Drunken Adventures, part II
Okay, this will have to be brief, but I'll try to hit the main points.
• Saturday my sister and I were shown around Oxford by the Spaniard. Dinner with Oxford musicology grad students was pleasantly international (Finnish, Greek, Israeli, etc.), and pleasantly bitchy. Much wine was consumed. During dinner we learned that the Spaniard was recruited to join Opus Dei in High School, which was creepy. After dinner I told the Spaniard that I wanted to just be friends, which was both more and less awkward than expected. Got to sleep at 3:00.
• Sunday my sister and I had dim sum, which made me extravagantly happy, once again. Then to Camden market, where a bought a tiny plate. Then we prepared dinner for the house (soup; salad; casserole). This dinner turned into a crazy reality show episode. Picture it: my still rather conservative sister surrounded by six, count 'em, six gay men, with the conversation veering towards places that I would just as soon not go. The table included one housemate's Israeli ex-boyfriend, who was oddly mean to me all night, and another housemate's ex-boyfriend with whom he had just "broken up with" a week earlier, and yet, oddly, they had just spent the previous night in the same bed. Much much much wine is consumed. My sister is shown what poppers are. The various ex-boyfriends snipe.
Then the prospective subletter (a gay Pole) arrives several hours after he says he will. I, without my sister, retire to the local tragic gay bar with a housemate and the prospective subletter. Did I mention that the subletter is a guy the housemate had hooked up with in a bar, immediately after the "break-up" a week ago? When I returned the ex was storming out, upset and drunk. In the morning, the Pole was sleeping on the couch, and all the ex-boyfriends were sleeping in beds together. My sister, I believe, is getting something of an education in the ways of the mysterious, delicate creatures called gay men.
Still haven't written a lesson plan for my guest lecture at the Royal Academy of Music on Wednesday. I'll wing it, I guess...
• Saturday my sister and I were shown around Oxford by the Spaniard. Dinner with Oxford musicology grad students was pleasantly international (Finnish, Greek, Israeli, etc.), and pleasantly bitchy. Much wine was consumed. During dinner we learned that the Spaniard was recruited to join Opus Dei in High School, which was creepy. After dinner I told the Spaniard that I wanted to just be friends, which was both more and less awkward than expected. Got to sleep at 3:00.
• Sunday my sister and I had dim sum, which made me extravagantly happy, once again. Then to Camden market, where a bought a tiny plate. Then we prepared dinner for the house (soup; salad; casserole). This dinner turned into a crazy reality show episode. Picture it: my still rather conservative sister surrounded by six, count 'em, six gay men, with the conversation veering towards places that I would just as soon not go. The table included one housemate's Israeli ex-boyfriend, who was oddly mean to me all night, and another housemate's ex-boyfriend with whom he had just "broken up with" a week earlier, and yet, oddly, they had just spent the previous night in the same bed. Much much much wine is consumed. My sister is shown what poppers are. The various ex-boyfriends snipe.
Then the prospective subletter (a gay Pole) arrives several hours after he says he will. I, without my sister, retire to the local tragic gay bar with a housemate and the prospective subletter. Did I mention that the subletter is a guy the housemate had hooked up with in a bar, immediately after the "break-up" a week ago? When I returned the ex was storming out, upset and drunk. In the morning, the Pole was sleeping on the couch, and all the ex-boyfriends were sleeping in beds together. My sister, I believe, is getting something of an education in the ways of the mysterious, delicate creatures called gay men.
Still haven't written a lesson plan for my guest lecture at the Royal Academy of Music on Wednesday. I'll wing it, I guess...
posted by Grrg at 5:47 PM
2 Comments:
Israelis are just mean. Like, for a living. And confrontational, and Always Right.
-G
Well, I'll buy the smug and always right part, but I'm pretty sure he was more mean to me than to anyone else at the table. But he was an investment banker, so I was ill-disposed to like him in the first place.
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