Burns Nicht ‘05 was lovely. The MSG and I tasted so much wonderful whisky. I was floored by the Bowmore, each sip an insanely spiced and peaty pain. And o, dark chocolate with a sip of it is just perfect. Conversation was light and intriguing, ranging from homebrewing to renaissance faires to measuring the speed of light in furlongs and fortnights to operas to technical writing. Crism really knows how to throw a party. I’m so glad I met him.
Afterwards, the MSG and I realized we hadn’t really eaten dinner, so we had a quick bite at a noodle house in the Haight called Citrus Club. I had the yellow curry noodles with tofu and peanuts, which were passable but bland. The fresh carrot and cucumber slices were the best part, still sweet and so crisp. I quite like the atmosphere there, all dark and reddish and warm. Slightly womblike, I suppose. Okay, ew, no.
So flushed and content was I from the evening and the workday before that, during which I successfully corrected a huge mistake I made on Monday, that I went promptly to bed. As I was drifting off to sleep, I propped my mental door open as I do sometimes when I sense someone close to me might need a cup of good thoughts while I’m asleep. But a door left open whisks in the bad as well as the good, which resulted in a horrible nightmare, the heart-pounding-in-throat kind, the violent and insulting and nauseating kind. Which means I am left awake, listening to the cat snore as I wish for chocolate-covered hazelnuts to suddenly appear in my cupboard.
So far, no luck.
By the way, one thing I like about San Francisco is that the cabbies are so low-key. Right when the MSG and I flagged down a taxi tonight, it was (gently) rear-ended by an inattentive driver. I didn’t see any damage to either vehicle, so the cabbie just sort of glanced between his bumper and his fare, his bumper and his fare, and then got back in and drove us home.
I just remembered that I have Nutella and a spoon. Good night.