What kind of Bastard are you? Fat Bastard Poster

You know what I realized this weekend?  I’m an old suburban lady.  Whatever hipness I fancy myself to have, however hot I am in my own mind, how much cool I possess notwithstanding the opinion of my children,  I am a has been.

I realized this fact this morning when I picked up my top I wore out last night to a club (more on that later) and sniffed it. Why?  Because the last time I went clubbing you’d have to air out your clothes because they smelled like CIGARETTE SMOKE.  That happened so long ago that I can’t even find the date on Wikipedia.  Also meaning that the last time I went clubbing was so long ago that I there wasn’t even a Wikipedia.

I am tired.  I went out FRIDAY and SATURDAY night this week.  At least I only wore high heels one of the nights.  Or else, I’d probably be using a walker right about now.

Friday night, I went with friends, my sister, and the DD (designated driver named husband) to the Gourmet Food and Wine Expo.  Last year, we had the most fun ever at the Gourmet Food & Wine Expo.  We went on a Sunday afternoon and it wasn’t that crowded, and those who were there were ordinary suburbanites and fogeys like ourselves.  We WERE THE COOL PEOPLE.  We owned that Wino Expo, tasting, friending the awesome Spanish, Portuguese and Italian wine vendors (oh the accents), almost getting kicked out when we need a ‘rest’ on the floor (immature I know), as well as some other antics I won’t share.

This year, we went on the Friday night, as I said.  It was crowded.  Like uncomfortably crowded. And full of 20 something hipsters with their cool outfits and Movembers and youngness.  We had no space at all for middle-aged romping.  It was eye-opening with regard to our lack of cool.  And only one accented wine vendor had the time of day for us.  Luckily, his wine was amazing, which is ironic because we only tried it because of the name.  It’s not available in the Liquor Store, but you (meaning I) can order it (will order it) by the 1/2 case.

Portuguese Wine- Evidencia

Husband doesn’t drink, so we spend some time in the gourmet food area.  This was the biggest Paella I’ve ever seen:

Giant Paella

By far, the coolest food at the Expo was the pulled pork parfait from Hank Daddy’s BBQ.  I didn’t have one, because I don’t eat pork, plus I wasn’t hungry due to being full of wine samples. But, you can actually have these folks come to your party with their truck and do this four your guests:

Hank Daddy's BBQ Parfait

That's Hank Daddy hisself with a big tray o' pork

Saturday Night.  My bff loves anything Latino and has been on everyone to go to this dance club called Il Convento Rico in Little Italy in Toronto.  It’s supposedly a gay dance club, which makes it extra scintillating for us suburbanites.  We brought our gay boyfriends with us to make it perfect.  We had a big night planned:  dinner at Pizzeria Libretto (a restaurant I’ve been dying to go to but never do, because they don’t take reservations and my husband hates waiting, plus I’m usually too lazy to go downtown) then dancing and the DRAG QUEEN  show at the club.  Can you tell how suburban I am?  I capitalized drag queen.

I wore these shoes for the occasion (pilfered from the 17 year old daughter’s closet)

Stilettos borrowed from teenage daughter

The night started out strong earlier in the day when the husband threw out his back picking up a bottle of mouthwash at Costco (told ya we were fogeys).  So, we recruited another husband to be our driver.  Good thing we had a criminal lawyer in the car, because there were 8 of us in a 7-seater (teenager behaviour to go with my teenage shoes).  We didn’t get to eat at Pizza Libretto because there was a two hour wait, and the restaurant we did eat at short poured our wine so it was like a teeny sip (so distressing).

We got to Il Convento Rico.  The dancing was fun. We were working that dance floor with moves like the middle-aged booty shake and the sprinkler.  Unlike in a Royal Caribbean cruise disco or at a Bar Mitzvah, there was nowhere to sit when your stilettos start to hurt so much you want to cut your feet off.  So, after, about 45 minutes I was ready to go.  It was really crowded with tiny latino men and seemingly 15-year old girls who apparently forgot their pants at home.  But, we danced, and drank, and waited for the main attraction:  THE DRAG SHOW.

IT WAS SO LAME.  THOSE DRAG QUEENS WEREN’T EVEN LIP-SYNCING!   They were just dancing around.  I mean, I could do that. For real.  The piece de resistance of the night was upon our exit when a creeper grabbed my friend and FRENCHED HER.   We went straight to the pharmacy for some Lysol.

What did you do this weekend?