:: Holidays ::

Mom: When do Chris and Jenna get back from church?
Me: Well, it's only an hour and it started at 11:00, so I guess they'll be back just after midnight, unless church goes into overtime.

"I went out to go to the bathroom before the service started, but when I came back they'd already started singing Christmas songs. I didn't know if I was allowed to just go sit down, or wait for a stoppage in play." - Chris, on his Christmas Eve church experience.

"If you ever get the chance, I reccommend dating Amanda, just for the presents." - Bucholtz.

"How come if you pinch me, I can't just hit you right in the face? God Damn society - they've taken all the fun out of abuse." - Matt

"I bet you that TV makeup artists are a lot busier these days because of all the HD channels now," - Buchs, after seeing some less-than-attractive people on TV.

After a Bucholtz burp...
Amanda: Just say excuse me!
Buchs: Why? It's not going to unstink it.
Amanda: Well, it's just polite!
Buchs: OK, well when I'm having tea with the queen, I'll say excuse me.

"Hello Nick! How was....whatever it was you were doing, before you came here?" - Sean

"If Brad is a testament to everthing that Christmas stands for, then fuck Christmas!" - Scott, after some shitfaced/weird waitress at The Duke, came over to us, literally crying her eyes out, and proceeded to tell us how great a person Brad was, because he'd "been through Hell" and was a "testament to blah blah blah."

The speech, and the whole situation, was probably the most awkward/ridiculous public speech/moment any of us had witnessed in quite some time. Apparently, this stupid old broad had got it in her head that Brad's car accident - which was what, 13 years ago? - was a result of drunk driving, so she a) gave a speech about the merits of not driving drunk and b) proceeded to turn B-Rad into the epitome of hard work, determination, and all-round good guy-ery. Basically, if you'd have listen to this woman, you'd be under the impression now that it's not Jesus whom we celebrate on Dec. 25, it's Brad Fucking Gorski. Same person, apparently.

Now don't get me wrong, Brad is a standup guy, but he's still a douchebag, and in no conceivable way was deserving of any kind of tribute. No more than anybody else we know, anyhow. And certainly not one that involved actual, real tears from a complete stranger.

So in conclusion, we all like Brad, but we don't like drunk-ass old waitresses. Also, Libya is a land of peace and contrast.

Oh, by the way - Merry Christmas. For those of you coming to the annual Christmas Night drinkathon, I'll see you in a couple days. As usual, we'll celebrate the birth of Jesus by drinking Budweiser and playing darts. I can think of no better tribute. (No wussing out either, people...not like last year).

For those of you not coming, well, I'll just leave you with this.

"I'd fight Duke. I'd fight a shark." - Bucholtz, talking about the formidable size of Bobby's ever-growing dog.

"The vagina's connected to the baby holder....the baby's connected to the....other thing," Buchs again, singing a song.

And now, a couple frightening quotes from Lambo's buddy, Mangel. He could've been talking about the video game he was playing, but then again, he's also from NYC, so you decide...

"Murder, huh? Sweet - I'm all about the killing. Who's ready to die?!!!!"

"I'll just grab whatever and I'll murder you with it. That's how I roll, bitches."

:: Making friends ::

People become friends in different ways. Maybe you meet somebody at work, or you play on the same hockey or baseball team as kids. Or perhaps, as is probably most often the case with best friends, you meet people in elementary or high school and stay pals for a long, long time after that. That's how I met most, if not all, of my best friends.

Or, in this techno-age, people meet on the Internet, bonded by some common interest. And then sometimes, the way you meet people is just completely random - maybe you met in the cereal aisle at Safeway, or at the bar, or at a cockfight. Whatever works.

Or in the case I'm about to explain, maybe you should've met years before, but some avoided each other every step of the way, until recently:

A year ago, not long after I signed up on Facebook, I got a random message from a girl who's name I didn't immediately recognize. After a few quick messages back and forth, it turned out that we worked in the same company, but at different places. After that, we ran into each other at our company conference, and after talking for a bit, it turned out that we'd pretty much been following each other around since we were 15.

We both went to the same high school, and knew a lot of the same people, but she went to school elsewhere in Grade 11 before coming back for Grade 12 - which was the year I left for someplace else.

And the reason I didn't immediately recognize her name was because it was different now - she got married, and as soon as she told me her maiden name, I instantly recognized it.

Then after graduation, we both ended up going to Kwantlen College for a couple years, although our paths obviously never crossed. Not that strange, really, when you consider that it's a large four-campus school, and a good portion of local kids start out at KUC. However, it got a little stranger after that, because we both ended up majoring in the same thing at university, and both ended up in Kamloops in the same program. Again though, just missing each other. She arrived just as I was leaving.

Once again, many of her university friends are my friends, too.

Now working for the same big company, she was just transferred into our office last month. Now our desks are 15 feet from each other.

So, anyway, after realizing this odd set of circumstances - and also realizing that we're pretty close to the same person ("You're like the guy version of me!" she drunkenly told me, over and over again, last week at our staff party) we decided that since we probably would've ended up being friends years ago if only our paths had crossed, we'll just be friends now instead...We know very little about each other, don't have any sort of friend history to speak of, but we're instantly good friends anyways, just because we decided that we would be. Kind of like when two five-year-old kids decided instantly that they're best friends simply because they live next door to each other, or because their pre-school coat hooks are side-by-side.

We drove in together to the aforementioned staff Christmas party (Her husband didn't come because he had tix to the Canucks/Penguins game), and since we appeared throughout the night to be good buddies, one of the office folk asked us how we knew each other, since she'd just started working for us.

"Oh, we've known each other for years - we went to high school together," she said.

And just like that a new friend becomes an old one. Weird? Maybe. But it's still kinda cool.

"Why can't they make dip as a meal?" - James, at Scotty's birthday party.

Sean: I'm going to urinate...or should I say, my-inate?
Me: What?
Sean: Well, it's not your urine that's coming out of me.

"I apologize for the blood guys, but yes, I did have something to do with it." - proud bouncer at Everett bar.

"I have a weakness for big hairy animals." - Amanda

"There's a clause in love that says if you puke from drinking tequila, I get to do whatever I want to you." - this guy Jordan, to his girlfriend, at Steamworks last weekend.

Kyle, on what me and him would do if we had expensive cars - me, the Cadillac I want to buy, and him, a Range Rover...

"We'd be ballin'. We could go pick up some hot chicks, have sex with them, and then ditch 'em. Then we'd see them again a few weeks later a party because we'd be having sex with their other hot friends instead, and then they'd be mad because we weren't having sex with them anymore."

:: The Ballad for the Single Guy ::

For far too long, I have been the single guy amongst groups of couples. Of course, there are a few other single stragglers as well, who appear from time to time, but by and large, it's me surrounded by pairs. And over the years it's only gotten worse.

Now, except if I'm clearly joking around about it, this strange phenomenon has never really bothered me. Sure, there are times when you feel like the 3rd (or 7th) wheel, but most of the guys in these couples I've known for a hundred years, so it really never feels weird. Mostly, it's just me hanging out with the boys, and the girls are around, they're around. It's cool.

But tonight, well, tonight pissed me off.

Some/all/many of us are going to Whistler for New Year's. Derrick and Chris spearheaded a get-organized movement, and Derrick found a place to rent in Creekside. Wonderful. There are, however, limited beds, and two people will have to sleep on the floor. Sleeping on the floor isn't really a big deal, and I'm sure we'll work it out when the time comes. In the end, we'll likely be too drunk to give a shit anyway.

However, what I take issue with is the selection process. Derrick said him and Whitney get a bed because he organized it and booked. Absolutely fair. No problems there. Chris said him and Jenna get one because, well, because that's how he wants it. As for the remaining beds, I said I want one. The response?

"Well, I'm pretty sure the couples aren't gonna wanna sleep on the floor, so you might be screwed."

Oooooh, the poor couples don't wanna sleep on the floor? Who fucking cares.

Single guys don't wanna sleep there either, and just because there's one of me and two of them doesn't mean I should get jewed out of a hide-a-bed, especially when I was the very first person to say "Yes, I'm in" other than Chris and Derrick themselves.

Now, I realize that Derrick was half-kidding when he said it, and it was somewhat tongue in cheek (He also said I could have a bed if I paid him more), but there was a seriousness to it too.

What the couples want, the couples get. It's discrimination against single people, and for the first time it really aggravated me.

In the past, nobody's really seemed to single me out negatively (or any other single person) when it comes to any events, unless they're kidding. I remember Kyle pissing off Amanda once because he told me to meet him at the movies, so I did. Little did I know that I was ruining Date Night. Yes, it was funny, but ultimately nobody really cared because A-Scrams wasn't really mad; she's a good sport. And just the other day, Kels called to see if I wanted to be including in the Hemlock condo rental that ultimately fell apart. Yes, she called me because the condo had room for 5 people and two couples leaves only one extra space. However, at least she asked.

Whether it's pity, or friendship, I don't really care. I chose not to analyze it that closely. But if there's any more incidents like this Whistler business, or if I actually get screwed on this deal simply because I'm single, I'm so outta here.

Jenna (looking at a menu): I want some food!
Chris: You're looking at a menu..See all the words? Food.
Jenna: But I want food - I don't want any weiner, pussy-ass shit.

Jenna: Can I get the clubhouse sandwich, with only two pieces of bread. I can't get my tiny, little mouth around such a big sandwich.
Sean: Chris must have a small sandwich.

Well folks, Mexico calls in less than a day, and I figure I better enjoy it because when I get back, and have to return to work, I suspect things will have taken a mighty turn for the worse while I've been gone. And then I'll have to decide whether I want to stay there or not. But that's a worry for another day. For now, it's Mexico time.

I will, however, leave you with one un-Mexico-related note. Go watch this movie trailer right here, called No Country for Old Men. It looks pretty fucking awesome/creepy. I especially like the line right in the middle of it, when one guy, after sawing off a shotgun, says to a girl in the room, "If I don't come back, tell my momma I love her." The girl replies, "But you're momma's been dead for years."

"OK, then I'll tell her myself."

Good, chilling stuff.

"Grolsch? That beer sounds evil - like a beer Hitler would drink." - Me, after yet another one of Ian's "let's-try-a-new-beer" episodes.

A-Scrams: Would you ever propose to me?
Buchs: I don't get enough butt sex to propose to you.

"Woo! I just about fought two raccoons out there." - Chris' excitable-but-random comment, after coming in front the front of Jeremy's house.

"This totally just adds to my metrosexuality." - Jeremy, liking his new Snap-On Tools hat while at the same time wearing camo shorts and rocking one helluva mullet.

:: In defence of SI ::

I have a big manilla envelope somewhere in my house. In it are Sports Illustrated stories and columns I've read over the years and felt compelled to keep.

There's only a few in there, because my standards of what constitutes great are pretty high. I know many people who say they don't like SI because they don't care about things like college basketball, or tennis, or any of the things that dominate the American sports landscape. They want hockey, a little football maybe, and baseball playoffs and that's it.

Fair enough, I guess, although - without sounding too snotty - I like SI on a much different level. I honestly don't care what the subject matter is, I'll read almost anything because I appreciate writers, words, and all that stuff that, to be honest, most people either don't get or don't care about.

Whereas most people just want to read about Sidney Crosby or Peyton Manning, I can appreciate a phrase, an ending, or the way a sentence flows - likely because I'm a writer. I've read 8,000 word epics on scrabble tournaments, for Christ's sake. My boss likes to recommend movies or TV shows to me that he says most people don't appreciate or like. "You'll appreciate it as a writer," he always says, and he's usually right.

Same goes for SI, I guess.

I decided to start the envelope years ago, long before I went to school and studied journalism and writing. When I was a teenager, I read a backpage feature in the magazine - far from the cover, which was likely graced with a flavour-of-the-month college football star. I can't remember the details now, but the story was about a high school cross-country team something in the United States. All members but one were killed in a horrific bus accident, and the story focused largely on the one who survived. The story was about the guilt he felt for being the only survivor, and about how, long after the funerals and the lost season, he ran the same route he used to run with his team. Over and over, by himself.

I lost the issue, and have had no luck finding it online, mostly because I have zero details. I can't even remember what year it was. After I had no luck rediscovering it, that's when I decided I should start keeping some stuff.

The articles in my envelope aren't just good, aren't just mildy interesting. The only things that makes the cut are things that I wish I had written. Once in awhile, I'll re-read some stuff if I come across the envelope in a drawer someplace. Mostly I read it because it helps me when it comes time for me to write something.

Most people probably think it's pretty nerdy, but whatever. I'm cool with that. It's a popular opinion amongst writer-types that the best writers/journalists in the world are sports writers, for whatever reason, and it's a pretty solid argument.

By now, if you are still actually reading this, I'm sure you're wondering just what the hell I'm telling you all this for. The reason for this long-winded defence of the world's most popular magazine (Which, I suppose needs no defending, since it really is #1)?

I just added another thing to the envelope. It's long, but if you've got 2o minutes or half an hour to spare, go read it. If I ever wrote something this good, I'd quit writing on the spot, knowing full well that I'd never do any better.

And to think, if my dad had never wanted a free shoephone back in 1992, I likely would've never subscribed in the first place.

:: An Ode to October ::

The summer may be over, the day's cooler and the nights longer, but there is one thing about October that makes is one of the best months of the year (Or at least in the top 12): Sports.

This is, without question, the best time of the year for sports fans. The hockey season is just starting, both the NFL and CFL are in full swing, and most importantly, it's also baseball playoffs.

Yes, baseball playoffs. I can hear the collective yawn now.

In the past two weeks since playoffs hit the field- begining with the Padres/Rockies wild card tiebreaker that I now count as one of the best games I've ever witnessed - and I've watched many a game. And no matter where I watch it, I always hear at least one person say the same thing: Baseball sucks.

I even met a guy the other day who said he didn't like watching baseball because it was too slow, but he instead preferred watching soccer because "there's always something going on."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" is all I could spit out, so baffled was I. I'm sorry, but watching soccer is like watching me go for a run - sure, there may be brief moments where you're impressed with the speed of the action, but for the most part, it's pretty repulsive to watch.

Which brings me to my point - the people who say baseball (especially playoff baseball) is boring and slow are uneducated on the sport. All they see is a guy throwing the ball to another guy with a big stick, with long moments in between.

But many of us know better. There's so much more to cold, October baseball than one guy with the ball and another with a stick. Baseball is the battle between the pitcher and the hitter. It's the hitter messing with the pitcher's rhythm by calling time to knock dirt off his cleats. It's the infield playing the David Ortiz-shift, because they know it's going to right field. And it's the sheer cleverness shown when Ortiz shocks everyone with a bunt to third base.

It's the lefty vs. lefty matchups. It's pitchers coming in from the 'pen only to throw three pitches before hitting the showers, their job done for the evening. It's the hit-and-run and walk-off bombs. It's extra innings. It's Dave Roberts stealing second base even though everyone in the stadium knows that he's running. It's a changeup on a 3-2 count. Or the manager pinch-hitting with a pitcher, not for a pitcher, because it's the 13th inning and his bench is empty. It's Schilling's bloody sock, catches at the wall, and the 6-4-3 double play.

It's 60 feet, six inches to the plate and 335 to left; it's Steve Bartman, and Homer, Ozzie and the Straw.

It's the god-damn playoffs.

Boring? You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Two old quotes I found written in an old notepad file that I almost deleted. I'm assuming they're both from Bucholtz, likely from our famed but now largely defunct Friday Afternoon Drinkathlons.

Buchs: Ahh, nudity, my second favourite word in the English language.
Me: What's your favourite word?
Buchs: Poltergeist.

"Hey Nick, want a degree in shutting the hell up?"

Canucks tonight. Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday. Football Sunday. I have half a pizza and a few cases of beer in the fridge, so if anybody wants me, I'll be on the couch.

"I wrote the book on Awesome." - Dave

Chris: Oh good, there's a beer store on this island. I was worried that I crushed too many beers on the ferry over, and that I'd run out before the weekend was over.
Nick: Run out? How many beers did you bring?
Chris: 42.

Hi, I'm Troy McClure.

You may remember me from such failed fitness regimes as "Drink Yourself Thin" and "That doughnut won't get you laid, fatty."

I'm here today to talk to you about getting in shape. In case you're wondering, yes, you have heard this before.

I have exactly 38 days until I board a plane bound for Cancun, Mexico, where the sun is warm, water is clear, and the beer is included. And also where I'd like to be able to walk around without a shirt on without sending the locals running for the hills (Are there hills in Cancun? I don't know. If there isn't, I guess the locals will run somewhere else...likely the U.S. border).

Also, aside from the no-shirt thing, I'd like to be able to eat about 300 lbs of authentic spicy burrito meat and wash it down with about 120 pints of beer and a few margaritas without having to worry about my heart stoppping.

Anyways, the point is, I have approxiametly 45 lbs to lose until I can get to that point. The problem? Outside of a hunger strike or a coke binge of Lindsay Lohanesque proportions, it is impossible to lose that much weight in such a short amount of time. So, because I don't want to snort a bunch of cocaine, and because right now I'm actually sorta hungry, so a hunger strike is out of the question, I guess I'll go to Plan C with the hope that maybe I can drop 20 or so.

Plan C, of course, being eating vegetables and going to the gym a lot. Also, in sort of a desperate move, I'm not drinking. At all. A year and a half ago, I gave up drinking beer for three months. During that time, I went on a wine-drinking jag, and for a time experimented with gin - with disasterous, disasterous results.

And I didn't really lose a single pound.

But now I'm saying goodbye to everything for 38 days. (Well, to be fair, when I say I'm giving up drinking, I mean I'm not gonna go get blitzed on the weekend, and will curtail my weekday beers. I'll still have one or two here or there)

I expect the process to be painful, but ultimately worth it. What makes this task even tougher is that, after a summer of buying more beer for camping trips than I could actually drink, I currently have a mini-fridge full of over 40 beers. Just sitting there, chilled. Mocking me.

But ice cold barley pops can in no way compete with vegetables, nectarines, and rice. Right?

Damn you Coors. Damn you to hell.

I don't know exactly why, because I'd never heard of this bird until 2 minutes ago, but for some reason, this makes me incredibly sad.

:: Notes, quotes, and sinking boats ::

A two-parter...
"Hey Nick, watch this," Paterson, as he pulled out a 9-iron in his living room, and attempted to hit a foam football at Paul, who was playing Guitar Hero.

"The thing about wall mud is, it's the kind of thing you want to use when you're drunk." - Paterson, fixing the huge hole he put in his wall, when his 9-iron missed the football and connected with something else.

"I haven't seen a cleanup effort take this long since the Katrina disaster." - Scott, watching Chris, Jenna, Sean and Rachel clean up breakfast dishes one morning, while rafting. One of my favourite quotes of the whole summer.

"I do my women like I play my video games - zero armour, guns blazin'." - Paterson again.

A good ol' fashion blog post, by gar it's been awhile.

Well, after more than a month, you'd think I'd have more to say, but really, I just wanted to post those above quotes because I thought they were pretty awesome. The summer is slowing wrapping up - funtastic is long over, camping at Hick's came and went, and rafting too, is gone for another year. And the thing that each had in common? It rained during every single fucking one of them. I swear to God this was the worst summer weather-wise I can remember. Just brutal. And now it's over, and we can get used to 7 months of rain. Hooray!

All in all though, rain aside, the summer was much like previous ones - drinking, camping, playing softball...the usual. No complaints from me really. Rafting was pretty damn solid again this year, including copius use of a makeshift beer bong - made out of duct tape, a 2-liter bottle, and a broken paddle - and Sean and Rachel getting a hole in their boat, which caused an hour delay, but gave us more drinking time.

And I still have one more event on the horizon - Bowen Island MeatFest/golf tournament, in mid-september. Should be good.

And speaking of events, I'm gone this week if anybody cares - two days in Seattle with my dad, to watch some Mariners games, followed by two days in Wells Gray Park, where I'm going to say hi to my grandparents, and golf for free, and then another nigh in the 'loops, where I shall try to assemble a drinking team for the evening. Then it's back to work, with no more significant time off until Mexico, in late October.

It can't come soon enough. And it better not fucking rain.

Oh, the things I'd do differently if I could do them over again...

And yes, a new post is coming, covering many topics of interest - and a few more not-so-interesting, just for kicks.

But not tonight. Must sleep now.

URGENT - DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING POST, AS IT WILL INEVITABLY DISAPPOINT!
- signed, The Future

A long overdue post...

:: Funtastic 2007: What's the worst that could happen? ::

"This beer is so good, it's like God is jerking off in my mouth." - Bucholtz

"Take that atmosphere!" - Sean, burning some plastic in the fire.

"It was like professional packers packing for the Pro Packing Championships." - Scott, on how him and Buchs managed to cram all their stuff into the Explorer.

"You call it premature ejaculation. I call it a good night's sleep." - Chris

"In one word, he was the balls." - Scott, using more than one word to describe Sean's now-traditional Canada Day streaking.

"Thanks for making this not lame." - Firefighter, after Sean, Buchs, and Jason livened up the Canada Day fireworks.

"What time you flyin' out?" - Scott, to Rachel, when she walked past carrying her vintage '70s luggage.

Beer Garden doorman: Sorry buddy, I can't let you in without ID.
Guy: I don't have ID.
Doorman: Sorry, you aren't coming in.
Guy: But my girlfriend's in there.
Doorman: Look buddy, a lot of people's girlfriends are in there.

A quick recap, for those of you with short attention spans (Oh look - a blue car!!):

Got drunk. Again.

Failed to win a morning game. Again.

Argued with the stupid old campsite groundskeeper. Again.

Lost in the playoffs to a team full of steriod monkeys (I assume). Again.

Yep, in many ways, Funtastic '07 was carbon copy of Funtastic '06, except this time we upped the ante on the streaking, didn't get quite as loaded as last time, and we didn't put dishsoap in anybody's beer when they weren't looking (Where's Jeremy when you need him?).

Oh, and there were two big fucking storms.

We began our five-day extravaganza with some overcast, kinda rainy weather on Thursday evening. Then, once we were all set up, we were hit with one helluva thunderstorm - one of the biggest I can remember. Our campsite proceeded to get flooded out, with Sean and Rachel's tent getting the worst of it, to the point where everything - clothes, bedding, etc - were soaked right through, and they basically had to sleep in 2 inches of water.

That'll teach you to forget the fly to your tent, and replace it with a tarp with two big holes in it.

Everyone got soaked though, but thankfully for Chris and Jenna's vestibule, we still had a place to drink beer and play cards. The next morning things had cleared up slightly, but storm #2 still swung through town for a few hours in the middle of the day, which led to the following things:

1. The postponement our first game
2. The soaking of my tent, air mattress, sleeping bag, and one side of my pillow
3. A Bucholtz-in-his-boxers-and-nothing-else slip-and-slide moment with a tarp
4. The (stupidest) fight of a lifetime between Rachel and Sean

Now I know everyone's done talking about it, laughing about it, etc, but I have to harp on item #4 there for a moment, because I would be doing a disservice to bloggers everywhere if I did not accurately paint this picture for you, the reader.

Let's start with two drunk people - one moreso than the other. Let's add in a rainstorm, and some confusion. Then let's jump to two idiots, arguing not over something substantial, but instead absolutely nothing at all. At various points, they could be heard yelling to each other that neither knew what the fight was about, and at least 5 times (conservative estimate) the argument turned into a fight over the timeline of events - of who was doing what where. ("I was in the tent at 9:03!!!" "No, it was 9:15!!!!"

Seriously folks, this is what most of us had to deal with until the wee hours of the morning. Nice work idiots. Nice work.

I should also mention that all this fighting led also to this: 5. Rachel disowning Nick, an innocent bystander, as a friend for the rest of the night.

Tough break for me.

Anyways, on to funner subjects...like beer pong. Ian arrived on Friday, bringing with him a classy homemade trophy, put together with parts collected at Value Village - an upside-down salad bowl, a metal mug dealie, not unlike the top of the Stanley Cup had it been constructed not by an English silversmith but instead by three drunk hobos and a raccoon. To top the cherished championship mug off was a cheerleader figure, obviously ripped off some high school cheerleading championship in times of yore.

So, with such a prize up for grabs, Ian and Bre organized a beer pong tourney, with teams of two chosen at random, out of a hat (surely sending the usual team of Bucholtz and Scotty crying into each other 's arms :P)

I was teamed with Bre, and despite a valiant effort, we lost to Scott and Lanette, who were subsequently bounced in a later round. The final came down to Chris and Amanda vs. Rachel and Jason.

Midway through the round it appeared Chris and A-Scrams were going to win, but Rachel/Jay fought back, and eventually won when Chris knocked over a cup of beer with only two cups left. Game. Set. Match.

No post-game drug tests were administered, but tournament officials are still investigating whether or not there any cheating taking place on the part of Rachel, who made suspicious comments after the trip. Results thus far have been inconclusive.

The rest of the weekend went according to plan, with our team playing pretty strong, except we were bounced in the first round of Monday playoffs and finished with a 3-2 record.

One last point, and probably the most important, is that we were - if possible - far more obnoxious than we were in Year 1. Last time, Chris became well known in the beer gardens for constantly chanting "LET'S GO CANNONS!"

This year, we all did it, of course - once even getting a return cheer from another team across the campsite. However, between repeated chants, and the aforementioned three guys streaking the fireworks display wearing Cannons hats, and carrying a team flag (and also chanting) I can't imagine people like us much. Oh well - fuck 'em.

At least we're making a name for ourselves, as evidenced by this conversation I had with a fellow Funstasticker while waiting in the shower lineup on Saturday morning.

Guy: So, what team are you with?
Me: The Cannons.
Guy: Oh, you're those loud guys just around the corner with the blue hats?
Me: Yep, that's us.
Guy: You guys went pretty hard last night eh? I guess that means you'll be takin' er easy tonight? (He said optimistically)
Me: Haha, I doubt it. We're just getting warmed up man.
Guy: So it's gonna be like last year then?
Me: Last year? Whadda ya mean?
Guy: You know, like last year...with that "Let's Go Cannons" asshole.
Me: Oh, that's my brother. He's our coach.
Guy: .........

Awesome. So even though we didn't start our dynasty of Funtastic championships that Bucholtz predicted, as least we're the biggest dicks.

It's like they say - if you can't beat 'em, at least keep 'em up at night.

Our team's proudest achievement yet. By far.

Let's Go Cannons!

Well, as Kelsey once predicted, Facebook has done some significant damage to this blog, and the frequency of postings. This is not, however, because like other people, I write everything and post pictures on Facebook instead of here. No, that's not it.

Instead, my problem is I come online determined to great some great post, but instead I get sidetracked searching for people I may have once met and think I should add as my Facebook friend, and the next thing I know, it's 11:30 at night and the last thing I wanna do is write anything. Also, work has been a fucking nightmare for weeks, and all I usually wanna do when I get home is lounge around and then go to bed.

But tonight, like the trooper that I am, I have risen from the dead long enough to post something. I guess I'm not unlike Jesus in that regard.

Anyway...lemme fill ya in on what's been goin' on lately. Couple weekends ago was Ian's 23rd birthday, which turned into a pretty good shaker which included really hot chicken wings, me losing quickly at poker, and me and Bobby kickin' it old school.

Oh, there was also this really fucking terrible standup comedy DVD. This guy right here. And I'm talking completely fucking terrible. My dear sweet Lord I just wanted it to end.

Continuing on with my "I'm not going to drink (much) until Funtastic" plan, I was fully prepared to just knock back a couple Coors Lights at Ian's soiree, but then me and Bob came up with the aforementioned plan, and well...fuck. I left at 'round 2 a.m., with Sean still frantically searching for the beer that he never did find (Which is still quite baffling).

From what I heard later, some people ended up drinking until like 4:00 or 5:00 or 6:00 or something crazy, but Ian gave people the boot from his place 'round 2:30 because they were being too loud.

At least nobody yakked in the sink this time though. Bonus.

Other things of note that have gone on since I posted last: The president of my company called me personally the other day to tell me something I'd done was the best thing he'd ever seen during all his years with the company, ever. Seriously. If you had any doubt about my awesomeness before, it's all gone now.

That's just how fucking good I am.

Also last week, I pulled my best Shoeless Joe Jackson impression by "intentionally" throwing a setup/date. Here's the jist: Friend's wife decided I should be set up with one of her friends. Figured I'd go along with the plan, cuz well, why not? Then, I decided I wasn't interested, but didn't feel like saying anything, because that's just the kind of guy I am - too nice. Also, incredibly lazy.

So the setup occurs when some of us are out at the pub one night. I knew it was happening, so rather than a) be a man and just say 'sorry, not interested' or b) actually try to impress and/or get to know this woman, I did the following:

Didn't have a shower after work. Didn't do my hair. Wore an old hat. Wore some ratty t-shirt which may or may not have had a stain on it. Didn't say more than 15 words all night. Left nearly immediately after wing supply had dwindled.

In my defence, I was exhausted, and just wanted to go home, but still...I've put forth more effort just tying my shoes in the morning.

And while most, if not all of you, are thinking right now that because of my plan, I'm either a) a complete dick, or b) and idiot for not attempting to get some, and thus end this embarassing slump, I will simply say this:

I do not care. And it worked.

"I'm dicking his daughter, why wouldn't he want to buy me beer?" - Bucholtz

"I can't wait to start killing people now." - Paterson, after someone gave him this really cool knife/mini sword thing for his birthday.

Me: I'm at Safeway right now, what kind of pizza do you want?
Jay: I don't care, I like pretty much everything - just nothing with like moose on it or anything.
Me: OK, got it - no moose on the pizza. Good call.

And now, coming to you live from the "I feel the need to make fun of small towns because I'm not actually from one myself" department...

Kelsey's dad's usual team for Funtastic has had to drop out of this year's event because they don't have enough women to field a team.

Because they're all pregnant.

:: A Facebook sequel ::

I don't have many vivid memories of high school. No parties I can particularly remember, not many crazy antics, save for a few. High school, to me, is five years melted into one long experience, with days and events, and arguments and people, all overlapping.

I hated high school, nearly from the first day in Grade 8 until halfway through Grade 12, when things finally got a little bit fun at the new school I was at. And because I hated it, I think that's probably why all my memories just blur into one. Kind of the same way people can't remember details of traumatic experiences, or something.

I don't even have a single picture from high school - not of any of my friends, or events...no nothing. And I'm OK with that.

But there are still a few things I can clearly remember - first and foremost being Spring Break in Grade 11. That was the week that my parents and Chris went somewhere for a hockey tournament - I think the Okanagan. So I stayed home by myself, and my friend Jay stayed with me.

Since I had the whole house to myself, I remember it basically being a clubhouse for me, Jay, and three of our friends - Trevor, Steve, and Paul. I don't remember exactly what we did for seven days, but I know we must've got drunk at least a few times, and the weather was really nice, so we played a lot of tennis too...all of us cramming into my dad's Hyundai Sonata and driving to the high school, with the same CD playing over and over and over and over - Collective Soul's self titled album (the light blue one). I still cannot, to this day, hear a song from that album without thinking of that week.

Not too long after that week, Jay and his dog Digby ended up living with us. His parents had been split up for a number of years, and each had their own things to deal with. This way was just easier. And so it was...

Then, midway through Grade 12, Jay left and I lost touch with all those "spring break" friends I mentioned earlier. There was some ugliness there, but being that it was almost a decade ago, I don't remember specifics. Probably for the best.

And then came Facebook. I decided one night that, in an attempt to see how many friends I could add to my list, I'd start searching for random old friends from elementary school, high school, hockey - whoever I could think of. I found a few, but not too many - there's a ton of people I just can't remember, too. But then there was Jason.

Still looked the same, but with shorter hair and a goatee. When I showed Chris, he had to look twice and say "Is that actually him?" but there really was no question. He hadn't change much in that span, and I guess I haven't either, because Jay told me as much on Wednesday when we went out for beers and wings.

I've written about reunions with high school buddies before, but this was still different. Partly because we used to live 20 feet away from each other, partly because he was quite literally part of our family, and partly because it ended strangely.

Ever since we first starting talking again, I surprised myself by how quickly and easily I forgot about all the past stuff - I didn't even make a conscience effort to let it go, I just did. I'll admit to being bitter sometimes, and holding a grudge easily. This particular case hurt, and I was pissed for a long time. Even after I found Jay on Facebook last week, there was still something there. I didn't click "add as friend" and send him a message until a day after I saw his name because I didn't know what to expect.

But after one message back and forth, it all just...left. All was fine again. In fact, we never even mentioned any of the bullshit; we just picked up where we left off, before it all got weird and we both disappeared.

In previous instances where I've ended up meeting or talking with old friends, I - like most people in similar situations - have usually spent the majority of the time re-hashing past stories, laughing at old jokes, and inflating how truly awesome you were "back in the day." But on Wednesday, we really didn't do that. Sure, we got some of the basics out of the way regarding the last eight years - he's married now, I went away for school and work for awhile, his family's OK, mine's good too - but we didn't spend a lot of time reminiscing.

We lost eight years, but what's done is done.

Instead, we just hung out - laughing our balls off, and generally living in the now I guess you could say. We've hung out three times in the last five days, which is more often than I see many of my other friends. And I was thinking tonight that, as much as I love the friends I've had for the past decade, I really didn't miss 'em that much this weekend. I just had a good time doing other things.

And next weekend, at a party, we're also going to reconnect with the rest of the ol' team. Should be pretty awesome.

As much fun as I always have with anyone else, this weekend so far has been pretty hard to top. I know, it probably seems like with all these reunions that I'm living in the past, when most of these types of things are little more than a novelty act - you seen the person or people a few times, but then life returns to normal soon after, because when you're set in your lifestyle it is tough to turn back the clock.

But I don't think we'll have that problem, and like I said, this weekend was a pretty good time, so far. I guess it's just nice to know that, even though you might not've seen someone for a really long time, you're still free to act like a complete nerd, and you don't have to worry about who's in a mood and who's not. Or you can tell a bad joke without being mocked; and you don't need to care about whether it's acceptable or not in some eyes if you didn't get your passport photo stamped yourself.

But mostly, after 2,920 days wondering "Hmmm, I wonder what happened to that guy?", it's just nice to have another best friend back.

There's no doubt that the tool-of-the-Devil that is Facebook is a wonderful web creation, and pretty god-damn addicting to boot. Since signing on a few weeks back, I've re-connected - if through nothing more than a quick message - with all kinds of people I knew in high school, elementary school, minor hockey, etc..It's been pretty fun, if not a little weird in that some of these people I never even really liked in high school in the first place. It's amazing what time can do.

But tonight, as I sifted through all kinds of groups in search of a long-forgotten familar names (and believe me, there was a lot of 'em I'd forgot...high school ended for me eight years ago, after all), I got a slight tinge of, if not sadness, then, well let's call it a combination of malaise and/or envy. This is why:

Among former schoolmates of mine:

One went to medical/grad school at John Hopkins University and is now a doctor. Lives in France.

One guy - a dude you would've called a geek in high school - is married to an incredibly hot woman, has a kid, and works for a professional sports team.

One guy got a degree, some money, but then just said 'Fuck it,' and appears to spend his days living on the beach in California, Australia, and other places. All he does is surf.

There were more, but those are the ones I can remember best. Now, I'm not lamenting my place in life at all - I've done pretty alright for myself in some departments. But still, here I sit in the same town I grew up in, eight years later. Single, and often eating peanut butter straight out of the jar (I wish I was kidding, but I'm not. Don't judge me - it's delicious).

My point in all this? I dunno really, except that in high school I was one of the smart kids. I wasn't one of those popular smoke-pit types, and I was led to believe that karma would eventually repay me by giving me some of the stuff I didn't get much of in high school.

Maybe if I'd have had the balls or the inclination to move away after high school I'd be the one with the hot wife or the doctorate degree.

Or maybe I'd just say fuck it, get a bunch of tattoos, bleach my hair blonde and surf all fucking day. Yeah, that'd be pretty rad.

And while yes, I know there's a vast majority of people from high school who still live close by, doing average jobs for average pay, I just always thought I'd be the guy who, when people mentioned my name, they'd say "Oh, you won't believe what he's doing now."

Instead I fear I've become a Townie. A townie with a house and a degree and a decent job, but a Townie nonetheless.

I wonder if there's other Facebookers from my high school online right now, clicking on my name and thinking, "Wow, he's doing really well for himself. I'm kinda jealous. Good for him."

I hope so.

(But while I hope that, I'll settle for someone clicking on my name and thinking to themselves, "Wow, he's not as fat as I remember." or "Holy crap, he looks way cooler than that geek I used to know.")

:: Playing catch-up ::

I was going to write one of those "sorry for never posting" messages until I realized one thing: I'm not sorry. Not sorry at all. The way I figure it, you'll get the pleasure of reading a post when I'm damn well good and ready to give it to ya.

And I'm ready....now.

So, we've got some catchin' up to do, I suppose. I had half a post written from the long weekend, but most of the stuff I wrote has since become a moo point (You know, like a cow's opinion..it's not important). But let us first relive some of the more quotable moments of the past few weeks.

"That's as naked as I've ever been." - Sean, after being stripped of all his clothes and thrown into Lambie's front yard in the post-UFC mayhem a couple weekends ago.

"At first when you guys jumped me I thought you were just gonna shove something in my ass, and I was like 'OK, that's fine I guess,' but then you took all my clothes instead!" - Sean's twisted thought process as the above-mentioned deed took place.

"Quit being so bleedy!" - Lambie, as he attacked poor beer and blood-soaked Sean, who was flailing away on the floor.

"Beer. It's what's for breakfast." - Buchs

"I'd fight Snoop Dogg. What's he gonna do, gin and juice me?" - Buchs, after a few of those 'breakfast beers'.

"It's not funny but it's hilarious." - Jer, commenting on Buch's retardedness, which resulting in A-Scrams being pretty angry.

Amanda: I want a teleport.
Ian: You want a tadpole?

"They should make a steak cologne." - Bucholtz

Well, the last few weeks have been fairly eventful. I can tell because it doesn't feel like I've been home much at all the past three weeks. I work, I go someplace, I come home late, and go to bed. Rinse, lather, repeat. I'm not complaining, but it just seems like this is one of the few weekday nights where I've had both the time and energy to write anything.

A couple weekends ago, if you couldn't already tell from the quotes, many of us - mostly Sean - became intoxicated. Sean, on a $5 bet, stuck his balls into quickly whirrling fan blades, which obviously caused him to hit the deck pretty hard. Five minutes later, he decided sticking his nose into the same fan was a smart idea.

Guess what? It wasn't. You see, when slim blades made of hard plastic, metal, or any other solid material are set at speeds in which you can no longer tell one individual blade from the other, whatever comes into contact with said blades is likely to be caused some undue strain. It's like when you used to throw your Grade 9 math textbook into the ceiling fan, just to see what would happen. What happens is you get calculus everywhere.

Lesson learned, Seany. Lesson learned.

This past weekend, while other people were at stag parties or Nintendo nights or UFC TV events, I was back in Kamloops for the first time in what seemed like 100 years. In reality, it was only about two and a half or so, but still too long. Quite a bit had changed - people now hung out with people I didn't know, the Burger King near my old house was now a Tim Horton's, and an entire new uber-large strip mall had sprung up on what's basically one large median between some major thru-ways. Very odd.

Some things, however, don't change. The pulp mill still stinks - something I'd forgotten about, but was reminded of at nearly the exact same time the "Welcome to Kamloops" sign came into view from the highway - and also, Sifton Ave. is still a formidable foe. One day, however, me, Mike and Shaun will have our revenge.

We just need a better plan. (And a shovel, ahead of time)

Friday evening was spent at Meghan's, drinking a few beers with her and Lorne, before we headed to a very crowded, very hot, Central Station Pub, where I proceeded to a) spill beer on my jeans and b) drink six beers and a caesar but somehow only get charged $13 for three beers. Still not as good a deal as Al though, who downed a couple double paralyzers before just walking out, apparently completely oblivious.

So we did that. And then me, Shaun and Mike drove around for quite awhile (see aforementioned failed plan) before Shaun went home to sleep, and me and Mike hit up some 7-Eleven hotdogs which the slurpee jockey informed us were anywhere from 2 hours to four days old. We took our chances anyway. We killed some more time, before the night basically ended, and boy did it ever end in (insert sarcasm here) fine fashion for me.

The night was mercifully ended at 3:15 a.m. after a loooooooooooong, painstaking conversation with Meghan's otherwise delightful two friends, who spent two hours - two fucking hours - talking about cats. The next day, when explaining what happened to Mike and Shaun, I was actually incapable of words, such was the rage and bafflement that had built inside me. Ask 'em, they'll tell you. It was a tough one.

Nevertheless, on Saturday - refueled after some coffee, Ricky's breakfast, and a solid nap - we eventually got the ball rolling again. Some people went to Earl's for dinner, but me, Mike and Shaun instead went to White Spot, where the TV viewing was far superior to watch the Canucks' Game 6. We said we'd show up at Earl's after the first period, but that was before we were informed that not only did Earl's have worse TV locations, but in fact no TVs we could see at all. So we eventually rolled in around 7:45. Nobody seemed to really miss us anyhow, so that was good.

The Earl's experience was ended with one giant beer each, and this from Shaun:

"I'm having fun, if fun means the opposite of fun."

So rather than hit up the pre-drinking/Blue Grotto, the three of us crashed a work-related conference (for a different division) at a downtown hotel, where we met up with Al, Ken, Melissa, and briefly, Tara. It was an open bar so it turned to a pretty solid night. Near the end, the little makeshift bar actually ran out of beer.

Hooray for us.

So that, in a nutshell, was my long-winded Kamloops experience. I left Sunday after attempting to throw a sponge soccer ball at Mike's car from mine (they'd previously chucked it at me), but it turns out you have a better chance to hit them if you roll your own window down first. Rookie mistake, but it nearly caused Mike and Shaun to laugh so hard they nearly drove of the road, so at least there's that.

Oh, and if the weekend wasn't success enough, Shaun - former video store warehouse employee - gave me a lifesized, lighted Superman Returns standup. I haven't taken it out of the box yet, but I can only imagine its awesomness.

This week: Tonight we had softball, kicking the ever-loving shit out of some team of poor saps, 16-2. Tomorrow and Friday are Games 1-2 of the Nucks and Ducks series, and Saturday is my all-fucking-day-long conference at an airport hotel. It's the same exact thing I crashed Saturday night while in Kamloops, only that I'll have to sit through 10 hours of workshops before the drinking can begin.

But hey, it's another open bar.

:: Game 7 ::

In the moments after Trevor Linden scored the go-ahead goal midway through the third period, and then again after the final horn sounded and CBC cut to a shot of Roberto Luongo, alone in his crease, stick held high among 19,000 screaming towel-wavers, I for some reason thought of a scene from the forgettable Keanu Reeves' movie The Replacements, when coach Gene Hackman is asked by a sideline reporter what it's going to take to win the game:

"It's gonna take heart....Miles and miles of heart."

And now, I must sleep. Goodnight Moon. Goodnight Stars.

(and yes, a long overdue post is coming, which will cover the activities of the last few weeks. I promise. But not tonight.)

"Any boss who gets mad at his employees tomorrow morning for being late ought not to be allowed to watch another hockey game the rest of the playoffs. I'll write everybody a note." - Harry Neale

Holy Jesus Christ. I know Roberto Luongo's new at this whole playoff thing, but will somebody tell him he gets to play more than one game?

Finally, I can go to bed.

:: A tough-to-top Tuesday ::

I'll edit and add to this post later on today with my thoughts on work, Major League Baseball's Opening Day, and a funny story I heard about a goose, but for now, know this: My arch nemesis assistant-boss has abruptly quit (and hours later, in a hilarious twist, is likely wishing she hadn't), leaving me to continue on further with my current Monday-to-Friday shift, rather than shift back to Sundays, as was supposed to happen this week. Also, it leaves me to share second-in-command duties with two people I actually like, and respect. It also means a permanent gig as second-in-charge is up for grabs, which I may decide to jump on. We'll see.

Sorry to leave you with such cliff-hangers (and admit it, you're waiting breathlessly), but I just figured I'd go a little Prison Break on y'all. Seriously, do they not have the best/worst cliffhangers in TV history? Other than that summer I spent waiting to see who shot Mr. Burns, I can't recall ones on par with PB.

But that's the scoop, basically. Got a delicious free lunch today. Saw one co-worker's tyrannical reign of terror come to a sudden end. Sun is shining.

To quote Jasper from The Simpsons:

"What a time to be alive."

Chris, on being indispensible at work...

"I may have an easy job - a job a monkey could do, but nobody else there knows how to do my job except me. So if this monkey left, all those other chimpanzees would just be standing around going, 'Duh...what fucking tree do we climb?"

That is one of my favourite quotes of all-time.

While some sex show on T.V. talked about 'chakra centres'
"The only chakra centre I care about is a milk chakra centre." - Jeremy, lover of chocolate.

Some quotes, old and new, to start us off this fine Friday ...

"Well, she should've tapped out." - Bucholtz, on his solution to last weekend's quasi-ugliness between a drunken Scotty and Kels.

"Yay, I'm a rapist!" - Bucholtz again. (From last weekend, no idea the context)

"This is a proud day for me and my family," - Scotty, shitcanned last weekend, after he tried and failed to pronounce 'puberty' about five times. It's not 'poo-berty' buddy.

"It's a reverse blanket. Like taking your pants off, but not quite." - Bucholtz

"Just get a Where's Waldo? book - no words, just fun." - Bucholtz, after Bre said she was going to get a crossword puzzle book to do while Ian played hockey.

"You know how much money I spent at the casino? A gwop! A gwop of money!" - this Greg character from last night, inventing new currency.

"I love the smell of leather, but not quite as much as the smell of box though." - Bucholtz, classy as ever.

Me: So how much trouble do you figure you're in here?
Scotty: I'd say severe, to very severe.

Me: You think your phone, keys, and wallet are all going to be there?
Scotty: Well if it's my night, they will be.
Me: Trust me, it's not your night.
Scotty: Well, it could be.
Me: It's not. You know how I know?
Scotty: How?
Me: Where's your girlfriend right now?
Scotty: About 50 nautical miles away.
Me: Point made.
(Then we only found the keys and the wallet)

:: You make me sick, like Strawberry Quik ::

Well, it's St. Patrick's Day tomorrow, and if the world was fair I would be on my way to Kamloops right now, where I'd then proceed to get drunk of green beer with Meghan, Lorne, and whoever the hell else is there.

However, due to a high school basketball tournament that requires my attention and attendance, I am still here. Sober. Drinking nothing green of any kind. However, just to get everyone into the St. Patty's Day spirit, here's one of the finer things Irish.

:: Kelsey's Birthday ::

"If this T.V. had arms it would strangle itself." - Scott, not overly impressed with Kelsey's below average-sized television.

"Nick, we need to go on a hunt - and not just any hunt, a slut hunt." - Ian, apparently trying to help me meet some drunk girls, of which there were plenty at the Foggy Dew.

"Do you have a cock? No? Hi, my name is Scott." - Scott, on standards when trying to pick up girls.

and a few old quotes, from weekends past...

"I'm just gonna get messed up and fuck bitches." - Bucholtz, on his ambitions while in Mexico.

"Foiled in my own web of suck..Dammit!" - Ian, absolutely shitfaced to the point of not being able to walk. I have no idea what he's talking about.

So yesterday was Kelsey's birthday, which consisted of some serious pre-drinking, followed by more pre-drinking and pizza, and then the Foggy Dew pub.

By the time we rolled into Kelsey's, some of us - me, Ian, and Sean - had already downed about five or so beers, and after a few periods of the Canucks game, I was pretty well on top of my game, which slowed a bit once we got to the pub, but not by too much.

Never having been to the Dew before, I thought it was pretty cool - I like Irish pubs to begin with, but this one's pretty damn nice. The kind of place I wish we had in Langley, but alas, we're stuck with The Vanilla Room, The Rendezvous and Citrus/8 Seconds/Liquid/China Beach.

Like most nights - and birthday's specifically - Friday offered numerous highlights, from Rachel's stalker and $10.25 Baileys, to Pat's triumphant-but-brief return, to some drunk dude in the bathroom, who didn't have any idea where he was ("I'm where? In fucking Coquitlam??! FUCK!")

All in all, a pretty quality night. No hangover either, unlike the birthday girl.

Sucker. Happy Birthday though.

:: A glass half-full approach ::

Forget that the odds of winning this week's insanely massive $370 million lottery in the United States this week is 1 in 200,000,000, this one dude - a gambling addict named Barrie Green from California has a much sunnier approach. I don't know if he's hyper-optimistic or just plain retarded, but it's an interesting way of thinking. (Chris, do not use this line of thought to increase your Sports Action habit. The odds are still shitty).

"I realize I don't have a chance, but nobody's got a chance. So the way I look at it, I have a 50-50 chance – either I win it or someone else wins it."

:: The Office Shit ::

I have worked in my current office for nearly three years. The building has hundreds of advantages over my previous office - which of course was in the mighty burg of Peace River, Alberta.

For starters, my current office is not in Peace River, Alberta.

Among it's many charms, this office is five minutes from the beach, has a machine that pumps out quality hot chocolate for a mere 25 cents, and was built within the last 40 years, as opposed to the Peace River office, which was 85 years old, and drafty as hell. The back entrance was a double-door, and even when closed, you could've slipped a loonie length-wise through the opening. In -40 weather, that's not fucking cool.

My current building also earns points because it also used to be a bank, so there's a vault with one of those really thick, heavy doors, which my friend Steve once got locked in, adding to the office's awesomeness.

But the thing I hate about the place, aside from the fact that once through its doors I'm expected to work, is the bathroom. Now, as far as public facilities go, it's alright. Always clean, if not a little bit cramped.

It has it's problems though. For starters, due to the cramped space, it's tough to, uh, 'air out.' But, by far, the biggest problemis the bathroom's extremely close proximity to people. It is about four steps away from my department's little war room, with a door in between that is - unfortunately - always kept open, because otherwise it was cut us off from the rest of the office. It's close enough - and the office is quite enough - that every flush, every tug of papertowel from the dispenser, every turn of the tap, is heard by the rest of the people in our department.

That is a problem if you gotta take a shit. Especially a violent one, as is often the case after lunch if you've chosen to hit up the little Malaysian restaurant down the block. Let's face it - nobody wants to hear that.

There's one guy in our office that clearly has no problem with the situation, he heads in there, newspaper tucked under his arm, at any and all times. He just doesn't care - and to be honest, he's somehow as quiet as can be. But I just can't do it.

The only times I've ever taken a shit there was during a rare moment when everyone was out of the office for a few minutes, and a few times on Sundays or early mornings when the office is still empty. In three years working there, I estimate I've only dropped a deuce at the office four times. Six times maximum.

How do I do it, you're probably wondering. Well, it's simple. If it's near the end of the day, and it's not an urgent situation, you just wait. But in three years I've managed to scout out some prime spots throughout the community. The No. 1 option is the hockey rink. It's about a 5-minute drive away, so if there's an emergency situation it doesn't do the job, but usually it's fine. I picked this spot as much for it's emptiness as it's lovely facilities (Which are top shelf). Being in the line of work I'm in, I always have a fairly good idea of what goes on at the rink and various times of the day. Usually, from about 8 a.m. until 2 p.m. - when the junior team arrives for practice - it's damn near empty. And in the summer it's even better - even emptier - because the ice is taken out, and nobody's around. It's still open however, because the city has a Rec office in the building, thus keeping it open through the summer months.

It is option A by a landslide.

If the rink isn't an option for any reason, other choices the bathroom/storage/concession booth at the local athletic park. The bathrooms are public, and usually unlocked during the day. However, it's not as prime a spot as the rink due to the fact that, on occasion, it is locked. Also, the walk from the parking lot to the bathrooms is lengthy, and hilly. If you're in a hurry, it's trouble.

Other options I've tested are the public bathrooms at the beach (which lose serious points for grossness), and the curling rink. The curling rink is often closed, however, and even when it is open, I ALWAYS end up being roped into a 20+ minute conversation with the people there, so a quick 15-minute shit turns into a 40 minute affair. And even though I consider myself an A-1 slacker, I just don't have that kind of time.

So as you can see, I have a serious problem here. In fact, it's the shits (pun intended).

It actually makes me yearn for the days of Peace River, where the men's washroom was tucked way down in the basement, in the dark, where nobody ever went unless they need a copy of a newspaper from 1936. It may have been -30 down there and dark, with a door that you had to body-check to close, and then still wouldn't lock, but good god was it peaceful.

The kind of place where you could eat all the Malaysian food you wanted to at lunch.

I know I'm not the only one dealing with this same issue. When I moved into my place last July, Chris' No. 1 reason for wanting a key was because my house is only a 2-minute drive from his office, and he wanted to be able to come here at lunch to take a dump. Understanding his predicament, I gave him a key.

Life would just be so much easier if the architects of these buildings would realize the obvious difficulties of droppin' the Cosbys off at the pool when co-workers are so close by.

Not everybody's got a hockey rink nearby, after all.

"I've scooped up much worse shit than poop." - Sean

So that's how it's done. I remember now.

I'm a few days behind schedule, but I wanted to write a little bit about last weekend, if I may. (and I may, since it's my blog). Let me begin by saying that I did not have high hopes for this weekend, for a couple reasons. First of all, I've sort of been taking it easy in the partying department for the better part of a month or two..sometimes on purpose because I've just felt like it, and other times where I've tried my best to get blitzed, but was unsuccessful for whatever reason, thus leaving me to spend $100 at the pub, only to return remarkably sober to sit alone in my townhouse at 1 a.m. with a Diet Pepsi, a sandwich and unfulfilled dreams of drunkeness and debauchery.

I figured this weekend would be much the same, which leads me to point No. 2 - I had to work Friday night for a few hours, beginning at 7:30, which left me absent during prime drinking hours. It also meant I wouldn't be able to pound back a few pre-drinks in the dinner-time hour. So it wasn't looking good. Advantage: Liver.

Normally I wouldn't have been too devastated because, like I said, I haven't always felt like drinking lately, and I was actuallyl looking forward (slightly) to the hoops game I would be attending. However, on this particular Friday I was in a drinking mood the likes of which my body hadn't felt since New Year's, and possibly even before that.

I felt like getting pisssssssssssssed.

So I did what pre-2007 Nick would've done. I skipped out of half the game, bought a hot dog on the way out the gym door, picked up 3 energy drinks and a bottle of vodka, and went to my parent's house, where everyone was. It felt like ages since we'd all gathered in somebody's house for a legitimate 'stay-there-all-night-with-no-other-plans' house party.

Being that I was a few hours behind the other drinkers (Looking at you, Amanda), I started off making some pretty strong drinks, and soon was as tanked as the rest of the team. Then it was drunken charades ("It's all gone, Pete Tong"? Seriously Scott?), darts, drinking games, and poker until the wee hours. Advantage: Nick.

After poker wrapped up, I stuck my near-gone 26 of vodka back in the freezer, and poked my head out the front door, only to have the paper delivery guy hand me the Saturday morning edition.

It was 5 a.m. For some, that's a fairly regular occurence, but since I rarely stay up for late night poker (usually on account of me not living super close anymore), it was a accomplishment for me.

And I was pretty damn happy with myself, as I cleaned up a bit, turned the lights off and went to bed. Pretty damn happy, indeed.

Like a boxer stepping back into the ring despite being - arguably - past his prime, for one night it was good to be back in fighting shape.

(Click the link. See how I managed to tie current events into a post about getting blurry-eyed drunk? That's just how awesome I am.)

:: "Do you have anything in a four-door sedan?" ::

I stole the below clip from this guy, who in turn stole it from this guy here. Watch. Laugh. Be sure the sound is on (Warning: Probably not safe for most offices. Feel free to show it to little kids though. Preferably stranger's kids).

:: Something for the lovers ::

Well folks, you knew this was coming. My annual "Valentine's Day is a load of crap" post. Rather than write 1,500 words extolling the sucktitude of this Hallmark holiday that forces people to spend excessive money to prove their love to somebody else, I'll just leave you with a couple quotes.

"Love has been done to death." - Tragically Hip's Gord Downie, on why he refused, for years, to write songs about love.

"I got Bre flowers and all that shit. Stupid girls - flowers die anyway. I should get her a fence, that'd last a lot longer." - Ian, this time last year.

Also, go on over to jasonmulgrew.com (link at left) for a Valentine's Day story that is sure to warm the cockles of your heart (or maybe the sub-cockle area, I'm not sure). I'd link directly to it, but I'm on a crappy Mac at work, and it's making life difficult for me. I'll link it when I get home.

Mid-day edit: Go read this. It sums up my feelings on Valentine's Day nearly to a T. I doubt very much that I'm alone on this either.

Upon hearing the unfortunately-named Mooseknuckles were on a 14-game win streak...
Me: So Ian, I guess you guys are in first-place then eh?
Sean: They're in double-first place!!!

(I guess they're good)

So, it was another typical weekend, where I basically stayed busy while simultaneously doing absolutely nothing at all. I don't know how I do it, really -I kept myself mostly busy, yet I didn't do anything of note - didn't get drunk, didn't do anything crazy, and I have no real exciting stories to regale you with. If I ever write a book, I think I'll call it "How to waste your life without anyone noticing."

Thursday night I went out for drinks with Melissa, to some Burnaby joint named Marine Pub. It was an alright place, despite the world's stupidest waitress. (Coors Light? Sure, here's a Kokanee. Uhh...thanks.)

Friday was more drinks, this time with my buddy Steve, who I used to work with. Heard tales of life as a police recruit, complete with reasons past recruits were booted from the program (Getting badge stolen by a hooker who's giving you a hummer, and stealing muffins from the J.I. cafeteria tie for first place, in case you were wondering.)

The rest of Friday was spent, mostly, at Sean and Rachel's place, just hanging out drinking Bowen Island Lager. The best tasting $10.62/6-pack beer on the market, I'd guess.

Then Saturday, for one day and one day only, the sun came out, as if from nowhere. So we took the opportunity to wear shorts, drink beer at the park, and chuck a ball around. Good thing too, since the weather didn't last. It's rainy and overcast again.

So, like I said, not a whole lot of interesting tales to speak of, which is really starting to aggravate me since I, again, spent $100 or more dollars on beer and food throughout the weekend. How it's possible that I can't get drunk like I used to is baffling to me. Ah well, one of these weekends I'll figure 'er out.

And I'm sure you'll all be sorry when it happens.

In completely unrelated news, I can suggest a number of songs you should all download. Beware the wildly differing styles and tastes.

Tripping Daisy - "Piranhas"
Mid-90s grunge era tune, that I've heard on a CFOX's '90s Brunch quite often on Sunday morning drives into work. Great song.

Screaming Trees - "Nearly Lost You"
Another staple of the 90's Brunch. I believe it's on the Singles Soundtrack - the early '90s Cameron Crowe movie that was centred on the Seattle/grunge scene.

Pink Floyd - "Speak to Me/Breath the Air"
Just a good song. From Dark Side of the Moon.

Justin Timberlake - "What Goes Around (Comes back around)"
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. It's JT, so feel free to begin the mockery (Mike, looking in your direction). I have no information about this song at all, but I just heard it played on the Grammy Awards, and I liked it. It's catchy, what can I say.

And if anyone can, for the love of God, ever find the song "What to do" by Thrush Hermit, please download it with your P2P program of choicel, and send it to me. I'll give you a beer for it. Or a high-five. (Probably the latter).

I heard in one afternoon on the Fox, but it's early 90s and indie, so finding it anywhere is a lost cause so far.

:: Wedding, etc...::

"At that point it's not a tux, it's a monkey suit." - Meghan's thoughts on wearing a tux to get girls, and then failing miserably at said task.

And then there's this, Super Bowl fallout...

Fuck you, it's a god-damned robot

You can watch the commercial yourself, right here. Easily the SB's best ad. I haven't felt that much emotion over the plight of a robot since Short Circuit.

"You see, marriage is a lot like an orange. First, you have the skin... then the sweet, sweet innards."

"And if all else fails, just walk up to one of the hot ones and stick a finger in her ass. She'll never even see it coming!" - Ian, with whom I was discussing my potential ability (but likely, ultimate failure) to score with a bridesmaid, or other reasonably hot woman at this shindig.

As for the above quote, well, yes, there was failure. Obviously. However, it was through no fault of my own (for once). There simply were no opportunities. Reasons for this are twofold, and possibly threefold, if we wanna get into specifics.

Firstly, despite the fact that some of the women there were absolutely unbelievable (Seriously, like 12 out of 10), many of the thought-to-be-single ones were, in fact, not single at all. This is to be expected, really, because if they're so hot, why wouldn't they be snapped up already? (Likely by some greaseball guido wearing a leather jacket and too many rings, who owns a small construction company...just, uh, for hypothetical example)

So, there was barrier numero uno. However, that shouldn't have been the end of things, since there were still *some* reasonably attractive single girls there, but this leads me to my second point:

The reception lacked the two things needed to hook up at a wedding: dancing, and alcohol. The reception started around 6:00, although the bar did not open until after all the formal stuff was finished - dinner, speeches from Doug, Carmen, Chad the best man, all six parents (Doug's wife, Carmen, has two sets of parents) etc...By this time, I don't know exactly but I'd guess it was about 8:30-ish, and still all we had to drink was wine, as the bar didn't open until just after 9:00.

Why didn't the bar open until then, you ask? Well, it didn't open early for the same reason that over 60% of the people at the reception left as soon as the dance floor opened: many people on the bride's side of the family are staunch Mennonites, who disagree with both drinking and dancing.

Rather than detail the situation any further, I've chosen to compose a haiku about Doug's wedding.

Doug marries Carmen
Just wine, no bar til 9
Mennonites don't dance

So the party died fairly quickly, despite the fact that me, Chad, and a few others did our best to keep the bartender busy. However, when the single girls and even the bridesmaids disappear for hours at a time, what's a lonely groomsman to do? Drink a few more beers, then go home defeated, drink a few vodkas, then pass out on the couch until 3:30 in the morning, that's what.

Oh, and that third reason? I'm kind of fat, so getting some was likely out of the question from the get-go, regardless of how awesome I looked in my rented tux.

But we don't need to dwell on that fact, do we? Oh, we do? Well shutup. Jerk.

Other than the lack of gettin' some, however, it was a very fun few days, beginning with the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner Friday night out in Abbotsford. Saturday morning I headed over to Doug's to get ready, with Chad and the other groomsmen. All was going fine - we had coffee with extra expresso shots, solid breakfast foods in abundance, tunes cranked and some red bulls flowing, until about 11:30 when my pants broke.

Yes, my pants broke.

For those of you not familar with rental tuxedo pants, let me explain quick-like how they work. Basically, you're given a pair of pants that are capable of being worn by someone with about a 22-inch rockstar-on-heroin waist, to someone who appears to have ate a small child for brunch. There are these thin metal "sliders, where you slide the waists to your desired girth, and then snap a lock into place.

Well, after wearing the pants for about 20 minutes, the slider came off-track. It appeared a lost cause for the longest time, and I spent a good deal of the morning wandering the house in a tuxedo shirt, tie, and boxers. Classy, I know.

I was prepared to just wear my giant MC Hammer-esque pants with suspenders to keep 'em up, until Chad finally fixed them with the help of a pin, a knife, and God knows what else. He earned the best man title right there.

So I went to the wedding with properly-fitting pants, and the whole thing, basically, went off without a hitch. And I gotta tell you, the whole wedding experience had more of an effect on me than I thought it would.

One of my favourite moments was talking with Doug's dad. Now, his dad has never been a super-positive person, and since retiring he's largely become a hermit in his own home, with not a lot to do. But Saturday he smiled, bought people drinks, and was as happy and proud of his son as I've ever seen. It was just kind of a touching moment, knowing both Doug and his dad as well as I do.

His dad also told me, while buying me a drink near the end of then night, that "Chad's done a great job as Doug's best man, but as far as I'm concerned, he has two of them tonight. You are too."

I've known Doug since we were 13 years-old, and he was engaged for 10 months before Saturday, but it wasn't until moments after the wedding where I actually realized "Whoa, Doug's married." (and to a pretty stunning blonde, by the way). And right then, I realized how incredibly happy I was for him, considering the rough ride he's been on for 2 years before he met Carmen. I was happy for him, maybe a little jealous that he'd found somebody, and proud of him too.

Which, in and of itself made it one of the best weekends I've had in ages and ages. Even if I didn't score a bridesmaid.

From the "What kind of answer did you expect?" department...
Me: What other kind of job could you see me doing?
Buchs: I dunno...condom taster?

Buchs: I know! You should go to Iraq.
Me: And do what, exactly?
Buchs: I don't know...go hang out with Connie Chung and Geraldo Paldorrama, or whatever.
Me: You mean Rivera?
Buchs: Whatever. How 'bout baboon trainer? You know anything about monkeys?
Me: No.
Buchs: Shit, 'cuz that'd be awesome.

:: Football, gambling, college basketball, crying, supermodels ::

"Sports, sports, sports, sports, sports! Bart gets to ride in the front seat today because he's a good guy at sports!"

Well, I tried to go buy a SportsAction ticket just now, but it said my ticket was invalid, or some such nonsense. Must be too close to gametime or something, I'm not sure.

But, just to (attempt to) prove that I know a lil bit about sports, I shall document my picks here. Later, we can see if I would've won $53 on my $5 ticket.

Saints to beat the Bears
Colts and Patriots to tie (a game within 3 points, for you non-gamblers)

And then, just for shits and giggles, U. of Pittsburgh to beat Marquette in college hoops.

And for the record, even though I picked a tie game between the Colts/Pats, it's going to be Colts by 3 on a last-second Adam Vinateri field-goal. And then New England is going to wish they never let him get away. And then Tom Brady might cry. (but he'll be crying into the arms of supermodel Giselle Bundchen, so he'll be OK.)

Go Colts! Go Saints! Go..University of Pittsburgh? Sure, why not.

*In-game edit: Anyone reading this while the Saints/Bears game is on, I implore you to listen to a few minutes of this game on TEAM 1040 radio. The "Prism Radio Network" is broadcasting the game, and I'm fairly certain that the colour man is Jesse "The Body" Ventura. If not him, then an old man who ate a pack of unfiltered cigarettes for breakfast.

And Kevin Bieksa vaults into second place among my favourite current Canucks (T.L is #1, obviously)...

During a guest spot on The Fox this morning, on my drive into work, Bieksa explains why he missed his shootout attempt during the game last week against Dallas: (keep in mind, I'm paraphrasing here)

"I had no idea I was going to shoot. I was just sitting on the bench with the guys, and we were putting our rally caps on, so I had my helmet on backwards. Then they told me I had to shoot, so I jump off the bench, and I was rushing to flip my helmet around and snap up the chinstrap and I didn't have much time to think, and I ended up shooting it off (the goalie's) shoulder. I think I've probably fallen to the bottom of the list, now."

Then, when asked if he planned on using the three-day all-star break to spend some quality time with his wife, or his family, he said he wasn't doing anything of the sort.

Instead he's flying to Texas to hang out with his buddy who plays for the Amarillo Gorillas of the Central Hockey League.

What a guy.

:: So this is the New Year ::

So, it being a week since my last foray onto this blog, and it now being 2007, I guess I owe y'all a post. And what better place to begin than where the last post left off - New Year's.

Now, I like New Year's in as much as it's a reason to drink and have a good time, but I do fail to see why people tend to get so god-damn crazy about it. There are people who agree with me, I'm sure. Like Bucholtz said last night, New Year's is an "old person holiday" - an excuse for the 40+ crowd to get a little wild one night a year. Which is fine by me, but it can easily lose significance for people like us because it's a good bet that, nobody how hard we party on Dec. 31, we've probably partied just as hard on some previous non-descript Friday.

Or Tuesday, for that matter.

That being said, we did manage to take New Year's up a notch from our usual sitting around, drinking, and playing Fuck The Dealer. In fact, contrary to my previous buzz-kill paragraph, it was a downright kick-ass weekend.

Two days in Hemlock.

I could break it down for everyone, event by little event, beer by beer, but there's not a whole lot of point since you were all likely there. That may have been the best and more surprising part actually - that damn near everybody came. I think there were about 12-15 of us in total. And, in Coles Notes' form, here was the two day highlight reel: Drinking, discovering that I still know how to ski after a years-long absence, almost killing myself on the last run of the day, racking up a $381 bar tab as a group while watching the 'Nucks on Night 1, and Sean periodically leaping for second-storey windows into large snowbanks - one time sans footwear.

So that was our weekend. Our New Year's. A quality start to 2007, if I do say so myself. Pictures are here.

Then came the last week at work, which was pretty painful, pretty boring. It's tough after the holidays to get back into the swing of things, and today was a Case in Point.

I was working a late shift today - and since I'm there by myself nobody cares - so I rolled out of bed by 9:30, and was at work 'round 10:30. I was in a fine enough mood, I suppose, considering how much I hate working Sundays in the first place. But as soon as I stepped through the door I was in a worse mood. That's because of the note left for me.

It was my usual Sunday to-do list - a laundry list of menial tasks that I'm stuck with every weekend - with one exception.

"Also, please take ALL the papers out to the recycyling bin."

So now I'm the fucking janitor, too.

You may be thinking, 'Hey fuck off you lazy shit, just toss a few papers into the blue bin.' And you'd be right in thinking such things - I am lazy. But also understand this - we have at least three copies of each issue of our paper from 2006 stacked in the corner of my boss's office. That's a lot of god damn papers.

And I got to be the god-damn clearing house. Man did that piss me off.

So as I sat there, procrastinating by reading about fellow bloggers who suddenly get to write for Fox Sports Online, or have book deals or TV development contracts, all I could think of was, where the fuck did I go wrong?

I'm serious. Sure, I'm envious of the people linked above, but all they do is get loaded and write online, no different than me; no better.

So there I stewed, knee-deep in shitty newsprint. Then I left 4 hours early because I just didn't want to be there anymore. (although in my defence, I have a cold coming on, so that's my excuse.)