All that glitter ain't gold.
Its a bit passed midnight and I just came back from a $1500/plate dinner with a lot of CEOs and retired/current politicians of Latin American.There's the Gucci shoes that doned the feet of silver hair men with a smug smile, the Cartier watches hanging off the wrists of the ladies with lipstick that's just a shade too heavy...
I'm standing there with a single champagne that I've been holding on to for the entire evening as a social accessory and as a reason to refuse more drinks. The tall beautiful Dutch man beside me trying to make small talk while I smiled politely and responded in the expected manner. He's dreadfully boring. The lady across the table had one too many botox done on her chin and her much older husband is falling asleep in his prada suit with stripped gold cuff links.
There's the hired girls who did nothing but stand around the room in their skin tight dress that left nothing to the imagination, the media group following the VIPs around, and let's not forget the 8 piece string band in the corner strumming out the unfamiliar spanish tunes to set the mood for the evening.
This was the life I've dreamt about for years isn't it? The parties, the accented boys, the desinger shoes..
Who would ever understand that all I want is a rusty kitchen with an experimental soup on the fire, a small dinner table with another biography on a tragic actress or a misunderstood warlord folded to a page where there's still smudge prints from when I was snacking earlier, and just an ordinary boy who's extraordinary in the ways that he can make me laugh at the most inappropriate of times, have lightening fast debates with me over Sunday brunch in our pjs about current events, and balance out my frequent bouts of childishness and irrationality (which i would always argue its more passioin than anything else) with his leveled maturity and reason.
