:: The List ::

I've felt a little off lately, and I'm not sure as to why. It's not that I've been feeling particularly bad, nor particularily good.

Just off.

Alternately bored, anxious, kinda melancolic, and other times just plain fine. Why the sudden shifts in mood? Beats the fuck out of me. Maybe it's because I'm not exactly thrilled with my job anymore, nor the direction my work-related life is taking me. That may be due, in part, to my fascination with the new NBC show Studio 60, thus making me decide that maybe my future career should be writing witty television shows in Hollywood, rather than re-writing 11-year-old's swim results and asking "Can you spell your name for me again?" in White Rock.

Or maybe it's just this God-damn weather, making me feel like I'm somehow cooped up, hemmed in, because of the snow and ice. (Nevermind that the roads are actually pretty good and I've been fine in it thus far)

Could also be the fact that I don't have a girlfriend - and it ain't for lack of trying, especially lately - and everyone else seems to. Also, the fact that I haven't got laid since about 1976 ain't doing any favours for my current malaise.

But regardless, I feel odd. Usually, when something like that happens, the first consequence for me is insomnia. That's not been the case this time, however. Instead, I've just been waking up in the middle of the night a lot, and rather than go right back to bed, I usually get up. Sometimes I'll go get something to drink, or surf the 'net for a few minutes. Other times I'll just wander around my townhouse in the dark, staring out all the windows.

I know. Weird.

I have, however, found a solution to my funk, the idea spawned from a TV Special I watched (hosted by Ami James from Miami Ink) the other day called "30 things to do before you're 30."
Being that making to-do lists is partially what keeps me sane, especially at work where my desk is covered in yellow sticky-note lists, I figured I'd give it a shot. I don't know why, but I've always been a list kind-of guy.

So here goes, my Things To Do in Life list - but not neccesarily before I'm 30 because that only gives me five years (yikes! that's weird to say), but just in general. Also, the list is in no particular order, just written as they came to me. I suggest making your own list, either on your own blogs, or if you are of the blogless variety (losers!) then there's always the comment section here.

1. Get a tattoo. Hopefully this will happen soon, but we'll see.
2. Travel to South America. I know a guy organizing an Ecuador trip, so this could conceivably happen too.
3. Buy a dog
4. Break my "slump"
5. Be in the arena/stadium when a sports team wins a championship
6. Actually 'get up' on a wakeboard
7. Spend an alcohol and drug-induced weekend in Vegas. Lose money, but snort blow off a hot stripper's naked rack in a far too expensive hotel room. Call that breaking even.
8. Go to Europe.
9. Own a cabin on a lake somewhere.
10. Write a book. Even if it sucks and nobody actually publishes it. My mom will still like it.
11. Quit a job in a huff, storm out and never come back. Fuck two weeks notice.
12. Win a sports-reporting award of some kind. Fuck this second-place BS.
13. Invent an alcohol concoction of some type. Like the Flaming Moe but mine will be called the Steve Garvey. Buchs and Bobby know why.
14. Get a story in the newspaper about me when I die. This means more than just an obituary. An actual story, where some timid reporter has to call my family and friends and get quotes and stories about me. This will require me to be either a) noteworthy/well known in my community, or b) die in some strange/outrageous/awesome way. Should I have to go this route, I've narrowed it down to hail of gunfire, large grease fire in a Chinese restaurant, or choke on the world's largest Rice Krispie square.
15. Pick up a girl at a wedding.
16. Watch a Canucks game from the press box.
17. Drive to California, stopping just whenever I feel like it. Returning home when I feel like it as well.
18. Own a sports car. Porsche. Corvette. Mustang GT. I don't care, just gimme something fast.
19. Write a standup comedy routine. Actually getting on stage and performing it is another matter entirely.
20. Impress a girl enough so that she's the one chasing me. Not the other way around.
21. Further to #20, use girl strictly for sex. Why? I dunno, seems fun, far as I can tell.
22. Hit a home run in slo-pitch.
23. Make a movie.

Well, thats' all I got folks. 23 things. I'm seriously about them all, too, even if some of them seem smart-alecky.

Now, back to staring out the window. I feel better already.

:: Playing through the hurt ::

I'm sitting here, at 2:37 p.m. on a Friday, with my usual vodka/redbull on the desk beside me (I also had a beer with my 1 p.m. "breakfast"...which was tacos.)

Kyle Bucholtz is hundreds of miles north, freezing his sack off in Dawson Creek.

So who ever said I needed Bucholtz in order to drink on a Friday afternoon? (Well, besides A-Scrams, who called me at noon basically taunt me for not having my drinking partner. But in my defence, I'd rather have no drinking partner for a few weeks than no partner for...other stuff. So the joke's on you.)

Besides, I'm drinking anyway.

I wasn't going to, in part because I have a work function (also involving booze) slated for 4 p.m., and also because I wasn't really sure I wanted to drink by myself.

But then I thought about all the times athletes play after deaths in their family, or some other tragedy. Like the time Brett Favre's dad died and he went out for the Monday Night game and threw for 400 yards.

"I knew that my dad would have wanted me to play," Favre said. "I love him so much, and I love this game. It's meant a great deal to me, to my dad, to my family, and I didn't expect this kind of performance. But I know he was watching tonight."

And, while I know I'm blowing this way out of proportion because a) Buchs is not dead and b) I'm not Brett Favre, I decided to begin the drinking process early, as per our custom.

Because that's the way Buchs would want it.

I also decided to blow it way out of proportion because I've been hurtin' for a post lately, but that's neither here nor there.

So I'm drinking. Not a ton, certainly not normal Nick-Kyle Friday levels, but that's because I have to drink in 40 minutes, and also because, well...it just hurts so damn much. (que phony tears and violin music).

"God I love vodka. It just sneaks up on you - it's like a silent assasin." - Me

"Wow, its like 5 o'clock and I haven't said anything stupid yet that you would put on your blog. What the hell is going on?" - Bucholtz

After Bucholtz found out the best man in some (all?) East Indian weddings ends up with a lot of cash...
Buchs: Hurry up and get married Bobby. I need some money.
Bobby: Well, help find me a wife first then dammi–.
Buchs: AMANDA!!!

Ouch. Although, in Amanda's favour, that's probably an upgrade. (Just kidding Buchs)

So, another weekend.

I haven't been in a posting mode lately, which you've probably noticed. And even after a pretty solid weekend – a long weekend, even – like we've just had, I'm still not really feelin' it. So bear with me. It's not necessarily that I don't feel like it, I guess, it's more like I don't have anything to say. We'll see how much I can write...

This weekend was the usual, although fairly low-key - for me, anyhow. Started off Friday as it usually does, with me and Buchs sitting in my living room at about 3:30 drinking a couple (or 6) beers. Went quickly down to Sam's for a few pints and tequila shots with Chris, Jenna, D-Mac, and Chris's boss Mike (Now I know two funny brown guys! Solid.)

Anyhow, we ended up at Derrick's after that, chillin in the garage/TV room. It was a little chilly, but it was still a pretty good time - after awhile most people showed up, had some drinks, and then, starving as I hadn't ate anything since 11:30 a.m., me and Buchs headed back to my place, with a quick Subway stop first.

Normally, Subway after midnight is pretty uneventful - I know this well, having made Subway a regular late-night stop. But I'd never been there with a drunk Bucholtz before. Within 5 minutes, he'd managed to make fun of the two 18-year-old douchebags in front of us in the line, confuse the "sandwich artist" about his choice of sub, and then throw the whole thing - my order too - on his Visa for some reason.

There was a minor altercation as we drove away, which basically just involved the two aforementioned douchebags yelling at us for making fun of them, Bucholtz hollering and laughing at them, and me driving away.

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful, it involved watching about half of 8 Mile, watching Buchs spill his sandwich onto the rain-soaked courtyard outside my front door (and then scooping it all back up again, good as new...mmm), and then going to bed. I woke up at 4 a.m. and found Bucholtz passed out on my couch, snoring loud as a friggin chainsaw, dvd player still on. And, for some reason, the fireplace too.

Saturday was Scotty's birthday extravaganza, which was supposed to begin at Montana's, but due to ridiculous 2-hour wait times, began at Red Robin instead - apparently the only place in Langley capable of seating 16 people on short notice. (As an aside, when did restaurants stop taking reservations? How is this in any way, shape or form good for business? Turning away 16 people who are going to eat, and most likely drink, a significant amount? Genius. Fucking idiots, I say.)

So Robin's it was, complete with onion ring towers, fried cheese, and Scott standing on his seat getting sung too. After that, it was back to Scott's place for drinking, drinking, and some more drinking, courtesy of bartender-Scott, who busted out all kinds of booze, which he'd apparently been saving for such an occassion. Broken-down golf carts, paralyzers, vodka, and some new creations, which including redbull and cranberry juice, and one with lemon gatorade.

I'd like to say I partook in the festivities as much as everyone else, but i did not. This was due somewhat to the fact that I didn't really feel like getting blitzed, but also because I had no ride home, and was not about to a) leave my car all the way in South Surrey or b) stay there. So I took it easy. Couple drinks, couple shots, one typical conversation with a drunken Sean in the driveway and home I went.

But not before I saw way too much guy-ass for my liking. Ridiculous fellas, ridiculous.

Why I like Paul Tracy.

Why I like Paul Tracy even more.

(Editor's note: Yes, I know all the quotes are from the same guy, but when you hang out with the same person every Friday afternoon, it just kind of happens. And happens remarkably often, too.)

"I almost got herpes from talking to a girl." - Bucholtz, on his Enderby experience last summer.

"Chicks can't drive. They can suck dick and make pies." - Bucholtz

Me: At least twice Ian's had Giants' tickets and never called me, and Chris has extra Canucks' tickets, but he'll probably sell then to Sean and Rachel. Nobody ever invites me anywhere or offers me tickets to anything, bunch of fucking jerks!
Bucholtz: Maybe it's your attitude.

Good point. (but it still angers me. OK, not really, but I can do this fake rage thing pretty good).

"Sometimes I think about the things that I say, and my brain's like 'What? Are you fucking serious?'" - Buchs

So last night was a fairly weak Friday, in comparison to the last few, which were pretty rad. Buchs came over 'round 4:00 and we had a few beers and watched most of Lord of War on TV, and then we went to Moxie's to meet Chris and Jenna. And then Sean and Rachel and Brad and Amanda all wanted to come too, so me and Buchs ended up sitting at three different damn tables that would satisfy our ever-increasing group of people, and then they bailed anyway.

After that we hung out and S&R's for a bit, before I went home. Some people went to Shark's.

When will we ever learn?