Cash

The other day, I was standing outside my house at school, and across the street from me is a popular apartment complex for students. I was waiting for my friend to come over from the apartment complex, so I’m wait for her on the side of the ally. I think I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt; nothing special. Life of a college student.

I’m watching the gate of the complex to see her come out, and out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of a pimped out Mercedes creep toward me. Then stop. Uh oh, here we go. This “pimped out” Mercedes has black tinted windows and is fully decked out in “classy” (ahem… sarcasm) upgrades. Slowly the passenger window unrolls… “What are you doing?”

I look around with a “who me?” expression… “excuse me?!” I look over and the driver – a creeeeppyyyy, slicked-back-with-so-much-hair-gel dude driving the pimp-mobile is leaning across the seats to look through the passenger window and is trying to talk to me.

“What are you doing?! You are too hott to just be standing there.” Good pick-up line… NOT.

Me: “I’m waiting for someone” as my instincts kick in and I start walking away… there is no way you could PAY me to stick around that dude…

Pimp: “Do you even know who I am!?” and drives away… thinking to myself: uh no your Re-Re… how would I know you??

So I walk up the way a little bit to get away from the guy and I run in to my friend K who is riding his bike to the gym. He stops and I tell him just what happens. K says: “He must be a porn star.” Perfect. As K and I are talking, pimp-mobile flips a U-turn, stops in front of us, and unrolls the drivers side window. Pimp puts his arm out the window with… wait for it…  AN EFFING FAN OF CASH, and not just dollar bills, but more in the sense “dolla dolla bills y’all”, and yells “YOU COULDA HAD THIS!!!!”  waits for the reaction, then drives away. THERE. IS. NO. WAY. THIS. IS. REAL. LIFE. K and I’s jaws are on the floor.

K pulls himself together, goes: “yup. A pimp.” then bikes away, leaving me with my jaw still dragging on the pavement. THEN my friend comes out from the apartment complex… she couldn’t have come like 3 minutes earlier?! Real life. Cash money. 

Date

So I’m just going to say it… I’m a bit of a world traveler. I am from Vancouver, go to school in the states, my mom lives on the other side of Canada, my dad sometimes lives in Europe… Basically I’m a nomad and I know my way around an airport preeeeetttty well. So, naturally, this story takes place on one of my many travels.

Once upon a random day I was visiting my mom, and heading back to Vancouver. I was on an early morning (like really early, like I-don’t-think-I’ve-ever-seen-that-time-of-day-before early) and as usual travelers were cranky, airport staff was cranky, people were tired and wishing they weren’t about to board a germ filled plane with a hundred other cranky people. The world around me wasn’t looking so bright and shiny, but I was my usual happy self. I boarded the “aircraft” (as the steward kept referring to it as) and am sitting in my seat in the aisle (just typed that aizle by accident… Gangster version… obvs) and am the first on in my row. What else are you going to do but sit there and look and each person boarding and wonder if they are going to be your Siamese twin for the next bunch of hours… “Please not you… please not you… please not you… Oh god, please REALLY not you!” I think to myself as contestant after contestant walks by. After about 5 minutes of this, I’m still on my onesies… and am starting to get a) excited about because that means I don’t have to be a Siamese twin with a stranger, and b) am getting bored of saying “please not you” close to a hundred times, which tends to happen when you have the attention span of a goldfish. So I pull out my phone and start fiddling (in case you were wondering, it is still safe to use my phone at this point because we hadn’t left yet… in case you were thinking, “Oh god this idiot is using her phone on a plane.. ahem aircraft… What a Re-Re).

Texting away, I suddenly hear, “… uh excuse me, I think I’m sitting beside you.” Insert jaw drop here. Before me is probably one of the most attractive men I have ever seen. And he just TALKED TO ME AND IS SITTING BESIDE ME! OMFG. I quickly (actually probably not that quickly) compose myself and get out of his way so he can snake in and immediately we start chatting. “Good morning, how are you?”, “Can you believe all the cranky people in the airport?!” (good, so it wasn’t just me), and so on. Then we get to talking about how we are sitting behind the emergency exit row, which is the best because those seats don’t recline. WIN!... or so we thought. At that moment, the steward goes up to the emergency row peeps and makes sure all patrons are “willing and able” (my favourite line on an airplane because uhhhh NO IM NOT WILLING FOR THE PLANE TO GO DOWN ASS HOLE!!!! But that’s just me.) Unfortunately, there was a kid in the emergency row with his mom, who was under 10 and therefore cannot sit in that row, so the steward says he’s going to have to move them, and turns to look for people to switch with the mom and son. At which point I IMMEDIATELY put my head down, because I always get picked for that stuff… but sure enough hotty beside me looks right at the steward, who then goes, “are you two together?” referring to me and Hotty McHotterson… (uhhhmmmm I WISHHH, I say in my head… at least I hope in my head). We look at each other and unison and go “no.” but the steward disregards this and asks us to move anyway.

EFF. Now we have the seats that don’t recline. But HA jokes on me, because they do, and I get very excited.

The entire plan ride, except for a brief interruption of a nap (because again it was like the CRACK of dawn) we talked and learned about each other. About an hour before landing he asks, “so… what are you doing today?” I reply, “uh. Nothing” (cause I’m a loser). Him: “want to get breakfast?” Me: YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES DATE DATE DATE DATE DATE DATE DATE – in my head—“yeah, that would be cool I guess” –to him—.

And so we went on a breakfast date. And he was the perfect gentleman. And that is where I learned the most exciting part about him. He is a Detective. YES a Detective. In the Serious Crimes unit. For the amount of CSI (Las Vegas, Miami, and New York), Castle, Rookie Blue, The Mentalist and EVERY OTHER COP DRAMA THERE IS (ahem… Cops), this is VERY exciting news for me… AKA like my life dream… A date with a detective.

The end. 

Shit.

Do you ever have those "special" moments in the day where you just want to say "What...The...Shit just happened?!" I'm not exactly sure whether this is normal or not, but I experience this ALL the time... Like on a daily basis sort of ALL the time, so I figured I would share with you. 

My life is a four letter word. 

This blog is a series of my many mistakes -- mostly involving men, or being asked out in the strangest/stupidest/crudest/rudest ways possibly, been told fucked up stories, met random strangers, and much more that make me say... Oh God. My friends laugh at my general misfortune or ridiculous experiences that could not be made up. Even if I tried. 

To ensure no one is mortified by these accounts, all names will be changed.

Shit.

Shit is a four letter word that pops in to my head quite often... "Holy shit!", "What the Shit?!", "Oh Shit!", or just plain old "Shit." is a preference to say after some joke life has played on me. It was exclamatory when I realized I needed to start writing some of this shit down...

Like this one time (no... Not at band-camp... Rude), I was at a bar watching the final game for the Stanley Cup playoffs, and I happened to be texting (a boy... Obviously), when I get a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and this 50+ Iranian man goes, "I just had to tell you, you are the fastest texter I have ever seen... I want to enter you in to a texting contest..." uhhhmmmmmm whhhaaaaaatttt?! I say to myself... "Who IS this guy?!" as it continues to get worse. He's blabbing away when he goes, "and not that I'm reading your message or anything..." okay, obviously you were because you just said that. Ew. "... But you didn't even make one mistake! I am going to enter you in to a texting contest!!!!!" Bingo!... and Shit. Ok, so a) he was watching me text, b) he's reading my messages (can anyone say AWK!) c) he wants to enter me in a texting contest... Holy shit! Who DOES that!? So then this lovely specimen of a man asks what I do, because obviously (his words:) I must be smart because of how well I can text without making mistakes... I mean, I guess that must make me smart, EXCEPT A 5 YEAR OLD CAN DO IT!!! So I go on and tell him blah blah blah (booooooooorrrrinnnnggggggg), and he tells me he is a web designer. Great. Then he exclaims: "Ah! Because you are so smart you should look at my new website I am in the process of reconstructing. I would looooove to hear from you and tell me what you think!" and proceeds to hand me his business card. Ok, he wants ot hear from me again. Gross. Let me tell you that I am in my twenties and he is ooohhhhhh OVER 50. Ugh. 

So old man leaves and I'm left to enjoy the rest of the period of hockey... Which is like one minute because he talked for so dang long... And I hand his business card to my friend M who is a web genius. Later that night I get an email with a link from M telling me to check out webby's website... Lets just say this guy should quit his day job, and maybe start thinking about talking to girls his own age. Shit.