Suprisingly Light Hangover
My foggy blond brain doesn't feel too up to typing at the moment, but it must be done ... I'd like to say that last night was random, but I think that may be a slight understatement. Besides, doesn't the simple activity of inebriating yourself spawn randomness?
Anywho, same old beginnings to my night on the town yesterday, got off work at the JBI at 11
... all stressed and tense after having dealt with a bitch-faced ice machine on the second floor, which decided to leak ALL OF ITS WATER, saturating the carpet underneath it and eventually dripping right down through the ceiling into the lobby complete with chunks of dripping plaster and threats of ceiling collapse ...
and received a call from my good friend, and coworker, Pearl. We decided to hit up the Clubhouse: the old fogies/cougar part of the Strath.
Before our adventure downtown could begin, Pearl forced me to go to the Bent Mast with her for one (which turned into two) pre-drink, only to prove to Arlin that she was not "whipped" by her "boyfriend". This Bent Mast visit, as it was already getting late, took the form of Katie and Pearl madly sprinting/flailing down Toronto street--me in stilettos, Pearl after a few drinks--running into the Mast, downing an Amaretto sour and a few shots, and then running back out and jumping into the cab just before midnight.
Upon arrival, we snuck around to the back entrance where I sweet-talked the bouncer into letting us in from that entrance ... contrary to the rules! Having visited the Clubhouse on a previous evening of post-work frivolity, Pearl and I were well prepared for the masses of crazy drunken old people, interspersed with the occasional young person and wheelchair (?). On the dancefloor, we marvelled at the throng of moms who had collected beside us, and, as we bumped along to the tunes of Grease, pictured our own parentals in the same situation: completely sloshed, head banging (really...it was dangerous), and grinding with moustache-faced too-tight-for-that-belly-shirts men. We concluded that they were on acid, and that their children are probably dealing to them.
All this time, a certain Chuck had been constantly calling my mobile phone ... it appeared that, after 8 cold shots, the poor boy was having extreme difficulty finding the Clubhouse, let alone us. Eventually we trekked outside in the cold to gather him, and he joined us on the dancefloor, where I proceeded to swindle money from him in order to buy beer: this wasn't theft, the previous weekend I had purchased an entire night's worth of booze for the lad.
After admiring the mad mothers, and observers with front-bums, I spotted a young man to my interest. I proceeded to tell Chuck and Pearl that we should therefore move closer. Following this, a series of events followed which led to Pearl dancing with this particular gentleman, and Chuck and I sneaking out (rather meanly) to go somewhere else. Outside, I ran into Jackie...a friend from film studies, and drunkenly tried to convince her to come to another club. Alas, Chuck and I were left to our own devices, and we once again jogged (gah!), over to Hugos. Let's just say that Chuck does the "hump dance" when really drunk, which sometimes morphs into what I call the "chicken hump dance": it was fun nonetheless, and then we left.
Walking back down Douglas toward my house, I heard someone screaming my name behind me and turned around to see Pearl (!) running (once again) ACROSS DOUGLAS towards us. She eventually caught up and, now that I had a replacement walker-homer, Chuck took off. Walking home, Pearl gave me her jacket because I was freezing. I was also given a piece of gum to munch on, which started the walk home weirdness.
Crossing Belleville street, we came across a sewer-cap-lid thing in the middle of the road, with four small holes in it. Stopping the middle of the intersection, we started a competition of spitting expertise. Aiming for one of the holes, we each spat out our gums and missed, then ran away, dodging honking cars. After popping some new pieces into our mouths, we approached the museum grounds, and tried to spit, across a mini forest might I add, into the large duck pond. Needless to say we both fell short, and continued our walk toward and through the Parliament buildings. With our last two pieces of gum, we stood inside one part of the buildings and spat towards a rubbish bin. Mine missed, Pearl's hit and bounced off - I didn't give her the point, but we were both ecstatic anyway. Just then, we saw the outline of a man approaching us ... THE SECURITY GUARD! Instead of running (I refused) we walked as soberly as possible towards him/and home, when he approached us. Expecting a reprimand for our drunken gum-hacking behaviour, we were shocked when instead the nice guard gave us a talk about ... STARS. Yes, we stood there, in the cold, at 3 AM, staring at the sky (trying not to totter and fall over) for 15 minutes, yes, 15 minutes, while the guard told us about all of the constellations and how stars were formed and why we should go out and get star charts and how we should read them and that he was an Aries and so was I and that his birthday is on April 10 and mine three days later but probably a generation or two later.
We eventually managed to slink away from Mr. Talkative, probably more sober but not much more enlightened. Pearl commented that had we been in Ontario, we probably would have received a beating instead of a lecture for spitting on the Parliament buildings. I then complained that the balls of my feet hurt, and we had a lengthy discussion about whether people actually have balls of feet. We passed some chatting men, who looked rather bemused at our balls of feet debate. After taking off my heels to walk barefoot, we passed a HUGE fan on the side of the road. Pearll said she needed a fan, but wouldn't take it. I handed over my shoes, and grabbed the fan. We kept walking, I'm sure that massive fan weighed about as much as I did. In return, Pearl clambered over the fence of a preschool house and into the garden. From a lovely little fountain she plucked one of the floating ducks, wriggled back over the fence, and gave it to me. I told her I would put it in my sink.
That's about it. I gave Pearl her fan. I wonder if it works. I'll keep you ... posted.