It's even nicer when you're underage. I remember going to my first bar when I was 16. Dude, did I feel powerful going by the doorman without showing my cards! My friend and I drank like everyone else, but ended the night watching stupid teenage movies and eating gummy bears at her place. There's nothing like gummy bears to remind you how immature you still are.
For those puritain readers living in the States, the drinking age is 18 here, so come on down and call me (ha, ha)! Unless Harper abolishes the gun registration, you may not bring your weapons, though.
So I started actual clubbing at the age of 17. Older friends had taught me about the proper attire and the proper men one should dance with. Proper men, however, are not part of my vocabulary, I soon found out. Good guys don't dance well because they're too shy. (Same thing goes for Germans. They've never learned to use their hips!) I had a lot of fun with black dudes and latino guys I would've never presented to my parents. Y'all had them tattoos, shaggy clothes 'n bandanas, y'know. Shiggas.
Shiggas were part of my world for a little while. Grinding was fun, but exchanging phone numbers became a bit too intimate. A relationship CANNOT start while grinding with hip-hop music blasting in one's ears. I tried, and the dude ended up in fact being eleven years older than I was.
Some guys are worth just having a very brief relationship with. Others would make good husbands... for my neighbor. It's one or the other. Bad-ass or goody-two-shoes. Aren't there any compromises in Montreal? Fun guys, good-looking if possible, who don't carry knives in their pockets, who would have a slightly more extended vocabulary than "yo" or "chill"?
That's what we'll see in my next blog post. I have a busy weekend ahead, filled with parties. I'll let you guys know what kind of fishies are in those oceans.
