We hopped aboard a GO bus bound for Toronto. A bus I used to travel on frequently back in my University days. A bus I had forgotten existed. Too bad really. I'm sure I've wasted much time, gas and road rage travelling the Q.E.W. in my car all these years. Earlier that day I was smacked with a headache when the hubby smoked us out of the house by burning his must have toast. (He's always eating. That is something we'll discuss again a little later.) The pounding had almost subsided when much to my displeasure did the idiot behind me start laughing at regular and annoying intervals. What was he laughing at? Dunno. Don't care. But we snapped a pic on Liz's phone all the same. Maybe she'll show it to ya.
6:30 or somewhere there by; We have arrived at GO Union Station(not to be confused with Union Station. Another thing we'll come back to later.) Damn it's chilly. No. Make that freezing! The wind is whipping up my skirt like a wind that isn't whipping won't. Another forgotten T.O. memory. Chicago ain't the only windy city my friends. And with the wind comes the lovely stench of rot...or maybe it's Angus Thripshaw? Da Da Dum (a little elbow swingin' dance). In any case, we walked a few city blocks full of anticipation. Along the way we passed my old stompin' grounds and a few pubs that were already overflowing with lines of eager drinkers and drunkards and maybe even a few leprechauns...or maybe that was later. Not sure now. Worry started to set in that we might have to wait in the literally stinkin' cold. Nearing the bar I could see that the line was much smaller than we had seen previously, consisting of 30 people at best. Well. Let. Me. Tell. You. A line of 30 waits 2 hours. I'm fairly decent at math, so that's 60 minutes per hour multiplied by 2 is 120 minutes divided by 30 is 4. So, every 4 minutes 1 person entered the building. HOLY SHIT! Except that sneaky miss Liz was slipped a smoking pass by some loverly fellar leaving the bar and she got in 20 minutes before the man and I. Bitch! I almost lost my toes.
9:00pm, or there abouts and we are finally sitting down with a pint and an irish whiskey in hand. Ahhhh. As my good friend Bucky used to say, thank god for that sweet, delicious booze. About 1/2 a pint later and Moxy and Green Fish make their entrance looking much like the fine photos they have shared; Fish sporting his fabulous mohawk and Moxy with her sweet sweet smile. But as the night went on, we discovered they were just the sort of folk you only come across when stars collide (or is that align?). They are rich with character, humour and warmth. Later that night Moxy fluffed the pillows and turned down the sheets to her own bed for me and the man, whilst she slept on the couch and fish slept on a dog bed. He insisted. But the man repaid them with a fridge full of floor kaisers, meat, sliced cheese and hot sauce. Let me come back to that.
Entering stage right is Newfie Steve. SIDE STORY- earlier in line I was telling liz about the show Keeping Up Appearances and how Hyacinth was a wannabe royal brit who insists that her last name,Bucket, is actually pronounced Bouquet. Not sure how the topic came up but it did. Then low and behold we meet Steve...END OF SIDE STORY- ...but we can call him Bucket. What did he say? We can call him Bucket? Of course we just had to tell him the side story and his response was "oh ya. I used to work with a fag who insisted on calling me Bouquet." Allllllrighty then. What are the ridiculous chances? Turns out Bucket was here from the East Coast to support his cousin who was touring with his choir, Men of the Deeps.
Entering stage left is Angus Thripshaw and Larry David. Not too much to tell here except that I had no idea the 2 were musically inclined. WTF?
At some point this guy joined our group.
And as all good leaches do, he hung on. As you can see, I was rather confused by his presence. He also had an equally annoying friend who sat behind me muttering and occasionally would ask me if I was all right. Funny. I had been wondering the same thing about him.
After much laughter, Irish song, and copious amounts of deeelicious booze we had closed the bar. When the last time I did that was...well...3 weeks ago for Liz's birthday.
Anyhoo, with the offer to stay at our new blog friends' apartment we forcibly piled into a cab and then spilled out onto the sidewalk a few blocks later. On the way towards the apartment we stopped at one of the many RABBA food marts for a little drinkie mix. Once settled in upstairs, Green fish poured us a fine green cocktail (rather fitting) of which we were not to ask the ingredients. All of a sudden the hubby realized he was starving and a little unnerved at the fact that noone had purchased any beef. Cause everyone needs beef at a quarter to four in the A.M. After discovering noone would deliver any beef, he trotted back down to the store, returning with none other than...no beef. He did however find the floor kaisers. Yes. In the gals first trip into the store they had admired in horror the bags of kaisers that were being displayed, elegantly on the floor. Apparently the man thought they needed rescuing along with one length of polish sausage, sliced cheese, 2 tomatoes, 4 Johnny Canuck-ring of fire dried pepperettes, 1 bag of blue corn chips, 1 tub of hummus and of course- something the man can never do without- a bottle of hot sauce. None of which he ate. Instead. He passed out.
For 3 lovely hours the man on I slept on our friends' soft, warm bed. Several hours and numerous vomits from the male section later, we made our way out for breakfast. Despite clear skies and a blinding sun, the streets were windier and colder than ever. In return for the comfort of their abode, we treated moxy and fish to breakfast and bid them a short farewell. We had a bus to catch. Our cabbie must have been more hungover than we were cause he took us to the train station(Union Station) instead of the bus station(GO Union Station). They're close. But not close enough. By the time our feet hit the platform it was 11:33 and we had missed the bus we'd planned on taking. Ah well. Liz found an abandoned newspaper to occupy her time. In it we discovered that someone may be plotting the death of Stephen Harper.