The boys... don't know what to do with themselves.

Toronto is known for nightlife, 24 hour convenience stores and Pizza Pizza. These are all great places to meet boys depending on what time of day you are talking about, 2 to 4 am is prime time I tell you. However, I am apparently a shut in and this time of day is spent with cardboard, and] exacto knife and a glue gun (long story). This wasn't much of a big deal, until this cute boy I know decided to leave for a foreign country. Luckily, he left a pile of male friends in his wake for me to hang out with. Good hearty testosterone driven, basketball watching, candy eating, cider drinking men. Okay, well i never said they were particularly manly, but I am at a loss for male communication these days, as I go to school with 350 girls and 32 gay guys.

Crashing the man night has started to become one of my favorite things to do, it makes for very good male observation. This past weekend I blew caution to the wind and went out not one night, but two. Night number one consisted of one too drunken girl (me), four (maybe five?) men who can't really dance and a huge sausage fest at a bar for first year university students. The seven girls who were actually in this place were permanently attached to some goober's groin. It sounds bad, but I kind of enjoyed myself anyways. My band of sausages was terrible with the ladies. Not even one attempt, mind you, they didn't have very good chances.

Night two started in a basement with said basketball, candy and cider. I chose reese's peanut butter cups and went a little more hardcore with the rum. I had to get through at least two hours of basketball after all. These boys could have stayed down there all night, but i had trekked all the way uptown just to go back down town to go out. That and I wore a dress, so I had to make it worth it. I had really high hopes for my sausages this night, they started off well by making friends in the line. Apparently girls they went to university with, as hard as they tried these girls were more into telling stories about themselves then giving out their numbers. We get into the bar, nothing happens, it closes, we leave and low and behold, the most beautiful woman is standing outside by a newspaper stand. Obviously she was a gem, a diamond in the rough even (and i mean rough...). One of them goes to talk to her, and after a good 40 minutes, a lack of pen and some free ham and pineapple pizza, the boy got her phone number. mama was proud. I am going to teach these boys to pick up girls even if it kills me. The world needs more suave men. Girls should be wooed, not hit on. Actually, I don't mind being hit on, as long as I get a drink out of it.

the best part of my night came after my post-party burrito, when none of my sausages wanted to take me home, so I end up walking alone. Apparently I was asking to be picked up, as this man slows down his car beside me and offers me a ride. Of course I decline, because he has no candy. He must have followed me for at least half a block, until he finally asked me "I guess you like walking?" and i replied with "I just love taking pleasant walks." That got him to speed off in his champagne coloured impala.