Monday, May 15, 2006

Hotels, Hot-Tubs, and Hockey Heartbreak

I just got back from a weekend in Ottawa with FauxHawk. He took me on a little romantic getaway, which was tres, tres fantastic. I’m currently happy, relaxed and my skin smells minty fresh! Oh, and it was nice to have “relations” without my little kitten jumping on my back or licking FauxHawk’s toes or just sitting beside us and watching while we warp his mind. You might think me sick for doing the sex with a kitten on the bed, but I tried the whole abstaining from dirty things while the kitten is awake, and since he is nocturnal and I am not – it didn’t work out. For me. And I’m more important.

So anyway, we went to Ottawa and stayed in an awesome hotel that made me wish that I were rich and classy, or just rich. Baby step, baby steps. In the car on the way there I dared FauxHawk to call himself “Dr.” when we checked in. This would be the first time he dropped the famous “m-bomb” since he wrote his big exam, and he agreed to my bet so long as I didn’t laugh when he did it. I made no promises. At the desk, the perky clerk asked for his name and he confidently told him that the reservation was for Dr. Hawk. I managed not to laugh. I’m a good girlfriend. Well anyway, I managed not to laugh until the clerk chirped “Enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Hawk!”. I laughed, FauxHawk shit himself, and an awkward time was had by all.

In the elevator:
*awkward silence*
FauxHawk: Did they just call you Mrs. Hawk?
*awkward silence*
ThePeach: Yes.
FauxHawk: How did they know you weren’t just my hooker?
ThePeach: How did they know I wasn’t your daughter?

I lie. That’s how the conversation would have turned out if the comeback that I thought of 24 hours later had been said. This is how the conversation actually went:

In the elevator:
*awkward silence*
FauxHawk: Did they just call you Mrs. Hawk?
*awkward silence*
ThePeach: Yes.
FauxHawk: How did they know you weren’t just my hooker?
*awkward silence*
ThePeach: did either of us actually press the button for our floor or have we just been sitting here for 5 minutes?
FauxHawk: shit.

After we made it to our room and scavenged through all of the free stuff (“a shower cap! A FREE SHOWER CURTAIN!! – oh, The Simpsons…), we drove to The ScotiaBank Place to see Game 5 of round 2 of the Sens versus the Sabres. I’ve been a sens fan for a long time (and still don’t understand what an off-side is, but Mike Fisher is pretty), and even though I knew a comeback was pretty much impossible – I held put hope. As per usual, my hopes were demolished in a soul-raping rampage of heartbreak, but who doesn’t love watching their favourite team get eliminated in overtime with a one-man advantage – live? I would have thrown my shoe at a Sabre out of anger, but I was sitting in the very last row and probably would have hit the head of the guy in front of me. I have bad aim.

There was one highlight of the game, however. The guy in front of me (the one whose head was blocking my shoe projectile) brought his very small child to the game. I would guess that he was 3 or 4. When we lost (ugh, even saying it hurts), nobody in the stadium talked for about 5 minutes. It was dead silent. Then the guy beside me shouted loudly, slowly, and clearly: WHAT. THE. FUCK???? The small child turned around and looked at the guy with his big blue eyes and a confused look on his face and we all knew that he had been damaged irreparably. Someone has a new word to tell mommy when goes home!

FauxHawk and I dejectedly headed back to the hotel but soon forgot our woes thanks to the magic of Egyptian cotton sheets. My shitty Ikea sheets are now dead to me. Dead!

The next day we went to a spa and got massages, minty-fresh steam baths, and hung out in a hot tub like the pretentious bitches we wish we could be. Nothing funny happened because apparently I’m not witty when I’m relaxed. Don’t worry; I’m sure that it will only take 1 day of work to suck that out of me with astonishing speed. Not the work so much as TheBoss. Like on Friday, when FauxHawk came to see me at lunch and TheBoss randomly walked in, saw FauxHawk, and asked:

TheBoss: So what’s the deal with C-sections? Do women get them because they’re vain or to maintain the tightness in their vaginas?

I should probably get used to people asking random vag-related questions when FauxHawk is around, but I really just don’t like hearing my boss say “vagina”. Or “tight”. Ever.

This entry has been really rambling and I am tired. The only reason I’m awake is because I’m afraid of mice and there was one – alive – in my garbage can when I got home today. I did the mature thing and jumped around shrieking until FauxHawk took the garbage can outside. Talk about the end of a weekend pretending to be rich and classy. Welcome back to Universitytown!!

I just want soft sheets and a mouse-free apartment.

ThePeach

6 comments:

TheNurse said...

I think Faux hawk should be glad they didn't think you were his daughter!

asian cymbals said...

Whatever dude.

FauxHawk should be so lucky to have someone think that a goddess like you would be married to him.

I have never met FauxHawk and know nothing about him, so I make wildly rude and opinionated comments with no real basis or reason.

Sorry, FauxHawk.

Go Peach, Go.

thehippie said...

sweet aliteration in the title. one of my favourite literary devices, next to the zeugma of course. lets have a big 'welcome back to unitown' party for me next week. and by party i of course mean alcohol and soft core on showcase.

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