Who knew that all it would take to get me to go out in the evenings again was having another baby? I jest, sort of, sort of. I am being serious when I say that since having Beatie my night time social life has increased 10 fold over what it was while I was pregnant. Maybe that's obvious but given that once I went to a night club (for an hour, at 10pm, to a friend's going away party.. the story sounds more outrageous than it was, but still) when I was 6 months pregnant with Violet, maybe it's less obvious than it should be. The point is, I think, that having two babies means that I need to get out more. I used to live for date nights because any spare time I had I wanted to spend with Rob. I still feel that way but since I don't know anyone lining up to babysit regularly and since two babies make me want to drink wine incredibly more often than one baby did, I am rediscovering nights out with girlfriends. It's good! It's fun! I've been missing out.
It possibly also has something to do with my best girl deciding to take up wine drinking as a hobby after nearly 10 years of being straight edge. Actually, on this evening wine was no where in sight, we all took up cocktail drinking like it was going out of fashion. And for the record, if you ever decide to eat at Rice Queen on Brunswick Street, and you should, know this: not all cocktails are the same size. So if, like me, you are not a fussy occasional binge drinker, you just want something in a fancy glass that tastes like summer you should know to order the Singapore Sling. If you don't you might be left questioning why your shot glass full of blackberry flavoured whiskey concoction costs the same as your friend who has a pitcher full of fun. Worse, you might be feeling significantly more tipsy than your pals before dinner has even arrived.
Since it's not particularly big news that I have no idea about bars anymore, it's unsurprising that I'd never been to Kodiak Club which is where we planted our pants on seats after dinner. What was surprising is that not only do they make hands down the best version of a bloody mary I've ever had but they also have a glory board for poor souls who have completed their wing eating competition. Can you imagine eating 60 wings in 60 minutes? No? Having ever eaten a wing in my life I also cannot imagine that. How about the guy on the board who did it in 24 minutes (or thereabouts)? Gross. And impressive. Impressively disgusting? Which incidentally was exactly how I felt the next day, despite having arrived home at the fairly civilised hour of midnight. So this has been a post about alcohol. Back to babies and behaving myself tomorrow, I promise.