Post vitae

It was partytime. At that point i was still alive, gasping for air. The most ridiculous being on the dancefloor turned out to be a furry excuse for a norwegian. We played it london-mode all night.

I hadn' t been dancing in ages, but when it came down to mingling or moving the choise was utopic. Somewhere down the 2nd winebottle a guy with increasing charm told me i belonged in Sirque deSoleil. Thanks i like your hat too, was my reply and i learned that he had travelled the continents. The birthdayboy was canadian and the prettiest girl there carried a siamese kitten.
The Dj was english but he sounded Australian and hadn't been home in years. The russian-egyptian girl had a real monroe mole and the nativeamerican woman who brought us there told my finnish friend that a photographer wanted to take her picture. It started to occur to me that with my 1/8 swede i was probably one of the more purebred people in the room. Oh wait, that's no a PC term. So my parents could be related for all i know, does that sound better?

I pretended to make out with Elin to save her from one of the egyptians. Annie stared at me in disbelief. What i said, what? she said, why did you put your hand inbetween? Beause poor Elin was allready having a minor seisure from her close-to-rape-experience that's why. Then the night turned blurrier, we got another bottle of wine, we stopped dancing, and appearently Annie and i headed home, and i found myself drunk and confused the next morning over a bottle i appearently must have opened when i got home. After a few hours of powernapping i am currently back on the horse. Drinking wine with americans.