I’ve been feeling a whole lot better about the whole Mitch thing of late. I let Xipe make me a special dinner the other night – all the spiciest foods he doesn’t dare make for mortals but which he loves to cook. It was good, but what really cheered me up what the gossip!
Turns out Mitch is not only a macho womanizer – when he smokes weed he turns into a blubbering idiot!
I think a plan is in motion, folks.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Asc and You Shall Receive
Today I stopped by The Delphi again. Dio has set his new laptop up at the end of the bar – he’s actually encouraging patrons to use it! I’d never trust mortals with that snazzy a Mac, let alone drunken ones!
It was pretty dead in there – ie, no Mitch in sight – BUT I got a nice surprise when Asclepius showed up! He goes by Axl now – Dr. A. Lepio, healer of spoiled suburban children all across Myrtle Beach, SC.
I was really lucky to run into him , actually – it’s his last day in town for a medical convention and he didn’t think he’d have time to drop in on The Delphi (but they all say that, don’t they? Then they find time for at least ONE drink of special reserve mead).
He hasn’t seen Panacea (Penny now) or Telesforos (Telly – he always loved Kojak) lately, but the other two girls are doing well.
It’s so NICE to be somewhere I’m not always pretending, you know? Where we can just re-hash old stories, gossip, and, when all the humes are watching a band in the backroom, just be ourselves.
I know I give him a hard time, but we’re all really grateful Dio has kept this bar alive over time. It’s home. It always looks the same, even when he has to move (damn passing law), whenever he finally opens again, the bar looks exactly the same.
It was pretty dead in there – ie, no Mitch in sight – BUT I got a nice surprise when Asclepius showed up! He goes by Axl now – Dr. A. Lepio, healer of spoiled suburban children all across Myrtle Beach, SC.
I was really lucky to run into him , actually – it’s his last day in town for a medical convention and he didn’t think he’d have time to drop in on The Delphi (but they all say that, don’t they? Then they find time for at least ONE drink of special reserve mead).
He hasn’t seen Panacea (Penny now) or Telesforos (Telly – he always loved Kojak) lately, but the other two girls are doing well.
It’s so NICE to be somewhere I’m not always pretending, you know? Where we can just re-hash old stories, gossip, and, when all the humes are watching a band in the backroom, just be ourselves.
I know I give him a hard time, but we’re all really grateful Dio has kept this bar alive over time. It’s home. It always looks the same, even when he has to move (damn passing law), whenever he finally opens again, the bar looks exactly the same.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
I haven’t been able to get Mitch off my mind!
I haven’t been able to get Mitch off my mind! So, even though it was a Sunday (out of proper decorum, I usually try not to go to dive bars on Sunday – what would people think?) I stopped over at The Delphi.
I had a pretty good excuse all worked out – I went shoe shopping at the DSW in the Atlantic Center before, so, rather than drinking (or Mitch), it looked like I was just popping in for a quick chat after an afternoon of bargain hunting.
Mitch was there (yup, definitely hot!) and I set my things down a stool away from his. Just as I was about to order (never make the first move, that’s something I learned long ago) he turned to me, looked at my shopping bags and said, “Looks like you bought some shoes.”
Not a great opener, I thought. Then it got worse!
“Gives you a great excuse to be in the neighborhood and stop in, huh? Scope things out? See who’s at the bar today?”
And he turned back to his baseball game!
Oh, the nerve!
I was so flustered, but I couldn’t leave then, it would look like he was right, that I was looking for him! So, I stayed, made half-hearted chit-chat with Xipe (Dio was in the office doing the books) and tried his newest dish, Peruvian jambalaya. Interesting, but nowhere near as good as I told him it was.
Mitch left while I was in the goddesses’ room! The nerve on him!
I was so dejected that I let a weird mortal regular – super hyper, super annoying – buy me a shot of tequila (house brand, mind you – men don’t know how to charma woman anymore!). When he offered to buy me a Pabst, I knew I was done for the night.
But if Mitch thinks I’ll lose interest that easily, he’s clearly never had the goddess of love after him before.
I had a pretty good excuse all worked out – I went shoe shopping at the DSW in the Atlantic Center before, so, rather than drinking (or Mitch), it looked like I was just popping in for a quick chat after an afternoon of bargain hunting.
Mitch was there (yup, definitely hot!) and I set my things down a stool away from his. Just as I was about to order (never make the first move, that’s something I learned long ago) he turned to me, looked at my shopping bags and said, “Looks like you bought some shoes.”
Not a great opener, I thought. Then it got worse!
“Gives you a great excuse to be in the neighborhood and stop in, huh? Scope things out? See who’s at the bar today?”
And he turned back to his baseball game!
Oh, the nerve!
I was so flustered, but I couldn’t leave then, it would look like he was right, that I was looking for him! So, I stayed, made half-hearted chit-chat with Xipe (Dio was in the office doing the books) and tried his newest dish, Peruvian jambalaya. Interesting, but nowhere near as good as I told him it was.
Mitch left while I was in the goddesses’ room! The nerve on him!
I was so dejected that I let a weird mortal regular – super hyper, super annoying – buy me a shot of tequila (house brand, mind you – men don’t know how to charma woman anymore!). When he offered to buy me a Pabst, I knew I was done for the night.
But if Mitch thinks I’ll lose interest that easily, he’s clearly never had the goddess of love after him before.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Mitch Ado About Nothing?
What an evening! The butterflies are still fluttering in my stomach!
But let's start at the beginning. Not the beginnign of time, dear (we're not supposed to talk about THAT, dear) -- of my night!
Yesterday, I had the worst day at work. Ever. A whole slew of models got confused and showed up at Wilhelmina instead of Elite, where they had a Klein go-see. So then, my boss found out that Elite had already gotten the Klein contract she was still smooching Klein for! The poo-poo hit the fan and people were asking me to do all sort of things -- make calls, take messages, sit the models, pretend we WERE Elite even though they were sittin under a big Wilhelmina sign (THAT wasn't too hard -- those girls are vapid!), get associates in to view the girls, get Klein's VPs on the phone for my boss -- ugh!
When I was finally able to leave, it was almost 8! I needed a friendly ear and knew there's only one place I can really be myself. So, even though I loathe the dark-wood-stained-glass-kitchy-decor (all Dio needs to really keep me out is sawdust on the floor and a barrel of peanuts!), I got off a stop early and went to The Delphi.
Dio was just starting the night shift and I could smell Xipe's divine (ba-dum-pah!) spices heating up the kitchen. I plunked down on a stool and Dio set my grapefruit-cranberry-lime-Grey Goose in front of me before mywell-earned *sigh* was fully out my full lips.
As desired, my out-of-place beauty and mastered damsel-in-distress signals worked. Within minutes all the hume males suddenly needed refills and rushed to the bar. I was in the process of sussing out the potentials from the unfortunate no-thank-yous when I saw him.
Exiting the men's room, he looked up and I saw in his clear blue eyes...a connection. A soul.
And when he didn't even look at me but sat down one stool away, I knew he felt it too.
All night I made chit-chat with the floundering idolators hovering around me. I cracked jokes and laughed, batted my eyes lashes and let them buy me a few more drinks.
By the time I visited the little goddesses' room, checked myself (flawless) in the faltering yellow light of the poo-poo-colored one-stall closet and headed back to my seat, I was light headed. I just happened to stumble into this new knight's arms. He caught me by the elbow. My confidence was starting ot falter, though -- after I sat myself back down he didn't say a thing to me!
I felt like I was losing it, like Paris was right, like I really did only deserve a man like Heph (no offense, hon)...when my new man, my new (future) lover, my savior from this life of boring redundancy, stood to leave.
He raised a hand to Dio ("Bye, Mitch", he called out), opened the door to leave, then turned to me and said with a sly grin and twinkle in those baby blues, "See you next time, babe." Then he was gone.
Knowing my penchant for falling hard -- even for humes nowadays -- Dio refused to answer questions about this mysterious Mitch. Clearly he was enough of a regular that Dio knew his name -- they must have exchanged otehr information over time! But he was mute, shaking his head in that I-know-what's-better attitude of his.
Under Dio's watchful gaze, all Xipe would tell me is that Mitch works on movie sets and comes in about once a week.
If I get a chance to have those penetrating blues penetrate mine again, I have a feeling I'll be spending a little more time with Dio and Xipe in the near future.
But let's start at the beginning. Not the beginnign of time, dear (we're not supposed to talk about THAT, dear) -- of my night!
Yesterday, I had the worst day at work. Ever. A whole slew of models got confused and showed up at Wilhelmina instead of Elite, where they had a Klein go-see. So then, my boss found out that Elite had already gotten the Klein contract she was still smooching Klein for! The poo-poo hit the fan and people were asking me to do all sort of things -- make calls, take messages, sit the models, pretend we WERE Elite even though they were sittin under a big Wilhelmina sign (THAT wasn't too hard -- those girls are vapid!), get associates in to view the girls, get Klein's VPs on the phone for my boss -- ugh!
When I was finally able to leave, it was almost 8! I needed a friendly ear and knew there's only one place I can really be myself. So, even though I loathe the dark-wood-stained-glass-kitchy-decor (all Dio needs to really keep me out is sawdust on the floor and a barrel of peanuts!), I got off a stop early and went to The Delphi.
Dio was just starting the night shift and I could smell Xipe's divine (ba-dum-pah!) spices heating up the kitchen. I plunked down on a stool and Dio set my grapefruit-cranberry-lime-Grey Goose in front of me before mywell-earned *sigh* was fully out my full lips.
As desired, my out-of-place beauty and mastered damsel-in-distress signals worked. Within minutes all the hume males suddenly needed refills and rushed to the bar. I was in the process of sussing out the potentials from the unfortunate no-thank-yous when I saw him.
Exiting the men's room, he looked up and I saw in his clear blue eyes...a connection. A soul.
And when he didn't even look at me but sat down one stool away, I knew he felt it too.
All night I made chit-chat with the floundering idolators hovering around me. I cracked jokes and laughed, batted my eyes lashes and let them buy me a few more drinks.
By the time I visited the little goddesses' room, checked myself (flawless) in the faltering yellow light of the poo-poo-colored one-stall closet and headed back to my seat, I was light headed. I just happened to stumble into this new knight's arms. He caught me by the elbow. My confidence was starting ot falter, though -- after I sat myself back down he didn't say a thing to me!
I felt like I was losing it, like Paris was right, like I really did only deserve a man like Heph (no offense, hon)...when my new man, my new (future) lover, my savior from this life of boring redundancy, stood to leave.
He raised a hand to Dio ("Bye, Mitch", he called out), opened the door to leave, then turned to me and said with a sly grin and twinkle in those baby blues, "See you next time, babe." Then he was gone.
Knowing my penchant for falling hard -- even for humes nowadays -- Dio refused to answer questions about this mysterious Mitch. Clearly he was enough of a regular that Dio knew his name -- they must have exchanged otehr information over time! But he was mute, shaking his head in that I-know-what's-better attitude of his.
Under Dio's watchful gaze, all Xipe would tell me is that Mitch works on movie sets and comes in about once a week.
If I get a chance to have those penetrating blues penetrate mine again, I have a feeling I'll be spending a little more time with Dio and Xipe in the near future.
Friday, March 2, 2007
A slice of (diet) humble pie.
I know that since the passing law (oh how I miss the days of being revered) we're not supposed to attract attention. Yet we all know we each succumb at times (Nike more than anyone). And we play by the rule (or bend it) even when we act out: we don't win (Nike), we don't get rich (Midas), we don't win American Idol (Apollo), we don't zap people with lightning (Dad). But, on occasion, we test our skills.
Today I walked into Elite Modeling Agency. I couldn't help it. On my lunch break, I was sauntering along Fifth Avenue, enjoying the adoring gazes of businessmen in their sharp suits and the occasional tasty rickshaw runner covered in sweat (who couldn't take his eyes off me and ran into a cab -- luckily his carriage was empty) when I noticed a young woman almost as beautiful as I step out of a fancy office building.
Granted, I didn't actually notice her -- I noticed my admirers' attention turn (monetarily) away and followed their gazes.
That's when I saw where she had come out of.
Now, like I said, I really don't do this often. But, I walked in. I got past the receptionist, joined the bevy of semi-attarctive ladies in line for an open call, but never made it in to the go-see!
Can you imagine! Me, the most attractive female in history (screw Paris, screw Helen, screw that whole, rigged, competition!).
The past-her-prime junior agent opened the door for me, looked me up and down, and turned to her flouncy boss inside the showroom. He took in my golden hair, pouty lips, strong shoulders, toned-but-feminine-arms, supple breasts, cinched waist, curvy hips. I sensed his hesitation -- sensed, still don't comprehend! -- and pirouetted, showing off what most consider to be my best "ass"ests -- my tush and legs, thighs taught and calves in high relief above my gilded 3-inch (vintage) Monolos.
I posed, hand on hip, giving him my most popular winning smile.
and.
the boss.
shook his head.
"no."
I couldn't believe it!
Humble pie is fine, we've all come to accept a slice from time to time, but I'm on a diet!
No explanation was given and after a few minutes of (in retrospect, embarassing) pleading, I skulked out the door.
Let me tell you, Elite is lucky I'm bound to behave like a mortal. They. Are Lucky.
By then I was late for work -- as soon as I took my away message off, the phone started ringing off the hook.
"Good afternoon, Wilhelmina Modeling Agency, this is Ditty. How may I direct your call?"
Sigh.
Today I walked into Elite Modeling Agency. I couldn't help it. On my lunch break, I was sauntering along Fifth Avenue, enjoying the adoring gazes of businessmen in their sharp suits and the occasional tasty rickshaw runner covered in sweat (who couldn't take his eyes off me and ran into a cab -- luckily his carriage was empty) when I noticed a young woman almost as beautiful as I step out of a fancy office building.
Granted, I didn't actually notice her -- I noticed my admirers' attention turn (monetarily) away and followed their gazes.
That's when I saw where she had come out of.
Now, like I said, I really don't do this often. But, I walked in. I got past the receptionist, joined the bevy of semi-attarctive ladies in line for an open call, but never made it in to the go-see!
Can you imagine! Me, the most attractive female in history (screw Paris, screw Helen, screw that whole, rigged, competition!).
The past-her-prime junior agent opened the door for me, looked me up and down, and turned to her flouncy boss inside the showroom. He took in my golden hair, pouty lips, strong shoulders, toned-but-feminine-arms, supple breasts, cinched waist, curvy hips. I sensed his hesitation -- sensed, still don't comprehend! -- and pirouetted, showing off what most consider to be my best "ass"ests -- my tush and legs, thighs taught and calves in high relief above my gilded 3-inch (vintage) Monolos.
I posed, hand on hip, giving him my most popular winning smile.
and.
the boss.
shook his head.
"no."
I couldn't believe it!
Humble pie is fine, we've all come to accept a slice from time to time, but I'm on a diet!
No explanation was given and after a few minutes of (in retrospect, embarassing) pleading, I skulked out the door.
Let me tell you, Elite is lucky I'm bound to behave like a mortal. They. Are Lucky.
By then I was late for work -- as soon as I took my away message off, the phone started ringing off the hook.
"Good afternoon, Wilhelmina Modeling Agency, this is Ditty. How may I direct your call?"
Sigh.
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