Sunday, April 24, 2005

"They should take phones away from the tipsy." I have an unfortunate problem with text messaging under the influence. The past few days, I've done a lot of it. I have one of those old-school phones that doesn't have a sent items folder, so the following is a re-creation based on my hazy memory, and may be completely inaccurate.
Friday night I went out with a mob of poorly controlled people. Chris and Ricky had been drinking since 4pm, and they were dancing like sweat-soaked fiends. Chris was dancing with, or rather, on, a succession of chicks. Ricky was doing that kind of drunken drive-by man-dancing that consists of prancing past your friend and then turning around and prancing back the other way. They both had the most delightful, indescribable facial expressions.

Thanks to several Bellinis, I was tipsy - tipsy enough to send Bo a text message with the observation that: "They should make a dessert out of beer head. Like a babycino. It's delicious!" I remember that my phone baulked at writing "babycino". I also remember thinking Bo would certainly find this product innovation useful as a future business venture.

I was also tipsy enough to text a certain gentleman.

Me: "I'm @ the retreat, wanna come?"
Him: "I'm in north melbourne... The one night you're one block away from my house..."
Me: "The one night you're in my hood..."
Him: "Star crossed."
Me: "They should take phones away from the tipsy, but... U should call me if yr back in bruns anytime soon."

There was no response to this gem. After a while, the music got really bad at the Retreat and I decided to go home, passing Ari and Simon on the way. Although it was past midnight, they looked unbelievably fresh and perky compared to Chris, who was grinding against some chick with an expression of delighted debauchery on his face, and Mimmo and Ricky, who were drenched in sweat and fading like flowers on the sidelines.

At about 1am I was drifting off to sleep when I was woken by my phone beeping. "U still at the retreat?"

Last night I went out with Saige and her friend Craig from Sydney, which meant a night of epic drinking. Put it this way - I woke up in bed this morning still wearing my glasses. I did a lot of text messaging. But one message I can be sure of, because it was still on the compose screen, was "I just did a spastic version of crazy in love!" I wrote that to the King of Karaoke at 3:30am, from Charlton's, Melbourne's pre-mere karaoke venue. The manslave and those other Fitzroyalty types he went out with last night may beg to differ, but Charlton's offers karaoke as it should be done - free, in public, and with dancing breaks to the homie hits. Shane had just been to the Destiny's Child concert in Sydney, which he reviewed via SMS as "awesome!!!" I kept him updated on my own live R&B experience: "I'm @ charlton's! I've already done naughty girl and senorita!" Ethan's bloody sister and her friend hijacked "Senorita" by grabbing the other mic and doing most of the song, but thankfully they left me the best bits: "Feel for youuuuu!... You don't have to, baby! Whoahwhoaaahhwhoah! Feel it!"

I also did "Shackles" by Mary Mary, as well as the aforementioned "Spastic In Love", complete with a rap that sounded like Jay-Z had suffered a stroke and only recently regained his powers of speech. But that was at the very end of the night. Saige was requesting I do particular songs, which I put in to the DJ with arrows saying "Requested by drunken friend". She said I should do "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilera, but mercifully/unfortunately the DJ didn't select that.

At one stage, this drunken woman came up to me telling me I had "a great voice" and alleging that she worked for Carols in the Domain, and insisting that I give her my phone number so she could pass it on to her bosses! Ha! Ha! How funny would it be to sing at that! I want to be the one singing "O Holy Night", or at least the dorky chorister with the jingle-bell earrings who gets a close-up during the Hallelujah Chorus. So I gave her my phone number.

Comments: Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Site Meter