Joey tried telling me that I should stay and make contacts and talk to people and do all sorts of things like that because that’s the industry I was in.
But that’s not the industry I’m in. It’s just the industry I occasionally do work for.
And I’m not usually a club person. They have to be playing music I like… which they weren’t… and I have to be with people I want to dance with or know… and I was pretty much alone in terms of surviving that place.
Joey kissed me on the lips. Why, I don’t know. It wasn’t a kiss that you’d think “well, Leigh finally got with someone” so put away those notebooks, children. You ain’t winning a prize today from finding Leigh some lurve.
Nope, it was just a kiss, I guess. Not knowing what “just a kiss” is, I can safely assume that after finding out that Joey has a boyfriend, it was exactly that: just a kiss.
Weird that I put so much stock in just a kiss… I need to get kissed more often, I guess.
So I left. Caught a bus home. Had a shower. Wrote this blog.