Monday, May 24, 2010

I've been a bad girl

I’ve lived in TheBigCity for 24 days.

As a born and bred CapitalCity girl, I’m not supposed to like it here. We’re sworn hockey rivals, provincial versus national capital enemies, and god knows you can’t get a decent poutine anywhere in this sweltering cement jungle. Cheese curds, people! Cheese CURDS.

We’re told TheBigCity is impersonal, breeds stiletto-wearing snobs and men with douche-beards, and will rape you, shoot you, and leave your corpse encased in cement in a barrel in the bottom of the Queen’s Quay.

But I’ve always been a bit of a sadist.

I’m totally having a sordid, sexy, blow job in the bar bathroom affair with my sworn enemy. TheBigCity seduced me, sweet talked me into bed, and instead of feeling dirty I feel dizzy and maybe slightly drunk. There’s a lot of fucking patios here. My blood is now at least 30 per cent sangria.

I live right at ground zero. I trip over a passed-out homeless person every time I leave my 30-storey apartment building, there are hookers at one end of my block and a gaybourhood on the other, and I can spin in a circle and see at least seven cheap sushi restaurants on any given day. What’s not to love here?

I’m a ten minute walk from the most prestigious shopping district in the province (*credit card screams*), my jogging route takes me past one of the best skyline views in the city, and when I get sick of cement and exhaust fumes, a 30-minute streetcar ride east takes me to the beach or a 15 minute ride west takes me to the land of yuppies, farmer’s markets, and the heaven patio – where TheAmazon, BadInfluence and I baked in the sun last weekend and got hammered on beer and brunch. So what if I don’t remember going out for dinner that night, threw up on the subway, and was in bed by 9pm? Heaven. Patio.

Speaking of puking in public, I’ve also made my mark in a $5 martini bar in little italy after a romantical dinner with BadInfluence, and 3-storey bar inside a series of Victorian houses in the old student neighbourhood. I’m so classy, I’ll class the shit right out of you.

Speaking of BadInfluence, we had 3 weeks together in TheBigCity and we made the most of them, by which I mean I was drunk most days and I’ve eaten so many baskets of sweet potato fries that three people have asked me if I’m pregnant. Thanks, whores. Maybe after I finish this post I go for a little jog.

Yesterday BadInfluence left for his summer job on the other side of the country – literally the furthest point west he could possibly go. A mere 7 hour plane ride and 24-hour work schedule now separates us until September. Eff. It’s funny – FauxHawk and I were often separated because of his work, usually for months at a time, but this feels so much worse. Maybe because FauxHawk kept me at such a distance already that a geographical divide didn’t make much difference. Anyway, my point is my heart hurts. I miss my lumberjack and his beard. Non-douche beard, I should add.

Tomorrow I start my job at the big newspaper, and I’m already shitting my pants. I’m currently surrounded by news magazines and newspapers, trying desperately to come up with story ideas that won’t get me laughed out of the board room and lead me to take a long walk off the pier. But, like, what do you suggest to the editor in chief of the biggest national newspaper in Canada? Oh hey, have you thought about Afghanistan? Maybe we should do a story on the oil spill in the gulf. I hear something happened in Haiti a while ago. Oh my god, I need some immodium.

And luckily for my one remaining reader, my panic = the return to blogging. You’re welcome, loyal fan.

I’ll leave you with this anecdote. We’re having a heat wave today, and my 30-storey cement block is reminiscent of the oven chambers at Auschwitz, so I ventured to my neighbourhood starbucks for some relief. There are four starbucks within a five minute walk of my door, and I only had to visit three before I found a spot to sit. Ah, population. Anyway, I spent a lovely two hours sipping my pike’s place and reading about world events as I watched people cross one of the city’s biggest intersections outside my window. It was heavenly.

And then I heard a splat and something cold and slimy hit my bare back.

I looked to my left – a brown guy on his laptop was blinking his eyes, covered in tufts of whipped cream. Behind him, a blonde poptart in a black halter shirt put down her blackberry and wiped a dollop of whipped cream off her face. I looked to my right. A red-faced girl stood over what was once a frappuccino – from the taste of my back, it was mocha – and an explosion of whipped cream and frothy calories surrounded her. The floor, the walls, and the half of the surly Starbucks patrons were covered in her disaster. I left before things got ugly, quickly crossing the street to my apartment. When I got in the elevator, I saw that my hair was also covered in frapp. No wonder the homeless dude with the guitar did a double take.

I love this place.

Don't tell CapitalCity. He's sensitive.



Anonymous said...

I'm concerned ... :P

Anonymous said...

PS - Have a good first day tomorrow :)

BadInfluence said...

Furthest Point West: Ocean and mountains, sun and rain forest, fresh salmon and overflowing gardens, great apartment and new job, microbrews and local wineries...

But no Peach. Hmph.

Tucker said...

Smoke's Poutinerie:578 Queen West, 203 Dundas East, 218 Adelaide West.

Also, the Victory Cafe on Markham (which is a good pub anyhow) does proper poutine.

Anonymous said...

My friend Shannon and I have a standing date to hit up Smoke's next time I'm back East and passing through Toronto. I saw it on a competitive eating news story on CBC ... journalistic gold.

LC said...

Think you meant "masochist" as opposed to "sadist".

Cerky said...

There's more than one reader.. we just clearly don't like posting.

Coming from a stalker of a good.. year, maybe? Of reading your blog. Heh.

Workahol said...

Great tribute to TheBigCity! I approve of your new love affair :)

Anonymous said...

come back, now, please?

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