My glasses are gone.
Don't ask. I don't actually know where they went, except that one minute they were on the table, surrounded by Korean guys. The next minute, the lovely Kel made it clear she was not going home with the birthday boy, and the table of Korean guys were gone -- as were my glasses. And my pack of cigarettes. Fuckers.
It started at the Ho Bar. Ho Bar II, to be exact. Later, there was Ho Bar I, but nothing much happened there. Other than Fritz, who, despite having a fantastic view of the back of my head the entire night, came over to tell Kel that I was very beautiful. I made a sarcastic comment about his hat, but ultimately it was Kel's impressive glare that sent him packing. Ho Bar III was where things got interesting. For some reason, the glare didn't work this time. Neither did telling the guy to basically fuck off.
That's when we met Dion and everything changed.
Not A-on, not B-on, not C-on.....
Dion and Ken(t?). Who aren't actually named that. Well, apparently Dion's Korean name is Dion, but that's too hard for Westerners to say, so we can call him Dion.
It was funny to finally be the target of the extremely awkward (to Western eyes) Korean bar approach. It happened just the way I told Kel I'd seen earlier in the night -- one ambassador came over to negotiate the situation. And because we didn't immediately look away, soon we were joined.
Eventually there was a cab ride, another bar, good music, dancing. Something about Kent being a hyena. A random ajumma dancing with all the boys. Somehow moved to a table full of younger Korean men, where Kel got her groove on with the birthday boy, while one of the others kept repeating that they were leaving soon, and were we leaving soon?
Literally the most determined people I've ever met.
It was a good night. As Kel said, dancing with Korean men is possibly one of the best ways to spend your time ever. And we're both a little bitchy, so turning them down afterward is fun as well.
Roll on, further weekend shenanigans. It's all good, clean fun.