Last month, we once again learned that I am a powerful negotiator whose number one priority is to stay true to the vision of the blog unless of course you offer me anything greater than $20 in value at which point I will laugh all the way to the bank. And by ‘laugh’, I mean ‘squeal at an octave audible only to dogs whilst jumping and clapping’. And by ‘to the bank’, I mean ‘to the newf’ because with multiple $300 belts gathering dust in the closet and math skills that are shaky at best, I am not to be trusted with prepaid credit cards of any kind. Besides, had I not handed in the card for safe-keeping, it would be fair to assume that I would have blown all $100 on tequila shots and slap bracelets.
[If someone wants to give me $100 to spend exclusively on tequila shots and slap bracelets, now would be the time to get in touch. We can super your logo and URL over the video footage. You’ll sell millions. Trust me – I’m a professional.]
So what happens when you send the newf and I downtown to find the BEST! EVER! WAY! to spend $100? Well. At first we just spun around in circles, overwhelmed by the fact that we were no longer surrounded by the numbing monotony of suburbia. And then we got day drunk, bought candy, and played with sex toys. I mean, of course that’s what we did.
And before you get all judgey, eat chocolate and peruse high-end erotica while intoxicated and just try and tell me it’s not the best thing since ice cream made out of puppies. No really – you should try it and report back. My combination of choice was Harp beer, Peanut M&Ms, and beautiful books of nudies that would perfect for a coffee table if you were the type that might need well-endowed men to finish off your living room. Which, who knows…you might be.
(Aren’t we all?)
Now unfortunately there was one very big hiccup in our damn near perfect afternoon – we had only spent $30 and were now faced with the combined onset of the post-sugar crash, the post-day-drunk headache, and the post-sex-shop funny feelings. Rather than trying to power through the last $70 just for the sake of getting the job done, we called it a day, giving me time to get over the disappointment of not bringing home some vibrating contraption that vaguely resembled a rabbit-dolphin with tumors, and the shock of having such a hard time deciding what to spend my money on when usually I just Hansel and Gretel my way around leaving a rash of receipts in my tracks.
The next night or the night after or some night that occurred at some time prior to writing this post (I can either do the mental math of tracking my expenses or keep tabs on the passage of time. I’ve made my choice), we rallied for what turned out to be the ultimate downtown Halifax experience that I was looking for. As chance would have it, a good friend of ours named Jon Cornwall was playing his debut show at The Carleton which at $10 a ticket for over two hours of music was the best thing since beer, chocolate and porn combined.
We ate, we drank, we laughed, we stayed up too late, and we got a little teary eyed over Jon’s unbelievable songwriting and his incredible duets with special guest Ryan MacGrath. Or at least I did because I am a giant shmoop when it comes to watching really talented people do what they love. Or maybe there was something in my eye. Or maybe it was the wine.
All in all, it was damn near perfect except again for another very big hiccup – my prepaid credit card wouldn’t work so my dad ended up having to pay for everything which in itself was still kind of perfect because – HELLO – you’re never too old to let your parents buy you stuff even when you have free money in your pocket. So…one month and two credit-card-equipped downtown excursions later and I still manage to have $70 left to spend. And yes, if I had any sense at all I’d use it to do something nice for my dad in return.