THE FREENESS WEEKEND PART THREE: Bar Trek
SUNDAY
Iko, a Japanese ESL student, couldn’t make it on Saturday night but thank whatever non-existence deity you superstitiously worship that she joined us on Sunday because that girl’s amazing. REAAARRRRRY amazing! She has that rocker, trendy style usually only attempted by Gwen Stafani back up dancers, but more than that she makes you laugh, is genuinely down for anything and is impossible not to love. Cutest thing ever.
We met her and some of her cronies at the Cactus Club in Yaletown. If you can’t guess from the name ‘Yaletown’, it’s yuppie central in Vancouver. She was drinking a highball called Nothing But Pink and showed us the Japanese hand maneuver representing coitus (it’s like the thing you do when you ‘steal someone’s nose’) and entertained our questions on the Yakuza.
The night was mostly frustrating – we walked down to Shine (about 30 minutes, maybe more) only to find out it was Lesbian night and was 15 bucks to get in. Themba knew of a place, Lucy Mae Brown, which was known for its Sundays but was not sure of its location. We got faulty directions from a woman on the street (I remember you Suzie, you bitch!) The drunken Irishman taking swigs from a wine bottle on the sidewalk was less help. We trudged back all the way near Yaletown again to eventually stumble upon the club. We only savored the good music and friendly vibes for about a half hour before last call, but I will remember the place for future outings. If only I had friends who would stay in the city…
I saw a pro skater there, who’s name escaped me, but he was fully sponsored and drove a Lexus and was 18, so good for him. There was a right soused strumpet on the dance floor who I swear to god, with one of her Elaine-like gyrations showed the whole bar a nipple. It was a good night, but truncated and we all were a bit tired and tired of drinking as well.
That was my weekend, more or less. The boys are over the Pacific now and I wish them many happy returns. Biff is canoodling with a Californian émigré in a complimentary hotel room, and me I’m getting ready for work. I do it smiling, however and there’s a fondness imbedded in my recent memories that will last far longer than any employment term. For if there’s one thing planes, the anonymity of inns, and someone’s misfortune of dropping a 20 and 10 on a tavern floor can provide it is the warm reminder of the boundless nature of life and the odd twists, permutations and calculations that make us feel truly free and deservedly privileged in those brief moments between myriad concrete obligations.
Iko, a Japanese ESL student, couldn’t make it on Saturday night but thank whatever non-existence deity you superstitiously worship that she joined us on Sunday because that girl’s amazing. REAAARRRRRY amazing! She has that rocker, trendy style usually only attempted by Gwen Stafani back up dancers, but more than that she makes you laugh, is genuinely down for anything and is impossible not to love. Cutest thing ever.
We met her and some of her cronies at the Cactus Club in Yaletown. If you can’t guess from the name ‘Yaletown’, it’s yuppie central in Vancouver. She was drinking a highball called Nothing But Pink and showed us the Japanese hand maneuver representing coitus (it’s like the thing you do when you ‘steal someone’s nose’) and entertained our questions on the Yakuza.
The night was mostly frustrating – we walked down to Shine (about 30 minutes, maybe more) only to find out it was Lesbian night and was 15 bucks to get in. Themba knew of a place, Lucy Mae Brown, which was known for its Sundays but was not sure of its location. We got faulty directions from a woman on the street (I remember you Suzie, you bitch!) The drunken Irishman taking swigs from a wine bottle on the sidewalk was less help. We trudged back all the way near Yaletown again to eventually stumble upon the club. We only savored the good music and friendly vibes for about a half hour before last call, but I will remember the place for future outings. If only I had friends who would stay in the city…
I saw a pro skater there, who’s name escaped me, but he was fully sponsored and drove a Lexus and was 18, so good for him. There was a right soused strumpet on the dance floor who I swear to god, with one of her Elaine-like gyrations showed the whole bar a nipple. It was a good night, but truncated and we all were a bit tired and tired of drinking as well.
That was my weekend, more or less. The boys are over the Pacific now and I wish them many happy returns. Biff is canoodling with a Californian émigré in a complimentary hotel room, and me I’m getting ready for work. I do it smiling, however and there’s a fondness imbedded in my recent memories that will last far longer than any employment term. For if there’s one thing planes, the anonymity of inns, and someone’s misfortune of dropping a 20 and 10 on a tavern floor can provide it is the warm reminder of the boundless nature of life and the odd twists, permutations and calculations that make us feel truly free and deservedly privileged in those brief moments between myriad concrete obligations.
posted by Jag at 6:18 PM
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