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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Party time excellent

The wine tasting we were invited to last night started at 6pm. It’s the 3rd or 4th tasting we’ve been invited to, and they are always fun: crowded, loud, with a good mix of people and food.

Since TA and I were working, we decided to show up around 8.

We were in my studio, clicking away when the phone rang at 7:45. It was the host.

Host: “Where are you? We are expecting you!”

TA: “What do you mean? We are at work right now! We were going to arrive fashionably late!”

Host: “But we are waiting for you to arrive before we declare the winner! You have to come now! The guests are restless!”

TA: “Shit! Shit! We’ll be there in 20 minutes!”

So we shut everything down, drove like jehu to get home in a flash, I showered and primped in less than 8 minutes. Somehow I managed to throw together a very cute outfit, and remembered to mist myself with perfume.

Thank god the tasting was being held on the 2nd floor of our building.

When we opened our neighbor’s door, he was super excited.
“They’re here!” he announced to the other guests. Man, that was embarassing. I mean, a lot of the folks there I had already met, but it was a little odd to be introduced to new people with such fanfare.

It was also flattering. Who doesn’t like to have their ego stoked?

Because the host had used an Evite for his party, and because I filled out a profile on that site, lots of people came up to me at the party, and said, “Oh, you’re the one with the restaurant recommendations!” or better yet “You’re the one who is picky!” (in the “More About Me” section of my profile, it says “I am picky.”) It was funny.

There was no Reblochon for me to scarf, so instead I amused myself with Tête de Moine (an interactive cheese, you must put it on a spike, affix a girolle [crank] to it, then churn around and around to shave chanterelle-shaped curls of cheese,) manchego with quince paste, St Marcellin, Brillat Savarin, Pont Leveque, Fourme d’Ambert, and Roquefort Papillon. I also ate a bunch of olives (not right for my type,) crackers (not right for my type,) italian hot peppers stuffed with mozzarella and ham (definitely not right for my type,) and taro and yam chips (right for my type.)

People nearly died of shock when I told them how old I was, and one of our neighbors said “Oh my god, you’re lying. I thought you were maybe 30, probably more like 28 or 29.”

Of course, I had to kiss him.

Terence understood.

1:40 p.m. - 2006-03-26

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