Hangovers, Hockey, And Yet Another Failed Stalking Attempt

Hangovers, Hockey, And Yet Another Failed Stalking Attempt

Yesterday Other Jen and I went for a brunch at this super cute cafe in Mile End, on the corner of Esplanade and Fairmount. The atmosphere was cozy and the decor inspiring to the point that I became temporarily (I’m over it now) certain that i needed to have a cage of barred soap on my bathroom wall. I took these photos just for you but they don’t capture the energy well. I think you should probably just go there.

The coffee is tasty and they serve a tofu scramble which I quite enjoyed, despite the terrible company.

Honestly, I don’t know what Other Jen was thinking, drinking so much the night before, with no regard for how her hangover might put a damper on my Sunday.

I hadn’t seen her in forever and stored up all the juicy dirt of my life to spill over lattes and sourdough, but when I stopped (for air) talking, instead of gazing into eyes of bewilderment and envy, I was met with a glazed over look of despair and alcohol induced nausea.

Jen knows perfectly well that I can’t make life changing decisions without her input and there she sat, with hardly a flicker of obvious brain activity paired with an almost visible buzz of smoke escaping from her left ear, as a result of the short circuit that attempted thought had provoked.

I rambled theatrically about the turmoil and torture that is my life; babbling endlessly about my deviant children, my tortured inner artist, fidelity vs liberty, the updated list of people I desperately want to bed, my critique of the film Django Unchained, and other earth shattering epiphanies.

Other Jen’s head bobbed lifelessly as she half halfheartedly pawed at her toast and licked the surface of the oatmeal in her bowl.

Thankfully, near the bottom of her coffee cup she found the inspiration to initiate a trip to the lingerie department of The Bay. She taunted me, by dangling beautiful Betsey Johnson jackets I couldn’t afford in front me and tried to bully me into buying hot pink bronzer but she let me watch her try on clothes in the changing room, which is good because honestly, I was beginning to wonder if there was any redemption great enough for her thoughtless over-consumption on the eve of our brunch date.

I released Other Jen at almost the same exact moment that my friend Nat showed up to drag me to a divey strip mall sports bar full of white-trash wannabe jocks to watch the hockey game. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m not.

I mean, sure the toilets had overflowed, flooding the entire bathroom and instead of actually cleaning it up, the staff just placed a plunger in the middle of the floor.

And sure the fries tasted like moldy socks.

And sure there was a cold gust of arctic wind that sailed into the bar every time somebody opened the door.

But it was pretty worth it, not only because we won the game, but also because watching Nat watch the game is pretty priceless in itself.

Because who doesn’t enjoy watching an adorable, petite, sweet, gentle, woman waving her fists in the air, slamming them on the table and swearing like a trucker? Am I right?

Although this adorable, petite, sweet, gentle woman is still the horrible friend who dragged me into that dive in the first place and probably the one to blame for whatever kind of e coli or scabies I may have contracted as a result of eating/peeing there…

Supposedly, we were originally going to go to a friend’s (who shall remain nameless even though her name is Joanne and there are as many Joannes in the world are there are Jennifers and Nathalies – so none of you would know who I’m talking about especially because she isn’t even the only Joanne to reject me, leaving me heartbroken and scarred for life), to watch the game, which would have been awesome, but said friend apparently had some sort of urgent matter making it impossible for her to entertain guests last night.

I suspect it had less to do with any urgent matter than it did to do with my being a bit of a stalker and she not wanting me to have possession of certain details pertaining to her home address.

I’m just saying…

As I re-read this post, I find myself at a loss as to how to end it and also at the realization that it’s time to find new friends, and then the more accurate realization that I really should consider myself lucky that anyone hangs out with me at all.

Liz, if you’re reading this, please don’t cancel our dinner date next week. I promise not to blog about it. I swear!

Alright, that’s enough. I’m off to the gym now, then to work and then to a Candyass Cabaret rehearsal. Tune in tomorrow for

And That’s Why My Last Four Friends Broke Up With Me…

Jennifer June

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