It’s always nice when one can wind down just a little and relax with friends for a while. This isn’t to say that my week wasn’t hectic (because it rarely isn’t) nor stressful (ditto), and on Thursday I woke up in a foul mood for no particular reason I could discern. But I did receive my copy of Jillian Keenan‘s new book, Sex With Shakespeare, and on Friday I went to dinner with Mistress Matisse and super-ally Elizabeth Nolan Brown. We had a lovely dinner together (talking, among other things, about last week’s events) and relaxing and drinking and laughing and doing the things friends do at dinner. Then toward the end, this middle-aged guy came up to our table, stood between Matisse and Liz, and asked us to excuse him; he seemed to be studying our faces intently so I immediately figured he had recognized one or more of us. But that seemed not to be the case; he said he wanted to ask us something, so then I guessed he had overheard our conversation and had some question about it. But that wasn’t it; he said his table (two men & two women) had been discussing us and made a bet about the average age of our table. We were all a bit surprised at such a rude question, so Matisse asked him to repeat it and yes, he really was asking three strange women to tell him how old we were. It retrospect, I think it’s pretty funny that our reactions were exactly in character: Matisse was annoyed at his impertinence, Liz was curious at where this might be going, and I immediately tried to monetize the situation by asking him if we got a cut if he won. Had he offered to pick up our tab I might’ve tried to convince Matisse to play along, but when he said a mighty $20 was riding on our answer (not even enough to cover my cocktails), I totally agreed with Matisse’s politely but sternly telling him to shove off. One can only wonder what the conversation was that gave rise to such a bet, and how much liquor was involved. Anyhow, Matisse had another commitment so Liz and I continued the party at my “Den of Sin” as she calls it, and this selfie was the result; in case you can’t tell, we were horizontal because I wasn’t actually in a condition to be vertical.
The rest of the weekend was pretty relaxing; on Saturday I went to Endza’s birthday party, then on Sunday I helped a regular client who asked me for a favor. See, he just bought a new car and wanted me to drive the old one home from the dealership for him. Oh, and did I mention he asked me to pick a young sex worker he could give it to? Not sell or trade, mind; give it to. He’s barely even met the girl I chose. But you know how clients are; abusive monsters, the lot of them. Slavery and oppression and paid rape and all. Well, I guess I’m just suffering from false consciousness; it must’ve been the Cosmopolitans from Friday night.
