Approachability, instant conversation starter, and random people ask to snap my picture. out of the blue. on the street. Who knew?
Behold, mid way through a marathon of open bars and other liquid adventures. I found myself in new shoes and hot hair still impressed that someone was silly enough to give me champagne and pineapple juice in copious amounts... I left for yet another venue on the list Public House's top shelf was calling my name and it was a chance to drink whiskey that doesn't make me fight.
Exhibit A.
Her name is Alex and after an increasingly boozy conversation that spanned various political/social fulcrums I was equally entranced and terrified of her. I don't know who said it first but 'fake it 'til you make it' pretty much summed up most of the night. which worked out pretty well: I danced, (read: dropped it like it was hot), refused to say a negative thing about myself and lent myself fully to the moment - which in present company- wasn't hard. Is this what it feels like for people who are physically attractive and not entirely damaged to the point of seeming insanity that would bring down a baby rhino? On the name of everything up there, I could surely get used to that.
Though I will have to tone down a few things, many of which are present in
Exhibit B:
1. no more letting Fern hold my camera
2. less romping in west village alleys
3. invest in a better ( erotic tug proof) hair pinning strategy to preserve 'do in mild hail storm.
at any rate, it was a pretty good night: wine/women/song? check.
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