Monday, January 13, 2014

Oh my Lebanon!

That right there is my birdcage veil.
I had never heard of such a thing.
It WAS restricting like a fucking cage.
"So what do you think I am?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, side smirk adorning (yes, fucking ADORNING) his face.

Sister accidentally captured mini-Richard Gere while snapping a shot of our table setting.
The question came from the guy sitting left kitty-corner from me at the 12-seater dinner table.
My sister, Betty, and I had been taking guesses at the ethnicities of the two boys sitting directly in front of us-- the so-called "billionaires."
After perhaps five minutes of guessing, I had been the only one to correctly guess one ethnicity-- the one of the guy who wasn't even sitting with us, the stink-face uptight dude. I correctly guessed Russian for him... imagine that!
We girls had been too enthralled by the boy claiming Brazil and the big eyed pretty gentleman who claimed being "normal" to notice the one sitting furthest away from the dudes-- Richard Gere... Richard Gere's offspring. He was leaning back, looking at us all play our idiotic game, like a bunch of kittens running after the red dot of a laser on the ground. When he spoke up, we were downright startled... quickly feeling embarrassed about our rudeness to the sweet guy.

Richard Gere was looking right at me, with the sexy smirk... grin... smile? I don't know what to call it, it was just a slap to the face... a nice one.
"Japanese?" asked Betty.
"Nope." His smirk turned into a wider smile.
Yeah... I can see where she guessed that, he did have almond-shaped eyes... but his eyebrows were too thick.
"Ummm... you are...." began my sister.
"Lebanese?" I guessed. Lebanese is always my go-to answer.
The eyes on all the dudes at the table grew wide. They all seemed to choke on their spit... except for Richard Gere, his eyes seemed to glint, and he nodded.
"Yes. Yes I am." said Richard Gere, raising his glass of champagne and toasting at me.
Are you kidding me? That is CLASSY AS FUUUCK! ...I think I'm sweating in this 60 degree weather...
My jaw dropped and my eyebrows raised in surprise.
The dudes started to laugh.
"You're kidding, right?" I asked. "He's not really Lebanese, is he?" I asked Brazil and Gentleman.
"No, he is. He really is. You go it right," said Gentleman. Brazil nodded.
I looked over at Richard Gere and gave him MY side smirk (toothier than his... because I have a giant mouth), raised my left eyebrow, and cocked my head to the right.
"That's cool," I said, my smirk turning into a smile.
I was trying to showcase my drinks for the night:
unlimited champagne, red wine, water, and Patron.
The hilarious Brazil was caught in the middle.
I raised my glass of champagne and looked only at his eyes.

SEXIEST motherfucker in the room... that Richard Gere.

Best. Wedding. Ever.
The way he looked at his bride made my heart melt.
Those cobblestone streets made my feet bleed.
That trip made my soul HEAL.

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