Boys, Braces, Beer, B.O. and Blue Trackies

Okay ladies, I’ve been commissioned to write this weekend’s blog. And by commissioned, I mean through the payment of booze, ciggs, booze...and oh god, more ciggs.

It all started, on Saturday, when I hazily went to meet Mon, Bro and his GF at the TFC game, still slightly hung over from the night before (god, that night deserves its own blog, alone). So, with no food in stomach, a raging headache and slight pangs of dizziness, I quickly realized that if I was keeping up with Mon and fam, I better hop on the Carlsburg bus pretty damn fast...and of course, i did. One beer in, Gemma’s pretty much hammed (Yeh, I referred to myself in the third person). A good TFC win, a collection of 10 Red Cards (story later) and we made our merry way to Mon’s for a full good afternoon of drinking...not before me having to take a detour, on my own off the old streetcar – (Gemma wasn’t waiting around to actually PEE her pants) to McDick’s for the bathroom, and being yelled and having the good old middle finger salute flashed in my face by a crack head homeless woman in a blue tracky – I am starting to suspect that this is a theme for the weekend given another crack whore woman the night before at TheDukeLive.com (yup, I was lured in there, and have since burned my outfit from that night) was wearing a blue tracksuit jacket, and noshing on a chicken wing in the bathroom, while knocking on stalls, popping her head in and asking her friends “Anybody want some chiackin’?”)

I finally met back up with Mon, Bro and GF. Mr. Beer and Chelsea showed up to join us in our solid drinking efforts and we continued to pour some more liquids down our watering holes on the happening back patio of a Toronto Avenue. Boys, Braces, Beer and B.O. was the theme for where we ended up later on that night...The Maddy. It’s a while since I’ve stepped foot in that dive, and I quickly realized why that was once the waft of ‘dirty croch’ smell hit my face. I can’t even describe the riff at this place, and the age demographics were quickly realized when every dude that tried to speak with us pretty much sported a full set of train tracks, or thought that bathing is an option these days. A few doozies from the evening:

Chels telling a group of Columbians “Oh, so you’ve pretty much got a full bag of cocaine with you tonight?” Which was met with a full set of death stairs of sheer unamusement.

Some douche telling Chels, “Yeh, my girlfriend’s at home but I’m out tonight hoping to cheat with a hot blonde.” This was after he tried to get the three of us to take on his ‘single, attractive friend’ who turned out to be a barely there, 5 ft troll that ended up telling us a story about dillys, threesomes and something inappropriate. To which Monica in sheer disgust, asked him if that’s the best story he’s got and we’re outta here. To him turning to his friend saying “Oh don’t worry, they’re bitches anyway.” Only then to turn around an hour later at the end of the night, to the two them “Oh hey, where’d you guys go?” Me laughing in their faces, and walking away.

Some dude asking me “What’s your story? What are looking for in a guy?” Me: “Why you wanna know? Cause you’re sure as hell not him.” Only the beginning to the icing on the cake when he tried to talk to me later again, while he sitting at table, hands rubbing his temple, getting right pissed off asking Chels “What’s wrong with your friend? Nobody’s ever turned me down like that. Like, seriously, I can’t even talk to her.” Then turns over to insult me, me laughing in his face yelling, “Is that the best you’ve got.” Pissing him off even more, and he storms off. Oh the amusement this gave me. Recalling this has answered my question as to why the dude (Curls we’ll call him – 30, Investment Banker, travelled the world, speaks two languages – nice guy but probably not by deal in daylight) I had a few twirls around the dance floor with, some kissing action and a digit swap, hasn’t made contact. Umm, it could be that the douche is his friend and I’m positive I told Curls about 6 times that night "your friend's a douche".

I was in fine form that night – sitting at a table in the walkway, throwing up Red Cards (we've got lots of copies for you ladies) at dudes as they walked by when I didn’t like either a) their hair, b) what they were wearing, or C) anything I generally disagreed with. Clearly, I’m the douche.

To end it off, instead of shutting it down at that, of course we decide to cart it on back to the safe haven that is Monica's back pats , and continued to drink until we heard the birds chirpin away...which was our cue to go to bed. Not before Mon, after tucking us in, and cuddling with us not once, twice but three times (while Beer waited on her in the bedroom - probably hoping to get some action) took a spill and bruised her boob...and maybe her ego. She has the pics to prove the hilarity, and the late night cuddles with me and Chels before closing up shop...for the morning.

Oh what a weekend! Bye for now layyydees.