waider

So basically the reason I spent the whole day lying on the couch feeling like miniature gerbils were doing a clog dance on my brane in spiky shoes is that yesterday was Bill the Barman's birthday. I'd picked this up in much the same way as I pick up barstaff names: sitting at the bar with a pint in one hand, a book in the other, and both ears open. So I wished Bill a happy birthday from behind my book ("Immortality, Inc.", by Robert Sheckley), for which he thanked me and asked me to come along with them later. At closing time, he comped me a beer; only a half, since I refused a pint on the grounds that I'd already had several and didn't want to keel over before the night was out. So then we got a taxi to Dun Laoghaire, where they comped us into the nightclub, and Colin the Other Barman bought me a couple of brewskis as well. Then we went back to Bill's place, and at that point I was pretty much cooked, made my goodbyes and staggered the half-mile or so home. To be honest, I didn't have enough drink to merit the size of the hangover, but the fact that I switched to Heinken in the club and chugged at least half a bottle because it was time to go may have been a contributory factor. Anyway. A good night, and I was introduced to the barman of another bar in Dalkey which introduction I may have nefarious uses for. Muahahha.

One of the people I just about worked with at Stepstone was having a going-away bash last night. He's going to cycle around the world, apparently. I went along, all dolled up after Louise laughed at the idea of me dressing up. Near-new black 501s (so they're still black), black shoes, black argyle socks, white Diesel shirt (out), and my cocktail-party jacket (as worn to Meredith's office party in SF). And I even went to the trouble of taming the squid on my head into something resembling actual hair.

The seisiún was pretty good. Stefan, the cyclist, is French, and when I arrived there were a few other French folk, Kristen from Hamburg, and Girgana (not sure if that's how you spell it, but that's how she pronounced it, except the g's were kinda aspirated, like 'gh') from Bulgaria. I was the first Irish person to show up! We were in Café en Seine, home to Dublin's longest bar, and the place was (a) huge and (b) packed. As Louise put it, all the beautiful people were there. Over the course of the evening I had a long conversation with Girgana (albeit not as long as I'd have liked, because she was cute AND smart) who it turns out is a qualified architect. I also had a conversation in bad french with one of the French guys, which at some point covered rugby of all things. You know, my French is bad enough without me getting into a conversation that involves specialised terms that I KNOW NOT. D'oh. Anyway, I eventually decided I'd had quite enough to drink, thankyou, and Louise graciously offered me the spare bed at her place. Again. If I stayed there any more often I'd have to pay rent. But it is a convenient alternative to the nightmare that is getting home from the city centre at 2:30AM.

This morning, I had a hangover, but at least I had enough fun to justify it, so that's okay. Also, I managed to spill some guinness on my nice white shirt. Aigh. Bad Waider, no cookies.

Oh, and I had another message in my MaybeFriends account this morning, complaining that all my messages are very short. So I replied with a very long message. Hee. Should be interesting to see what results that gets.