"Am I in your way?" made its way from down near the floor, up between her legs, along the contour of her expansive ass, and finally into my ears.
"No worries," I said, instead of what I was thinking: "Lady! We're the only two people in here. Can you just sit off to the side and let us get what we want and enjoy our breakfast and then clean up and restock? Oh never mind. Not your fault. That was week three's lesson in Finishing School. My bad."
Robert took a load down to the car, and I took the second one down, while he checked us out. I then met him at a hose where he was a dear and rinsed off the sand and sea salt from my car so I could see out the windows. This talk of loads and a hose in the same sentence is a little unsettling.
We had a pleasant, uneventful 3 hour and 15 minute ride back to Raleigh. Thanks for a most enjoyable and relaxing weekend, my sweet.
I had grand plans of getting to the gym, but that didn't happen.
After a two-hour nap, I spent a good deal of time, as in about two hours, transferring my photos—some from my digital camera and some from my BlackBerry—resizing them, and then uploading them to LiveJournal to include in my blog entry for Sunday, after which I devised said blog entry.
I thought I'd close out my vacation weekend by dropping by Flex for some cheap ($2.25) well drinks, and a little Scareyoke. As soon as I got in the stairwell, I knew I wasn't going to stay long. Some chicks were at the karaoke mic absolutely screaming their lungs out.
Inside, I found three of them up on the stage, with a guy—presumably their gay friend—doing some Queen (the group, not the adjective) song that went on and on and on at a decibel level that would make a small child's ears bleed.
Mercifully, the girls were off stage while two other people sang, and I enjoyed my drink. As I was finishing it, Nikki the (straight, female) emcee, who is one of the regular Monday night emcees, came up to me and shook her head.
"You enjoying all that screaming?" I asked her.
She said, "Let me tell you something. I've been doing this long enough, that when they get up there, I stay right by the controls and I turn off the microphone when they start singing. They don't need it, and they'll just blow out the speakers. If they get to a quiet part, I turn it back up some."
Justin, who is a past "Idol" (Flex's, not America's) and does have a good voice—although nowhere near as good as he perceives it to be—and makes these faces while he's singing like he's singing to some long lost love or in an arena with 50,000 people watching him... But I digress... Where was I? Oh yeah. So Justin, was finishing up his song, Nikki was heading back up to the emcee station, and I was finishing my drink. I got myself the hell out of Dodge before those screaming meemies got back up there.
I stopped over at The Borough, where it was fairly dead, and I had one bourbon and diet there. Seth, who last year left Raleigh with a fanfare in "a quest to make great coffee across America," was back from Philadelphia for a short stint in Raleigh, and he said hello.
Little did he know it at the time, but someone was working on a M4M Missed Connection about him entitled, "Stop right here, travelling barista!"