Sunday, October 29, 2006

The aftermath.

The Saga of the Hallowe'en Outing is a long and stupid one, but it ultimately turned out alright. Click here to read all the gory details.

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Chapter One: Richmond Street Raindrops

I'm a punctual guy, and can't stand it when other people are late. Thus, I was exceedingly irritated when the rest of the crew didn't show at the time my friend told me they'd be there, forcing me to stand in front of this stupid club with those stupid people for fifteen stupid minutes in the stupid rain and the stupid cold. Eventually I wandered down to the Paramount and called up my friend, and she said they were going to be about 15 minutes yet.

"This is going to be a stupid night," I ascertained.

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Chapter Two: Indecision and Indolence

Eventually the gang showed up; I didn't even recognize my friend, as she was wearing facepaint and a purple wig. We started aimlessly wandering down Richmond; later I found out they were looking for the club outside which I had waited like a moron in the rain, but it was a long way down the street. So we stood there in the rain, six of us, like a bunch of costumed nincompoops, holding our dicks and trying to figure out where to go.

I hate it when people don't know what they're doing. "Oh, well, did you want to go there?" "I don't know, how about you?" "I'm not sure, what do you want to do?" "Do you want to go to that place?" JESUSAITCHCHRIST, make a decision!

Fortunately, my friend put her foot down and suggested this place on Queen near Dufferin. "The music is great there," she pleaded. One of the crew went back to the aforementioned club to meet up with her other friends, whilst in a pissy mood. "Good riddance," I mused.

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Chapter Three: The Odyssey

Since it was a Saturday night and everyone was out, Queen Street was a goddamn traffic nightmare. We eventually hailed a cab, and that driver was something else... we actually drove two blocks down a back-alley to avoid the gridlock. On the way, one of the crew — a co-worker of my friend's — zonked right out, as she'd had quite a bit to drink already. When we eventually got to the bar, "Stones Place," I was in a foul, foul mood, and was none too enthused about having to pay a cover.

The music playing as we opened the door, however, indicated this was no normal bar.

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Chapter Four: Adventures in Alcohol

It's not often that a bar filled with twentysomethings plays "What'd I Say" by Ray Charles, and then follows it up with "Whole Lotta Love" by Led Zeppelin, but that's exactly what came over the speakers as we entered, paid, and got settled-in. The dance floor was full, the people were singing along, and I bought a double-rye-and-coke-in-a-short-glass for seven dollars. (I figured with the late start I had to catch up quickly, and there's no better way to do that than with doubles of liquor.)

Unfortunately, the girl who'd already had too much booze was in the bathroom, with my friend helping her out. Long story short, she slept on a couch in the back of the bar for two hours... but the whole back of the bar is couches and comfy chairs and coffee tables, which totally rules. So, the rest of us sat around and drank some more, babysitting our fallen comrade but also having a good time. (She eventually did wake up and was feeling great, to our astonishment.)

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Chapter Five: Confessions on a Dance Floor*

You'll kindly note that, in my previous writing installment, I said that I didn't dance. This is because music in clubs designed to make people dance sucks some pretty giant balls. However, if you play "I Can't Explain" by The Who and get a few drinks in me, I will obviously shimmy and shake like nobody's business. This was, however, the first time such a confluence of events has occurred in my life, so hey, fuckit, let's dance.

After a while we decided to high-tail it out of there... even after setting the clock back, it was still pretty late. My friend knew someone who lived in the area and was having a little get-together, so we hoofed it over in the cold drizzle and played some foosball and watched some South Park.

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Chapter Six: The Odyssey, Part Two

We were all getting a little dozey, so a couple of us decided to take off. We then found out, first-hand, that there must be many more all-night Queen Street streetcars going out of downtown rather than back in, as three passed us going the other way as we stood in the shelter, shivering our costumed butts off and got repeatedly interrogated by the security guard from the building in front of which we were standing about if we'd seen who spray-painted some graffiti on some weird-looking round thing nearby. (We didn't.) So, one streetcar and one Yonge bus later, we all piled-out at Davisville and took cabs to get to where we were eventually going.

My cab smelled a little.

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Wow, that was long and stupid, and I guess the moral of the story is that (a.) people suck, but (b.) I will be going to Stones Place again in the future.

* I did not know the title of this Madonna album; a certain ECB helped me out with it. (Thelena.)

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