Business as Usual...

One of the things I fantasize about most frequently when planning my new New York life is the thrilling number of new contacts I'll make. Distributors, reps, brokers, winemakers, customers, man, there will be so many people. It's one of the reasons for the blog-even if it bores everyone else to tears I'll have some kind of record that I can go back and look at. That is, assuming I'll remember anything about the meeting. I can't tell you how unusual it really is to have a first meeting with a new importer degenerate into a scene from some high school senior party ( seriously- there was dope and Pink Floyd ). And this evening pretty much started off that way, right from the get - go. I didn't show up my usual self. These days, I feel the arms od one coast rapidly letting go of me, and another one slowly extending a hand, and I was not prepared to meet anyone else here, in Seattle, who gave a shit about me. Enter the forward looking host, and his guest, The Importer, in what was to be a smallish dinner party for five. I knew everyone very well, except for The Importer, so I felt comfortable. Comfortable is a synonym for, oh, let's say "It won't matter if I show up with three hibiscus martinis under my belt and act like an ass all night"...you know, that kind of comfortable. Did anyone else see Hannah and Her Sisters? Remember the boozy old Mom?? get the picture? So, I had not done my part in showing up all professional-like. I showed up rather buzzed - like, and was completely taken aback to meet a tall, slim good-looking guy....good-looking in a taller, younger, Richard Dreyfus kind of way. In fact, he looked just like one of my college boyfriends all grown up. Except that those kinds of guys never look like they get any older, do they? No. Not at all. It's all boyish good looks, soft, curly locks of hair flecked with gray, and crinkly laugh lines around kind eyes. Wine? There's wine to try? Sure, I'll try some wine. Sure, I''ll try another. Three, four, five, six, maybe seven glasses later we were flaked out on the couch listening to Pink Floyd talking about our lives. Frankly, I blame the dog. Our host has an adorable Jack Russell terrier that kept running around feeling everyone up, kissing and slobbering and in general, being a huge flirt. It was in the air. And although it all ended shortly, sweetly, and fondly, the sad truth is that I can't remember anything about the wines. I remember one wine from the whole night, a dazzling sauvignon blanc that took my breath away ( well, I was pretty breathless to begin with ). There is no consensus of opinion as to which wine it was, as I was not being taken seriously that night by anyone, so now I am going to have to buy a bottle of it and see if it is the right one. If it is, I'm thinking about making it the very last wine I buy for the home shop. Think of the sign I could write :-)