this being the season of rampant consumerism, i've been doing my best to counteract it, or at least refocus it, by going to local events and supporting local artisans and the like. yesterday i met the lovely m at a craft show. it wsn't your grandma's craft show, unless of course your grandma is a moustachioed hipster who knits sweaters with skulls, rocks a kick-ass tattoo sleeve featuring illustrations from a children's book, makes her own bitters, and has nary a pink acrylic crocheted toilet paper cover in sight. the point of the afternoon was to do some christmas shopping* followed by dinner at my favourite bbq smokehouse restaurant named, appropriately enough, MEAT.
dinner was stellar (their pulled pork and garlic fries are divine), as was the conversation, and when m realised how early it still was when we had paid our bill, we decided to take advantage of her evening of childlessness and walk back to my place to have another bourbon based drink, because delicious. the walk was bracing, and as soon as we came home, i had the realisation that we did not, in fact have any bourbon in the house because mr. monkey bought scotch instead, and my body does NOT like scotch. or rye. or any whiskey product other than bourbon. it just doesn't. it makes a pfffft face and shakes itself dramatically and then pouts, no matter how fancy the scotch.
m and i decided to remedy the situation and walked across the little bridge to the liquor store where i bought a bottle of bourbon. we were laughing and talking and having a gay old time, until i hit an icy patch mere metres from my front door, and found myself flat on my back, having cracked my elbow on the ice, broken bottle in hand, bourbon and glass chips all over my shearling coat. while m hovered over me, trying to ascertain the state of my wellbeing, a man walked by, casting the kind of glance one reserves for drunk street people making up after a bitter fight. once i stopped laughing and gathered myself up (m was very concerned), we walked back to the liquor store and bought another bottle. as we stood by the till, i realised my left hand was gruesomely covered in blood, smelling like a wino, laughing like a mad person. yes, this is what living downtown does to you, boys and girls!
in the end, mr. monkey made us his utterly addictive bourbon-based drinks. i cleaned myself up. we shook residual glass off my coat. we sat around and had a lovely conversation while i iced my elbow. twas a good day, truly.
*for m, mostly, since i had already done mine earlier last week. and speaking of which, i am suffering, my poultries! since the kidlets have gotten old enough to appreciate a good gift opening, the sweet halcyon days of no christmas shopping are done. and now we have to negotiate that labyrinth of getting something that is attractive, not too expensive and small, because, like most other north american children, they already have everything…in triplicate. ugh. me no like. i mean, i like buying gifts and making the children happy but i also realise their spatial constraints and am not an asshole who will buy a mountain of plastic that will make negotiating a hallway treacherous. and they're too little for books in any meaningful way. ok. rant over.