2 girls 1 club

My band was playing a one-off fly in show in Vancouver, I was a single 25 year old guy, and my lifelong obsession with beautiful women was at an all time high.


We left the hotel and headed to soundcheck like any other day/show: mundane boring conversation with the driver/runner, some of us nursing hangovers, some of us still asleep from the 6 am flight that morning. Upon arrival we fall into our specific jobs like robots, methodically getting our instruments ready as we'd done what felt like 1000 times before. Moments before it's our turn to get onstage, I notice the backup singer from another artist's touring crew. She was a curvy brunette with a gorgeous smile, how could I not notice? We make eye contact and it was every bit of 1980's teen movie magic. While on stage going through our checks, let's just say Ms. Curvy Singer Girl and I were making googly eyes toward each other as well. An epic true-love tale in the making. 


After the show (which was great by the way, except my future bride to be and I didn't get too much face time backstage unfortunately) there was an after party that was way too simple to have been so awesome. Basically tons of models and free drinks. A recipe for disaster, or, the best night ever. Our tour manager had fallen in love with a 6 ft tall Estonian beauty and was essentially a write off for the rest of the night. I was walking up to the open bar when the good Lord decided to bless me once again; there was my curvy singer girl alone at the bar waiting for a drink. I forget what I said first but Im sure it was something stupid and really not that funny, most likely a dad joke. We chat excitedly, slightly easing the tension that began with the soundcheck eye contact trance. It seems some of the backup dancers and singers are all going out to an underground bar that was of the “urban” persuasion.


(sidenote: as per usual I have to explain some of the backstory just so you fully understand the context. Y’know how you go through phases in life? Certain interests and scenes completely capture you for a period of time, then naturally your interests change and slowly something new takes your attention. Well, at this point in my life I had a serious thing for rap music and exotic women, more specifically black women. I still do, but I would say now I am definitely a more equal opportunity employer in my love life. Who knows, maybe it was just the fact that moving to Toronto from Edmonton was the equivalent of having just one brand of candy bar your entire life and then moving to a city where it was essentially the holy grail of every candy bar the world had to offer. Now, back to the story now that you know the clarifying backstory and the unexplainable way my brain works)


It also seemed that little ‘ol me, young Daniel, was getting a direct invite to said urban club and there was absolutely no way I was saying no to that body and those eyes. I chug my free drink and swiftly order another double: tonight is gonna be a good one. The next hour is a bit hazy and I have no idea why, I remember getting details for the urban bar (i think?) but for some reason went back to the hotel with the guys first. I recall our tour manager (my best friend and roommate at the time) had kissed and scored the Estonian model’s number so he was not only 3 sheets to the wind but also firmly perched upon cloud nine, but ALSO had tied his scarf around his neck so that there was a 4 foot scarf/tail/cape/leash trailing behind him as he danced like some sort of drunk marionette on the bus stop benches.


I actually completely forget the next hour, which isn’t surprising to anyone but somewhat interesting because the next thing i remember was walking into the bar and very quickly realizing i was the only white guy there. Which also isn’t surprising at this particular time in my life. I pay the ridiculous cover charge (obviously they don’t know who I am…) and head to the bar to keep the buzz going. My head is on a swivel with all these beautiful women  dancing in front of me when I spot Ms. Curvy Singer Girl and again we make electric eye contact, in a dark smoky bar across the dance floor time stood still for just a second or two. I make my way on to the dance floor and remove any and all doubt that no matter how much liquor and rap music are around me, I still can’t dance. So I did what any loser white guy would do; I basically became a real life version of that scene in Hitch where the loser white guy dances like a fool. It did help my cause however that I knew every word of every song played that night, a feat that for some reason was impressive to everyone around.


As the evening went on, my brunette angel and I moved closer and closer together, I mean thank goodness otherwise I would have kept dancing like an idiot on my own which was essentially a terrible unintentional  rendition of Carlton meets Vanilla Ice. So there we were, loosely embraced like two star crossed lovers, her grinding against me in the most arousing fashion, and me attempting to move as seductively as a skinny white guy can. It is mutually decided that we need to take this party for two back to the hotel, so we run out into the street and into a cab, hastily enroute to the hotel. In the elevator it is most certainly smooch city, all over each other like we were the last two people on earth and it is our sole mission to repopulate this God forsaken globe or die trying. I invite her/demand she comes back to my hotel room, to which she replies: “yaaa not tonight”.


At this pivotal time in my life i was fuelled by nothing but success, testosterone, and vodka. Getting shut down by this dark haired vixen really vexed me to the point of now I don’t want to just hook up with her, I need to get to know this chick because now I think Im in love.

So we began a casual dating scenario that consisted of maybe 2-3 dates/weird group hangs (I was under the impression it was  going to be just the two of us, but hey, chicks are weird amirite?). And then I pulled out my last ditch effort move to make this chick fall wildly in love with me: I invited her to one of our shows in Toronto, as well as our classic after party at some club. Here is where the story really takes a turn for the interesting.


Around the same time as this budding new romance, I had also just begun a dating scenario with ANOTHER gorgeous brunette (are you sensing a theme here?) with whom I was very much infatuated with. We had been seeing each other for a few weeks and it was showing no signs of slowing down. But, dating in a big city is tough, there are a million options and Im sure we both had a few other people on the back burner just in case. This particular brunette was out of town for work but returning the day after our show in Toronto, hence why I invited Curvy Backup Singer Girl to the show.


The day of the show arrives and everything was going as planned: Ms. Curvy Brunette was backstage pre-show hanging out and drinking ( we usually had a ton of people backstage partying, sometimes too many people but thats a whole other can of worms…) and every time we locked eyes I’m getting the googly heart eyes emoji from this chick. This is good, this is great, my plan is working. We were direct support for a very large band at the time so that translates into “no responsibilities”. We play our set, and get the fuck outta there and head to our after party to get wild. But, a large group of us decided to take the party to my condo first, y’know, to pregame and no one wants to show up to their own afterparty early.


I remember this moment so vividly, it was one of those “oh fuck” moments. I was pouring what would be my last drink backstage at the show when my phone rang, so I left our area and group of party people to answer. I answer. Its the original brunette, the one that i was so embarrassingly infatuated with. She is extremely excited, saying she just got back into town and was wondering if she should jump in a cab and meet me at our afterparty. Oh fuck. Well, I did exactly what you think I’d do: of course I told her to meet me there. Now I have to concoct a plan to either get rid of Ms. Curvy Backup Singer, or I have to convince a friend to keep her occupied all night. I chose the latter. One of my best buds who is an absolute legend is up for the task and begins to usher her away from me, in all hopes she’d forget I had invited her in the first place.he does a miraculous job of doing just so.


After a short stint at my condo where everyone drank my alcohol and used every horizontal surface for party substances, we are finally headed to our afterparty. We stroll into the club like the D list celebrities we were at the time, and find our VIP area. I am nervously looking over my shoulder, anticipating the arrival of the original brunette, meanwhile Ms. Curvy Brunette is getting slowly confused as to why I am not all over her, as I had been for the previous weeks.


Well, my guest of honour (the original brunette) finds her way up into our area. I am instantly transported back to OUR usual behaviour, aka many smooches and conversing like no one else is around us in our own magical bubble. Now, this goes on for some time. I am somewhat aware of the party around us, imagine 30 people crammed into a VIP section drinking as though all this liquor was free and we weren’t getting a bill from our management 6 months down the road. I am also aware of the frequent concerned glances from Ms Curvy. I am in a bit of a pickle as it were. I decide to stay in the moment with my original brunette and hope for the best.


And here is the punchline to the evening. After a drunken smooch and long embrace I come up for air figuratively and literally when out of the corner of my eye I see Ms. Curvy Brunette slam her drink down, stand up, and walk with so much determination any runway model would cower in fear. As I probably should’ve as well. She comes up inches from my face and stares into my eyes so deeply with such anger and rage, and shouts “you’re an asshole!” and slaps my right cheek harder than any woman ever has (well, maybe…). Hell hath no fury like a woman scorn. She stomps out of our section and into the night. So, I carry on with Ms. Original and have one hell of a night. Until she informs me that she is going home. Alone. I walk her out to her cab and watch the taillights disappear into the downtown Toronto night.

Well, I guess thats that. What have I learned? Not much, maybe Im just a sucker for brunettes and crazy nights, who knows…