Sunday, December 17, 2006

Life: Now With Twice the Waiting

So I went to a party last night. It was hosted by a fairly new acquaintance, so I brought along my friend H. for company. We were both excited at the prospect of a new circle of people to meet, and also at the invite, which encouraged the wearing of gowns & rhinestones and the bringing of sparkling wine.

We got all gussied up and got ourselves there. I was a bit overdressed (seems not everyone takes the invitation to wear gowns and rhinestones as seriously as I do). But there were interesting people (50 of 'em, no less), gallons of champagne, great food, and excellent flirting. My first target turned out to be the hostess' boyfriend, alas. Target number two was her ex (I guess we share taste in men), and he was fun in his hipster glasses and suit, talking about suicide literature and telling terrible jokes. But he was a little timid and maybe a little depressed, so I moved on (though the hostess told me later in the evening that he gave the best oral of her life. Hm.).

Target number 3, however, was a winner. Let's call him The Charmer. Tall, gorgeous, funny, opened by explaining to me in detail how to make a puff pastry stuffed with marzipan (our hostess had made from scratch a Buche de Noel, and decorated it with marzipan). Then he walked away and I realized I'd had chocolate powder down the front of my dress the whole time.

He was born in the Middle East and raised in Europe, where he acquired a lovely accent and learned to make oil lamps from vegetable oil and the peel of mandarin oranges using only his swiss army knife. Which he deftly demonstrated while I nibbled on the orange slices. I don't remember a whole lot else, b/c I was tipsy on champagne the whole time, but I did at one point hold him at sugar-cookie gunpoint (why were there sugar cookies shaped like guns? I still don't know.), and with much assistance* from our hostess and H. and said hostess' boyfriend (of the target #1ness), I gave him my digits on the way out.

Honestly, I'm finding it hard to get worked up about whether or not he'll call, since I'm burnt out from waiting on The Freakin' Puppy, but we'll see...


*The assistance looked like this: H. said I should give him my number. I said I had no idea how to do that. So she grabbed a paper dessert plate and wrote my name & number on it, folded it up and handed it to me. I panicked and flagged down our hostess, who flagged down her boyfriend, who advised against the paper plate, though not against the giving of the number in general. H. and I got our coats and did some surveillance. The Charmer was holding court in a group of like 10 people. I told H. there was no way I could just walk up to him, interrupt everyone, and give him my number. So she strolls right over to one of the women gaggled around him and starts saying her goodbye-it-was-so-nice-to-meet-you thing to her, creating the diversion necessary for me to say similar to The Charmer, with the added upper arm touch (nice muscle tone under there!) and "we should hang out sometime" opening. At which he whipped out his cell and took my digits. Then he called my cell so I would have his, though I tragically discovered later that my cell was off and therefore didn't capture his number, even though he thinks I have it.

The best part? After we left, H. confessed to me that she had never met that woman! Could there be a better wingwoman? Clearly not.

1 comment:

Sarah said...

I need a wingwoman like that!

By the way, I (and everyone else in the world, apparently) found you through Feministing and I'm really enjoying your blog. Like, not-getting-my-work-done-because-I'm-gripped enjoying it. Keep em coming.