Hanging' Tough

You know that saying that just when you think you can't go any further, push yourself and it’s amazing what you can do? It’s true. Okay well usually they are talking about a physical feat like climbing a mountain or doing one more set of push ups (or a set at all), and in that case I say go to hell. But when it comes to a night out, I raise my hand humbly in the air and say testify!

At long last I was able to make it out on the town Thursday for the opportunity to blow off steam. And I did. I was joined by Victoria after work and another non-SOS friend, and we proceeded to check out a variety of venues over the course of the night and sample the beverage menus as we went. At the fourth and final late night venue that we ended up at we got to talking with two dudes there that later joined us for after-bar burritos. The drunken conversation was fine enough (if you can consider walking down the street and taking turns singing the “one ton tomatooooo” song repeatedly at the top of our lungs actual conversation), but try as they might neither myself or my drunken pal who was passed out on the sidewalk waiting for a taxi, was going home with either of them. Points or no points, believe it or not Pamela’s got standards.

After a few hours sleep and one still drunk friend who called in sick laying on my couch later, I headed to work and struggled through the day with bloodshot eyes and a cloud of fatigue. I was meeting another friend right after work to head out for another evening of fun. And in our usual fashion, it didn't let us down. A few drinks at home and then a humid subway ride and we met up with some of the SOS gals and their friends on a patio. A few of us left for to find adventure in another venue. After dealing with the unbelievable douchery of a power-tripping bouncer, we kiss a$$ed our way in only to report his bad behaviour to his manager once inside. Forgive me, the rest of the night is abit patchy… so in usual form, bullet points for your review:

• a half group from a bachelor party (the other half was at a strip joint)
• lots of cute men in this said bachelor party
• one dude that I had my eye on since he walked in as I liked what I saw, but needed to survey the scene a little before I was making any moves. A tight group like that is hard to infiltrate right upon arrival! Thankfully he came over and bought me a drink* before I needed to make that first move, which we all know would have been incredibly slurry and reeking of hotmess-ness = huge potential MISS. No one likes to sink their own battleship.
• Continuing to chat with NKOTB as we'll call him (it was bugging me who he reminded me of, and the next day I realized it was Jordan Knight from New Kids on the Block – pre and post bloated Jordan thank you) and definitely feeling that he was into me, but I needed abit more time to be sure that the transition could smoothly be made. Somehow karaoke and how much he loved it (???) made its way into the conversation, so I rounded up the girls and dragged them to Spadina for a little after-hours performing.
• Arriving in the wilderness that is after-hours karaoke ‘hood, and understandably 2 of the 3 other girls wanted to bail to go home, which I totally got and was more than cool with. It was me and only me that stood to benefit from this sheer madness!
• Spending the next hour pouring over song books to awfully dubbed tracks in a little karaoke room with NKTOB and my non-SOS trooper of a friend PJ (introduced before in April in my Jays. Nachos. Man Child post), singing our hearts out and shaking an industrial strength tambourine like I was singing for my supper (kinda was in a way actually), and then heading home. NKOTB in tow.
• Stopping in at the local grocery store (which turns out to be his local grocery store too? He lives close by. Yikes, kiss my days of tromping around the neighbourhood unshowered and wearing old boxers to do my errands goodbye – for a little while anyway) for snacks and then heading home to mine.
• The sun coming up and me bidding farewell to NKOTB at the door so that he could go to the airport to pickup a family member as promised. Somewhere along the way finding out that he was Belgian and has lived here for 7 years, explaining the slight accent.
• He speaks 7 languages, which of course I found out over casual conversation. (“Oh so your obviously speak English and Belgian…. any others?” I’m so smooth. At least this time I heard correctly.)
• He works for the government and carries a badge for his job which allows him to make some kind of charges against people. But no handcuffs. I checked.

* no Roofalin was added, this is confirmed as upon reflection I did not exhibit any of the telltale signs that “Roofies” are known and coveted for.

It feels good to be back.


Pamela