Upon inspecting the girl’s weblog this morning, it would appear she has taken up swing dancing. I don’t know what hurts me more, the fact that I was never told or the fact that I was never invited. Never mind that when we met we were listening to a swing compilation, jiving a lot and wishing we could all learn how to swing dance a la Brendan Fraser in Blast From the Past of all movies... but hey, I’m not bitter.
Last night at Nowland’s was well executed. A good party, even. It seemed strange that we “older” people huddled together like some kind of persecuted minority, speaking in whispers, hoping that nobody in the younger crowd would spot us for the fogies that we are. But aside from that: the beer, music, and mood of the whole affair was very pleasant.
I’ve officially changed my stance on the whole Emma Nowland affair: I no longer believe that she looks like Rose McGowan, but more like the lovely lady in the first frame of this comic. Maybe this exposes me for the pervert I am, a man who loves women of ink and paper more than women of ink and flesh! Damn you, Jessica Rabbit! Damn you Judy Jetson! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!