Sunday, November 30, 2003

Heard this conversation after a recent hockey game when I was hanging out, eating pizza with the coach and some of the players after the team won.

The coach was guarding a 2 litre bottle of Coke, and drinking it quickly.

Player: You're really goin' to town on that Coke eh coach?
Coach: Well tonight I need all the caffeine and energy I can get.
Player: Why?
Coach: Victory sex.
Player: Victory sex? But we win every game.
Coach: Why do you think I like you guys so much?

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

:: Master Criminals ::

If there was an award from world's dumbest criminal, I think there a few guys here in northern Alberta who would qualify. Over the weekend, in the town of Grimshaw, about 20 minutes from here, the RCMP arrested two people for possession of drugs and firearms. Nothing really groundbreaking, not compared to B.C grow-ops and drug busts, anyway. But the funny part is how they got caught.

Some farmer out in Grimshaw called the cops because his snowmobile got stolen. So the cops came, and saw that, yes, there was no snowmobile where there used to be one before. Now, most people who would steal a snowmobile would, I assume, just get a truck, load the snowmobile into it, and drive away. Case closed. As long as you don't accidently drop your business card in the driveway as you leave then you're home free. Congratulations, you just got yourself a new snowmobile.

But not these geniuses. Either not in possession of a truck, or brain cells, (or both) they decided that they would just drive the snowmobile away. So what did the cops do? Well they followed the tracks in the snow of course - right to a shed across town somewhere. Driving the snowmobile was mistake #1. Mistake #2 for these guys came when, in a moment of pure genius, they thought "Hey, lets' hide the snowmobile in the same place we store all the drugs and unregistered handguns." So guess what else the cops found?

Yup, real smart crooks. It didn't exactly take the guys from Law & Order to figure this one out.

Monday, November 24, 2003

A lot of us complain that we don't have any luck with relationships and can never find someone. A theory on why this is was published on a website I found but no longer remember:

It's often said that all guys are dumb and all girls are crazy. It's true - all girls are just crazy enough to hit on the guys and the guys are just dumb enough not to ask them for their numbers.

An interesting theory, I guess.

Saturday, November 22, 2003

:: Comeback ::

When I was in elementary school, one of my friends, Neil, lived around the corner from me. We used to play road hockey together sometimes, we both were on the basketball team, and once I remember we played computer Jeopardy practically all-night long one Saturday night. We weren't best friends by any means, but we went to each other's birthday parties, so we were pretty good buddies. The only real difference between us was our choice of favourite sports: Mine was hockey, his, football. Actually, Neil was one of Langley's best quarterbacks. His team's always won, he got to play at B.C Place. He was good.

But then high school happened. And as happens with many kids he went down hill. He "fell in with the wrong crowd" as people often say. He was in my Science 8 class for awhile, but eventually got in too much trouble and was expelled/dropped out of school and that's the last I ever saw or heard from him. 'Til Now.

Over the years I just figured he'd ended up as sort of a deadbeat. God knows enough people from my grade 7 grad class turned out that way. But today my assumptions were proven wrong.

I'm flicking channels and I stopped on TSN to watch the Vanier Cup. Simon Fraser University isn't in the Cup, but they played in the semi-finals last week, and the announcers were talking about it, and one of them mentions "SFU linebacker and President's trophy winner Neil McKinlay." I was stunned. I knew it was him right away, and after some quick 'net research to make sure there weren't two Neil McKinlay's in the CIS I was proven correct. It made me feel really happy, knowing that, to steal a football term, he went from fourth-and-long, turned his life around and is now the best university linebacker in the entire country.

What a comeback.

Thursday, November 20, 2003

:: Forbes, denied ::

You may remember, a few days ago I posted a conversation I had with Ian about this girl, Bre, who he liked. Well, he finally made his move. But then this happens, as is described below. The poor kid just can't catch a break with this girl, but it's still funny for the rest of us.

Ian: We were partying last night, I had like 13 beers, and then Bre and I were, you know, gettin' a little 'frisky'. So I went for the bra and unlatched the two prongs so I think i'm in...
Me: What do you mean, you think?
Ian: There was a third prong!!!
Me: Oh yeah?
Ian: And that last prong totally kicked my ass. I just couldn't get it. It was like some kind of super bra.
Me: So then nothing happened then?
Ian: No. It would have, but by the time I got it I had ruined the moment for myself.
Me: Ouch, scoring denied by the infamous third latch.
Ian: No kidding, it was horrible, like something from out of this world.

Tuesday, November 18, 2003

:: If you blog it, they will come ::

I just finished watching Field of Dreams which I hadn't seen in years. Having been turned onto W.P Kinsella's books recently (the movie is based on Kinsella's novel Shoeless Joe) I loved it even more than before. It's officially one of my all-time favourite movies. Being a little bit older and wiser since the last time I watched this movie, I learned a few things from watching it. For starters, if you want something, you have to work for it, no matter how crazy or ridiculous people think you are. And secondly, I learned that if any ghost-like voices tell you do something, or build something, or go someplace, just do it and don't complain or ask why.

Strange voices aside, I'd also like to address another fact: Nobody sends me email anymore. And I mean real emails here, not just forwards. How does this tie into the things I've learned from watching Field of Dreams, you might ask? Well, it has to do with my first point: I want people to send me emails so, by blogging about it, I'm doing something to get what I want-- emails. I may be reaching here, but gimme a break, I needed a segway between the movie and my email situation.

The situation is this: I send out emails to people all the time - I send Mike quirky or funny things that I come across during the day, I send Melissa notes just to say hi because I'm bored at work, I send all sorts of emails to everyone. And does anyone ever email me back? No. Rarely, if ever. The only people who email me on a consistent basis are my parents. And I don't want to hear any b.s about how we all talk on msn instead - I'm focusing on emails here and emails only. Now I've posted about it, I guess there's nothing left to do except wait for Shoeless Joe Jackson to appear out of the cornfield. Or in my case, wait for emails to arrive.

Saturday, November 15, 2003

Mike: You should come here right now. Just get in your car and we'll see you in 14 hours.
Me: I don't think that's going to happen.
Mike: And Melissa says to pick up some orange juice on the way here. No pulp.

Friday, November 14, 2003

:: Enough is Enough ::

Okay, things are getting a little bit, I don't know, out of control, I guess you could say, for lack of a better word. And by out of control, I'm referring to the bashing/mocking/making fun of each other we've all been doing lately. Between message boards on two or three different sports pools, to everyone's blogs, to the comment section on my blog, it's clear that there are simply too many available mediums for people, myself included, to get their shots in.

Now, I'm not necessarily saying it's bad - I think it's entertaining, fun, and hilarious. I find myself constantly checking around to see who's mouthed off lately. But my point being, it's a little bit much - for me anyways. It seems like I rarely have normal conversations anymore - If I'm not bashing someone on a blog or message board, I'm defending myself or someone else, or I'm encouraging someone to write something. And the rare time that I'm not doing any of those things, I'm usually thinking about doing it.

As hilarious as it all is, I don't have the time or energy to constantly be thinking up witty banter for the football message board, or some creative comeback to something Mike has said about me*. It's not that I don't appreciate a wicked burn, because I do, and God knows Mike has thrown his fair share my way, but I'm just not doing it anymore. Well, not as much anyways. If I'm kicking mike's ass at basketball or hockey one week, you'd better believe I'm going to let him know. But other than that, I'd just rather spend my time having normal conversations with people, rather than trying to mock them. **

* Note: Mike, I did write a kick ass poem for Melissa. Much, much better than yours, just ask her. But I didn't post it because I didn't think it needed to be commented on by Al and the rest of the peanut gallery.

**Note: I may grow tired of this 'no mocking people' idea, so I reserve the right to take back everything I said and be as much of an ass as I previously was.

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Not even half a day after I bestowed blogging's greatest honour upon Mike (read earlier posts for details) he goes and makes me look bad on his own blog. Real nice, Mike. Real nice.

The thing is, it's not that I wouldn't write a poem for Melissa, but that I couldn't write one. There are two reasons for this: 1) I have limited poetic ability, and 2) I didn't have much time before I had to go to work.

Maybe when I get some time I will write one, and believe me, it will be great. But I don't think that a simple poem could do Melissa justice anyways, so that's my other reason for refraining from poetry.

From Gatorade

Sometimes I dream
That he is me
You've got to see that's how I dream to be
I dream I move, I dream I groove
Like Mike
If I could Be Like Mike
Like Mike
Oh, if I could Be Like Mike
Be Like Mike, Be Like Mike
Again I try
Just need to fly
For just one day if I could
Be that way
I dream I move
I dream I groove
Like Mike
If I could Be Like Mike
I wanna be, I wanna be
Like Mike
Oh, if I could Be Like Mike
Alright you bunch of clowns (excluding some of you)

Clearly the idea of posting comments on my blog was too much mental stimulation for one day, so to quote a certain friend of mine - "take it easy." Also, if you read the comments, I assume that Al doesn't "love" me, so whoever is posting with his name, I hate to break it to you, but I've seen through your clever rouse. Funny? Maybe, but don't fill up the comment box with assanine gibberish.

Like Meghan mentioned, it's not an msn conversation, it's a comments box. Post whatever - Just do me a favour and don't be a retard, or I'll turn this car around and go right home! Actually, I'd just delete the comment, but you get my point.

**Edit: Due to Mike's ability to post funny, coherant, precise, non-retarded comments, he has now been awarded, by this blog, the title of Privileged Poster. This will be the only time I will ever say this, but some of you should try and be more like Mike. The only time I'll ever say that. Ever.

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

I have added a new comments section to this site. You can now add your say to every single post on this site. I reccommend making use of it, it'll be cool.
Ever get that feeling that you are actually getting somewhere, actually making progress, only to figure out soon after that you really haven't made any progress at all, and you are still at square 1?

That's how I feel right now. Not really sure why, either. I guess it's a combination of things, not the least of which is work.

Ah well, I'm sure it'll pass. Nevermind.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003

:: ADVICE ::

Me, talking to Ian on Messenger, trying to convince him to ask out this girl that he likes....

Me: Just ask her out then, man.
Ian: I'm too much of a chickenshit, I'm used to just picking up drunk sluts.
Me: Trust me, just suck it up and do it, you don't want to miss your chance.
Ian: Yeah, you're right.
Me: So does this girl live in your building?
Ian: Yeah, down the hall.
Me: Well I'm going to go make some hot chocolate, that'll take like three minutes. So by the time I get back, you'd better have asked her out.
[a few minutes pass]
Me: I'm back, so did you go talk to her yet?
Ian: Oh yeah, we already had sex and I then I kicked her out. Now I'm reading emails.

And then, just minutes later, our conversation got even more serious...

Ian: Be right back, I'm going to make some beefaroni.
Me: Alright.
Ian: Hey, do you think that Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meat balls is better then beefaroni?
Me: No, beefaroni's where it's at dude, make that instead.
Ian: Yeah, okay. Be right back again.

Okay, maybe it didn't get so serious after all. But it's clear that I'm great at giving out advice.
Spaghetti and meat balls...please, gimme a break.

Sunday, November 09, 2003


While some terrible Beyonce song played in the background...

Ken: Ah, I fuckin' hate this song.
Laura: Really? Me and Jessica always thought this is the song you dance naked to in front of the bathroom mirror.
Ken: The only thing I do when I'm naked in front of a mirror is say 'Damn, that's big."
Me: Oh, you too eh?

While playing some gun-shooting, deer-hunting video game...

Me:(after reloading the gun at an astounding speed) Wow, I shot a lot of bullets.
Laura: Didn't your hand get sore from reloading that quickly?
Me: No, I live by myself and don't have a girlfriend - my right hand is the strongest muscle in my entire body.

Ah yes, I'm a real comedian.

Saturday, November 08, 2003

"I have to take my contacts out but I can't find my pants." - Melissa [1:29 a.m]

Ah, the drunk dial.

Good times.

Tuesday, November 04, 2003

I was getting my hair cut this morning, and while I was there I was talking to this older guy, who I assumed was the owner of the place. I assumed this because he was opening the cash register and handling the money. So he was either the owner, or he was robbing the place.

Owner: So you work at the paper eh? Reporters don't seem to stay there for very long.
Me: Yeah, there's a lot of turnover lately with people leaving for bigger jobs. Eventually I'd like to get back to Vancouver, but I'm happy here for now.
Owner: You'd be surprised by how many people I hear say that, but then end up staying in Peace River forever.

Peace River. Forever.

God help me.