:: The Complaint Department ::

Last night, while sitting around making idle chatter with Christene, I rattled off – in the course of about 15 seconds - four consecutive complaints about completely different, random things. Christene stopped me before I could say anything else – which, let's face it, was probably about to be complaint number five – and marveled at the speed of which my complaints came. 

Not to mention the fact that I didn't even realize I'd complained at all. After awhile, it just becomes so common you don't pay attention. You know, like the Boy Who Cried Wolf but more angry.

"You should get a tattoo of a suggestion-box looking thing, and get the words 'The Complaint Dept.' written over top," Christen suggested. 

And while I probably won't get that tattoo, here's a list of things that've been pissing me off lately. 

1. The perma-garage sale on our street

Our next door neighbour is well, a li'l trashy. She is a single mom and lives in this house with her couple young kids – and despite the fact that she has no money, she refuses to get a job. Instead, she mooches off the system because, and I quote, "I just feel like it's more important to be here for my kids."

Commendable? Perhaps. But, newsflash, lady: Most of the day, your kids are in school. It's probably more important that they, you know, eat.

But anyways, rather than work like the rest of productive society, she spends her hours – hours which could be spent at a real job, remember – collecting free shit from road sides, driveways, and wherever else Craigslist tells her somebody is giving something away for free. She then takes the free garbage back to her driveway, where she has a garage sale.

Now, I've got no issue with garage sales - people have them all the time. But this woman has had garage sales EVERY SINGLE FRIDAY AND SATURDAY FOR FIVE CONSECUTIVE WEEKS. And this weekend will be six. Personally, I hate this mainly because a) I park on the street, and the never-ending sale means a never-ending stream of cars coming next door, thus making parking hard to come by; and b) get a freaking job.

I think by Week 3, it ceases to become a garage sale and becomes a business. If it wasn't for the fact that her kids would go hungry, I'd love to call the city and complain about an unlicensed business.

2. Whiny Facebook whiners

First off, I know that complaining on a blog about people who complain on Facebook is hypocritical on the surface, but here's the thing: When I complain, it's straightforward, angry, and often full of curse words. 

Fuck. Shit.  See? I can't help myself. 

Point is, when I complain – by whichever medium I choose – there is no ambiguity, no vagueness, and therefore, no reason for hundreds of people to ask "Ooooh, no, what's wrong?" just because your camera broke or think the world is against you or you "need a change."

Here's a change for ya: Shut up!

The difference, you see, is that I'm not complaining as a way to garner attention. I'm complaining because I'm an asshole and it's what I do.

Not everyone is like me, however. There are plenty of these attention-seekers. And while this is not exactly news to anyone with a Facebook account – friends lists are littered with over-the-top emo assholes, after all – it's gotten worse on my list of late. In fact, the next time I log in, I'm culling the herd of these people. (Note to friend's ex-wife: This means you. See the word 'ex'? This means I no longer have to pretend to tolerate you.)

Hmm, you know what? I guess there's really only those two complaints. Funny, I thought there was more. Oh well, I'm sure I'll come up some some more later. Either way, felt good to get those off my chest.

Have a good weekend, boys and girls.

:: Open bars are dangerous, dangerous things ::

For those of you who weren't there, either because a) you live far away, b) you apparently had better things to do, or c) weren't invited because you are a random reader of this blog and don't actually know me (Hi, random person! Thanks for stopping by) I am going to recount, quickly, the mayhem that was Derrick and Angela's wedding on Saturday night.

The reception, for starters, was an open bar. This meant, unlike most gatherings among our friends where maybe a few people get drunk, others don't, some people don't show up, etc..., this one consisted of everyone but the two pregnant women getting on-their-face smashed. Just obliterated.

To recap:

- Kyle made fun of a guy who was wearing both suspenders and a belt. Guy got angry with Kyle. Kyle told him he was going to throw him down some stairs. Derrick makes Kyle apologize. Apology consists of "Yeah, I'm sorry man, but still, you're lucky I don't chuck you don't the stairs." Nice.

- Jeremy drinks approximately 13 bottles of red wine.

- Jenna and Kyle crash the (lame looking) wedding next door, just to dance. Jenna is approached by a bridesmaid who says, "Get out. The bridge doesn't want you here." Jenna calls her a bitch and invites her over to our fun wedding.

- At very end of night, Tara catches aforementioned bitchy bridesmaid trying to take advantage of our open bar. Bridesmaid is promptly given the boot.

- Jeremy temporarily passes out outside at a patio table.

- Chris, shitfaced, tells Jeremy and Katie - who were leaving and found Chris in the parking lot - that he's just gonna lie down for a second. Proceeds to lie down in a parking stall for a quick nap.

- Because Christene was too reluctant to dance with Kyle - or anybody at the time - Kyle decides to just dance on her, lapdance style.

- On the way home, at McDonald's drive-thru, Jeremy refuses to give Kate his wallet (Katie had no bank card) because that's "his money!" Despite repeated angry efforts, Kate is forced to pay for $8 of McDonalds with her Visa.

- After midnight, Jeremy discovers more red wine on our table. This conversation then ensues:

Me: Hey man, you sure you wanna more of that? I mean, you're already hammered. You're gonna be so hungover tomorrow.
Jeremy: Who cares?! Tomorrow's tomorrow, Nick - LIVE IN THE NOW!!!!!

- The next morning, I asked Jer if he wanted to meet us for breakfast/lunch. He'd already went for breakfast much earlier. "What in the hell were you doing up so early?" I asked him.

"Living, Nick. I was living."

That is my favourite quote of the whole thing.

Oh, and Jenna puked at Ricky's the next morning.

:: Best phone call of the day ::

I just got off the phone with an 85-year-old guy named Ken, who was an athlete of some renown in his heyday. Now, in this community, dealing with people in their 80s, 90s or 100s is common, and sometimes, well, it's tough. You can't understand them. They can't hear you. They're confused. You're confused. 

Often, it doesn't end well. So I was worried about this guy, who I'd never spoken with before. 

Turns out, I had nothing to be concerned about. He was awesome. Kinda gruff and crotchety, but generally nice. Then, he says this about the fact that I called his daughter's home line to speak with him, instead of his own (he lives in his daughter's basement suite):

"Yeah, I got my own line about a year ago because I was sick and god-damned tired of taking stupid messages for my grandson. I mean, Jesus, he's 15 years old – what in the hell do 15 year olds have to talk about that much, anyway? I didn't even think they knew how to talk on the phone – don't they just text nowadays anyhow?"

Then he explained why he moved into his daughter's house, from his previous place downtown.

"I decided to move here about five years ago, because I got tired of living by myself. It's boring, being alone all the time, you know? TV's not as good as it used to be – it's all this reality crap or cooking shows – so it gets pretty boring if you're by yourself."

This is exactly how I hope to be when I'm old.

:: Voice of the street ::

This conversation took place yesterday evening, after I changed the radio station because the Beastie Boys came on the air – a band I do not like.

Christene: Good, I hate the Beastie Boys.

Me: So do I.

Christene: What can I say, I like my beers cold and my rappers black.

Me: What about Eminem? He's good.

Christene: No, I don't like Eminem – he's too damn whiny. He's always going on about "oooh, look at me, I'm from the streets, I'm from Detroit." Detroit? Well you know what? I'm from Surrey – now that's a tough city. Eminem wouldn't last one day in Cloverdale.

:: Presented to you without comment ::

This reminds me of someone.

Enjoy your day, folks.

:: All my hard work has finally paid off ::

Today at the office, we had a potluck lunch party for a woman who is retiring. Today is her last day.

Two things have come out of this. One, it has caused one noted office conversationist (guess which one! Hint: read the post previous to this one) to wander around the office, saying to every colleague over the age of 50 "Well, I wonder which one of us is next!?"

And two, it has made me reconsider my career. Not that I want to quit, mind you. But I would like to retire. Early. Like now. I relayed my career plans to Christene, because I thought she should be the first to know. After all, if I'm retiring at 29, somebody's gonna have to pick up a few more shifts at the ol' pancake factory.

Christene: You know, I think it is time for you to retire.

Me: I think you're right. I mean, I've worked my ass off for... 7 years. My time has come. I deserve this.

And with that, I relayed my intentions to my boss.

(To his credit, his only response was "Nobody else can retire on deadline." We spend a good hour-and-a-half of crunch time today eating cake and listening to heartfelt speeches.)

So I am retiring effective the end of today, 5 p.m. Here's how I expect my retirement to go: After spending Canada Day and Friday enjoying the fruits of my years of labour, I will then spend Monday re-evaluating the decision I have made (and the Funtastic beers I have drank!), and on Tuesday, just minutes before the office is set to open at 8:30 a.m., I will announce, Brett Favre-style, my triumphant return.

It is unlikely anyone will host a "Welcome Back" party for me (especially since I didn't get a retirement one), but I'm guessing that, even on Tuesday, there will still be some leftover cake in the fridge from today's lunch.

:: Conversation error ::

I know I've said this before, about a certain person I know, but in a vain effort to talk to somebody – Oh, please won't somebody pay attention to me! – asking a general, "So....?" without any follow-up, is not an acceptable way to engage somebody in conversation.

:: Instant trade analysis ::

Yesterday, the Stanley Cup champion Chicago Blackhawks traded Dustin Byfuglien and a bunch of extras, to the Atlanta Thrashers for a couple high draft picks. The deal was widely — and instantly – panned as awful for ATL, as it should be, because despite his playoff heroics, Big Buff isn't exactly a 30-goal scorer, and first- and second-round picks are a lot to cough up.

Not too much though, for Atlanta, where years of awful decisions don't get you fired, but get you promoted instead.

The trades sounds even worse when you consider that the draft picks Atlanta moved to Chicago are the same picks they got from New Jersey in exchange for their former superstar Ilia Kovalchuk. When you consider the two moves together, the Thrashers essentially traded a 45-50 goal scorer – not to mention team captain and face of the franchise – for Byfuglien, Ben Eager, Johnny Oduya, Niclas Bergfors and a prospect who didn't even finish his last junior season because he attacked a guy.

Basically an all-star for spare parts.

And after hearing that, I think the trade with Chicago was summed up best by Chris, who said to me yesterday:

"Wow, that's like when we were kids and I traded your best hockey card for 25 shitty ones."

And you know what? It's exactly like that.

When we were kids, one day when I wasn't home, Chris traded my Ed Belfour rookie card – which at the time was probably worth $10 bucks (big money in a kid's world) – to some neighbour kid for a stack of shitty commons. I was not very happy.

Come to think of it, I still haven't forgiven him.

What a dick.

:: Annoying, obnoxious... take your pick ::

Today at work, in the span of three hours, the same person has inexplicably spoken three times in an exaggerated faux accent – an accent I can only describe as Jamaica/Eastern European – has made four terrible puns that drew absolutely zero response from anybody (because we've learned to ignore him) and then, when he got zero response from said puns, he looked around everyone and said "C'mon! C'mon!" like a bad stand-up comic who wasn't getting the laughs.

(Each pun was set up the following way, as they all are... Somebody mentions something, and he responds with "So what you're saying is..." and that's where the awful play on words happens. It's awful.)

Also, he's burped at his desk about 16 times since 9 a.m., which is both classy and obnoxious, not to mention a little bit gross.

I just thought you should all know these things.

:: I don't care ::

Facebook is a place for many things. For catching up with old friends and staying in the loop with current ones. For posting way too many pictures. For leaving drunken, non-sensical status updates at 3 a.m. For playing any number of awful games like Farmville of Mafia Wars.

Sadly, it's also for updating people on things that nobody gives a shit about or ever wants to hear. And after perusing my FB news feed in recent days and weeks, the following is a list of things I don't ever want to read in a Facebook status ever again, because I just don't care. And I'm sure nobody else does either.

(*editor's note: before the angry comments fly, keep in mind that, to the best of my recollection, none of these status-types were inspired by any of this blog's usual merry band of readers.)

Anyways... onward with the list. I don't want to read your damn status if it is about any or all of the following things:

1. What you had for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

2. What you are currently making, or about to make, for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

3. Reviews or predictions about how great any of the aforementioned meals are/were (unless you did something awesome like blow up your kitchen or burn off your eye brows).

4. Your daily itinerary. Nobody cares that you have to go to the mall, the dentist, then soccer practice.

5. The daily itinerary of your child. Even fewer people care that you have to take your kid to the mall, the dentist and then soccer practice.

6. Any posts about what your baby/toddler/small child just did unless it is actually interesting. ("Little Jimmy just sat on the TV remote... it was sooooo cute" does not fucking qualify.)

7. No updates informing the world about just how amazing your significant other is, and how you're just sooooo lucky to have them in your life and blah blahgedy fucking blah. There is no wiggle room on this one, sorry.

8. Political commentary of any sort, unless it's some kind of joke made at the expense of, or in reference to, some political figure or event. (this was inspired by one FBer who decided a status update was the appropriate place to declare that she "fully supports her MP, Libby Davies")

9. Intentionally misspelled words, ala LOL CATS, in some kind of effort to be cute.

10. The term FML.

So there ya go. In the spirit of co-operative blogging, once again feel free to add to this list in the comments section if anything springs to mind.

:: Note to self - Pay Attention ::

On weekday mornings, I very rarely leave myself much time to get ready, because I'd much rather sleep for an extra few minutes. I usually shower the night before, too, thus giving me an extra 10 minutes of beautiful, beautiful slumber.

And, in my hurried state, I often leave "making lunch" until the last minute. And considering, in our current living arrangement, that contents of said lunch could be in any one of three fridges (kitchen, extra fridge in utility room, and a wildy-unorganized beer fridge in our basement), making lunch quickly is sometimes a challenge. Add in the fact that I'm a) still dead-tired and b) sometimes it's still pretty dark in the basement, and I'm lucky I eat lunch at all.

Cut to today: my usual five-minutes-to-go-before-I-leave lunch scramble, and I open the bar fridge to grab a Coke Zero. I grab a can, chuck it in my bag, and run out the door. 

At noon, I open up my bag to get my lunch, and there is no Coke Zero to be found. But what is there? Why, there's a Bud Light, of course. 

In my haste to get to work, and in the low-light of the basement, I grabbed a dark-blue can of beer instead of the black can of Coke. Genius.

I relayed this chain of events to Christene, and she said she's come very close to doing the same thing numerous times – and she wakes up at 4 a.m., so here chance of error is even greater, because, with it still dark out and the rest of the house still asleep, she does nearly everything in a dark haze, including trying to sort through a fridge that contains a scattered collection of Coke Zero, four different kinds of beer, Palm Bays, Gatorade, Diet Coke with Lime, Diet Cherry Coke, apples, oranges, and God knows what else.

But she's still never brought a beer to work. She did, however, offer a solution to my workday gaffe:

"You should shotgun it!"

Good idea maybe, but I think that kind of shit is frowned upon in an office setting.

:: Jump the Shark ::

A few nights ago, neither Christene nor I could sleep, and as often happens, we ended up lying in bed, talking about random stuff. And as often happens, that random stuff was mostly about one of our favourite things – TV. The conversation eventually turned into a Complete Guide to Popular Television Shows That Jumped The Shark. Honestly, we talked about it for at least an hour. This is why we work well together.

For the uninitiated, Jump the Shark – a term Christene and I use all the time, but we might be the only ones – is described as the following:

"...an idiom used to describe the moment of downturn for a previously successful enterprise. The phrase was originally used to denote the point in a television program's history where the plot spins off into absurd story lines or unlikely characterizations. These changes were often the result of efforts to revive interest in a show whose viewership has begun to decline."

The term originated from an episode of Happy Days, when – with writers fresh out of story ideas – had The Fonz jump over a shark on water skis. The episode was absolutely ridiculous, and marked the beginning of the show's downfall.

So now, with that out of the way, here's the list the two of us compiled from our own television-watching experience. Buckle up, it's a long one (That's what she said.)

Fresh Prince of Bel-Air:

A great show, but it actually has two Shark Jumping moments. The first is one found in more than just this show – the quick-aging process for a young cast member.

In the series' later years, little baby Nicky Banks suddenly morphs from an infant to a four-year-old between seasons. (The fact that Uncle Phil and Aunt Vivian had another child so late in the series actually smacks of shark-jumping just on its own, when you think about it. Hello, New Cast Member – another trick to revive interest in a show.)

A similar tact was taken in the 1980s sitcom Growing Pains, where midway through the season, the youngest daughter, Chrissy Seaver, grew up about six years between seasons. And since we're talking about that show, the quick-aging-daughter wasn't, in fact, the show's Jump the Shark moment – we'll leave that to the time-tested method called, Introduction of a New Cast Member, one Leonardo DiCaprio, a poor orphaned, homeless kid.

Fresh Prince's second JTS moment, and this one is according to Christene: when they replaced Aunt Viv with Aunt Viv 2.0. (After the third season, actress Janet Hubert-Whitten was replaced by Daphne Maxwell Reid.)

The switch coincided with the arrival of Nicky, and the only reference to the character swap came in the Season 4 premiere, when Jazz says to Vivian, "You know, Mrs. Banks, ever since you had that baby, there's been something different about you."

Married... with Children:

I was never a fan of this show, and mostly just caught the late-night reruns, so this one is all Christene (even though she refused to write the following blurb herself. "Writer's block," she said. Pffft.)

In season 7 (the series inexplicably lasted 10 years) a new character, a boy named Seven, enters the show for a 12-episode run. According to IMDB Seven was "the young son of one of Peggy's relatives who is left with the family."

I don't know if he was meant to be a full-time character, but the fact that he lasted little more than half a season probably explains how much he sucked. Another website called Seven "the most annoying character ever to appear on Married... With Children." Considering that show was chock-full of annoying characters, this is saying something.

Grey's Anatomy:

I'll admit, I watched this show for one season – the first one – and one season only. I was sort of expecting it to be an E.R.-type drama, and when I realized it was simply a soap opera designed to brainwash women into thinking it was T.V.'s greatest creation – the same way women think the Sex and the City movie is Oscar-worthy – well, that's when I stopped watching.

As for a Jump the Shark moment, well, take your pick: When a new lead actor started getting written off the show every week – the black guy, the gay guy, the blond chick – or maybe, and this is my choice, the JTS moment came when a fucking ghost showed up. Yeah, I'd say that's the one.

The Simpsons:

Sure, the show is long past its seasons 3-7 heyday, but this show is still one of the smartest on TV, and still has it's hilarious moments – it's actually gotten better the last couple years, after a lull – and because it is the longest-running, most successful, best show to ever grace a television screen, I am not prepared to say it has ever Jumped the Shark.

Seinfeld:

Like the aforementioned The Simpsons, Seinfeld never Jumped the Shark either – it was too good, and it called it quits before it could get bad. Some argue that the series finale, where the group is arrested for "doing nothing" and then all the old characters are trotted back out as character witnesses at the court case, was a Jump the Shark moment, but it was the last episode of the whole damn show, and if they want an excuse to bring back the old characters, you damn well let 'em. Not JTS for this show, either.

The O.C.

Another bad show I'll admit to watching for a season or two, before losing interest. This one's JTS moment likely came when they started killing off characters – was Marissa her name? You know, that skinny annoying bitch? – and replacing them with other random people. For a show that was a pretty big success early, it really took a shockingly quick nosedive before being cancelled altogether.

Dinosaurs:

One of the worst shows ever to appear on primetime TV, you may remember this show as a key member of the TGIF lineup. The Jump the Shark moment? Let's go with either the first time the theme song was played, or maybe when the "Baby-hits-the-dad-with-the-frying-pan" gag became a recurring them. Or maybe the true JTS moment came when some idiot TV executive decided that sinking millions of dollars into a show about animatronic/puppet dinosaurs was a good idea.

I hated that show.

Step by Step:

Another TGIF staple that tried to be a modern-day Brady Bunch, its' Jump the Shark moment is sort of twofold.

One, Christene says, is when the character Cody – who, if you remember, lived in a van in the driveway – was written off the show because the actor, Sasha Mitchell, was in legal trouble for smacking his real-life wife around. He was written off the show as "going to Russia" for some unexplained reason.

Then, in an continuation of the same shark-jumping moment, Cody returned briefly to the show a few years later for one of the final episodes of the series. In that appearance, he announced that he'd just "been on a road trip, changed his name to Steve," and oh, mysteriously and unexplainably "come into some money." So he pays Patrick Duffy and Suzanna Somers a bunch of money for letting him live in their driveway all those years. Then he's gone again.

Family Matters:

Another good TGIF show – I always liked this one when I was a kid – and when trying to think of its Jump the Shark Moment, Christene and I had trouble because, well, there were so many options: Steve Urkel's transformation machine (which turned him into ladies man Stefan Urquelle); Urkel moving in with the Winslows; the orphan boy 3J being inexplicably added to the cast....

There are so many options here, in fact, I'll just cut and paste the show's bio from IMDB and let you read for yourself. The whole thing reads like one big Jump the Shark moment:

"As the years went on, Urkel developed a special transformation chamber to allow himself to change into suave Stefan Urquelle, whom Laura fell for; it was a way for the nerd to finally win the object of his affection. Laura eventually got to appreciate Urkel's company, and eventually, fell in love with him. Carl was eventually promoted from sergeant to lieutenant, finally attaining the rank of captain. In later years, Urkel moved in with the Winslows when his parents abandoned him in moving to Russia (editor's note: What's with TV writers' infatuation with Russia? There are other "far away" places, you know...); and Carl and Harriet (long after their daughter, Judy, disappeared from the scene without explanation) adopted 3J, a local orphan who was friends with Richie."

(Interesting Family Matters' sidenote: Did you know that the actress who played daughter Judy – the one who disappeared with explanation from the show – grew up to be a drug-addicted porn star? She later appeared on Celebrity Rehab. Her list of credits on her IMDB profile takes a pretty stark, direct leap from "family shows" to hardcore porn titles. I find this hilarious.)

That 70's Show:

A classic example of a show that lasted one or two seasons too many, so this one's easy. The JTS moment came in the final couple seasons, when all the regular cast members left for greener pastures, and the show added an "Eric replacement" character named... well, I can't remember his name, but he sucked.

The Cosby Show:

This sums it up right here:

"At the start of season six Cosby believed that Keisha Knight Pulliam, as youngest daughter Rudy, had grown up too much to be considered "just cute" like she was when she started the series at age five. Cosby decided to bring in young Raven Symone, who was cast as the stepdaughter of Huxtable daughter, Denise. Symone was obviously trying too hard to be cute and came off more often as annoying. Two seasons later Erika Alexander joined the cast as Pam, who was taken in by the Huxtable family. With her came a slew of new characters to play her high school friends and before long the cast had swelled to over one dozen. With the arrival of Pam came the departure of ratings and Cosby decided to end the show at the end of the 1992 season, it's eighth."

[via Associated Content]

Saved by the Bell:

One answer: The Tori Paradox.

In the final season of the show, two main actresses, Tiffani-Amber Thiessen and Elizabeth Berkley – whose boobs would later go on to great things in Showgirls – refused to sign new contracts for the year. So tough-girl Tori was introduced, and episodes featuring her alternated with already-taped episodes featuring the other two. No mention of Tori was made in the non-Tori episodes, and likewise, the Thiessen/Showgirl episodes never mentioned Tori. She must've been home sick from school those days.

Full House:

If you really think about it, there were probably a million Jump the Shark moments, but the easiest one is when they suddenly introduced those two stupid, shaggy-haired asshole twins to the equation.

For starters, they did the suddenly-age-four-years-in-one-offseason thing. And secondly, how many fucking characters did that show need? I mean, I know it's a full house, but c'mon – they had so many people living in that place, that when the twins came along, the show's producers suddenly had to have the Tanners discover that, "Hey, look – we have this giant, high-ceiling'd livable attic that's big enough for a family of four!" I wonder where that came from. I mean, did nobody ever go up there in the shows first six seasons?

(Also, how come Joey didn't get really pissed off when he had to move out of the basement so Jesse could have his stupid music studio down there? The man was 35 years old – you'd think he'd be a little more protective of his own space. Instead, I think he just moved upstairs next to all the stupid kids' rooms... not ideal.)

Boy Meets World:

Another staple of the TGIF lineup, this show starred Fred Savage's brother and that chick who played Topanga, who every teenage boy at the time thought was hot, even though she actually looked like fish.

This show Jumped the Shark when the group graduated from high school. To start with, Cory and Topanga got married and then most of the college episodes dealt with how they struggled to live on their own, but pulled through in the end because they love each other. Also, the series finale was ridiculous – it was the obligatory "somebody leaves town" ending (Cory and Topanga move to New York) but then, suddenly, Cory's older brother and also his best friend, Shawn, show up in the final scene and say, "Hey, we're coming too!"

And then they drive off up the road, as if all is well. Forget the fact that Cory and Topanga's apartment in NY probably isn't big enough for 4 adults – I mean, have to heard how expensive NY rent is? – it doesn't matter, all the friends are staying together. If the show continued as some kind of spin-off (Boy and Friends meet New York, perhaps) I'm sure Mr. Feenie would've somehow appeared as Cory's new bos, or something. I mean, Christ — the guy was his elementary teacher, elementary principal, high school teacher, high school principal, college professor and fucking neighbour.

And while we're tearing holes in the show (Which I actually did quite like as a kid, by the way) – does anyone else remember those episodes/seasons where Shaun lived with his tough-guy, mullet-wearing teacher for awhile? What the hell was that?

So, anyways, there's your recap. If you have any other shows in mind – and the corresponding shark-jumping moments – feel free to leave 'em in the comments.

How not to be annoying...

There are plenty of ways, of course. But for starters, when somebody asks somebody else a question – keeping in mind that nobody asked you, you're just sitting nearby – do not butt into the conversation by saying, "Well the short answer is..." 

.... and then proceed with a really long fucking answer that, in actuality, doesn't answer the question at all, lengthy or otherwise.

And once your way-too-long "answer" is complete, certainly don't continue the conversation (long after everyone has moved on) by adding your opinions and theories on the matter to whomever is still within earshot. 

Because here's a short answer for ya: Nobody cares!

:: (Useless) Douche of the Day ::

A couple things that have been annoying me lately – all of which leave the guilty party up for Douche of the Day honurs (you know, that sporadically-awarded honour I first gave to this guy)

Anyways, Contestant #1: Somebody called me at work the other day, and after we chatted about whatever it was he called for, he gave me his phone numbers so I could reach him next week. So he leaves me his work number – no problem there – and then his cell. Only he doesn't call it his cell. No, he says, "Oh and this is my mobile."

Mobile? Really? I mean, really?

I know, it's an English or possibly European thing to call a cell phone a mobile, and that's fine – I have no problem with that as long as either a) you are in that country (or countries) or b) you are from that country and that's what you're accustomed to saying. 

But this guy is not English, and certainly not European – he's Chinese. And as far as I know, he's always lived in the Lower Mainland (I've spoken with him numerous times through the years, and I think this is true). There is absolutely no reason for this guy to call his cell phone his "mobile" other than to try and sound like a pretentious douche.

Contestant #2: This one isn't specific person, but a type of person. And I can't even take credit for it – it was first brought up by Mike at The Jerk Store. He hates people who talk about people playing poker on TV. And he's absolutely right. A couple weekends ago I was somewhere – can't remember where – and heard two or three guys debating their favourite players. Really? Favourite poker players? 

I like poker as much as the next guy – I've actually started liking it more lately, as a matter of fact – but I like playing, not watching. And you certainly shouldn't have a favourite. I mean, Christ...

Contestant #3: This guy isn't so much a douche as a guy who has wasted his youth. He is yet another guy on my Facebook friends list who is obtaining a post-bachelor's degree. Only this is a doctorate. Our very first Douche of the Day was a guy being knobby about his Master's Degree – go click the link at the top for a refresher, if you want – so with that precedent set, I've gotta include this guy, too. 

This new guy is someone I haven't seen since high school, and though I don't remember him being a douche, he was/is incredibly smart. He's 29 – same as me – and has spent the last 11 years in school. Fancy university back east, then a post-bachelor's degree run at a prestigious school in the States, and then, of course, studying abroad. Lives in France or some place. 

Anyways... though one could assume he's a douche candidate simply be virtue of his schooliness (yes, I'm inventing that word), he recently posted as a FB photo the cover page of his doctorate dissertation. And you know what? I don't really have too much of a problem with that because I imagine it's about 120+ pages and took the guy years to do.

He's proud of it. Fair 'nuff.

But then I read the cover page and finally realized what exactly this dude's been studying for a decade – which has presumably cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars. I'd never known before, but I thought it was probably some medical field (Not because it's a doctorate, but because I was under the impression he was a science-y, pre-med type of guy).

And the title? Some 3-line, two sentence, paragraph about the French Revolution from 1789-1792 (so not even the whole revolution) and its effect on international law. 

Like I said, douchey. 

And assuming this incredibly boring, scholarly dissertation is actually good – I'm sure it is, because he's a smart guy – do you know what he'll receive? 

His Doctorate of Philosophy.

You heard that right. Fucking Philosophy. 

I'm sure he'll get lots of high-paying job offers from philosophy factories with that in his back pocket.

:: Lunch lady ::

Recently, my company reshuffled some of its operations, which meant we got a few employees in our office. 

One of them, a woman in her mid-40s, we all know, as she worked out of our office a few years ago. She's a great person – very bubbly, funny, and we all like her, and are happy to have her here. Trouble is, turns out she's a "lunch talker." And I don't mean that in a "she talks to you when you're both sitting in the lunchroom" kind of way, which of course, is perfectly normal.

No, she is a "lunch talker" because she just simply cannot walk past a person eating something without commenting on it. I guess that actually makes her a "lunch commenter" or a "lunch observer" but whatever. You get the point. 

"Mmmm... that looks good."

"Salad, eh? 

"Is it lunch already?

Aside from answering 'Yes' to all three of those queries, what else can you really say? It's just a case of someone wanting to make conversation for the sake of it, or because they just love the sound of their own voice, or both. 

And it's even more of a pain in the ass for me because at least three out of five weekdays, the desk at which I sit is directly in her path. I could probably avoid it if I chose to go hide in the lunch room, but don't even get me started on the conversations I'd be subjected in there*.

(*How bad is the lunchroom? If I have to do any prep-work or microwaving of my lunch – anything that will keep me in there longer than the two seconds it takes to grab it from the fridge and go – I wait until every last soul is out of there. That's how serious I am about avoiding this inane, uninteresting conversations. And if that means I have to wait until 2:30 to eat my lunch, so be it.)

So yeah, I'm in a bit of a pickle here. I'm gonna have to start eating lunch in my car.

Doors locked.

:: Anger rising ::

I had a meeting set this morning for 9:30 a.m.; the guy I was supposed to meet with was to meet me here in our office. He sent me an email at 8:45 a.m. asking if we could "kindly reschedule to 11" because he had a doctor's appointment. No problem, I said. 

So 11 a.m. rolls by. Then 11:15. Then 11:35. I call, but there's no answer and his voicemail is conveniently full. Now angry, I email him and ask him where the hell he is, and mention that I don't have all day – I have other things to do, and my time and patience was running short.

Ten minutes later, I get an email back saying, "Oh, sorry, I just got home from the doctor's and I'd left my phone and home, and blah blah blah - can we do this by phone?"

Yes, I said, by phone will be fine. I call. No answer. I call again. No answer. 

This guy has absolutely burned my last nerve. 

For starters, he had to meet with someone else from my office yesterday at 3 p.m. He finally arrived for that meeting 10 minutes late, and then said hurriedly, "I just have to pick my daughter up from school I'll be back in 10 minutes!" and then drove off.

He reappeared 35 minutes later. 

And here's the thing: being late is one thing, but what pisses me off the most is that his two reasons for it – picking up his daughter and a doctor's appointment – are not things that just come up out of the blue. He knows when his daughter gets out of school, and presumably knows if/when he has to pick her up.

And have you tried getting a doctor or dentist appointment in the last 10 years? You have to book that shit months in advance. I have a dentist appointment tomorrow morning, and I've known since 2007. So why the hell would he schedule things he knew he'd be late for? 

Because he has no concept of time, or regard for other people's time, that's why. And being a person who is almost always punctual, this pisses me off some.

Eventually I did get in touch with him – 2 hours and 15 minutes after our rescheduled 11 a.m. and nearly four hours after we were first supposed to get together – and basically told him to stuff it. Told him I wasn't interested in meeting with him anymore (at least not today), and if he wanted to call me back sometime next week, that'd be fine, but I was done chasing him. 

He said he'd call by Monday afternoon.

Somehow, I doubt it.

:: This is how you make a fucking sale ::

As a frequent Craiglist browser (but never an actual buyer... yet) I'm constantly amazed at the lack of effort people put into their ads. I mean, how in the hell are you going to attract buyers with ads like "Kitchen table, $200 obo" and then provide no extra info, and worse, no photo. I mean, it's a free fucking ad, the least you can do is put some effort into it.

Today I was half-assedly browsing for a poker table, just to see if there was anything really good out there that may look good in my future basement.*

*Hat tip to my poker-enthusiast buddy Jason, who suggested Craigslist would be full of really good tables for cheap, because, like him, guys buy super expensive, nice tables in their early 20s, but then by the time they're 27 or 28, they have a wife and/or kid(s), and they're forced to dump em off (the table, not the family).

As expected, most of the for-sale tables were shitty, but there was one in particular which was homemade and quite nice. I don't think it's one I'd necessarily buy, but I could appreciate the seller's sales pitch. He clearly knows his potential audience.

Some excerpts:

"... you will need a van or truck to transport as the rail IS sturdy but could break if you try to jam it into a hatchback or tie it to a roof. "

Good tip.

"The surface fabric is treated to be stain resistant so when your tool of a friend spills his beer all over your table, as long as you get to it right away, it should come right off."

"This table is sturdy... If your 300 pound friend is too drunk to drive home after a late night poker grind and needs a place to crash this table will accommodate him... Yes, I'm sure.."

Like I said, this man knows to whom he is selling.

:: Quotes ::

In the absence of a real post, I figured I'd slack off this holiday weekend by just posting a couple quotes I've had kicking around in my Blackberry for the last week or two.

"He's so skinny he's only got two dimensions." - Christene's dad, Mo, talking about one of our fellow golfers last weekend out in Chilliwack.

"It's like a douche bomb exploded in here." - Christene, at the Cloverdale Rodeo Saloon last night. She was 100 percent accurate.

During a Canucks playoff game a few weeks ago. Christene's mom, not a hockey fan, was sick of seeing hockey on the TV every minute of every day.
Mo: Hey, you've always got a choice.
Rochelle: No I don't! It's on the TV all the time!
Mo: Well, your choices are to sit there and like it, or sit there and not like it.

:: Candy Salad ::

When I was a kid, I had what I thought at the time was a culinary creation for the ages. In retrospect, it was a pretty disgusting idea – a total Fat Guy move – but it's the kind of thing you'd expect from a pudgy 11-year-old.

My idea – which came to me while eating dinner at my grandparents' old house in South Surrey – was for a Candy Salad. What you'd do, see, is replace lettuce with chips, and all the veggies, croutons and other things you'd normally find in salad would be replaced by various delicious treats - gummy bears, chocolate chunks, Smarties, Ju-jubes, etc... And what would replace the dressing?

Well chocolate and caramel sauce, of course.

See? I told you it was a total Fat Guy move. Regardless, this was my brilliant idea. I never actually made the Candy Salad – there's probably no way in hell any parent would allow such a thing to be made, but still, I always remembered my brilliant (at the time) idea.

And I was reminded of it again this week when Christene was telling me about a surprise wedding shower that somebody threw for somebody else at her office the other day.

A lot of people brought food and goodies for the event, including one woman who channelled her inner-child and brought, you guessed it, a candy salad. (She called it a chocolate salad, but it's the same general idea)

It had the following things: chocolate almonds, chocolate raisins, Aero minis, Reece's pieces and "any other chocolate I could find."

I mean, there's no Doritos or caramel sauce, but still, she stole my fucking idea.

If I could go back in time, my pudgy 11-year-old self would totally copyright that shit.

:: This place probably sells a lot of Red Bull & vodka ::

Tonight, while we were out and about in Langley, I remembered that I needed to stop by a liquor store so I could buy enough booze for my golfing weekend, which begins early tomorrow. We were on our way back to Cloverdale, so I suggested we go to the government liquor store near Willowbrook Mall, because it's en route to home.

"Ah, not that one - that's the douchebag liquor store!" Christene complained.

This was the first time I'd heard such a complaint about this particular establishment, so at first I was skeptical of such a claim. But before we'd even parked the car, I noticed two muscled-up D-bags in Affliction-esque shirts - the mark of a douchebag - another skinny darker guy in oversized sunglasses, and another guy sitting in a jacked-up truck, not wearing a shirt, with a dog that may or may not have been a pitbull.

And inside was much of the same.

Then, after picking up and paying for my beer, we walked back out to the truck, passing many of the aforementioned douchebags as well as some new recruits. As we passed a guy waiting in a car - which had the windows rolled down - he yelled out in Christene's direction.

"Tittttaaaays!!" he called.

I didn't hear him at the time, and Christene didn't tell me what he said until we were already driving away, but man, what a fucking douche. I mean, sure, boobs are pretty great, but who actually does that?

Douchebags, that's who.

:: Repeat performance ::

For Games 3 and 4 of the Vancouver Canucks/Chicago Blackhawks series, people watched as a group at Davy and Colleen's house. As luck would have it, the good guys lost both games - and in ugly fashion, no less.

So a rule was put in place Friday night – after the Game 4 loss – that, should the Canucks win Game 5, thus staving off elimination, no one would be allowed to watch the game at Davy and Colleen's. Which is really too bad because there's usually lots of good food, but it's what had to be done for the team.

The Canucks, you may have heard, did indeed win Sunday, and tonight is another do-or-die affair. I, for one, am going to watch the game in the exact same place – the shitty, old, uncomfortable couch in our basement – where I watched Sunday's win. I am going to drink the same thing I drank last time – one Coke Zero, one beer. I may even dig out the same clothes from the laundry bin that I was wearing Sunday night.

And I advise everyone to steer clear of Davy and Colleen's. Actually, it's a demand. In fact, this what I just told my brother during a text-message conversation:

"If anybody even thinks about watching the game and Davy and Colleen's, I'm going to set fire to their cars. And quite frankly, Ian's house is a little too close (to Davy and Colleen's) for comfort. He's gonna have to watch somewhere else."

(Post-script: Chris informs me that Ian and Davy have men's league ball, so they'll be far away from their homes, which is good. What is bad is that Chris watched the last game at Ian's. The solution? Chris will have to break in to Ian's house and watch by himself. Yeah, that seems logical.)

And if we're lucky enough to have a Game 7 to watch, we're all gonna be in a dilly of a pickle – the Cannons are scheduled to play Thursday at 6:30 p.m. I'll forfeit if it means the Canucks will win, but I supposed this is why PVRs were invented. That probably makes more sense.

:: Priorities, continued ::

Christene: You know, I'm convinced that you'd miss the birth of your own child for a Canucks' playoff game.

Me: Oh, c'mon, give me a break....

Me: .... Well, what round of playoffs?

This was probably not the right answer.

:: Priorities ::

After a year and a half of "training" I finally thought I'd made some headway with regard to turning Christene into a sports fan, and more importantly, a Canucks fan. I mean, she's already professed her love for her beloved Alain Vigneault – "Vins" she calls him – and his snappy suits, and then there was the time last year where she yelled at the TV.

I'd never been prouder.

But then she goes and does something like this..... 

This morning, her brother and sister-in-law had a baby – a little girl named Veronica. So, instead of coming to Davy and Colleen's house with me to watch Game 4 of the Canucks/Blackhawks series, she has the audacity to want to see her new little niece tonight instead.

Unbelievable! I mean, I'm sure little Veronica is cute as a button – I mean, she's a little baby, of course she is – but c'mon, it's the playoffs!

Clearly, I have more work to do yet. 

:: Poor efforts ::

In the last month or so I've noticed a disturbing lack of new blog posts from my esteemed blogroll on the left - namely Christene, Kelsey, Meghan and Lanette.

Now, there are other blogs I link to as well – Jason Mulgrew, The FYC – that have been pretty delinquent lately too, but I don't know those people, so I feel bad calling them out. Besides, Mulgrew just wrote a fucking book, so if he wants to not blog for awhile, give the dude a break.

But as for the rest of you... well, I know you all personally and feel quite fit to point out your blogging inadequacies. And let me tell you, your lack of effort is shameful. 

Because it's a slow afternoon here at the always-prolific/constantly updated/fan favourite Classic Times, I took a few minutes to crunch some numbers, math being my specialty.

Not including this post, here are some startling numbers: 

Christene 

Last post: April 6; Classic Times posts since that date: 8 (7 plus 1 guest post)

Kelsey  

Last post: March 31; Classic Times posts since: 10

Meghan  

Last post: March 21 and then she closed up shop altogether; Classic Times posts since: 16

Lanette  

Last post: April 25 (But before that, no posts since April 9; Classic Times posts since April 9: 12

So there you have it. And I don't want to hear any whining about lack of internet or moving or quitting sob-stories or any of that crap. I didn't post for over a week because I was in Vegas, and then when I returned there was no Internet at the house for 4 days (technical difficulties) and I still managed to out-write the shit out of all of you.

Consider yourselves called out.

:: The Pizza Rules ::

There are countless number of things I take issue with – seriously, try and keep track – and one that has largely flown under the radar is about pizza. Now, it may not shock you that a man of my, uh, carriage has opinions on pizza (maybe it only shocks you that it's taken so long for such opinions to bubble over) but be that as it may, what I really have a problem with is "pizza" with non-traditional toppings.

I put that last pizza in quotations because a pizza with feta cheese, lettuce, shrimp, or some god-awful white sauce instead of regular tomato-based pizza sauce is not real pizza. I'm sorry, but it just isn't. (Noted exception: BP's perogy pizza)

This little rant came to fruition last night when Christene and I headed down to the Cloverdale BP for dinner. We hemmed and hawed over a pizza – I wanted one with about 54 kinds of meat on it; Christene was less enthusiastic – until decided on a compromise: a pizza which had a couple kinds of traditional meats (pepperoni, ham) as well as a couple veggies. It also had shrimp.

Needless to say, this pizza was not good. Not so much because of the shrimp, but because of an utter lack of cheese, which meant all the toppings fell off the pizza when you tried to lift it out of the pan. But the shrimp didn't help. It just felt... out of place.

So while our subpar dinner was not the direct result of the shrimp, it caused me to consider all the pizza offerings which we had to choose from on the menu. Among them – the items listed above, plus one with pulled pork, another with peanut sauce and sesame seeds, and other strange concoctions that I cannot remember right now.

Whatever happened to pepperoni, bacon, mushrooms, green peppers and cheese? I mean, is that what we've come to here – we're so bored with traditional food that we have to put pulled pork and fucking shellfish on pizza to make it new and interesting? Listen, I like pulled pork. Like shrimp and feta cheese, too. But not in a pizza. When I order a pizza, I want it to look like a fucking pizza. And more importantly, taste like a pizza. With plenty of cheese.

Stick with what works, pizza chefs. You're fucking up a good thing (Again, the perogy pizza notwithstanding. That shit's delicious.)

In conclusion: Less this, more this.

:: Something only Christene and the Canucks themselves are happy about ::

Now that the 'Nucks have dispatched the L.A. Kings in six games, it was announced today that no matter what the second-round matchup turns out to be, the Canucks' second-round series will not begin until Friday.

Today, in case you were not aware, is only Monday.

So once again, Canuck fans have to sit around twiddling their hockey-gloved thumbs – or more likely, over-analyzing the shit out of the next round – while, on a positive note for one girlfriend, Christene gets her boyfriend's full attention for an amazing four consecutive days.

(Except Wednesday. I have baseball.)

:: A big, fat problem ::

Recently, I bought a new pair of Volcom white/blue plaid-type shorts. They are of a certain inch size – the same size I always wear – yet they are slightly too big, thus requiring a belt.

I don't have a good belt to go with them though, so I've been searching for a white/black/blue/ belt to go with the shorts. Today, I found an appropriate belt – same size, also made by Volcom.

And it was too small. So I'm too skinny for the shorts, but too fat for the belt. 

Thanks a lot Volcom. Looks like it's a string of twine for me.

:: Minor annoyance of the day/week/month ::

In my line of work, we have two deadlines per week, Tuesday mornings and Thursday afternoons. The exact same times every week.

One of my colleagues here has worked here for 23 years. Almost every Thursday for the past month or so, he asks me the same question:

"So... when's deadline today?"

Part of his asking is simply because he can't get enough of talking to people – he's the same guy who tries to rope people into conversations as they're about to leave for the day – but another part of it is that he simply doesn't know.

If, after more than 20 years in the exact same job at the exact same place, I am unable to remember on a week-to-week basis one of the primary tenants of my profession, it's probably time to look for a new job in a new line of work.

I mean, 20 god damn years.

:: Get lost ::

Now that I live in Cloverdale, I have a very simple drive to work. Turn right off our side-street onto the main road. Drive 32 blocks south. Turn right again. Drive 24 blocks. Turn right into parking lot. 

Easy.

But today was different. Today was ridiculous.

After my initial right turn onto the main street, there was a police incident of some sort – likely an accident, but I couldn't really see – and it involved about four different cop cars and the street being blocked off. There was only one detour option – turn right into a subdivision, and wind your way around until you find another main street.

The only problem? I've never had a need, in my 5-6 weeks in Cloverdale, to drive through any of these subdivisions. At therefore, I had no idea that they were filled with so many god-damn cul-de-sacs, dead-ends, and streets that turn the wrong direction from where I wanted to go. It was freaking stupid. And as such, I spent far too long winding through quiet little suburban streets, doing three-point turns at dead-ends, and pulling u-turns until I finally found a damn street that took me where I wanted to go.

And I was 5 minutes late for work as a result. 

:: Quotes ::

It's been a long time since a quotes-only post, so consider this catching up....

"I want to go to a pirate-themed seafood restaurant. You never see those anymore – that's what's wrong with the world." - Christene, pinpointing the real ills of society.

After Ian came to Davy and Colleen's Saturday with a girl everybody knew in high school...

Chris: Remember that time, in Grade 10, there was that party at her parents' house and that little bottle of booze went missing and there was that great big thing about what happened to it and who stole it and all that?

Ian: Yeah?

Chris: Turns out I drank it.

"It's times like this I wish I had a catheter in, so I wouldn't have to get up." - Christene, not wanting to get up off the couch to pee.

"I feel smarter when Sean's around." - Bucholtz

"I just want to make out with people. Preferably foreign." - Meghan, on her goal for the evening during our journey downtown one day during the Olympics.

Tara: If you could change two things about about yourself, what would they be, and why?

Jer: I'd get a new wife, how about that? A wife-ectomy, if you will.

Happy Birthday to an Awesome Dude

Guest post by Mike

Tomorrow, April 10th is one of those special days that should be celebrated by all humanity, for a Great Man was born on this date.

A man well known for his friendly attitude, his dry, sarcastic wit, and his sense of humor, but also for his great capacity for caring, sensitivity, and patience.

Personally I feel like I've known him my entire life, and honestly even though he's a little older than me I am constantly impressed at how hard he pushes himself and his many accomplishments.

If you are reading this blog, you know this man and count him amongst your closest friends. So join me everyone in wishing him a wonderful, glorious, well-deserved special day!



Happy birthday Steven Seagal.

Happy birthday.

(oh and apparently it's also some other guy's birthday, so happy birthday to him too.)

:: A long wait ::

Ninety-year-old retiring* Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens is old enough that he saw his first baseball game before the Great Depression, and while he confirms here the long-held myth that Babe Ruth did in fact call his shot, the saddest part of that story is the fact that, barring a an absolute miracle, Steven will not live to see his beloved Chicago Cubs ever win it all.

Non-sports fan probably scoff and wonder what the hell the big deal is – it's just sports, after all – but this, to me, is incredibly sad. I mean, 90+ years is an awful long time, and obviously the Cubbies got close a few times only to fall short – paging Steve Bartman – but still, more than 90 years without a break going your team's way is really, really tough to think about.

I can't imagine being 90 years old, still waiting for the Vancouver Canucks to win the Stanley Cup. It could very well happen, mind you – we're at 40 years and counting, Canuck fans – but I have to think that, over the next 60, something good is going to happen. 

It's got to, right?**

*Just retiring at 90? Really? If I made judge money I'd be out by 55.

**Want to play a fun game with yourself? If you aren't worried about "jinxing" your team, take a minute and imagine what it will actually feel like if the Canucks won the Stanley Cup this year. Just think about being in that room watching TV, probably with all your buddies, as time ticks down in a deciding game, with Vancouver ahead. Imagine Roberto Luongo lifting the cup over his head. Imagine Robson Street. Imagine the looting (maybe). I get worked up just thinking about it. It's painful to think about though, because who knows when it will happen.

:: Countdown ::

Countdowns to various events are usually Kelsey's milieu but I thought I'd steal a page from her book this morning because it's less that two weeks until we go to Las Vegas, my all-time favourite city.

11 days, to be exact.

Vegas is always awesome, but I especially like going with people who have never been before, because - with my friends anyway - it usually exceeds expectations. For example, when we drove there from Phoenix about this time last year, Chris spent most of the drive down Las Vegas Blvd with his head almost out the window, like some kind of dog, staring up at all the gigantic casinos, before saying something like, "This buildings are so fucking huge it's almost overwhelming... and people are drinking on the street!"

Like I said, it exceeds expectations usually.

So yeah, 11 days. For those of you (Chris, Jenna, Kelsey, Scott, Katie, etc) who are not going, for very valid reasons (no time off, saving money, living 3,000 miles away, knocked up) well, that's all well and good, but you have 11 days to change your mind and make an irrational, likely financial harming decision to come with us.

Just saying.

:: I'm not an idiot ::

When you and your friends have known each other as long as my friends and I have, there ends up being a million different things you end up ragging each other about, constantly. You know, that Bucholtz is dumb (even though he's really not) or that Sean is the real-life version of Pigpen (likely only partly true) or that Chris is an asshole (mostly true).

It's all in good fun. I mean, if you can't bust the balls of the person you've known for 15+ years, whose balls can you bust?

And then there's me. I have accumulated plenty of these so-called stereotypes (for lack of a better term) too. You know, that I can't/shouldn't be allowed to do anything mechanical because I work behind a desk and not in a tradesperson or tradesperson-esque capacity.

Or that for most of my life, I didn't exactly get a lot of chicks.

Or that any story I start won't finish for at least 20 minutes.

You know, the usual kind of stuff that friends give you shit about because a) it's usually always funny and b) nobody is going to get offended by it.

It's all in good fun, and it's all fair game. I rarely get bothered by it, but lately it's been happening to me with increasing regularity, and it's getting annoying. Case in point: Friday at Ian's.

I tried to tell some story which was (probably) hilarious, and it was not a long story. But of course, knowing my penchant for long stories, everyone had to mock it by piping in with a million questions, interrupting me every two seconds.

"What time was this?"

"What were you doing before that?

"What colour was the car the person was driving?"

"Sorry, this was at what time again?"

In the end, I just said "Fuck you guys" and didn't finish the story. And then, later on, the jabs continued, especially when the subject of real estate was brought up. I can't remember all the details - we were drinking a lot - but basically, the general consensus was that the idea of buying a rowhouse without a strata was stupid, because what if the roof/walls/etc collapse?

Nothing I could say was enough to satisfy anybody and - again, likely because of the booze - I actually started to get pretty pissed off for a minute, until the subject was changed. And I'll save everyone the reasons behind why no strata is no big deal (See jerks? I can shorten a story!), except to say that it works in Eastern Canada and Europe, and last I checked, people are cool with it. (editor's note: I haven't actually checked. I didn't make any calls or anything).

The point I have to make then, is of a wider scope. Whether it comes to buying this house, or telling a story, hammering a nail or whatever it is, I take issue with the fact that the general consensus is that I'm somehow incapable of doing it, and doing it properly.

So just a reminder: I'm a smart person - graduated high school, college and everything (almost with honours!) - and I have a job and have managed to make a better-than-decent living, and I have not ended up destitute and wearing potato sacks for clothes (yet), so I've obviously done some things right. Maybe not a lot of things, but some things, sure.

And while I'm not going to get into a boozy, in-depth argument over the merits of the strata system, or whether or not a 30-year warranty on the roof covers only the shingles or the workmanship too, nor am I going to explain how - if years from now, my neighbours don't want to join forces, sans-strata to replace a needs-replacing roof - I can just replace my section because all the houses are actually separate when you get down to it, I am going to ask this: Considering my common sense, don't you think I'd check into all these so-called red flags to make sure that they're actually, you know, not red flags, before I wrote a deposit cheque for $20,000?

The benefit of the doubt is all I'm asking for here.

(As for those who say I can't tell a short story, I'm willing to concede that point. This blog post, after all, is 722 words, and I could've summed it all up in five: Get off my back, please.)