On the inside looking in

There is a strange phenomenon in the Toronto nightlife scene that is capturing crazy people by storm. And it is the Toronto Sunday brunch scene. I liken it to Spring Break but with more pretentious people and expensive booze.

A girl friend invited me to one such event.  “But you have to be drunk to enjoy it,” she warned. Naturally, this only compelled me to do the opposite. Although a bottle of wine makes me extremely witty, (see A Love Letter to Pinot Grigio), I don’t need alcohol to have fun.

But once there, my sobriety lasted half an hour. It turns out that drunken debauchery when inappropriate and without cause is quite infectious.

“Who are these people?” I asked my friend as the bottle service arrived at our table and I joyfully waved the sparklers handed to me by the shooter girls.

Indeed, they did seem to lack judgment and common sense, but I nonetheless felt like a deficient bystander amongst this trendy must-be-seen crowd who have nothing better to do on a Sunday but get senselessly inebriated. Moments later, when the shots arrived at our table, a photographer asked us to pose for a series of publicity photos for the restaurant.

After “brunch”, the tables were cleared to make room for the dance floor. This is so wrong. I need to work tomorrow morning, I thought, as I danced maniacally, double-fisting my two drinks.

Hours later, somewhere in between the epic dancing and unwise mixing of alcohol did it occur to me that I am, in fact, one of these crazy people. I was not begrudgingly taking part in their Sunday sacrilegious rituals, but rather wholeheartedly embracing them like a born again Christian.

It is not lost on me that this is the second blog in a row that ends with the self realization of the extent of my insanity. What’s important is that I’m aware of it and this self-awareness can only lead to good blog entries. Yes, I see my glass as half full (of vodka).

And to that, I raise my glass. Cheers to Sunday afternoon, or anything for that matter.