age is just a number pt. 2

So I don't often write embarrassing dating stories about myself, mainly because it's been awhile since I went on an actual date, but more likely it's because my friends are usually available to offer up much more scandalous stories.  And everyone knows that it's way more fun to write about others than it is to write about one's self.  But I actually have to call myself out for bad behaviour.  A few weeks ago my neighbours had a little party.  I stopped by for a drink.  One drink turned into several.  Normally this wouldn't be a bad thing, but have I mentioned that my neighbours are young?  And as such they have young friends?  Remember when I gave AZ a hard time for shamelessly flirting with a certain young man named Tag? Well I need to let that go.  Because this guy was not born in 1984.  He was still born in the 80s, but that's as much information as I'm willing to give.  Plus he wore a toque inside.  Yep, my youngin' is a hipster.  Within the definition of hipster in the urban dictionary, the above picture is one of the images that comes up.  I'd like you to picture this when you think of this story.  Only because dude looked nothing like this, but the image still makes me very happy.

At any rate it was all very PG and harmless. Except of course if you count the harm inflicted on me by my friends and their jokes about my taste in men of a certain age.  That said, they should be appreciative as I've now broken new ground.  So much so that Christie now insists as a result of my actions her boy crush, Sidney Crosby, is back in play.

silver foxes > cougars

This past weekend I learned a valuable lesson from my friend PT: Cross country skiing is a lot like a horror movie - always remember to look behind you. Why you ask? Because you never know what is happening when your back is turned. In a horror movies, it's inevitably a serial murderer. When cross country skiing, it's beautiful scenery. Like this:

We were lucky. There very well could have been a cougar behind us, hidden somewhere in that breathtaking view. Being cougar smart is very important, as delineated by the brochure in our hotel room. In case you were wondering what a cougar smart brochure looks like, here it is:

It's a bit hard to read, but it basically says that cougars can attack at any time, even when you think you are safe and sound inside the local pub. They're everywhere. The only way to protect yourself is to protect the jugular and get into a fetal position. It also helps if you don't hang out with unsuspecting men in their twenties.

We did see some other wildlife on our ski though. Some silver foxes, which as you know are a personal weakness of mine. All in all a great day, which was part of a great girls weekend, filled with details that can't be shared here, but rest assured there were a lot of laughs.

age is just a number

So I have a friend. Let's call her "AZ." She met a guy on NYE at a classy bar called Bud's. Let's call him "Tag." Not sure who disclosed their age first, but he said 28 and she said 31. Perfectly acceptable. Problem is, she is a scant 2 months younger than I am, which actually makes her 34. And as you do in these modern times, I googled him (we knew his first name and his current place of employment), and thanks to a previous career as a player in the WHL, he has an interweb presence: hockey stats are quite thorough - dude was born in 1984. For those of you keeping score, this makes him 26. So while 8 years is not an obscene age difference, it's a bit more significant than just 3 years. That said, nothing scandalous or untoward happened. Innocent flirting is all. Which is good, seeing as he probably still lives at home, and his parents might not appreciate him bringing home a cougar. I'm kidding. We know he doesn't live at home. Or at least we think we do ...