Wingmen are for Pussies

Dear E and H,

My ladies! So, right about now you are probably safely and happily ensconced in the sweet, bright starlight haven that is Cortes Island. If you see a dude in a newish burgundy Ford Ranger (I think, I'm shit with cars), say hi. It might be my Dad. Telltale sign will be the super smart looking tri-colour border collie riding shotgun.

As you know, I pulled the parachute on joining you this weekend. I've been harbouring a vicious cold for two weeks and was really lusting for a few days of agenda-free Melly time (PS, there are exactly two people that can call me that. No one that might be reading this are among those two people).

I had a lovely chill day, met a friend for coffee, went to Fabricland (only time I've ever gotten out of there for less than $20). By 7pm I was bored, and decided to channel the spirit of the solo hot chick from the Shout Out Out Out Out show and attempt a single sojourn out in public. So I tidied my shit up and headed out to Logan's to check out Pale Air and Mahogany Frog. Yes, the band name generator has officially run out options. (Awww...man... I made that shit up, but then googled it out of curiosity, and it exists!)

Blah blah blah, drunk irritating early 20s named Malcom and Boone (who, annoyingly, was dancing about like bloody Pan from The Mighty Hercules), high fiving all over the damn place. Anywhoo... I was sitting next to an annoying couple (what it is with me and being stuck near chicks that sound like dolphins?) and a dude struck up a conversation. He was out with another dude, apparently they were in a band 100 years ago together. I got much mileage out of teasing them about their man date. Chat chat chat, turns out he brokered my office's re-lease. Victoria is very small. Long story short, we hung out, they were leaving and I joined them for a smoke. Dude 1 left, dude 2 and I were walking in the same direction. At Pandora he was suddenly all 'yep, this is me' planted an awkward kiss on me and left. I was all 'whatthefuck!whatever!' and continued on my walk home, amused and a little confused. I got back to Le Village and, as I was about to pass Mac's thought 'wait, there is a reason I am supposed to stop at Mac's....' right... that would be my super delicate and high-maintenance kitty, who is out of home cooked food, and who I didn't want waking me up at 6 am.

So I go to Mac's to get a can of emergency tuna. But...the door is locked, and there is a 'Back in 5 minutes' sign up.

Let me tell you, nothing, and I mean nothing destroys your cool-solo-chick-out-on-the-town vibe faster than sitting outside a Mac's at 2am, waiting for the employee to finish taking his five minute shit, so you can buy a can of tuna for your whiny, bulimic 13 year old cat.

Except maybe getting home to a kitchen light you don't remember leaving on, grabbing your super sharp intruder knife and proceeding to check all the closets, behind the shower curtain, and under the bed.

It is next to me as I type, and hells yes, I'll be sleeping with that motherfucker tonight!

Oh, and I'm not sure why it's open to that page, but apparently I have entablature highlighted in my dictionary. That might be the most interesting revelation of the night.

Miss you guys!

xoxo ~ m