Friday, March 14 (close but no cigar), 2003. 11:00AM.
Ladies and gentlemen, in my most Sean Connery voice I heartily proclaim, the game is on!
Yes, just a few short weeks into the 2003 girling season, I have
partaken in my first major act of courtship. Thank you linesmen, thank you ball
boys weve a
long way to go yet, but were back in the race.
Heres how the anecdote goes: On Saturday night I attempted to watch some movies with some friends, but alas, it all went horribly wrong, all of which led me to being on the phone late at night with one of my good buddies. He apologized, and suggested that as way of recompense, I go out with him and others to a bar the next night. There was, however, a stipulation: first, I was to attend Church. Now here I should really go into the dark and troubled history of church and me. However, I dont think I will. Suffice to say I come from a religious family, my parents attend church, a few of my friends attend church, and for many years I attended church (I still do on Christmas day). No longer. Anyway, a little apprehensive, I told him that I would think about it. Come the next day, around four oclock, the phone rings. Not my friend, however, but rather a pretty girl, whom is know to me approximately (the feature attraction of the Fourth Annual Pulp Fiction Party-o-Rama, more devoted sports fans). Damn, said the inner monologue that bastard knows exactly where my weaknesses lie. So, with a slightly heavy heart, I agreed to return to the lord (on provision it was quickly followed by debauchery).
Some time past, and come the evening I dressed in the blackest stuff I could find. Black suit pants, black shirt, black leather (or similar imitation) jacket, my dancing shoes. I was trying to look a little like Satan, a bit artistic, and a little bid badass (I looked pretty damn stylish if I may say so myself), and I rock up at Church. Now, this is no regular Church, it is "uniChurch", or Church held at night (so us uni people aren't still asleep) and, in theory, with a more contemporary, rock star bend on it. I'm standing outside with these hard ass mother fuckers handing out hymns, and no one I know is there ("fuck", says the inner monologue) so I walk around the block a few times - still no sign. "Well," I think "maybe he meant out the front inside." I head inside and am confronted with a man pointing name tags at me, so with a jib and a jab and a commando roll, I dodge past him and down some stairs. Once there I find a large hall (the of kind usually attached to Churches) and a bathroom. I slip in to the bathroom for a few minutes (I actually seem to spend a lot of my life chilling out in bathrooms between class, waiting for the train, when I'm early at social events, etc). I hang in the cubical a few moments (it was quite roomy), before finally deciding that we were about to start, so I slip back out. My buddy? Still no sign. So I take the back pew (too cool for school), glare at people, and engorge myself in the Church bulletin ("That son of a bitch", says the inner monologue. "He's tricked me into paying attention to the service.") The service starts, and a few minutes in my friend posse arrives. Some relief is had. I go maybe halfway through the sermon after which the topic moved to Jesus saying "I am the way" to his disciples at which point I had the alternating vision of Silvester Stallone with long hair and a beard or Jesus in Judge Dread Armor. Anyway, there was some singing and some money giving and so on, all taking us to a bar in Lygon street a little later.
I'm debating with my friend what to order, as here they have comparatively cheap spirits, and I've always wanted to try the drink of truly hard-core artists, Absinthe. So anyway, the waitress comes and everyone else orders and she looks at me. My buddy says "You ganna do it man?" so I say all right, and state my beverage. She just looks at me, and then says "Do you know what you're doing?" "Yes", says I, "but I question the wisdom of my decision." We now go through this big period of how hard-core very strong liquor is, and how it causes hallucinations and what a man I am, and I can tell the ladies are all quietly impressed by my daredevil bravado. The waitress comes and shows me how best to set the drink on fire, and go through the ritual that is really the point of the green milk of death, before finally, I come to down it. I play it up to the maximum... take off my jacket, roll up my sleeves, cross myself. You can tell they're hanging on it. Then bam, one motion, I shoot it. The ladies squeal, the men laugh. I try to look as effected as possible. That said, however, while I was busy talking to the seat next to me pretending I was hallucinating, I was having a pretty amazing experience. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol level or the fact that it had recently been on fire, but I could feel an intense warmth flowing down my body. Much more than with say, vodka, my other beverage of reluctant choice. There was a certain something in my hands... almost an out of body experience. It was amazing.
Now, anyway, somewhat later, we're going to leave (it's about
midnight, and everyone except for me (attending the College of Knowledge where
we get public holidays off) and the girl from the previous chapter (being in
year 12) has uni tomorrow. So, I say, "let's go clubbing" and she
is fairly enthusiastic. Now, everyone goes home (I give my buddy the slyest
glance ever) and we head off into the night. We never make it anywhere, really,
but rather, wander the streets of Carlton aimlessly (I bought her an ice-cream)
for several hours, until a little before 2:00AM, when I deliver her home, and
make the long walk home myself (very long, actually, although I made it pretty
quick (about 50 minutes) all in my dancing shoes. Blister the next day). Now,
you ask, what is the point of this anecdote? Did Zeedar get the girl? No. Does
he plan to in the future? Well, you never know, but it's not one of my current
objectives. No, the point is that placed alone with a text book beautiful young
girl, in the early hours of the morning, after a break of a good few months
(almost five) with no effort being put toward femme seduction at all, Zeedar
was romantic, charming, manly, sophisticated, and above all, cool, without any
preparation at all. If fact, I can almost guarantee that as I walked along that
lonely road through Royal park, that girl was thinking about Zeedar, and really,
that's all that matters.
So bring out your hot female friends, everyone (or if you are hot females, gentle readers, feel free to bring yourselves out), the game is on!