Posts Tagged ‘clubs

10
Jun
09

the un-date date

I am in Montreal for a couple of days, and being here has me wondering why it was that I moved to Halifax. There are hot men everywhere. Beautiful men that make eye-contact, smile at you and touch you gently on the arm with a ‘pardon’ if they bump in to you. I swear I haven’t stopped swooning since I arrived. Of course it helps that they all have sexy accents too. I am here for a job, I’m writing a story on ‘hippy Montreal’ for a women’s magazine, and I’m traveling with my daughter and a lovely friend, who is offering babysitting back-up, which allowed me to go for an evening out with a very handsome man.

I met this man, lets call him Francois, on a press-trip a few years back when I was six-months pregnant and thought him the most charming man that I had ever met. When I walked in to a room he would stand, he opened doors for me, and was incredibly chivalrous. I was totally enamored with his behavior, and loved his flirtiness. Francois and I stayed in touch thanks to Facebook, and when I knew I was coming to Montreal, his hometown, I asked to meet for drinks because I knew he would show me a side of Montreal I couldn’t discover alone.

We had a really lovely time together. He was just a charming as I remembered, told me half-way in to out first beer that he had never found pregnant women attractive and then met me, “You were there with a big-belly, chubby, and very sexy” he said. I think the word “chubby” was meant as a compliment and took it as a lost in translation kind of thing, because obviously its not an entirely flattering word! Anyway, we drank more, he was fantastic company and I had the best night out that I’d had in ages. Here comes the catch.

Francois has a girlfriend. A beautiful, young girlfriend who he is madly in love with. So, our evening together was not a date, even though it felt a lot like one, especially at 1am with three beers and a couple of rum and cokes in my belly.

A picture Francois took on our un-date. Yes, I am flirting through the camera lens.

A picture Francois took on our un-date. Yes, I am flirting through the camera lens.

We both laughed at how much fun it was to be on such a date like un-date and I cursed the fact that I don’t meet men like Francois who are single. Francois is quite a catch, I think that his girlfriend must be a very lucky woman (and have the patience of a saint considering what a flirt he is!) Being the victim of infidelity made it easy to draw very clear boundaries and know precisely what this was, and the fact that we were able to completely frank about so many things made the evening feel very mature and responsible, and I never felt like it veered in to anything inappropriate despite the fact that under different circumstances, I would for sure be falling for this charming man.

It was a fun and perfect evening. All the best qualities of a really perfect first date, with none of the expectations. I was reminded of how fun it is just to flirt, and realize that I should try to do so more often, which probably means that I need to drag my lazy ass off my sofa and go out in Halifax more often. Perhaps in the future I’ll just target French-Canadian men though, fortunately there are a fair few here in Nova Scotia so it shouldn’t be that hard to find some.

09
Apr
09

He looked good on the dancefloor, but….

I ventured out on Saturday night to go to a club here in Halifax for the first time, the Paragon (which used to be the Marquee) where Skratch Bastid was playing. It was a fun night, Skratch Bastid played an incredible set and I danced for hours. There were lots of hot boys, and one in particular kept dancing near me and eventually we locked lips and made out. Thrilling! He was super cute, but it turned out he was only 26. He thought it was no big deal, and we kept hanging out together. I had an overwhelming urge to drop the ‘I have a kid’ bomb to save wasting my time, or his, and when I did he responded with interested questions. I liked him.

So, he and his roomie were having a little party after the club closed and my posse of six decided we’d go. More beer? For sure! I fully took advantage of the fact that my neighbor who was babysitting said to stay out a late as I wanted, although I was feeling a little guilty every time I saw a clock. I held hands with the boy in the cab on the way home and everything was going well, until we got to his place.

We walked in to his sparsely furnished bachelor pit and I realized that his lifestyle was so far from mine that nothing was ever going to happen between us. We’re talking a framed picture of dogs playing poker (I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be ironic, but maybe not) above a thrift-store sofa, and very little else in the room. The floor was bare tiles. There were four garbage bags full of empty beer-cans on the balcony. It was like student digs, but he wasn’t a student. It wasn’t just his place that was shocking; once in the cold harsh light of his apartment, the appeal of him had worn off.

I sat there for half an hour, but I just wanted to get home to bed. Suddenly I felt too wasted to even pretend to be interested in the drunken conversations going on, and I was feeling REALLY guilty about my neighbor there waiting for me to get home (who I assumed was asleep, but it was 3am now, what if she wasn’t?)

I made for the door. The boy got up and asked if we could exchange numbers. I said with as much sincerity as I could muster, “Sure, give me your number and I’ll call you,” and he asked if we could go out next Saturday. I said yes, then I felt really guilty, but there was no way I could cope with seeing him again (but being in Halifax I believe the likelihood of this happening is pretty much 90% going to happen). I wrote his number on my hand and went downstairs to wait for a cab in the lobby. Horror of horrors, I was waiting an hour for a cab, and didn’t make it home until 4.30 am. It was the latest I’ve been up in years and years.

Once home, I had a bath and sat there scrubbing his number off the back of my hand. In my drunken state I started thinking that I missed my ex-husband. But then I remembered seeing him recently and that ridiculous “Dumb and Dumber” haircut he has now, and it made me smile, and I realized that no matter how lonely I feel, or how much I want a man in my life, I don’t want my ex-husband any more than I want the interior design challenged 26 year-old. Better off alone than in another crummy relationship.

13
Nov
07

Torture by Construction

It is one of the great ironies of my life (circa 2007) that I–possibly the worst insomniac/vampire bat I know–have been randomly selected by the universe to live cheek-by-hairy-jowl with a team of 20 construction workers who clock into work at 8AM. These dudes are redoing the balconies of my entire building and ruining my life in the process. Not that they try. It’s just that I am used to going to sleep at 4AM (conservatively) or 5AM (normally), and when 20 kooks start banging on the walls with hammers at the crack of 8, it DRIVES ME MAD!!

Anyway. So. Where were we? Thu., 8PM, I arrive at a wine an cheese tasting 2 hours late, shmooze with a nice man from Frank Family Vineyards (yum! to the fabulous ’98 sparkling) who lives part-time in LA, part-time in my Nor Cal homeland. I meet 3-6 Mafia (spelling?) and various other folks, but fail to recognize them. I taste Frank Family sparkling wine, Cab and Sangiovese, and determine that it’s delightful.

Thu 10PM I arrive at Katana, the see-me-oh-please-see-me spot on Sunset in LA that’s frequented by visiting execs, European birthday parties and suchlike. On the way up, a man asks me, “Are you nervous?” I answer: “No, just really stressed out, been running around all day and have no idea what my friends look like.”

Lena Giles 

10:15PM meet friends thanks to miracles of mobile technology, as truthfully couldn’t pick them out of a crowd. Actually have only met a cpl before: Giles (see photo) and his friend Jackson. Giles is a muckety-muck for Bombay Sapphire; Jackson owns a film distribution company in London. Then there is a friend, and a brother. All are complete gentlemen, thank goodnesses…. it’s never good to go on drinking rampages with people who are less than gentlemen. Prior to the real rampage, however, I have meat skewers and many cocktails and a bit of chocolate this-n-that, and we speak of business.

12AM or thereabouts we head to Skybar, which is entirely overrated and just for tourists, in case you’re wondering. Since Giles, Justin etc. are tourists (albeit of a posh British sort), they tend to hang out there often. I, however, am never impressed by it–even less than usual tonight by 1:45AM, when the women’s toilet overflows and I have to high-jump onto the counter in 4-inch heels, after countless lemon drops, to avoid the flood. On that lovely ending note, we depart Skybar.

2AM. LA sucks. It closes down completely at 2. And I always have to hear about it from any friends who are visiting from anywhere else in the world. Tonite is no different. Two of the boys are still awake and raring to go. What can I do? Our choices are 7-11, a strip club, or someone’s hotel room. I opt for A) and then B). At the 7-11, I send Justin in to purchase me Marlboro Lights (I only smoke about 4 a month), and a four-pack of AA batteries for my camera. When he returns, I realize that my camera is no longer with me. Oh. Oops. I take the batteries anyway and deposit them in my handbag. One can never have too many AA batteries.

Trashy 1 trashy2.jpgtrashy3.jpg

2:30AM We arrive at the strip club (right across from Trashy Lingerie) and sit as close to stage as possible. This proves to be a bad idea because almost no one else is there, and the few folks who are, are kind of tucked away in corners. So we get the strippers’ full and undivided attention… and in the middle of the night on a weeknight, when the talent isn’t all that great, this is a mixed blessing. Throw in the fact that they’re totally nude, and it’s no blessing at all. We sit uncomfortably, clearing our throats and feeling abashed, as girl after girl wiggles her business in our faces. Finally, when Andy Dick arrives and begins to ‘Hey baby’ me, we leave.

(Photos are of the Trashy Girls, who are hotter than the strippers I saw, but tend to keep at least a bit of their clothing on in public.)

4AM. Safely back in my house. In my bed. Had a snack. Want a snooze. As always, it’s tough to drift off. But I do, around 5:30. Ahh! Happy sigh.

8:30AM *BANG. BANG. CRASH.* the construction workers have arrived, once again.

 Note: Trashy Girls photos copyright Trashy Lingerie, 2007

05
Nov
07

Love Boat? Well, sort of.

I just got the seasonal schedule from Singles Travel International, and there are like a zillion cruises on it.

Okay, exaggeration. There are five, departing from now through the end of February. But still, that’s rather a lot.

Cruises have traditionally been the favored lazy vacation option for families or couples. My friend Nadia just went on a Carnival cruise with eight friends, and hated it. (In fact, her exact description was, “boring, full of Mid-Westerners, and the best thing about it was the 24-hour buffet.”) I couldn’t agree more. The only agenda on value cruise lines, in my opinion,  is to eat and eat, buy souvenirs, and then eat some more.

Singles Travel International cruises are a different story–mostly for the obvious reason that not everyone on the ship is married with kids. The way they work, to the best of my knowledge, is that the company reserves their singles a certain number of cabins aboard a Royal Caribbean ship, and also organizes a bunch of special singles’ events. The cruises are usually organized by age bracket, which is awesome unless you’re a dirty old perv looking to score with someone 20 years younger. Guests can share a cabin or book their own for slightly more $$.

 I can  kinda-sorta understand the appeal of this. The only downside is, if you decide early on that you don’t like anyone on the ship, then you’re out of luck for the duration. It’s back to the originally scheduled programming: food, food, sunbathing, souvenirs, self-hatred, more food…

Then there are the booze cruises that depart from Cabo, the Bahamas and every other touristy port in the Northern Hemisphere. These hardly count as cruises; they’re really just two- to six-hour forays into ocean-tossed madness. The whole point is to get really wasted, which makes no sense because there’s nothing worse than being really wasted and stuck on a freaking boat. I would know. I’ve done it twice–the first time I passed out on a speaker, and the second, my sister stripped down to a thong in the breakfast room at 8AM.

I absolutely despise booze cruises, but would never try to stop you from discovering their glory for yourself. It’s a rite of passage. And Dramamine will not help.

Because I receive about 30 nightlife emails every day, I recently discovered the next evolution in singles cruising–something I might actually want to attend, although it’s three days long and therefore a MAJOR commitment in Lena-cruise terms. It’s called the Kandy Kruise, and it offers 10 times more eye candy than Singles Travel and 10 times better entertainment than the average booze cruise. It’s brought to us by the Los Angeles promoters who throw the Kandyland parties at the Playboy Mansion.

These boys not only understand the importance of an amazing sound system and really plushy soft furnishings, they also have a truly winning formula for drawing beautiful women to a party: Let them in for free. They apply this very same theory to the Kandy Kruise, God bless ’em. Girls who want to try to hook up a free room send in their hottest photos, and a select number (approximately 10%) get free berth (two to a cabin) in exchange for dressing up in little outfits and parading around the ship, promo model-style. Apparently cabin size is irrelevant, since you only use them to pass out for an hour or two in between club-hopping, suntanning, massages, etc.

I got all these details from Michael Fuller, who runs marketing for the Palms in Las Vegas, and also helped promote the first-ever Kandy Kruise.

“”It was crazy,” he told me. “Really fun.” Coming from the guy who runs events at the Palms, this means a lot. Mike reports a 3:1 girl-to-guy ratio, great food, “clubs going every minute of the day” and all kinds of delights that I don’t want to mention because you’ll get all over-excited and the next cruise isn’t till March, 2008.

So start saving your money. Because boys, boys, boys have to pay, pay, pay. Not as much as for the Playboy Mansion parties, but still a hefty chunk of change for the average Joe–probably $800 minimum per person. Not sure whether girls have the option of paying their way in and not parading around in little outfits–I will check.

Disclaimer: Yes, I realize this scene isn’t for everyone. It typifies all things shallow and hateful about Los Angeles and Las Vegas. Unless you can go–in which case it’s really rather fun. So I’m just putting it out there.

In the meantime, go here to look at pictures from past Kandyland parties including the Kandy Kruise…because it’s Monday and you need a treat.




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