I kicked off the afternoon with the MIL and Charli at a little cafe in Rhodes, and discussed things that a MIL and a DIL would normally discuss. Charli inhaled a cupcake, and we went shopping. I wanted to buy a new pair of shoes, but found very little in the way of closed-toe shoes. Regulars will know that I am not a fan of feet, and no matter how pretty your feet look, open toed shoes after a night on the sauce will make anybody's feet look freshly sledgehammered.After some horrendous service which resulted in a newfound disrespect for salespeople, I gave up on my plight for the perfect pair of shoes. I went out for a smoke and phoned Misha. We discussed shoes, and what we were expecting Stephen and his mate to be like. It suddenly dawned on me that we were going out to meet complete strangers. While we had become friends with Stephen on our own merit and knew certain things about him, we had never met him or hung out with him. We both agreed that it was a good idea to meet them together, formed a very loose getaway plan in case of emergency, and talked for a little more. Satisfied, I hung up.
The bus trip into town was... interesting. Across and opposite my seat sat an English businessman who had a very severe and very annoying habit of chewing his fingernails. Fingernail chewing has got to be one of my biggest turn-offs, as being an armchair detective, I can only imagine the dead cells and bacteria. He chewed his hands for the entire duration of the bus ride, and not only was he chewing, but he was swallowing the bits of nail he'd bitten off. It was revolting and totally fascinating to watch him go at it, since he gnawed with such fervour.
In front of me sat a balding man who was very much into his novel. That is, until a bug found its way into his face, to which he floundered maniacally, arms a-flailing. Every few minutes, the bug would fly near his ear. Every few minutes, he'd take a swipe at his own head, knocking the bus windows with a restrained violence that was a little more than disturbing. Shortly after, a blonde woman sat next to him on the bus, and he ceased to swipe. Alternatively, he decided to blow in the bug's general direction, which seemed to now be directly in the woman's face. For some reason, she tolerated it, even engaging in small talk with the shiny knob.
About halfway through the trip he blew at the bug again, but this time he followed it right around, finding himself face to face with me. Smiling politely, I immediately averted my gaze. 'Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off,' I told him in my head. And then it began. For the rest of the trip, in close to five minute intervals, he would turn right around to look directly at me and smile. Not only was it fucking weird, it was rude.
Getting up at the QVB stop, he jumped up as I stood next to his seat. The bus had stopped, but he 'stumbled' into me. 'Easy up, mate!' I said brusquely, to which he apologised and slid in behind me to get off the bus. I walked hurriedly along the Queen Victoria Building, and found him walking next to me, leaning down to look at my face or catch my attention. I stepped up the pace and then stopped dead in my tracks to light my smoke. He had no choice but to keep walking with the crowd, and I kept my eye on his sweaty pate until he was far enough for me to keep going, uninterrupted and unintimidated.
Seeing our meeting spot, the Talking Dog, I searched the sea of bodies for Misha. As being late is a pet peeve of mine, I wasn't sure if she had just snapped it and gone off without me. I pulled my phone out and rang her, turning around just in time to see her walk towards me. After a quick and shivering hug, we walked into the QVB for dinner and Misha-approved Kamikazes.
The lift in the QVB is the tiniest thing, EVER. We hopped in with two pseudo-Harajuku girls and a mop of dreadlocks, and I found myself feeling very claustrophobic. Luckily, we hopped off fast enough that I didn't have time to ponder my mortality.
Dinner was great. It's one of those things that I hear everyone talk about, but never do. When I go out, it's usually on a tight schedule and a tight budget, and I head out with the primary focus of my spendage being for alcohol. With the exception of going out with Jerkface when we were together, I think the last time I actually went out to dinner with friends was in grade six, since my social life was nipped in the bud shortly after that, thanks to my mother. A very real feeling of a stunted and eventually self-imposed social life washed over me, but in a way it was liberating to know that I was finally able to do this sort of thing on my own. My days of being anti-social and agoraphobic were fast disappearing, and it made me feel nervous and excited.
Misha and I ordered our meals and drinks, and tried to suss out the night. The focus of discussion was our newly hatched plan to move in together next Easter, when her lease runs out. My stint here in Ryde was a hurried but metered test of my coping and budgeting skills immediately after my separation, and I think I've done a great job. I'm already out of lease, but would love the company of a someone I can trust not only for myself, but around Charlotte. As for real options for housemates, there wasn't anyone other than Misha. Even better, she's keen, too.
The waitress returned with two Kamikazes with little umbrellas, a sure sign that our evening was going to turn out tops. Not being a big vodka drinker, I took a breath and sipped something fierce to make the first bite a big'un. It kinda tasted like ass, but the immediate burning in my chest made the drink a success. Bless, I said something about how brilliant it was to have a European as a drinking buddy. Misha laughed, then furrowed her brow - these Kamikazes weren't as strong as the ones she had last time. I didn't know any better, but the warm fuzzies were making themselves known in the pit of my stomach, so the drink was fine by me. Dinner came, and I was amazed at how fucking big the plates were. I wasn't even sure what Misha ordered, since her side order of fries seemed to take up her entire plate. We finished our dinner and drinks, paid for the meal, and headed out to meet the lads.
We didn't even get twenty steps when we came across the ugliest fucking mumu ever known to man. This tourist shop was promoting our country by selling an overpriced and oversized swatch of cloth that looked like it had been dragged through a colon. Laughing hysterically at its hideousness, we decided to get snap-happy, taking photos of each of us pointing at the crappy rag. Unfortunately, I accidentally deleted my shot of Misha with it. Maybe I didn't delete it at all, maybe my camera deleted it of it's own accord, since it had no business being immortalised online. Looking to our right, we realised we had a little audience of all different ages and background, with the closest being two young Mediterranean men who had no idea what was what. Neither did we after seeing the mumu, I suppose. We regained composure, and moved on.A few steps further, we found ourselves looking at a glass case housing a rotating mannequin of Queen Victoria, surrounded by massive gold septres. That was pretty ugly too, but we didn't have the energy to pull our cameras out again, still clutching our stomachs in a fit of giggles brought on by mumu mania.
Looking at our watches, we still had time to skol a couple of drinks before we met Ettish and Asa. So off we went, headed for our favourite waterhole, the 3 Wise Monkeys...
[edit] Upon closer inspection, mumu wasn't a mumu at all. For storytelling and nostalgic purposes, the mumu will remain a mumu. Plus, I like saying mumu.
