Is it possible a pint of Keiths actually tastes better in Nova Scotia?  Or does beer just naturally taste better at three o’clock in the afternoon?  I’m in Halifax now, in case you didn’t guess.  I finally downloaded a new CD, to prevent Ke$ha from rotting my brain even more than it already has.  I’m in my gym clothes, cuz I thought my day would consist of coffee and a workout, but alas, a sunny day and a pub patio pulled me in another direction.

I’m playing on Facebook right now.  Did you know I’m friends with 9 Jeffs?  That’s a lot of Jeffs.  And 7 Jasons, 4 Ians, 4 Davids….I’m bored, can you tell?  The new CD I’m listening to is great.  Her name is Anuhea, in case you want to play along.  “Charismatic SOB” is a great song.  The Bud Lite Lime umbrellas are up in full affect on this patio.  Oh, B.L.L… are you going to contaminate this summer again, like you did last?  Better question: are Fish n Chips in my future?  I hope so.  My dinner last night consisted of beer and nachos.  I would have done anything for a slice of pizza after the bar… I mean bars(plural.)  Speaking of yesterday…

I arrive in Halifax around 2pm.  I wait forever in the airport for my shuttle bus-don’t judge me.  I save 30 bucks this way.  After writing on at least a dozen people’s facebook walls(via iphone,) I finally board my bus.  Oh, I also polished off a bag of Tostitos, without salsa.   That’s how hungry I was.  The bus is running 15 minutes being schedule.  For a province full of Sydney Crosby fans, you’d think they could move a little faster.  I stop playing on my iphone, as I want to soak up my first trip ever to Halifax.  The further we move away from the airport, the happier I am not to be in a cab right now, watching the meter move up my bum hole, and deep into my wallet.  The first stop for the shuttle bus is the Holiday Inn, Dartmouth.  So this is Dartmouth.  I’ve heard of it.  One of my good comedian friends is from here.  We let off the nice couple, and hit the road again.  We cross a bridge.  I was hoping we’d cross the bridge.  It’s very Lions Gate-esque(for you Vancouverians.)  Three lanes.  Who builds a three-laned bridge?  I’ll never understand this.  Second stop is the Four Points Inn.  The solo backpacker guy gets off.  Next stop, The Westin.  That’s me.  Don’t be jealous.  Usually our accommodations are not this cool.  Remember the house by Boston Pizza in Newfoundland?

Now, there’s something I should tell you about this weekend of shows.  The line up has changed.  I’m still working with the headliner from last week, but the host is different.  Instead of the guy I know from Ottawa, with the stripper intros, I’m working with a Toronto comic… A Toronto I’ve slept with.

It’s not rocket science.  The whole world knows the repercussions of sleeping with someone you work with.  In comedy, it might seem less risky, since we don’t work with the same people every weekend.  You might get off scott-free, and always get booked with someone else.  Not this time.

The original scene of our one night stand(yes, it was a one night stand) was Toronto.  Roughly two years ago.  You might think two comedians picking each other up would be hilarious, and in this case, you’re definitely right.  We were at an after party for the Great Canadian Laugh Off.  He was in it.  I was there for support- or the open bar.  Most likely the latter.  There were a lot of industry people there.  When I say “industry people,” I’m talking about people that comedians are always trying to impress.   Me and “him” have been friends for years.  Nothing kinky, just comedy buddies.  I don’t hang out with him often, but given the right moment, we’ll always have some beers together, and shoot the shit.  So here we were, drinking for free, amongst “industry people.”  Good times.

“You guys look like brother and sister,” says some lady, who’s name I clearly don’t remember.  “Are you guys related?”  He answers, “Ya, she’s my sister.”  He’s got good improv skills- never “block-” always “yes and.”  Oh, but this isn’t improv, this is real life.  Does it matter?

The conversation keeps moving.  We manage to convince everybody in the room that we are brother and sister.  The more we drink, the sillier it gets… until…

We’re in a circle of people, talking about how great “our” family gets along.  “We just have a way, in our family.  You know…” then he starts giving me small kisses on the lips.  I have to do everything in my power not to burst out laughing, to keep the charade alive.  But fuck, I wanted to laugh so hard.  Before I knew it, we were full on, making out in front of people who truly believed we were siblings.  I think one woman spit out her drink.

Eventually we burst out laughing, and confess we’re not related.  Not even cousins.  Our fair complexions and blonde hair are totally a coincidence.  This calls for another drink.  Or was it drinks… it’s not clear.

So, you know how the story goes.  I already told you.  The making out was supposed to be a joke, but it was still kind of sexy.   We drunkenly sleep together, and life goes on.

Now back to the present.  I’m going to be sharing accommodations with this guy for the next five days.  I know nothing’s going to happen.  I have a boyfriend.  He has a girlfriend.  But I will be very surprised if that night doesn’t somehow come up in conversation.

We sit on the couch, enjoying a bottle of local beer-Propeller IPA.  It’s tasty.  He flicks the remote for the T.V, and lands on the Discovery Channel.  “Mayday” is on.  It’s a documentary show about plane crashes.  It’s also the same show he watched the night we… you know… “hooked up.”  I know what you’re thinking.  What kind of a girl seduces a guy with plane crash documentaries?  I have a vagina.  I can get away with anything.

He leaves the T.V. on this channel, acknowledging that I like this show.  He might as well say, “Hey, remember the night we slept together?  Haha!”  It’s a repeat.  For all I know, it’s the same episode we bing banged to.  I’m getting hungry.  It’s my first time in Halifax.  I also want to see the city.   He agrees we should go out.  We invite the other comic to come with us, but he declines.

The first bar we hit is the Economy Shoe Shop.  What a great name for a bar you want women to frequent.  We enjoy a quality dinner of beer and nachos, me eating all the jalapenos he’s picked off his chips.  After “dinner” we decide to move to another bar.  The Carleton.  A guy who looks like Smith from Sex and the City, approaches us at the door.

“Are you guys here for the show?”
“What show?” We respond.  The Smith guy explains there’s a band from the UK here, and there’s a $35 dollar cover.  For some reason, he lets us in, free of charge.  Must be our brother and sister look.

The band is good.  So is the wine.  There’s an older man beside me.  He keeps looking at us, smiling.  Finally, he breaks the ice.

“They’re a lot like the Moody Blues, eh?  But you’re probably too young to know who the Moody Blues are!”  I smile, enjoying the fact I look young tonight.  He pipes up again(I’m pretty sure he’s on his fourth glass of wine.)

“Is that your husband?”  Oh, God.  Here it comes.   “If he’s not, you’re headed in that direction, aren’t you?  I can tell these things.  I’m very intuitive.”  I try not to burst out laughing.  This guys intuitions need a tune up.  I can’t tell whether we’re going to play the “yes and” improv game again.  It’s been a few years.  The drunk man gets closer, wedging himself right in the middle of us.  We try to convince him that we’re just buddies, but he doesn’t believe us.  “Oh I know how that goes, you start off friends then blah, blah, blah…”  Okay, he didn’t really say “blah blah blah,” but I got distracted by the fact he’s wearing his university ring on his wedding finger.  Decoy?  Or is he in love with his university?  Finally I try to shut him up.

“Listen!  Here’s the deal.  We slept together two years ago, but we’re just friends.  We’ve known each other forever.  We’re just two stand up comics working here for the weekend.”  See, I knew we couldn’t work together for a whole weekend without bringing up the one night stand.  I hope we don’t end up mentioning it on stage.

“Oh!  I knew there was something different about you guys!  Stand up comics, eh?!”  Oh God.  I forgot.  Never tell drunk people you’re a stand up comic.  They eat that shit up.  We let him babble on for a bit, but then politely escape-or try to escape.  He follows us to the door, then makes us re-enact an Inspector Clousseau joke.  Luckily, I don’t get a big part.  But Bing Bang(no names, sorry) did.  I don’t know if you’ve ever been forced to re-enact an Inspector Clousseau joke in the front door of a bar before, but it’s quite awkward.  I can’t decide whether to laugh, or run.

Crap, I have to go.  I have a show in two hours and I’m still in my gym clothes.  I should probably shower too.  I know I didn’t actually work out, but I need to shower the smell of beer off me.

Comedy Girl.

« »