Monday, April 09, 2012

Late Leather, Wine, and Wicked Women

After eating too many mussels, we sat and sipped wine over an all-too-overly polite dinner for a friend's birthday. The attendants were all new to me, so introductions went around. The bit of wine and the fact that I didn't have to work with anyone made it easier.

Both the Artist and I were amused by the group as they were young and each of them expressive and convinced that they were more experienced and more corrupt and more different than the two of us.

We smiled and held hands under the table as we sipped wine and engaged them in conversation. There was the Dancer, a wiry little Filipino boy who could not stop moving. He wasn't a dancer by trade but it was in his blood, in the way he moved you could see it that he was wound up and would go all night long if given half the chance. There was the married couple, who were also artists, young and from Portland. Very much a Portland couple who could not stop talking about scheduling vasectomies. Perhaps they thought this made them special, but the way they went, on, and on, and on, and on about it made it down right trite and boring. There were others there, I sipped wine and listened to the conversation, participating only when it amused me.

After dinner we walked downtown for birthday cake for the birthday girl and people indulged in sweets. Then the birthday girl in question announced she was going to pick up one of her friends, who was apparently too drunk to figure out how to get the restaurant on his own. That would never end well.

When she finally got back with her drunk friend the Winedrinker, he was very much definitely out of his mind. He took one look at the Artist and decided that the best thing for it would be to hit on her without ending. Within three words she had cut the floor out from under him, challenging him to be more interesting.

"But I am interesting." He kept shooting back.

"You don't even know who you are."

"How can you be so mean to me?"

"Because, you're not interesting, you can go away now."

The poor drunk was cut down hard and began to complain to the birthday party, while the two of us tried to decide what it was exactly that we wanted to do.

In the end we went outside to talk to the other half of the party that had retreated into the cool April evening. We talked for a bit before the Dancer came up to stand beside us.

"What are you going to do tonight?" I asked him.

"I don't know, man, I don't know. This is the first wave. Hard to say where I will end up."

"First wave?"

"Yeah, the first wave, and then when you go I'll find the second wave, and then the third wave. You just ride the wave all night long." Ah, to be young and 23 and full of unstoppable energy. I smiled.

The Artist and I posed for a picture and then decided that the privacy of a bed somewhere else would be the better way to spend our own waves for the evening, and with some polite goodbyes we headed off in our own direction and let the waves roll over the others in the group.

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