Monday, July 19, 2004

Weekend to Remember

Weekend to Remember

On Friday I worked until late putting together a website for a born-again Christian massage therapist. She gave me a pocket New Testament and kept demonstrating different massage techniques on me. By the end of it all, I was honestly ready to join her at church that Sunday. My wife, a Yoga teacher is in Russia with our son for a few weeks. She knows this woman and doesn’t really like her.

Saturday I rose late, after 7. My morning Yoga practice was strong and ultimately relaxing, as it is most mornings with several intense forward and backward bends (wheels). This was followed by a bowl of very nice and hearty Muesli – rolled oats, almonds, sunflower seeds, salted peanuts, coconut shavings, sliced bananas, kefir and warm organic milk. And honey of course. Just before midday, I took a longish walk in the nearby Pilis hills with my friends Steven and Fanny. Steven just returned from a month-long trip to the US where his new film MIX played at several festivals. It was the third feature film he’s directed. I got on Steven’s nerves a bit as I kept talking to him and maybe not with him. We were pretty baked. Later, after descending, we ate some food and drank beer and all was well.

Saturday night I went out with my friend Bob in his Lexus convertible to meet my friend Y and her Italian friend Laura. Bob was angry because he didn’t find either girl pretty enough. Later he dropped us all off in the wrong place and then sent a text message asking me not to be mad at him, that I shouldn’t have introduced him to such old bags anyway. The girls and I walked in the moonlight along the Danube, past some medieval architecture, took photos by a fountain, and went to a nearby beer garden. There, a drunk guy sat at our table and tried to make conversation. I drank a soda water. The girls shared a small beer and smoked cigarettes. Laura took a taxi home and Y and I shared a Taxi back to the house she’s staying in, a gorgeous place owned by a filmmaker in a green and wooded neighborhood. I didn’t notice it at the time, but it’s across the street from the palatial home of Phil Collins, not the rockstar but the ALCOA executive who is also a senior guy in the Mormon Church where Lucia, Eldar (our son) and I often go.

At Y’s place, we drank lemongrass tea, had a little sex, then slept, then woke up and had some more sex. Y cooked corn-on-the-cob, carrots and other veggies. I was fasting however, as I do each Sunday. Surprisingly, the fast actually improved my stamina. By midday we were downstairs among the overstuffed Turkish pillows on the daybed. Bob’s ideas notwithstanding, I rather like Y. She’s ten years younger than me, has a fine body and a great snatch. Sunday afternoon I stayed inside her for probably three hours. When we finally ended the session, we were both in heaven. “You satisfied me.” She said with a tired smile. "Right now I couldn't have an argument with anybody."

When we left the house at half-past six, I was well into thinking about how to respond to this job offer that had come to me regarding a new business intelligence service I’m being asked to organize. It was then that I recognized the Collins’ place, a regular red brick castle: tower, turrets and all. “Good thing they didn’t see us,” I told Y. I wasn’t worried about Lucia. She has her fun with fellow Power Yogis, afterall. But if word spread among the Mormons about my behavior, a real moral crisis could break out. After parting with Y, I prayed for the well-being of Eldar and Lucia, that they come home healthy and happy on an agreeable date and that all will be fine with us. Amen.


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