Greg (my platonic life partner) and I went to The Napier in Fitzroy for 2 huge meals no one can eat in one sitting, and to chat and flirt with the sassy bar staff.
One of them likes to call me "spilly", after my first visit, where I (you guessed it), spilled my drink everywhere. She still calls me spilly, even though I have fully redeemed myself and have eaten there plenty of times since without incident.
She hassled me about it again tonight, to which I casually replied "I was just trying to make an impression. Clearly it worked perfectly. I think you're in love with me".
Thankfully, she laughed, and didn't slap me.
I drew my name on a coaster and left it there. for her to frame and hang above the bar, and so she can remember my name isn't spilly, it's knifey.
Actually, I bet it's in the trash.
They already have plenty of cool Lichtenstein-esque art lying around there, like this:
and this:
My favourite though, is the 'S' shape on the doorframe to the kitchen, made entirely of little cat stickers. Why an 'S'? I guess we'll never know.
[insert: 05/12/04]...
I have since found out the answer to this mystery!
One of the kitchen-hombres partners names starts with an 'S', and her internet alias is fluffyasacat.
Mystery solved!
[end insert].
It's a work of art yo!
After this, we went to Cherry Bar.
I was on a mission to get my pash on, after talking to Clem Bastow about it over cake at Laurent a few days earlier. I've been really good, and have succesfully avoided falling over and slipping inside of anyone for ages. (Ages in knifeyland = weeks).
So we went, I met a girl called Bo (as in 'Derek'), and I let her pash me for a while. All in all, a hollow and most unsatisfying experience, and Bo, if you're reading this, I'm sorry but you need to avoid pasta with garlic when you're on the make yo.
After this we went to the Moser Room, which is not going to shock anyone who knows me, as I practically live there.
And I had a shit time.
Let me tell you about it...
I met a friend of Ms Fits', let's call her 'friend of Ms Fits'.
I had seen her around for a while, and had developed a bit of a crush on her. She looks very nice.
Lovely, even.
But she came over to me, and decided she wanted to pick a fight with me, because in her eyes I was a 26 year old scenester trying to fit in by having tattoos.
The reality is I'm 33, and have looked like this for the past 16 years. A scenester I ain't, and most definitely not a bandwagon jumper-onerer.
That didn't bother me though.
What bothered me was that she said:
1. "I'm not trying to pick you up".
Why would you say that?
If you're not trying to pick me up, that's cool, but there's no need to shatter my ego!
Maybe in my world I was enjoying the fantasy that you might be trying to pick me up, and then you just did a big steaming crap on that fantasy.
2. "There are no attractive guys in Melbourne".
Wow. Thanks!
So not only am I not worth picking up, but I'm not even attractive?
This just got better and better.
'Friend of Ms Fits' went on for a minute after that, talking about how every band out there at the moment is a rip-off garage rock rehash, and that it's all shit.
But she loves Wolfmother (???)
I don't get it, but I just figured she was a bit too cool for the rest of us, and left her to radiate and bask in her superiority.
Can someone female please explain why people say things like that?
I've heard "I'm not trying to pick you up" before, and it makes me utterly paranoid that I look desperate or something. Especially because I'm not.
I'm Mr Fussy when it comes to girls (generally), desperate I ain't.
Someone knows what it's all about, please share with the rest of the class.
By the way, here's a pic of Greg I took through the window of the newly refurbished Chapel Street KFC tonight. I love the way he stands...
...he's the cool looking one in black, not the E-d up wanker drinking 7 up with his sunglasses on at 5 am, and gelled up hair stizyle.
I need to sleep for 6 years.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
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