Thursday, July 23, 2009

Excuse Me There… May I Lick Your Boot?

My nerves having again been calmed to the point where I could venture out of the air conditioned guestroom, I decided to accompany my associates to a restaurant that afforded what would be a rather dizzying perspective if viewed in time-lapse form. Our cheery congregation proceeded to be moved out of their initial seating location, as it was supposedly closed. Someone cracked that, given the rotation, couldn’t we just wait for a few minutes to be in the open section? And how many times would we end up moving?

Well, the answer was once, as I put my boot down firmly upon the issue. (ha!)

Do not mistake my intentions, as I am not normally one for the fruit-based drinks, but the prospect of owning such an entertaining keepsake drinking accessory proved to be my Achilles Heel here. (ha!)

What can I say? I wanted the night to get off on a good foot. (ha!)

Okay, I will cease my pathetic attempt at humor. I hopped over and found some squares with whom I could hang out:

Returning to the booth, someone mistook me for an octopus. A blowhard such as myself is rarely at a loss for words, but this was one of those rare moments. I truly took it as a compliment. A while and a few drinks later we decided to shoot a dramatic sunset shot. Ladies and gentlemen, Barack Obama!

Okay, so maybe neither of those things were true.

All things considered, it was a cozy little place that afforded us views of the surrounding suburbs. Given that it was our nation’s birthday, I had the foresight to look up the list of local pyrotechnic displays.

There were 39.

Three of us, my handler included, decided to wait it out, while the remainder of the party left to do ‘industrial-strength’ drinking.

We proceeded to get mellow-mellow with some bourbon and, as the night fell, the fireworks began. Everywhere. Unfortunately, the majority of the displays were so distant that it was nearly impossible to get a shot with both them and my hyperluminant self in frame and properly exposed. I think this made the resulting shot only more beautiful:

With nothing left to see, we returned to the hotel room briefly, prior to an hour-long disappearance of my handler and his lone associate for the purposes of karaoke. I sincerely regret having not been brought; should have lobbied a bit harder. That is not to say, however, that I did not get to flex my musical muscles. Upon their return, I was brought to the hotel lobby and we approached the event’s dance party. It was there that, figuratively, my jaw dropped. I was insistent that I let my voice be heard:

Fancy a piano duet?

Seeing the interminable line to the dance party, we regrouped yet again in our quarters.

It was at this point that my handler left for roughly 30 minutes, having spotted a crowd 29 floors below him. He returned, slurring something about having 70 people chanting “chug” while he guzzled 5 shots of distilled blue agave hooka-side during an impromptu last call ceremony. Things immediately degenerated at this point. At some point I was informed that I was in the presence of a genuine celebrity. Someone from something called ‘Spider Person’ or thereabouts.

I warned you that those Filipinos would appear again. No worries, they were pretty cool…

For Filipinos.

Posted by Pooptoad on 07/23 at 11:40 PM
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