Chop on the block

I always feel optimism and wanderlust after visiting with my awesome hairdresser, Julie. She trims my bangs in the outfit I'm still trying to put together and tells me about her recent or forthcoming trip from or to Chicago/San Francisco/Brazil/Stockholm/Copenhagen/other hipster locale, the hotels she's booked on Tablet, the friends she's visited, what tea she drank, and her adventures as a part-time deejay. Yeah. She has one of those lives.

On Wednesday, I was telling her about how, for a while now, I've been longing for a high school dance, complete with streamers draped around seismic ceiling beams, a shinied up gym floor, rented disco ball, and Le Chateau shoes. But most important of all, I want the slow dancing. Arms fully extended, stare at your toes, Boyz II Men blaring from the speakers, slow-dancing. The good stuff. Now, I always imagined that these things must be going on in New York, or Tokyo. I bet the people in San Paulo have high school dance parties for grown ups. At any rate, I was sure they were happening anywhere but Vancouver. And then I found out Julie's friend had just held a slow dance party that weekend at his house. A slow dance party. In Vancouver. She deejayed the event, and for her efforts, she has been promoted to Commodore First Class Matson on Party Army. Their website states they're a s society dedicated to party-offs and according to their forum, there's a prom going on, AND a bring-your-own-flask bingo night. Hmmm. What with the awesomness of Hoko's last weekend, maybe Vancouver ain't so stodgy after all. F'real?