Sunday, January 30, 2011

I'm Not Gay (Not That There's Anything Wrong With It)

If you know me in person, there's likely been at least one time that you thought to yourself "is Dave gay?" It seems to be on everyone's mind at one point or another. I'm asked all the time by people if I'm gay or bisexual. I've overheard people joke at certain behaviours or merely discuss whether I'm gay or not. I've even had people try and TELL me I'm gay and I just don't realize it yet.
Well, here's my response. If you are wondering if I'm gay, you clearly don't really know me. And since you don't really know me, you should probably stop making assumptions about who I am. It makes you look like a real asshole.

I like to keep my apartment neat. I don't watch football or baseball, but love tennis. I have more female friends than male friends. I have some friends who are gay. I don't like beer. I like organization. I'm expressive when I talk (i.e. I use my hands when I talk). I'm single and in my thirties. I'm not always pawing at girlfriends to get laid during every waking hour. I'm loyal and I like monogamy.
Tell me...How do these facts automatically make me homosexual? I would seriously like someone to explain how I must be gay because of these things. The fact of the matter is that several of my behaviours, while admittedly "feminine" by today's societal norms, are not definitive predictors of sexual orientation. I was under the impression that homosexuality involved the sexual and/or romantic attraction to members of the same sex (and bisexuality involved sexual/romantic attraction to both sexes). I'm not attracted to men. I never have been. I've never had any sort of romantic/sexual thoughts about men in my life. I'm also not confused or "kidding myself." Shouldn't THAT be a fact that predicts my sexual orientation, instead of a bunch of random stereotypes? Couldn't I have different reasons for acting certain ways? Also, even people who are homosexual don't fit into a mould involving the above traits, so what the hell?

I can see beauty in men, but that's because I'm comfortable with my sexuality and not because I'm attracted to men. Why people cannot see that is understandable but still not an excuse. Women are forever commenting on how attractive other women are and no one accuses them of being lesbians, so why is it acceptable to label me gay because I said "sure, he's a good looking dude?" 

Do me a favour and stop trying to define me. While every human being is unique, I am more unique than most. Being different doesn't mean I'm gay. It means I'm different. And to the women who I've rejected when you wanted a one night stand or other sexual encounter with me; get over yourselves. When I expressed my reasons for not wanting to do so (i.e. not wanting things to become weird, not wanting you to feel bad the next day because you confuse love with sex, I was already in a relationship with someone), I was telling you the truth. You just couldn't handle the rejection. You couldn't admit to yourselves that a man turned you down, as it negatively affected your self-esteem. You decided that NO man would ever say no to sex with you (because you're perfect, I suppose?), so I must be gay. Nice. Real nice. 

If you feel bad after reading this, all I have to say is good. You should feel bad. You probably made an unfair and illogical leap of judgment about who I am without taking the time to know me first. 

I'm done my rant now. I just hope that people who know me and are reading this have learned something. I also hope that people who I've only known a short time (and people who I've never met who are reading this) will keep in mind the facts before coming to incorrect conclusions about me. I have let the whole "Dave is gay" thing roll off my back since I was a kid, but lately it's really started to frustrate me. It's not that I have a problem with homosexuality (I most certainly do not). I am just sick of people labeling me before bothering to learn the truth. I'm not a cookie cutter person. Stop treating me like one.
In closing, it's quite interesting that gay men who I know seem to know right away that I am not gay. Perhaps "gaydar" is a real thing? Discuss!

Saturday, January 29, 2011

The Great Bowling Alley Heist

It has been well established that I was not a good kid. If you need a reminder, just take a look at some of my previous entries. Revenge is Sweet, The Great Poopie Caper, King Tit and the Eraser That Saved My Ass, Construction House Pee Party, King of the Hill, Gardening 101, and The Rush Pt. 1, Pt. 2, and Pt. 3 are all shining examples of how I had a dark side as a kid. When I was with bad influences, such as Leo, my badness really came to the surface.
Picture it if you can. 1986. Many moons ago, I admit. I was seven years old at the time. If you read through Revenge is Sweet, you'll remember my friend Leo. We were truly partners in crime. We fed off each other in negative ways and when we got together, we got up to all sorts. When together, we decided it would be fun to throw rocks at the neighbour's window and see who could smash it first (I won, though another neighbour caught me, told me to tell my parents or she would, and when I refused to tell she ratted me out). When together, we decided to go behind a garage and shatter several brand new windows that a neighbour had purchased for an extension he was putting on his home. When together, we dropped (admittedly small) rocks through the chain link that enclosed the pedestrian overpass that went over the #2 highway (Deerfoot Trail for Calgarians who never leave the city) and caused several dings and dents I'm sure. We lied, we cheated in school, we were truant...and we stole. To be fair, we didn't steal from stores like Curt and I did in The Rush. We stole from friends. We stole from our mothers' purses. We stole from our teachers' desks. And we stole from strangers...
There was a strip mall within walking distance of our homes and in that strip mall was Shamrock Lanes bowling alley. Leo and I often went there (without asking as we weren't allowed to go) to watch the bigger kids play arcade games. On one occasion that Leo and I went to the bowling alley, the place was packed. Every lane was being used, which was quite the feat back then as Airdrie wasn't very big. As Leo and I worked our way to the arcade section of the bowling alley, I noticed a boy, about ten or so, holding a Transformer toy. It was the Dinobot brontosaurus called "Sludge." Here's a pic I scooped from the internets ( since I feel it wise to give credit for the picture):
All right. I saw the toy. I wanted the toy. Leo also wanted the toy. When you had two bastards like us in the same room with the same goal, it was trouble. Running on impulse, we walked over to the boy and complimented him on his toy. As he got up to take his turn bowling, I asked if I could play with his transformer while he bowled. He was a nice kid and let me do so.
Well, as soon as he turned his back, Leo and I made a mad dash for the exit! I heard "HEY!" come from behind me but I didn't turn to look at the source. We bolted up the stairs and out the door and ran as fast as our little feet could carry us. We got away with ease. Unfortunately, as evening approached and Leo had to go home, we got into a tussle because we both wanted possession of the toy. I ended up getting to keep it as I threatened to kick him in the jewels.
The next day, I was worried. Being a thief in the making, I knew I had to launder the evidence, though I had no idea it was called that. All I knew is that I couldn't keep the toy because questions could be asked and it made my hands dirty. I took it to school and traded it swiftly with some kid for his Transformer, a microscope (WTF???) called Perceptor (pic courtesy
It was a kind of sucky replacement for the ultra-cool Dinobot, but my anxiety was reduced so whatever. I, of course, told Leo that I threw Sludge away so he wouldn't try and take my Perceptor.

I digress. About two weeks later, for reasons inexplicable (perhaps because we weren't the brightest kids on the block), we decided to go back to the bowling alley to watch people play video games. Well, it wasn't ten seconds that we were down there that the owner, Linda, ran over to us and escorted us into what I believe was a party room for birthdays or whatever. She made us sit down and held us there while she called our parents. Yeah, we were bad kids but we were pretty young and pretty scared, so we gave our phone numbers. My dad came to the bowling alley, as did Leo's mum and I vividly remember my dad giving me the scariest look ever! He was right PISSED! The parents and Linda left us in the room (Linda's husband Marshall watching us). About ten painful minutes later, they returned. But they were not alone.
No sirree. Behind Linda, dad, and Leo's mum, were two police officers. Our parents and Linda done gone called the fuzz on us!
The police entered the room and sat down while the parents waited outside. I cannot begin to express how terrified I was. These officers were scary business! And it didn't help that they were telling us that they were going to take us to jail!!!! I remember one of the cops asking me "do you want to go to jail" and "do you want to sit on the cold floor and not have any toys or TV'. To a seven year old, it was just traumatizing. Once they'd put a scare into us, we got the "lecture" about why it's wrong to steal and we were made to promise never to do it again. It felt like hours in that room with the boys in blue, but in reality it was probably only a few minutes. The cops left and my dad made me apologize to the boy, who Linda had obviously also called down to the bowling alley. The family asked what happened to the toy.
"I don't know. Leo took it," I lied. Leo protested of course, and our bedrooms were later searched for the toy to no avail. So while I wasn't seen as not guilty of possessing the toy, it couldn't be proved that I did keep the toy. Boy was I happy I dumped Sludge and got that lame-as-fuck microscope Transformer instead!
I was grounded til hell wouldn't have it...weeks and weeks I think. The worst part was when my dad and I got home. I got the spanking of a lifetime. Ouch!

Perhaps you wondered how on earth I could remember the names of the bowling alley owners over twenty years after the fact. That one's easy. I ended up working there the better part of a decade later. Fortunately, Linda and Marshall didn't remember me.

There you have it. Another tale of Terrible Dave. One of these days I need to start posting some stories that show how I'm also a good person. Sadly, they're just not as funny.

P.S. Dear dad...spanking me didn't help. It only made me resent you. Dear parents...don't spank your kids. It teaches that hitting is an acceptable behaviour and it makes your kids dislike you, but doesn't really teach a lesson. Well, that's my opinion anyway...I just happen to always be right.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Just a Random Night (Guest Blog Entry)

Here's a wacky post that a friend wrote in response to my party crasher tale (The Wangstas). I like a break from writing and therefore welcome guest entries. Don't come complaining if there's any spelling or grammar errors, you vultures. I proofread her work, but I'm tired and may have missed something here or there. I took some liberties in the writing to improve the flow of the story, and added some witty nicknames, but the material is all hers! Take it away, Lynda!

Last fall I went to Regina to visit a friend (who we’ll call K). K wanted to go out. There was a lot going on, as it was a long weekend and there was a CFL game that day, so I said I would be the designated driver. K said she wanted to go to a few different places, but soon after we left she got a phone call from a friend telling her to come to this friend’s place for pre-bar drinks.  K told her that she had a friend visiting (me) and said we would stop by. The friend K was talking to told her she could only bring me if I wasn’t a “big weirdo.” After K got off the phone, she told me what this friend had said. I am instantly annoyed. Who are these people? First of all, I didn’t even want to be going to someone else’s house party (as I believe my free time is extremely valuable and am really particular about who I spend it with).  But we went anyway. We arrived there and it was a few jersey-wearing Riders fans in lawn chairs, who K didn’t even know. The girl we went to see was not my type at all; she told me “she needed to get her smoke on and her drink on.” Who the fuck says that? From this point on, I will refer K’s friend as WT (for white trash).  WT decided we would go to a bar at which there was a special event going on - the Budweiser Big Rig was in town! Wooooooooooooooo…it’s a semi that had a fold-out bar and dance floor (yes, the woo was sarcasm).
So WT decided that she, K, and two random guys were going to cram into my little VW Golf but first I was going to drive WT home so she could change out of her sweats and rider t-shirt into…well I can’t remember, but it wasn’t much better. WT also made a point of yelling at me from the back seat to put some music on for her…I was beyond annoyed as I was born with absolutely zero ability to be fake. Zero! It’s really bad. So I started to get more and more hostile toward WT.
We arrived at the bar and there was a massive line up, but one of the randoms that WT insisted come along was able to get us in. We were a bunch of assholes who marched to the front of the line, taking shoves and insults as we pushed up to the front. Once we were in the bar, WT took off somewhere…likely to get her “drink on.” WT’s disappearance improved my mood as there were hundreds of people there for me to hide within and therefore I didn’t have to see her again! Sadly, I was kind of bored as K and I seemed to be the oldest people there. When I get bored, I start asking random people questions just to see their responses. So imagine my shock when I asked a random guy walking by if he ever tucked his penis between his legs and took pictures. He proceeded to drop his pants and skivvies to the ground, grabbed his penis, and tucked it back between his legs! OMG! I love off the wall reactions, but this shocked me.
I can’t remember what happened next…I think K screamed and we moved away from Tucker (this clever nickname courtesy of Dave, owner of this blog), or maybe Tucker’s friends moved him away from us. However, I ran into Tucker later in the evening. I was still laughing about what happened with Tucker. I asked his name and it turned out we shared the same last name, which I am frequently told is very “Mennonite.” I asked him if he was Mennonite.  He said he was adopted and raised by Mennonite parents. Ugh!
K suggested we go next door to another bar, and I agreed. Anything to get out of a bar where we were at least ten years older than 99% of the people there. We went to the next bar and we ran into some friends of mine that I hung out with years ago but had not seen in a long time. Seeing my old friends made the night so much better. K and I ended up hanging out with my old friends, and I took a strong liking to one of these friends’ girlfriends. At the end of the night, one friend (let’s call him J) said we should all go back to his house (which was technically his girlfriend’s house who he mooched off of). J’s girlfriend was in France with her mom on a holiday at the time. On our way there, J asked me to stop at a bar to get an off-sale. We pulled up and J went in. He was in there for what seemed like forever. I drove up closer to the window and looked in. J was talking to a really nice looking First Nations guy. Not to sound judgmental, but from the guy’s mannerisms, he appeared to be gay.  J, being a hipster, could easily be labeled as homosexual as well, so K and I were giggling that the guy J was talking to thought he was picking up J. J finally returned to the car and asked me to stop at 7-11.  We pulled up and J went in for cigarettes. While waiting, K and I looked in the car beside us and there was a strange looking couple who we thought was a pimp and his ho. J came back out with his highly coveted cigs and we finally headed to his girlfriend’s house.
Upon arrival at J’s girlfriend’s home, we all went in. A short time passed. There were about eight of us are sitting around the living room when the door opened and in walked the nice looking First Nations guy! That would have been okay, but OMFG…behind him were about ten of the roughest looking individuals I had ever seen! In the group of walking demotivational posters were the pimp and ho we saw at 7-11…ick. As they piled into the small house, they could tell by our expressions that they weren’t welcome and that we were terrified. One member of Team Crackhouse (all Team * nicknames courtesy of Dave) even announced “We’re at a fucking white party.” In response, one of my friends quickly corrected her by saying “No you’re not, I’m black.” One of the girls who was at the party already went over to talk to some of Team HighAsFuck so that they wouldn’t get more rowdy than they were…this girl thought she thought also represent as she was one half Filipino.
Team AcidDrop ended up staying a while despite not being welcome. About a half hour later, someone began banging on the door. I looked outside to see THREE police cars parked out front. Since I was the only sober person there, I went outside to speak to the police. I told the cops that I was good friends with J’s girlfriend who was out of town. The police asked me if I was sober and when I said yes they recommend that I get in my car and leave as fast as I could. The cops said that the crashers were not the type of people I wanted to be partying with. I couldn’t leave my friends and my friend’s house to the mercy of Team Cokehead so I made a plan with the officers. The plan was simple…my friends and I would all lie to Team HeroinandVodka and say we were leaving. Once Team MaryJane was gone, we’d turn off the lights and lock all the doors and continue the party uninterrupted. The plan started off well. We got Team TrackMarks out of the house. However, while we were sitting there discussing how it was great that we were rid of Team OD, two of them came down the stairs! They’d either been looting or doing something in the bathroom the whole time. They sat down and began hanging out with us and drinking our beer like nothing was wrong. To make matters worse, for reasons inexplicable, J went to the front door and let the rest of them back in! WTF?
The police came back and I went to talk to them. The police told me that since J has invited Team SnortNBlow into the house, there was nothing the police could do. The police also stated that if they get called again, J would face a fine. We hadn’t called the cops in the first place, by the way. Team Nickelbag had initially gone to the wrong house and those people had called the police.
I went upstairs with K. I was really scared by now. A couple of my other friends joined us and we tried to decide what we were going to do. Everyone but me went back downstairs while I stayed in the laundry room and called a mutual friend to tell him the story of what J had done. I could hear a ruckus downstairs, which a friend told me later was the result of one of the girls accusing a guy she was sitting with of talking about her dad, so she punched the guy in the face. We’ll call this guy “Bleeding Guy” now. After the beating, J finally got the nards to tell Team CocaineNoseBleed to leave.  Team Juicy all left the home without incident and we once again locked the doors. We then all sat around de-briefing and laughing about what had happened and how we miraculously survived without getting shot or stabbed (this was Regina, after all). While we were talking, we heard a knock at the back door. It was Bleeding Guy and he wanted to come back in the house. As if! Obviously, we left him out there to bleed. Unfortunately, I was parked in the back so we had to wait a while for him to leave before we could get to my car. When we finally did get to leave, we drove a few blocks and saw Bleeding Guy staggering down the street.
To this day, none of us have told J’s girlfriend what went on in her house that night...we’re all just glad we escaped that evening unscathed.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

My Pet Gopher

I'm sure anyone who knows me can vouch for the fact that I love animals. It's more than just an appreciation for the cute animals as is the case with many people. It's a respect for all living things. Call me a granola or a tree hugger if you want, but I've always held the view that all life has equal value. I got weird looks when I told people about my humane traps to catch a mouse several years ago. I get dropped-jaw expressions when people learn that I will sooner catch-and-release a spider than kill it. And there's been more than one occasion when I nearly caused someone to smash into my back bumper because I slammed my breaks to save a gopher running across the street. I'm not going to kill something unless it is a threat to my own safety. I haven't ever killed anything for the sake of convenience, contempt, or just because I could. That's just how I roll.
My fondness for animals has been with me for as far back as I can remember. I was surrounded by dogs at home, as my mum bred them, and I was known to, from time to time, bring home a dog I found running around stray. There were three dogs that I can remember bringing home. Two had identification tags on their collars and my parents were easily able to find the owners. However, the third had no identification at all. I wanted to keep him. He was a golden retriever and was extremely friendly. I recall my parents trying to talk me out of it, but I was determined to keep the dog. So my parents said that we could keep him in the backyard as long as I went to take my bath right away. I agreed and went to bathe, excited to go back outside to see my new dog when I was done.
Unfortunately, the "gate had been left open" and no one noticed, so the dog escaped. I bought the story since I was about five years old, but it's quite obvious now that my parents let the dog go while I was in the bath. BETRAYAL! Oh well, I got over it.
A matter of weeks after I lost my new pet, I went with some friends to the BMX track that was located just behind the houses across the street from my own. For those of you Airdrites (or Airdrians or whatever Airdrie people are called) who came to Airdrie after about 1988 or so,  the BMX track was where the twin arena is now. The more you know! Anyway, as I said, I went with friends to the track to play. There was a really big hill upon which BMX races started and then a bunch of smaller hills that went around the track. I was too afraid to ride my bike down the big hill, so I started at the base of it and then rode around the track with my friends (they were too scared to ride down the starter hill as well). While riding around the track, we saw a cute little gopher resting on the grass. Walking over to it, I picked it up and held it. It was very calm and seemed friendly enough...I'd never known a gopher to even let me come close to it before. I told my friends that I was going to keep it. We all pushed our bikes through the rest of the track and then over to our neighbourhood. When I got home, my parents were in the kitchen. I walked into the house and triumphantly held my new gopher friend up so they could see.
Well, my parents FREAKED out. I clearly remember my mum screaming "oh my god!" I guess she wasn't a rodent fan...few people are. My dad grumbled "take that outside right now." I was five or I wouldn't obey. My dad followed me out of the house and grabbed the garbage can. He told me to throw my gopher into the trash! I began to cry and said I didn't want to throw away my pet.
"David! It's dead!" my dad revealed to me, "It's been run over."
Yeah, he was right. The gopher was well dead and flat as a pancake. No wonder it was so calm. No wonder it let me handle it. No wonder the flies liked it. But I didn't really understand that then. I threw away the gopher and my dad marched me to the bathroom to wash my hands.I was devastated. My parents then explained to me the ol' "don't touch dead things" speech and then sent me on my way to play.
To this day I can remember holding up my paper-thin pet at the BMX track and seeing my friends' awed expressions. And to this day I shudder at that thought. Imagine what sort of disease or illness I could have contracted while holding that thing. Ewwww.
That's the story of my pet gopher. My love for animals and ignorance about life and death marrying into a disgusting tale for your entertainment.
Oh, as I write this I realize I lied to you in this entry. I have killed a living thing before...and not for anything as noble as self-defense. When I was around eight years old, I saw a small black thing in the gutter (I thought it was a toy). I approached it to pick it up when it suddenly jumped up and flew INTO MY FACE! It was a june bug and it freaked the FUCK out of me. I was so freaked, in fact, that the next time I saw such a beetle, I smashed it under my heel without a second thought. Turns out it wasn't a june bug at all, but a piece of black material balled up in the gutter. And to tell you the truth, if I saw a june bug today, I might just have the same reaction. Scarred for life, I tells ya. So if you ever see me scream and begin curb stomping the air, I'm probably just violently murdering what I think is a june big deal.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

The Wangstas

Have you ever crashed a party? I think that everyone reading this has crashed a party in one way or another. I suppose the term "crash" suggests arriving uninvited AND unaware, but a party crash is technically just showing up to a party to which you were not explicitly invited. When I've crashed parties, I've always been welcome so it's not so big a deal. Now let me ask you...have you ever crashed a party when you weren't wanted there at all?

About eight years ago, my friend Shannon had a party at her parents' home while they were away on a trip or vacation of some sort. Shannon was visiting herself, as she was either living in Edmonton or Lethbridge at the time, so it's not like it was HER home in which to be throwing bashes. The party was just for a dozen or so of Shannon's closest friends, including myself. Everyone was really nice and kind of people. Drinking was certainly occurring in the premises, but everyone was being responsible and it was just an all around good time. Knickerbitch was there, and even though she became homesick after about twenty minutes away from her family, she was pleasant and seemed to be having a good time. My awkward mingling was either appreciated or tolerated, and there was even some flirting with a few girls and me. It was a fun, low-key party.

For a while.

It doesn't matter how well you know your party guests, there's always that one who, either intentionally or accidentally, blabs around town about the fact that there is a part that (s)he is attending. No one at the party was aware of who did the blabbing, but come around 10PM, it was obvious that someone had spilled the beans. There wasn't even a knock on the door. The door simply whipped open and a dozen wiggas and gangstas, poured through the door with their booze and their joints and their "we belong here" attitudes. I swear to of them even said "yo yo yo" when they came through the door. Airdrie wiggas were the lamest breed.

Anyway, these wangstas were loud, obnoxious, and disrespectful. Despite bringing their own booze, they began to tank back everything alcoholic in their site. Our my friends' expensive alcohol and food was being wasted by a bunch of nitwit douchebags with barely a brain cell between them. Some of the gangstas flopped on the sofa and watched television while others began exploring the home (for valuables, perhaps?). Enough was enough. Most of the guys (yes, including me) and several of the girls began to corral the crashers together and get them to leave. Oh there was fussing, feuding, fuck this and fuck that...for a few moments I thought some fists could fly too. After much "convincing," the crashers began to depart. So much vulgarity as they piled out the door and out of our mellow party. With the wangstas gone, the party continued uninterrupted.

About five or six of the partiers, myself included, stayed overnight. I had not been drinking much but I was just having fun. Plus, I think I was the only guy staying and the girls were concerned the crashers may return. In the morning, everyone got up and began recuperating from their hangovers. It was in the morning that Shannon needed her portable phone to call someone...and she couldn't find it. Shannon tore her house apart trying to find the phone. After all, it was her mum's phone and that's something not easily explained as to why it disappeared. The search went on and on but no luck. The phone handset was gone.

Shannon devised a cunning plan. She would go into Calgary and search stores for the same phone. Replacing the phone, her parents would be none the wiser. The only flaw to the plan was that the phone was a few years old and thus long since discontinued. Shannon asked if we wanted to help her on her epic hunt for the same model phone. Two of us decided to go with her. As we left the home and got ready to head to Calgary, someone noticed a piece of plastic on the driveway. Upon closer inspection, it was a piece of her portable phone. What? We looked up the street, and found piece after piece until we came to the bulk of the phone. The thing had been violently destroyed...torn apart by someone. It wasn't long until we realized the culprit was someone in that group of crashers. Who else would it have been? One of Shannon's good friends? Nah. The crasher got pissed that he was evicted, stole her phone, and busted it outside. WTF?

The search for a replacement was nothing short of pointless, aside from good times and good company on the journey. Shannon decided instead to just say she broke the phone and replaced it with a better one, which her parents accepted without question.

If ever you do crash a party and you're asked to leave, please understand there's probably a good reason. Maybe you're an idiot. Maybe you smell like the inside of a maggot's ass. Maybe you knocked up the party-thrower's best friend and then ran so to avoid responsibility for the child. Maybe it's a wake and you didn't know the deceased. Maybe you're not wearing clothes and it scares the people there. Or maybe you steal land line phones and smash them out of habit. Whatever the reasons, just smile, thank them for their time, and leave. There's always another party around the corner that you'll be evicted from.

P.S. Interestingly, the phone still picked up signal from its base and made the page beep. It wouldn't call out or receive calls...not that we'd want to be talking on a jagged piece of crap. Just thought you'd like to know.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Movies I Haven't Seen (QuickiePost)

The other day I was reminded by a friend of how weird it is that I've never seen The Goonies. Apparently that's required viewing for my generation, but the extent of my knowledge about Goonies comes from an episode of Family Guy in which Peter gets the fat kid to do a "truffle shuffle." So at work today, bored as shit, I decided to compile a shortlist of movies that it seems almost everyone (over 25) has seen but I have not.

1. The Godfather
2. Toy Story (none of the series)
3. Gone With the Wind
4. The Lion King
5. Avatar
6. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
7. A Clockwork Orange
8. It's a Wonderful Life
9. Casablanca
10. Ferris Bueller's Day Off .

Other movies that didn't make the top ten include The Deer Hunter, Gone With the Wind, Back to the Future Part 2 or Part 3, Caddyshack, The Sound of Music, Breakfast at Tiffany's, any King Kong movie, Citizen Kane, 9 1/2 Weeks (it's eeeerotic I hear), Jaws, Reservoir Dogs, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and Planet of the Apes.

I think this one takes the cake for most pointless blog entry. Hope you enjoyed it!

Friday, January 14, 2011

Bukake Dave

I've never been a fan of the club scene. I'm not a drinker, my dance moves are like some sort of 70s acid trip dry-heave only much less charming, and I dislike sweaty douchebags rubbing up against me as they peruse the crowd for their next score. But on the rare occasion you could find me at the bar. In Airdrie, the choices for our clubbing experience were quite slim. There were never more than three places to go; there was the hip young crowd bar (the name escapes me at this time because it changed names several times in a few years), the 20/30 something "place to be" called One Eyed Jacks, and the gross as fuck Old Hotel bar which swarmed with cougars and drunk rednecks and had music way too loud because the geriatrics had hearing problems. Therefore, can you really blame me for not getting "in" the bar scene? Exactly! So I kept away for the longest time.

In 1999, my girlfriend at the time dragged me to Senior Frog's on Halloween for some party thing. I didn't want to go. Shit I didn't want to go! I was so tired from work. When we got there, I sat at a booth and struggled to stay awake. A cute girl came up to the table and sat down. She asked if I was okay because I appeared to be down. I explained I was just tired and we began talking. My girlfriend returned to the table and appeared as though she were a wounded kitten. She didn't say anything until the cute girl left and then she expressed how disgusted she was that I flirted with another woman in front of her. What? There was no flirting. At least not from my end. Yet I got the cold shoulder for a week because of it! Girls are nuts! And I didn't want to go to a bar with her again.

In 2001 or 2002, peer pressure got the best of me. A couple of friends wanted to go to a new club that opened in Calgary called Twisted (this is not Twisted Element...Twisted lasted only a short time and was located across from Westbrook Mall where the big condos are now located). The dude on the radio was apparently on location at Twisted and Tammy wanted to meet him. So Tammy, Shawna, me, and Tammy's friend (name forgotten) went into Calgary. I was designated driver, of course, which leads me to believe they wanted me there simply as a safe way back home. Jerks.

All right, we get to Twisted and pay the five dollar cover to get in. Inside was nothing short of laughable. There were literally few than ten people in the whole place! And while the dude on the radio claimed to be on site, he was nowhere to be found. That's right, folks. Sometimes when the radio station says it's "on location," it's lying to you! We stayed for about five minutes, but because the place was so dead we decided to let it rest in peace. Shawna (I hate you for this) suggested we go to Outlaws instead.

Everyone in Calgary knows about Outlaws. It's not particularly exciting or interesting, but it had been open longer than a year and I guess that was worthy of garnishing popularity. So off we went to Outlaws instead. When we arrived, it was busy. It was a Friday evening, so what else would one expect. I remember feeling the beats from the bar as I sat in the car while I took a deep breath in preparation for a very long evening. We all went inside.

Well, as I walked inside, I immediately noticed that several women were checking me out. A lot of women. I must have been looking pretty hot to get that kind of reaction. I smiled at some of the ladies as they passed and Tammy, Shawna, Name Forgotten, and I went to sit down for a drink. I started bobbing my head to the beat...I was feeling pretty good to be getting eyed by girls left, right and center. Damn I was feeling good.
Until Tammy asked what was on my shirt. I looked down and noticed my white shirt had a spot on it that was glowing in the black light in the club. It was an odd streak of glow, like the shirt had been sprayed with something. Shawna said that it was the result of liquid detergent staining my was invisible in normal light, but black light made it glow brightly. The streak was small and I was not very concerned about it. I then looked at my shoulder and noticed another splotch of glow. I gazed down my shirt and saw several more little spots here and there...and everywhere! I stood up to look at the back of my shirt, and that's when Tammy said it.

"Dave! Look at your pants!"

And that's when I realized that the ladies weren't checking me out because I was attractive. They were checking me out because I had huge white blotches all over my body. The shirt was subtle because it was white, but the jeans had an incredible contrast. Dark wash jeans with sloshes of brilliant white glow all over them. It was like a tie-dye nightmare. Furthermore, the way the glowing patches looked on my jeans was like I was sprayed with something white...or sprayed with several things that sprayed something white...

Thus Bukake Dave.

Ugh. FML. I sat back down and tucked my body under the small round table as best I could. Perry arrived a short time later and wondered why I was hunched up close to the table. Upon my revealing my reason, he completely understood. Everyone got up to dance while I stayed almost unmoving. Tammy's hot friend Name Forgotten asked me to dance and I shot her down hardcore. How could I go dancing? I hate having attention drawn to me, and I couldn't dance worth shit...oh, and looking like I just crashed through a sperm bank wasn't helping at all.

I sat there for hours, dressed in my splooged attire from 10PM to last call at 2AM when they turned on the house lights. Oh those wonderful non-black light lights! Like bulbs from heaven, they shone down on me with if to say "It's okay, Dave. You've survived and you're free now." I got up and walked around to stretch my legs. Perry said goodbye and left while I retrieved my friends from the dance floor. Tammy was flirting with some dude who she'd met on the dance floor. She came over to Shawna, Name Forgotten, and me and she seemed absolutely smitten with this guy. night was far from over.

You see, earlier in the evening, Tammy confessed that she liked me. As in LIKE liked me. She was very pretty and really sweet, but she was several years my junior, and at 17 to my 23 was too much of an age difference at the time. Ergo, I shot her down. Upset, she went to the dance floor. There she met that guy.

After boasting about how wonderfully charming and good looking he was, Tammy revealed that he invited her (and her friends) across the street to his motel room to hang out. I didn't like the idea at all. Neither did Shawna or NF, but Tammy was very insistent. Since she had been upset earlier, we decided to let her have this one and hang out with the guy for a little while. We all drove across the street to the Travel Lodge and went to the dude's room. Well imagine our surprise when we discovered that the dude was a hockey player from some city out east. And imagine our shock when we discovered that HIS ENTIRE FUCKING TEAM was in his room! There were easily a dozen hockey players crammed in that little room...maybe more. Several made inappropriate comments and suggestions toward Shawna and NF. And dude had a chubber for Tammy and I was sure he wanted to get his freak on with her. Being the only guy with these ladies, I was understandably concerned. Hockey players under the wasn't a good scene, man. Shawna, NF, and I all told Tammy that we didn't feel comfortable in the situation and wanted to leave. After much prodding, Tammy reluctantly agreed to leave with us. We piled in the car and got the hell out of there as drunken jocks yelled profanities at us from their second floor motel walkway. One even through a bottle at the car but missed his mark by a few feet (or maybe that was his intention).

As I drove the girls back to Airdrie, Tammy refused to speak to any of us. She was pissed off. I suppose we had no right to drag her away from a total stranger who didn't live anywhere near her and clearly just wanted to get laid...But whatever! The sad thing is that I enjoyed Tammy's company and we got along quite well...yet after this event, Tammy never spoke to me again. She worked at Boston Pizza, a location at which I did some deliveries (when I worked with Meadowbrook Deliveries), and she would only say what needed to be said when I went in to pick up orders. It's so unfortunate that something so stupid could result in such behaviour, but that's how girls her age act I guess.

That was the last time I went to a club. I figured the fear of looking like I got in the way of a bull during an AI treatment was enough to keep me away. But let's face it...I mainly fear the bad things that seem to happen whenever I go to the bar. Now that you know this little secret, don't get all pissy when I shoot down your invite to hit up a new club. It's nothing personal. I'd just rather beat my face against a cactus for four hours instead of endure what will likely happen if I accompanied you to the bar.

I did learn an important lesson from that night at Outlaws though. I now always buy powder detergent. Thanks, life, for teaching me this valuable lesson. It's not like you could have just sent me a warning label or something...

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

A Little Bit Floppity Doodled

Let's face it. There's something charming about odd uses of the English language. Whether it be words being pronounced incorrectly or strange phrases uttered that are just not heard in one's own society, it's funny and really makes you think WTF?
Recently, I began working with a woman in her fifties. This woman is nice enough, but what is really interesting about her are her bizarre expressions. To be honest, I'm unsure where she got these sayings from, because she's born and raised in Alberta. But for some reason, she's an invaluable resource for some really laughable and messed up expressions.
This woman has a nasty know the type. That cough that has a whole lead-up in which the person inhales to prepare for the long, drawn-out, loud cough. And then coughs out a lung for a minute straight. I'm sure you've all heard a cough such as this, but I'll bet none of you have heard someone say, upon completing the cough, "Oh, stone a crow!" Or "Oh lord, love a duck!" Or "Oh, fudgesicles," "Oh, fudge," "Oh, balderdash," or my favourite "Oh, son of a seahorse!"
When it's chilly outside, we all have some witty metaphors for the cold. But let me ask you, has anyone ever described the weather as being "colder than Toby's tush out there?" Yes, it's colder than Toby's tush out there. Who the hell is Toby and who's measuring the temperature of his ass?
Ever been so frustrated at a person that you have no choice but to tell them off? Perhaps you, as with this woman, tell them this: "Bite my tail feathers!" What?
While speaking to her mischievous granddaughter, she used the expression "you sneaky Peter." She also has told her granddaughter to "choke up, chicken," and referred to the little girl as "angel puss," "my duckling," and as being "a little bit floppity doodled." When her granddaughter fusses or cries, she holds her granddaughter while repeating "goodness gayshus, Aunt Matilda." Yeah. Gayshus. Okay.
This woman loves to say "gag me with a spoon," and refers to sofas as "chesterfields," both of which have obvious English connections.

The list goes on and on. I wonder if this is actually a human being or some sort of robot with a program to create random weird sayings. But if she is in reality a robot, who made her and why? Was it just to entertain me and make me wonder what the hell she just said a hundred times an hour? Or is there something more sinister going on? I don't know, but as long as this woman provides me with humorous WTFisms, she can be a super epic ninja assassin mega killer robot for all I care...just so long as, at the end of the day, she doesn't leave me too floppity doodled.