My bruised ego has yet to inflate again after that discouraging assessment. Yesterday, I went to the gym but realized I forgot a hair elastic, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be one of those middle-aged, bleach blonde, over-tanned women who work out in $200 Lulu Lemon outfits with their hair flowing freely.

And then I checked my phone to discover a text from Beerman:

“Molson mega keg tickets, you in?”

Whereupon my fate was immediately decided, and so I ditched my work-out and had drinks with some buds I haven’t seen in awhile. Did I ever tell you about the time I lived with Beerman while he was a Molson Rep, and our household received 12 dozen cases of free booze a week, plus unlimited tickets and VIP access to concerts and special events?

Those were good times.

Anyway, I met up with the gang at the Sundance. I walked into the event and was immediately assaulted by three nearly-naked women shoving beer and food tickets at me, and a can of Molson Canadian. I was a little overwhelmed.

Later, I popped in and out of the front entrance to give Chef a ticket while he was still in line-up. Then, as I walked through, the same girls (who had seen me leaving just a minute before) smiled brightly, and thrust the token free entry beer at me. I grasped it, stunned, then quickly recovered.

“THANKS!” I said, and ran away before someone realized their mistake.

Internet, I have never done anything so deceitful in my life, I swear. I’m the kind of girl who can’t keep secrets about surprise parties just because it feels wrong to lie. My conscience is the single most important ruling factor in my life, and yet, when it comes to matters of alcohol, even my conscience has questionable motives.

IMG_1948

My entourage. I don't know who the guy on the end is.

My entourage. I don't know who the guy on the end is.

The rest of the night went smashingly: watched Wintersleep perform, got drunk for extremely cheap, bar hopped to the Rob Roy, Konfusion, The Dock. At Konfusion, I mistook a friend’s wandering hands for a gesture of interest, and so I kissed him.

When I tried kissing him again, he backed off and said: “I’m kinda seeing someone right now.”

Oh really, well I would never have guessed by the hands that were trying to find their way into my pants just a few seconds before. I literally turned and bolted like a scalded cat.

I met up with Chef and his buddy and then we checked to Trapper John’s on the way home, where one of the boys tried to pick up an epileptic girl with a seizure dog. I told him he was a monster for even considering it. He told me today that she had propositioned him for sex. Apparently the pity thing works REALLY WELL.

Anyway, I had a rough morning starting out at work, but I swear I’m more productive after a night of drinking. It’s like I feel so incredibly guilty for being out late that I have to make up for it the next morning.

Again with the life-devouring conscience.

IT'S A THURSDAY NIGHT.

IT'S A THURSDAY NIGHT.

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