I went to get a new sports bra because I could no longer handle being stabbed repeatedly in the chest by my current one, with it’s rogue underwire trying to kill me. I went to Victoria’s Secret because I like how they have a bra expert or boob professional on at all times (young girl with a measuring tape). They also have doorbells in the fitting rooms so you can summon the measuring tape child while you have an insanely ill fitting bra, with pockets of flesh escaping in every direction and need her to access the massacre of Betty & Veronica situation. She will then scurry around to find you another one that will actually not suck your will to live. There was one she brought me that was a weird space age bra. She explained to me how to put it on then I spent the next five minutes trying to understand the front clasp then zip technique. When she came to ask how it went I told her it didn’t fit when in reality I had spent the whole time trying to figure out how to get it done up. I realized then why they had a bra specialist on at all times, you practically needed a fucking degree in engineering to get that damn thing on. It then got me wondering as to who these people were that sat around designing these breast supporting intelligence puzzles. I wondered if I was being filmed as part of a study on the average intelligence on a person who shopped at Victoria’s Secret and perhaps I had just brought the mean average way down. Anyways, regardless I did not buy that bra because it was too hard. I bought on that slid over my head and had hooks, two things I understood. Hurrah!

I told everyone I met my soul mate the other day, but I want to tell you the whole story. I had to go see a specialist in Carleton Place (it’s a blood thing, nothing to panic about). I got my number and waited in the waiting room, oddly surrounded by Harlequin romances, until being called into the Doctor’s office. The doctor let me in, shut the door and then casually turned to look at me and asked me what I did in life. I was completely caught off guard by that question. What do I do in life? I don’t know. I tell strangers I’m a writer usually, just for fun. I told him where I worked. He asked me about a particular product to see if we carried it at my work. I texted someone in grocery to find out. I told the doctor that we were wearing the same boots, yay! He looked at me and said, no we aren’t. “Yours are a fucking rip off and mine are the real deal. Yours are made in China, mine are not,” he told me. He dropped the papers he was holding and said shit like a thousand times. I was getting a little turned on. He then asked me if I had kids or plans on having them, I said no. He then asked me to marry him. I told him I was married so he told me to leave his husband and marry him. I think I said ok. I appreciated his confidence and boldness. We chatted more and he told me he really liked me and instead of coming back to get the blood work done he would get me in now. I think he swore again at something then asked me to run away with him to Australia. I think I said ok. Then he sat at his desk looking a little tormented. He turned to me and said, I really like you, so instead of making you come back to get your results I am going to give you my personal e-mail. In a month, just shoot me an e-mail and ask me to give you the results. I watched as he wrote his gmail address on a prescription pad and hand it to me. I thanked him very much as I left the office and felt like I had just had a kind of hot date with this doctor. Oh did I mention he was probably in his late 70’s or early 80’s? Yeah, his confidence and potty mouth transcended his age. When I went down to get my blood done I got a text back form my colleague with all the details of the product the Doctor wanted to know if we carried. So I wrote all the info on my business card and asked the nurse to deliver it to the Doctor who had propositioned me with marriage. They laughed and promise to bring it to him. I left the hospital wondering if I had just met my soul mate, it was a weird, hilarious feeling that stayed with me for quite awhile. I have yet to e-mail him but if I do and you never see me again, he has taken me away to Australia never to be seen again…

When my co-worker and I went to Chicago a couple weeks ago we had a moment on the plane where we realized we needed to talk about our hotel/sleeping etiquette because we would be sharing a room. My co-worker confessed, reluctantly, that she was a snorer. I was surprised but reassured her I always have ear plugs on me, no problem. I told her I saw her snoring and raised her the possibility of me shitting my pants if I ate gluten. She laughed because I think she thought I was kidding…

My roommate and I went to a bar the other day. We watched a server drop off the meals to this one table, one of which was in a bread bowl. I looked at my gluten free friend and said, remember when that bowl looked liked something fun to eat? Now it looked like a bowl of diarrhea.

We also went out to the market last weekend. I cleverly brought no purse just my debit card in my back pocket. We went to a couple of bars trying to see where the fun crowd was. We went to Pub 101 because we hadn’t been there since University and when we got in the bar it looked like the age of when we had been in there last, was still their current clientele. So young! The guy asked for ID from everyone around us except us. When we got in we realized we practically looked liked overdressed Mom’s in a sea of 18 year old underdressed Barbies. So we decided to try the Whiskey Bar because we had also had some hilarious memories of being there in University and there was a line up which meant there were people inside, yay! When we got to the front of the line the bouncer asked us for ID. I laughed and said I didn’t have any (because I actually didn’t) but it was okay because I was obviously not 18. He said he wouldn’t let me in. I looked at him and said, listen you look familiar, you are from my hometown therefore you know we went to high school together and there is no way I am underage, got it? He said there was no way he was letting me in. I was so mad! As we walked away I told my roommate all the reasons how there is no way I could be 18!! I have grey hair for God’s sake!! Bags under my eyes!! I have a saggy body that no 17 year old in the world could ever have!! That guy was just being a power tripping diiiiiick!! Anyhoo, next time we went out I brought my ID and no one asked for it once confirming the fact that I do in reality look like an old person.

I went away to Toronto last weekend to visit my friend who was moving away. It was a quick there and back trip. I had planned before I left to be back Sunday night in time for going to nineties night at Barrymore’s with my roommate. So we pre-drank at the house and took a traveller for the walk to the bus. I only ever take the bus late at night either on way to bar or on way back (this was my second time ever) and I am telling you, taking the bus is the best people watching fun a person can have!! There was a guy in the front telling us all kind of weird jokes. The rest of the bus laughed, mainly at us, because we had the joy of dealing one on one with this guy’s odd antics. There were people keeping to themselves, people joining in on the conversation and stupid good looking people that looked like Jax from SOA distracting us from fun mental health joke guy with the cowboy hat on. So much fun. Anyways, so we got downtown and lined up into Barrymores and started getting concerned as we seemed to be the youngest people in line. We then realized it was 80’s and 90’s night. The guy directly in front of us was in his fifties or sixties and was doing stretches while wearing zebra print platform shoes…he was STRETCHING before going into a club and wearing animal print PLATFORMS…we decided to give it a try anyways. We got in, they made me check my leather coat (not real) which I wanted to hold onto. Then when I went to get a drink they had no good rum, cider or anything that didn’t suck so I had a shitty rum and coke and then they didn’t accept debit so my roommate had to pay for it. Ugh. We walked up and down the stairs at Barrymore’s because I had had a lot of anxiety about going back and dealing with my stair nemesis. I had been kicked out of Barrymore’s 2-3 times in the past for tripping on the stairs, one time was because they were wet and I honestly just slid a bit but if you argue with bouncers saying you are not drunk, you come off as seeming like a belligerent drunk, so it never works. After going up and down and not tripping, sliding or falling down them I felt confident I had won this round. We went to the dance floor where it was a sea of what looked like soccer Mom’s wearing baby doll shirts (hopefully dressing for nineties nights?) drinking red wine… I decided to announce we were the youngest vaginas there and that we should go. My roommate agreed and we quickly left.

We decided to go to Babylon next door which ended up being stupid fun. Mod night on a long weekend was amazing. They had cider on tap, an interesting mix of people and awesome music. I was wearing the most non breathable clothing known to mankind (corduroy) so after two hours of non stop dancing and singing my hair was matted to my head and I was my own personal sauna. It was like hot yoga but wayyyyy more fun and with alcohol. It was more spiritual for me to power dance to music I loved then quietly watching sweat drip down stranger’s bodies. A guy outside the club asked me what I did in life (again?) I asked what he did to redirect. He said he was a writer so I said me too. I said I wrote comedy (this is my going out persona, in my head I pretend to be Tina Fey or Amy Poehler, I was two seconds away from saying I was on SNL but I thought that was less believable). He said he wrote philosophy so I went ohhhhh you must be unemployed! He said he indeed was and then I laughed uncontrollably back into the club. If I relied on my writing for a career I would also be unemployed so I was laughing just as much at my situation as I was his. Anyways, we danced another couple hours, best form of exercise ever!