This is a Manolo Blahnik shoe sketch. I though Carrie Bradshaw was embellishing, but these are really beautiful shoes. There’s a Designer Gallery here and homepage (Flash) here.
Note: For the record, blogging this was incredibly stupid. I hope you’re enjoying yourself, cause I’m not.
I’ve been doing some reading on Pol Pot to continue the State Vs. Capital thing, but I actually had something of a personal life this weekend and I’d like to blog about it. Mainly the weird and uncomfortable parts. All the names have been loosely changed to protect the innocent. I understand that writing this will piss her and everyone off, but I’ve already gone pretty far down that road. This is just too fucking stupid.
Firstly, there is a girl named… Manolo. You can giggle all the fuck you want but it’s not like that. It’s more like in Kindergarten when Jane Dias kicked me in the balls (never happened, embellishing). At about 1 AM I left a Birthday Party to come to another party at Manolo’s house. She’d invited me earlier, at the Colombo Plaza. I was talking to Jihad about colonialism and how 1% of the country is always controlling shit, white or brown. Manolo kept poking me to point out some guy in funny pants. I think she thought I was acting too cool for her but I was more scared. Regardless, she invited me there on Saturday.
I go and people are already drunk and Manolo touches my butt, which I thought odd, but she was touching other butts as well I guess it’s OK. They were drinking Tequila, which explains anything and everything. We moved upstairs and I was helping her plug the stereo back in and I told her some shit about her laptop. Here is the crux of the ensuing conversation:
“You’re too young to be telling me things,” she said.
“You should be over 30 to tell me that,” says I.
“Are you calling me 30?”
“Er …”
Of course that gets compressed into me calling her 30, but that was the conversation for the fictional record. Later, after more alcohol she gave me a more detailed treatise on why I’m a ‘stuck-up twerp’.
# I drank Perrier at the Plaza instead of the cheaper soda
# I absorb her friends into academic conversations at the expense of the group
# I won’t sit on the floor like everyone else (she has sat in red wine at this point)
People were laughing, but I was kinda pissed at this point. The girl has known me for like 30 minutes total, 5 of them sober. Blah blah, later I took some glasses downstairs did like one dish and got a kind ride home.
I get home at 5 and I’m like dead sleepy, so I’m still asleep at 1 in the afternoon when Manolo calls to apologize. It was awkward but nice and I try to tell her that I don’t care, which I don’t. She’s leaving the country soon and it doesn’t affect me either way. I mean, I don’t tell her that. Till later. I’m doing my whatever, trying to get Kottu running and aggregating all the Sri Lankan blogs. She texts me later saying she saying she feels bad cause I cleaned up, which really wasn’t me, but whatever. I sent her a very nice text saying
The fact that you care enough to apologize tells me more about you than any tequila conversation. I like you more for it
I spent a while composing that. She sent me a text asking me to go to dinner with them, but I was like Manolo No-No cause I wanted to go to the gym and get a haircut and meet Mahangu and talk about Kottu. That, of course, makes less sense in a text than here. Manolo calls to see wtf and along the way she asks me the most bullshit question ever.
Can you bring Indi #1, who’s nice? Indi #2 is arrogant and gets in these deep conversations, don’t bring him
I am like WTF, this is worse than the stuck-up twerp shit. At this point I tell her that she’s leaving soon and she doesn’t know me and I don’t know her and we can keep it that way. All in all it’s a bloody waste of time. I didn’t know her name yesterday and now I’m spending all this time imagining snappy shit to say to her. I am repeating the words ‘fucking bitch’ like its a phone number I need to remember, though I in no way mean that. Seriously, I do not mean that. She’s a nice girl. She’s just nagging me like a girlfriend, nay, ex-wife, despite knowing me for 5 sober minutes and me getting no sex out of the deal. This is fucking crap. I resolve not to talk to her again.
I meet Mahangu and we’re talking about cool shit, and how we hope to encourage a Sri Lankan online community through Kottu, and Wikis and stuff. It is already kinda fun, and great to see new Sri Lankans online. Apparently Morquendi has pissed off some writers so much that they won’t appear on the same link-list as him. I laugh laugh laugh. Morquendi and I have had a bit of a Flame War, with him comically threatening me not to get personal. Er… this tangent is making me look like more of an asshole, let’s get back to Manolo.
We’re eating at Nando’s and Manolo sends me another apologetic text. I get the impression that she might like me, but that’s unlikely. Girls either think I’m smart and they want to talk to me, or think I’m an ass and want to talk to me (only this case), but it never goes further. Then my stupid hind-brain kicks in and my genes are like “Free me! Free me!” and I text her back. Her friends come to the Plaza to meet for coffee. This story doesn’t go anywhere. That’s the end. My genes are not free and I’m still an arrogant twerp. I’m on speaking terms with Manolo, which means I have not urinated in the Colombo Social Pool. Except now, by writing this. I think I’m going to get out now.
Totally hilarious.
Ado you are a classic bugger…socially inept, but classic. I’m gathering the socially inept because you hang out with the Peter Bros., and Mahangu.
this one made me laugh, Indi. you’re way of telling these stories….gold.
hmmm. sounds to me like a case of fatal attraction. you dont want to like someone, but you do.
somehow, this seems like the type of ‘hitting on’ one does when they’re really small… when you have a crush on someone when you’re about 12 or 13, dont you make it a point to be really mean and nasty to them?
basiically, in my opinion, seeing as she actually bothered texting you etc, she is attracted to you in a way that’s annoying, but never the less inevitable. :) she’s actually making an effort to SHOW you her distaste, which means there is no distaste at all. if she really hated you, she wouldn’t give a damn, right? the best way to gall someone you hate is to not think about them. at all. like in casablanca, when someone says “you despise me, don’t you?” and humphrey bogart replies “well if i gave it any thought, i probably would”.
my conclusion : manolo likes you. or wants you. she’s just TRYING (and failing!) to play ‘hard to get’.
ps – what kind of name is manolo anyway?!
The word on the street is that your unctuous college boy politics, pat malapropisms and crude naivete were the hits of the night.
where is morquendi?
I hate when people call me when I’m trying to sleep. Some bitch called me at morning at 5 am on Sunday morning and woke my sleeping hungover ass up:
WTF?! I’m deep into a reeeally nice dream (all I know is it felt really good) when I’m startled by the sound of the stupid fucking ringtone I chose for myself. In two seconds I open my eyes and reach for the phone, thinking it could be something important, like Lanta’s brother needs to be bailed out of jail or my dad is in the hospital. But noooooo, it’s her,that stupid bitch. She dialed the wrong fucking phone number and woke my ass up. On a day that I was supposed to be able to sleep until at least nine, no less.
So I can forgive you for dialing the wrong number-we’ve all done it-but at 6 am I’d expect at least a sincere apology for disrupting my REM like you did. Did I get that? No. Her response after my sleepy, breathy, “you have the wrong number” was a cheery “oh!” and click. That’s it. OH?! What the fuck?! Is she so entrenched in her own life that she doesn’t realize that not everyone is bright eyed and bushy tailed at 6 am? Is she so self-involved that when she call’s someone and disrupts their sleep she doesn’t even know it?! How fucking sad for her and for everyone who has to put up with her!
She is so lucky that I still, at 25 years old, have an ounce of compassion in my black little heart, because if I didn’t, I’d post her number on here for everyone to fuck with in a Paris Hilton address book kind of way.
Hope she sleeps well.
Talk about Angry Young Men…. (or women)
Massive YAWN.
call any grils…my phone no 0714214308