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 pops..it'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!