Gingerbread Love

Free To Decide – The Cranberries

Before I get into the good stuff, I just want to discuss a few trailers. Firstly, here’s a link to the Dead Or Alive trailer for anyone who hasn’t seen it. I found it via the glorious VG Cats website, which is as hilarious as ever. The Van Helsing potential on this film is off the charts. It’s unchartable.

And from the great Uwe Boll comes a couple of gems. Click on the name and check out the trailers for Bloodrayne and (God help us) In The Name Of The King: A Dungeon Siege Tale. I won’t ruin them for you except to say that the Bloodrayne one has moderate VH potential, while the Dungeon Siege one looks insanely bad on so many levels. Look for a trailer-stealing moment by Matthew Lillard (!). I AM YOUR KING!!!

*****

After some last minute planning and packing, I made it to the Greyhound station just as the bus to Guelph was boarding. Of course, that probably wouldn’t have been a problem if I hadn’t gotten off at Bay station, which was about six blocks away. As everyone knows though I’m the master of time like fucking Temple Fugate. Yeah, I looked that one up. The bus ride was as peaceful as could be. I thoroughly enjoyed it, much like I used to enjoy the long car rides that my dad used to force me to go on. I kind of miss them now.

When I met up with Annia, she was finishing one of her Landscape Architecture projects. You should see these things. The detail that goes into them is mind-numbing. It’s like in New Avengers #3, when Captain America tells Spider-Man that everytime he sees him fight he is amazed. Everytime I see Annia at work, I am amazed. I don’t think she understands how impressed I am.

We were concerned about how things were going to work out later that night as we were supposed to meet up with Shirley and go to this dinner and dance thing at around 7:30. As of 5:30, Shirley was a no-show. There was a shitload of other things that she had to do that day and I totally would have understood if she couldn’t make it. Annia probably would have strangulated her.

I decided to change in her living room since I’d have more space that way. It was a great idea until her roommate walked in. I was almost fully dressed at that point, but if she had come in ten minutes earlier she would have caught an eyeful of the Big Albowski if ya know what I mean. Too bad for her.

As I waited for Annia to get ready (and then Shirley when she showed up), I caught three episodes of Seinfeld and a Simpsons. I don’t have time to watch those shows these days and flipping through a hundred channels is a pain in the ass, so good times.

After approximately sixteen hours, the girls were ready to go. I don’t think it needs to be mentioned how lovely they were. Oh, whoops. Anyway, we hit the bus like the bums we were (we were the only ones dressed up, which delighted Shirley to no end) and faster than you can say “This is going to be awkward” we were at the Holiday Inn Oakwood Hall in time for dinner.

A torrent of thoughts ran over me as I entered the environment of the Guelph Landscape Architects. I was excited. I was intimidated. There were a lot of white people. I was one of only two Chinese guys there and the other dude was on the other side of the room. I thought I was going to break out into hives. Still, it was Annia’s night and I was happy to escort her and Shirley around as they mingled and schmoozed and all that. Shirley is obviously a lot better at this sort of thing that I am, but thankfully, she chose not to ditch me though she probably could have done it in a second. For that, I am grateful I assure you. I remarked to her, “The only thing I find more frightening than a room full of fun-loving white people is a room full of drunken, fun-loving white people.” She kept me company for most of the night and I was reminded that she is an amazing friend.

We ended up sitting at the reject table with a couple of fellow students that Annia knew and a girl one of them brought. They seemed like decent folk. It was cool though, because during the raffle everyone at our table won something. That’s six prizes out of about twenty. And there were over a hundred people there. The funniest part was when I asked Shirley to go and get my prize for me, because I was embarrassed to go up, and then her name was called immediately after so everyone saw her go up twice. She tried to explain what was happening by pointing back at the table, but I think I slumped down and covered my face enough for them not to notice me. At least one guy said, “That girl is so hot” so something good came out of it. Of course, he was hammered out of his mind and he probably would have said the same thing about me, but that’s besides the point.

The major lowlight of the night was the DJ who I shall henceforth refer to as DJ Dumbmotherfucker. DJ Dumbmotherfucker looked like Russell from the Wayne’s World movie. DJ Dumbmotherfucker played Cotton Eye Joe. DJ Dumbmotherfucker played a lot of great songs from the 80s that had no place at a dance in the new millenium. DJ Dumbmotherfucker teased playing Gold Digger all night and when he finally played it, he spliced it into the Grease Megamix after the second verse (“I’m just mixing things up a bit folks,” he said). DJ Dumbmotherfucker is going to be DJ Motherfuckindead if I ever see him on the street. Near the end, it just got retarded. He started playing songs that nobody heard of because the party started clearing out around 12:30 and he must have been booked until 1:00. Like, “Shit, I want to go home. Maybe if I play some Glass Tiger B-sides I can get these people out of here.”

Overall it was a decent event. Hell, I can’t complain. Between the grade eight vibe that the atmosphere was giving off and the not-so-subtle lesbo vibe that Annia and Shirley were giving off, I was entertained. Later I told her, “I’m not sure whether it was the constant adjusting of each other’s clothes or the two of you slow dancing to Lady In Red. Tough to pinpoint, really.”

We went home and chilled out until about four in the morning watching music videos. We critiqued and joked and laughed. This song by Young Jeezy and Akon came on and when I made fun of Jeezy’s name, Annia laughed because she thought his name was Young Jesus. She also marvelled at how dark Akon was and I explained to her that he was BLT (which my cousin Derek tought me). If you don’t know what that means, um…ask me later. There was a lot of other good stuff, I wish I could remember it all.

When I woke up, I had a slight crink in my neck from sleeping on the couch. Annia made me drink some wine first thing in the morning, which was as disgusting as it sounds. I felt so dirty. And French. Or is that a redundancy? She made up for it though when she revealed the surprise she’d prepared for us: A gingerbread house building kit! Obviously, her and Shirley were a bit more excited than I was since I have had many traumatic experiences with anything even remotely related to arts and crafts, but it was still fun. Once Annia got over her initial wine hangover (one fucking cup!), construction was underway. It was shaky at first, as we began by adding too much water during the frosting creation. The solution, apparently, was to just add more flour and meringue stuff, which seemed like a bad idea to me but what the hell do I know? In true ghetto fashion, we poured the frosting into a plastic bag to make a makeshift frosting bag (if there’s a technical term for that sort of thing, let me know please).

Here’s the short version: The house was covered in frosting, there was nary a spot that was not graced with some sort of chocolate or gummy treat, and Shirley made sure that all the requisite “caulk” jokes were made. Classy gal, that one. When it was all wrapped up, we were totally wasted from the sugar fumes. Suffice to say, the house was not consumed at project’s end. Through a series of juvenile comments (and a decoration that looked not unlike cleavage), the house eventually was christened the Stiff Peaks Brothel. I could probably ask Annia for the pictures, but suggest you just head over to her blog or Shirley’s sometime within the next week. They’ll have it covered. Uh, don’t read Shirley’s blog too much though, because I have been doing that recently and I’ve noticed some similiarities in our style.

Shirley and I left around 4:30, bidding a tearful (well, not so much) goodbye to our friend who is heading off to Thailand in ten days.

Just a couple more fortunate occurences. I made it to Finch Station at about 6:50, which is five minutes after the bus I usually catch arrives. When I emerged from the station, there was my bus waiting for me. For once I benefited from those bastards being late. Who did I run into on the bus? One Caroline Walker. We talked for a bit, though I feel bad because I almost made her miss her stop and because she was under the weather. Her nose was lit up like a christmas ornament. Or like my face after one cup of wine in the morning.

I got home in time to catch most of the Raptors game, which they won(!). There were also three other games on tonight. A couple of days away from work and school, dinner, dance and ginger bread house making with two cool chicks, and a smorgasbord of basketball games when I got home. I am a lucky man.

Farewell, Stiff Peaks!

*****

Kramer: Listen. Heads up, Elaine. I’m gonna have to stop by later and pick up a fax.
Elaine: At work?
Kramer: No. At your apartment.
Elaine: I don’t have a fax machine.
Jerry: Here we go.
Kramer: Well, now what are we gonna do? See? This is why you should get a fax and a Xerox.
Jerry: And a dead bolt.
Kramer: Are ya sure you don’t have one? Because there’s a lot of stuff in my apartment I’ve never seen.
Elaine: Then maybe you have a fax machine.
Kramer: You just blew my mind.