Monday, March 02, 2009

Just Your Average Weekend

I had a pretty typical weekend. Nothing out of the ordinary for me.

On Friday MC and I stayed in to watch the movie P.S. I Love You, eat mass quantities of cheese, and guzzle wine. By the end of the movie, through our tears, we decided a trip to Ireland is a must. That’s where true love hides. Ireland. True love and burly, sensitive musicians in wool sweaters who could charm my lulus off any day of the week.

I should probably stop watching rom-coms.

On Saturday I went out for lunch with my Grandpa. I had a large breakfast, so I told him I would like something light.

Grandpa: Of course! Something light! I know the perfect place!

Twenty minutes later I am walking into an all you can eat Chinese buffet in suburban hell. The first thing I see is a greasy-haired fat kid in a stained tshirt. He is holding a plate full of French fries and hot dogs. I do love authentic Chinese food.

Five plates of greasy noodles and red sauce later, I’m feeling pretty sexy. Obviously this is a good time for me to go shopping. My grandpa drops me off at home and I hop on a bus to the mall.

So, Aritzia has their new spring line out.

Mastercard: *screams*

I also went into the pre-teen jewellery store, Clare’s. Yes, I am 26 years old and I buy jewellery in a store that sells Hannah Montana backpacks and hot pink, fake Uggs for $12. So anyway, as I’m paying for my grownup necklace, the saleschick asks me if I ever watched “Ready or Not.”
Um obviously. I hit puberty in the 1990s, and I’m Canadian, ergo I was obsessed with Ready or Not. It’s how I learned that it’s ok to touch your friend’s little titties in a tent if you’re curious about breasts. It’s how I learned that, if I get my period in school, the cooler girls will make fun of me and I’ll have to cry in a bathroom stall. It’s how I learned that no one likes a girl with a moustache.

Yes, I watched Ready or Not.

“Busy Ramone was in line three people ahead of you,” the excited salesgirl told me.

OH. MY. GOD. I immediately got a description of what Busy had been wearing and sprinted through the mall unsuccessfully trying to track down my childhood idol. Only later did it occur to me how sad it is that a former Canadian tv star also has to shop in a discount preteen jewellery store. MC also informs me that Busy now works as a waitress in TheBigCity. Oh, Busy. How the moustached girl has fallen.

On the bus ride home I happened to sit across from a man in my building who we lovingly refer to as “wheelchair guy.” It was weird seeing him out of his natural environment: the lobby of our building. Wheelchair guy spends most of his time sitting in the lobby, chatting with the passerbys, or just wearing his ipod and staring at people. I didn’t know what to make of him in a public place. It was like the first time you see you go to work with your mom, and begin to understand that she has a whole other life outside of your world. I didn’t like it. He should stay in the lobby.

When I got home I did some laundry. FauxHawk is coming to visit next weekend, so I thought maybe I should wash my sheets for the first time in months.

Then I went out with some friends. It was a pretty typical night. I chugged a box of wine. Nothing good ever comes of boxed wine.

I went to a club. I said some inappropriate things. I’m told I licked a homeless person’s beard on the street after the bar, but I’m hoping my friends are making this up. Mouth AIDS: not a goal in my life. I do remember trying to steal a car. The engine was already running and everything. Never mind that I don’t have a license, that I was drunk enough to lick a hobo, and that grand theft auto isn’t so forgivable in the courts. I tried to convince one of my friends to steal it with me. He also doesn’t have a license. But we each have our G1, and I’m pretty sure two G1s make a G2, just like I’m sure that two drunk drivers make a sober one.

Well anyway, the car remained untouched. Mainly because my friend pretty much tackled me in the street to keep me away from it.

Then we went to get some poutine. I was jumping with glee as we entered the diner. Then I got a little tired, so I put my head down on the table. Then I got a little dizzy, so I went and threw up in the bathroom. Then I got in a cab and went home. I may have licked a hobo, but I still have my god damn dignity. I know when it’s time for a whore to check out. Somewhere between mouth AIDS and public vomiting is that fine line.

I walked into my lobby and threw up a little. In the lobby. Why am I so sexy? Life is a mystery. Luckily it was 3am, so wheelchair guy wasn’t there to witness it. I’m pretty sure I left the puke where I deposited it and ran up to my apartment. I hope I don’t get evicted.

I woke up at noon the next day, lying on a totally bare mattress. Right. Probably should have made the bed before I went out. I looked down and realized I was wearing my pajamas backwards. Top and bottom. I crawled to the couch, got into the fetal position, and stayed there for 6 hours while I seriously questioned my life choices.

Like I said, it was a pretty typical weekend.



Sonya said...

Is there a Pulitzer for most spectacular tragedies?

The Peach said...

Yes. I believe they call it The Golden Peach.

Amy said...

Sheets are to be changed AT LEAST every two weeks!


Anonymous said...

Word on the street is Busy now works at Il Fornello in Richmond Hill! Look her up!