Date Night

Went on a date-night last night with the fiance. He's leaving on Tuesday to the Banff Center for a workshop of his new theatre piece, and can't be here for the surgery or until about ten days after. He feels terrible about it. And I wish he could be here, and hate when we have to spend tons of time apart. So we went on a date-date- we cashed in our $50 gift certificate at Joey Restaurant.

I don't know why it's not Joey's Restaurant, but it's not. It's Joey Restaurant. Ever so slightly annoying. But despite this, the food was good, and it was fun to people watch - like the 16 year olds waddling past on high highs that were way to high for their walking-in-high-heels skill level. They looked like baby ostriches in gold sequence tops. Very cute.

We drove to Gas Town to go dancing. I suggested the Lamplighter, and we gave it a shot. Huge line-up at 10PM. Everyone inside looked very conscious of the fact that they were inside the Lamplighter. I guess its the Place to Go, or it used to be. It's has now become way too popular to be the Place to Go. But there are those that still think that it is. And there's a certain self-consciousness that hangs in the room at the Place to Go. so I was totally happy not to get in.

We went to a divey place to play shuffleboard instead, and everoyne there, all under 30, was right in the middle of a drug deal. They all were giving suspicious hand shakes. Every single one of them. Everyone I happened to glance at had mini black holes for pupils and were chewing on gum like they had been ordered to by a general who was going to kill them if they didn't do it vigorously.

And then we tried Honey, even though Saturday is their "off-night," it was juuust right. The music was good in that pop, "Ah-just-wanna-dance" kind of way. There was hardly anyone there, but everyone who was there was on the dance floor (well, after I deflowered it by doing the foxtrot.) There was a group of gay hipsters with their gorgeous hag. There was a man who looked like an orange with sticks poking out for arms and legs. There was a couple out on a date, the guy being the biggest fan of dancing this side of Granville. He was awesome. He looked about 90 pounds, and he probably worked as a sales manager at Best Buy. And he had gelled his hair and put on his good, white stripped shirt for the night, and his shiny shoes. He looked as if he had taken salsa dance classes at some point, maybe by himself, just because it was the funnest shit around. And he cut it up. At the Lamplighter, he would have felt too self-conscious, due to the douches staring and laughing. But here, he felt totally free to have at 'er. He moved his feet every which way, kept the beat, closed his eyes. There was something old-timey about it, the way he enjoyed it. like he should have been on a dance marathon, or going to the church dance not because he was religious, but because it was the only place to jive to good live music. I wanted to go back and retroactively slap anyone who every made fun of him.

Over at the gay hipster pod, they were beautiful and gay. And then there was one dude, wearing a Roots Canada hoodie and mittens, who just didn't get it. He looked so self conscious and uncomfortable, I just wanted to go over there and give him a hug. Those are the people I usually relate the most to, but he was out of control. He kept rubbing up against the gorgeous hag in an attempt to dance "crazy". She was obliging. But it was awkward.

And then there was Mike and I - sharing fizzy virgin juice drinks, joking around, giving each other dance lessons, me demanding that he dance as if in a sequence from a musical set in a club named Honey, having an amazing time together before he leaves for a long time.