Day 10098: Drunken whispers…
“I’m not allowed to jump you anymore,” I whisper to him softly. We wait by the elevator to leave. The club is packed, the music is booming, base turned up full blast. I’m toasty and happy, and oh-so-definitely-not-horny (not that I’d ever admit it anyway)…
He. Laughed. At. Me.
So sums up my weekend. Which wasn’t particularly spectacular or good or fun sometimes, but I survived, and now I’m home. Dizzy and headachy, recovering from who-knows-what I consumed and/or drank. Cuz I have no idea whatsoever.
Friday was a fun kind of day. Seven hours in the car with Triscuit listening to Prince in prep for the concert on Tuesday. Bored out of my mind. Seven hours… what the heck was I thinking… obviously though, it wasn’t distance. I should have been thinking distance. But all I could think of was “Jump him, jump him, jump him…” while my conscience said “No, no, no, no, noooooo!!” And as luck would have it, my bladder kept saying, “Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee…”
Boy leaves me alone in my downtown Montreal scummy looking hotel room. It’s late, I haven’t eaten – he’s got a plate of dinner saved for him by his Frenchy friends who like Grey Goose and red wine…
“See you tomorrow,” he says as he ducks into the elevator. “Go out for a walk or something. Explore downtown.” No be careful or lock your door, or any other equally concerned/caring statement...
Enter stage right, Malfoy and other members of the team. We go for dinner, have some beers, make merry… and end up at Triple X. Which is exactly what it sounds like - a peeler joint, a strip club - somewhere I never expected to go in my life, and probably would never go again (although I’ve heard that they make a TON of money, but that’s beside the point).
I kept my eyes politely averted. (How the heck did she do that on the pole???)
Saturday morning, early races. People were late, so we grabbed people left, right, and center. Ran to the marshalling area, got on the boat, paddled and lost. Second race... oops, we missed the call, and ended up waiting for a couple of hours for our rescheduled race where we did worse than the first race. Bad omen for the weekend.
Dinnertime. Forty five minutes stuck in traffic. Waited another hour for roomies who were stuck in worse traffic... ended up drinking cranberry and gins and eating appetizers at the bar. I'd wax eloquently about the succulence of the escargots that melded perfectly with the tasty tartness of the vinegary balsamic tomatoe and the tender morsels of chicken and mushroom tartlet with the flakey cripiness of the paper thin phyllo, but really, I was more happy with my cranberry and gin. I swear those 'shrooms looked a little poisonous.
An eon and two elevator rides later, Club 737, multiple shots with an ailing PlBoy who refused to order the drink-du-jour (bj's), and an idiotic display of misplaced affection... I have come to the conclusion, that regardless of how little I wear or how cute I am when I'm drunk, boys don't like me. Simple truth and fact.
Home in the wee hours of the morning, to be up two and half hours later and on the water for our 7:54am race. Shameful, I know, but I was still a wee bit toasty. Paddling my guts out with an already spinning head didn't really help un-quease the stomach. Nor did the bowl of cereal I was "forced" to skarf down so I'd have energy to "race". Not like we did, anyway. We missed the final race for reasons that relate directly to Malfoy, but shall remain unexplained for lack of venting energy. But, can we say that we don't like being ripped off and we don't like nasty emails...
After endless hours of shopping and food fun, we head home, trying to salvage what remained of the weekend, trying, beyond hope to transform it into a "great" weekend. Spoiled once again by Malfoy et al who just happened to be at the same reststop as us... what the hell are the chances? Too funny...
Now, can someone get me an Advil or ten, a good masseur and a shotgun so I can blast that freaking bagpiper outside to kingdom come...
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