Friday night

This was Dan and Kristy's pre-party/stag and stagette/Jack and Jill/Homer and Marge, what have you. On the way there I learned from a neighbour that my favorite neighbour died this past winter. It wasn't unusual for him to disappear for ages at at time, but this time it seems to be for good. There seems to have been a disparity between the excellent stories he told and the actual world we live in; no matter. He lived a good life, both real and imagined. I simply have to reconcile in my mind the difference between what I'd accepted as a remarkably well preserved 82 year old and a slightly hard living 67 year old. So - thank you for the stories and goodbye, Chuck. Cried all the way to the streetcar, considered going home, fabulous husband game for whatever I wanted to do. His expression read thusly: "I'm here for you, I know you're upset but you will have to throw me a bone, I'm not going to be able to guess what you need". What I needed was a party, so off we went.
Kelly was there.
Kelly and I drank.
See Kelly and Roben drink.
Drink, Kelly and Roben, drink.
And then TALKING TALKIN TALKING which lead me to telling my Newf story to a bunch of wedding guests whom I would be leading in solemn ritual in less than 72 hours. It's a streetcar story and will never be picked by the TTC to commemorate anything. Goes like this:

I'm on the 505 south from Broadview, sitting behind two gents from the rock. I'm enjoying the music of their accents when I accidentally start to listen to the content - this is what caught my attention:
"Carl's bin tra'fered out t'Darlington, eh?"
"O yeh. Best ting for im. Pore toofless bas'ard, not a chiclet in his gob."
It seems they were on their way to a company function:
"Troll's already there, yah?"
"Heh. likely. Sucking up e'ryting in sight like a greyt sea spunge. Hey, he gotta problem with Claire?"
"O yeah, don't like her. Went over t'do sum work fer 'er, she's got no liquor in the house. 'E seys t'me, 'wot kinda wuman got no liquor in her house?' I says, 'well gee, Troll, y'don't think she might be a recovered alko'olic d'ye?' An 'e seys 'o yeah, dat mi'be it, dat mi'be it.' An I's tinking, Lard, Troll, wot'd be yer first clue? Wuman's a born again Christian. S'first ting tay do, getcha hooked on Jaysus t'keep yer mind offa t'sauce. Tay seys, 'here, take a bible y weak minded fucker, and slap yerself in the face w'it whene'er ya git tursty!"

Seemed like a good story to tell at the time. Not sure if the subject of TTC stories was raised or if I just launched in to that one. But yes...this has been your reverend speaking, nice to meet the people here from Yellowknife.
Eventually we picked up on the fact that our hosts were starting to pumpkin, so retired to go home. Being slightly hobbled still with the goodness that is plantar faciitis, bride and groom arranged for us to get a lift home with their good friend Adonis. Did not know he had rented the largest car of the known universe for the weekend of their wedding, and they nearly plotzed when they saw it. Kelly called it a pimpmobile. I called it a shuttle craft. Adonis called it a sweet ride. Fabulous husband actually giggled.
Slept until sober. Took some time.