My Canada Adventure: Part Two

I feel I should preface this entry with a disclaimer.

You know the saying, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?" That's pretty much how I feel when I leave my area code(s)*. The entire rest of the world is my Vegas. But how fun would it be if I never got to talk about my adventures outside of the area code? So, really, I suppose my motto should be something along the lines of "What happens outside of my area code, happens guilt-free; Additionally, it gets told to whoever will listen." That's how I've been living my life for the past two or so years. (Also, this is one hell of a long entry. You've been warned.)

So, um, as you know, I left my area code this past weekend.

On Saturday night, Cindy and I attended the "Fifth Annual White Trash American Thanksgiving" party. It was at the apartment of a girl who is a friend of Cindy and of Venetia, Cindy's sister. I'm pretty sure the only thing at the party that was even close to being white trash was me (which was fitting since I was also the only American). The party was thrown in a gorgeous loft located in downtown Toronto. The loft was beautifully appointed. The tables were a vision in white with white tablecloths and white plates set for 20 people. There was nothing trashy about all that white. On the contrary, it was quite elegant.

I'm normally quite chatty from the moment I meet someone, but for some reason it took a bit of the drink to loosen my tongue that night. I think I felt a bit out of place. (Elegance + me = Does not compute.) Cindy and I were two of the first guests to arrive despite our unintentional attempt at being fashionably late. By the time the bulk of the guests arrived, Grey Goose and I had met a few times and I was feeling more comfortable in my skin. I think I might have been the most nervous to meet Venetia as she's been reading my blog for years, and I felt I had a lot to live up to because of it. (Don't ask me what I thought I had to live up to, because I have no idea. It's stupid, I know. In the end, it was like we knew each other already and there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about. We hugged upon meeting and were comfortable from the start. We just didn't get much time to talk for reasons that shall become clear.)

I had chosen a seat that happened to be in the pathway to the bedroom where everyone was putting their coats. This allowed me to meet everyone pretty soon after their arrival at the party. Everyone was incredibly friendly, which, along with the Grey Goose, helped to put me at ease. Cindy was really hoping that I would play up the Texan in me, but I found that my inner Texan disappears with nervousness. (Besides, I become more sure each day that I was really meant to be a Canadian.)

A couple of people mentioned that they thought they had met me before. At the first mention of it, I said, "I think that's impossible. Well, unless maybe you were in Vegas," as I scrutinized the guy to see if he was familiar to me as well. (He wasn't, but I wouldn't have been averse to becoming more familiar with him, if you know what I mean.) (I sound like a dirty old man.) After the third person told me that they thought they knew me, I said, in exasperation, "It's Carrie Fisher. I look like fucking Carrie Fisher."

"That's it! Princess Leia! You know, people have told me that I look like Luke Skywalker."

I laughed, and tried to remember what the relationship between Luke and Leia was. Were they brother and sister? Lovers? I didn't know as I haven't seen the movie since I was six-years-old. I wasn't sure if he was throwing me a cheesy pick-up line or just relating his own experience of being a look-alike. It turns out he was throwing me a cheesy pick-up line. (It also turns out they were brother and sister. Ewww.)

I was actually much more attracted to his friend at the beginning of the night. (Oh hell, I was attracted to most of the men at the party. It's been THREE MONTHS since I've had sex. I'm hitting the point where pretty much everyone seems worthy of consideration.) But as Luke (his name for the telling of this story) and I were both smokers, we spent more time together - out on the balcony, the designated smoking area. He became more attractive to me for a reason I couldn't immediately put my finger on. And, honestly, a part of it might have been that he was obviously attracted to me.

We were seated for dinner around 9pm (I think) and the hostess chose where everyone was to sit with the intention being that she would pair people up that didn't know each other well so that they could get to know one another better. Cindy plead for us to be seated at the "party table," but instead we were seated among an investment banker, a mother-to-be, and a tire salesman (nothing being wrong with any of those, of course, but they're not generally associated with being wild and crazy), with Luke being the tire salesman. (It's his family's company, so I suppose he's more than just a tire salesman, but it sure felt like we were getting the sales spiel as he droned on and on and on and on about tires. Yawn.)

As dinner progressed, Luke let his intentions be known. He wanted to take me home with him. I also realized why I had suddenly found him more attractive; he reminded me of my first love, both in looks and personality (Ahem. Warning sign #1, T.). I must have appeared to be amenable to the idea, and perhaps even vocalized it, because Cindy laid down the law to Luke.

"I want her back tomorrow morning. I only have her for a short time. Don't get attached. No, seriously, don't get attached. Also, take care of my friend. She's my sister from another mother."

He nodded his assent to each of her stipulations. I felt as if I'd just been given permission to do something illicit. (Oh, yeah, I was just given permission to do something illicit.) Luke was ready to go, but I wanted to stay longer so I told him we'd go in another hour. I also wanted to talk to Cindy without Luke being a part of the conversation. I mean, this seemed like a good idea, but I was also a tiny bit (read: a lot) tipsy. After I received her reassurance that my presence wasn't necessary at the hotel room, I felt better about the whole thing.

Over the course of the next hour, Luke and I would exchange glances, but spent our time talking with other people. Cindy was also trying to ferret out information about our man, Luke. As we were talking to a couple, we ascertained that Luke and another woman at the party had once had a brief relationship. Word on the street was that Luke was a lousy lay. (Yo. Warning sign #2!)

Now remember, I'm going through withdrawals. I'm not sure where the researchers came up with a woman's sexual peak being in her early 30's because my libido is so much more active at 36 than it ever was in my early 30's. (Though the cause of my lackadaisical libido could've been that I was married to an asshole and that I was depressed, but I digress.) In any case, I started to rationalize this tidbit of information. Perhaps it was a bitter break-up and her way of retaliating was to say that he sucked in bed. Or maybe she and I have different criteria for what constitutes good sex. And is bad sex such a terrible thing? I mean, how bad can it be? I decided it was time for me to leave with Luke and find out. We said our goodbyes, he grabbed a six-pack of beer, and we went downstairs to hail a cab.

(Lest you all think I was acting with no regard for my safety, remember that he was friends with the majority of the people at this party who in turn were friends of Venetia and/or Cindy. I wasn't concerned for my safety at all.)

Once we were in the cab and he had locked lips with me, I realized my first mistake: I hadn't kissed him before we left the party. Had we kissed BEFORE we left the party, we wouldn't have left the party together. I'm not even kidding. Kissing. Is. So. Important. As Luke is ramming his tongue in and out of my mouth, I'm inwardly groaning at my stupidity. I put my hand on his face, pull away, and say, "Let's get to know each other. Let's talk."

We made some idle chit-chat with him going in for a kiss when he could and me pushing him back away as subtly as possible.

"What do you think about stopping by a bar near my house for one more drink before we go home?"

What do I think? Yes! YES! One more drink will give me some time to try and figure out how I want this situation to play out and, at the very least, make me care a little less about his kissing skills.

"That sounds great," I replied.

"How do you feel about going to a strip club?"

"Really?"

"Really."

"Why not? When in Canada ..."

So, off we went to the strip club where the bouncer bore an uncanny resemblance to Ron Jeremy.

To be continued...


*What's that saying? Don't shit where you eat?