18 October 2004

Oh Dear.

I broke a minor rule of mine. Well, not rule per se, more like a corollary of a corollary of a rule.

Rule: Never sleep with someone you work with.
Corollary: Don't kiss friends.
Corollary of the Corollary: Don't kiss friends of friends.

So Saturday night BG & I went out for seafood and then headed back to the pub at work, intending to have a bit of a quiet one. We were both a bit tired, I had my glasses on thanks to the pink eye and neither of us felt like changing to go out. Best laid intentions and all that, around 2am Monkey Boy and Eyebrow Boy show up and persuade us to meet up with Almost Perfect Boy & his new semi-scandalous girlfriend (she's his new waitress) and go dancing at Piper. Without changing. Looking rather dorky.

Monkey Boy is so nicknamed because he climbs all over everything, especially once he starts making unsubtle disappearances to the bathroom.

Eyebrow Boy has some really wicked eyebrows, the kind that give him a rather piercing sguardo. He's been sniffing around me all summer.

So we go dancing at Piper (of course i end up dancing on a cube, still looking like a refugee from the local library), then head to the afterhours place where Eyebrow Boy and I start playing tonsil hockey. Around 7am the four of us head to our flat and smoke a joint. BG goes to bed, Monkey Boy goes to wait in the car and Eyebrow Boy & I recommence the tonsil hockey. All the while I'm thinking

"This is boring. Pity it's not Shithead I'm kissing."

It's not that Eyebrow Boy is a bad kisser. Quite the contrary. But there just wasn't that spark, that je ne sais quoi that lights a fire in your belly. Which I fully admit is there with Shithead, curse him and his bloody sparks. The same could be said of Mr. Boink Buddy or (further back) Sette Camiche for a brief time - all sparky guys.

The funny thing is that Sette Camiche attempted to warn me off of Eyebrow Boy around a month ago.

"Watch out for him, he's crazy."

At which time I thought "And look who's talking...?"

Anyway around the time he starting inching his hand down the back of my jeans, I pointed out that Monkey Boy was waiting in the car and (lying through my teeth) I was on the rag.

I awoke Sunday to BG and Curly's teasing ("...sittin' in a tree/F-U-C-K-...Oops. Sorry. K-I-S-S-I-N-G...") and promptly commenced slapping myself in the forehead and wailing "I can't believe I kissed Eyebrow Boy. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit."

This was not one of my smartest moves. Kissing friends of friends inevitably turns awkward. Plus he's already called once yesterday to find out my plans for tonight (Hint: Doesn't involve shagging you caro) and sent a SMS (which was strangely delayed until today) saying how much he enjoyed Saturday night and how he hoped the conjunctivitis was going away.

Unfortunately the SMS rather highlighted his, erm, ignorance. If I, a foreigner with bad spelling and worse grammar can distinguish that your grammar and spelling are worse than mine, well....major turn off. I'm no intellectual snob, but...well, no.

That was my weekend. How was yours?

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