Yesterday, I went over to Justin's, had a flank steak and a manhattan, wrote a bad poem, listened to some piano, and had an o.k. time. There was some nice gals at the table next to me (I was right up front), and they were sweet and gracious and liked musicals and I told them about my LP collection of musicals from the 1960s. And the pianist played some good songs.
But my usual piano bar buddy was not around, as she had to work, and it was a bit lonely. After another bourbon and beer, I left and went home to sleep.
But, early on, I went to the flower shop and bought these lovely pinkish/orange roses, most not yet opened, for a friend who works there...whose birthday was the day before. I guess she appreciated them, but in a way it was a selfish act...I felt the need to buy a woman flowers, as I hadn't done so in a while, and I enjoy the glow on a woman's face when she looks at her flowers. And my friend showed her flowers proudly.
It wasn't totally selfish of me: I did think of her and was opting for a card or flowers and went with the flowers, but a part of me just enjoyed doing it for the sake of doing it and to see them and admire the complimentary beauty of the roses with the recipient, who is a beautiful young Scorpio gal!
And it did make me feel a little better after a slightly melancholy weekend (see poem below).
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