Well, hello Amanda Martinez!

The weekend was a lovely one, overall. I had some long-awaited housework to do, which I had pretty much neglected during my daily sojourn to the Hart House to write. And I got into it. A little elbow grease later, my floors were polished and glowing, and not a speck of dust was to be seen. I even ironed my clothes. Bully for me.

Friday night was R.'s birthday, so we went out dancing, first to West, and then to Devil's Martini. I think I forgot how much I love going out to do that. After spending two years in a relationship that was pretty much the equivalent of solitary confinement, this past year has been an incredible re-discovery of the me I seemed to have misplaced in an attempt to bridge troubled waters. How could that have happened? I asked myself that every day last year. I've been making up for it ever since! Now that I have a wonderful circle of new friends (but old soul mates), I finally feel as though Toronto is growing on me. My social calendar is more packed than a rat, and I feel completely at home about it. I always knew that I'm not myself without my community of friends around me, and yet I tried to defy it. I mean, why fight Destiny?

So, we're exiting one nightclub to walk into another. Then, I see a girl pat a man on his ass, and I see her boots, and then I realize that I'm in Canada. It was a strange dislocation for me to think that I was back home that entire evening. As soon as I cleared my head, R. voiced what I was thinking. We compared notes, and realized it was the same action of butt-patting that brought us back to the fact that this was Canada, not India.

Friday night was dance, dance, dance. With my feet worn out, I fell into bed at 3 am, and woke up at noon on Saturday. Then, I ironed. I made breakfast and ironed my heart out while watching The Prisoner. (which, by the way, Nikki, I'm totally sold on.) This was followed by a fantastic yoga class. My left knee is well and truly busted, I think. Any bend past 90 degrees just kills it. But I persevere, nevertheless. Saturday night was total chillout. I made a delicious grilled eggplant and sweet potato dish. I'm telling you, I'm getting really good at this veggie thing! I'm so proud!

Sunday was the best day of the weekend. As described above, after an entire day of elbow grease, I showered, changed, and went to my professor's 60th birthday bash at Broadview. You could hear the live music all the way down to the main road. This band was insane. My professor's husband is Chilean, and a music producer. He had some of Toronto's best Latin musicians in his backyard, playing the hottest beats. There were a lot of Cubans around, and everywhere I turned, people were speaking Spanish, Spanish, Spanish. It was wonderful.

And then even more wonderful. She put down her glass and walked to the mic. She wore a beautiful blue sundress and she sang. As soon as I heard her voice, I knew it was her, Amanda Martinez, my favourite Toronto Latina (after my ex-roommate). The yard was filled with neighbours and professors and friends and students and well-wishers. After she finished her slow number, she teamed up with a Cuban singer, and everyone went nuts. A Chilean girl and I did some crazy salsa turns on the dance floor, and the musicians were going wild. For the second time this week, I felt dislocated. I could have been in Cuba or Colombia, and I was happy not to break my little spell.

I was talking with someone when Amanda walked past. I turned to her.
"Amanda, you don't know me, but I just want to thank you for your lovely music," I said. "I listen to your show every Saturday afternoon on Jazz FM, and it makes me so happy."

The end.