Bahaha. I’m so awesome. I plug an awesome blogger on the same day that I take over for her while she’s on vacation. I’m SHAMELESS.
Hi everyone. If you didn’t guess by the blatant guest-postery, it’s Ben from No Ordinary Rollercoaster, taking over yet another unsuspecting blog with my propaganda of wiener dogs, suburbs, common-law marriage and other genuinely un-20-something characteristics. Would it help to know that I’m listening to Girlicious as I write this?
By the way, who exactly is it that wants to be like them? I think that’s a crucial missing detail in their shiteous song. I think it would be more accurate if it was the Pussycat Dolls singing the song to Girlicious. And even then, I think I’d be embarrassed for everyone involved.
Back to business.
It just so happens that Alice is visiting my neck of the woods this week. For that reason, I think there’s no better time than the present to describe the dream date that I would have taken her on. Why aren’t we doing said date? Because the lure of the swimming pool has left me hungover with a taste of heatstroke. I suck. However, one day our paths will cross and at least we’ll have a plan. So without further ado…
10:30am – Meet for brunch. This is important because I don’t do meal-skipping. I needs my breakfast and Alice does too. I’ve decided that. We will eat many things covered in Hollandaise sauce.
12:00pm – What’s that? It’s now socially appropriate to drink? OKAY! We’ll grab a quick beer on a nice patio before strolling the shops. Spending is better when a little looped.
1:30pm – My credit card craves abuse because he has low self esteem and it makes him feel validated. Therefore, we will go and buy clothes that are part slutty and flashy, part old time class. During this activity, we will make blatant passes at each other by commenting on each other’s assets and maybe flashing some boob. Depends how the beer went down.
4:00pm – Beer makes us sleepy so we put on an awesome show like this and fall asleep for a bit. Growing drunks need their rest in order to make it through the sort of night that we deserve.
7:00pm – Time to run out and grab a light dinner and about 18 martinis each before heading home to get ready for the late shift.
9:00pm – Drink copious amounts of alcohol while showering and getting our hurr did. In Halifax, it’s not cool to get to the bars before midnight since they’re open until four. Must. Get. Soused. Beforehand.
12:30am – Stumble to a bar. Any bar. Or restaurant. Or video store. Whatever establishment that we can make it to without getting turned away.
1:00am – 4:00am – This time slot is appropriately foggy. We will do what we please, we will make poor choices and we will pay for them in the morning
9:00am – Wake up. Realize we are still drunk. Realize that we (hopefully) did not sleep together. Vomit. Never want to see each other again.
10:00am – Blog about it.
You know how girls always have that cutesy romantic fantasy of making out in the rain? Maybe of getting flowers delivered anonymously to her office? Or there’s the one where you get into a big screaming fight and then the girl says something controversial, and the guy yells can’t you see it’s because I love you? or something along those lines. I’m not sure what’s sexy or fantastical about a screaming match though, so that last one may just be my twisted mind.
Anyway, last night I decided that making out in the rain was certainly not cute enough. Or perhaps I figured it was TOO cute. See, I don’t really do cute/romantic/sweet. Yet, after a drunken night of two-stepping, cowboy hats and Bud (yuck – Bud sponsors the Stampede, it tastes like piss water to me) and after disrobing to hop in the shower with O/N, he pulls me outside for a little dance.
Side note: Yes. This really happened. To me. Yes I know, it’s wrong and cheesy and a little horrifying.
Remember though; I am naked. He is naked. It’s raining. We’re dancing. Obviously we ended up getting it on in the backyard with me bent over a flower pot.
So afterwards, after the shower, we’re laying in bed being idiots (we were trying to see who could make thier voice lower while saying “ohhhhh yeaaahh”, like in that commercial? He obviously won, being a boy and all but I think I put in a valiant effort), and he tells me he has a song for me. Keep in mind he is drunk here. He says: “AA [my initials] I think I love you, AA, I think I love you, dah dah dum dah” to which I giggled awkwardly and changed the subject.
What can I say. Dancing in the rain and confessions of love in a song, all in one night? Too much for a self-proclaimed cynic to handle.
Oh, and I just hope his neighbors don’t have telescopic-lensed cameras.