The Sessionista is quite the jet-setter these days (sans jet)! After a 10 day vacation on The Mothership, The Sessionista turned around and headed to Whistler, BC to celebrate Sister Sessionista’s final days of freedom before The Wedding of the Year.
On Friday, Sister Sessionista and her entourage headed to the Great White North to party in what was once the land of hot men (that title has apparently been passed on to some unknown spot and/or The Sessionista has ventured so far from Singledom that she can’t even identify hotness outside of The Sessionista’s Man).
Come Saturday night, Sister Sessionista was properly bedecked in a freakishly demure veil and sparkly “bachelorette” tiara (frantically picked up at Display and Costume for the eff me over price of $20). First on the agenda? Creating a solid food base for the soon-to-be consumed liquor, at Caramba in the Whistler Village.
Caramba lived up to the “all food is shitty in Whistler” phenomenon that The Sessionista has experienced time and again. In some weird cross-border collusion, the waitress brought The Sessionista another effing gin and tonic, a la her high school reunion. Clearly someone out there wants The Sessionista to drink gin. The G&T was replaced 5 minutes later with a T. If there was any V to be found in it, far be it from The Sessionista to know. Digging into stringy, salty pot roast, The Sessionista wondered how bad the 2.5 star restaurant would have been if this is what she was dealt at the 4 star restaurant.
The “stagette” party (when in Canada…) shimmied down to The Savage Beagle (or The Beagle, if you want to sound like you’ve been there before) where they were “on the list.” Except there was no line. And no cover. Making the stagettes feel slightly less important. Sipping another VT (again, light on the V- it was as if the entire Village was against The Sessionista) and watching soccer highlights on the plasma, Sessionista wondered when the craziness level would kick up a notch.
Tired of shitty techno and grown men embarrassing themselves with ugly dancing, the stagettes wandered down to Garfinkel’s where The Sessionista quickly came to the realization she was too effing old and wearing far too many clothes to skip the line and get in, even with her Stagette Sister in tow. What miniature buzz the party had attained at this point was quickly wearing off, so it was on the hoof again, this time to find a place called Wild Bill’s, which promised to be well…wild.
Tantalizing strains of “Billie Jean” wafted out of the club while the stagettes stood in yet another line that appeared to go nowhere, listening to people yell “happy birthday” to Sister Sessionista. Seems a giant white veil and tiara with “bachelorette” written on it is just too much to comprehend in Canada. Luckily Sessionista and Company were thoroughly entertained by the people watching. Apparently all the mirrors in Whistler were broken on Saturday night- the only possible explanation for the sick amount of squeezed-in satin and perplexingly tight-assed, blousy stomached dresses tottering around the village.
Freezing their tatas off, one of the stagettes made her way over to a doorman and asked if the party might be able to skip the line. The stagettes were then escorted to a WHOLE OTHER BAR. Apparently this is where they shunt all the old (i.e. 30), clothing-clad women in Whistler.
Unceremoniously dumped in Tapley’s Pub with a derisive “you can wait over here for 45 minutes, then we’ll let you in,” Sessionista and Company beelined to the bar, where the only hot guy in all of Whistler (the bartender) gave the group a free bottle of pink champagne. Sessionista figured the rosy color alone indicated the bottle cost an astonishing $6. But who was The Sessionista to complain?? This was the best service she’d gotten all night. Finally, someone was giving Sister Sessionista the proper attention she deserved on this, her Last Night of Freedom. The place was packed with phenomenally drunk but seemingly normal people (minus the guy who arrived wearing a giant cardboard box), the music was good and the bartender was hot. Reason enough to stay. An hour later, the doorman from Wild Bill’s arrived, telling us the stagettes could come over. And get in to the club for the bargain price of $18 a person. Apparently Wild Bill’s thinks it’s on the Vegas Strip, cozied up next to Tao.
Forgoing the ridiculous cover, the stagettes continued to drink, Sister Sessionista continued to get grabbed (the veil, not her) and all was going quite lovely until Sister Sessionista and her friend the Blond Biologist were propositioned by a stranger, through a glass window. Innocently drinking and enjoying their last 15 minutes before the bar closed, the Sessionista’s Future Sister in Law suddenly noticed a man standing outside the window by the table, pointing at Sister Sessionista and Blond Biologist, then making “sleep” motions. The offered rate? $150 for the pair. Thank god the exchange rate is one-for-one or they’d have been worth around $50 piece. Holding up wads of cash to the window, the creepy dude continued to try to solicit a woman in a white veil for sex. When that didn’t work, he offered up $150 for The Sessionista. The Sessionista has worn many cute, scandalous outfits over time, joking she looked like a hooker. But apparently jeans and a t-shirt are prostie wear these days. Or this man was too drunk to notice The Sessionista was showing less skin than a 7th Day Adventist.
Being propositioned seemed like a good way to end the night, so the stagettes exited the bar, escaped the john, and wandered back to the condo, with one memorable stagette party under their belts.
Sessionista Says: Whistler 2009 is no Whistler circa 2003. Sigh. But at least The Session can check the “#743: Have someone offer you money for sex” item off her Life’s To-Do List.