The barstaff at The Loft (which is a campus bar of UTS and just off Broadway) are some of the most gorgeous women you will ever look upon.
They are like the spicegirls but EVERY one of them is hot.
It's not like some pic'n'mix where you think 'I only feel like sqirms'.
It is like a pretty damned high level of heaven where it's like God and Allah got together aand said "Yeah, long black hair and brown drown-in-eyes are teh bomb".
Look, if you fell into those eyes you'd swim for days without reaching shore. And, no, that wouldn't be because of your particularly slow and girly form of sidestroke or lack of a sense of direction.
And then one of them has the most wicked mouth ever. If I was a small insect it would be the tastest, most yummy smelling venus fly trap ever.
And then some PhD students bought me, like, eight hundred beers.
God bless them - every one.
I love you all, but in particular the one with the tiny nose stud. Zow!
If she had glasses then I would be a puddle of incoherence on the floor right now.
"What happened to Harry?"
"he drowned and got eaten by carnivorous plants."
So, I got home at about 12:30 after having indifferent burgers at the only place open and I tried to explain to Elf Sara about the bar babes. I then went to my room and engaged in my time-proved getting home routine.
Sit on bed. Take out wallet, keys and mobile from pants. put them next to bed. Take off shoes. Go to kitchen and drink lots of water.
Which is great except I had taken out keys and wallet when Elf came in and sat next to me to offer advice because she'd misconstrued my babes explaination as a crie du coeur from the depths of my loneliness rather than just an expression of how cool life is right now, which it actually was.
"You should become a he-slut", she suggested.
Which is not the most useful thing anyone's said to me particularly when it kinda sideswipes me and I can't must the required braincells to correct the situation.
And that's why I forgot to take my mobile out of my pocket, which is why I washed it this morning.
So if you've been trying to call me that's why you can't.
And, no, I did not give out my defunct phone number to any of the bar babes. Thyat wasn't the point at all.
And, no, I am not becoming a he-slut - it would require too much shaving.