Thursday, March 4, 2010

Banff - syphillis capital of Canada. Day 1

ok, it's the STD capital...and ok, it's not a dating story. It's just the story of 5 women, ranging in age from 24 to darned-near 40 on a post-Christmas odyssey of self discovery and penicillin. (PLEASE NOTE: To my knowledge none of the women involved in this trip actually needed a prescription of any sort. PLEASE ALSO NOTE: I am never going on a trip with them again!!)

Where to begin? It seemed like such a good idea. Let's all load up in a car and jam into a double room for a few days after Christmas. Let's go for fondue at the Grizzly House. Let's..well let's see how many randoms can be picked up in a 60 hr period.

First, I was only drunk once the entire trip. In the car. 45 minutes after we left E-town. How did I manage this feat, being the heavy hitter I am when it comes to drinking? Surely 4 oz of alcohol could not be contained within the GIANT JUICE JUG of dirty martinis with blue cheese stuffed olives? (listen up kids, when you reach my age, you do NOT swill no name beer or cheap wine as road's putrid smelling dirty martinis ALL the way!). Where was I? oh yeah, texting A1 (the driver) from the back seat 30 minutes after we'd left to ask if we were there yet. Apparently the 4.5 hr trip hadn't magically transpired in the 30 minutes I'd spent guzzling martinis. Who knew?

I was also put in charge of the road tunes, so the others were held hostage during the trip and forced to listen to my somewhat eclectic musical choices: The Glee soundtrack, George Michael, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, JOURNEY, Hanson (SQUEEEEE!!!), NKOTB, Prince, Hedley, Anjulie, Biz Markie, Prince, Pete Townshend, Ty Taylor...just to name the first ones that come to mind!!! As the Bestie quietly prayed for a quick death to release her from my music, it seemed Ms SS was happy just to have room for her skinny little behind on the rather roomy back seat of the Toyota Solara (nice ride A1!!!)....but I digress, back to my story!

After one potty break at a McRectalRockets and one stop at Cockring, AB to pick up some healthy additions to our mini bar (hello Jager!) we were in Banff. Home of the boy of your dreams...and his STD! We decide we are hungry chicks and want to head to the Keg after checking in...only problem? A redneck in a truck was riding our tourist ass and didn't like that we didn't know where we were going. As he pulled by, we all yelled and flipped him the bird...and I yelled "EFF YOU FLOYD!". I don't know if it was being called Floyd or 5 women giving him the finger, but Floyd immediately pulled his rusting, salt-stained, 1982 GMC pickup right in front of us...and came to a halt...and then started backing up towards us!!!!! A1, as a well-trained stunt driver, immediately pulled around him and kept driving and as we all realized we'd avoided a sound verbal thrashing from a toothless skiier/serial killer in a plaid lumberjack shirt, we started to wonder what Floyd actually had in mind. Was he going to call us names? Was he going to (gasp!) physically show us he was angry? Was he going to offer to take us to dinner? Had Floyd fallen madly in love with us and did he want to make the 5 of us into his very own episode of "Big Love"? Ok, Floyd was likely going to unleash a verbal flurry and use all 23 words in his vocabulary to do so. In hindsight A1, you should have let him pull us over. He'd still be curled in a fetal position, crying in his mommy's basement.

So, we have dinner. We turned the creep dial to medium and did a half-assed effort of creeping on the very average wait staff at The Keg. Truthfully, it wasn't my best work. I was coming off a martini high and needed a nap.

We headed back to the hotel (and I still have not napped!) and then decided to head to some Irish-style pub to watch the hockey game, ogle the locals and listen to a live band. Turns out the ogleing choices were fairly limited and the band SUCKED GIANT GOATBALLS. Sweet mother of pearl, I was ready to poke my ear drums out, but then realized it was cruel to punish me for their shortcomings! After briefly chatting with some Englishman (and let me mention that in no way, shape or form does an English accent do justice to the word "port-a-potty" the way a Scots accent does) and letting the Bestie do her best work at charming and alienating in equal parts by saying "You can't be British, your teeth aren't all effed up!!" it was time to go? Only problem? The girls wanted to "keep partying". Since we hadn't even STARTED partying, I was a little lost with the terminology, but we did mosey one block away toward some club housed in a basement....and the median age seemed to be 19.5. Since I happen to be the proud (and far too youthful-looking!!) parent of an 18 yr old son, this is problematic for me! I went home, with A2 and the Bestie in tow.

Once back at the hotel, we changed into jammies and sent out for pizza and poutine. If it wasn't so long ago, I'd give you all the name of the best poutine place in Banff, but I forget. Ask the guy at the front desk, how many places can deliver poutine at 1 a.m.?!?!? What am I your friggin tour guide?!?! Wait, I digress....

SO, there we are laying in bed, eating and watching tv. The only thing on tv happened to be a 2 hr long infomercial for the greatest love songs of the 70's. I am not ashamed to say that I would totally tap 1970's Mac Davis, James Taylor, Tony Orlando and even John Denver. Yep, I would totally violate the 1970's versions of those men....I could probably even be persuaded to hump the leg (and artificial hip) of the men on that list that are still alive! I also made a proclamation that I would no longer sleep with men of color (there's a story there - if I can ever figure out a less than x-rated way to tell it, I will!!)...and there was much bonding to be had.

Jump ahead to 4:30 in the morning when my phone rings. It's a whispery-talking A1 saying "let me in, I forgot my key!". I let her drunk hiney in and note that she is limping and covered in snow. I ask her where SS is...SS has been left behind (and I thought the first rule of warfare and dating was that you never leave a man behind?!?!?!). After tracking her down and getting her back into the hotel room, the events of the night were recounted for our benefit. In point form, for your enjoyment, here are the events:

- the girls found boys
- the girls went back to the hotel room with these boys
- the hotel room these boys were at was in the midst of a party
the police came
- immediately post-coitus, A1 hears the cops in the hall and rather than exit out the hallway, she takes her 5'1 self to the 5' high balcony and THROWS herself over the top (badly jarring her knee in the process, experiencing approximately a 9 ft drop to the ground!
- after landing she proceeds to run/limp down the street toward OUR hotel
- A1's partner du noir yells behind her "WAIT, GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER!! I DON'T WANT IT TO BE LIKE THIS!!!!"
- SS has passed out in the shower
- SS's awakens and exits the bathroom where A1's p.d.n. says "Does your friend have a warrant? She heard the police and jumped off the balcony!!!"
- SS cracks up and thinks how wise it was to have gathered as a group and programmed all our names and cell numbers AND The name of our hotel into our phones at the start of the night.
- SS forces her date to drive her the half block back to our hotel
- SS and A1 proceed to lay in their bed and giggle, keeping the rest of us awake.

Moral of the story? NO ONE can rock a walk of shame like A1. NO ONE. Her walk of shame remains unparallelled and shall go down in Walk of Shame History!

I haven't edited this, so pardon the spelling errors...and wait until you see part 2!

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

"Wandy Dodd" or "Just say NO to speech impediments"

ohhhh, this one is a doozy!

So this past spring I was in the grocery store (in gym clothes and ponytail and really STINKING up the place!) when I noticed the same man kept popping up wherever I was. He was an attractive man. Well dressed, although he did have frosted tips and was definitely FAR under 5'10 - my usual man criteria!

Finally in the deli he approached me and asked me about a product (not being a fan of the processed meats, I was not much help!)..then as I grabbed milk and was heading to leave, he came up and told me he thought I was "attwactive" and would love to take me for a drink. Since I am a sucker for pretty much any man who flatters me, I gave him my number.

Thus begins the story the man I call "wandy dodd". Now Wandy seemed incapable of saying the "r" sound. At first I thought he was something we in Canada call a "newfie" or a native of Newfoundland, because they tend to have strong accents. It took me 2 weeks to figure out that it was indeed a speech impediment.

Wandy was also a former military man. He used to drive a tank. I think he bumped his head. Repeatedly.

Our first lunch date lasted for 2.5 hrs, as I acted as his therapist and listened to the stories of his ex. And her children. And the ex. More on the ex. What? We're still talking about the ex? Ok, more on the ex. Excellent! At the end of it, he hugged me and told me he couldn't wait to see me again. What can I say? I'm a great psychotherapist. I said yes because I didn't want to assume the worst - that I was out with the "rebounder". Oh yes, the dreaded rebounder, still in love/obsessed with the elusive ex.

Second date: We go for drinks at a pub of his choice. This pub is in what I like to think of as THE MOTHERTRUCKING GHETTO!! While walking in past 2 gentlemen, I was eye-humped to the point that their optical spooge could be felt dripping down my leg. I walked in and realized Wandy Dodd was late. Feeling the eyes of 20 large men on me, I slowly backed out of the bar and immediately called the Bestie...mostly so if I disappeared, she'd know where I'd last been seen! Wandy Dodd finally arrived and over our 2nd drink I pointed out that I couldn't give 2 shits over his ex...he did his best not to mention her for 10 whole minutes kids, but it was a write-off. After excusing myself and heading home, I mused to myself on how even in the grocery store, I attract the nutbars!

Flashforward to the next day: The phone rings. Wandy Dodd "weally weally wikes me and would hate to miss out on something with an awesome wady wike me". After being kind and gently explaining that perhaps he had to do some work on being single for a bit, I finally ended up yelling at the poor guy. It wasn't good. I am not a nice person when I start yelling, which is why I RARELY do it (road rage doesn't count, right?). Wandy Dodd yelled back. Which was sort of like being yelled at by Elmer Fudd. I was vewy, vewy quiet before hanging up. End of story. Seems simple right? RIGHT!


2 months later I hear from Wandy again. He is calling to tell me I was right (no kidding!)and that he is now over "her". After once again listening to him spew vitriol about the ex, I asked what the point of his call was. He asked if I was seeing anyone. I said no. He asked if I'd see him. I said no. He asked if we could be "fwiends". I said...I guess so. ANNNDD this is how we ended up on a night out with the gf's (for A1's auntie's birthday!) with Wandy Dodd in tow. You see, the girls (especially the Bestie) couldn't believe he was as bad as I said. So Bestie cajoled me into inviting Wandy out with us.

We go to a North End pub (slightly ghetto, but we all know I loves me some ghetto!) and this is his 'hood! I called him to invite him and he was tickled. TICKLED! He arrives. Fairly well dressed, but the beers are catching up to the belly, IF you know what I mean... I hid, and he called...and I answered..and he came to sit with us. Now keep in mind that A-squared had each invited their respective ex-bf's. Why? Well everyone gets along and it's this whole painful, interconnected situation that really needs to end..but I digress!

Wandy Dodd took much offense to the chair dance/leg hump that A2's ex greeted me with. He then proceeded to tell one of my guy-friends that he "is not normalwy an agwessive kind of guy but these girwls don't want these guys here. How come these guys awen't picking that up?". The irony? Wandy Dodd seemed to think he and I were on a date and had rubbed his face on my shoulder, put his feet in my lap repeatedly (until I threatened to jam a shoe up his posterior if he put his dirty feet on my pretty dress one more time), and told aforementioned guy-friend that he was so excited to be here on a date with "Shewwy". Oh, he also told guy-friend that "you and I are the onwy two here who haven't slwept with these girwls". UHHH WRONG wandy, that guy-friend had tapped this. He'd tapped it repeatedly. He'd tapped it six ways from Sunday!!!! He also told guy-friend that I was a great singer and that I had a powerful voice...probably because of all that "pweshuh" on my chest. "If you know what I mean...". eurgh!

aside: Oh yeah, he didn't know my name. did I mention that? Somehow in the 2 months we hadn't spoken, I'd gone from SHERRIN to SHEWWY. Also, I hate being called Sherry. It's a number one dealbreaker!

Back to it: Wandy was in the process of giving my friend's aunt (a total stranger to him) a lap dance...for her birthday...because after the bikini-clad beer girl had given her one, he felt quite sure that she required his sweaty-self grinding up on her! Then he was back to threatening the boys. Finally, after telling Wandy in no uncertain terms to either be nice to my friends, ALL of my friends and to sit down and shut the hell up or leave, I was ready to go home. As I left the pub, Wandy proceeded to hunker down with A2 - a very understanding and sympathetic girl. Wandy did not leave the pub that night until the rest of my friends left. Imagine being stuck with a strange, angry, DRUNK, speech-impedimented, sweaty, close-talking, touchy-feely person for an entire evening because one person (ahem, Bestie) insisted they be invited out so they could witness the carnage for themselves!

Moral of the story? Trust your instincts! Just say no to speech impediments! and NEVER date a man named "Wandy Dodd"

By the way, Bestie left 45 minutes after Wandy got there because she had to work the next day. She's a diabolical genius.