![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Jul. 29th, 2010
Still ded. And now, the boring stuff
Jul. 29th, 2010 10:07 amAnd the boring stuff is, of course, about last night's dinner. Unsurprisingly, predictably.
(And, merely for the record, unless I f-lock my posts, Mr H will remain Mr H, and his employer will remain [...] because, you know, I'm not overly concerned about things regarding strictly myself being unprotected, but this Mr H thing is very private and potentially embarrassing, and... well, the world sometimes turns out to be a surprisingly small place)
OK, on with the story.
The Austrian guy working for [...] -- me getting to know him was the purpose of the dinner -- certainly makes for a nice addition to the small Austrian community here. I spent the whole evening wondering where I know him from, because I'm absolutely sure we've met, but I still haven't found out. Maybe enlightenment will come eventually. If it doesn't, well, I suppose I shall survive.
We were seven, including the Dutch guy working for [...], a local employee of [...] and my Greek colleague, whose sister is here to visit and thus accompanied her.
I was seated at the head of the table, with Mr H to my right and Austrian guy to my left. Managed not to drool to obviously -- or so I hope -- which was difficult, because Mr H was wearing an unbuttoned polo shirt, and he is, just as I'd reckoned, hairless and smooth. *drools* And he wasn't wearing socks, and there aren't many turn-ons as powerful as nice feet and ankles without socks. Except of course for hands, and why on earth did he have to drink a tequila and lick a drop of lemon juice off his fingers? I call that cruel. And OMG the voice. And... OK, let's just say he's supremely, phenomenally, utterly edible.
Did I say I was going to write him off? No bloody way. Not this one. Not until I can be absolutely sure he really isn't interested -- recipe for drama and tears, I know, but then life isn't supposed to be a flat line, you know, and I'd rather be completely besotted and find out it's unrequited than just turning my back. Wouldn't work anyway. Not as long as, every time I see him or look into his eyes, I feel that electric stab going from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Not as long as the butterflies are alive and, well, not kicking, because butterflies don't kick, so I probably should say alive and fluttering.
Fluttering like mad during a dialogue like:
H: I'm not *always* away. I'm taking 3 weeks of leave this summer, only 3 weeks, and in between I'm always here for a week.
Me: Are you by any chance hinting at the fact that you're some kind of martyr?
H: Yes, I bloody well am.
Me: So I suppose you'd like to have a statue on the main square, do you?
H: Not a bad idea. You ought to talk to the government -- I couldn't do it, for obvious reasons -- and propose that they... *eye contact, madly fluttering swarm of butterflies* ..erect a statue?
Me: If you insist on "erect", I'll see what I can do.
My pulse rate is going up at the mere recollection.
We left around 1 a.m., when the waiters were beginning to give us filthy looks.
He drove me home, as we'd agreed. Goodbye kiss unfortunately chaste, but the "Let's do this again soon" was sincere, I think. As per usual, I'll be away next week, and he'll be here, but he'll be on leave the week after that, but we agreed to get together right after 15 August. I'm planning on inviting a bunch of really nice people to dinner, maybe at my place but not sure yet about that; given that Mr H is truly the kind of guy who doesn't give a monkey's about rank, title or function, I'll be able to make up a nice group of 8, well mixed, just people I like to spend time with, who maybe don't know each other but should get on nicely. Am thinking of Goran the Gorgeous Landlord plus wife, 2 expats from EU delegation (1 male and 1 female), Stefan the police attaché plus girlfriend, and Mr H. Yep, that ought to be a nice group.
Unless boss is terribly busy today (don't think so), I'm going to invite him to lunch, so we can discuss all the stuff that needs to be discussed. Much nicer over lunch.
(And, merely for the record, unless I f-lock my posts, Mr H will remain Mr H, and his employer will remain [...] because, you know, I'm not overly concerned about things regarding strictly myself being unprotected, but this Mr H thing is very private and potentially embarrassing, and... well, the world sometimes turns out to be a surprisingly small place)
OK, on with the story.
The Austrian guy working for [...] -- me getting to know him was the purpose of the dinner -- certainly makes for a nice addition to the small Austrian community here. I spent the whole evening wondering where I know him from, because I'm absolutely sure we've met, but I still haven't found out. Maybe enlightenment will come eventually. If it doesn't, well, I suppose I shall survive.
We were seven, including the Dutch guy working for [...], a local employee of [...] and my Greek colleague, whose sister is here to visit and thus accompanied her.
I was seated at the head of the table, with Mr H to my right and Austrian guy to my left. Managed not to drool to obviously -- or so I hope -- which was difficult, because Mr H was wearing an unbuttoned polo shirt, and he is, just as I'd reckoned, hairless and smooth. *drools* And he wasn't wearing socks, and there aren't many turn-ons as powerful as nice feet and ankles without socks. Except of course for hands, and why on earth did he have to drink a tequila and lick a drop of lemon juice off his fingers? I call that cruel. And OMG the voice. And... OK, let's just say he's supremely, phenomenally, utterly edible.
Did I say I was going to write him off? No bloody way. Not this one. Not until I can be absolutely sure he really isn't interested -- recipe for drama and tears, I know, but then life isn't supposed to be a flat line, you know, and I'd rather be completely besotted and find out it's unrequited than just turning my back. Wouldn't work anyway. Not as long as, every time I see him or look into his eyes, I feel that electric stab going from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Not as long as the butterflies are alive and, well, not kicking, because butterflies don't kick, so I probably should say alive and fluttering.
Fluttering like mad during a dialogue like:
H: I'm not *always* away. I'm taking 3 weeks of leave this summer, only 3 weeks, and in between I'm always here for a week.
Me: Are you by any chance hinting at the fact that you're some kind of martyr?
H: Yes, I bloody well am.
Me: So I suppose you'd like to have a statue on the main square, do you?
H: Not a bad idea. You ought to talk to the government -- I couldn't do it, for obvious reasons -- and propose that they... *eye contact, madly fluttering swarm of butterflies* ..erect a statue?
Me: If you insist on "erect", I'll see what I can do.
My pulse rate is going up at the mere recollection.
We left around 1 a.m., when the waiters were beginning to give us filthy looks.
He drove me home, as we'd agreed. Goodbye kiss unfortunately chaste, but the "Let's do this again soon" was sincere, I think. As per usual, I'll be away next week, and he'll be here, but he'll be on leave the week after that, but we agreed to get together right after 15 August. I'm planning on inviting a bunch of really nice people to dinner, maybe at my place but not sure yet about that; given that Mr H is truly the kind of guy who doesn't give a monkey's about rank, title or function, I'll be able to make up a nice group of 8, well mixed, just people I like to spend time with, who maybe don't know each other but should get on nicely. Am thinking of Goran the Gorgeous Landlord plus wife, 2 expats from EU delegation (1 male and 1 female), Stefan the police attaché plus girlfriend, and Mr H. Yep, that ought to be a nice group.
Unless boss is terribly busy today (don't think so), I'm going to invite him to lunch, so we can discuss all the stuff that needs to be discussed. Much nicer over lunch.