05.Mar.2004

shoulder-tap: "you're not wearing any pants."

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Who are you, why am I sprawled on your couch, and where the fuck are my pants?
subtitled: an evening at the electro lounge

After months of speculating a rendezvous with this darling, we finally abandoned the cheap talk and met at the fairly chic and 80s-imbued Electro Lounge here in Oklahoma City.

What resulted was an evening spent sheltering comically each other from blokes of ostensibly inebriated desperation, doing the lip-lock-faux-tango with Rufus Sewell's broody-eyed clone, drunk and indie-motifed individuals cleaving to various body parts of mine whilst inhaling my lotion and proclaiming to the world I smell, quote, 'fucking delicious', a failed attempt at couples pool to Depeche Mode, The Cure, and, well, every fucking band that's ever meant anything to me, the boy with swimming-pool-blue eyes and the blondest, most guffawing mouth emptying a flask of rum down the back of my throat, splitting ways at two in the morning merely to discover I, in fact, do not require a ride home, Blonde-Boy giving Rufus Sewell a lift whilst gazing salaciously at me in the rear-view mirror, and, "You're beautiful.", as well as a slew of impulsively caught-in-the-unmistakable-thrill-of-the-moment accolades, flesh-exchange, and then it's noon, I'm on a couch, feeling decidedly silly, merely to be swept away in a two-door Sports car to talk of all things Placebo and Brian Molko.

It was a veritable joy to meet you, dear, and I echo your sentiment a la LJ.

Of course I'd do it all over again, babies.

I was essentially in charge of the music.

;)

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time & machine