My Monday
I am so cool. I am sitting here at 2pm in my little local coffee shop on this rainy, windy day, looking like a chic hipster (in the outfit that I should’ve worn to the Whip on Saturday night versus the one I did wear that said “I am a pampered Kerrisdalean”) with my laptop and my cappuccino. Awesome. Scurry people! Scurry back to your offices! Scurry to pick up your children! Scurry to get your banking done! Yawn. Sigh. Stretch.
So the weekend turned out to be very eventful. A veritable adventure if you will. It started out with me not wanting to go to the gym on Friday. I decided to go to Rogers and pick some good, older movies that I hadn’t seen. As I was picking out Ed Wood, House of D and deciding that I needed to re-watch Fargo my phone rang: it was my good friend P, who seemed desperate to go for a beer. I said absolutely and she and another girl that I had graduated high school with that I had not seen for roughly 7 or 8 years met me at the Cheese, where our conversation was punctuated with screaming as we arrived in time for the last period of a PPV Canucks game. Which they lost. It was a great, unexpected evening and I really enjoyed the company. We had some good conversation, a little debate about everyone’s favorite topic: gay marriage. We discussed internet dating, which I find utterly intriguing because I have never had the chance to use it. P indicated that she was willing to try speed dating which surprised me. I have a lot of respect for her for having the balls to try something like that; it seems to me that it would be awkward and stressful. This is likely because I am a stressful and awkward person. Plus, I think that eventually you will be sitting across from the guy that thinks he is God’s gift to women and perhaps you will have had one Cosmopolitan too many and you’ll maybe be a little tired from repeating your name, age, occupation, hobbies and favorite movies six thousand times and you will just spit out “you’re an ass hat. And I hate your face”. Yep. That would be fun. Then you would pick up your drink, go find the one guy that you did find remotely interesting and attractive (who would be midway through a five minute conversation with someone prettier and more successful than you) whereupon you would tap her on the shoulder and say “there’s a guy over there that wants to talk to you. Beat it, blondie”.
Yes. So on Saturday I picked JupiterGirl and A up and we went to the Whip. As mentioned earlier, I don’t think my new $128 jeans and high heeled boots were the best choice for this joint where the dress could best be described as “bohemian beatnik lesbian logger”. There were some fine, grizzled, bearded men there. The kind of men that I am sure like to drink whiskey by the fire and furrow their brows as they play chess with their childhood rugby chums and plan to fit in peacekeeping missions to Somalia between their art shows. Hot.
After this we decided to go see what was shaking in Kits. Let me tell you what was shaking: nothing. So puzzled was I by the way that every drinking establishment was either closed or in the process of closing down – at eleven o’clock no less – that I turned to JupiterGirl and confirmed that it was indeed Saturday night. The Smoking Dog: closing down. Vintropolis: closed at TEN O’CLOCK. Some weird flatbread place that served alcohol but clearly was uninterested in gaining any new customers was closed, though their sign said they were open from “5 o’clock onwards” and they had not locked their door. They looked at us like we had asked them if we could come in and skin some kittens at the corner table or something. JupiterGirl muttered “no fun city” which normally bothers me because I tend to think that Vancouver is a pretty fun city, however on this particular night I was definitely inclined to agree!
Then a weird sequence of events happened, which could only be described as fate. We drove over to the King’s Head: parking literally in front of it. However when we walked in there was not one available table, though we did see a group of people getting ready to leave. We decided to stroll down the street and see what else was shaking. The Urban Well: closed! Yew York: half empty and the name was stupid. Malones…. Yeah… we started walking in that general direction and then JupiterGirl demurred “I just can’t”. Don’t blame ya! Rossini’s: full of old people that looked like they were regulars. JupiterGirl whimpered that she had to pee so she said she would dart into the King’s Head and then we would go. I said fine, that I would do one more circle to see if any seats had come up and lo and behold, the table that was in the process of leaving the last time we had been there had cleared out! Success! We grabbed the table and ordered some drinks. Then we met a weird girl that was sitting by herself (she was a “friend” of the drummer). She overheard us gossiping about some men and wanted to dish. We were accommodating and rated pecs and asses for a while, still kind of unsure of our new found friend, who disappeared with the drummer when the band went on a break. At this point a group of eight thirty-somethings came in and wanted to switch tables with us. I was willing to oblige, but JupiterGirl seemed perturbed and asked “what’s in for us? A round of drinks?”, which I will admit is usually the standard quip when someone asks to switch. Nonetheless we switched, and we actually did get a free round of drinks. And when this table found out that it was JupiterGirl’s birthday, they bought her a beer as well. Very nice! I like random acts of kindness such as this. It makes me want to kill people just a little less.
Then our strange friend came back and proceeded to at first sit next to JupiterGirl and then proceed to half-clamber over her to interject into the conversation happening at the table of thirty-somethings behind us. It was at this point that she really started to give me the no feeling. A left us after a round of high fives, and at some point JupiterGirl went to use the washroom whereupon I asked our new friend what it was that she did. She said she was a mature student at UBC, studying psychology and biology. Interesting. I told her I was an accountant. She told me I had a beautiful face. I searched wildly for JupiterGirl while trying to keep a pleasant smile on my (beautiful) face. I had a vision of her slipping a date rape drug into my coffee, taking me back to her place and making lampshades out of my skin. JupiterGirl returned, and soon it was last call and the drummer joined us. Hot. How come crazy girl gets the hot drummer? Damnit. He was clearly intoxicated but having a really good time and I kind of felt sorry for him, like he sort of didn’t know what he was getting into with this odd girl (who told me that she had only known him for a couple of weeks). I hope he’s okay. I hope he has not been made into several lampshades. He would make such a hot lampshade.
And then yesterday Michael came to visit me. He was supposed to come at one, though he thinks he told me three. I saw him a couple of weeks ago and had told him to come at four, and he came an hour early. Perhaps he was trying to balance it all out subconsciously. Whatever, I was just happy to see him because he was going to help me log on to the internet. First we went to Starbucks, where we logged on successfully (for $7.50!!) and determined the issue was not with my laptop. Sweet. It was totally non-stressful. Yeah, nothing keeps my blood pressure down like going to the coffee place that I hate which was crazy busy, squeezing in next to people that are not speaking English and therefore are clearly talking about me, and trying to fit a laptop, two coffees, a yogurt parfait and a fruit bar on to a tiny table while children scream and people in wheel chairs roll around and bump into things. Awesome. And why do they not put the coffee at the coffee bar? Why does the coffee get picked up at the cash register? This is inconsistent. It angers me. Though I wasn’t as angry as the size two Kerrisdale mom that was pissed because the barista hadn’t made her three year old son’s hot chocolate correctly. You know what I got when I was three? I got beats. Yeah, that’s right. I got spanked for not eating the crust on my toast. Fuckin’ hot chocolate at Starbucks. I love Kerrisdale.
So we ended up at Esquire’s and we were finally able to log on. It has to do with IP addresses and the wireless network assigning them every so often. I really didn’t entirely grasp what Michael was explaining to me. He said something about IP addresses and I was like “Yeah, I have to pee too”. Whatever. Then I fed him a horrible dinner and chased him around the apartment quoting Bertrand Russell to him. I don’t think he’ll be back any time soon. Which is bad because I gave him my car. This is what I have to do to get boys to like me: give them expensive vehicles. Damnit. I wonder how drummer lampshade boy is doing today.
So the weekend turned out to be very eventful. A veritable adventure if you will. It started out with me not wanting to go to the gym on Friday. I decided to go to Rogers and pick some good, older movies that I hadn’t seen. As I was picking out Ed Wood, House of D and deciding that I needed to re-watch Fargo my phone rang: it was my good friend P, who seemed desperate to go for a beer. I said absolutely and she and another girl that I had graduated high school with that I had not seen for roughly 7 or 8 years met me at the Cheese, where our conversation was punctuated with screaming as we arrived in time for the last period of a PPV Canucks game. Which they lost. It was a great, unexpected evening and I really enjoyed the company. We had some good conversation, a little debate about everyone’s favorite topic: gay marriage. We discussed internet dating, which I find utterly intriguing because I have never had the chance to use it. P indicated that she was willing to try speed dating which surprised me. I have a lot of respect for her for having the balls to try something like that; it seems to me that it would be awkward and stressful. This is likely because I am a stressful and awkward person. Plus, I think that eventually you will be sitting across from the guy that thinks he is God’s gift to women and perhaps you will have had one Cosmopolitan too many and you’ll maybe be a little tired from repeating your name, age, occupation, hobbies and favorite movies six thousand times and you will just spit out “you’re an ass hat. And I hate your face”. Yep. That would be fun. Then you would pick up your drink, go find the one guy that you did find remotely interesting and attractive (who would be midway through a five minute conversation with someone prettier and more successful than you) whereupon you would tap her on the shoulder and say “there’s a guy over there that wants to talk to you. Beat it, blondie”.
Yes. So on Saturday I picked JupiterGirl and A up and we went to the Whip. As mentioned earlier, I don’t think my new $128 jeans and high heeled boots were the best choice for this joint where the dress could best be described as “bohemian beatnik lesbian logger”. There were some fine, grizzled, bearded men there. The kind of men that I am sure like to drink whiskey by the fire and furrow their brows as they play chess with their childhood rugby chums and plan to fit in peacekeeping missions to Somalia between their art shows. Hot.
After this we decided to go see what was shaking in Kits. Let me tell you what was shaking: nothing. So puzzled was I by the way that every drinking establishment was either closed or in the process of closing down – at eleven o’clock no less – that I turned to JupiterGirl and confirmed that it was indeed Saturday night. The Smoking Dog: closing down. Vintropolis: closed at TEN O’CLOCK. Some weird flatbread place that served alcohol but clearly was uninterested in gaining any new customers was closed, though their sign said they were open from “5 o’clock onwards” and they had not locked their door. They looked at us like we had asked them if we could come in and skin some kittens at the corner table or something. JupiterGirl muttered “no fun city” which normally bothers me because I tend to think that Vancouver is a pretty fun city, however on this particular night I was definitely inclined to agree!
Then a weird sequence of events happened, which could only be described as fate. We drove over to the King’s Head: parking literally in front of it. However when we walked in there was not one available table, though we did see a group of people getting ready to leave. We decided to stroll down the street and see what else was shaking. The Urban Well: closed! Yew York: half empty and the name was stupid. Malones…. Yeah… we started walking in that general direction and then JupiterGirl demurred “I just can’t”. Don’t blame ya! Rossini’s: full of old people that looked like they were regulars. JupiterGirl whimpered that she had to pee so she said she would dart into the King’s Head and then we would go. I said fine, that I would do one more circle to see if any seats had come up and lo and behold, the table that was in the process of leaving the last time we had been there had cleared out! Success! We grabbed the table and ordered some drinks. Then we met a weird girl that was sitting by herself (she was a “friend” of the drummer). She overheard us gossiping about some men and wanted to dish. We were accommodating and rated pecs and asses for a while, still kind of unsure of our new found friend, who disappeared with the drummer when the band went on a break. At this point a group of eight thirty-somethings came in and wanted to switch tables with us. I was willing to oblige, but JupiterGirl seemed perturbed and asked “what’s in for us? A round of drinks?”, which I will admit is usually the standard quip when someone asks to switch. Nonetheless we switched, and we actually did get a free round of drinks. And when this table found out that it was JupiterGirl’s birthday, they bought her a beer as well. Very nice! I like random acts of kindness such as this. It makes me want to kill people just a little less.
Then our strange friend came back and proceeded to at first sit next to JupiterGirl and then proceed to half-clamber over her to interject into the conversation happening at the table of thirty-somethings behind us. It was at this point that she really started to give me the no feeling. A left us after a round of high fives, and at some point JupiterGirl went to use the washroom whereupon I asked our new friend what it was that she did. She said she was a mature student at UBC, studying psychology and biology. Interesting. I told her I was an accountant. She told me I had a beautiful face. I searched wildly for JupiterGirl while trying to keep a pleasant smile on my (beautiful) face. I had a vision of her slipping a date rape drug into my coffee, taking me back to her place and making lampshades out of my skin. JupiterGirl returned, and soon it was last call and the drummer joined us. Hot. How come crazy girl gets the hot drummer? Damnit. He was clearly intoxicated but having a really good time and I kind of felt sorry for him, like he sort of didn’t know what he was getting into with this odd girl (who told me that she had only known him for a couple of weeks). I hope he’s okay. I hope he has not been made into several lampshades. He would make such a hot lampshade.
And then yesterday Michael came to visit me. He was supposed to come at one, though he thinks he told me three. I saw him a couple of weeks ago and had told him to come at four, and he came an hour early. Perhaps he was trying to balance it all out subconsciously. Whatever, I was just happy to see him because he was going to help me log on to the internet. First we went to Starbucks, where we logged on successfully (for $7.50!!) and determined the issue was not with my laptop. Sweet. It was totally non-stressful. Yeah, nothing keeps my blood pressure down like going to the coffee place that I hate which was crazy busy, squeezing in next to people that are not speaking English and therefore are clearly talking about me, and trying to fit a laptop, two coffees, a yogurt parfait and a fruit bar on to a tiny table while children scream and people in wheel chairs roll around and bump into things. Awesome. And why do they not put the coffee at the coffee bar? Why does the coffee get picked up at the cash register? This is inconsistent. It angers me. Though I wasn’t as angry as the size two Kerrisdale mom that was pissed because the barista hadn’t made her three year old son’s hot chocolate correctly. You know what I got when I was three? I got beats. Yeah, that’s right. I got spanked for not eating the crust on my toast. Fuckin’ hot chocolate at Starbucks. I love Kerrisdale.
So we ended up at Esquire’s and we were finally able to log on. It has to do with IP addresses and the wireless network assigning them every so often. I really didn’t entirely grasp what Michael was explaining to me. He said something about IP addresses and I was like “Yeah, I have to pee too”. Whatever. Then I fed him a horrible dinner and chased him around the apartment quoting Bertrand Russell to him. I don’t think he’ll be back any time soon. Which is bad because I gave him my car. This is what I have to do to get boys to like me: give them expensive vehicles. Damnit. I wonder how drummer lampshade boy is doing today.
posted by Duder at 2:44 PM
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