Treava Comes to Town

Last night was all kinds of hilarious fun. After a day of hanging out in PJs, watching The Sopranos, and going to what turned out to be a super exciting Blue Jays game, I set off to meet up with Treava, who was visiting from Victoria, and a few other Hitched gals. And though only Debbie and I showed up (damn the rest of you!), we showed her some good times.

Thus I present: A Toronto Hitched Photo Montage!

Our dear guest, looking saucy early on in the evening. I actually found her at the top of the stairs coming in, conveniently enough.


We waited for a table for no more than two minutes when we discovered that Debbie had already arrived and was holding one for us. Kickass! FYI: Debbie had a great outfit on and her new haircut ruled.


I was pleased as punch to be hanging out with such fun gals. You can tell by the fact that I'm doing a virtual pirate eye with hair.


In any case, the night went on! We talked endlessly, snacked (somehow avoiding nachos), had a few drinks -- all was well. Debbie had to leave around midnight as she had to take transit to get home. Treava and I decided to finish our drinks. And that's when all hell broke loose.

A strange boy sat at the table next to us and asked: Ladies, can you talk to me for a minute? Are you in love?

Treava quipped: Well, yes. But not with each other.

The boy continued to blather on. He raged against the machine as follows: I think I'm in love but she's no good for me. You know how you always want to marry rich?

We looked at each other, snickered, and responded that, no, we didn't.

At this point he confessed that his beloved was "poorer than a churchmouse", thus his conundrum. How gauche. He also pointed out to us that every girl at the bar was just looking to marry money, so why was it wrong that he wanted that too? We shook our heads.

He kept unbuttoning his shirt to ask: Am I burned? Am I burned? Am I burned?

I think we both threw up in our mouths a little at one of these points.

Then he began his diatribe about how he was a poet, and that he hated Hart House because his alliterative masterpiece didn't win a poetry award of some sort. Then he recited said poem to us. As a non-poet, I can't tell you if it was indeed a masterpiece, but man was it entertaining.

We forgot to take pictures of this fiasco.

Next up was meeting the friend contingent. Two girls came and sat with us -- we don't know if they knew the hairy poet, or if they were just exceptionally drunk, but man they had a lot of talking to do.

Are you really married? What's it like? I'll never find a good guy! Are you really married?

They were young and silly but we liked them just the same.

Suddenly, it was 3AM and the place was closing up. The bartender made us leave. We were terribly sad. But then it occurred to us -- we could continue the silliness at an eating establishment!

Our initial thought was to get pizza, so we jumped in a cab to head for some bad food when it suddenly occured to me that Chinatown was open 'til 5AM.

Oh yes. That's right. We did Excellent. We did scandal in style.


The best thing about this place is the multi-level layered plastic on the tables.


Here's our valiant attempt to eat a good mixture of their treats.


And here's our sad result. Please note that there's very little gone from any plates. Har. Luckily, Treava is staying at a B&B with a fridge, so she is set for the week in terms of snackery.


Thus our night was over. We watched the waiter turn our tablecloth into a plastic bag full of napkins, dishes, and utensils.


I threw Treava in a cab (here's hoping she got home okay!) and threw myself in the one behind it. I have not stayed out that late in a year, I'm sure.

It ruled. We had way more fun than was reasonable for what looked like it should've been a pretty quiet Saturday night.