Episode 20: The Douche in the Mask Part 3

So its been a long time in the making but here it is in all it's champagne glory. So as Samuel L. Jackson would say, hold onto your butts cause here it comes.

We left our story in the middle of a couple of douche bags having it out. 

Much like watching golf, the douche fight became uninteresting. And so we migrated across the murky waters of "Club Masque". As we made our way back on to the dance floor we were pounced on like 2 innocent and sickly antelope in the Sahara. The Asians.

Much like the wolves stalking their prey, the Asians pulled a tactical move, they separated us from the herd. One pulling me out of Club Masque and the other creating a "dance trap" around my friend. I knew that this could only end one of two ways. I could only watch as my friend was sucked into the crowd. Part of me thought" this is the last time I'll ever see her. I only wish the last thing I'd eaten hadn't been those soggy cannollis" During this time, I was informed by my friend that the Asian who had wrangled her away told her that he was going to "steal her away on a magical space ship". What the fuck was this guy on?

While she was dragged into some weird acid trip that probably ended badly, I was literally dragged out to the bar. Where I was promplty pushed up against a wall. Then I was asked about how I felt about kissing him and I promptly told him  I was not very interested. This back and forth continued until he came up with this prize winning line "look, just do it you'll never see me again" and then he just smooshed his lips on mine. Just how I always imagined my New Years kiss going down.

The kiss lasted about the length of Poisions career. Then he was gone, how the fuck did he disappear so fast? I was left to wonder what in the name of Frodo had just happened. I stumbled my way back into the club, only to find my friend wandering aimlessly about looking for me.We were both so in shock at seeing each other we hugged like we were clinging to the last bits of our sanity.

It may have been the extreme amount of  fake smoke we'd inhaled or the bright lights but what ever it was made the problem solving parts of our brain shut down. In a slap shot attempt to create a sense of security we decided the douches were our best bet for protection (the world is different at masquerade parties, one must adapt to survive). So we ran towards the messiah of douchecanoes, not knowing that instead we were running towards one of the biggest mistakes (or best?) we would make that night.

Then the night settled down. Or at least as settled as one would expect a night at a random masquerade party on the worst night of the year can be.  I sat down because at this point the old man inside of me had exhausted all his excess energy. However, my friend was subjected to more dancing with Douche 1. My friend filled me in on what happened as Douche 1 swooped her around the floor. Within the first 5 minutes of meeting her he had already told her that she was more different than any other girl  he had ever met. His exact words were "I am the best guy at reading girls you will ever meet." As they swirled around the dance floor he continued to describe his talent to her in full detail all while trying to having deep relationship conversations with her.

Somewere in here my friend and  I also made the executive decision that because the floor was so sticky we would just remove our shoes and dance on the really sketchy dance floor after it had been littered with glasses, bottles and and other sharp things that eventually would attack my friends foot and cut it open. (However we wouldn't know this until the next morning)

While this was happening my night took a turn for the fucking weird, which after writing this blog isn't actually that weird. Its pretty much expected at this point. MEGA DOUCHE had returned to simultaneously insult my dancing while also still trying to pick me up. It was then that I became locked in one of the most intense power struggles I've ever been involved in.

Now I can't remember if Pink Shirt was introduced in the last episode but he was the third douche we encountered that night, he was also friends with MEGA DOUCHE and Douche 1. He was short and Latino. Anyways, he had tried to cheer me up after MEGA DOUCHE dropped me like a freshly microwaved hot pocket the first time. So when MEGA DOUCHE returned, it got weird.

As I was sitting watching Douche 1 work his moves on my bud, MEGA DOUCHE worked his moves on me. He first told me he noticed Pink Shirt and I talking. Then he asked me "do you even like that guy?" My biological instinct around douches told me to just keep my mouth shut. Then he took me dancing, in which he again insulted my dancing abilities and then took me to sit down. Weird, I should've probably walked away here. He disappeared again for a while, to where I can't say, then he made his final return. I noticed on his chest, or his arm (because as Douche attire dictates, they have to use only 1-2 buttons on their shirt at any single time and roll their sleeves up) a beautiful piece of art in the form of a HUGE tiger tattoo. Yup, imperial China art style. I commented on it saying "Nice tatt" he got that douche look, he frosted spikes glowing in the club lights, his metal chain shimmering and his perfectly shined dress shoes reflecting my disdain. His reply "yeah it's pretty sick. Do you like tatts?" I responded "yeah they're cool".

The response that follows will forever define this night and the reason he was ultimately dubbed MEGA DOUCHE.

"Yeah well...I have a tattoo on my penis. Wanna see it?"

Considering the people I tend to surround myself, I assumed this was joke and began to giggle. But his face said it all. This is the best line he could think of. My face went blank and all I could say was "that must've hurt". I looked over to see pink shirt glaring at us like I was Hitler re-incarnate. MEGA DOUCHE made some comment about Pink Shirt but my ability to translate douche has lessened over the years from when I first learned it in high school so I didn't catch it.

Then Pink Shirt made his move. It was either inflated confidence or to much champ but he was up in there like flies on poop. Now guys, many girls often dream of being fought over like a piece of meat. We will lie and tell you that it's sexist and we are feminists and blah blah blah. But secretly we love our opinions being pushed aside like they aren't important.

This is not how I imagined a fight over me would go down, but you know I wasn't going to complain. Two douches, chests puffed out, dress shirts and Chinese tattoos blurring together. It was a scene from a fucking nightmare or Snookie's wet dream. Luckily, at that moment a prince in douche's clothing showed up. My bud and Douche 1 swooped in just in time. Douche 1 decided to pick a fight with his brother and MEGA DOUCHE lost his shit at the amount fighting, how bad of a dancer I was and his brains inability to think past the golden rules of GTL. Their fight escalated and it was then that MEGA DOUCHE stormed off for the last time...and so he passed into the shadows of New Years past.

Pink Shirt looked triumphant at his win. Douche 1 then informed my buddy that he had planned this all along. Pink Shirt then took me aside, to what I assumed was talk but for him it was just a strange dance and attempt to eat my face. On the other side of the club my friend warded off having deep conversations with Douche 1. Then, the lights came up like and we blinked around looking at the nightmare we had shared for the last however many unknown hours.

It was horrifying.

Our beds filled with angel hair beckoned us from afar. So we took the final elevator. The two of us, Pink Shirt, Douche 1 and some other random drunk people who we didn't really give a shit about. Then they just randomly decided to exit on our floor, the douches that is

. Clearly these guys didn't think the night was quite over. With our dogs barking and our douche meters fully spent we decided to share a couple more glasses of wine with the dudes in the main area of our floor. Douche 1 decided to be a true Italian and open the wine for "us ladies. It took him a solid 5 minutes to open a cheap ass bottle of wine with a normal corkscrew. It was so extremely painful to watch, but neither of us could even fathom trying to stop him struggle. It was like trying to watch me make a proper good impression, painfully slow.

As Douche 1 fumbled with the wine bottle, like I imagine he is going to fumble with the bra during his first time (when that happens). Pink Shirt decided to grasp at straws. He clearly put on his most seductive voice and told us "you should probably be seducing us by now"...What? WHY IS HE STILL TRYING? We simply shook our heads, like they do in movies when people don't make it through surgery. Sad, sorry and full of "I'm better than you for having the authority to disappoint you, sorry for fucking up your life".

Then to quote my friend directly from her message " And then my douche spilt wine all over his pants and got pissed about it, and they were pissed that we weren't trying to bone them, and then they left." And so with that we kissed 2012 goodbye.

The next morning we awoke ready to enjoy that complimentary greasy breakfast (see, I told you it'd come back). It was around 10 (time here is key), all we really need to wash away the filth that was last night was the sugary sweet deliciouness that is brunch waffles. So in all our hungover glory, complete with sparkles stuck to us from god knows where, my friends bloody foot, and my feelings of regret with a tinge of self-loathing. 

We walked into the in-hotel restaurant and were seated. Within a minute we were filling our plates until they exploded with all the best hungover foods. Once we'd eaten our fill of the entire buffet and had to loosen our pants about 5 notches, we got our bill. It was freaking pricey. We laughed heartily amongst ourselves, a sick sense of being untouchable washed over us. We waved that voucher for free brunch like it was a wad of fiddy's. Our waitress looked at us, the devil shining through her pupils and she slapped it back down on the table. "This voucher was meant for the 7 am buffet".  This slap in the face was all too much.  I could feel my fragile veneer of interacting with other human beings cracking.

WHAT KIND OF DEMON FROM HELL GIVES GUESTS A BUFFET VOUCHER FOR 7AM ON NEW YEARS DAY???

 

Moral of the Story:
So what's this all been about? What possible take-away could their be? Well I'm gonna slap with a big one homedawgs.


Just stay at home on New Years with one hand in a bag of maple cookies, the other hand wrapped firmly around a HUGE bottle of vodka and that one movie you've always wanted to watch but didn't want other people to know you wanted to watch.  Who needs a New Years Kiss anyways?

Episode 19: The Douche in the Mask Part 2

Soo...I'm back! And by popular demand. Well that's not entirely true...mostly it's because it's back to school time, I'm bored and trying to procrastinate doing my work. Also this blog has existed for almost 3 years now. Yay me! Note I said existed and not "been active for".

You can read up on the part 1 of this series here Anyways...I'm going to attempt to think back to my New Years and finish the story that really defined New Years Eve in all it's entirety. I also have to give credit to my best friend here who wrote me probably the best facebook message I've received trying to recount the nights events.

We've already gotten over the cannolli hurdle.

So now we are back in our hotel room. Drinking down more wine from our mason jars hot glued to fancy bases. I can't really tell you why we picked that as our goblet of choice...but I can tell you it was a highlight of the evening. We finished out the bottle and watched the countdown happen in Ontario. At this point, because I'm an old man, I was already feeling like I wanted to sleep. Also the beds in this place were made of feathers from the wings of angels. Not a word of a lie

It was then decided that we were acting like the lameos we typically are so we had better head down and check out the scene.

Since our time in the "Club Masque" devouring twice our weight in buffet food, it had transformed into every nightmare of people past the age of 18. Music was pumping so loud you could actually see sound, 50 year olds were singing along to Top 40 hits my friend and I had never even heard of and dance moves that resembled how I imagine a fish taking it's last breath would look. Drunk on rose and the dreams of tomorrow, we entered the fray.


On our way to the dance floor we saw some guys (here on out referred to as The Asians, though their specific cultural background has nothing to with their actions, we just need a distingusher as the night gets more...complicated). Now the general population of the dance floor looked like this: 40 year olds grinding like I did once when I was 18, douchey 20 year olds with spikes in their hair like Joey Fatone, and the assortment of 30 year old randos who seemed to be a hyper-breed of the other two. But these dudes fell into our group, I say this because as we approached they were doing the robot. Harmless...so it would seem.

So we took a chance and in these new found friends we also found admirers. To quote my friend "they were super stoked on how we danced and thought we were like the coolest chicks ever". But our infatuation with The Asians didn't last long, though theirs would last a lifetime (as we found out later). And so we moved on, but much like Bella and Edward...our fate would be tied to The Asians. 

It was at around this point our night began to take a nosedive the likes of which haven't been seen until Miley's recent "twerking" situation. As my friend and I were doing some twerking of our own (not really because at this point twerking was still considered a form of hurting your ankle) some random football player guy came over and grabbed my 100lb friend, lifted her off the ground, had his friend snap a pic then proceeded to tell her that he was dying of cancer and was trying to get as many pictures with girls as he could...unlikely. Guys if you need a line...this one works 80% of the time every time guaranteed. It was then, much like the majestic elephant we decided to migrate to a different room. 

As we passed through the lobby we saw people at various stages of drunk. There was the cryer, the puker, the fighter, the serious talker, the I-dont-give-a-fuck-guy, the passed out, and the way to lovey. As I passed by them, I saw in them myself...after one bad night with whiskey, gin and their good friend tequila. I imagine Dante wrote a book about this place. We pressed on, determined to know what waited on the other side of this drunk purgatory. The first room we reached held new promise, new hope...it was as desolate as my empty soul. The music didn't even make sense to us. We made eye contact with the DJ, we saw his pleading look, we only shook our heads and walked away. And then there was hope. One more room, the beat pulled us closer. And yet like Indiana Jones, there was warnings coming at us from all the directions, we heard the Jackson 5 blaring, we saw aged 50+ people mulling about and then there was the literal oral warning of "do not go in there, its all old people" but we clung to our hope of finding the age group that accepted us. All it took was  a split second.  But the next moment we were walking as quickly as we could from the room that we had hung all our hopes on. 

We began the long journey back to Club Masquerade. Yet on our way there we hit a detour. We ran into The Asians. There was no cordial hellos. They dove right in, my friend was immediately bombarded by one who kept asking for her number. We can only guesstimate it was at least 20 times. And for each time he asked, she turned him down. On the 20th time, I had enough of this back and forth. My buzz had worn off and all I wanted was to deck someone in the face. It was then I came up with this genius but classic line. All I said was "look, we're married. We don't feel comfortable talking about it with you but she can't date you because she's my wife". Dead silence. Then my friend quickly caught on and nodded in agreement. We began to turn away as if this should have solidified the point. There was something said about how it wouldn't be a date per se and I should lighten up. He was one whiskey shot away from getting a punch in the throat from me. 

We returned to the dance floor alone and unscathed. However, it wasn't long before we felt eyes on us. We turned, only to see our worst nightmares reincarnated. There staring at us with eyes as hungry as a baby vampire was (who I thought at that time) was the douchiest of all douches I had seen walk this planet. He was a whole breed in himself. It didn't take us long to realize he was plotting his plan of attack. However, this staring contest went on for approximately 30 minutes. No move was made in a solid half hour, however the starting continued the entire time. One of the most uncomfortable half hours I've experienced. Then like the cunning alpha male in a wolf pack, he swooped in. His target? My friend. However he didn't attack alone. He brought with him...THE MEGA DOUCHE

Now I wouldn't use such a title lightly. However, when a man wears dress pants, a dress shirt and a vest with way to too much silver jewelry, hair gel and faint stench of whatever abercrombie and fitch cologne is popular at the time, plus you can see the faint tattoo on his arm of Chinese symbols...you know you can only be dealing with the Lilith of all douches. (If you aren't sure who Lilith is check this quick description here..also you should probably watch Supernatural. Educate yourself). As douche number 1 scooped up my friend, MEGA DOUCHE was left to entertain me. He swung me around once, pushed me away, looked at his friend (his twin brother we learned later) and proceeded to say "bro, she doesn't even know how to tango". It was then that douche 1 got super pissed and picked a huge fight with MEGA DOUCHE as douche 1 continued to dance with my friend. 


At this point I had sat down to watch the drama unfurl. Keep in mind my friend and I have become completely sober at this point with no money to purchase more drinks. As I began to nod off (because when I'm not an alcoholic, I'm actually an 80 year old man). I heard a voice beside me. I turned to see a dude in a bright pink dress shirt. He had been one of the MEGA DOUCHES friends so I was wary of his advances. We chatted for a bit, about what I can't be sure, then as he made his move to dance with me, MEGA DOUCHE returned for another charming conversation. All I remember is drama ensuing.We peaced quickly as we were beginning to realize that our presence was becoming the catalyst for a douche fight. The most vicious and terrifying events to ever be witnessed by man or beast. 

I realize you've been waiting 7 months for this baby but I have to cut it off there. I feel like George R. R. Martin however were I in his position I would've killed Joffery the bastard long long ago.  

Stay tuned for the third and final installment of The Douche in The Mask

The Weekly Nugget

Holy crapzords. I almost totally forgot it was a Monday. I had a holiday day today so because I wasn't dragging my sorry ass out of bed at 6 in the morning I just assumed it was the weekend. But good news is I remember just in time!

This week's nugget comes from a little girl in a class I did my teaching practicum in. Keep in mind the night before she said this to me, my boyfriend of a year had broken up with me. My fucking hair wasn't exactly feeling its most fabulous.

Also I just want to apologize for the hold up on the 2nd part of The Douche in the Mask. I'm just trying to get pictures done and also anytime I have to try a remember a night where I drank it takes me a REALLY long time. Call it a wine-amnesia.

On Looking Good

"Did you brush your hair today? Cause when I don't brush my hair I put it in pigtails. You should put your hair in pigtails."

OOO burn

The Weekly Nugget

Alright so a way long time when I started this baby I had something called "The Weekly Nugget". Inspired by some advice I received from my father,  it's a weekly post (On Mondays) that is simply some quotable advice I hear from people in my life. It can be on anything really from life to relationships to looking your best. I'm revamping it (kind of) and including it back into my blog.If you ever need to find it again you can check out the archives for this and other great nuggets of advice. If you have a nugget you'd like to see up here, leave a comment. It's kind of like having a best friend who has a lot of good advice...except none of you people who read this blog probably have friends or would even know what to do with one if you did.

So this week's advice comes from me actually.

On Sleeping With A Guy on a First Date:



*Slurring* "You've gotta keep up an air of...What that's called when you don't hate yourself?" "Self Respect" "Yeah, keep up an air of self respect". 

You don't say?

 

Episode 18: The Douche in the Mask Part 1

Man I've really screwed the pooch on this blog. It's really hard and busy being an alcoholic, procrastinating single girl with no life whatsoever.

Ahh New Years Eve. Such big expectations that are often shattered by drinking to much to early on in the night, wearing uncomfortable shoes or being forever alone.

This year, or I guess last year now, my friend and I decided to hit up a "masquerade" type NYE partay. Which in hindsight was one of the more random/kinda weird decisions we've made. But we figured it was better then how we spent last New Years. Which was stuffing our faces with popcorn and making bags (I know, you're probably wondering...what the hell does that mean? I can't really explain it, you had to be there).  Not that I didn't enjoy that.

So anyways, we buy these ridiculously expensive tickets to go to this thing. Its at some hotel and it is serving probably the best spread I've ever had on New Years Eve. Granted most of the time on New Years Eve I've been alone watching movies, eating cereal, wearing PJs, and falling asleep at 11. Point is, this party is going to be the swankiest NYE party I've ever been to. And I'm 22 years old. This is the legacy I will leave my children. And this "party" all came at the price of selling your first born to Satan.

So NYE rolls around. I can already tell it's gonna be a weird day. I'm having some sort of panic attack about what to wear. The pressure was all to much. I can't do my hair, my nail polish doesn't work and I hate the shoes I have. Which then escalated into thoughts of being unattractive which would drive men away, no one would kiss me at midnight, I'd never get married, I'd live by myself forever and what would I name all those cats? My mother came home to find me holding the straighter in one hand and cradling myself with the other trying to self-soothe. Not my finest hour. And this was before I had even dived into the boos.

So, as usual my mom slapped together some outfit for me that I could never have thought of. She put my head under the tap in the sink and washed my hair and made me blow dry it. Crisis averted for the time being. NYE was really off to a great start already. Only one huge emotional breakdown, I consider that an achievement on such a day.

Now my friend and I had rented a hotel room in the same hotel to you know, support the idea of no drinking and driving. So I packed all my crap into one bag and headed into the city. Stress was already running high at this point so I decided to blast One Direction in hopes that the sweet siren calls of beautiful underage men would soothe my frayed nerves.

It worked by the way. Their soulful voices really put a girl in her happy place. But that's beside the point.

So I finally arrive at this "palace of dreams and masquerade". No parking. I get waved into some sketchy back lot that is covered in with knee deep snow. So after almost dying trying to park I finally drag all my shit out and trudge through the snow to get to the lobby where I meet my friend. Turns out the party was already happening.

We walked in and it was like stepping into some weird alternate universe where everyone is wearing cheap masks and the smell of old people and buffet food was thick. We check in. We get a voucher for free brunch the next day. Perfect, that would surely make up for anything bad that would happen that night. The voucher became very important later on.

We head up to the hotel room, full of blind optimism and with the hope that the two bottles of wine we brought would last us the night. It was a small hope, but it made us strong. Within five minutes we cracked open the wine, exploded our girly shit all over the place and somehow had glitter in every crevice of the room.  I'm not really sure how, but it was there. Glitter is just like the herpes of the art world, always showing up when its not wanted and it just stays there forever.

We raced around the room deciding exactly what to wear to dinner, sweater or no sweater, mask or no mask, desperation or no desperation? As these questions filled our head the hour of dinner quickly approached. So we put on our uncomfortable heels and limped down to the party.

remember this movie? Yeah...

We were seated in an area called "The Club Masque" or some other name. It was exactly what one would expect a club with tables for dining to look like. Music pumped, there was a huge dance floor in the middle and a lot of old people wearing outfits that were covered in "I hope this will make up for the fact that if I get lucky with one of these young people I will have to take a Viagra/will hide my wrinkles in all the wrong places". There appeared to be some young people, although all of them seemed to be decked out in their douchiest garb.

So we sat at our table. It seemed like anything could happen. The night was young, the drink tickets were $10 each and we felt free. Totally ripped off...but free none the less.

It's okay! We'll meet new people at our table! The night is young! With so much promise, how could the night go wrong? We sipped our over-priced wine and took the obligatory selfies wearing the various masks laid out on the table.

The first "couple" sat at our table. It was two ladies and one of them was already way to drunk. It was gonna be one of those good ol' fashioned NYE for her. This lady also thought she was a comedian. Now I'm totally all for self-deprecating humour, as you can tell by the self-loathing tone of my blog.

But this lady was a special case. Her self-loathing mostly centred on the fact that she was slightly overweight and had recently been dumped. It was a serious hot mess and getting to personal to fast. Not that I have anything against people who are overweight. But you get that awkward laugh going...do I laugh? Do I say the obligatory "noo that's not true."? The night had now taken an awkward turn...and there was no going back.

So we sat, wishing the buffet was open, wishing the wine didn't taste like sugar and wishing that we had been prepared for this kind of strange social interaction.

In time the rest of our table trickled in. We were stuck with two couples. One, an older couple rolled in drunk as f. The other a cute couple, who didn't really fit into the whole strange dynamic of the night. They were kind of like Radagast in the Hobbit movie, nice and funny but over all useless to the plot line of our night.

And so, we sat.

The awkwardness of that statement should perfectly describe how awkward our arrangement was. Then came time for dinner. I won't describe the hairy details of going to get dinner, since really it was a blur of spooning to much food on my plate and my feet hurting.

It was at this point however, that we decided along with taking our buffet plates we decided to take our dessert as well. So here we were, walking back to our tables with plates piled high of disgusting food and also plates filled with dessert. When we sat down it was a grotesque showing of how much food we could put down. We cracked open our crab legs and shoved down some weird tasting shrimp. It was like we hasn't seen food all day.

Then it was dessert time. Which to be honest was let down. The chocolate dessert tasted like it had been made by the god of gluttony, the strange strawberry cheesecake was mediocre, and the cannoli were soggy (not the first this has happened if ya know what I mean) which just made me want to quote the Godfather all night a la' my English teacher Gr. 12 who made us analyze the line "leave the gun, take the cannoli" about 300 times to explore the juxtapositon between the Italian ideal of how close the mob and family ties are. To this day that's the only thing I can really remember from gr. 12 English.

Anyways I'm not really sure where I was going with that. So...

It all felt very surreal. Like a strange dream filled with food and top 40 hits.  We limped back up to our room and poured more wine down our throats. At this point I think we were chasing our hopes down with as much red wine as we could consume. But our night was only just beginning...

Stay tuned for Part 2 of The Douche in the Mask.