Day 10: Meet me at Greenhorn's?

Note: The Rules & Guidelines for the Yes Test can be found here.

Normally when you wake up in someone else's bed after a night out, you're either filled with glee or shame. Sometimes both. Instead, I woke up in someone else's bed this morning because I left my keys in the Canasian's house and couldn't enter into my building, so I was forced to night nap elsewhere because the Canasian wasn't home. My choices were to either drunkenly walk a half hour to his house and hope someone was home and awake at 2am, or to head to the park across the street and join the party of park sleepers. Apparently it's a popular (and free) place to rest your head, and I'm sure I would have been welcomed just like Mary was welcomed into the inn that one time. 

This sounds like the beginning of a particularly terrible smut film. I'm tempted to Google "Modern day Mary the Blessed Virgin porn" just to see if anyone has capitalized on this multi-million dollar idea, but I'm worried that Google's robots will think I'm into something particularly shifty and then all of my targeted ads will morph from CrossFit and environmentally friendly diapers (don't ask) into two thousand year old dildos interspersed between limited time offers and discounts on repentance from the Mormon Church. The internet already thinks I'm pregnant just because I'm doing early research for a new project involving baby clothes, and it's bad enough to open Chrome in the morning and see bald heads and naked butts all over my feed. One wrong Google and I'll be faced with a lifetime of butts and balds of a different kind.

Or, I could get a slice of pizza and cuddle with an Irishman or two until sunrise.

God damnit, that also sounds like the beginning of a (slightly classier) smut film.  

In reality, I slept fitfully for a few hours and left the house by 7am to meet the Canasian at Greenhorn Espresso Bar to grab my keys. He had just returned home from a mutual friend's wedding, and he was surprisingly perky as he told me about the nuptials while he plowed through his avocado toast. I, however, was close to pouring my hot coffee into my eye in order to create a diversion and avoid any more human interaction. 

I excused myself and headed back to my apartment, surprised at how good my body felt despite the Spartan Race the day before. I spent the majority of my day clawing out of a hangover and trying to figure out what to do with my life, because in two days, I get kicked out the place I'm staying and haven't made a plan. If someone could just clearly ask me, "Do you want to stay at my place?" I'd have a clear and definite direction, but no, the one time I want someone to ask me a question, everyone shuts up. Of course, I probably wouldn't register that they are asking me a clear yes or no question, because it's surprisingly difficult to hear the question when it's against your preoccupations. 

For example, once I came out of my Irish daze, the Canasian and I got take out for dinner. We wandered to Robson Square and dragged a table into the sun so we could eat our poke in peace and sunlight. A drifter with a guitar wandered over and asked us if we were on a romantic date. We both lied and said yes. He then asked if we wanted to hear a song that was "perfect for the moment." We were sitting at a table covered in bird poop, discussing my anxiety about the future and lamenting about the volatility and absurdity of cryptocurrency. Unless there is a Hallmark card that says, "I'm so sorry you lost half your portfolio to GAYcoin and sharding," I'm not sure what moment he was talking about. 

Because his question interrupted our trajectory, we told him, "No thanks, we're good." I qualified the statement because I didn't have any change, since I've been giving it away to anyone who asks me for it on the street. He was clearly disappointed, and said he would "almost do it for free, because if you could see the moment, you'd understand." Almost apparently isn't good enough, so he went on his way and we resumed our dinner. It was only later this evening that I realized I missed an opportunity to say yes, but more importantly, I missed it because it didn't fit in with what I thought I wanted. Getting serenaded in the sunlight on the streets of Vancouver, by a man who thought we were on a romantic date, is a pretty amusing way to end the day, but we missed it because it didn't fit into our narrative. 

And that is the point of all of this, to change the narrative, just like the infamous Mary in her latest film, The Church of Latter Day Taints.