November 28th, 2005

monkey pirate

Party at Bag End

The roomies and I had a big party Saturday night. For all that they're gay models/actors, they are not particularly neat. However, in preparation for the party, we spent the whole day cleaning the house, from stem to stern, in immaculate detail. This was rewarding - if only we had people more often.

I was happy that many of my friends stopped by, particularly early in the night, so I was not alone in a house full of strangers. There was even a surprise guest appearance by toast3r, who was a big hit with the roomies and their guests.

Later on the night, I asked a girl (a knockout who confessed to loving Dungeons and Dragons) to marry me. After about the sixth request, she even said yes - though I suspect she was just humoring the drunken-dork. Never the less, I am now engaged. Weep, oh-you-maidens who shall never partake of my charms! Rejoice, oh-you-bachelors who no longer labor in my shadow. The king is dead, long live the king! (this would be more convincing if I were likely to ever see her again.)

Towards the end of the night, as I looked around with a few holdout friends, I realized that I was at a very gay Hollywood party. Yet another memory of my strange year in LA. And you know, it turns out gay guys at parties are just like straight guys at parties - there's no wanton hooking up, instead, there's a bunch of people obviously interested in each other but too shy to really do anything about it, leading to awkward farewells at the end of the night. Which just goes to show you - people are the same all over. This is hardly a shocking revalation, I admit - but it's reassuring to know that far less separates us than we think.

The following morning, we dragged ourselves out to a good breakfast at More Than Waffles, and I was questioned very closely on heterosexual oral sex techniques, that the lads seemed simultaneously revolted and fascinated by, like pictures of a car wreck, or something.

Later, I went to the gym, and then saw the new Harry Potter movie, which seemed to be made especially for writers of slash fiction. A move, I might add, I thoroughly deplore. It was still a good movie, the best of the bunch, I suppose, though some of the director's choices were truly odd - strange, lingering reaction shots, oddly cut scenes. Ralph Fiennes was a splendid Voldemort though - just exactly as I imagined him (Voldemort, that is - not Ralph Fiennes), only I hadn't imagined him vividy enough to realize that Lord Voldemort was actually the English Patient.

Sympathy Sushi

Today was my day to offer sympathy to folks who lost loved ones - one serious, one less so.

My ex-girlfriend's grandmother passed away, back in Russia. She can't go home for the funeral, so she's stuck here away from her family. After work I brought her flowers, and stayed and chatted and tried to cheer her up a bit.

On the other hand, my cow-orker came back from the holiday to find one of the goldfish that she takes care of dead - stuck behind a piece of coral. I summoned my finest ICSI (Icthyological Crime Scene Investigation) and based on the marks on the fish's fins, which I determined were defensive wounds; my analysis was that foul play was involved.

At lunch time, the sales team (which consists of me and one other guy) took her out for a consolation lunch. We wanted to recognize her loss, you see.

The sushi was delicious.