5:14 p.m. - 2004-01-15
double-booking
Well. Yesterday was a long day, to put it mildly. I did, in fact, go talk with the punk rock cellist - I am surprised both at my own ability to be so forward ('I was telling your friend I think you're pretty cute,' I said) and at the results. Yesterday's across-the-market flirting intensified, and my friend Kelly pushed me to go talk to him, since he was clearly flirting.
So, I did the unthinkable, and though he said he had a boyfriend, he bought me a drink and we continued to make eyes at one another.
I think, truth be told, I was really into the novelty of hooking up with a hot, punk-y, street musician. And he has a boyfriend, even if he made it pretty clear he still wants to mess around. Bad for the karma, you know, so I think I'll opt out. He was not nearly the interesting, intelligent fellow I thought he would be. It is difficult to imagine someone playing the cello so amazingly but being so otherwise boring.
But, it was sort of precedent-setting. Also, the cellist doesn't even MATTER because I had a really great date with the Canadian. I had to haul ass back to my flat for a quick shower, clothing change and preening. So this is why double-booking is so discouraged. I was already in a bit of a state, though, celebrating one of the worst hangovers of my life (the theme of this trip) after guzzling three bottles of wine at the home of an art historian I am doing some work with right now. My body was probably trying to find the self-destruct button, so for a lot of the afternoon, I was completely on edge, charged with a really, really scary amount of energy. I thought I was going to break down.
Since I have not yet covered this matter, I would just like to establish that this fellow is really fawking cute. Veryvery, in that pushing thirty way I'm so fond of. Tall, slightly cleft chin, roman nose, warm brown eyes...mmmm. And he is kind and down to earth in a way that one would not find in these London boys. He's spent just over half his life here, but the effects of his Canadian childhood have made him a lot more relaxed. Bless, because as cute as these city dudes are, they are frequently a bit too wankerish.
So, our date had to be short, because he had to jet off to a music industry party. But not before charming me all to hell and giving me a free CD of his band (the cellist still made me pay for his, what-ev). So, we're going out again on Friday. The parting of ways was a bit awkward - since our conversation was so comprehensive, so sincere, it didn't really make for a goodbye kiss sort of thing. But believe me...I wanted to.
Here's hoping he has a comfortable bed, because the bed I have been sleeping on has exacerbated the hell out of what my become a real back problem if I don't watch it. I'm clocking six or eight hours a day of walking all over this town, with my absurdly heavy backpack in tow. I am getting to be frustrated by all the time this program entails, and how little time it has left me to pursue the things I love (dick, as an example). I am close to exhaustion whenever I get free time, which is almost never. It is difficult to feel sympathy for someone who gets to spend four weeks in London and Berlin, this I know. But I feel tantalized by all the possibility of this place, and devestated by how little time I have. I am this bloody close to saying fuck school all together and pulling a wee bit of disappearing act. But I probably won't.
I just feel ripped off, meeting the Canadian this late, having so little time left. I am listening to his album now, and it's pretty fucking amazing. It has a very Dark Side of the Moon-inspired feel. Dreamy, strange, full of sound bites and references of leaving the planet and floating through space. I really dig the hell out of it. And him. Fuck.
