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Personal, The Daily Grind

Called Out

I posted a chat with this guy that I was seeing, Greg, about the Sam Ronson show last weekend, and, as expected, I took a bit of heat for it.

I’ll explain what happened.

Last weekend, it was my friend E’s last day at work and we were going out after to celebrate. There usually aren’t that many good shows to choose from in Edmonton, and it was a tough call between the Samantha Ronson set at The Bank and Treasure Fingers at The Pawn Shop. As, a venue, I hate The Pawn Shop but it’s mostly, because it’s not super close to my house and results in a cab ride home (+ the $4 surcharge for late night cab rides) and the bathrooms leave much to be desired.

I had never been to The Bank before, despite its proximity to my apartment. I didn’t really think I would enjoy the typical crowd that usually attends (I assumed it would be mostly high-maintenance chicks and the preppy douchebags that normaly aren’t far behind those girls, and I wasn’t too far off).

The crowd that night was also rife with more lesbians than you could should shake a stick at, makes sense, Samantha Ronson and all, but it just never occured to me before we got there.

I wanted to go to Treasure Fingers, but it was E’s call and it was brutally cold so The Bank won out.

The night was really without incident until the last couple of hours. I ran into my boss, his mistress, and some of my other friends. The opening DJ sucked balls, and it was almost too cold to smoke the B&H 100s that the laddy at the bodega had handed me accidentally.

Midway through Sam’s set, this chick was all up in my face, trying to kiss my neck, cheek and forcibly attempting to ram her tongue into any available orifice.

At first I was relatively polite about it, and tried to just brush it off, hoping that she’d take the hint that I wasn’t interested, and that I was just there to dance. But she persisted, so I eventually yelled at her and explained that I wasn’t into her touching me and that nothing would come of it.

“Look I know you think I’m really drunk, but I’m not – I’m just a bad dancer. Get off my ass.”

She eventually got the hint and moved on to another target, and shortly thereafter, some chick behind us dumped an entire beer down my side/half on the people who were standing next to me, seemingly unprovoked.

I didn’t get a good look at her, but security was on point that night and she was kicked out within minutes of that incident.

I went out to smoke and found my way back onto the dance floor only to be repeatedly accosted by this black guy in a turteneck (who wears a fucking turtleneck to the bar, creep?) He was literally griding my ass, and I kept whipping around and shooting his dirty looks and death glares. He didn’t really get the hint.

“Don’t fucking touch me again.”

I hissed. I’m huge on consent.

I stayed for a spell longer, and wasn’t feeling it and headed home. I was on the first day of my period, if I recall correctly and had the worst cramps imagineable.

I got home, took some Ambien and Motrin, and put myself tobed, since I had a day of snowboarding for Sunday planned and I didn’t want to have to scrap that because I was hungover on top of feeling like garbage.


About Nico

I'm not angry all the time, that's just how my face is.


One thought on “Called Out

  1. Ambien & Motrin– The best EVER combination. HAH. Sounds like it was an interesting night, for sure!

    Posted by Heather | January 31, 2009, 7:22 pm

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