"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.
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