LC and the City: Russian Vodka Soaked Peanuts

LCpod

This Charming Man by Stars
Airplanes by B.o.B ft Hayley Williams (Janski's Raving Stars remix)
Your Ex-Lover is Dead by Stars (Final Fantasy Remix)

Take away my major hangover most of my Saturday, and I can easily say that my weekend was exceptional. Actually, in spite of feeling like garbage Saturday, my weekend was exceptional. Maybe even with a capital E. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. I'm lame.

The plans for the weekend were to leave for back home to spend it with my family, celebrate my mama’s birthday on the Saturday and then spend family day together.  It only makes sense to spend this fairly new statutory holiday with none other than my family.  

Plans changed a little.  A cousin (brother of my cousin in law) was in Toronto from New York for a wedding. So rather than leave on the Friday, we stayed back to spend the night with him. Cha picked him and his gf up from the airport, stopped in here for a drink.  We then were chauffeured to the Intercontinental so they could unpack, get dressed for the night ahead, and of course, have another drink.  It was a stiff one, but still went down really well.  

 oh duty free !

While they prettied themselves up, my cousin told me the greatest joke ever.  It may not make the harshest comedian critics laugh but it’s right up my humour alley. You must recite it aloud; otherwise you won’t get the joke:

Joke: What do you call a fish with no eyes?

Answer: fsshhhhhhhhhhh

Get it, no “ i’s “ ?  So great.

We had a booth at Pravda, a Russian vodka bar on Wellington.  The décor was so homey and welcoming.  Red carpet, luscious fabric couches for the booths.  The ambience was spectacular.  We had a great, great, great, great evening.  It was so nice to see him and such a pleasure to meet his girlfriend and some of the bridal party.  We all got along great.  The excessive alcohol surely played a part in our speedy friendships but we immediately clicked the moment we set foot in the place.

Starving even before we left my place, I monopolized the little bowl of mixed nuts on the table at the bar.  I so badly needed them to keep me going that even when vodka was poured into the bowl thinking it was a glass, I ate them anyways. Yum.  Vodka soaked peanuts.  

I sported a simple look for the night; black jeggings with a sideseam exposed zipper at the hem, an army green tank top with a leather welted chest pocket and a white asymmetrical zip up knit jacket.  Surprisingly, the only proof left on my jacket that I drank vodka crans was a tiny  smudge of juice on my left arm.  I am astonished.  You really don’t understand how much I attract dirt and stains when I wear white.  I go to great lengths to stay scotch free but it never fails.  That’s why I never wear it, but this jacket was a steal, regular 60$, on sale for $10.  How do you pass that up?  The answer: you don’t.  

As I was dancing and doing my little 1-2 step, a gentleman from our crowd ran up to me, grabbed my hand and said with such passion “your shoulder pads are sexy as hell”.  I loved the compliment and I laughed so much because who says that really.  Even just writing the story now is making me giggle.  Funny thing though, I’m so used to shoulder pads in my tops and jackets that I didn’t even notice there were shoulder pads in my new jacket until he mentioned it.  I love people that are that observant.  

I took out my trusty little Tide to go stick the morning after but who knew that those things went bad because it smelled like dirty feet.  I brought it up to the noses of my roommates and they cringed at the smell.  I still used it.  Desperate times call for desperate measures so even when my stain removal stick smells like feet, I will use it on the off chance it still works.  It worked.  

The groom was so happy, and then also extremely inebriated by the end of the night.  The groomsmen were supportive, excited and in an equally inebriated state.  Bottle after bottle, we laughed, we danced, we sang, we mingled, we hugged, we were silly.  Katy Perry’s Fireworks came on and I have never seen a group of adults jump and shout so much to a pop induced tune.  I lost a majority of my voice because of it.  I usually sing into my bottle of beer as if it were my mic but since I had a glass, the straw became my mic. We blew the crowd away with our over zealousness. Or so we think.  For those precious moments, I felt like a rockstar, like my voice could carry a note so well that maybe, just maybe I had a nice voice.  It feels so great to belt out a tune it's no wonder singers describe their time on stage as cathartic and at times indescribable And then I realized….I can’t even hear myself sing and I'm lost in the lyrics. (random thought: Isn’t it contradictory to describe something as indescribable?  Doesn’t that mean you’ve just described it?)  

I felt sort of like the caregiver of the group seeing that I wasn’t as drunk as the rest of them.  I became cocky, being this composed after everything I drank.  That was until I got into a cab.  I finally sat down for the first time all night.   And everything came flooding in.  Each vodka cran hit me, one by one, and I became just like the rest of them, sloppy.  My sister and I tried to talk but we both had such a hard time that we just laughed at each other.  The simplest thing: I wanted a number out of her phone.  All we had to do was look it up in her phone and then insert it into mine.  Simple task.  WRONG.  It was arduous.  It took us most of the entire cab ride home, roughly a 20-25 minute ride.  Did we even pay for the cab ?!?!?  Answer unknown.

We planned on leaving at 6 am Saturday morning to head home.  Maybe two drinks in at Pravda, we threw those good intentions out the window knowing damn well that with the alcohol flowing as it was, we were not waking up at the crack of dawn.  And we were spot on with that assumption.

I set my alarm clock for 9am.  Nine am came along, and I hated my life.  I was almost ready to skip out on the entire weekend and stay in bed the whole time, that’s how hung-over I was. Put it this way, you know when you see or smell alcohol the day after and it makes you want to gag a little.  Well the sight of cranberry juice, what I used for mix, made me gag.  I woke Cha up, startled her right out of her drunk slumber, and we took off.  Thankfully and miraculously, my sister’s friend and boyfriend were catching a ride with us and they did all the driving.  Like divas, we were chauffeured all the way home.  

At first Cha and I had the giggles, which we always do when we’re hung-over but then it turned sour because my hangover was no longer a laughing matter.  My headache was out of control that even the three Advils I took were no match.  Just sitting down gave me the spins, and don’t even mention the blowing snow (or the winding snow as Cha mistakenly called it).  That made me dizzy more than anything else There were snow squalls and white outs and that didn't stop me any from wearing my shades the whole time. The glare of the white snow hurt my very dehydrated brain.  I cursed my physical state but I had so much fun last night that all my pain and suffering during my 5-6 hour drive with severe spins, jaundice and a lack of sleep for a visit of less than 24 hours was so worth it.

Skip a couple of hours and we’re home.   I speed out to the local mall to pick up a couple of things for my niece. I missed her birthday and told her we would celebrate it, just her and I, this weekend.  There was a misunderstanding because she thought I was throwing her an all new birthday party.  The moment they hear birthday party, nothing else matters and all they hear is birthday….celebration…fun…and any other word that means they’re going to get gifts and eat cake.  I shot myself in the foot with this one.  It’s rather hard throwing a mini shindig for a kid when you’re probably still intoxicated from the previous night.

Sunday morning, I wake up to the call of my niece and nephew.  It’s hard to deny a little boy and girl when they quietly approach your bed, stand patiently, gently poke your face and angelically say your name asking you to wake up.  Sure it was 8 am and I was still tired from Friday, but these little kids are my life. Sunday was spent as a family (minus 18 year old brother who is into  going to Montreal so he can drink) and then I hopped into the family Ford and drove back to Toronto with my parents.

I have my parents vehicle for the week that they’re gone to Florida.  I had the luxury of driving them to the airport and seeing them off for the second time in two months as they go to a tropical place where the sun shines, sandals adorn people’s feet and a round of golf is part of your daily routine.   I stand out like a sore thumb with my ride: a big ass Ford F-150 with camo.  Spot the northerner.  Aside from it being completely a hunter’s vehicle, it does not belong in the city.  It doesn’t fit anywhere.  As we speak, it’s parked in my tiny little driveway with the tailgate taking over the sidewalk.  Parking somewhere other than my driveway proves to be trickier.  I don’t even bother anymore.  I go straight for the end of a parking lot where it’s completely open and I can turn in with ease.  No more trying to squeeze into a tiny spot to be closer.  This city is not conducive to large vehicles.  What it will help me with however is going to IKEA and getting myself a new wardrobe / organizer / bedroom furniture.  No problem there.  

Tomorrow night is date night once again.  That made everyone at work who is living vicariously through me rather happy.  On several occasions, I had to devote a couple minutes away from my work into giving the low down on him.  We have a cute family at work.  One of my colleagues always pleaded with me to give her 5 minutes with JB and she’d make damn sure he’d smarten up.  What a gal. 

This time it’s with an older gentleman.  Penciled in my schedule are drinks with Mr. 34 (his age).  I know nothing of Mr. 34 other than he is 34 and he resides in a swanky area of the city, home for him is Lake Erie and he’s going on a trip in March.  I don’t know if I should expect a more mature date because of his age, as opposed to my other dates with 26, 28-29 year olds. I hope to be greeted by someone with their story straight and with a more secure head on their shoulders, someone who, because of where they are in their life, makes sure honesty trumps everything, selfishness is not an issue and, simply put, he’s a man.