![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
It's thanks in large part to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clintswan that today was not more of a fiasco. A lapse in judgment yesterday led me to eat some questionable leftovers which began to make themselves known at about 6 in the morning. My night of restorative sleep turned into a few solid hours followed by a series of useless naps. It seemed like whenever one thing quieted down--my reflux, my gurgling tummy, the cat--another would start up. But my heart was set on the patio at SoFo--doubly so after staying in the night before. And so I set out, having downed nothing more than a piece of toast and 6 mg of antidiarrheal. "My bar for the day is that if I can get home without shitting myself," I told the Old Man, "I'm going to call it a success." He begged off, having temporarily hit his limit for sociability. (Next year we'll know to skip the bar crawl instead.) When we parted at Foster, I doubted I'd stay for more than an hour.
There were all of six people on the patio when I arrived and took up a stool at the back bar, in about the only shade there was. (I'm less burned than I thought I'd be after going to Replay unprotected, but best not to tempt the might of the spring sun.) The bartender was young, cute, and hyperaffable. He and a bar buddy helped sustain me untilclintswan arrived on the scene. From then on, he hardly left my side (though I left his at one point to catch up with Scruffy and was only just finding my way back when he came looking for me).
In the end, I stayed not for one hour but three. I still felt tragic--clung to chairs and stools, drank nothing but tap water and tonic, managed to eat less than half a burger before regretting it--but right before I left, I felt that elusive sensation which had stayed away on Saturday. First, one of the überhot guys I'd been gently flirting with gave me a much warmer farewell than protocol would dictate. Then, at the door, I loudly announced that I was taking two "Kyng condoms" in a call-back to the boorish behaviour of someone we'd failed to ditch earlier and which we'd been joking about ever since. Two men walking past the entrance at the moment laughed, and on the spur of the moment I said to one of them, "You look like you could use these!" and handed him two golden-wrapped packages. "I see what you were saying," he responded. "They are 'Kyng'!" Then my accomplice and I scampered up the street to sit in the sun as we waited for the bus.
clintswan that today was not more of a fiasco. A lapse in judgment yesterday led me to eat some questionable leftovers which began to make themselves known at about 6 in the morning. My night of restorative sleep turned into a few solid hours followed by a series of useless naps. It seemed like whenever one thing quieted down--my reflux, my gurgling tummy, the cat--another would start up. But my heart was set on the patio at SoFo--doubly so after staying in the night before. And so I set out, having downed nothing more than a piece of toast and 6 mg of antidiarrheal. "My bar for the day is that if I can get home without shitting myself," I told the Old Man, "I'm going to call it a success." He begged off, having temporarily hit his limit for sociability. (Next year we'll know to skip the bar crawl instead.) When we parted at Foster, I doubted I'd stay for more than an hour.There were all of six people on the patio when I arrived and took up a stool at the back bar, in about the only shade there was. (I'm less burned than I thought I'd be after going to Replay unprotected, but best not to tempt the might of the spring sun.) The bartender was young, cute, and hyperaffable. He and a bar buddy helped sustain me until
clintswan arrived on the scene. From then on, he hardly left my side (though I left his at one point to catch up with Scruffy and was only just finding my way back when he came looking for me).In the end, I stayed not for one hour but three. I still felt tragic--clung to chairs and stools, drank nothing but tap water and tonic, managed to eat less than half a burger before regretting it--but right before I left, I felt that elusive sensation which had stayed away on Saturday. First, one of the überhot guys I'd been gently flirting with gave me a much warmer farewell than protocol would dictate. Then, at the door, I loudly announced that I was taking two "Kyng condoms" in a call-back to the boorish behaviour of someone we'd failed to ditch earlier and which we'd been joking about ever since. Two men walking past the entrance at the moment laughed, and on the spur of the moment I said to one of them, "You look like you could use these!" and handed him two golden-wrapped packages. "I see what you were saying," he responded. "They are 'Kyng'!" Then my accomplice and I scampered up the street to sit in the sun as we waited for the bus.
Tags: