My patch is purple right now.
Yesterday, despite being a Monday, was filled with win. I found out my case wasn’t going to sit Wednesday and Thursday (more sleep!); Zadie slept in her cot for the first time since mid-December (more sleep!); I fit into a smaller size of clothes at Marks & Spencer (less fat!); Glee came back at last (more singing!); and I didn’t write “turd” into the transcript (I didn’t know that was good at the time, but having done it today, I am retrospectively happy that I didn’t do it yesterday as well. “Second- and turd-tier stock options”, that’s what I wrote. I broke(re)d the shit out of that transcript.)
And last week, after seven years up in this joint, I finally had a real-life INTERNET MEET-UP! With a LiveJournal mate who I’ve been “friends” with for nearly all those seven years. Apart from our mate Antonino Salvatore Giovanni La Leggia, who brought his world’s-best name here for a visit last year, this is our first visit from someone who’s not my mum. Well done, friends in Australia. Outdone by an anonymous blogger from Morgantown, West Virginia. (To take nothing away from Paden, now Oz-ly christened Pados.) I highly recommend meeting people off the net, not psychopaths or identity thieves or old boyfriends via Facebook, just harmless journalism graduates who turn up at Hong Kong International Airport wearing t-shirts with their name largely emblazoned across the front, black nerd glasses, and clutching a pillow from home. Because it’s their first time overseas. It’s ideal if they’re from West Virginia too because then you can sing “Take me home, country roads, to the place, I belllllllooooooooooong; WEST VIRGINIA, mountain mama, take me home, COUNTRY ROADS” every night, and they love it because it’s so original, and you can even write it repeatedly on their Facebook wall if you’re a really funny c*#t.
I picked up Paden from the airport and it was reminiscent of that reality TV show about family reunions. I could hear Jack Thompson narrating in my ear as I waited awkwardly at the wrong arrivals gate, scanning the crowd for American-looking people: “Paden and Jade haven’t seen each other for years. Ever, actually. For nearly a decade their only contact has been insulting each other’s nerd quotient via shitty LJ comments, and sharing hip hop recommendations. They reunite next.” It was stressful because I was waiting at Gate A while at the same time trying to scan the closed-circuit footage from Gate B. American-looking people would flood out of both gates simultaneously for five minutes and I would be like “Stop, go back! I wasn’t looking!” and then three planeloads of people from mainland China would arrive and I would be like “YOU’RE NOT AMERICAN!” But at last I spied the harried arrival, indeed wearing a shirt with PADEN writ so large across the front I spotted it on the closed-circuit TV, which kicked off an inappropriate sprint down the concourse in my work suit and heels before he realised I wasn’t waiting at the right gate and sought refuge in the nearest Burger King.
Not two hours later we were in JoJo’s Indian Restaurant, the most happening place in sleepy Sai Kung on a Monday night.
Possibly still under the influence of the mojitos, the next day Joel got his first haircut in years after discovering his clippers were blunt. It was also the worst haircut in the history of mankind’s endeavours at follicular grooming. Henceforth he changed his name to Slobodan and started a lucrative venture selling rocket launchers over the back fence.
(Of course he is still a hottie but the haircut really was rank. Like a schoolboy with a perm.)
Paden gets his hand read by a soothsayer at Wong Tai Sin temple. Apparently he’s going to meet his wife through work at the age of 25, and they’re going to be great together, but he’s going to totally piss her off when he’s 33 by spending only 20% of his time at home and the other 80% with his mates, who use him for his kind but gullible nature. Jerk.
Rufus was very sad when Paden left. He sat morosely and illegally on a luggage trolley as I pushed him slowly down the airport concourse after sending our friend on his way back down those country roads to West Virginia, via the unparalleled service of United Airlines. A little whispering voice floated up, not Jack Thompson this time but my sad little boy: “Mama, I miss Paden so much.”
He was easily placated with a stale bundt cake from a chain coffee store.
What a great week. TOP DARTS, PADOS 🙂