This weekend was one of those ones that leaves you feeling pretty happy with life and a little more optimistic. There was nothing particularly spectacular about it, just a plethora of good times with good people.
It all started with a trip out to the east end on Friday night for a girls’ night in. I hadn’t gotten a bus out that way in over a year, and was advised to get off “after the Co-op”. I missed the Co-op. I only realised so when the bus reached the end of its route and had been sitting still for about 10 minutes and the driver was the only person left on it. Thankfully he wasn’t a rapist or a murderer and let me stay on, and gave me a shout when we got back to the right stop, but it meant that I had to put up with the innebriated jakey wielding a bottle of bucky who got on at the next stop asking “awright sweetcheeks, where ye gawn?”. Away from you, sir. Hopefully what I’ve taken away from that experience is the ability to get off at the right stop from now on.
On Saturday I went to the ice hockey to see the Braehead Clan kick the Nottingham Panthers’ arses. My mum used to take me quite a lot when I was a kid since the Ayr Eagles played at the Centrum right across the road from us, but since they folded and the Centrum got knocked down I haven’t been to a game. It was a nostalgia fest and I definitely want to go to a game at least once a month if I can. Gonna try and get a big group sorted to go to a game soon!
I wasn’t going to go out this weekend, but since Kristen was away in Aberdeen and I didn’t feel like having a quiet night in I ended up out at the Catty after the hockey. It was a drink-doubles-til-you’re-dancing-like-no-one-can-see-you kind of night. The thing about the Catty these days though, is that most of the people in there look barely 18, so there’s not many prospects in the man department. It’s still good for a dance and the banter at least, but extra precaution must now be applied when that guy next to you on the dancefloor who doesn’t recognise Reinventing Your Exit starts attempting to fire in.
Anyway, I don’t know what the hell possessed me, but when I left the club I decided to take the opportunity to give a big “Fuck you” to all the taxis that have ever stood me up, and walk all the way home in the freezing cold instead of even bothering to call one. A bold silent statement, right? I sure showed ‘em… I got the most horrendous hiccups (the ones that actually hurt) which stayed with me the whole way home, and then somehow scattered half of the leftover chilli I’d made earlier all over the kitchen. Then I passed out and woke up with a minimal hangover, and spent most of yesterday lying in bed watching ER. Result!
