call me maybe

It's a good song in theory.  Catchy and simple.  Its evilness lies of course in the fact that it is grammatically incorrect, was played non-stop all summer and that it encourages you to do stupid things like actually give someone your number in the hope that they will call you maybe.

I bring this up now because a few weeks ago I went out with RB, MZ and KF.  I would like to say that it all started off innocently, but RB and I hadn't had a night out together in awhile and I had spent 2 weeks in Prince George (don't ask) so we were both looking to go out on a rippy tear (my mother's words).  But it quickly went off the deep end when I had 2 strong margaritas from Ox and Angela before food arrived.

We ran into some friends of mine, one of whom is a man about town and so I blame him for everything that happened that night.  And by everything, I really mean only one thing.  That one thing being that we ended up at a bar, where a DJ I sort of know and kind of have a crush on, was playing and for some reason (those reasons of course being tequila, RB and man about town referenced above) I decided to write my name, my number and the words "I'm all shook up" on a napkin and give it to said DJ.  I promptly ran out of the bar as quickly as possible.

Needless to say I have not heard from him and I will never return to that bar.

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.