(no subject)
'ginia, i like emo kids. they come with poems.'
this, this there, made me laugh and laugh and laugh.
yesterday was a good day, a good birthday.
after waking up and sprawling myself out on the leather sofa that can barely contain my five foot four inch self, my macbook precariously propped up against myself, the heat of the aluminum searing into my thighs because i was too lazy to get up and grab one of the pillows from the armchairs and clacking away at her reports before i left for a night out on a town. a very rare, almost never night out on the town. after much indecision on my part about whether or not to do anything at all, i emailed people the afternoon before telling them that i'd like to do a birthday dinner at terroni's on queen street west. the replies were fired back and those that didn't, i chased down with telephone calls and instant messages in the world made a little bit smaller with the world wide web. people are lovely, with emphasis on neciecon, angela, christian and him for putting up with my out-of-the-blue sighs and what am i going to do. you see, i do not really celebrate my birthday because the notion of entertaining and being hostess is a daunting task i'd rather not shoulder because i know my easy amusement is not exactly to everyone's taste and i envisioned people seated around a table, crickets and eye rolls in my direction. needless to say i do not relish that thought but he persuaded me to do something anyway.
terroni's is a sweet restaurant, a little worn down from its beat-up wooden signage anointing the place with an misleading anonymity because it is known for its italian fare, and rightfully so. i wish i had photographs and perhaps the super-documenting couple, angela and sherwin, have something in the way of photographic evidence but i apologize because i lack anything myself. as soon as you enter the restaurant, you are confronted with an entire wall showcasing italian sweets and foodstuffs, and you have to clamber over people, and tiptoe through narrow corridors lined with inordinately clean restrooms, although inordinate they may be only to me because i frequented chinese restaurants as a child, all the way onto the patio area in the back, resembling a backyard. i loved it. the calamari was salty goodness that could turn your blood syrupy thick but oh my, it was so good, and i had the oyster and truffle mushroom ravioli with strands of sausage meat and parmesan sprinkled on it. ah, if only i could afford to go there all the time and make a regular friday night haunt even though it is what one could describe as a journey to get there. i deceived him into walking, realizing that the side of the street we were walking on was a whole hundred ahead of the other side, which was where the restaurant was but in my defense, our streetcars are terrible and we worked up an appetite.
all this was after making a quick stop at la bamboche patisserie on mason road to pick up some cheese and spinach croissants, blueberry croissants, miniature baguettes, and macarons. finally macarons, even if they aren't the famed french ones themselves. it was all very good food yesterday.
after dinner we walked across the street to the raq and went in what was probably a little too early but it was nice. a little on the quiet side and apparently i am an expensive drunk -it takes much more than i was certain i would need to get a little tipsy. i imagined three shots and maybe a drink, but no, i think the finally tally was ten shots, three drinks and half a beer to finally get there. we danced our little hearts out on the dance floor, finally drunk enough and cajoled into it by jelly and lily. my dancing is normally contained to my tiled kitchen floor where my moves rival michael jackson, before he turned white. imagine, in my lifetime, michael jackson changed from a black man to a white man. what does that say about my society? oh, i had a good time and i love you all, folks for the good time. know that i do not normally do this. i was shocked when i realized that there were people out there thinking i went out clubbing and drinking all the time. i've been once, well twice now at twenty-two-years-old. i never do things like this because i'm fairly happy with my book and when he woke up this morning and looked at me, quietly reading my novel beside him, he groaned and said, noo, what happened? you're back to your normal self already. yes, you can't make a zebra lose its stripes. or is it a tiger? i'm chinese so the tiger reference would make sense except, i'm nothing like a tiger.
and thank you, michael camu, thank you for taking care of me.