I Feel Like I'm Taking Crazy Pills!!!

Who Knew Wednesdays Could Be So Much Fun?

I am sure I didn’t although generally Wednesdays are not as fabulously footie filled as yesterday was.

I’ll skip over work in the morning because I myself would like to forget it. As I would I would today’s fun-filled day of getting more work piled on my plate that I don’t have time for. I will also skip over the Liverpool AC Milan (boo, AC Milan) Champion’s League Final at Scallys because BOOOOOO AC Milan. However, Scallys is where our adventure begins so begin there we must.

A curious thing happens when all of your friends bail on you. You sort of kind of have to make your own friends. And so Bea did and it all was fine, except if we are counting (BOOOOO) AC Milan undeservedly beating my boys… and then things are decidedly not fine. However, the match ended and I was on my way to jaunt home quickly before heading to my second game of the day… Toronto FC vs. Benfica at BMO Field… when a colleague called and desperately wanted to have a drink before she had to go back to work (Scallys is about 1/2 a block from work). OK, twist my rubber arm. I did not NEED to head home necessarily; it was more to kill time before heading to meet my tall friend at BMO.

It was at this point that things took a turn for the weird. I am convinced that while I was not looking someone slipped an “uninhibitor” into my beer. Somehow, out of no where were all these men. Liverpudlian men to be more exact. And then Bea went INSANE.

To bring you back about a month ago, I happened to be at the same pub to watch the Liverpool Chelsea semi-finals with the above mentioned tall friend (Let’s call him TF), when this distinguished elderly gentleman who could not have been under the age of 95, and dressed impeccably in a suit the way that men of his generation are apt to do, hobbled his way across the pub and sat down in the last remaining seat in the place. It must have taken him at least 10 minutes to do what someone at the spry young age of 30-something could do in less than 5 seconds.

The fact that I had been saving the seat for someone seemed completely irrelevant at that point. Both TF and I were happy to be joined by this fella, whose name is Jeff. You so don’t need to know that… I just wanted to impress you all with the fact that sometimes my short-term memory actually works. It was quite precious to see how the entire staff doted on this gentleman… Jeff, is the lighting OK over here, is it too cold… I swear I have never had such good table service at that place than when this man was sitting with us. In addition to the wait staff, Jeff also knew all the footie regulars, for what we found out was that he came every Saturday and Sunday during Premier League season, at 7:30am, when the first games would start (stupid GMT) and stay until all the games had been played, which is somewhere in the area of 3ish. Sufficed to say that anyone who regularly attends any of the weekend games knows Jeff.

Including Alby. I’m sure my spelling is off which is probably for the best, but Alby is an Englishman…of course… kind of hard to judge his age. He is definitely over 40, and I would say closer to late 40’s… possibly early 50’s. He was hot, in that pervy Englishman kind of way, in that Hugh Grant pervy way. These AMAZING blue eyes that were utterly full of kindness and sincerity… and, I might add, much mischief. I noticed that the first time we met and we talked, though he was old enough to be my Dad, I was truly attracted to this gentleman. It weirded me out to be honest, but as I figured I would likely not see him again anytime soon, I just kind of left with the thought that if I was ever looking for a sugar daddy, Alby would have been at the top of my list.

I saw Alby yesterday and again, it was the weirdest feeling, in that I know it’s wrong, but damn he was hot. He also dresses hipper than most of the guys I know half his age… What can I say, when you’ve got it, you’ve got it at any age. Alby has it. Alby is hot.

But Alby was not the only man there. There were swarms of them… sufficed to say this is where I feel that something MUST have been slipped into my Carlsberg… possibly crazy pills, I am not sure… because when we were leaving, because I had to head down to BMO, I gave not one but TWO men my number… Alby being one of them of course. I have personally never done something as bold… I am a prude and I am lame… and I am a chickensh*t. But the crazy pills were working and so I felt no hesitation that this was the right thing to do. The curious thing to me, was that Alby was so taken aback, and not in the “yikes, run away” taken aback, but really genuinely happy and excited that I had told him to look me up whenever he happens to be in the city next (he lives in Oakville, which would be like living in Abbotsford if you lived in Van, but for rich people and not Mennonites). He gave me a little kiss on the mouth… it was really sweet. The other guy? No idea. I remember he had really small hands though…

Cut to not 30 seconds later at the street meat vendor on the corner. We came upon another Liverpool supporter who, as luck would have it, was also on his way down to BMO for the TFC match. Well obviously I could do nothing else but travel across town with a complete stranger so I left my coworker to her own devices and started the trek to Exhibition Place with my new friend who I met at the hot dog stand.

Oh, did I mention that he is Irish?

And once again the crazy pills kicked in. He had the most amazing blue eyes, as only the Irish are capable of having. Irish blue eyes on men are VERY subtle. You have to look deeply in them to notice, but they are intense… crazy intense… Even the wall-eyed Irishman had them. It was just hard to see them through 3 inches of opticular glass. But Dek had no glasses and was in fact so completely adorable it was all I could do to not steal some kisses in the subway… Why it is that I always come across Irish folk at Yonge and St. Clair and then proceed to get onto public transportation with them escapes me, but hey, the old girl ain’t complaining. At any rate, we totally hit it off and my mind kept wandering to my Irishman-boobies-orgasm theory which was greatly encouraged when he wanted my number. He came to visit me in my seat during the game which I thought was sweet. I’ll keep you folks posted if/when anything ever/ were to happen.

The End.

NOT!

Also in the stands that night was this dude who I have been talking to recently, who texted and called me almost non-stop throughout the game. I ignored them for the most part, because I was there to watch footie dammit! But he insisted in waiting for me outside my gate if you can believe it. Well, as a million other people were also loitering outside I did not see him at first… “I’m wearing green shoes” means squat to me if it is very dark and I cannot see shoes. Luckily I had the foresight to tell him that I would shortly be exiting with the tallest man at the stadium so I pretty much stood out like a sore thumb. I said goodbye to TF and must have been walking for about 2 minutes when this person caught up to me. It was the most unexpected. But a nice surpise. He was quite cute… and seemed very nice. I talked to him today. He saw me but did not come and talk to me when I was saying bye to TF… he thought I had a boyfriend and that it was TF.

“But Bea, you always talk about your bf…”, he said today. I really must start being more careful when I joke about Peter Crouch being my boyfriend…

And what of my date from last week? Well, I have heard from him… a few quick back and forths but nothing along the lines of suggesting getting together again anytime soon. I’m quite not fussed now really… for who can think of other men when Alby is around… or the guy with small hands… or Dek, the non-walled-eyed Irishman… or Man with Green Shoes…