Episode 17: The Night I Became a Prostitute

Now that I've wrangled you in with that catchy title, I'm going to shatter your disgusting hopes about this post by saying, I have never actually sold my body for money...although the thought has crossed my mind several times. Especially when I have to pay tuition. But were I to make money off of the porcelain perfection that is my body Id be a stripper, because at least I'd get to choose the music that played in the background of my shame.

So, this night happened a few years ago. I was going through a rough time, and mostly was on a monster bender after a break up (surprise, surprise). I also happened to be on antibiotics for a bronchial infection.

Now kids, there is always the warning on the side of antibiotics that says "do not consume alcohol". Most normal, intelligent, life-loving, and might I add intelligent people follow these directions. They take a few days off, catch up with family, go to sleep early and just generally don't fuck with the World War 4 that is happening in their body.

Not this guy.

No, I was far to deep in my pit of despair to understand the importance of not drinking while taking antibiotics. Instead, I figured I'd go out with a guy friend of mine for drinks in my small town (and by small town I mean really fucking small). So I popped my first antibiotic, with warnings from my mom saying "just don't drink a lot. Seriously". Whatever mom, as if you even know.

I got dressed in a skirt, a slutty tank top, and a nicely conservative sweater over that. I packed my new Marc Jacobs purse (which by the way I had saved up for...all my savings that summer blown on one purse. Bye bye food for the school year).

As I was leaving, my mom once again reminded me "Amber, seriously don't drink to much, the bottle says you shouldn't" I looked at her and said "Seriously mom I never drink to much, so I will probably fine" Famous last words my friends.

I pulled into the first bar of our night (yes there were several after) with thoughts of one drink and done. Now I have to explain that my friend was like 6'5 and pretty muscular. I ordered my first and it went down like apple juice. That's probably because I'm an alcoholic. No just kidding. I wasn't... at that time at least. But I digress.

As you all already know, I gain an overinflated sense of my ability to do anything once I've had one drink. Well as usual, I just assumed I could keep up with my friend, DRINK FOR DRINK. I mean being 5'4 and a light weight totally equates to a strong ability to hold my liquor.

It actually doesn't. Do the math folks.

And so we drank. I made grand statements about my ability to down cider, as I often do. I can't remember how many drinks I had at that first bar. I'm going to go with 3. At least. Thats being lenient.

Now the beautiful thing about antibiotics is they have built in dumb-ass sensors. At this point my head got all weird. I felt like I was in some strange 70's music video. It should've been at this point that I said to myself "Amber, heres the one drink you said you would have and heres the 8 drinks that will land you in that gutter over there". But I didn't. I just followed my friend over to the bar across the street. (Our town has a lot of cowboys in it, therefore it has a lot of alcohol in it to).

We entered the bar. Music was playing, it was mostly empty except for some of my friends friends. Who also happened to know my brother. They were all the same age. So here I was, an opportunity to impress all the people that I had tried to impress in a training bra and braces. My time had come to show them how cool, just like my brother, I really was.

To me that meant drinking them under the table. So my friend and I grabbed drinks. We sat down and downed them. Another perk of antibiotics is they give this strange sense of invincibility when you drink with them in your system. Like you could probably Iron Man that building across the parking lot.

Now I do remember dancing at this place. To some weird country music. Also I think at one point I tried to request a song...but it was a sad one. The DJ told me he was trying to make people happy. I can also say that I don't remember how many drinks I had exactly at this place.

So we danced. We drank. Danced some more. I think I cried in the bathroom at one point. Eventually we all decided it was time to hit our last and final destination.

I was feeling pretty damn awesome at this point. We walked all the way there and I think I skipped and sang the whole time. Which is pretty typical for me because when I get slightly tipsy I think I can run a marathon. I've considered downing a bottle of wine and trying my hand at an ironman.

First let me just paint a picture of the bar we went to. It is an old cowboy bar. It's the seedist bar in a small town and even people in this town are afraid to go there. I can't do justice to the strange skeeviness that oozes from it.

When we got there my rational brain FINALLY took hold of the situation and told me. "Amber you are a serious fuck up, but right now just get some water and sit your stupid ass down." My distraught/alcoholic/stupid/emotionally compromised brain (the one which almost always runs the show around here) cried like a small toddler but did as it was told. I got some water and sat down.

Sitting down= body no likey.

As I sipped my water, I could hear that sensor in your brain/stomach/esophagus go off. Puke was on its way.

Here is something I've learnt about myself. When I get sick from alcohol my first reaction is not that of a normal person. Instead of thinking "I need to get my sorry drunk ass to a toilet ASAP" My brain (keep in mind the stupid one is in control 99% of the time) says to me "Look bitch, we will get out of this alive if you follow these orders very directly: DO NOT GET UP FROM THIS SEAT. I will repeat that for you DO NOT REMOVE YOUR ASS FROM THIS SEAT, IT IS OUR SALVATION".

So I sat. But mother nature waits for no one. Because I firmly glued my ass to the seat I was left with only one place to throw up. In my water cup.

Turns out getting my vomit in that cup while drunk, is like a man trying to get all his urine into a toilet. It wasn't going to happen.

I managed to get most of it in, but I also managed to get vomit on my sweater and IN my new Marc Jacobs purse. I just heard all the girls cry.

After it was done. I was shamed. I could feel it seeping through my body like the sweet antibiotics I had taken earlier that day. I took off the conservative sweater. I stuffed it into my puke laden purse. I got up, puke on my tank top and in my hair.

I looked at no one. I heard my friend calling to me. But all my head was saying was "RUN BITCH RUN LIKE THE WINDS." Of course when you're drunk all you can manage is a drunken stumble.

I got outside. Pulled out my phone and dialed the only people in the world who can pick you up in this state. My parents.

"Mom, Dad! HELP! Save Me! At the (insert skeevy bar name here)!" and I hung up.

I stumble to the corner to wait. I'm going to paint you the final picture of the night.

As my mom pulls up all she sees is me, standing on a street corner outside a skeezy bar, wearing nothing but a short skirt, a skanky tank top, my hair messed up and greasy, mascara streaked down my face, high heels and my body half bent over vomiting. Need I say more?

Moral of the Story:

Kids I'm going to give it to straight. If you wanna try and outdrink a guy while on antibiotics...

you'll just end up looking like a prostitute.

Put that in your bank and spend it.

Episode 16: The Crystal

Sup bitches?

 So, I was thinking of writing about my first week of school. . How I woke up on a towel that the lead singer of a punk band threw at me on the first day of school, how I got a concussion in a bar bathroom, how then I almost got kicked out of that bar for being to drunk. But those are all boring stories. 

No, today I share with you another one of the strangest interactions I've ever had with another human being. It's not a very long story, but its probably one of the weirder ones. It took place about a year ago, maybe a little over. Now it maybe isn't on the same level as anal sex guy but at least I wasn't on a date with this dude. Seriously. 

It was summer time, the temperature was hot and the pool near our house was open. Plus it had a student deal, which for those of us living on alcoholic cider and jujubes... that's kind of a big thing. So we all got our swimming shit and headed to the pool. Which ironically is called Crystal Pool. At least it'll be ironic by the end of this.

We got changed and got into the pool. We did the typical thing that most university students would do when faced with free swim at the pool. We acted like 10 years on steroids. We jumped off the high diving board. There was squealing, whining and doggie paddling...and that was just the guys. We were having a good ol fashioned time. We may have also jumped off of the high diving board and I may have screamed a little. But I mean, it was really high. 

So after we had swam a bit, we decided to hit the hot tub for some serious soaking. Now, the hot tub at this pool is in a little alcove (yes I just used the word alcove...I have officially entered the adult world). This means we couldn't possibly have prepared ourselves for what was waiting for us around the corner. 

He had dreadlocks, and was wearing a very small bathing suit. Fine. We all got in and pretended not to be entranced by his banana hammock. Oh and did I mention he was doing push-ups beside the hot tub? Yeah...he wasn't even in the hot tub. I cannot stress enough that the only thing he had on was a speedo and he had nothing else. This is really key. 

There we were, caught in this strange place. Him doing push-ups, us trying really hard to be totally okay with this strangely violating experience. 

But the best was yet to come. 

He then proceeded to get in the hot tub right across from us. And he was staring. Oooookay. I, being me, tried to not look but at the same time made it more awkward. He looked at us, we casually glanced everywhere else but him. 

It was then he asked "what are you guys doing tonight?"

We looked at each other in alarm. Then all incoherently mumbled something along the lines of "oh soo busy with all this stuff..." "I'm probably making dinner..." "I have to fumigate my lampshades..." We had hoped that our very clear answer had quashed his desire to make friendly chat. 

It hadn't. 

Then he was very silent. He stared long and hard at us. We made moves to leave the hot tub. But he wasn't done with us yet. 

His eyes bore into our soul and he asked "do you guys wanna see my crystal?"

His hands disappeared under the water and he had a crazed look in his eye. As though from the deepest, darkest, depths of the ninth circle of hell he pulled out a huge crystal and held it up as though it was his sacrifice to the paegen gods of old. Seriously it came from no where. 

I don't think I have ever exited a hot tub so fast. 

Moral of the Story: 

Here's the thing kids. We are all a little weird. Some of us like to eat raw fish, others like to listen to only death metal and some of us even like to make choreographed dances to One Direction when we are home alone... But that is beside the point. 

Point is...if you are a scary man who can make crystals appear out of no where just stay home. Seriously. 

Episode 15: The Biggest Bag of Toenails I've Ever Seen

Sup fellow homo sapiens?

 Now today is surprisingly NOT about getting drunk. Okay, it has some alcohol in it but it isn't quite the Bret Michaels incident of 2010.

No, today I am going to share with you the big one. The story that will forever define my life and is the one story that will be re-told long after I have died. It will be like Troy (me being Achilles of course, duh) and it will be how my name will live forever in Earth's history books.

It is so famous because of how badly it went. And it actually wasn't my fault. For once I was simply a party to the insanity that became this date. Yes, its shocking but true.

Lets get right down to it. It all began with a man. A man who really really REALLY wanted to go on a date with me. How could I refuse such a non-desperate proposal? In fact he called me 10 minutes after I had given him my number. Okay, that's kinda sweet I thought. Then he asked if we could see each other the next night.

Umm sure?

So we planned for the next night. As I often do before dates, I left getting ready until about half an hour before I'm supposed to be going out. He texted me saying he was coming to get me and that was when I decided to drag my ass off the couch and go get dressed. I was already on to the road to success. Then he got lost while trying to find my house. Minor set-back.

Then I heard the roar of a huge truck. He comes flying around the corner in a monster truck. I'm not lying, he could've gone up against The Grave Digger in the ring and probably won. It was so red-neck I almost popped on my trucker hat, pulled out my ripped plaid vest and put on my "Phil for President" shirt (if you don't understand this reference go watch Duck Dynasty then maybe you'll be cool enough to read this blog, but probably even then you won't be nearly as cool as millionaire rednecks). Ooookay. I mustered up all the "don't say a God Damn word about how awful his truck and how he is clearly compensating for his very small.......... income". I considered how I could possibly get in this baby. Did he happen to have a grappling hook and harness or was I just expected to step in? Well in my normal fashion I did a combination of jump/fall into the truck. Graceful.

Then we headed for a classy establishment, a place he picked. Good I thought. I can look past this truck debacle if he enjoys classy places. We arrived and instantly it was like something snapped inside of his head. I'm not really sure if he's just really bad at first dates or he is just fucking awkward. But it started with me prying information out of him. Fine. I could listen to how he liked soccer and had some shitty business which made him money. Blah, blah, take a long swing of beer, blah, blah repeat. By the time he had finished talking about himself I had ordered my third beer. He had barely made it through half of his first. Thank god for whoever made alcohol.

Then, came the turning point in the date. At this point I was already envisioning my escape. Could I pretend I was allergic to my laundry detergent? How do you act out an epileptic fit? Can you even have an epileptic fit from laundry detergent? But then he dropped some news which would set the tone of the rest of the night. Out of no where, and I mean we weren't even on this subject. He just tossed out this nugget of info and he in no way tried to sugar coat it

"I have two kids"

Pardon? Did I just hear that? No it can't be true I convinced myself. But as if this statement wasn't shock factor enough he decided to SHOW ME PICTURES. I felt transported to some weird parallel universe. I was sitting here, on a first date, looking at pictures of two kids. Where the fuck was I? Had I aged 20 years in an hour? To be honest with how this date was going, I couldn't possibly have been surprised anymore (I was so very wrong). I always wanted to be on Punk'd. It was when the cameras didn't appear that I realized that this was actually just my life.

Now I played it off like "No biggie! I'm a young girl. I have no idea why you think this would work at all and I have no intention of becoming a mama! hahahah!" Wow, beer is so helpful in this situation. I clutched my glass as though it was the last solace of sanity I had. I thought, okay that's his bag of toenails. No big deal. But it didn't end there.

Without much prompting (and I mean none, literally, I could barely get a word in edgewise with this guy) he all of a sudden dove into the story about his baby mama. I'm going to skip some parts because it isn't my story to tell but I'm going to summarize what he told me. She got pregnant, he broke up with her, he came back after she had the baby (they didn't get back together. He was adamant on this) but then he felt sorry for her so he slept with her. Now I apologize to my mom for what happened next but keep in mind I was only party to his absolute insanity. He described in detail the night it happened. I'm pretty sure I had drained my beer and was now on my fourth or fifth. Why in gods name do I have to re-live this with you? Preferably I would like to miss the contraception of every child, including my own. I have no desire to go over in detail how a child was made with some guy who drives monster trucks and hates iphones. Now after he told me that he had decided to sleep with her, he followed it up with "I don't know how it happened! I didn't even come inside of her!"

Ho. Ly. Shit.

It was at this point I had a choice. I could've gotten up and left (smart choice) or I could've stayed, had more beer and just get so drunk that I would forget all this had ever happened. But I knew that after that story there was no returning to normal life.

So we finished up our beers. Salvation! As we got up to leave I prayed to God. Mumbled some incantations. Considered my ability to make a sacrifice to Zeus. I tried to remember how Supernatural taught me to make a deal with the devil. But every spiritual being laughed at me as I walked out of the bar, waving goodbye to my dignity.

We strolled down the street and decided to stop into another pub. Now this pub was a heck of a lot louder than the last one. Good, I thought. Maybe he'll shut up about his kids and I can enjoy my liquor in peace. Not the case my friends.

When we finally found a place to sit, he offered to go get the drinks. But then he told me I was paying for them.  You had better be shitting me. I don't mind paying for drinks. Seriously. 99.9% I'm happy to pay. After I offer to pay or if you're low on cash or if you've already paid for several things or if we've agreed to split. I don't know, I'm not sure of social protocol sometimes but I think most normal people act the same way. But if you look at me expectantly telling me I'm paying I damn sure am not going to want to pay. Fine, I handed him a $20 and shooed him away.

Now, various random things happened within the next hour or two. I ran into a friend of mine, he talked more about his ex, I drank 2 more drinks, he bitched about technology and his ex. And so on and so forth until the band finished playing and they started pushing people out.

Dear god, thank you for letting this night end! I started walking out towards the door, my excitement of getting the f outta there was written all over my face. But then, cruel fate, that saucy mistress, once again slapped my ass and pushed me back into the ring for round 3.

"Let's go to the club!" Uggh. Damn it. They are still open. I don't even think I nodded, just a grimace. I followed him to the club.

Can I get the strongest drink you can pour? Straight whiskey? Yup. Make that dos por favor.

Now I figured, this guy cannot throw any more shit my way. There must a limit on dates to how much stupidity you can endure from one person. I had reached that limit for sure. So I drank. I sat watching people dance to shitty club music. He was talking at me, but I used the music as an excuse to every so often say "WHAT!? SORRY I CAN'T HEAR!"

After I'd bought us several drinks, and not just beer. I'm talking fucking highballs. With all their expensive liquor and mixy things and whatnot. But hey, no bigs.

As the bad music played on like a sad soundtrack to the sick comedy that is my life, he leaned in real close. I thought "oh shit here comes another pearl of wisdom from this douchecanoe" What he did sealed the deal on this beaut of a date.

He slid his hand over my bum and whispered ever so enchantingly in my ear "how do you feel about anal sex?"

Now, I don't want to say one way to get down is better then another but, often this kind of "conversation" happens once you've been dating for at least a month. And even then, that's probably to soon.

I don't even think I responded. I gave him a look and said, "I think I'm ready to go home." My drunk brain was like "RUN BITCH RUN. TAKE THE BEER AND RUN LIKE THE WIND."

Now he ordered one of those services that will pick you up in your own vehicle and another driver will follow behind in a different vehicle. As we piled into his ugly beast, he pushed me in between himself and the old lady driving. God, why do you laugh at me?

He turned up the music (which by the way was country...quel suprise) and started singing in my ear. Then I went to turn my head and laugh at him (natural response) and he took this as a sign to make his big move. He stuck his tongue right down my throat. No holding back.

Seriously bro? Right here? Umm no thanks.

After what seemed like the Odyssey we finally reached my house. I bounced right out (and by that I mean fell/wedgied myself/broke my ankle). He went in for the smooch and I pushed him away. He took this as "Please come into my house" because he locked his truck and the lady started leaving.

"Oh no, you get back in that truck and take him home"

Moral of the Story:
Is there one? Pretty much all I got from this night was that once you have two kids by accident you resort to some pretty serious contraception efforts.


Seriously what the fuck just happened?

Episode 14: Sometimes The Night Can Get Out Of Hand

What's up losers?

Now I know that many *cough* most of my tales begin with drinking or the attempt to drink. So you're probably sick of these kinds of stories. Actually, the more I write them the more I begin to search around my community for an AA meeting. But hey, you are only an alcoholic if you need it to start your day...

Anyways! I want to write a story about a night that got out of hand really fast. Okay, maybe not out of hand...but just weird. Now I have a lot to cover in one post so this may become a double post. Especially because there was a moment where two story lines were running parallel to each other during the night. 

It all begins with a line longer than the Rolling Stones career. I'm not kidding. I have in fact never seen a line this long to get into a club. Oh and did I mention it was hotter than Satans asshole out?  But my two bestest buds and I decided that would go out and damn it that's what we were going to do. 

So we sucked it up and got in line. All we kept saying was, "it can't be that bad, we'll be in there for sure in like an hour". 

False. 

At first we moved pretty quickly. We made friends, people were leaving the line, things were looking up. But then shit got real. 

At first, it was only a couple people. Okay fine, some people cutting in wasn't the end of the world. Just an extra 5 minutes. But then all hell broke lose. Some kids who were all under age, and I mean like 16 all of sudden cut in front of us. Now my friend and I are reasonable people. We can handle the idiots of the world MOST of the time.  Bring it on. All of sudden they were hailing almost every bitch in line to get in front of us. I'm talking like not even 50 Cent has these many bitches. Well my friend and I have short tempers. Okay, I may have said earlier we were reasonable. I lied. We glared those bitches down and I'm pretty sure one of them mumbled "I don't want to cut in line in case I get punched." I was like "That's right bitch...move it along" Okay I didn't actually say that...but it would've made me feel more like Clint Eastwood. 

So we waited in this line designed by Satan himself, behind these douches who kept letting people in. 3 hours passed. Yes 3 hours. That's fucking dedication right there. We WOULD get drunk. Then this guy, who looked strangely like Robert Downey Jr. tried to cut in with us. We were like nu uh. He even offered us money and we shut him down like Katie Holmes. He moved along. But that wasn't the only part he played in our story. (I am imagining a movie where Robert Downey Jr. actually plays this guy. Or maybe if he ever sabotages his career again, we can make a tv sitcom which will probably get cancelled half way through the season. I'm hopeful).

Anyways, as we moved along like cattle through a shoot we were bombarded by drunken idiots, teens making-out and just general disgust. Then a glimmer of light. We saw him, like a beacon  in a never ending tunnel of despair. Robert. Downey. Jr. We made small talk, he asked if we wanted to cut in with him. We promptly declined as we had been bitching the whole time about how much only douche bags do that. Then I saw them. Right behind him stood the original 16-year-old douches we had fought with earlier. I didn't even think twice before I was up and over to the other side with him. We felt as though we should be doing a fucking victory dance. Then he began to entertain us with his ridiculous accents and impressions. Suddenly life was looking good. We started to let other people in. Laughing, joking and just generally feeling as though we had conquered fucking Mount Doom. The club entrance was actually close, we could smell the faint stink of sadness, lonliness and sweat mixed with beer. We breathed it in deep, to us it smelt like freedom. More people joined us. We chatted like we were the best friends we had ever made. Then all of a sudden we saw them, there they stood like the Messiah. Bouncers. We had made it. We were saved. We cried with our arms around each other. Hmm...that's a bit much. 

We flashed our I.D's probably a little to over zealously. Then we entered our own promised land. 

Are fucking kidding me? Did we fucking just wait for 4 hours to get into this shit hole that smells of vomit and copulation? 

Fuck it. We looked at each other and headed straight for the bar. We bought drinks and chugged them. Is that...no it can't be a condom on the floor. Oh good it's just several beer cans mixed with nasty ass garbage. Let's just fucking dance. 

We hit the floor, Robert Downey Jr. and his newly found cousin joined us. We tore it up like no ones business. Then the night got even weirder. I noticed a guy who had originally tried to offer us floor tickets some country singer earlier on in the line. We had declined but I pretended like we were long lost friends. All of sudden he had whipped me onto the dance and proceeded to "two-step" with me. Which was actually more of a drunken combination of club dancing and spinning me around. It got old fast. 

When I returned to my group of friends it was as though all hell had broken lose. As I looked around I saw that RD Jr. had cornered my one friend and was drunkenly trying to tell her how great a couple they would make. Then he popped the question.

"What's your name again" Yikes.

It was at this point that my other friend and I had resigned ourselves to dancing our asses off and ditching the douchebags. Then I hear from behind me "You wanna dance?" at this point I had decided that "dancing" here meant "trying to stick my tongue down your throat under the guise of two-step". I said no. But god damn it he was persistent. He asked me about 25 ways to dance with him. His lines included this gem "I'm going to get down on my knees and beg you, have you ever had someone get down on their knees for you?" How could I say no? By walking away.

Then he offered RDJ's friend/cousin/brother $50 to dance with me. Am I a dancing prostitute? Well...okay $50 is pretty good. Especially considering I'm not working this summer. But a certain Flight of the Conchords song came to mind and I'm not really sure what words were exchanged between my new pimp and possible John but he was turned away. I suppose this makes me a high class prostitute.

Finally, I thought the hell was over. Then I felt someone grab my hand and whisper in my ear "Do you want to two-step?" Or at least that is what my semi-buzzed brain thought it heard. Was it wrong.

Suddenly I was out on the dance floor getting my ass spun around. Am I on my own version of the drunken Bachelorette? Why is he trying to dip me? What is this!? Turns out I actually have no idea how to two-step. Apparently there is this move where you spin and link your arms around each others back and something. I think I ended up hitting him in the face once.

Then he decided to lift me up. I'm like what the hell? I tried to look around and find the judges. This must be So You Think You Can Dance. That or Punk'd. Fine. I can play this game.

Now I am probably the most awkward person around men. In fact I have realized this more and more over the past couple weeks. I try to play it cool but then I think it comes off as desperate or crazy? So my defense mechanism in this situation is just to act as cool as possible. Which roughly translated means that I was mostly mumbling things under my breath and avoiding eye contact. Well, I finally convinced him to break off and find my friends. I don't think he got the hint that I didn't want to two-step anymore.

As I headed over to my friends, this night got even more out of control. All of a sudden I see my ex-boyfriend from gr.10. Now okay, ex-boyfriend is a bit of an exaggeration. We dated for a day in Grade 10 then dumped me because I was selfish. Then he was hugging me and telling me how great I looked. Umm did I not look good in high school? But I'll take the compliment. Then he went on to tell me about him and his girlfriends horrible break up. To which I didn't say much but "I'm so sorry". Then he asked me if I'd like to go out some time. What the hell just happened? Then just as quickly he was gone.

Okay... now we should all line up and I'll hand out the roses. Two-step guy then decided he hadn't quite finished impressing me with his skills. So here we went one more time (by the way my friends at this point had been through their own weird place). We started dancing again, but this time he decided to get fancy but the floor was deceivingly slippery. The next moment happened in flashes of weird and distorted images.

One minute he lifted me up and the next I was on that vomit, garbage, and various other bodily fluids covered floor. Now, I was at the point of drunk that I couldn't help but laugh. Then I looked up at the glare of the women who were dancing beside us.  It was that "Holy shit you're to drunk to be dancing, let alone being here, let alone competing with us for men." And two-step guy was stuck with his legs in a split type movement. made me laugh even harder. Finally I lifted my sorry ass off the floor, and then two step guy started apologizing with "I've never done that before!" Thanks for pretty much saying I'm a huge fat cow. Then, this is my personal favorite part of the night.

"Call Me Maybe" starts playing and then I look up and see him singing it at me. It was like some weird out of body experience. Was a guy actually singing this to me? Wait...he actually knows the words? At this point I decided I should find my friends again. As I walked towards them and saw that my Ex was still chatting to them. Oh shit. This can't end well.

I headed over to see what shit had happened while I was gone. Turns out he had regaled them with the break up tale as well. Then he asked me to dance. At this point I had quite enough dancing but hey, what the hell. So we headed to the dance floor. We then proceeded to talk about our one day relationship and all the mistakes we had made then. That one day in grade 10.

Seriously, where the hell am I?

Finally, I make my way back to my friends, one of them dancing with a guy and the other just enjoying the show. Then we got a talking to from a guy who lifted my friend up and carried her away just as two-step decided to show up and wrangle us both into dancing. Then he ended it with "we'll hang out".

Classic. Oh and also by this time RDJ had disappeared because my friend bluntly informed him that "if he wanted to get laid he was wasting his time."

Moral of the Story:
To be honest I think it got lost in the story along with my ability to write. All I can say is...

Fuck this post. I'm going to watch Lord of the Rings

Episode 13: How NOT To Handle A Broken Heart

What's up suckers?

It's summer time, the air is hot, the beers are cold and the desperation is thick in the air. You know what that means?

It's break up season. Yeah, you heard me. 'Tis the season for people to take one look at their significant other and decide "yeah, I should probably try my luck elsewhere". It's just the truth heartbreak kids. I'm not going to lie to you. But fear not, for I have a tale of hope that will surely help you get through this rough time by thinking "at least I never sunk that low."

Even I, the all mighty dating master gets kicked in the gonads by love once in a while and when I do it's often a gruesome and dragged out event. Much like the Justin Bieber movie. But I digress.

Now, people often handle break ups in one of two ways. Either, you spend a week at home dealing with the shitty pain, the tears, the exchanging of stuff, the adele cd and once that week is over you dust yourself off and move on. OR you choose the path that leads you into clubs 3 days later, drowning in boos, sleeping in your own filth, eating only ice cream and yoghurt covered raisins while crying randomly on public transit, in your house while watching Glee or Titanic and finally resorting to stalking your ex over Facebook just to Facebook chat him in hopes of salvaging the relationship and eventually ends in an intervention by your friends and a serious talking to by the police.

Now I'm not going to say either path is right. But I'm saying that I decided on the second one. Now this break-up happened several years ago now but I remember the details very foggily.

I had been dating this guy for over a year, we were going to get married, have babies, support him with my pay cheque that I would make after going to school and he would be free to live his dreams while I worked as a teacher most of the year and got an extra job in the summer. But I'm not bitter. Now I admit that we weren't the perfect match for each other. And by that I mean we had two completely differing views on pretty much every topic of importance to couples. But hey, we were going to work those out no problem. Not.

Now, I won't go into the gory details of how exactly we broke up but I can sum it up by saying that it involved me being drunk, him breaking it off on the phone and me having a complete crazy bitch yelling fest which included some real gems such as "I'LL KILL MYSELF IF YOU BREAK UP WITH ME!" and "YOU'RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE WHO DESERVES NOTHING!!!" And "I love you and want only the best for you, I would do anything to make it work." I could go on, but it wasn't my finest hour and I certainly regret confirming his beliefs in my physconess. It was a gruesome scene of tears and changed Facebook statuses. (by the way, I bet this paragraph made all the fellas want to jump at the chance to date me)

Anyways. I'm going to tell you what happened to me. I decided that I would sink myself into an episode of "wow this alcohol really makes things easier, and these yoghurt covered raisins are like eating my feelings". It wasn't pretty. Now I have to thank my friends for how wonderfully they reacted to these extremes. Instead of disowning me as a terrible person, they decided it would be good for me to get out. I think once they saw that I had begun knitting a "break-up scarf" while watching the old 21 Jump Street for 48 hours straight something needed to be done.

One friend, so sweet, invited me to go out with her, her boyfriend and one of his friends to a skeevy bar just to get me out, get drunk and forget the whole "I never loved you really" mess. I don't blame her for what happened next, I take full responsibility for my actions.

We decided to head out, I was sure nothing could go wrong. Nothing in my head said "hey, you're probably not ready for the emotional strain that clubs can place on one in your fragile state". We reached her boyfriends house and I tried to chat it up with the friend. Not very charming is all I can say. But we headed out anyways and I was hopeful that a good night of debauchery would erase my memory of this guy.

Not the case.

We started drinking and things were going...okay. I couldn't help but feel a little sad. We hit the dance floor to boogie away the blues. But this is where things get messy.

As my friend started to dance with her boyfriend, his friend took this as a sign that he and I should be dancing as well. Well I mean, for someone who could barely handle watching Johnny Depp fight teenage crime without weeping, it all became to much.

Right there, in front of him and all the dance floor, I broke down into sobs. I rushed away from the dance floor. I decided that crying in a corner made me look far less spazzy and proceeded to weep in a corner of the club. My friend did all she could to comfort me. But here I was, full on crying...in a club.

When I finally calmed down to only slightly teary, we tried to find the guys. Turns out the friend had been so offended by my display that he had promptly left and hid in his room and refused to speak to me.

And I wasn't even drunk. And it was only 12.

Moral of the Story:
Whatever you do, heartbreak and loud beats don't mix. Not even a little. Just stay at home and drown your sorrows with several cartons of Ben and Jerry's if I had a 1,000 flavours.

Episode 12: Why I Suck At First Impressions With...Boys

Hola losers!

 Now I believe this will be the last and final First Impression episode (sheesh I feel like I'm on the Bachelorette..."I'm finally stating to get to know these guys and develop some real feelings" Yes we all know that none of those guys are on it just so they can get famous, make out a little and then reap some serious cash benefits...while also becoming more attractive to the ladies who probably wouldn't have considered them a sexual partner before but now are being called to them to fulfill the lifelong goal of sleeping with someone semi-famous).

Now this post is very dear to my heart. Not really. More like it's dear to my biological drive to find a mate and the constant cry of my ovaries to have young. Now I know you perverts want to hear more about my ovaries but that's a special story for another time.

I recognize I said ovaries, but in case you haven't passed biology this is a uterus

Today I'm going to talk about men. More specifically how I manage to find, court and date men. It's okay to take notes here, since I know you all probably need at least a foot in the door to at least make eye contact with someone of the opposite sex.

So I'm going to start with how I snagged my most recent boyfriend (wow that sounded way more degrading than I meant it to...yeah no I meant it to sound that way). It is a tale of a true dating master at work. I tell you...I had planned this line to the very syllable. I'll set the scene.

So we were going on our first date. He had texted me, asked if I wanted to hang with him that night, instead of our arranged date the next day. I was totally prepared. Men go crazy for me, what can I say? I was so excited! (not) So I decided to really gussy myself up for the occasion. My pre-date ritual went as follows:

First, I decided against a shower. I figured why? I had showered a couple days ago, it wasn't necessary to smell or look clean.

Second, I decided I would wear an old toque that I hadn't washed for a while to cover up the hair I had decided not to wash.

this isn't my toque...he never would've spoken to me if I wore such an embarrassment

Third, I decided to wear a really thin t-shirt in spring time. I didn't need to keep in body heat.

Fourth, I decided it would be a good idea to go to a "bonfire" with him and his group of friends out in the middle of the woods where no one could hear me scream and cell signal did not exist.

except I imagine mine would be more scary...less sexy and far less six packs. 

In fact it would look nothing like this

Finally, I decided I should probably add a little bit of eau d' toilette to the ensemble! My friends so happened to be cooking yam fries at the time. Perfect I thought! I'd smell of home cooked meal and I'd also get to stand in front of the oven to get warm.

Now I had thoroughly set myself up for success. The date was off to a good start. No way he wouldn't fall desperately in love with me now! On his way to pick me up he got lost, fine a minor set back in what was sure to be a wonderful night...especially because I had really dressed to the nines.

Finally, he arrived. I bounded out the door with warm wishes of "Call me if you get raped!" and "Please text me every hour so I know you're still alive!" from my friends. Such confidence!

I bounded into the truck and before he even got two words out I realized that maybe I had been to heavy handed with the yam fries perfume. Concentrated yam fry stench in the cab of a truck is like being hit with a chemical weapon. It was in that moment I decided I had to save this date with the best line I could think of.

Now to digress a moment, I'm a nervous talker. When I'm in awkward situations I either get silent...or if I find that the person I'm with is also shy I start talking like an idiot. I'm not talking word spittle...I'm talking full on word vomit caused by alcohol poisoning. That shit is a never ending stream of vomit.  It has always been this way. And most of the times it comes out something like this.

Here I was, locked in this truck, the smell of yam fry pervading the air. Hanging between us like unspoken promises of yam fries yet to be shared. Fine. It was more like I smelt like the grease disposal outside of McDonalds and I think he was hoping (and praying to every god known to the human race) my intelligence would make up for the lack of personal hygiene I was practicing.

I had to save us. We all know how well I function under pressure. I figured this was a time for me to really shine...my sparkling personality to sweep him off his feet. I took a second and with all the confidence I had I declared...

"I'M SORRY THAT I SMELL LIKE YAM FRIES"

It was a piece of my finest quick thinking. He had really had a taste of who I was in that moment. I was surprised he didn't ask me to be his girlfriend right there. Better yet, to marry him! The rest of the truck ride consisted of me trying to outdo this beautiful opener by discussing how I hate rap music (one of his favorite music genres) and how I am a vegetarian (he is a full carnivore). Truly a magical evening...provided by moi.

Moral of the Story:
Although there is the obvious "don't stand in front of an oven full of yam fries before a date" moral. Digging deeper we can see the underlying message here...Don't agree to go on a first date with someone you don't even know to a "bonfire" in the "woods" with his "friends"! It's a stupid idea! Who would do that!
Kids, never EVER  go on a first date to the woods with a man you don't know....unless he promises candy. Then it's fine...clearly if he has candy he can't be bad and must be totally trustworthy!

Has anyone seen this movie?