A thorough re-telling of my run-in with Jude Law:
It was a particularly snowy Toronto evening and a focused hate for fist-bumping beats was coming to a boil inside me. In my pocketed and cuffed-Orfus Road-warehouse dress shorts, backless Betty Page top and tweed pin-up pumps, I obviously felt as though my specific look was at waste in this particular club.
My body needed to get away from the Champagne Room feel of this place. I stood from the velveteen upholstered booths and gazed down at the dance floor. Bodies writhing, sweat beading and daggering aplenty as far as the eye could see. I sensed a presence to my left and I casually glanced (i.e. near snapped my neck) to see a very large man with his back against the railing I was about to jump from. I instigated conversation because that’s how I do.
Me: *chuckle* You look like you’re having as much fun as I am!
Me: Have you ever been here before? Is it always like this?
Me: FORGETCHU!!! *turns on heel to get the hell outta dodge*
BLOGGER’S NOTE TO FUTURE FRIENDS: Understand that when I’m read’ to go, I break out of wherever is holding me hostage.
I returned to the booth, and by “returned” I mean I took two steps to the right and a girl asked me if I got the Rudebwoy’s number. With an upturned nose, I tossed imaginary hair over my shoulder (I had a ponytail) and said: “He wishes!!! Am I right?” and my high five was left hanging. She said, “True. Lebron James probably gets hit on all the time.” *single blink* It was time to go home.
My jacket was apparently moonlighting as a sofa cover. It took all the strength in my body NOT to Shoryuken uppercut* the little turd making himself comfortable on my….OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND BOUNTIFUL -IT’S JUDE LAW!
In my mind, I immediately grabbed and pulled the sleeve of my jacket as hard as I could for several minutes. From the outside looking in, it probably appeared that I was loosely holding hands with a jacket sleeve and “duncely” swaying back and forth like I was hypnotized. Then everything came into focus and I was staring at him. Because he was looking at me. I dropped the sleeve of my jacket like it bit me nd probably made several sounds that resembled Bobcat Goldthwait’s Police Academy audition monologue.
Jude: Is this your jacket?
Me: *nodding head* err….UHM…heh heh…AHHHHH-NO!
Jude: It is, isn’t it? *shoots up from his seat* And I’m just sitting on it…please… *stands up*
So now Jude motha-f*ckin’ Law was helping me into my second-hand, cat pee-stained, winter coat! And as fast as it began, it ended and he went back to his conversation. With his guest. His guest named Liev Schreiber. *head explodes*
*Street Fighter references are ‘a thing’ for me.
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