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Cleaning the car and getting supplies took longer than expected and were further complicated with a text from my boss asking me where I was? It turns out that my vacation request was on my calendar, but not on his. Thunder clouds of panic crashed and boomed in my brain, but he just chuckled and said it was fine. The weekend was still go. Vanessa and Forest rendezvoused at my apartment, and we picked up Nicole a few minutes afterward. The weather was fine and the scenery was rustic, but there was a hidden danger along the way. Sign after sign warned us to be on the lookout for moose. Some of them grow large enough to hoist a small car in their mighty antlers, and I wasn't driving no SUV. If I had, I'd probably be in even more danger of being flipped over. Moose have a special grudge against SUV's, or so I've read. On the Internet.
We arrived in Canada safe from moose, and from mounties. We did pass a mounty armed with a radar gun lurking behind a highway, and I nearly had a heart attack. I wouldn't have spotted him if I wasn't so jumpy looking for moose. Those radar guns are about the size and shape of a Stinger missile! Nicole comforted me, telling me that Canadians never shoot without warning you first, so our trip continued without any further incidents. The Hotel Expresso was convenient located two blocks from the theaters in downtown Montreal. It didn't have an expresso machine in the room, but as I'm not a coffee drinker I wasn't disappointed. We stashed our belongings and left the building in two's. We were going to be packing a lot of us in one room for the weekend, and we didn't want the hotel staff catching on. Our amateur espionage maneuvers were successful, and we began our now traditional Bar Crawl in Montreal (y'all).
First stop: Mad Hatter's. Our spirits fell when we approached the pub, to find its doors darkened and detritus piled up around it's steps. The rooftop deck where Forest and I got free shots from the owner was shrouded in darkness. Had this venerable institution closed? No, it just moved about three buildings down the street. We made our was inside and found a table. The waitress came to take our orders, and was quickly shoved out of the way by Forest, who was returning with our two pitchers of sangria. As we raced to the bottom, we began to think our waitress had forgotten about us. My Irish constitution was holding up (despite traveling the better part of a day without food), but Nicole was in danger uncontrollable giggling if she didn't get some food in her quickly. I tracked down our waitress (who had thought we were all ordering from the bar) and soon we had our plates of poutine and extremely underwhelming chicken sandwiches. Lucky for me, the sangria was good.
Second stop: Peel Pub. It was with great joy that I learned that Peel Pub still had their 99 cent shooter night. It was with great trepidation that I learned I was to be denied entrance to the pub because I was wearing a tank top. The huge yet gracious bartender took pity of us (and our obvious American accents) and let us in. I counted about twelve other tank tops as we crossed the room to our table. Forest replied that all of the other tank top wearers were women, all of who looked better than I in a tank top. After looking closer at them, I could only agree with Forest. We began to order shots. And shots. And more shots. How many shots do you ask? Let's just say that if zombies were swarming the Peel Pub and shots were bullets, I could have emptied nine Colt revolvers into the undead horde and still had one bullet left for each of us. No zombies are eating us for dinner, I tell you what.
Third stop: Nicole announced that it was time to pick up chicks, so outward we ventured to Club Karma, the same cheesy dance club we attended last year. Sadly for Forest and I (and Nicole) the shot girl we met last year wasn't working that night. More sadly for me was that I was denied entrance to the club at all! This bouncer was shorter and less friendly than the last. It only took me fifteen minutes to return to the hotel and fetch a proper T shirt. Despite the impressive number of shooters we had, I was still well in control of my facilities. The drinks weren't getting any stronger, but the cute Chinese waitress was more than happy to serve me a shot and a screwdriver at the same time. Add them together, and you had a proper drink. The music varied a lot as there was a DJ challenge going on. Forest was prepared to storm the dance floor with his trusty Hat, but there was no battling to be had this year. What there was were either singles awkwardly dancing in groups, or couples having butt sex on the dance floor. At one point the floor was empty except for three couples grinding together. I was starting to think we had entered one of the nearby strip clubs by accident.
By this point in the night, several of our party were beginning to fade, so we retreated back to Hotel Expresso for a round of Vitamin B and the sweet air-conditioned grace of our rooms.
Next up: Some actual movies!
We arrived in Canada safe from moose, and from mounties. We did pass a mounty armed with a radar gun lurking behind a highway, and I nearly had a heart attack. I wouldn't have spotted him if I wasn't so jumpy looking for moose. Those radar guns are about the size and shape of a Stinger missile! Nicole comforted me, telling me that Canadians never shoot without warning you first, so our trip continued without any further incidents. The Hotel Expresso was convenient located two blocks from the theaters in downtown Montreal. It didn't have an expresso machine in the room, but as I'm not a coffee drinker I wasn't disappointed. We stashed our belongings and left the building in two's. We were going to be packing a lot of us in one room for the weekend, and we didn't want the hotel staff catching on. Our amateur espionage maneuvers were successful, and we began our now traditional Bar Crawl in Montreal (y'all).
First stop: Mad Hatter's. Our spirits fell when we approached the pub, to find its doors darkened and detritus piled up around it's steps. The rooftop deck where Forest and I got free shots from the owner was shrouded in darkness. Had this venerable institution closed? No, it just moved about three buildings down the street. We made our was inside and found a table. The waitress came to take our orders, and was quickly shoved out of the way by Forest, who was returning with our two pitchers of sangria. As we raced to the bottom, we began to think our waitress had forgotten about us. My Irish constitution was holding up (despite traveling the better part of a day without food), but Nicole was in danger uncontrollable giggling if she didn't get some food in her quickly. I tracked down our waitress (who had thought we were all ordering from the bar) and soon we had our plates of poutine and extremely underwhelming chicken sandwiches. Lucky for me, the sangria was good.
Second stop: Peel Pub. It was with great joy that I learned that Peel Pub still had their 99 cent shooter night. It was with great trepidation that I learned I was to be denied entrance to the pub because I was wearing a tank top. The huge yet gracious bartender took pity of us (and our obvious American accents) and let us in. I counted about twelve other tank tops as we crossed the room to our table. Forest replied that all of the other tank top wearers were women, all of who looked better than I in a tank top. After looking closer at them, I could only agree with Forest. We began to order shots. And shots. And more shots. How many shots do you ask? Let's just say that if zombies were swarming the Peel Pub and shots were bullets, I could have emptied nine Colt revolvers into the undead horde and still had one bullet left for each of us. No zombies are eating us for dinner, I tell you what.
Third stop: Nicole announced that it was time to pick up chicks, so outward we ventured to Club Karma, the same cheesy dance club we attended last year. Sadly for Forest and I (and Nicole) the shot girl we met last year wasn't working that night. More sadly for me was that I was denied entrance to the club at all! This bouncer was shorter and less friendly than the last. It only took me fifteen minutes to return to the hotel and fetch a proper T shirt. Despite the impressive number of shooters we had, I was still well in control of my facilities. The drinks weren't getting any stronger, but the cute Chinese waitress was more than happy to serve me a shot and a screwdriver at the same time. Add them together, and you had a proper drink. The music varied a lot as there was a DJ challenge going on. Forest was prepared to storm the dance floor with his trusty Hat, but there was no battling to be had this year. What there was were either singles awkwardly dancing in groups, or couples having butt sex on the dance floor. At one point the floor was empty except for three couples grinding together. I was starting to think we had entered one of the nearby strip clubs by accident.
By this point in the night, several of our party were beginning to fade, so we retreated back to Hotel Expresso for a round of Vitamin B and the sweet air-conditioned grace of our rooms.
Next up: Some actual movies!
