:: Wasted Talent ::

This year, I have discovered two things about myself: 1) Despite never really playing before, I am actually quite good at playing poker, and 2) I am also pretty good at picking football games. 

Now, I've played poker before 2010, obviously, but it's only ever been with my friends at 2 a.m. once everybody's schmammered, and I'd never actually been in a tournament. But then, in May – while on a golf weekend trip out in Chilliwack – I played in a 12-man tournament, and after slow-playing everyone to death (I'm rather conservative, it turns out) I ended up finishing second, and won $60. I also received a handful of compliments about how well I had played.

Then, last weekend at Davy and Colleen's, I lasted five hours and ended up sixth out of about 16 or 18, which is pretty not bad. And though I collected no monetary winnings, I did score myself a sweet consolation prize – a large bottle of Baby Duck wine.

Which brings me to my next thing: picking football games. 

I'd been in a million football pools prior to this year – although I've never done very well – but I'd never been in a pool like the one Chris, Me, Davy and a few others were in this year. In addition to the typical fantasy league, we also had to pick who we thought would win each game every week, and whoever picks the most correct games – no point spreads – by the end of Week 17, gets $60 or so. 

And while I was knocked out of the fantasy league in the first round of playoffs – losing to Davy on the last play of Monday Night Football, no less – I am doing quite well at this pick 'em business. 

I'm kicking ass, as a matter of fact.

Now, I know a decent amount about football, and I can predict the odd game or two, but this was the first time where I was forced – if I wanted to win – to pick a winner in each and every game for 17 weeks. 

Turns out, I'm pretty good. My success rate through Week 15 (not including tonight's Monday night game) is 99.1 percent.

Yes, 99.1. 

I am, in this part of my life at least, less than 1% away from being perfect.

Davy's in second place at 92%, but I've got a seven-game lead on him. 

So yeah, 2010 has been a pretty good gamblin' year for me. And what do I have to show for it? 

$60 – with that number jumping to a potential $120 – and a big bottle of $9 champagne*. Yep, I'd say I'm putting my newfound talents to good use. 

*I would also like take this opportunity to point out that, in my 167-person hockey pool run through my dad's work (it's a pick-a-player-from-each-box style pool) I am currently in first place. I'm only three up on second place, and a week ago had a 14-point lead, so these things change quickly, but still, I am in first place. Winner gets about $1,300. This is the same pool I won two years ago, collecting a cool, cool $1,600. 

:: Random school memory ::

Not sure why I thought of this today, but I'm going to tell you a story from my two years spent at Kwantlen University College (later changed to Kwantlen University, later changed again to Kwantlen Polytechnic University... just pick a fucking name and still with it, perhaps.)

In my second year there, I was taking political science class that I now rank as probably the second-worst class I ever took in university; the first being two-semester art/photography class I took at the University College of the Cariboo, which is now Thompson Rivers University (editor's note: can't any school keep its name the same?)

Anyways, this course was focused on Canadian politics, and was taught by a horrible shrew of a an old woman who had no teaching skills, whatsoever. Every class was the same thing – she'd throw some notes on the overhead projector, and we were supposed to copy them down. 

For three straight hours. 

(I've often wondered why she didn't just made 30 copies of these notes and hand 'em out to us, but then I realized – if she did it that much more efficient way, what would she do for the three hours of class time?) 

She was also a huge NDP booster/member, and being that it was a political science class, it gave her ample opportunity to espouse her left-wing NDP viewpoints and opinions. It was an election year, if I remember correctly, and at one point she even handed out NDP buttons to the entire class. Now, I'm not what I'd call politically active and while I don't necessarily dislike the NDP, I did not appreciate having paid for a class only to receive political propaganda. 

On this occasion, I declined said button. This upset her. 

A few weeks later, we were required to write opinion essays about a certain political topic. I believe I chose immigration. And because I enjoy playing devil's advocate (and being an asshole) I chose an anti-immigration opinion. I knew, as a staunch lefty, this would piss her off. 

So I wrote a well-reasoned essay, complete with facts, sources, footnotes, etc... and handed it in. A week later, it was returned to me with a large "FAIL" written along the top of the cover page. Underneath that was scribbled the following: "This opinion is wrong."

I was understandably pissed off. If she quibbled with my facts, my sources, my writing style - anything of the sort – and failed me because of that, well, what can I do? But to fail me because she did not share my opinion? Well, that didn't fly with me. 

After complaining loudly and, let's face it, probably pretty rudely, I left the class. The next day I went to whatever administrative body that handles teacher complaints, and explained the situation. I'd like to fill an official complaint, I said.

The response? 

"Don't bother. We have some many complaints against her already, one more is not going to make a difference."

In the end, I passed the course – I may even have got a pass on the essay in the end, I can't really recall – and I don't believe Mrs. NDP taught much longer, but still, this is the kind of education I got for the first two years after high school. 

(And truth be told, most of my university profs at Kwantlen were awful. For many, many reasons. But this woman was the absolute worst.)

Community college, FTW.

:: Bizarro World ::

First off, an apology.

I'm sorry friends. I truly am. I have caused some of you grief which you did not necessarily deserve, and heartbreak you most certainly did not want. I have wronged you, and I apologize.

You see, it was about 14 months ago that I – somehow, some way, against all odds and the laws of the universe – managed to snag myself a lady friend, and a fantastic one at that (That sound you hear is my stock going up with Christene). But there's been an odd twist over the last little while, too – something that I had not realized until Christene pointed it out earlier this week, during a bit of idle, random conversation.

"Don't you think it's weird that ever since you got a girlfriend, a lot of your friends' relationships haven't worked out?" she asked.

I had never realized it, but she was right. I mean, not to pick at old wounds or anything, but first there was Sean and Rach; then Ian and Bre; and then in an unexpected twist, my buddy Jay split with his wife. And if the gossip mongers are to be trusted (and if you can't trust them, who can you trust?) there has been the odd close call elsewhere as well, which is really none of anybody's business, but is out there nonetheless. Thankfully, each situation seems to have worked out for the best, which eases my guilt ever-so-slightly.

But it's still like bizarro world out there. Up is down, left is right, hamburgers eat people. Nick gets a girlfriend. Everybody else breaks up.

I feel a tinge of guilt, sure. In fact, to quote Bart Simpson after he cruelly sets up Mrs. Krabappel on a blind date with Gordie Howe/Woodrow (who does not exist), "I can't help but feel partly responsible."

I mean, had I known that my happiness would have upset the logical order of things as much as it has... I probably still would have done it. Yeah, I definitely would've still done it.

But I'd feel guilty as hell.

And for those of you out there still together and happy with your significant others, I applaud your resilience.

But be warned: The universe is pissed.

:: Geez, I didn't see this coming... ::

Oh, wait. I did.

You may recall a few weeks ago, I wrote about the new bathroom policy in my office building – a policy that required a key to use the bathroom. I enjoyed my "private washroom" situation for about a week or so, until a few other people finally discovered it on their own.

Since this brilliant plan was put in place, there have been three keys floating around the office for each washroom. On Sunday, one of our male employees – who knows that the keys also open the handicapped room – tried to use the handicapped washroom, but the key snapped off in the lock, thus breaking the key and ruining the lock.

Down to 2 keys.

Then this morning, after building maintenance removed the broken key and apparently fixed the lock, I took one of the remaining keys and also tried to unlock the handicapped room. Of course, the lock was still broken, and the key got stuck in the lock. It didn't break, but it cannot be removed.

We are now down to one key, and the handicapped washroom is now not lockable. The holder of the remaining key (well, it's his department's key) tried to blame us for using the handicapped washroom.

"If you just used the proper washroom, this wouldn't have happened," he said.

This logic is flawed, to say the least. Doesn't matter if I needed to use it or not (full disclosure: I did not need the privacy of this washroom. I just felt like using it). The fact is that this washroom is available for use. It's not banned. Fuck, it's not even frowned upon.

It's a readily available washroom that I'm entitled to use. The problem wasn't that somebody used it – the problem was that the lock was broken and not repaired properly.

It's like somebody getting in a car accident, and then someone else saying, "You know, if you never left the house, this wouldn't have happened."

I can't wait until the third and final key goes missing. We'll all be pissing into coffee cups.

:: Bathroom Genius ::

As of this week, the washrooms in our company's building – which we share with one other business and many empty suites – require a key to enter. This is partly to do with the building changing ownership, and the new company wanting this rule, and partly because having unlocked toilets is an apparent security risk.

Not sure what security risks are posed by a urinal, toilet and a couple sinks – terrorist activity is pretty low 'round these parts – but whatever the case, this is the situation we're faced with. None of us like it – we think it's a tad unnecessary, not to mention a bit of a privacy invasion, reminiscent of elementary school when you had to ask permission to pee. I mean, some of us pee an awful lot, which is what happens when you drink 3 cups of coffee, a Diet Coke and about 5 glasses of water in an eight-hour shift, but so much for sneaking out gracefully and quietly....

There are about 4 keys for both the women's and men's rooms (soon to be less, as people lose them. My department has already lost one. It was bound to happen.), which is fine, but there is also a separate handicapped washroom on our floor, and the building owners did not give us a key to this washroom. Now, there are no handicapped people in our office, but this bathroom is the only one that isn't communal in style – and it is also a bit out of the way – and as such is very popular for people who have to drop a deuce, or just like their privacy.

There was the usual uproar about how we should ask for or demand a key from building management, but nothing has come of it quite yet, and the uproar has largely died as the week has gone on, as people learn to accept that they'll no longer be able to shit in peace.

What they did not do, however, is take one of the regular men's/women's keys and try it in the handicapped washroom door, just to see what would happen.

But I'm smarter than everyone else so I, of course, did this right away. And ever since Tuesday, I've had my own private bathroom, because I haven't told anyone about my discovery.

And I don't plan on doing it, either.