Hot People are ON A BOAT

It's time for some good shit, hey? I thought so too. It is for this reason that I am pleased to announce that I can conclusively say I recently experienced one of the top 20 weekends of life a few weeks ago.

So here's the deal. I have this friend. He likes to call me on the fly. This often works out for him because I frequently have very little to do. This one Saturday evening was no exception. I was all ready to settle in for ANOTHER night of DVD, wine and candy I don't need to eat. Then he called. Within 30 minutes we were speeding across the Ontario/Quebec border. Within an hour, we were eating delicious local food & wine under a giant tent.

The tent was hot, so we went for a digestive consitutional outside. My friend, while spontaneous, is also "a lifer," in that he's spent most of his life in the area. This meant we met lots of people he knew in and around the tent. One of them just happened to be a friend with a 29' sailboat. Well, you know how much I love sailboats? I love them even more when they have gallons of sangria on board.

We drank, we caroused, we went for a midnight sail...but that's really not the point of this story. I don't know if it was the sangria or my new "don't analyze, just act" attitude (probably both), but a lot of shit went down that I was really proud of.

1. I spoke French. For serious. Well...Franglais. But my friend said he was impressed with me, so I'll take it. I've discussed with my boss the possibility of keeping a jug of sangria in the insulin fridge at work so I can see our francophone clients (I think that's the magic). She's considering it.

2. I danced my ass off. I garnered what I think were genuine compliments about my dancing skill. This means I should keep doing it...which is good, because it really is my first love.

3. I made out with a delightful Quebecois stranger on the dancefloor. I saw him, he saw me, we had a moment, some skinny blonde chick (bitches!...they are my nemeses) tried to cut in on my moment and, for the first time ever, I said "NO! This my MY moment" and blocked her path.

Further to this, I declined his suggestion that we move on to more comfortable surroundings. And I'm proud of that. My usual attitude is that THIS might be the LAST guy ever to want to sleep with me so I'd better go for it (Dad, I know you're reading this and cringing...keep reading...I'm making progress!). THIS TIME I thought: what would I rather do? Have sloppy drunk-sex with an attractive guy I'm never going to see again or sleep on a sailboat? I made what I think is the obvious choice, SLEEPING ON A MOTHERF---ING BOAT! We exchanged numbers instead. Then I forgot his. I'm not waiting anxiously by the phone either, rest assured.

4. I went swimming in my underwear. The fact that I was willing to bare my midriff in front of people I just met made sleeping in my clammy undies totally worthwhile. I don't even care whether it was enjoyable for everyone around me. 6 months ago, I would never have let so many strangers at a time see so much of my skin. I guess that means I like it better. Huzzah!

...And the magic just kept on coming. Though I had to drive to Sudbury on 4 hrs sleep the next day, I got to see my cousin win gold in his event at the provincial canoe/kayak competition. Also, the radio keeps playing songs I dig.

Oh, and did I mention I went to Scotland right after that? No? Well, it was awesome. It had castles and shit. More on this later, I'm sure.

So, everything's coming up Miss T these days. Whoever's in charge of this: keep up the good work. Let the good times roll.

Hot People Have *Some* Principles

I know it's been a while since my last post, and there's a very good reason for that. Fear not, dear readers. Though the positive attitude exemplified the last time you heard from me may have suggested good things on my horizon, the world farts in my face yet again.

The dearth of hilarious hijynx on the interwebs has been the direct result of my hard drive eating it sometime in early May. Procrastination and a timetable tighter than my junior high figure skating costume kept me from getting it fixed until mid-week last week. Anyway, perhaps the fates were keeping me from posting so nobody would miss my latest bout of ridiclitude. Every time I tell this story I feel stupider and stupider, but I'm hoping that blogging about it will serve as some kind of cathartic reset button.

I've made a few friends recently. This is not the problem (actually, it's kind of a huge win for me). I've made most of these friends through the FIRST friend I made here - he's been really great at introducing me to people and to the wonders offered by small-town northern Ontario. A week or two ago, he invited me to a party hosted by a couple of friends on a cottage property just outside of town. As the night progressed, it became more and more clear that we would be staying the night (the strongest indicator of this being the rate at which we were producing empty bottles). Towards the end of the night, we decided to change into our swimsuits and fire up the hot tub down by the lake. This may have been the worst idea in history. Hot tubs are a great way to relax and unwind, dehydrate yourself, and then become unbearably nauseous. My friend was one of those who discovered this. The hot tub time was cut short by a significant margin.

So, we all went inside and were shown our various accommodation options. When it came my turn, our hostess looked at me and my friend and said "You guys can either sleep in THIS double bed, or you can sleep in this other room with the double bed and bunk." This immediately set off my awkward situation alarm. She clearly thinks we're together. My immediate response was to quietly wait for her to leave so I could avoid having the "Despite appearances, I'm VERY single" discussion, which I hate with every fibre of my being, and then choose the room where my friend was guaranteed to concuss himself because I'm just a generous person like that.

Awkward point number two was when we both reached for the same doorknob. Being chivalrous (and only slightly less intoxicated), I allowed my friend to go into the room with the bunk - but having already COMMITTED to that room in my mind, I didn't have a second thought about sleeping in there even though he had also obviously chosen it and there was a perfectly good, empty bed in the next room. I am a dumbass.

Awkward point number 1000, we had changed into our suits in a different building on the property. This meant that once out of wet suits, there was really nothing to change INTO. My friend was completely naked under the covers, and once I took off my wet suit, I would be, ahem, "as God intended me" as well. While I'm generally in favour of co-ed nakedness, I feel as though this was a situation rife with opportunitues for Shakespeare-esque misunderstandings and ensuing sword-fights. It was awkward.

At some point several seconds into my descent into drunk-sleep, my friend groaned. As he was above me, and as most projectiles are subject to the forces of gravity at some point, you can understand that I was concerned for my general cleanliness over the course of the night. I also had concerns about my ability to get home if my friend, who had driven us both, died in his sleep. Awkward point 1000000, my mother-hen tendencies kicked in. You know how the drunk-faces LOVE it when people try to feed them water? I ALWAYS forget that! I wrapped myself in a towel (there was NO WAY I was putting on a wet bathing suit just to get a glass of water), got a glass of water, and tried to feed it to my friend in the top bunk. Drunkenly wrangling a very drunk, very tall man whilst holding a glass of water is REALLY hard. It was hard enough that my towel slipped. Not wanting to give up on the semblance of clothedness, though, I found myself more or less just pinning the towel against the side of the bunk bed with my chest...

And that's when awkward point infinity happened. My friend was mumbling some shit into his pillow. I was at once concerned that he might smother himself and that he was saying something of great import, so I leaned closer to hear what he was saying. All of a sudden there was an urgency in his voice, and he was yelling at me to "behave yourself! behave yourself! Your nose is touching mine!" Thinking that he was delirious and therefore beyond help, I gave up on him, turned the lights off and went to sleep. It only occurred to me the next afternoon that he totally thought I was trying to kiss him. And here we have our first Shakespeare-esque misunderstanding. If he's not acting super awkward around me, I'm sure as hell projecting my awkard feelings onto him every time I see him now.

This whole situation leaves my feathers a little ruffled too. Why, you ask? Well, it could be because he seemed super-offended by the idea of my kissing him. And I guess it would be legit to be offended by his offense-taking. I'm kind of fantastic (in an adorably eccentric and bizarre kind of way), and really - if it had been a lean-in for osculatory purposes rather than auditory ones, what up - it's just a kiss. But to be honest, that's not it.

What offends me is the idea that I would try to kiss anyone in THAT situation. As if stealing kisses from half-passed-out men who can't defend themselves is how I roll. For the record, I am not from the ends-justifies-the-means school of nookie acquisition - I'm pretty sure I'd rather get it the usual, consensual way even if it means I don't get it at all (which seems to be my track-record of late). I'm just too much of a hopeless romantic for anything else and I object to the notion of anything to the contrary.

Hot People Never Experience This

My life is a disaster, I've decided.

I was out of town this weekend for a conference (truthfully, I was away this weekend for a debating tournament, but I was trying to deflect my nerdiness...and upregulate my togetherness). There are several reasons I found myself at this tournament.

a. I suggested, months ago, in a drunken stupor, that I would go, despite never having seen that particular style of debate and not having a place to stay.
b. I went to a local friend's party, and not knowing anybody, played wallflower for much of the night. Therefore, I missed my friends.
c. My friends reminded me, again in a drunken stupor, that I had said I would go. Therefore, I felt guilty.
d. I thought there might be dancing, which none of my friends in Ottawa seem to like to do.

Although the weekend was a success from a "winning stuff" standpoint, it certainly was also riddled with DISASTER on the hotness front. Here's what went down:

I was staying with a very good friend in the city while my friends from Halifax were staying in a hotel. We all (the whole tournament) planned to go to a bar on Friday night, but when I got there my friends from Halifax were nowhere to be found and were not answering text messages (as it turned out, the phone had died...forgiveable...I suppose...). Luckily, my friend with the spare futon happened to be there and I enjoy his company very much. He had previously been speaking to a friend of his, and we were introduced upon my arrival.

As we know, I'm TERRIBLE at making conversation with strangers, so this was a significantly high stress situation for me. However, the conversation flowed easily with only a moderate amount of SoCo and Coke (don't judge me! the bar didn't have Strongbow and I panicked and blurted out the first drink I saw) to grease the wheels. Huzzah, I thought! I'm getting better at social situations!

Fast forward to the following night, after a hard day of watching debate rounds, eating banquet hall chicken and cake, and making my friends feel bad for bailing on me the night before. We're headed to a bar that is so effing crowded that I actually can't walk without stepping on people's feet. In the shuffle I lose my friends, but the friend-of-a-friend from the night before happens to find himself at the bar next to me. We took up our conversation where we left off. I couldn't believe how developed my skill was at talking to semi-strangers..."I'm winning this hotness thing!" I thought to myself (since hot people aren't aloof and awkward in a corner, right?).

I should state at this point that I really hadn't any agenda for the weekend aside from hanging out with my friends and possibly shaking it a little in my swank dress after kicking off my heels (since you know I can't hack'em).

But THIS is when things get weird. Midway through a reasonably good conversation, all of a sudden he stops and there's this pregnant pause. And when I say pregnant, I really mean laboured. This was clearly a pause he wanted me to ask about. So I did. When I asked what was up, he responded that he was wondering if he should "prioritize his relationships".

Ok...W.T.F? Obviously, that pause was having twins it was so pregnant. And obviously I was meant to ask what THAT meant too. Then he went on at length about how he flirts with everyone (truth...) and doesn't really know why and perhaps he should just focus on hanging out with friends and having a good time with them. Being a supportive co-conversationalist, I responded by saying that we all think with our cocks (pardon me) sometimes (admit it, truth). Then he started asking me about why I was single, and what exactly caused me to be single and what kind of thing I was looking for now. So I told him my stock-answer about what went wrong, and then I told him I wasn't looking for anything too serious these days - although I certainly wouldn't turn down a few dates if they were offered by someone interesting.

His response to this is that I'm "girlfriend material" and lists a bunch of qualities I have, including "dignified" and "professional" (?!?). At first I'm thinking "Wow, great compliments, stranger-dude!" but as the list goes on, I realize that something's not right. Who tells a girl that she's dignified? I suddenly realize the horrible truth. I am being let down easy. The worst of it is that I am being let down easy from an expectation I did not have. He's turning down a proposition I did not make. I'm being pre-dumped!

Quel horreur! I don't even think I have to tell you how depressing it is that I can get dumped without even trying to hook up. It's pretty sad. I neither know what I was doing to give the impression that I was interested in something more than a stimulating conversation (because mixing up libido and conversationalism could get awkward FAST), nor do I know WHAT IS SO WRONG WITH ME THAT MY TOTAL LACK OF A CHANCE WITH SOMEONE MUST BE MADE CLEAR BEFORE I'VE EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT MAKING A MOVE???

Gah...so now a guy who wasn't even my type and I wasn't really that interested in has made me into this totally depressing bitter person who shoots dagger eyes at strangers if they seem to be in a relationship (because obviously people in love are the enemy [seriously, I think this old man who was kissing his wife goodbye in the mall yesterday thought I was going to mug him or something]). This will obviously increase my social capital immensely. My furor is compounded by the following "compliments" I got from my real live friends (truth):

"Wow, you actually look good tonight...and what I mean by that is that you look better than you did yesterday"

"Your hair looked nicer yesterday"

"How much do you weigh? I want to feel better about myself."

Also, there was no dancing to be had all weekend. Balls.