:: The weekend, a baseball legend, and a crab attack ::
"People over 50 will eat feces if they have to." - Sean
"I can't stand women. If they didn't have cunts we'd hunt 'em. And then I'd mount them on the wall and face-fuck them." - Jeremy, just mangled on Friday night.
"Grab my balls just don't hold my hand." - Dicastri, to another guy at Lambies. (can't remember who).
"I felt dirty after the crack whore smelled me." - Kels
Then tonight, at the Boathouse, courtesy of Kels again....
"I injured myelf eating."
"Gimme all your insides!" - talking to her crab.
"That's the best thing I've had in my mouth in a long time." (No I will not be putting that into context. Not a chance. I'll leave it to your imagination.)
This weekend was again a decent one, pretty much par for the course.
Friday night there was a Canucks game against Chicago (For the record, it was one of the most entertaining games I've seen all year). Like I alluded to in a previous post, we had no Slapshots to go to. Not wanting to kick a dead horse, I won't go on and on about that problem.
But on a similar tangent, we used Friday to try and find a new place to go.
It's pretty clear that Shark's Club is not that place.
Now, during the day Shark's a nice sports bar - it's only Friday and Saturday nights it turns stupid. And they've got real good food (ask Kels and Panda about the Mediterranean wrap), and they've got pretty good seating if you get the right table - which we did.
But our usual routine don't fly there.
I won't go into detail, but to say that crazy, literally psycho people threatening your life in the parking lot is a pretty obvious sign from the Drinking Gods that maybe, just maybe, it's time to mosey on down the path to another establishment.
Besides, it was too expensive for an every day place.
So, that being settled, we grabbed some booze and went over to our place, where we just sort of chilled out - we even had a fire in the backyard fire pit for the first time this year, so that was pretty rad.
Things got weird, however, when somebody noticed Kelsey's car was missing from in front of my house. Yup, stolen - or so we thought.
Kels called the cops, told her all the required info, and as she was pacing my front yard on the phone, she saw her car - three houses down, across the street, parked nicely in the opposite direction it was originally in. The cops hung up on her, and when they did come by about an hour later, immediately asked two questions:
"Is Kelsey here?"
"Is she drunk?"
Seriously though - her car was down the road, with no damage - no forced entry, no ignition damage, nothing stolen. Just there.
Somehow. (I have two theories on what happened, but I won't get into that now.)
The only spare set of keys are in my room - for those times when Kelsey the Genius gets out here and locks her keys in her car. And they were still there when I went to bed at 2:30.
Just a strange, strange event.
Tonight turned out to be pretty fun too. Rather than actually buy Kelsey something for her birthday, we went to the Boathouse in White Rock for dinner - which we've really been meaning to do since about last June.
So we ate quite a feast, which was highlighted by my inability to subtlely break a lobster shell, and Kelsey actually getting cut (twice!) by a crab leg. She had a deathgrip on one of the legs, and in her attempt to pull it apart, ending up squeezing too hard and cutting herself on the sharp little points.
It was still Kelsey 2 Crab 1 since he was on her plate, dead, but the guy still got one on the way out.
And I laughed and laughed (not at the injury so much as the fact that not many people hurt themselves eating).
And finally, I hate to end this post on a sad note, but I must.
Kirby Puckett, the rolly-polly former Minnesota Twins outfielder, died today at 44, after complications from a stroke.
While I've always been a Blue Jays fan - and a Mariners fan in my last handful of years once I began to re-love baseball again in my late teens and 20s' - I always liked the Minnesota Twins.
I don't know why really, perhaps because two of their biggest stars during the 1980's and early 90's were two guys who didn't quite fit the 'athlete mold' - Puckett, and first baseman Kent Hrbek. They were both as wide as they were tall - kind of like I was (And still am, to a certain extent.)
There were other Twins I liked too - Dan Gladden, Jack Morris, Chuck Knoblauch, but I liked Puckett most of all. His biography is on my bookshelf right now.
In his later years, Puckett suffered from glaucoma, causing him to retire due to blindness in one of his eyes. So he had a few medical problems.
But I never expected this, and now I'm just kinda sad.
I never really openly cheered for the Twins or even really for Puckett - in the early 90s they were chief competition for the Mighty Joe Carter-led Jays, of course. But they were always my "closet" faves - kind of like the guy who says his favourite movie is Goodfellas when really it's The Goonies.
Oh wait, that's me too.
Adios Mr. Puckett.
No comments:
Post a Comment