So after the magic moment of last night I got down to hanging out with folks. Now, since most of these people are on LJ but this post goes on my site first and then feeds there, fuck LJ names. Av was there, and Hammerpants and of course Marianne. There was also a new human to our rounds. Well not too new, she seemed surprised I remembered where I met her for 10 seconds before, but new past that 10 seconds. We shall call her Ten, for she has incredibly cool David Tennant hair. Ten it is. It is also because she could be a robot. You don’t know.

So where were we? Ah, yes. Scenes from last night including yaks, fake legs, vodka and drunk Russians accosting me:

Let’s start with the crazy Russian. Av and I were outside and this drunk off his ass Russian guy comes over and starts talking to us. In a thick, slurred Russian accent. Earlier, at dinner, it was remarked by everyone there, to Ten, that I am something of an incident magnet. Strange shit happens around me. And most people doubt this and kinda doubt the stories, at first. Then it happens to when they’re around. Yeah. So this guy comes up and starts asking what I do. I tell him I’m a writer. He asks if I said runner. Shit like this, back and forth. Then he asks random political questions.

Listen when the Russians ask about your politics, there’s a part of me that can’t help but go right back to the Cold War. I miss the Cold War. So a bit of me thought maybe he was trying to turn me, or something. No, he was just drunk.

Then he asked if my beard was real. Well, he got around to it. It started with asking me if I had a beard. Which… kinda obvious. So I happily told him I did in fact have a beard. No hallucination there, Spanky! But he didn’t think it was real. So I tugged it with a little “Yup, still real.” At which point he asked if he could tug it to make sure. 99.9% of the time I would say no. However this guy was giving off major oddness. His posture kept flashing from about to start a fight to enjoying the night and back. So I said sure.

Why? Why would I say yes to a complete stranger tugging my beard? And how did I manage to avoid telling him that, yes, Virginia there is a Santa Claus? The world may never know.

Then he kept up the random questions. These included “How often do you get your glasses replaced” and “If you’re from NY, how?”

Moving on! Back inside where Ten started to, upon hearing this story, pet my beard. To which she added “Is it real? It’s like petting a yak.” I still don’t know quite what to do with that, either.

There was a vodka sampler with six types of infusions: Apple, peach/apricot, strawberry, raspberry, cranberry and garlic/dill. I had all of them except the garlic which was, apparently, quite fantabulous. There were some of the best kielbasa any of us had ever done ‘et. It was a night.

The subject of fake legs came up. Well, Ten told a story about a guy with a red beard and a fake leg and Av looks at me. At which point, forgetting I was in public, I shouted “Like the beard, they’re both REAL! Ya wanna pull the other one now?” Damn it. Why do people keep thinking bits of me are fake? What is that?

There was the recounting of old public access shows involving He-Man, enough laughter to cause several of us to have trouble breathing more than once (seriously, Hammerpants laughed himself into hiccups even) and so on.

Ten herself was one of those people that high-fives or fistbumps everyone. I do not say this as if it were a bad thing, but rather, simply hysterical, because the rest of us tend to just sit there and blink at her strange, outgoing ways. I was tempted to kidnap her. She might’ve fit in my bag and if I can fit it in my bag I can keep it, this is the rule and you can shut up. I did not, however, because shoving people in my bag tends to get me in trouble later.

More insanity ensued and then we started home. Which included walking Marianne to her hotel with her being constantly surprised by the cold. She’s from Florida. So the whole “It’s cold. My glasses fog when I breathe on them. Did you know that when it’s cold…” like a three year old. She was also bone exhausted and drunk. I love Marianne. She’s often, gleefully like a three year old. It’s awesome.

Last night was, in fact, awesome. But this is the sound of what it’s like in my life. It’s crazy and strange people rub parts of your body while talking about yaks.