1st Night Out.

So its Wednesday night. The best night out in many a diary. Im at my Mums house and its dinner time. I take the pizza, say thank you and pretend as usual as though there is nothing to worry about. A minute out the door i change my mind and head, not for home, but for Windsor Street. Now if you know this infamous road in Dundee, or live there, you will know about the Gill Flat. It has become something of a Mecca in the sacred practice of skite. 

On the way I'm making important discoveries. The price of Tennants by the litre and and the cheapest kebab for dinner. I arrive at the door and there are some very confused friends who do not seem to understand why im back home. Well i am and i want to go skiting, I reply. To an immediate roar. Its a Wednesday so Im sure there will be some sort of intoxication going on. 

And sure enough almost everybody and their Gran are going out tonight. Awesome. 

I cycle home and get changed, inviting someone else so i can get a lift as they drive past. Downing a Guinness and wacking back some Vodka I am ready. My mate arrives and up we head to Windsor. I stop by the usual corner shop and instead of Tennants, pick up a keg of Heineken. Coming out of the shop i do not see my mates car. And i walk up to another car and open the door. Its at this point i get excited. Tonight is going to be messy.

In the Royal Mead Hall of Windsor i open the keg with some difficulty and get to work on it. It contains 5 Litres. Two thurds and an Irish accent later, its time to leave. Stumbling down the stairs i realise that because of a lot of biking recently and a lapse in my drinking this has hit me like a train. Most of the group are staggering down the street. But i'm positively gone.  I take to smashing bins, signs and bus schedules to the ground. They deserve it. Damm it, they are in the way. Knocking over one too many bins, the bouncer of a pub sees me. Well im never going to get in now am i? I try briefly. Saying that i promise to believe sir. He shakes the dick on his head and i call him some obscenities. Deciding that i must get to the nightclub i run, jump and scale a straight line of car parks, walls and neds all the way there. I muster an amazing amount of energy and sober up. 

IM IN!!! YEAH. Energy now lacking i pay the cover and go get myself a Vodka Redbull. Now im jumping. Bumping into friends i get over zealous with seeing them again for the first time in ages. (I can only write this next bit with some help from my friends). We buy each other shots and PoofJuice. Im drinking like a sink for about 2 hours. The top medic in first year climbs onto my shoulders and we run around on the dance floor. Being removed from the dance floor, I sit down on the seats in the corner with some of my buddies Spilling beer on myself deliberately, my friends believe its time to go home. I say fuck off and go get another drink. 

Waking up in the morning i wonder what the hell happened last night. I have forgotten almost everything. Including my jacket. SHIT! Well i do remember i have a interview for a job working as an assistant in a Estate Agents in Newport. I have to wear a suit. Crap. Visiting the bathroom i see that my eyes are bloodshot and i look like a crack addict. 

At 2pm I am at the interview, eyes still red and still feeling shit. He asks me to tell him about myself. I wonder about giving him this URL.  

I get the job. Somehow.

Time to go home

Its been 194 days. Winter, Spring and now whats meant to be summer. I have skied Whistler Blackcomb for over 130 of those days. Worked for Whistler Kids. Shadowed Ski Patrol. Travelled to Hawaii. Seen Vancouver Island. Lived for a short while in Vancouver.

I sit watching Jerry Springer, peering at vertical lines of never ending rain, falling through horizontal slants of grey light. Feeling perpendicular, I'm not sure of what to do. My savings have been through almost 7 rounds of beating in a ring of Ultimate Partying. I have somehow to afford a week of never ending boozing and 4 years of promised study.

With the help of friends and a push from dad i decide that the best thing to do is come home and make some Sterling, flipping burgers or anything that comes my way. It will be fun anyhow, half price food and booze. Or it shall appear so anyway. It seems the norm to organize some sort of social event when one gets home after a few weeks away, so i get to it. I set up a Facebook group and look forward to 12 hours of drinking in the Fish.

My friend wants to make some quiche tonight, which I'm totally excited about. If its as good as the rest of her cooking, this will be some pie. So i offer to go get the ingredients. Well 10 minutes later I'm on my bike on 44th. Soaked. Woopee this is fun. There's a spray of water coming from the front tire which seems intent on me swallowing it and a shower of crap from the back. Feeling fresh I'm on my way home now trying not to break any eggs.

There is no such thing as a traffic accident.

Sunday, June the 7th.

Last night the bloody cat managed to piss in my bed. So I am on the sofa. Its 1 in the morning. I fall asleep after a while on the Internet.
Its now 5 am and the cat has decided its going to gain ninja powers tonight. She hops, somehow, over the gate that separates the rest of the house and the lounge. And starts the usual irritating purring. I awaken, horrified at the thought of being covered in piss. Thankfully I'm dry.
Anyway its now half 6 and I'm failing miserably at keeping her out of the lounge. So i grab a dvd from the shelf and watch a Steven Seagull film. Now thoroughly bored i decide just to get up. Well thankfully my friend gets up and she locks the cat downstairs for a while, so i fall onto the sofa again.
I wake at lunch time and decide to cycle downtown to look around for a bit and meet up with my friend at the Granville Public Market. I set off. Toying with North American traffic is quickly becoming very entertaining. I zip the 49 blocks down Main. I enjoy spending the next 30 minutes getting lost and locating myself on my new pocket map. In a mighty twist of fortune, i find myself on Pacific Boulevard. The scenery is decent so i cycle slowly around taking it all in. Making an ill fated decision i decide to cycle on the sidewalk in order to stay out of the path of the mental SUV's. Approaching a crossing i acknowledge the white man and start to cross. At this point I'm wondering why a colossal Audi roars and rips off to turn right. FUCK! I unclip my feet out of my pedals sub-consciously and jump. I will never know what made me jump. Maybe i am just that smooth. Well i end up sitting on the bonnet of the beast. Which is a bit of a shame, the roof would have been way cooler. Rolling off I'm confronted with a scrawny git who is about to hyperventilate. I'm somehow thoroughly amused. Which is a good thing because i could do this guy some damage. He seems deeply upset. A crowd is starting to develop, but all i want to do is find my bottle which has been smacked for a 6 across the boulevard. Re hydrated, I swap information with the git. A very pretty girl, who i want to do not so pretty things to, gives me her details. Pity you cant get run down in the pub. My Trek has stood up to his beast better than the climate has, and as i check my bike over I'm happy to leave the scene as it is.

Theres a ITU triathlon in Vancouver today and i cycle around the finish line chatting to some of the Scottish athletes. We swap war stories from the streets, or sidewalks, and I bid them good luck. I notice my front wheel is slightly warped and needs some work. So i find my bike shop. Luckily there is a branch of the same shop that i bought my bike from in Whistler. Cycling across the bridge again I'm starting to get pissed off. I phone the git and tell him whats happened. He offers to pay for it. I'm less pissed off. I get to the shop and discover that there is only 100 bucks of damage. I'm wondering if the parts were damaged when i fell of the bridge in Whistler before or in the the crash but screw it, I'm going to get everything i can out of the git.

Having left my bike in the shop i walk to the market and miraculously end up in the pub. Having no one to chat to until my friend arrives, i start chatting to the guy beside me. Finding out he is a religious leader, warning lights flash on. I have been converted to religion before. Having turned myself primal again i have no desire to be run over and return to God in the same day.

Another one of those please....

5 portions of vegetables and fruit a day

Im asked to put the bbq on. Well now, only a man with plenty testosterone can do such a thing. So i take off the cover and quite expertly, may i add, start to light the gas and clean the grill. Little disappointed about the lack of eyebrow charring coal lighting, but hey ho, its still fire yea! Then its time to make some killer guacamole. Well that's easy. Google it. So i type it in, of course spelling it all wrong, then find a killer recipe from someone called bestmumbarnone. I get to work. Scooping some slimey avocados, crushing a lime, decimating a tomato and shredding an onion. Adding an annoying random intrusion of chili powder, from my delightful, I stir it into goo in a bowl. Finished, i balance the mix precariously in the fridge, almost purposefully pissing her off.
Earlier in the day, i had decided to do away with meat for one night, due only to a lack of dime, and buy a portobello mushroom for a burger. In doing so, showing some effort to understand veggie loons. So while i have been lighting and gooing, she has been preparing the mush burger. I instantly assume the position of flipper and take them outside to cook. What greets me is a ravingly disappointing fizzle. No high flames. Nothing. Just a mere snap, crackle and pop. Bored and slightly ticked of at being told am doing it all wrong i give up and go and chat to her cute friend who has come round for dinner.
Now comes the surprise. The burger a la fungi. On first bite i burn of half the sense in my mouth, which may be why the second tasted quite so good. Very happy to have been at all involved in the creation of such marvels i settle down on the sofa, to a gut wrenching, eye opening, traumatic, needle to the heart awakening shot about the plight of what women have to go through in life. Such things as this should not be discussed in front of a male by himself.
Happy now that the horrible banter is over, i express my desires to emigrate here after university and happy with my contribution to the conversation, fall asleep on the sofa.

Holy hell! What! oh, fucking cat! What the hell! Why are you purring into my ear! Come on now, out you go!

I told you! Get out!

OUT!!!! (shuts and bolts door)

Turd of June.

After two masterfully rolled art pieces, several cans of glacier cold piss water and enough refried beans to plug the hoover dam, I wake, in a numb haze, this morning. Instant action kicked off. Grabbing the book I got off to a flying start.
Dad as usual had flushed the regular turd of an email my way. Fragmented as usual by the stupid fucking cell phone he uses. However, this morning, it was not all shite and I manage to get University sorted. I cant remember if I decided to go to University when I was drunk or not, but it still seemed a good idea, so hell yeah, why not.
I believe it was after this that I started to develop a pain in my forehead.

Soon after my room mate and "friend" of 6 months wakes up. Knowing now that he fully intends on ditching me I pay him little attention. However hes asking if I would go up to the accommodation office with him and I agree thinking it might clear my head.

Well now exactly 56 minutes after completing the checking out mission, were sat in the pub. And yes, the agonizingly cute waitress has convinced me to buy more beer than I need. They just do it so easily with their pretty smiles and pert tits. I'm now getting pissed. I ask for the bill, but of course the don't take debit, duh. They never had supposedly. Well i can tell you, I have some pretty clearish memories of using my plastic in the pub. So I leave my id and promise to return. By this stage my head is pounding, my bladders bursting and my mate wont stop calling me a goon.

Back home now, I get on the book and start speaking to mother. Whoop woop. Though today it seems like she is in a good mood. After a casual white lie or two about my plans, she seems quite pleased. Shocked I enter into what resembles normal conversation. I know its too true. I miss my bus. Shit. And now he wants to leave. So I pack in 5 minutes, packing all my money to the bottom of my bag. Genius child, that's me. After another 5 of excavating I'm ready and jump onto my bike and start pedalling towards the bus stop. Grabbing his snowboard bag, I half cycle, quarter stumble and quarter curse my way to the bus.

At the bus I manage to convince the driver to take me and my bike to the city. After dishing out some money, I remember about the bill in the pub. Grabbing a 20, I sprint over there and burst through the saloon doors. So I'm now standing there looking at pure honey, sweating my balls off asking for my id back. She hands it to me in exchange for the 20 and I run toward the bus.
On the bus I wonder where I have left the front of my head. More pain.

After some nice chat with the driver I get dropped of in a garage on 41st. Knowing I have to cycle 8 south and 3 west i embark. Now i get confused. Well after numerous mini blocks I arrive. So now I will share with you my dilemma. A 22 year old brunette. Stranded home alone. Who cooks, bakes, fries breakfast, and I'm trying to be a nice guy. How pathetic! Did I mention she is studying massage therapy? Dear Lord. However I feel I can cope..she is after all French.
Well after a veggie currie, fresh cookies, and a decent French flick, were still just friends. I feel confident it will stay that way.

Trying to get some sleep now, gassing myself out from chick pea madness.