I love that word, it’s the perfect title for this post. My friend the Magpie posted a pic of me from Saturday night using the hashtag Smashelorette and I fucking love it so much.

You guys don’t even know. And I don’t even know if I know how to tell this story… but bear with me. The fog of booze around my brain is clearing, this might start coming together as we go.


I’ve been waiting for this so long. This night. This amazing night out with my girls, getting drunk, laughing. Celebrating like only girls can. With lots and lots of shrill yayys! and wooooos! to accompany every sentence. Excitedly hopping and bopping everywhere and into everything. Chanting deliciously filthy chants at every male we encounter along the way. “SHOW-US-YOUR-PENIS!”, “JUST-THE-TIP!”, and “EAT-MORE-DICK-CHEESE!” among the best  of them.

That’s what girls do. We make ourselves look as classy and lovely as we possibly can, then we go out into the world causing all the mayhem we can muster. And I do have a lot of mayhem in my heart, believe you me. I’m pretty sure that I head-butted one of my friends on the d-floor. Mistakenly, of course. But only because a bunch of mayhem had bubbled over and was going to translate into some insanely rad dance floor head-banging. I just forgot to step back first. Oopsies! It’s not the first time though, definitely won’t be the last either. Very sorry, friend.

That must be why my neck is still so sore two days later. I fucking head-banged the shit outta that dance floor. But when you’ve got a band of rad motherfuckers ripped on heroin and playing the same Led Zeppelin song on a constant loop, there’s nothing you can do but head-bang the fucking shit outta life. The power of Zeppelin compels you!

At one point I had a little chat with the guitarist, about the recent passing of Tommy Ramone. And I begged him to rally his band buddies and play me a killer Ramones cover. He nodded semi-agreeably and went to talk to his musically inclined chums. When they hit the stage again after the intermission, the guitarist tossed me a sly grin and started cranking out yet another classic Zeppelin tune… Oh man! Another 22-minute guitar solo. I shot a look of long-suffering at The Magpie, as if to say “oh well, what can you do?” and she didn’t even have to say a word. She perfectly mimed the tying off of a vein and shot a finger needle into the crook of her arm while rolling her eyes back in a perfect pantomime of druggie bliss. It was so excellent. We just laughed and danced. Then laughed and danced some more because that guitar never stopped.

But I’m getting way ahead of myself. This story clearly won’t be linear, that fucking ship has sailed. It was never going to be anyways, because I don’t remember it that way. I’m slowly remembering my way through the events of the Smashelorette. And every time I talk to someone about it, another little gem of memory is unearthed and lovingly relived.

Like when Joce reminded me that she stole a platter of 20 sliders off of someone else’s table and our motley group of girls gobbled them up in a feeding frenzy! No I didn’t dream that, it actually happened. It’s such a perfectly Joce-force thing to do.

Or when I put on a fake moustache with Dame Edna glasses and Shannie told me that I looked like Freddie Mercury. Dreams really do come true. Playing dress up in general. I mean, if you’re at a party and your friend gives you a box of costumes to dress people up in, it’s going to be a wicked time.

shannie the raver

my little peacock

Playing the underwear game! Everyone bought a pair of panties and I had to guess who bought them. An absolutely hilarious idea. Especially when one of your friends decides to buy you a pair of 3XL men’s tighty whiteys. Oh, Caitlin! You’re a beautiful little sexual harassment just waiting to happen.

she'll get ya

big underwear

Twirling and swirling around the dance floor with a very tall gentleman who didn’t speak a lick of english. But he didn’t have to. He spoke an even more important language: the language of the dance!

Eating a piece of penis cake. Thank you Bec. I always wondered what chocolate ball hair would taste like. It’s sweet. A little sticky too. Not unexpected at all. An unsavoury delight. Much like the dick cheese my friend Hoben moulded to glorious perfection. I’ve also wondered what green onion ball hair tasted like. Cross another thing off the bucket list, darling.

Doing oh so many grapefruit wedge Jell-O shots! Best summertime booze treat you can have.

jell-o shots

And of course, chugging dirt cheap champagne that made me throw up in my mouth a little…

champagne chug

When Caitlin found me a hunk with a ponytail to talk to. I got to touch it! The ponytail, of course. It was curly and sweaty and magnificent. Mmmm, oh yeah. That’s the real dream, a man with a ponytail. I’m totally being serious right now. Just wanted to make sure nobody thought I was being purposefully flip about that. Gimme them long luscious locks any time. Let me run my fingers through your hair, baby. Oh yeah, just like that!

Omg. THE MIDGET STRIPPER. *facepalm*

He was small and sweaty and he blew in my ear. Aggressively. It wasn’t sexy. It was like the blast of a backfiring car right in my earhole.

Oh right, this is an important detail: my Smashelorette party was Star Wars themed. Yeah, that’s fucking right. My friends lovingly coloured a bunch of images from a Star Wars colouring book and used them as decorations all over Joce’s apartment. It was very beautiful and meaningful to me. There were also bottles of chase with Yoda’s picture on them and labelled “Yoda Pop”. Brilliant! There was a hand drawn “Pin The Penis on Darth” game. Oh Sara, words cannot describe how much I love you for making that. And how much I loved seeing the bad first attempt at a drawing of Darth showing through the sliding glass door when I was out on the balcony. Priceless. He’s a hard dude to draw, I was very impressed with the end result.

But back to that stripper…

We were grooving along to some sweet pre-drinking tunes when suddenly the music changed. A very recognizable piece of music started to play. Is that…? Oh yeah, it is! It’s the frigging Star Wars theme music. I got really excited at that point. I sat on the special chair and buzzed with excitement. I’ve always wondered what Darth Vader’s penis looked like and tonight I was finally going to find out what he’s been hiding under that codpiece.

Just as the epic entrance music was fading out, he stepped into the room. All 4 foot 8 of him. Probably more like 5′ 3″, but who’s measuring? And he’s… um. What the fuck? He’s a cop? And now he’s making some lame cliché joke about a noise complaint… that’s something, I guess.

i'm so impressed

Actually, this worked out really well. Even though he wasn’t dressed as the Dark Lord and I couldn’t climb him like a mountain, I’ll never forget pointing and laughing at his sweat-stained underwear while he shook his crotch in my cousin’s face. AND, most important of all… he wasn’t supposed to show us his wiener but he did anyways. Joce told me she wouldn’t pay extra for him to do the full monty. So he was either such a trooper or our rowdy chants just eventually wore him down, but either way, WE GOT THAT DICK FOR FREE!

I just had a great idea for him! He should dress up like Prince when he strips. He’s got the perfect build for it… dammit. Someone should call and tell him that. I bet there are a lot of ladies out there who’d love a lap dance from The Purple One. I know I would.

There’s so much to remember! Too much to remember really. I’m grateful for cameras. And I’m thankful for all of my wonderful friends. I’m so in love with all of you.


my lovely family

Dreams come true. I should probably divorce D and then re-marry him just so we can have another party like this. Another super mega-awesome blast of a time, just us girls.

But I guess even though I’m getting married, that doesn’t mean I have to slow down my bad ass partying ways, does it?


Maybe we just need to do one more of these before the wedding. It was always going to take more than one really excellent bender to get it all out of my system anyways, right?

A Colourful Wedding (In More Ways Than One!)

I still feel a little tingly from Saturday night. Some residual happiness just kicking around my heart. I wish it would last forever. That feeling you have after a really amazing wedding. It’s a feeling of clarity, because everything makes sense in the world. Like a perfectly matched pair of mismatched socks.

One of my most beloved and wonderful friends, The Magpie, got married to the man of her dreams. And they threw one of the best weddings I’ve ever been to.

It wasn’t about a perfect white dress, sweeping landscapes as backdrops for the perfect pictures, or lavish spending. There’s such an emphasis on weddings these days. Such high expectations. People get consumed in the details, trying to control every aspect of it, forcing perfection. The Magpie’s wedding was a departure from all of that over-stylized bullshit we’ve come to expect from weddings.

It was real. All of the emphasis was exactly where it should have been, on the marriage itself. You could hear it in the way they said their vows. You could see it in the way they looked at each other as they danced. You could feel it the very second you walked into the room. They meant it. They meant it with every fibre of their beings. And they’re going to keep on meaning it, every day, from this day on.

It started with a simple, heartfelt ceremony at city hall. With music and friends.



The vows were honest and sweet.


They kissed and signed the paperwork to make it stick. Time to get back to their place. Time to celebrate!


We’re gunna need a bigger tub…


There were brilliant toasts. Curse toasts even. I’ve never heard a bride drop an f-bomb in a thank you toast before, but it was a delightful addition!

Cue the music, time to dance.


Twirling and swirling in a twelve dollar dress. Something only the Magpie could make so magical.



Stealing a laugh with her new father-in-law.


We drank til our faces hurt, partied like there was no tomorrow.






I’ve never been in a room with so much happiness. Which is probably why I was practically bouncing off the walls! The steady supply of drinks may have had something to do with that as well…

I was very happy that night. So happy that I thought my little heart was going to burst in my chest at any minute because it couldn’t possibly manage to hold anymore joy. I love my friend, and I love how it’s all turned out for her. Wildest dreams all coming true.


Cheers buddy, you’re a wife now and it’s gunna be awesome!

My View

I’m certain that the summer is going to come to a very abrupt and unwelcome end. So I’ve got to cram as much partying awesomeness into the last weeks of it as I can. I’ve got to live it up before the winter rolls around and I’m firmly cemented indoors by mass quantities of snow. So this being the first weekend after my sister’s wedding, we were open for any and all plans.

I got a text from Joce-force that our crew was around and ready to get down on Friday night. I will drop anything if my dudes are all free, because as I’ve mentioned it happens so rarely that we’re all free on the same night. Karan tried to wuss out at first, saying that he’d only have a few and chill for a bit. But Joce-force wasn’t having any of that. She decreed “get wasted or nothing at all”, an excellent mantra for the night!

So after getting appropriately wasted, we ventured out into the city to wreak further havoc on our lives and livers. We had originally planned to go to Brunswick House a.k.a The Bruny, which is kind of turning into “our bar” as we’ve been there a lot this summer. However, some typical neanderthal bouncer bullshit prevented us from getting in. Apparently, since Karan is brown he is an undesirable candidate for this particular drinking establishment. At least that’s what I surmised from “bro, you like totally can’t come in here, it’s not gonna happen for you tonight”. Fucking bouncers. If they’re not denigrating someone then how else will they know that they’re, like, the coolest most rad dudes in the universe?

So we marched ourselves indignantly into Kilgour’s, the next closest bar, and demanded shots:

Shots! Shots! Shots!

I don’t know that a bartender has ever had such a bizarre experience. Our group of seven walks up to the bar, orders seven shots, slams them back, and then marches right back out. Then we carried right on to Lee’s Palace. Ain’t no stopping us now!

we’re really gonna go in there? You bet!

We got in without hassle, which is exactly what we wanted. As per the nightly itinerary, we then proceeded to go nuts. I’d never been there before, but the Magpie has told me a bunch about this place. And it was definitely everything that it was cracked up to be. The dance floor was packed, the beats were (not my style) but fresh I suppose, and the drinks were cold. You know you’re in the right place though when you see the ramblings of drunkards scrawled all over the bathroom walls:

the writing is on the wall…

Suffice it to say, I was quite hammered at the end of the night.

The following night D and I dusted ourselves off and made a trip out to Parkdale for the Magpie’s birthday party. I had not yet ventured that far west, and I was feeling a bizarre mixture of excitement and apprehension. From the stories I’ve heard, this side of town isn’t for the feint of heart. And honestly, it wasn’t what I was expecting at all. All week leading up to the party I’d been joking to the Magpie that I’d be hella pissed if I got shivved in an alley because all my teeth are real, leading a perp to assume me a profitable target. It was dark, but from what I could see there was a quaintness to the neighbourhood.

The party was a full blown luau, and it was a blast! We met a totally new group of unique and interesting people. We drank like fish, as per usual, and ate delicious bacon wrapped pineapple hors d’oeuvres. Amongst other tasty morsels of course, but the pineapple was the standout for me.

We crammed a whole buttload of partying into this weekend. Fear not, I paid the price for my debauchery. I was left horrendously incapacitated by hangovers on both Saturday and Sunday morning.

However, I have a secret weapon that gets me back on the mend. It’s the gorgeous view I have of the city from my apartment:


this is at about 8am

We have a sweet corner apartment so I can see a lot of the city from it. Both mornings this weekend I was up very early. So I just popped a couple of Advils and sat down on the V.I.P. balcony sofa soaking it all in. Nothing like a nice cool breeze on your face and a stunning view of the city first thing in the morning.

It’s not just an amazing hangover cure. It’s good for all your troubles! When I’m frustrated, bored, restless, tired, annoyed, or sad I just head out to the balcony. Looking out over the city reaffirms where I am in my life right this moment. I’m instantly reassured by the city that my troubles aren’t so big, and I’m headed in the right direction.

In my quest for the little things that make my day that much brighter, it’s comforting to know that I have the best pick me up right outside my door.