I Stole Someone’s Childhood

A couple weeks ago, a friend called me up and said “Let’s go out!”. Even though I had an event the very next morning (well, noon) that required drinking, I said okay, sure that I would nurse all my drinks and be home at a decent hour.

We met up at our usual place; she proceeded to nurse her drinks and I did not. We then moved onto our next destination and ran into a bunch of people we knew. At one point, it was getting late and she had a dentist appointment the next day, so she called it and went home.

At least that’s what should have happened; I stayed behind without a second thought. It was someone’s birthday party and one of my friends had won a door prize. He gave it to me.

I’m not sure he knew just how happy it made me. I do love door prizes after all. I was getting ready to leave when one of my friends was all “Come on, Heather, we’re going to my place”. I think I put up a little bit of a fight, but then, sure enough, found myself in his apartment chatting it up with his girlfriend and getting another drink dropped in my hand.

He announced that we were going someplace else. I said I had to go home, but he convinced me to go. It may or may not have been very easy seeing as I was pretty intoxicated by this point.

I found myself at this party, where I knew no one and everyone knew everyone. Ordinarily, I might find that situation awkward, but not that night.

I made my rounds meeting people, a few of whom I remember the names of, a few of whom I do not. At one point, the host said “It’s late, everyone has to leave”. All his friends we were like “No – not yet… blah, blah, blah”. I gathered my door prize, my coat and purse and tried to make my way out of the confusing apartment building and onto the street so I could get a cab. I managed to do that and found myself hitting my pillow at 4:30am, completely hammered. So much for my plan.

Morning came all too fast and I found myself completely hungover; since I paid $60 for a ticket to the wine festival, I dragged myself out of bed, hit the showers and staggered around waiting for death, while trying desperately to get ready, make myself presentable and put my game face on.

I succeeded, or at least, I thought I did.

I was on the bus waiting for my friends to board at their respective stops and I felt like complete shit. My first friend boarded and then a couple stops later, the next one. They were positively chipper and chatting away. I was concentrating on not throwing up.

After a few questions regarding what I got up to the night before, the cat was out of the bag.

Apparently my game face is transparent because she said “I knew something was off with you but I didn’t know what!”. We went for lunch where I pushed a salad around my plate and drank about a litre of liquids.

We made it to the event and the moment of truth came; I got the first taste of wine in me and thankfully knew I would be okay. We spent two hours at the event, then met up with friends for more drinks, then went out for more drinks. By 11, the girls were tapped out, so we went on home.

The next morning, I unloaded my door prize winnings and found something in the basket that I didn’t recall being in there when I got the thing.

It’s a picture. Of a little boy, just getting off a school bus. There’s a date handwritten in mom-writing on the back “1988”.

The boy looks vaguely familiar; I think I might have met him at that party. But 26 years later and the amount of alcohol I consumed that night, I don’t know who he is.

All I know is, I’m pretty sure I managed to steal a picture of someone’s first day of school.

Wet pants are the worst

As you may or may not remember, I’ve had a tendency in the past to accidentally spill drinks. And by accidentally spill drinks, I mean, accidentally dump entire pints of beer into the laps of unsuspecting friends. Check out the old post – it’s a gem!

Well… it happened again. Let me paint you a picture.

The night started off innocently enough – regular Friday night routine of going out for dinner (a.k.a soup) with some friends. A drink or two was had. Another friend had wanted to meet up for drinks; when one of my friends at dinner got wind of it she said she would also be interested in going out.

So we met up at the local pub and had a few more drinks. This pub is notorious for shutting down early (some would call it an old folk bar and they would be right), so we moseyed on down the road to the next pub to get a couple more before the last-last call. Which is part of the routine for “one of those” Friday nights.

In general, I’ve been known to attract weirdos and my friend happens to be quite the looker. Those talents combined, we always have an interesting night when we head out; this night was no exception. We weren’t sitting at the bar for very long before some dude came over from the other side to chat us up.

You could say I was feeling a little jealous of the attention, or lack thereof. You could say that maybe, just maybe, I wanted in on the conversation. You could also say I wasn’t paying enough attention to my surroundings.

It’s no surprise that things got out of hand and drinks were spilt.

I totally had this coming.

Cuba 1.0

As you already know, I went to Cuba a few weeks back. It was great! This is what I looked at for 7 days:

White sand beach, clear blue-green water, 30 degree (Celcuis) weather, unlimited alcohol and enough shade (yay, palapas!) that I didn’t burn to a crisp. I can’t really ask for much else.

Like Mexico, my MO was pretty much the same: Operation – Drink Too Much. I do think I kept it together a bit more than in Mexico. Perhaps because there wasn’t any tequila involved or maybe because I’m getting better at it.

I arrived at the hotel around 8:30pm local time. Having left my house at 3am local time (Cuba is 3 hours ahead), you could say I had a pretty long day. My mission once I hit the hotel was: find room, find food, find booze.

The resort was very small, at least compared to the resort I stayed at in Mexico. There was only one outside bar open at night, naturally, I went there to have some drinks.

Travelling alone, you’re bound to meet some interesting characters. This trip was no exception. A couple tables over, there was a large group of mostly older folks. One of these folks was a 60-ish British fellow who was rather intoxicated. Randomly, he would stand up and yell. Loud.

I found it amusing. The first night. By the third or fourth night, everyone had pretty much had it.

In that same group, there were a couple younger people. One of them was a 19 year old boy who was quickly adopted by a family that we met down there. He could almost always be found within arms reach of the two young kids. He’d play with them and take them swimming at the beach. All around, he was a good kid.

The other younger person, was a female of indiscernible age; she could have been 24 or 39. But, let me tell you, Trainwreck Sally was a sight to see. Every time I saw her, regardless of time of day, she was absolutely hammered. 3am? Sure, makes sense… So am I. 3pm? What? Already??

As someone who enjoys the sauce (and has trainwrecked through a week in Mexico once or twice), I’m hesitant to judge someone on this, but I will.

She did and said a lot of inappropriate things while under the influence, but the icing on the cake was one night when a bunch of us went to the disco to dance. She showed up after us because she kept getting distracted by things along the way. We’ve all been there. At least I have.

Her dancing was… interesting. It started out with her twirling around, arms spread open, face turned upwards. I was pretty sure she was going to fall down or throw up. She didn’t. Then her twirl-fest morphed into, what can only be described as, an interpretative/artistic dance.

I’m being very diplomatic; she basically rolled around on the floor. In a dress. And had no clue that what she was doing had any effect on what her dress was doing.

I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a point where she rolled right off the stage. Sure the stage was only 4 inches off the ground and sure she seemed to work it into her “routine”, but I can guarantee it was not planned.

A girl I met down there agreed with me and she decided to say something to Sally that night.

Apparently Paulie came out the asshole in that conversation. The next day, Sally was going on about how someone was very rude to her the night before; they told her that she thinks with her vagina.

You could say she got the context wrong; all Paulie meant was that everyone in the club knew what Sally’s underwear looked like.

You could also say she got the person wrong; she thought I was the one who was brutally honest with her.

Hello, 2013, I didn’t see you there…

Seems like everybody is doing a year in review post; I did that a few months ago and not much has changed so I’m not doing it again. Sorry? You’re welcome? But here’s my attempt at getting one more post in before the end of the year.

A few weeks back, a friend of mine informed me that his girlfriend booked four hotel rooms downtown for NYE and got a pretty good fricken deal. Three out of the four were taken and the fourth was mine if I wanted it. I was trying to justify the expense (even though it’s a good deal, for NYE, it’s still half a pile of money after all) and I realized that most people I know are couples that will be doing a couple thing, or else don’t drink much. Since I also have a nightbus that runs all night and practically drops me off at my house, I wasn’t sure if it was worth the price.

My stepmom told me otherwise. She was convinced it was going to be the bestest time ever and I couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by. I told my friend that I would take the room. I started getting excited and started inviting people. I knew that most of them would say “Sounds like fun – I’ll call you!” and never hear from them. I was okay with that.

A few days later, my friend informed me that the rate his girl is getting is because she’s a government employee. The non-employee rate is almost 3x that amount, which no one in their right mind would pay, unless they had 8 people staying in the room, splitting the cost. Which I don’t.

I’m welcome to come on down and party (doin’ the hotel room hop) but I’ll have to find my way home at the end of the night. Not a bad deal. Especially since that was my first option anyway. Now I’m realizing that I should’ve pre-purchased my NYE booze – the liquor store will be insanely busy by the time I get there tonight. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Have a happy new year everyone and I’ll see you in 2013!

Mexico 2.1

Sunday I woke up late (~1:30pm), between the sleep deprivation and hangover, I didn’t leave my room until 5pm. I handed in some paperwork, walked around the resort for half an hour and then went back to bed. I awoke around 8pm feeling much better; I got cleaned up and went out in search of food.

I left my big, blue cup at home because I “wasn’t really going to drink” and went about my night. Dinner, nightly show, followed by the disco once again. The disco, where I drank more than I should have… again.

The girl from the lawn was there, we started chatting and dancing. She got up on the bar and danced while the bartenders watched and continued slinging drinks. White girls seem to get away with pretty much anything in Mexico. At one point, she staggered over to me…

I simply asked “Why?”, she responded with “Why not?”. I said “I dunno… I’ve never kissed a girl before”, she thought this was all the more reason to do it. Next thing I know, she’s kissing me.

She pulled away and said “So….??”, I shrugged my shoulders and said “Meh…”. She got all indignant and offended: “What do you mean “Meh”?! You didn’t like it? Why didn’t you like it?! What’s wrong with you?!?!”

Then she walked away all in a huff and started making out with the guy from the lawn. I continued chatting up the bartender, Catarino, at one point he looked over at her and nodded in her direction:

Catarino: I don’t like her.

Me: Really?! Why not?

Catarino: Because she kissed you…

Me: Oh… … … okay…

Catarino: You kissed her too.

Me: So does that mean you don’t like me either?

Catarino: No, I like you.

Me: Why? What’s the difference?

Catarino: Because you didn’t like it.

I remember telling the bartender that I needed to go home; he asked if I wanted someone to walk me there. I pathetically agreed to the escort. The security guard took me outside and we waited for my escorts to arrive. I was really drunk and just wanted my bed. I told him this; he said we were just waiting for the other security guards to get there.

I told him I was just going to go by myself because I was tired of waiting and “was just fine”; he said “Show me”. I got up, took a few stumbling steps in the direction of my room; he said “No, no, no”, grabbed my arm and had me sit down once again. If his English was better, he probably would have said “Sit down before you fall down”.

My escorts arrived and walked me to my room; upon arrival, I immediately went to the bathroom to take out my contacts. But I was so intoxicated, I couldn’t do it. I assure you, this has never happened before. I decided sleeping with contacts in isn’t going to kill me one time and I staggered to bed and crashed.

I woke up the next day, surprisingly early, feeling, unsurprisingly hungover. I immediately hopped in the shower to wash away my illness; but I was feeling so under the weather, that I decided to sit down throughout the duration of my ablutions.

The shower didn’t have the best set up and the shower curtain was a bit unruly. I didn’t much care, given the state I was in. The moment I stepped out of the shower, I realized I probably should have cared a bit more. It looked like half of the shower water had escaped the confines of the stall and flooded the bathroom… and my entrance way… and it even went out my door.

There I was, completely hungover, trying to mop up litres and litres of water from my room using only my bathmat. It was inefficient at best.

Sometimes I shouldn't be allowed to leave the house...

Sometimes I surprise even myself about how ridiculous my life can be. Usually, nothing too crazy happens, but every so often, weird stuff happens. Stuff that only ever happens to me. This New Years Eve was no exception.

By NYE standards, my night was pretty tame. I went to my dad's place, had a few drinks and was in bed by 4am. Even though I started drinking on an empty stomach and even though I didn't make a point to drink copious amounts of water, I didn't get completely plowed and I woke up feeling fine, albeit a bit tired.

The next morning, I'm gathering up my gear and putting everything by the door so it's all in once place when I leave. As I'm putting everything downstairs, I look for my shoes; they're not there but I knew they were last night.

My dad has a shithead of a dog that likes to take shoes from the door and chew on them upstairs. But it's weird even for Dusty to take both shoes; he's usually content with destroying only one.

As I'm finishing my visit, I keep an eye out for my shoes. I finally find them; by the back door, arranged neatly side-by-side. I found it strange; I didn't think I'd gone out the back door and Dusty doesn't leave anything neatly side-by-side.

Regardless, I put on my shoes and left. On the drive home, I started noticing that my shoes were tighter than normal. I decided my feet were swollen; after all, edema is probably a symptom of excessive alcohol consumption.

A couple days later, I went to wear the shoes and remembered the ride home New Year's Day. I thought to myself "I wonder if the swelling has gone down yet", kind of chuckling to myself at the ludicrousness of that thought.

I slipped on the shoes and they didn't fit. What the....?

As I kick off one of the shoes, it flips over and reveals the size of the shoe. A whopping 2 sizes* smaller than the ones I bought. Mother Fucker. I guess I shop at the same store as someone else at the party. I guess that same person left thinking that their feet had shrunk.

They left while heavily intoxicated; I did not.

And then I had the pleasure of making an embarrassing phone call to Bev to tell her I stole her friend's shoes. :|

 

*Note - I can't remember what size I bought... it might only be one size, in fact, it probably is only one size, but "whopping 2 sizes" sounds more impressive than "a whole size", so I'm leaving it in there.*

All Hallow's Eve

This post is about my favorite Halloween. This was not a Halloween that took place when I was a small child, knocking on people's doors, looking for candy. No, no. This Halloween took place 2 years ago.

I was invited to a house party by a colleague; I often went to his house for his Halloween parties. I am often at a loss as to what to dress up as; this year was no different. One day I was walking through WalMart to purchase motor oil, as I was passing by the women's plus size clothing department, something caught my eye. It was a bright red cloak. My first thought: Little Red Riding Hood!!

I scooped up the cloak and tried to find something else to wear with it. I came across a nightgown that would do the trick. I quickly came to the realization that I'd need more than a red cloak and a nightie to pull off the costume. I needed a basket. Luckily, I had just bought a wicker basket; I put on a fake lid, fed a purse strap through and voila - picnic basket!!

The picnic basket ended up being quite convenient, I used it to carry my keys, wallet and alcohol as well as used it as something to prop my drink on when my hand grew heavy and/or cold. But more than that, I wanted the basket to be filled with things; funny things, interesting things. But I had no idea what those things could be; and then it dawned on me.

My friend always tells me that I have a lot of feelings. Partially because I'm a girl, but also because I'm me and he likes to point out my foibles. He says that because I have so many feelings they form a bundle. Even though I try to wrap my arms around them, I can't hold onto them all; there are just too many. I try, but there they are spilling out of my grasp and falling all over the place.

Maybe they wouldn't be spilling all over, getting dropped on the ground if I had something to put them in. Like a basket, perhaps.

I started making a list of things that I could put in my basket; things that represent feelings. I put a soft, plush stuffy in there, a rock hard piece of marble, something pokey, something smooth. I put pictures in there for nostalgia and various other things. I was pretty excited to present this joke to him.

I got ready for the party and walked out my door, just as a coyote trotted off my porch, down my driveway and into my alley. It scared the shit out of me, but I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

I arrived at my friend's house and was partaking in the party; eating some food, drinking some drinks, chatting people up etc etc. No one asked me what was in my basket. Not even my friend and he's pretty snoopy. I waited, I even made a point to take things out and put things in right in front of him.

He still didn't ask, so I said "Aren't you going to ask me what's in my basket?"; I guess he hadn't realized that it was full of stuff. "Oh sure!" he said; he was pretty excited. That made me happy.

I started extracting out my items, pointing out the feeling associated with it. "Here's my soft stuffed animal, this is my hard marble, these are nostalgic pictures from my childhood...." He looked at every item, laughed where appropriate but I could tell he wasn't getting it. So I said "Do you get it?". He said "Yeah, you have things in your basket, I get it". I said "No, do you get it ?". He could tell that I was trying to drive home a point and he was clueless; he admitted as much.

I went through the items again, making each feeling really, really, clear. He still didn't get it. I said "Oh come on! They're feelings!!!". The look of realization that crossed his face was worth it. He burst out laughing and said that my costume was officially the best costume he'd ever seen. He also congratulated me on being such a good sport.

Happy Halloween Everyone!!

A Disney Story

A few years back, the company I work for hosted it's annual staff party at a local hotel. Being gracious hosts, the hotel offered the attendees a discounted rate in order to discourage drunk driving and encourage alcohol sales. One co-worker got a hotel room for the night.

Since someone had a hotel room, everyone was encouraged to meet at the room and partake in a bit of pre-drinking before the party started. Another benefit was that we all had a place to store our booze while we were downstairs (a.k.a a bathtub full of ice). I was a rye and ginger girl at the time, so naturally, I brought a 26'er of crown and a 2L bottle of Canada Dry. Best gingerale ever.

However, I was uncertain as to the amenities offered by the hotel, so I brought some of my own drinking devices, including a shot glass and a cup. Since alcohol was going to be involved, and since I was going to be carting around the drinking paraphernalia, I was concerned about breakage. So, I brought as many unbreakable things as I could.

I arrived at the hotel room and started making myself a drink. Instantly, I was teased about my drinking devices. I defended myself by saying that I wasn't sure if the hotel would have glasses and/or shot glasses. Turns out, I wasn't being made fun of because I brought these things, I was made fun of because of the things I brought.

Namely, the cup. The only plastic cup I had was a collector cup from my Burger King days (when I paid for the BK equivalent of a happy meal, of course). It was a Pocahontas cup.

For most of the night, I drank out of the cup in the hotel room only. As the night wore on and I got more and more intoxicated, I became less self-conscious of the cup and 'the rules'. I started carrying it around downstairs amongst the other attendees. Luckily, it was dark and no one noticed. Not even security.

Surprisingly, the rest of the night was rather uneventful. Or maybe I just don't remember it. The friend that had the hotel room had brought her boyfriend to the party. He had never met us before, so he used this first experience as a way to decipher which work friend she was referring to in the conversations following that fateful night.

At the time, there were two Heather's at my work. On the inside, I was disappointed that there was someone else with my name and that I wasn't one of a kind anymore. On the outside, well, it was pretty much the same story, because I have a hard time bottling up my feelings. At the end of the day, the other Heather and I are/were very different people. The other Heather was taller and blonder.

One day, work friend went home and was telling boyfriend a story about me at work. She started saying "Heather this" or "Heather that" when he cut her off; he wanted to know which Heather she was talking about.

So... is that "blonde Heather" or Pocahontas?

Fuck. Me.

Wow - good thing you didn't have an outburst, huh?!

I think I can confidently say this has happened to every single one of us. And if not, then it will. At some point or another you will find yourself in a situation where you have to talk to the most socially retarded person on the planet. And it won't be easy.

From my experience, these conversations always progress through at least four stages. There is a fifth, optional, stage that you must pull out if you are absolutely required to speak to this person on a regular basis. Like, if you married them, for example.

If you can, drink your way through the stages, it'll make it that much more entertaining and much less awkward. Though be warned, sometimes drinking to this extreme is seen as 'inappropriate' or 'raging alcoholism'.

For sanity, it's best if the stages are brief, but more often than not, they're not. If you're at a party or a bus-stop, the stages will progress very quickly. If you go to school with or are related to the socially inept dweeb, the stages will drag on until you would prefer to stick shards of glass in your eyes than continue talking with them.

The first stage is introduction. Often times, you don't realize how socially retarded someone is until you make your first attempt at conversation.

You say hello and they look at you; you introduce yourself and they look at you; you ask them what their name is and their friend answers you. If you make the mistake of trying to shake their hand, they'll look at your right hand extended and then back to your face. Their facial expression will not change. If at all possible, leave the situation now. If it's important that you talk with this person, try to progress through the remaining stages quickly just so you can say "I tried".

The second stage is asking questions to try and get them to talk.

Most socially awkward people will answer your questions with one or two words and will not ask you anything in return. This makes the question-answer stage painfully boring (or maybe just painfully painful); you're going to have to get creative if you want to get anything out of them. But it likely won't work. Don't worry, you'll move onto the third stage soon enough.

The third stage is volunteering information; since they won't ask you anything, you begin providing them with the information that they should be asking for, or random facts and trivia.

I like to tell stories; it's far more entertaining (for me) than telling them about what I do for work, or how I know the person we both know. Besides, that will only work for so long; plus I think that if I tell a story about the most basic life experiences, I will show them just how easy it is and they might reciprocate, even just a little bit.

Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. When it does, it's glorious; when it doesn't, I'm sure the dud is left wondering how I yammered on for 15 minutes about buying milk. Eventually, stage three runs it's course. No matter how hard you try, you can't think of anything else to say to this person. Welcome to stage four.

The fourth stage is where you simply ignore them. Stop making eye contact, stop looking in their general direction, basically stop acknowledging their presence entirely.

This is the final stage for people that you don't need to talk to ever again. It's the best stage when dealing with random people at the bar, or on the street, because if you do it right, even you forget that they're there.

However, in most social circumstances you can't stay in this stage for very long; people will start saying that you're rude, or a bitch. These people have been in the fifth stage for so long that they've forgotten what it's like going through the first four stages with this person. Don't worry, it'll happen to you too.

The final stage is acceptance. You come to realize that this person has made it through their entire life being a social tard and nothing you do will ever be able to change that. Sometimes it's easier to just lay down and take it. Luckily, you won't have to take much, because they likely are still unable to have a conversation with you. You better learn to love awkward silences. My coping mechanism is music - I play music in my head in an attempt at convincing myself I'm having a good time. Oh, denial, you've helped me so ... ... ... wait... no, you haven't; I did it all on my own.

 

 

Big thanks to EliseArt for providing illustrations.

Soooo.... how was your weekend!?!?! *grin*

Happy New Year! Here's a quickie* post to tell you something extraordinary that happened to me on NYE. It was a great night!

*note - this was supposed to be quick post, without pictures (because I'm not EliseArt) but then I decided to draw pictures (I'm sorry) and it took me like 2 hours to compile this post.

First, I met up with K and we headed to The Keg for dinner and drinks. Mostly drinks. They have this lemon meringue martini that is absolutely delicious. They also had this super special that I ordered and K ordered a regular steak dinner and we split all the extras (salad, dessert, CRAB!). It was pretty much the most spectacular dinner ever. But I did regret sharing the crab with her.

After dinner, we went down to the pub to play pool and have some drinks. Mostly drinks. We used to frequent this bar on a semi-regular basis. And by semi-regular basis, I mean we went there once a week, every week, for a year. And a half. So, it's safe to say that we know people there.

We walked in, and were expecting to see T behind the bar, but he wasn't there. He was pretty much the one we went to see, because we knew he'd be there for sure. And then it turns out, he wasn't. We thought it all might be a bust. But we decided to play pool anyway and see what happens.



Shortly after, K spotted Jo on the patio. She came in and said hi and we said we'd see her on the patio in a little while. I technically* beat K at pool and this guy had already called winners, so I had to play him.

*note - she was kicking my ass and then accidentally sunk the 8ball. I won by default. (the two greatest words in the english language - De Fault, De Fault!)

I started off pretty good - sunk like 4 balls in a row. It almost looked like I deserved my win. I was pretty pleased. Especially when I did this super trick shot (totally not on purpose); the look on this guys face was "Oh no, I've been had". Once I told him it was an accident, he looked more relieved and then proceeded to kick my ass.

At some point, K tells me that S is outside with Jo. We decided that we'd go out and say Happy New Year after I got my ass kicked. We didn't have to wait long.

We go outside and S says "Hey Girls! What's happenin'!?". Not much, not much... we started getting into a place at the table, S says "You might know my buddy Brandon..." Just as I'm about to sit down, the guy turns and looks at me:





I dropped everything and hugged him and said "OH MY GOD - IT'S BEEN SO LONG!!!". Meanwhile (i.e. simultaneously) he's having the exact same conversation with K. S is at the table, completely flabbergasted, saying "Yeah, so you may know my buddy Brandon.... I guess you might know my buddy Brandon... I guess you know my buddy Brandon..." Too funny.

So Brandon was my brother's best friend in elementary school and we were really good friends for a lot of years. Realistically, it's been 15 years since we've seen each other. To say it was a total trip to run into him, would be the understatement of the century (or at least of last year). To say that I ran into him, at a bar, that I go to pretty much all the time, seeing him with someone that I always see at this bar... well, you can't really put that into words. I was shocked; I couldn't believe it (I can't believe it). Needless to say, I spent most of the night going "BRANDON! IT'S SOOOO GOOD TO SEE YOU!!"

S routinely hits on me when he's had a few... dozen, beer that is. It's harmless; nothing ever comes of it; he works with my dad and is probably terrified. Anyway, at some point, after he reached this point of drunkenness, he said "Ah geez... I wouldn't have brought Brandon if I knew Heather would be so into him" Or something to that effect.

My reply? "Oh S. Don't worry - he's not competition; he's like a brother to me!". To make matters worse, K leaned over to him and said "Really? ... So now what?!?". How embarrassing; but a great night nonetheless!

P.S. Dustin: Please refer to above pictures; this is the reason I need EliseArt. I'm sure you now understand. Please forgive me for (and be patient of) the time I take out of Elise's day/life to illustrate for me. I'm positive we now see eye-to-eye on this matter.

Your nose moves when you talk

Okay - so I went to the fishing derby. Unfortunately, the only thing I caught was a cold. Fortunately, I was fortunate enough to eat the catches of others. It's nice when people share their fish!

This year was quite different than previous years. For one, C, the guy who brings us to the fishing derby, showed up sick. He ended up sleeping for 18 hours straight and missed the Friday night gong show. It wasn't quite the same without him. During the Friday night gong show, two guys decided to play some guitar. My best friend, K, said I should join them, but I said no because they seemed all professional and stuff and I didn't want any part of that.

I wasn't prepared for what came next, and I was deeply grateful for not wanting to be a part of it. These two guys tuned guitars (unsuccessfully) for at least an hour, enduring the drunken heckles of most of the spectators. At one point, I grabbed my guitar and me and K played and sang, while the drunkies bitched about the guys who couldn't tune a guitar. They didn't really even realize someone else was in fact playing a tuned guitar. Our campfire sing-a-long just wasn't the same.

Saturday seemed to be a bit mellow, but we decided to drink our way to a party anyway. But then, K up and broke her nose. It was a pee-related event and I don't think I'm at liberty to say much more than that. Needless to say, she wasn't feeling like ripping it up after she smashed her face in. Turns out, the party was on that night, we just missed it entirely.

Sunday was the day the derby wrapped up. I didn't win a door-prize even though that is totally my forte, but K did and she chose the prize that I would have chosen, and I'm sure she'll let me play the drinking game one day, so in a way, I did win. In a very long, convoluted way, that is.

OH AND I GOT BOOTS!!!

This place is particularly muddy down on the banks of the river and since we intended to fish we had to be prepared. On Wednesday, K informed me of her intention of buying some gum-boots. On Thursday, I realized that if I wore my hiking boots, I might ruin them, so I texted her during the day and asked if she could pick me up a pair as well. She searched high and low and finally found some cool ones in our sizes. She bought me a pair that she wasn't quite sure if I would like or not, but figured if I hated them, then we could trade. Luckily, I loved them and we got comments all weekend about how cool our boots are. Mine look like this:

That took far too long to draw and yes, they actually ARE that cool! Keeping in mind I'm not exactly a pink kind of girl, you can imagine why K suspected she was giving up her boots. The beauty part is, when I asked her how much I owed her she said "Nothing." and I said "What?!" and then she said "They're a gift for being such a great friend!" and I said "Aw, really?! Thanks!!! Now you're a great friend too!! :D "

Sunday was supposed to be the day where we fished, but since K smashed her face in, we went home instead. Despite having not gotten fishing-derby-drunk, and having went to bed by 1am every night and slept until 9am every morning, I was surprisingly tired, so I wasn't upset.

Monday, when I woke up I realized why I was so tired. I had caught C's cold. I cursed his name and considered calling him to tell him, but I'm not sure if we're "there" yet, so I let it go. But I'll likely inform him of all of this the next time I see him.

Let's see... other stuff happened... but the side story will make this post unbearably long, and no one really wants to read about vomit, so I'll just leave it at that.

One of the guitar guys, Ken (who had successfully tuned his guitar - yay built in tuners!!), is the person who originally was the campfire sing-a-long guy. Well, we are now friends on facebook and we will be working together to add more songs to our already long set list. So maybe, if all works out, we'll have a rip-roaring good time next year.

Also, C and T (the organizers) informed everyone that they are not organizing the derby next year. *major sigh* Our deal with C is, he gets us a motor home and we cook for the fisherpeople. Since he's not organizing next year, we won't have to cook, so we can actually fish. Bonus! Not so bonus: we'll have to foot the bill for our own motor home cuz there's no way in hell I'm tenting it at the fishing derby... not after three years of precedent.

Okay. I think that's it now.

Big thanks to EliseArt for providing an illustration that has been reused and recycled numerous times. Apparently I pout a lot in my stories. So over-dramatic.

Oh... a troll bidge!

Alright... this weekend is the weekend I've been waiting for. It's been a year in the making, but, finally, it's here. It's fishing derby time, boys and girls!!!

A bit of background: I volunteer at all the work events for my dad's union. So when I say the fishing derby is the event of the season, I mean it! The fishing derby is not exactly volunteer work. C, one of the organizers, needed some people to cook, so he asked my best friend to help out. When she found out the night time is comprised of campfire sing-a-longs she knew I had to go. To entice us even more, C rents an RV and lets us use it for the weekend. In return, we cook for the fisherpeople. A pretty good bargain if you ask me.

This is the third year that I've gone to the fishing derby and the first year where I'll actually fish at it (what a concept!). But fishing and cooking aside, there'll be a rip-roaring party every night we're there. There will be many-a-story about the fishing derby, hopefully some of them are PG enough to make it into a blog. Otherwise, all the poor saps at work will have to hear about it, yet again. Sorry guys! :)

Hey - you don't believe in wearing sweat pants out of the house... some of us like to have a good time!!

I'm chronically honest. I am pretty much incapable of lying. Why? I don't really know. It makes me feel like I'm deceiving people and the guilt brings me down. I'm truely honest to a fault. Luckily, that, however, is my only fault.

When I was growing up, my mom always told me that if I lied about something I would get in more trouble than if I told the truth in the first place. Because she would find out if I lied. At the time, I thought this was complete bullshit. Ya right, Mom, you're going to ground me, regardless. As I've gotten older, I've come to realize that she was right (just don't tell her I said that!). Do something wrong and admit your mistake and the other person involved will appreciate your honesty (although will still be disappointed). Lie, and they find out, well now, that's grounds for dismissal. Or so I assume. I really haven't found myself in that situation before. Why? Because the guilt brings me down and I always fess up before anyone has any opportunity to 'find anything out'.

However, every so often, I decide that my guilt complex has held me back far too much in life and I throw caution to the wind and do dishonest things. So far, Karma, Murphy's Law and/or the Spite Gods have struck me down everytime I decide this is a good idea... thrusting me back into my "honest to a fault" default. Bastards.

A few weeks ago, I was celebrating my birthday. I went to a pub and got nice and liquored up and then decided to go to a club to dance... well, the club was one skytrain stop away. I get to the station and go towards the ticket machine with the intention of paying (because not paying would be dishonest!)... and my friend says "We don't really have to pay, do we? I mean, it's one stop!"... and I started to say "Oh, yes, yes, we do." But then I said "You know what, it's my birthday and I don't have to pay on my birthday, let's go!!!".

We start riding the escalator up to the platform, I felt pretty confident... and then the guilt started getting to me. Halfway up the escalator, I turned to my friend and whispered "...There's a cop... at the top...". Her response: "No there isn't. You're paranoid". So as the escalator reached the top, I see a lady standing there, in a uniform that can only be described as cop-like. She looked me in the eye and said "Ticket, please".

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't tell her the truth and say I didn't have one... so I start searching, in vain, through my empty pockets, even going so far as to open my coat and look inside...

...as if I'm one of those "street vendors" that carries watches inside the coat, but instead of watches it's valid train passes. There weren't any. My friend looks her straight in the eye and says "I'm drunk. I didn't think to buy one" so the nice lady says "Okay well, go and buy one". So we did. No harm, no foul. Things don't always work out like that.

I go to school. I go to school in the evenings basically next door to my work. I park at work, because it's free. But the other day, I was really running late so I decide to park at school. I mean, I was running so late, I had to eat my dinner in the car. Not too bad, everyone eats while driving right? Ya, sure. But my dinner was a pork chop. I'm serious.

Anyway, a friend of mine goes to school with me and she tells me that for the past 9 weeks she's been parking at school and she doesn't buy a ticket because she figures that the stall has been paid for for the day. And she hasn't gotten a ticket so far, so she figures her logic is sound. So when I decided to park at school, that was my thought process.

However, when I parked, I realized that would be dishonest, so I should just pay for a ticket. But I had like 50 cents in cash and parking is $4. I could put it on my VISA, but that seems like an ordeal and I'm running late, so I'll just throw caution to the wind and go to class. Afterwards, I come out and see a little something on my windshield. Dammit.

I owe $57.70 for parking illegally; $47.10 if I pay within 7 days. All that because I was running short on time (heaven forbid I'm almost late for class!) and didn't have cash. I did go there with the intent to park illegally, but then the guilt brought me down and I was going to pay, but all those other circumstances forced me to be dishonest. Bam!! Spite-God-Powers initiated.

Moral of the story, it's a bit easier (and cheaper) just to fricken pay. Why? Because there won't always be a nice skytrain cop at the top that's willing to accept "I'm drunk" as a reason for dishonesty.

Big thanks to "EliseArt" for providing illustrations

It's like reading the book, watching the movie

I recently won a prize. Not exactly a Nobel Peace or Pulitzer Prize, or anything. But a prize nonetheless. It's not exactly a well-known fact, but I really enjoy winning prizes. I find it thrilling. Despite my apparent bad luck in other arenas of my life, I can win door prizes like nobody's business.

One year at my company Christmas party (sorry! 'Year-End Party'.) I got to the venue a bit late, and seeing as I had only worked there for three months, the one table that had people at it that I knew, was full.

Of course.

I ended up getting a space at this table that just happened to have some empty seats. But they were people from a whole other department... that I had never had any contact with... awkward! Turns out, they were pretty lame and left right after dinner anyway. Before the prize draws even began! What are you? Crazy?!

Being, basically, the last person at table, I promptly started collecting all the discarded door prize vouchers and eagerly awaited the prize draw. The thing is that I work with a bunch of scientists. So just go ahead and try and get them excited about something other than chemistry and/or rush samples. I dare you! Needless to say, the prize draw was pretty tame.

However, not too long into the draw, my number was called. (And it was my actual number, not one of the ones I picked out of the garbage). I hopped up and started running over to the stage to collect my prize. The emcee, having watched the last ten 'winners', was very appreciative of my excitement and proclaims to the crowd "Now that's what we want to see!". I receive my prize and walk back to my table, flaunting it the whole way. It was a bottle of wine!!!!

I don't even drink wine.

A few draws later, another number of mine comes up! Having just been up there, I convince my best friend to go up and claim the prize... c'mon... you can keep it! She proceeds to walk up to the stage and back to the table, ever so calmly. To be honest, I can't even recall what the prize was... alls I know is: "that was my ticket - I WON!".

A few draws later, another number of mine comes up! Incidentally, it was my best friends' actual number, but since she had just been up there, and there was no one left at my table, I decided to go up to claim my prize. I was trying to play it cool; I didn't want anyone to remember me. However, despite my attempt at censorship, my excitement was pretty obvious and the emcee recognized it right off the bat... "Hey! Didn't you already win?" I guess he pieced it together.

Dammit.

"Yeah, but....... this is a ticket someone at my table gave me!". Hoping beyond hope that I had a chance at winning something (other than the wine I won't drink), I not-so patiently awaited his response. To my delight, spectators from the crowd start shouting out "Let her have it", "So what if she already won", "Oh, come on! Someone gave her the ticket"... Finally luck is on my side.

The emcee sighs; resigned, he hands me the hat. I draw out my number; lucky number 23, oh yeah! I see the lovely assistant approaching me with a gift basket. It looks beautiful. I can't wait to see what it is. I receive my prize and walk back to my table, flaunting it the whole way. It's a gift basket from Starbucks!!!!

I don't even drink coffee.