I'd like to start this post off with an apology to my friend Alex who had asked me to blog about this particular night a month ago. My turnaround time from experience to blogpost isn't great normally and I've been applying to grad schools (McGill, UBC and University of Alberta) which has taken up most of my time. Trying to recall events which occurred almost an entire moon cycle ago is never easy to begin with, adding in a moderate amount of alcohol makes it that much more difficult.

Alex was back in her hometown of Sackville, Nova Scotia (not to be confused with Sackville, New Brunswick) for the holidays and I had just returned from Montreal. Her last weekend in town, we decided to hit up the town. The one little snag in our plans was that while her friends wanted to hit the upscale Rain, I had planned to hang out with my buddy Daniel at the Pogue Fado (a favourite Irish-themed pub of mine). Daniel and I started hanging out when he found out I was single and thus could serve as a capable wing-man. I have no clue why he would need me for this role since the first time we went out, Dan knew approximately 39% of the tall brunettes at the bar. But I digress... The plan was for the two clans to meet up later in the evening. Those plans were thrown for a loop when I guess Alex's friends decided that the Pogue would be a better time and thus joined Dan, Greg (one of Dan's friends) and myself. Before long, Alex and I were catching up on old times and prying each other for information/gossip about our McGill chemistry friends. It soon became apparent that we were both equally out of the loop. I would say the definite highlight of the time at Pogue was the lonesome Cowboy from the future. He was probably in his late 30s, dressed in a full-length leather coat, cowboys boots and, if memory serves, sunglasses. Think a white creepy version of Morpheus from the Matrices movies.

Closing time came and we made our way out of the door. Who should I be greeted by but none other than Halifax's famous DawgFather and his hot dog cart. I scarfed down a $4 sausage like a true champion and we then all proceeded to the Apple Barrel for some more late night food. This was my first time there and I have to say it was less than impressive. First off, there is the mural on the wall. It features the inside of what appears to be a pirate restobar complete with a serving wench and a gay pirate leering at the backside of a youngish looking pirate. All rendered without any consideration for shadowing or proportions (an example is the lighthouse seen outside one of the windows which must be a miniature version of one). The clientele was mostly drunken partygoers including Mullet Lady (I think Alex took about 8 pictures of her mane). Then there was the service. It took about 45 minutes to be served cold poutine (me), cold french fries (Alex), cold eggs and sausages (Alex's friend no. 1) and cold chicken wrap (Alex's friend no. 2). ** sidetrack: what does it say about me that I can't remember Alex's friend's names but I can recall what they had to eat? ** To top things off, they couldn't even make a proper poutine. It had shredded mozarella and cheddar! What gives? Anywho, after originally promising us a rebate on our food because of the debacle, the waiter retracted the offer. Instead, he would allow us to steal a pop of our choice from the fridge. Umm, thanks but no thanks. First off, I'm sure he wasn't authorized to let us take a pop and second of all, a pop is like 75 cents (hardly worth the hour we had to wait to get our food). With the bitter disappointment behind us, we all went our separate ways never to hear of each other again until one day a week ago I received an email from Alex.... dum dum DUM!!!