luck let a gentleman see (just how nice a dame you can be).

Luck Be a Lady Tonight

Although I've been a little down on my luck the past few weeks, be it with my job or the gentlemen in my life, I was a very lucky lady to be treated to dinner at Oddfellow's the other night. I'd been looking forward to dinner there for months, read review after review (and eschewed the bad ones from my memory), and looked in with jealousy every time I passed the corner of Queen & Shaw on my way to some other Toronto institution.

As Now & Eye Weekly have both reported, the food wasn't perfect. My photog friend & I had been looking forward to the lamb-stew-for-two all week and it didn't exactly live up to my expectations. The ambience, however, was a perfect 10. The bring-your-own-bottle policy allowed me to pick up a nice Chianti Ruffino at the local liquor shoppe, and lucky for me, he picked up the check for everything else. 

Although our quasi-pseudo-non-relationship-friendship status to me is sometimes more controversial than Frank Sinatra's switch from the Democratic to the Republican party, I had the most fun I'd had in, well, days, but the company was just lovely. And, having dinner out instead of in my apartment as usual gave me an excuse to wear my new (amazing! life-changing! head-turning!) black vintage dress, and make whiskey sours (my new specialty) for my old friend. 

One day, we may reunite as lovers-or-whatever; a revival more epic than that of Sinatra, Davis & Martin's in '87 (You know, the 'Together Again' tour?), but for now I am oh-so-happy that I have such a good friend in the city. A man who doesn't mind when I eye-ball other men down Oddfellows' famed communal table, or drool over my dream woman, Pamelia Kurstin, on YouTube because, to be honest, most of the time he's right there droolin' over her next to me. 

It's his MacBook Pro we're watching all those YouTube videos on.

tonight it's 8-tracks and 6-packs while i hit that.

I don't think anybody is as excited for the NOTORIOUS release on January 16 as I am. Too bad I'll be living in Toronto and won't have admitted my true, secret love for Biggie to any of my new friends by then. I'll be attending alone. A bottle of red hidden in my purse as my date. The way it should be.

Last night I ran into a guy I dated on and off this year from Febuary until August on my way to yet another exboyfriend's roommate's rap show. We each had a king can in the alley behind the beer vendor in Osborne Village, something we used to do together quite often. The fact that he left before he had even finished his left me as emotionally unsatisfied as the near-litre of cheap beer left me feeling physically. Biggie's "Fuck You Tonight" meant something completely different last night than every other night before it. R. Kelly had no place or purpose in my bedroom when I got home.

Damn.