The three laws of Offensiveness

Junior's First Law of Offensiveness:

1. Every entity in a state of uniform vexation tends to remain in that state of vexation unless an external commentary is directed to it.

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This past weekend was the Toronto Ski, Snowboard and Travel show. Being a community of snowboarders, I'm sure most people here were at least tempted with the prospect of deals on new gear. The EC crew decided that this would also be a suitable pre-tense for a meet, and since Laura was set to arrive in Canada around the same time, the need to get together and get shi*ttered was compelling. The fact that the 11^th annual SBC party was being held on the same weekend was a happy co-incidence.

The road trip really began for me before I even left Ottawa. I was at my friend Emily's house drinking beers (oh wonderful Heineken) waiting for the red-eye departure time. I made it to the bus terminal happily intoxicated with a camel back full of Sour Puss in tow (give me a break, I needed some booze for the bus trip and it was the only thing I could find in the liquor cabinet that was strong and plentiful). So I met up with JC and we got on the bus en route to the legislative capital (from the national one).

The bus ride in itself was amusing, between sips of Sour Puss, I took the time to flirt with the girl sitting next to me. It must have worked because I remember her falling asleep on me; but you can't take my word for it... I was drunk. Upon our arrival to Toronto, I parted ways with my new friend; slightly embarrassed that I couldn't remember her name so I didn't press it (I wish I'd had an application form handy so I could give her one – see “Why the Fonz Rides a Motorbike”). We got the usual Toronto welcome: Hummers, dog shi*t (I assume dog), and profane transients. What I didn't count on was goth kids sporting gas masks in McDonald's. I'm not sure if those were for fashion or function and frankly I didn't care to stick around and find out.

The ski and snowboard show was relatively uneventful. I did score a steezy Ronin sweater for a deal at the show however; 60% off is none too shabby. We left before the Nitro team showed up but offered to give fifty points to anyone who punched Marc Frank Montoya (Snow PIG champion) in the face; there weren't any takers.

Later that night, I met up with the gang at the SBC party. It was a pain in the ass to get to since the turn from Lakeshore to Cherry was closed, but once there it was good times. We proceeded to drink, dance, watch snowboard videos and dance some more. It was a productive night for me since I figured out how to dance while holding three cans of beer (drinking from all of them) without spilling... much. I got wasted pretty quickly however; since every time I put a beer can down, someone would give me another. I also learned that it's cold behind the bar at the Docks; or so I would be led to believe by the waitress' nipples. I was too drunk to hide the fact that I was ogling but I think she was flattered (ha ha... I'm such a loser).

I had to leave the party a bit early because I was out of money for cab fare and my ride was leaving. Unfortunately I also broke the seal right around the same time so I asked my buddy to pull over in Don Mills so I could pee; I updated the rest of the EC crew via text message.

In the morning I had to fight my way back to the waking and find my way back to the bus depot to get home to Ottawa; I needed to either do some laundry or show up at work naked on Monday (the second option was becoming more and more appealing the more tired I felt). I met up with JC at the bus terminal and we boarded the 2:30 express back to Ottawa. The bus jumped on the Don Valley Parkway (or rather parking lot) so this promised to be a long express trip.

No sooner had we parked on the DVP then Carrie SMS'd me to find out how our bus trip was going. I said “We're stuck on the DVP, Toronto traffic sucks balls.” She told me that I should flirt with more girls on the bus and to fill her in on all the details afterwards. This sounded like a good idea with one notable exception, as I looked around I saw nothing but middle-aged women and I wasn't interested in cougar hunting. Fortunately, a closer examination of the “passenger manifest” showed me that there were a few cute girls on the bus. I told Carrie I'd keep her posted then promptly fell asleep.

A few hours later, we were arriving in Tweed. Having snoozed a good part of the bus ride thus far, I hadn't bothered trying to talk to the cute girls. At this point, the motivation was just not there, so I picked up my phone and wrote the following text message to Carrie: “FYI. I'm in the bathroom with Hillary and Maria. They say hello.” Here was her reply: “Haha! for real! i want details... Oh you're so joining the meter high club aren't you! and a threesome. You are my idol!” This caused tw distinct reactions in me: on the one hand I was flattered that Carrie thought enough of me to be able to pull something like that off; on the other hand, I was slightly disturbed by the fact that she thought I was dirty enough to try it... come on I'm a classy guy (ha!). In the end it became obvious that I was totally making it up since my updates were getting more and more ridiculous (I told her Hillary was going toset me up with her daughter).

Here's what I learned at the Toronto Ski, Snowboard and Travel Show:

• Hummers are lame (OK I knew this already but as a snowboarder, global warming is an important issue to me).

• If someone asks you for root in Australia, take inventory of who's asking and always wear a rain coat.

• Toronto traffic sucks balls.

• I seem to have developed a certain reputation as somewhat of a man whore. While it's flattering to know that people think I can score with any girl I want, it's disturbing that they also think I would have a threesome in a bus restroom with strangers.

The beauty of mayhem is that you'll generally learn something from it. I'm going to take the lessons I've learned from last weekend to heart; for the next little while, you'll find me scouring Roots store fronts for sexy Australian girls, flipping off Hummers and talking to my image consultants about this man-whore thing. So until next time...

Keep Shreddin' the GNAR

J.

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This instalment of the Daily Barns discusses the subject of cougar hunting and the pitfalls that may be involved in performing this activity.  This study is purely anecdotal but I'll try to generalize as much as possible to propose a set of guidelines to maintain some modicum of safety and sanity when hunting (well there's still a big question mark on the whole sanity thing on account of the even bigger question mark on MY sanity; but I digress).

The week before last I was invited to one of these singles mixer type events.  I wasn't particularly keen on going but I figured that a) I might meet someone interesting and b) at the very least, I might get a good story out of it.  The event took place on the Thursday so my buddy Gurbir and I made our way to the Aulde Dubliner (the pub hosting the event) with weapons of ass destruction in hand.

Having seen the guest list for this event, we quickly realized that we would likely be the youngest people there.  So we decided that the best strategy would be to use our youth as cougar bait; I think the plan worked.
It only took about 15 minutes for the first "interesting" encounter to take place.  I was already on my second pint of beer (I was worried about being bored).  This woman, claiming to be 35, but I'm sure is at least a few years old than that (or has done some pretty serious drugs in her life), came up to us and started chatting.  That's when we found out that she used the guest list to build files on all the men in the joint (she even knew that I'm a snowboarding instructor, and even though it's not exactly a national secret, it's still creepy).  She used these files extensively instead of asking us questions which was weird.  The longer this conversation went on, the more we realized that this woman was bat shi*t insane ... AWESOME!  We eventually sent her away by convincing her to go sign up for the raffle for free beer.  Speaking of beer, my glass was empty so it was time to go order another pint.

Once at the bar, I started talking to another girl.  Unlike the previous one, she didn't seem insane and was genuinely quite interesting.  A few minutes into the conversation however, I get a tap on my shoulder.  The president of the company I work for was at this event and decided to come over and chat.  "Did you know I'm single?" she asked.  "It's not really the kind of question you think of asking the president", I said.  Having now established her relationship status, we came to the conclusion that I might run into her at some of these things.  Now I'm sure that some of you might see how this could be awkward, which is exactly how I felt at first.  This turned out to be a blessing though because now I have the President helping me pick up girls.  This is fantastic, the president is my wingman, I must have done a backside 5 under a lucky star or something. I think I'm gonna go to a few more of these between now and the start of the snowboarding season.

Singles mixers are highly entertaining and often cheaper than a movie.  I recommend attending these events for the sheer awesomeness factor of it all.  Here are a few things to keep in mind if you do:

- Beware of bat shi*t insane cougars.  They are dangerous, especially if well organized.  On the other hand, they can be really fun to mess with.
- If at all possible, get the president to be your wingman.  It will greatly elevate your status and serves as a great deterrent for the afore mentioned "bat shi*t insane" cougars.

Keeping these things in mind when going on your own cougar hunting excursion will greatly increase the probability of fun and zaniness.  Besides, I wouldn't want any misfortune to befall you before the first snow fall preventing you from doing those oh so precious first rides.  So until next time,

Keep shreddin' the GNAR!
J.

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