Monday, 28 February 2011

That's Not My Jacket

If you've just run across this blog, check out my first post, it might explain this a bit more.

I get excited around people. Because of this, I don't need drugs or to get completely bonkers wasted. I can cruise through most of the night on a solid beer high and make it through till quite late. I've just always kind of been that way. Never the sloppy drunk, but always ready to roll.

But for some odd reason this time around of being single I am periodically getting completely plastered.

I don't think you could ask any of my ex girlfriends if they've ever seen me really smashed more than once or twice through our entire relationship, yet over the last few months I have done this to myself multiple times.

Near the beginning of my breakup I had decided to move out of the former shared accommodation that I had with my ex. The apartment was nice but because of the circumstances it had been reduced to the "cave of doom" in my fragile mind. A change was needed, and it just so happened that a business partner had a brand new shiny investment property that was just completed, and with the economic Armageddon that the real estate market had been suffering through, it was apparent that he would have to eat the cost of the mortgage for a lot longer than anticipated. Perfect! I'll move in, we can cover the mortgage and I can escape any painful memories of my former relationship!

So I move in....and the place sells in a week. Crap.

So now I'm homeless. Well not exactly. I'm fortunate enough to have some options, and was put up by some friends in a giant house is a posh neighborhood, and also had the luxury of a close friend who lives right in the city for any late night excursions I might find myself embarking on.

This one particular occasion I was frequenting an establishment that I end up quite often on Saturday nights. A safe place that is often wrought with drunken ass dancing and Jaegermeister shots. This night was no different, and I ended up being way past my "Beer drunk cruise level of drunkenness".

And as my night wound down and I decided I needed to pull the chute, I grabbed my jacket and headed into a cab. Though I was beyond my normal, very comfortable level of beer-infused intoxication, I'd had a great night and was off to the other side of town to pass out at my friends.

Then my first problem occurred; as I tried to slip on my jacket in the back of the cab, it wouldn't go on. Now, I was drunk enough to not understand why my jacket wouldn't fit, but not too drunk to look at it and recognize it as a very similar black peacoat, pretty much identical to mine. Now my memory is obviously quite fuzzy, but I do remember repeatedly attempting to slip this jacket over my shoulders with absolutely no luck whatsoever.

I didn't figure it out until I was in front of my friends apartment that this wasn't my jacket. In fact, it was a very, very small version of my jacket. As I buzzed up and walked into the apartment, it occurred to me that not only was this not my jacket, but my keys, credit cards, ID, you name it was actually in my jacket, and the pockets of this one only contained a cell phone and a pack of smokes.

I just stood there in the living room of my friends pad, as him and his buddy - who were clearly both at least as drunk as I was - just stared at me as I explained what was going on. They tried the phone....but who do you call at 3:00 in the morning from a phonebook of random names? When you're drunk?

Then all of a sudden I just stopped and told them; "I have to go back".

I I know I was quite trashed, but I distinctly remember getting this weird panic-y feeling that I had to bring this jacket back to the bar. So ignoring the protests of my buddy ad his friend, I bolted back out into the blustery winter rain.

I should note that even though the venue was in the city, it was still a solid 25 minute walk from the apartment, and had been closed for 45 minutes, and I had no wallet or money to take a taxi.So with my logic, and drunken reasoning, I just started to run. In the middle of the night, in torrential rain, with no jacket on, just a tiny peacoat in one hand and a mystery cell phone in the other.

I ran the whole damn way there.

And as I rounded the final corner before arriving, I actually began thinking about what the hell I was going to do when I got there. I mean the place was closed, and though people are usually inside cashing out and having a nitecap, the actual patrons had been ushered out the door over an hour ago.

As I ran up the front door, there was a group of people still standing there, as I'm about to go pound on the entrance I see that one of the people in the crowd is a girl...wearing my friggin jacket. I'm so winded and soggy I cant even speak, I just walked up to her and held out her jacket and cell phone like I was seeking penance at a damn confessional.

Her and her friends just looked at me and started shrieking. "It's HIM!"

What they were still doing outside the club this late and how they seemingly recognized me I had no idea, but there they were, and she was wearing my jacket.

So as we returned each other our respective outerwear, I noticed that my pockets were bare. I went from elation to utter disappointment, and though we were all joyously (and drunkedly) talking through the mind grenade that was this overcoat reunion, I had to stop the party to say; "Guys, thanks a ton for not stealing my jacket, but where's all my stuff?"

At that exact moment the doors to the bar opened and a girl walked out, looked right at me, reached in the pocket of her jeans and handed me all my crap. Huh?

Well in my inebriation I hadn't worked out the logic that they'd also had my ID and knew exactly what I looked like. In fact, these wonderful people had already sent me a facebook message letting me know I grabbed the wrong jacket and they had all my stuff.

Needless to say the reunion was joyous, so naturally, instead of hiking back to my buddy's apartment, they hosted me in a very late night condo party in one of their' beautiful homes just around the corner, where I proceeded to become BFF's with my new found jacket-keepers.

Now why I insisted on running through the rain in the middle of the night to a closed nightclub miles away from a warm, cozy bed I will never know. I just know I had to go.

I'm still in touch with a few of these folks, and its always great to see them, But tho it was a great adventure it only leads my to question why I'm so damn lucky in life, but so unlucky in love?

Sunday, 20 February 2011


If you've just run across this blog, check out my first post, it might explain this a bit more.

I've always been so intrigued when girl friends of mine tell stories of getting creeped on facebook. 

I mean, its pretty blatant in the actual design of the damn website that it is reserved for "friends" to keep in contact. And even though a "friend" on facebook is the loosest sense of the word, there is still somewhat of an unwritten rule saying "Hey, I KNOW you in some way, let's stay in contact".

I can't for the life of me figure out how dudes would think its cool to just try to add a girl based on a picture they saw on another friends profile. For starters, unless you're in the picture yourself, you are obviously creeping...which is essentially what facebook is for, but as long as we all continue to do it without openly talking about it, it can remain our dirty little secret. All of ours.

Secondly,  reaching out and contacting somebody without actually "knowing" them is desperate and weird on a whole different level, and takes a whole lot of self UN-awareness to go through with it. I mean there are legit reasons sometimes, but I hear stories all the time where random people just ask to be a friend. Boggles my little mind it does.

That being said. It only is weird for boys, because I got facestalked by a girl. And. It. Was. Awesome. One of the most flattering things that has ever happened to me. The story goes like this:

My business partner and myself were attending an industry event at a reasonably posh lounge. One of the typical schmooze-fests that tech industry folk love to throw together. Now I'm as social a guy as any, but meeting people so unnaturally makes my skin crawl. There's nothing organic or natural about the interactions at these things. I like to meet people, not their business representatives. Opening a conversation with "What do you do?" and handing a person a card is the social equivalent of a coffee vending machine.

So as I slog through this event, I spend most of the time sidled up to the bar minding my own, making polite conversation with the bartending staff. I feel comfortable doing that most times because I can often identify with the sheer boredom or exhaustion or half-assed attempts to remain charismatic that comes with the job.

Now I don't remember being extraordinarily funny or witty or anything, but I'd like to believe that I was a refreshing distraction from the revolving door of "I'm so awesome" business professionals barking their martini orders at the staff. I did speak a tad more with one of the ladies behind the bar, who - since I was drinking water - opted to make me a special flavor and fruit filled non-alcoholic beverage. I thought that was quite nice. But that's it. 

As the event ended, I politely said my goodbyes and hit the ol' dusty road.

The next morning I get a facebook message with the subject line: "We didnt exchange numbers..."


The message body continued..."So I had to resort to finding you via facebook, which feels creepy and exciting at the same time."

I check the person who sent it, I don't recognize the name. I race through the profile pictures...and then it hits me...special flavor and fruit filled non-alcoholic beverage girl!

Well, well... I chortled as I stroke my beard...

And I immediately start this creepy? Like how did she know how to find me? Did I say my last name? No way she remembered. Did I mention where I work? Should I be scared of this person?

Then I realized, if this was a dude doing this to a girl....that's a 99 on the creep-o-meter...but a girl doing it to a boy? An attractive girl? RAD!

She suggested I call, ummm...fuck ya.

Aaaand she turned out to be pretty awesome, if not somewhat eccentric, but in a totally awesome kind of way. Even showed up with a bottle of bubbly, what girl does that?

The kind that has the cojones to reach out to a random dude on facebook and drop them a line. Fucking fearless.

Man I'm glad she wasn't a psycho. (whew)