I'm With Her

The last two days saw me having lunch on the house at the hotel. I mean, like, this is the good life I aspire to, man, before things in the private sphere spiraled a little out of control and I became more homely and domestic. I was also offered a room to stay at the hotel for the next ten odd days but of course, given the way things are, I can’t. Oh well. Anyway, I swear the roast beef carving is to die for, and so yummy is the black peppery sauce.

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I was also at the airport for the last couple of days to pick up cast and crew. And hey, today’s Cheap Thrill came from the show manager, who’s a terribly good-looker, whom I only met today. Casual yet stylishly put together and very tall, resembling an immensely improved and youthful version of Dick Lee, the icing on the cake had to be him being of Japanese descent and speaking English with the American twang. I think he’s so hot. I’m sure he is prominently veined, but I can’t prove it because he was wearing a light brown jacket. Anyway, he was the first to walk out and stood beside me to wait patiently for the rest.

How was the cheap thrill provided? You know how there are airport transfers and those drivers would hold up a board with your name? Yups. Apparently some guy was asking Show Manager whether he’s waiting for someone a short while later.

Show Manager: I’m sorry but I’m with her.

Her referring to yours truly of course. Finally, a man who is unafraid to commit to a firm declaration of belonging, and who’s a looker to boot! Got a kick out of it.

I know, I know. Like I say, cheap thrill.

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Is it wrong to love and be loved like this? Is it all right with you?

Can the substitute ever replace the original? How long does it take for the original to fade gracefully away?
Boo, Derrida!