SEX I GRAD XVII

Tis’ the season of revelry and merrymaking, I suppose, and also of reflection. As 2009 gets closer to ending, it seems its spectres have come to haunt me.

Maybe it’s the Ghost of Hangovers Past making its first cautionary visit, but I’m hearing the rattling chains of bondage already echoing in the shadows.

What’s been my addiction? Partying. Sleep, such an elusive concept these days has eluded me like love from Pepe Le Pew. I have had several sleepless nights caused by acquaintances who are supposed to be blissfully married, a few others, nervous wrecks soon to walk into the fire, and a large contingent who are divorced or on the verge, simultaneously needing my attention.

I’m flattered, and fatigued by it. That’s without mentioning the ravenous sponzoruse-wannabees who surround me and who can’t miss a party because they have to be seen.
 
I don’t know if its the past full moon or last weekend’s Friday the 13th that is to blame, but vow-bound crazed housewives and blaze corporate types keep begging me to take them out. Being the ringleader is not as glamorous as it may seem - hooking people up, checking places out, showing up, just to show up, is getting tedious.

I end up justifying it as an opportunity to wear all the sexy outfits I’ve thrown money into and; meticulously put together. How sexy can one look yawning into a martini anyways?
 
My ring tone has been the bane of my existence lately, as soon as I hear it I cringe because I just don’t know how to say ‘No.’ It’s an art form really, to refuse an invite and not make people angry, because here they always sound so excited about the upcoming evening or event. And, there is this local way of not taking no for an answer and making you the guest of honour, which is charming, but utterly exhausting.
 
And who can say no to their married friends? They get a few ‘single’ nights off every couple of months and are geared up completely to cut loose.

Shake, and stir them in with bored suits with large expense accounts to exercise (especially those that haven’t had any action in a while) and mysteriously your feet start to float, almost always ending up at the elevator door of Stefan Braun or the dodgy bridge at Hua Hua; those of you who know what I mean, lean back and yawn with me.

Even after two years of non-stop late night debauchery, this city manages to surprise me, it never sleeps, and a new generation of late night zombies converge tirelessly at the same haunts.

My mobile is ringing: the Ghost of Party’s Future perhaps? Bah Humbug! Tonight I am going to sleep.