You know when you’re at McDonald’s post-clubbing?
Yes, yes you do.
Everyone pretty much looks like hell. Girls are walking barefooted with feet dragging across the filthy filthy linoleum floor, dudes are squinty-eyed and discussing the night’s triumphs and mishaps, and it is arguably one of the grossest places to be picked up at at the end of the night.
There’s always a few people who are still club-drunk and are laughing loudly, sputtering out their menu order with the coherency of a toddler, and are generally making a fool out of themselves.
That’s Winda and I, the morning after we’ve broken Fabrizio’s ancient key, missed our morning train to Florence, and are subsequently left wondering our purpose in life in an Italian McDonald’s. We buy 1 euro espresso shots.
We are so. Freaking. hHngover.
It is 9:00 AM in Rome — we had to leave Fabrizio’s apartment due to his checkout policy/we needed to get out of there ASAP before we broke anything else of his.
We are laughing-slash-crying because our heads hurt so much from last night’s escapades. We look like crap. We have our giant backpacks with us — of which is comedic in itself because our backpacks look like they could eat us.
Just to backtrack a bit, this was not our only drunk night in Rome. We also had the opportunity to party with some ridiculous Italians.
Lemme tell you the story.
We’ve set up at Campo de’ Fiori. We have our mojitos, our grape-flavoured hookah. We are basking. A group of Italian dudes at the next table motion towards us to join their table. We submit to their boyish timidness (derived from speaking in broken English) and yet, their Casanova calibre assertiveness. They literally move all of our stuff — our drinks, hookah, table, and chairs — to join their table.
Naturally, they begin introducing themselves. Here we have a lawyer, e-commerce specialist, accountant, and..
“Taxi driver!” They exclaim in unison, pointing out their most outgoing friend whom had initially approached us. He smiles sheepishly. They pause for a second, taking in his self-consciousness. “… And stylist!” They add with enthusiasm/thick Italian accents, pronouncing it stye-leest!
We chat. They are hilarious. One of them, named Francesco, has an amazing handlebar moustache — reminiscent of our friend Alessandro — and continuously strokes it. They talk about their jobs and the friends emphasize just how stylish the Taxi Driver-sash-Stylist is. They really want us to know that he is more than just a taxi driver.
The Stylist invites us to a club.
We get into a cab and head to a Roman club. In hindsight, was it a good idea to get into a cab with strange Italians? I’m gonna say no…
Bumpin’ is not the word I’d use for the club we’re at — maybe simply interesting. The Stylist turns out to be an amazing dancer. Really amazing. Winda steals his stylish hat. We booty bump with Francesco. The Stylist does the Harlem Shake a few times. The ratio between men and women at this club is way off.
I can’t really remember all the details of getting home, but we do. A cab takes us back to our AirBnb in trastevere and I remember him asking for a kiss instead of paying him in euros.
Hard pass, my friend.
Ciao, Roma! You were so good to us.
Sidenote: I come back again for another adventure later on in my Eurotrip — this second time we meet two Italian boys who ask us if we’d like to break into the Coliseum! God bless the Italians.
So, I left Denmark (extremely hungover, eyes swollen from crying, and boarding a 9-hour bus ride to Berlin) and my best friend from home met up with me in Europe..
Which only means more adventure-timing to write about. We visit London, Barcelona, Rome, and Berlin–we only get into a moderate amount of trouble.
- 2 pitchers of Sapporo, 7 bottles of sake, 2 pitchers of random cocktails, + too many tapas and skewers = $90 per person
- Taking the wrong highway exit, ending up at the airport, and having to leave through the airport parking lot = I wanna say priceless, but it was actually $4 + lots of screaming to myself in the car
Girls night out featuring a lot of in-depth discussion on “What is your worst puking story?” (mine was during Spring Break in Los Cabos with my head buried in the filthy toilet of the local El Squid Roe), the value of good friends, serenading the whole restaurant with [what we could remember of] the Sailor Moon theme song, followed by a thought-provoking question “Which sailor scout are you?”, several toasts to happy things, and high school hilarity.
Any time off always passes you in a blur. I remember being 8-years-old and complaining how it would be a whole year until I turned 9–literally banking on the fact that a year was equivalent to forever or “sooooooooooooo long, mom.” You literally just have to make the best of everything, which I will admit, I have not been living up to at all.
Adios, winter vaca! Not sure if I’m hoping to see you next year.. because that will either mean I’m graduated and avec job, or in school and without. Strange revelations.
Last night I saw Thor: The Dark World (I wish Dr. Erik Selvig was naked for more of the movie) and then went to Venue to see Morgan Page. I’m not gonna lie, I don’t know who Morgan Page is (“Which one is he? The one with the toque or..?”) but I went for moral support/it was free.
While standing in the archetypal mile-long line for the women’s washroom, the girls my friend and I were sandwiched between had a conversation that went along the lines of:
Girl #1: Oh my God, it does not take that long to pee.
Girl #2: Oh my God, I know right? This is so ridiculous. Do you want to go bang on some doors? I’m down to do that.
Girl #1: *says something along the lines of agreeing–was not really listening because she was annoying*
Girl #2: I like you! You’re from East Van, aren’t you? Haha, oh my God, you’re from East Van, aren’t you!
What the fuck, dude. What is your problem? I’m from East Van. And I have friends who were born and raised in East Van, and we do not
go make empty threats about banging on washroom stall doors because inebriated chicks who are at the brink of puking are apparently taking more than 30 seconds to pee. Like y’all are sober, what is the rush? Can’t we just all be in this together on this journey called life????
At the same time, we can all learn something from people who lack civility and who forget that they’re living in a society that ideally aims towards a sense of community. These moments remind me to consider kindness and respect for other people. I actually watched an incredibly rude girl get kicked out before she even got in the club. Forreal, she was very loudly complaining about how disgusting Vancouver clubs are (so then why are you here?) and gave attitude to the guest line chick, and the bouncer came over and told her to leave. These people are like the World Star Hip-Hop of real life.
So always say please and thank you — and an especial thank you to those who remind us to be better.
Here’s a toast for the douchebags.
What else happened last night?? Oh right, my friend almost gauged my eyeball out and the pain still reverberates in my eye socket today. My girlfriend covered a slice of pizza with an incredible amount of Tabasco sauce and ranch dressing–the point that it was soaked and dripping–it was really. Fucking. Good.
I’m still thinking about it right now.
I think I found my spirit animal.
xx, Butterscotch Waterfall
In my mind, Vegas is where all answers are yes. Yes, food can be delivered to your room at all ungodly hours of the AM. Yes, booze is free (if you have a vagina.) Yes, feel free to get drunk as shit in broad daylight in front of children and their families–in fact, it’s encouraged. Yes, you can take a cab through the In-N-Out drive thru (which we took full advantage — thank you, State of Nevada!)
There were a LOT of yesses this trip, and a few no’s..
– Skipping long ass taxi lines out of sheer luck. Nobody objected because the guys who let us in were drunk out of their minds/so hilarious. (Otherwise, I’m nearly positive an angry mom would’ve reamed us out.)
– Receiving ALL your stuff back after you’ve left it in your hotel room AFTER checking out. This includes the money in your wallet, passports, all ID’s, iPhones, new Forever21 dresses.. The housekeeper fills out a form, and lists everything they’ve found.
Yeah, we dun goofed our second day (we had to switch hotels) and we were freaking the fuck out. I was digging through my giant backpack while having a belated birthday lunch, and my purse (filled with my entire life) was missing. Yes, I am an idiot. (!!)
In case you do lose your passport in Vegas, you’ll have to go to the nearest Canadian Embassy (4 hours away in LA) and overnight one over ($200). My girlfriends Google’d all that up in the midst of losing our shit/while I cabbed to Planet Hollywood by myself and sat in the Lost & Found for two hours–bless them.
– While I was in the Lost & Found, I learnt that some people often leave entire suitcases filled with clothes in their room after checking out, leaving the state for weeks on end, only to call back a month later.. (what the fuck?!)
– Friends finding bags for you to throw up in while waiting for your taxi after the club (my friend asked housekeeping and came back with a bag that said “Hazardous Materials” and the skull faces all over..how fitting!)
– Checking into your 5-star hotel in a crop top and cutoffs. You will get stares, maybe even shakes of the head, but the customer service is still exceptional because money talks.
– Being invited to the table right next to Tiesto’s DJ booth, getting to shake hands with him and telling him you love him, even if you may or may not listen to his music..
– Taking THIS photo in between throwing up in an empty Fiji water bottle and throwing up for the rest of the night in a washroom:
This is the result of having full control of a 4.5L bottle of Grey Goose vodka. I was literally pouring it into my friends’ glasses going, “Wheeee!”
– Getting so drunk to the point where I was holding a can of Redbull upside down, and did not notice until my girlfriend flipped it over, and was like “KAYLYNN!!!”
– Waking up to glitter all over the room/shower/a tribute to Katy Perry’s Friday Night
– Going in for a foot soak, only to overflow the tub with bubbles.. (I used up the last of our shampoo. Oops.)
– Bay Area girls! We met a lot of people from SF that weekend, and everyone was surprised (and to our luck, delighted) that we were Canadian. One girl even said, “I didn’t know there were so many Asian people in Vancouver!” Oooh girl.. there is.
– This photo:
– Bruises that come from nowhere (although this happens in every city):
– Belated birthday cake in a bed that’s not yours..
– Drive-thru via exasperated taxi driver for a double double animal style:
– If you’re going to be a loofah for Halloween, prepare to set aside at least an hour to puff up your damn costume.
– I know all guys lie in Vegas, but at least come up with a good one. This guy who would not leave me alone said he was from LA, worked as an investor at a reputable firm, and came down every single weekend to promote at the clubs in Vegas. Like y’all must be doing sooo well at your daytime job.. Another guy told me his name was Norway because he was born in Norway. That is like my parents naming me Canada. Like what. The. Fuck.
– Just because it’s expensive, doesn’t mean it’s delicious.
Vegas is SO many crazy things. It’s both insane and disorienting to know that only a few blocks of a city is made into such a consumerist spectacle, while the rest of the city is far less dazzling. So many yesses, and yes, women get a lot of free shit but it’s at the expense of being objectified..
My girlfriends and I promised each other that in a few years, we’re going to go back and get ourselves a liquor-laden table with bottles of Grey Goose the length of our legs. And we’ll be asking club managers to fish us the most beautiful men and women in the club..
Here’s to dreaming/talking shit!
I have a One Direction Erection–the huge, throbbing, and pulsating with passion kind. (A One Direction Infection is for the little ones.. big girls get the 1D Erection.)
I’m not going to go into the nitty gritty details of my fangirl obsession because 1) it’s annoying 2) it’s only slightly embarrassing that I stalked a group of five boys the same age as my brother 3) it would probably be the longest post of my life.
The concert was AMAZE. I have been to a handful of concerts, but it’s never been an artist I absolutely LOVE. Y’all already know I know 99.5% of their songs, and to be able to sing those songs in unison with a stadium chock full of people is BEYOND the beyond.
I can only imagine how it feels for them to stare back at the audience, listening to them sing along to every word they sing back..
These are my beautiful friends who came with. After watching me be near tears when I was without a ticket, and THEN seeing my full fangirl form before/during/after the concert–I am SO grateful (and astonished) they are still my friends. I was pretty much going through a multi-level meltdown the entire time the band was in the same city as me.
I’ve had so much backlash for being a fan of a Top 40’s boyband, but freal–sit down with me and I will tell you whatsup with One Direction…
Also they were giving out ice cream after the concert–it’s like they KNEW I was coming.
I may or may not have been double-fisting free ice cream.
And obvi, if you are friends with me, we got drunk after the concert and met a bunch of crazy people. We ended up rubbing this huge brown guy’s belly, meeting someone named Atilla [The Hun], and utilizing the Boris Theory for the first time. Um.. also, this guy introduced himself to me as Asshole, and said he’d give us his mardi gras beads if we flashed him–I am hoping (but not really) that he did not get beat up that night.
This is us post-bellyrubbing, but pre-dancing with two gay roommates.
And here is my fav member of the band being cute AF:
I’d like to think that Niall’s smile during his acoustic solo in “Little Things” was indeed in response to my “I LOVE YOU NIALL! MARRY ME!”
I should add that I wrote a paper on One Direction for one of my classes. And BOOM goes the dynamite, because I got an A-! One Direction always wins, y’all.