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.