A Short Recollection Of Friday Night

Last Friday evening. My friend K and I had just finished dinner and were having a few drinks while I showed him my recent YouTube favorites, mostly Macklemore. I was trying to convince him that we should go out to meet up with some of my other friends; a recent text message from B promised a fun adventure, but K was not giving in easily. I don't know if it was my repeated assurances that this would be nothing like the obnoxious Christmas party I dragged him to last year ("remember that guy who said he owned a bank?!") or the fact that I wouldn't stop my version of hip-hop dancing around his kitchen, but eventually he called a cab.

I made small talk with the cab driver, chastising him for smoking and wishing him a safe night. I could tell K was a bit wary of having to put up with the usual Calgary 20-something nonsense ("where do you work?" etc.) but I knew what was coming. Well, I thought I did. B came down to let us in with a giant, two-headed paper penis cut-out taped to his green singlet. He opened the door, "come on up! It's a dick party!" Of course it was. I made introductions and suddenly we were walking in to his fairly small one bedroom apartment, which had exploded with people. Some I knew, some I didn't, some who knew me and I could only look at them and shrug/smile. There was even a child there! Upon closer inspection, it was just a vertically challenged boy, named R. He reminded me of a Christmas elf and I instantly had the urge to pick him up, but I remembered that night at Vinyl when I was accosted by a 7'2" man and I didn't want to be the overly-friendly-giant.

Music was going, but not too loud, beer bottles and paper dicks were everywhere. I felt warm and fuzzy, thanks in part to my cider. There were impromptu photo shoots that had nothing to do with facebook, I  walked around aimlessly, talking to people - I realized I have a new habit of asking everyone with a decent amount of facial hair if they're a bike courier for some reason. I checked back on K, he was chatting away and seemed fine. I hoped he was having fun, but at the same time I didn't really care. In a friendly way, that is. Someone I knew, D, told me he reads my blog, which I was thrilled about. Then he spent 5 minutes telling me how he knows me better than I know him, and he now has the advantage over me, like a cheat in a video game. That was a bit unnerving, but it comes with the territory and I'm pretty sure he's not a deranged stalker so I took it as a compliment.

We eventually decided to head out into the night. K was complaining about the cold so I called him a pussy and someone started a snowball fight. We were approaching my favorite willow tree in a park on 4th Street so I broke into a run and launched myself up, hoping my mitten-grip didn't slip but mostly enjoying the fact that I was higher up than everyone else. Had a quick chat with the tree, and come to think of it I may have given it a friendly kiss, in case I didn't see it again. B pelted me with a snowball so I chased him down and smacked him (lightly, I thought) in the crotch. He dragged me into the street, promising we would die together in a taxi induced murder/suicide, but changed his mind at the last minute and we all continued to wander the streets. I found myself halfway through a cigarillo before I looked down and exclaimed "what am I doing???" and threw it on the ground.

Eventually our group, about 6 or 7 by that time (K had ditched in favor of 1410, which I have sworn off after my last human-sardine experience there), took over a delightfully small bar called Milk Tiger. I danced and drank and danced more. I suspect I was giving the 68 year old DJ sexy eyes, instead of the nod of encouragement I had intended, because he came over and started dancing with me, which was innocent enough. But he soon mentioned he was leaving the country that night, then asked if I had a boyfriend, and I started to doubt his intentions, while also postulating that he was in the navy and would be shipped out in the morning. I said that sadly yes, I had a bf, and he skittered away quite quickly. I wish I had said I was a lesbian.

A few more drinks and we were off to the Poutinery where I discovered - Mac and Cheese Poutine! With Bacon!! R reappeared to defend my honor against a very bearded and unruly ginger, proclaiming that we had been dating for 9 months and would fight anyone that didn't believe him just because he is short. Redbeard ended up buying him poutine, while my drunk eyes wandered around the room and found a friendly face... I did everything I could with my 3AM brinner (breakfast + dinner) but only ate half of it, and I was suddenly about to fall asleep at the table. Time to go home. In a final burst of energy I gave in to my urge to lift up R, who took that opportunity to climb up my legs/torso as if I was a noble willow tree. That will teach me. Probably.

Water, pillow, bed, blackness. I woke up the next morning and, as I do every morning that I'm hungover, looked out the window and said "fuck you, Calgary", though this time it was tinged with love. Only a few more of these nights are mine to enjoy, looking up at the stars as my breath crystallizes in front of me, crunching snow beneath my boots and talking in my Ethel-voice when my glasses fog up. Noting that my face hurts from smiling so hard.