Last night

We took the bus down to the village yesterday. This is gay pride week here in Montreal and so I chose to go join the festivities for my birthday. I wanted to eat at Saloon, a popular bistro where I've never had a bad meal. First stop was Sky for a before dinner beer. The place was packed at 6pm, full of tourists and locals taking advantage of the two for one prices in effect until seven. We were just about ready to leave when the pretentious ones arrived and joined us wishing me happy birthday and standing around passing judgemental comments about the patrons, the music, fashion and the like. I can't stand being around them, a bunch of bitter queens spending way too much time showing off their two hundred dollar shoes to each other. They've just got it all figured out those guys, how to be arch and bitter, and ultimately boyfriend-less. When told of our dinner plans, it was wrinkled noses all around. I was wearing a tank top, shorts and Berkenstocks so a high class restaurant was not really in the possible mix of eateries. But anyway, this is how they are, I didn't ask for them to spit on my plans, but they just hawk their loogies up on just about anything.

So what are you doing for your 40th Tornwordo?

We're going to have dinner at Saloon, and then we're going over to the festival site to watch the concert.

Saloon, why do you want to go there? (Looks at watch, yawns)

Always a good meal, and cute waiters to boot. (my eyes sparkling, hey - it's my bday)

Well there's much better restaurants in the village than that. ( with pity and the wrinkled nose disgust look) And there's nothing good at the festival tonight, tomorrow night and Sunday are better. (who asked you?)

Afterwards, we'll probably head over to the Stud to dance a little.

At this point, they were dumbstruck and gave each other little knowing glances of disdain. The Stud is one of many bars in the village. I like it there because it's full of real people, where guys with beer bellies dance with their shirts off. It's a we don't care what we look like, we're here to let go and have fun kind of place. There are many other places with twenty dollar cover charges and New York DJs, the dance floors filled with steroid addled Chrissy queens. Just not my kind of place anymore.

Serge and I finished our beer and said goodbye to the snot patrol, went up and had a lovely dinner at Saloon, enjoyed the festival concert enormously (there was a rendition of God Bless the Child that nearly had me in tears it was so beautiful) and danced until one at the Stud where we ran into our old neighbor who bought us a drink for my birthday. (This was classy, I thought, the arbiters of taste didn't even do that at the beginning of the night.) The music was from the 80's on the dancefloor, actual songs I knew the words to, and we danced unselfconciously to the beat of Madonna, Michael Jackson, Tears for Fears etc. A great way to end the night.