printing blitz/men like cats
Sunday was spent down at Glaziers Bay with my visiting Adelaidean friends. Today I farewelled them after lunch with hugs goodbye and apologies for grumpiness-I don't necessarily think I was grumpy on Sunday morning but having a friend enquire after your welfare when all you want is a peaceful moment to read the paper... hmm, well I turn grumpy. So sorry Mrs Mozza-I still love you dearly.
We had some food at a good cafe gone bad. how sad. Last two times I've been there I've been overwhelmed by food choices, it's almost a vegetarian cafe housed it what once must have been a community theatre, the name (red velvet lounge) conveys that sort of gawdy theatrical vibe of the building, not unlike the Vitalstatix theatre at Port Adelaide or the upstairs of Sirens. Just my sort of place, and it also has an organic/natural supermarket section, good teas, range of red velvet chairs, papermache giant sculptures descending from the ceiling. All in all it hasn't lost its vibe, but on Sunday it was in chaos, kind of like the last dying days of Rubys (where I had my "off overseas" brunch with sister and boyfriend which my brother in law skipped to make a succesful bid at auction on a Norman Lindsay sketch; this also marked the occasion when Andy worked out just how hard it is looking after a toddler.)
Whilst there I was filling in my audience on my other weekend social events, including Indian Stick dancing (see other entry) and Friday night with P and her flatmate, who could probably grab the title of MEB (most eligible bachelor), because he really does seem to have a never ending succession of attractive engaging females fall in love with him, and gradually torturing themselves when the intial "relationship" goes nowhere. Falling for him is like falling for Gareth Van Meer ("special topics in calamity physics"-marisha pessl), it turns you into a june bug, at the mercy of phone torture, text torture and email torture.
I explained to my friends about the will power required to resist his hypnotic appeal: he's like a cat** that comes and sits in your lap, captivating you. Having mountain biked down Mt Wellington with him on Saturday morning as well as hanging out wiht him and P on Friday night, I'd had a good chance to try and work out just why he was so mesmerising. My friends were laughing, they understood; we left the cafe, preparing for our next stop (hip art exhibition at morning toast) and who walks into the cafe, far far from home, but MEB. Definitely following me.
** at art club last night, he was doing his cat stretches in the lounge (or were they yoga stretches?). Was I meant to laugh or swoon?
We had some food at a good cafe gone bad. how sad. Last two times I've been there I've been overwhelmed by food choices, it's almost a vegetarian cafe housed it what once must have been a community theatre, the name (red velvet lounge) conveys that sort of gawdy theatrical vibe of the building, not unlike the Vitalstatix theatre at Port Adelaide or the upstairs of Sirens. Just my sort of place, and it also has an organic/natural supermarket section, good teas, range of red velvet chairs, papermache giant sculptures descending from the ceiling. All in all it hasn't lost its vibe, but on Sunday it was in chaos, kind of like the last dying days of Rubys (where I had my "off overseas" brunch with sister and boyfriend which my brother in law skipped to make a succesful bid at auction on a Norman Lindsay sketch; this also marked the occasion when Andy worked out just how hard it is looking after a toddler.)
Whilst there I was filling in my audience on my other weekend social events, including Indian Stick dancing (see other entry) and Friday night with P and her flatmate, who could probably grab the title of MEB (most eligible bachelor), because he really does seem to have a never ending succession of attractive engaging females fall in love with him, and gradually torturing themselves when the intial "relationship" goes nowhere. Falling for him is like falling for Gareth Van Meer ("special topics in calamity physics"-marisha pessl), it turns you into a june bug, at the mercy of phone torture, text torture and email torture.
I explained to my friends about the will power required to resist his hypnotic appeal: he's like a cat** that comes and sits in your lap, captivating you. Having mountain biked down Mt Wellington with him on Saturday morning as well as hanging out wiht him and P on Friday night, I'd had a good chance to try and work out just why he was so mesmerising. My friends were laughing, they understood; we left the cafe, preparing for our next stop (hip art exhibition at morning toast) and who walks into the cafe, far far from home, but MEB. Definitely following me.
** at art club last night, he was doing his cat stretches in the lounge (or were they yoga stretches?). Was I meant to laugh or swoon?
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