I'm the world's famous cocktail journalist(ess) Anna Väkeväinen - a recognized sipologist but mostly focusing on gonzo reportage. I'm so famous that sometimes replying to all the invitations and fan mail keeps me from doing the actual work: drinking. But I always get back on the track soon.
Set a date with Miss S, a collegue and a friend, who has recently found a man, had a child and moved to a terrace house in Espoo (Betrayer!!!) Got contaminated by her stay-at-home-mum life already via SMS-exchange and arranged to meet at A21 at 7 p.m. Discovered two embarrasing issues at the door.
A) The cocktail lounge only opens at 2o. And worse, B) Tonight they were holding a private party for the second anniversary of the bar, only people with invitations could get in - and I didn't have one! Well, obviously they'd sent one to a wrong address or something, and all I needed to do was to tell them who I was. But I was happier just to meet my friend and focuse on our trade: tasting cocktails. So we went to the good old American Bar, a place where I've been going since I was 14.
I was astonished to see Miss S's perfect complex, smooth blonde hair, elegant nose and wide eyelids. To be honest, I had expected at least some decrease in attractivity, with pregnancy and breast feeding and suburbian lifestyle. It's a matter of fact, I had hoped for her to act as my contrast person later on when in surroundings inhabited by the Target Group.
Enjoyed her company anyway. She is a pro, after all, gotta respect her. She even spent one whole year in Firenze, Italy, to take courses in aperitivo cocktail culture in the highly recognized Europe Cocktail School. I can't believe her husband would like her to quit clinical work. So bourgeois, isn't it?
She had a Monica Z. and a Frambuesa Con Patate, I had the same plus Torsby and Fuego Manzana. All mixed by the accomplished guru Mikko Kemppinen.
Miss S: "Hmmmm, this tastes kind of like Mojito, but different. Maybe it is because this has mint too. And this has gin instead of rum. It's a version of Mojito. Mojito is always really nice, especilly in the summer when it's hot outside."
World Famous Cocktail Journalist, e.g. Me: "This drink is perfect. The glass is cold, and the texture is really nice. Kind of thick. And it's sweet. But maybe not very interesting."
Miss S: "Hmmm. This is not your standard Strawberry Margarita, but different."
WFCJ: "Yeah, this too is really interesting, and surprisingly I like that Campari in it."
To be able to enjoy something with Campari was a real accomplishment to me, since my tastes aren't, despite myt profession, very wide. My advantages have so far been my cabality of working very hard as well as my natural glamour.
I was ready for another round, but her buss to Espoo was leaving. It was ok, since you should never approach the Target Group with a friend who's better looking as yourself. Hugged her goodbye, and began wondering about town. Ended up in Kalle, Kaarle XII, a bar that I hate (everyone does) but still go there (everyone does) because of the Target Group.
Felt all too sober, which in retrospect means that I was drunk, went straight to the bar and ordered three Fisus, which are Fishermens friend induced vodka shots, a Finnish specialty I believe. And guess who appeared at the bar? Bobby! Women, have you met this man? If you have, you know already, if not, listen to my story.
This is how it goes with Bobby. First, he introduces himself and hands his business card. The he asks your phone number. If you're still interested when it's time to go, he invites you to his place. You sleep next to him but that's all. In the morning he says he will call. But he won't. And then, one day you meet him in some bar again, and deja-vù! He introduces himself and hands you his card. Phone number, his place, sleep, promise to call, nothing.
So I'm there gulping down my Fisus and he starts with his card. I begin to laugh. "Bobby! Do you actually exists?" Thinking this is funny I tell everyone at the bar this guy doesn't really exist. I'm folding down laughing, obviously drunk as a fish (that's the point of drinking shots, isn't it?).
End up going to his place again, and it beats me why. So we slept. Which was actually quite nice. Bobby might be the only male in whose bed I am actually able to sleep, not think about sex or whether I might accidentally fart.
Does that count as a Detail? No? What are you saying, a semi? Let's settle with that.
