Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Looking for Mr Goodbar/Restaurant
Having often considered myself something of a Dianne Keaton post Annie Hall
but pre First Wives Club, I find myself strangely attracted to sitting alone at a bar waiting. Don't do it often. Did it on Friday night.
I'd been stood up, which is a rarity, let's face it. So I took myself out for a night on the town.
Not much happens in Hobart for a young woman out and about on her own at 2:00am, let me tell you. So I found myself at Syrup dancing to "Blame it on the Boogie" (complete with disco spins), having my hips, back, thighs vaguely touched by drunken men vaguely dancing. I was sober enough (honest I was, officer), so found the experience immensely entertaining. Eye opening. Eye polishing even.
Smiling, I asked one guy to not touch me so much. He got sheepish and said "sorry, I'm a bit pissed". Another bloke tried to impress with lambada moves which didn't. After a couple of hours the music got sad and the DJ got sour when I asked him to play something funky. So I went home.
Nearly a week has passed and now I find I need to drag myself out into the cold night air again for a special occasion. Ricky Mullet and I went through the phone book wondering where we'll go. The list:
Marque IV – will go back when the menu changes (know it by heart now)
Choux Shop – number of visits would be considered stalking by some
Sirens - yeah, but no, but yeah, but
T42 - prefer brunch
Henry Jones - Mmmm, nah
Prossers - Only if I'm stoned
Mures - Only if I'm paid
Revolving Restaurant - Now there's a cubist angle
Will let you know where we end up. Maybe I'll wind up back at Syrup with my own special lambada action.
Nighty night for now campers,