green eyes

Hmm.. Sunday evening.. I’m sitting feeling ever so slightly weird after eating two morsels of Puranpoli which I accidentally microwaved for too long with a ziplock bag (which melted and stuck to the grub). I don’t think I should have eaten that. Clearly I didn’t learn anything from from last Sunday when I stupidly ate way-too-old frozen vegetables and gave myself cataclysmic runs.

Despite all my attempts to prevent this weekend from becoming any hedonistic man-ridden, binge-drinking vanity fair, it ended up being pretty much that.
Only this time, I gave myself Thursday and Friday off from alcohol. This was warranted after getting piss-drunk on wine at the W hotel where we celebrated Elvish Pixie’s birthday the only way we know how. Here I met a man and made an impression (and I don’t remember it). All I remember is him telling me he’s going to Bombay and me sending him an email with tips. But no, he thought I was sexy. Blunt, but flattering. I went to work on Thursday with a head heavier than a sack of bricks.

My skin hates me; My body hates me. With the winter imminent, wakeboarding opportunities will be scarce. I haven’t been to the gym in several months. Ughness is all around. Oh to be ten years younger.

In other news, I have a met a boy who is taken with me (I mean that in a lustful manner). You see, three weeks ago, I did something pretty scandalous (by my own standards). I went out, dressed to the nines, in what Jin has dubbed the sex dress (I disagree!). That night I met some very friendly, presumably broke French boys. Long story short (and for good reason, I want to spare you the raunchy details), after partying till the club threw us out, they convinced me to go to watch the sunrise with them and swim in the ocean with them. Of course this meant ditching the heels and the expensive dress and swimming in a borrowed polo tee shirt and not much else. Whew. And that’s where my attentions were diverted from the Will (the boy who I met first) to let’s call him Chris because he is blond, tall and a halfway-decent doppelganger for Chris Martin except with beautiful green eyes that matched exactly (and I am not exaggerating this) the colour of the sea we were swimming in. My, there is poetry in the most unexpected of situations. Needless to say we kissed. I was tired from a night of drinking and dancing. He propped me up with one hand and supported me while we swam out to sea. He had lifeguard training. (You can’t make this shit up, I promise you). That was one spectacular, scenic and memorable morning.

Fast forward to this weekend.  Chris had been texting since Wednesday and we finally met last night as well. He said he couldn’t stop thinking about me and all sorts of other humbug that I am so used to hearing now that I have to strain so hard as to not burst out laughing. He switched from English to French to Spanish 1/3rds of the way through every other sentence. Said he loved that he could do that with me. Okay. And then he says, “I’ll see you Wednesday?” Uhhhh “Maybe”….”No?”…”Where?”….”Oh I might work late on Wednesday”…. (thinking to myself, you’re full of shit). See, he may well be French and scruffy and tall and blond but he doesn’t have much to say despite being trilingual and he studies and works and that makes him not-boyfriend-material. And let’s face it, I am not into blonds. The real Chris Martin is probably the only blond I’d go for. And Chris Evans. And young Brad Pitt. Darn it!

Chris thwarted my dancing plans (boo) and drinking plans (yayy) so I am hangover free today. My skin looks like a dishrag. The good news is that I had stayed in all Saturday before partying and managed to get a decent amount of studying done.

Today I took a rather handsome blue-eyed Brazilian colleague (visiting) out to brunch with all my beautiful girlfriends (it is my pleasure in life to always be surrounded by beautiful and smart women). Later Elvish Pixie and I took him to get a foot reflexology massage. Boy did we manage to cheer the bloke up.

Tempted as I was, I didn’t watch the rugby finals and returned home to my books once more. They didn’t hold my interest for too long. So I don’t know if I should have just watched the games and knocked back some beers. But then again, it did free my time so I could write this largely pointless post.

P.S. The song is a bit lofty but hey the title is relevant …”Honey you are the sea upon which I float”
P.P.S. I was completely sober during my sortofskinnydipping misadventure. I swear.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s