Late in the season, a common pastime among snowboarders is the infamous gaper hunt. After witnessing this activity in various places, I've been struggling with a very important question: what is the proper pronunciation of the word “gaper”. Everyone seems to have their own take on it and I'd like to take a little time to investigate the etymology of the word.

Conventional wisdom would have you look to a word's spelling to get an idea of how to pronounce it. Using this logic, the most obvious answer for the proper pronunciation is gey-per. If we look to the definition of a gaper, however, we're led to believe that the pronunciation doesn't follow standard english syntatical expectations.

The Urban Dictionary defines a gaper as:

... a skier or snowboarder who is completely clueless. Usually distinguished by bright colored clothes and a gaper gap -- the gap between the goggles and a helmet/hat. Gaper's are known to do the "Gaper Tuck" which is an attempt at being a ski racer by tucking, however, it is done incorrectly with the poles sticking straight up like thunderbolts and lightning, very very frightening! Gapers also sit at the bottom of jumps and try and go big off table tops in the park.

From this definition, we're led to believe that the term gaper has its roots in the description of the gap for which they are known. From this, one would assume that the correct pronunciation of the word is in fact gap-per. So the confusion is understandable when trying to figure out how to properly pronounce the term.

The Urban Dictionary, however, also provides another definition for the word GAPER as “an acronym that stand[s] for Guaranteed Accident Prone on Every Run.” This definition has no reference to the distinctive gaper gap which seems to be one of the roots of the word. If we rely on this definition, there is no need to break the rules of syntax and the word can be pronounced gey-per.

Gaper in Other Contexts

The word gaper also has meanings in other contexts. Wikipedia describes gapers as stone heads, often depicting a black man, located on the fronts of buildings in the Netherlands to indicate that these building are pharmacies. The gaper represents the assistant of the travelling apothecary who was the forefather of the modern pharmacist. This assistant would pretend to be a sick man only to miraculously feel better (and perform a dance) after taking the pill given to him by the apothecary. So in the Netherlands, the word Gaper is somewhat representative of a charlatan. This relates to the modern definition of the word since gaper's in ski resorts will often profess to a higher degree of skill than they actually have. This doesn't help in the search for the correct pronunciation of the word, however, since I don't speak the Dutch language.

The simplest definition of a gaper that I have found so far, is “a person or thing that gapes”¹. This definition actually provides a phonetic spelling for the word, which is in fact gey-per, as one would expect. This description also agrees with the more colloquial definition of the word as gapers are often seen in the middle of Whistler Village, in their rear-entry boot and neon one-piece glory, gaping at the scenery through the lense of a camera (that is when they aren't seen as a streak of neon laying down wide carves on the cat track).

The Verdict

Following this long and arduous Google search, I think the question of the pronunciation of the word gaper can finally be laid to rest. I motion that the correct pronunciation heretofore be gey-per; don't let anyone tell you otherwise. If they insist on pronouncing it gap-per, refer them to this study which should convince them that they are wrong-headed. Although this study cannot be considered complete by any stretch of the imagination, I'm pretty confident that it is the most in-depth investigation into the etymology of the word gaper that you'll be able to find (I'm not sure if that makes me sad or proud).

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It was one of the most frequently asked questions this season….
"What is the name of the song behind Niklas Bystrom his videopart in Sample Me and who the f*ck sings it ! "



Those who were able to find out themselves kept it secret and those who did not…....

Well to avoid anymore physical damage or worse we hereby present you… SUPERSCI




What do you get when a big city phenomena like hip hop grows root in a landscape of vast northern forests?
The answer is Supersci – classical hip hop aesthetics mixed with Northern melancholy.

Supersci, also known as Superscientifiku, have made a name for themselves as the jazziest constellation in Swedish hip hop. Their soulful music has one foot in the american east coast hiphop of the 90's and the other one firmly planted in swedish jazz and folktone tradition. The texts are smart and cunning, and blend melancholy with humour in a laid back way.

Check out SUPERSCI


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I want to share some memories of her, because so many people never got to see her as I did. Alzheimers causes people’s entire personalities to change, and as the disease eats away more and more of their brains, the confusion and the forgetfulness make it difficult for them to remember how or what they were. In the early stages, the patient often experiences a complete 180, and is paranoid and angry where they were once happy and cheerful. As my Gramma moved down that path, she accused family friends left right and centre of trying to mug her, simply because they were trying to help her cross the street and she couldn’t remember who they were. In the nursing home, she would often complain of hating it there and wanting to go “home”, triggered by seeing a familiar family face and knowing it didn’t belong in her surroundings, therefore she must not belong either. A friend of mine who worked with my Gramma would tell her that “Kendra says you can have a sleepover here with me tonight!” whenever this came up, and surprisingly, it worked. My Gramma would return to her normal happy self and enjoy the rest of her day.

When I first learned how to use a telephone, my Gramma was the first person I called. She was always there for us, to lend a hand, give a few words of encouragement, remind us to share, or break up a fight. In kindergarten, she would come pick me up from school, and we would go out for fudgsickles at the local corner store. We’d take our treats back to her house and have fun until my dad came to pick me up. I remember one day coming out of class, I fell down and startled myself. Before I could start to cry, the principal picked me up and put me on his shoulders. I have a vivid recollection of looking down at my Gramma from my perch, and her laughing up at me asking how the weather was up there. She had a great sense of humour, always teasing and making light of things. I’m happy that sense of humour stuck with her throughout her life; even in her final days she was still teasing the nursing staff. For the last few years, she’d been teasing me about boys, telling me not to rush into anything and to take my men for a test run before I married any of them. In return, I asked her if any of the men on her floor had caught her eye, to which she replied with a laugh “What would they want with an old woman like me?! Besides, they’re all too old for me!”.

My Gramma was the one to introduce me to makeup. When she thought the time was right, she took me down to the local Shoppers Drug Mart, loaded up the basket of her walker with all manner of cosmetics, and sent them home with me and my sister. She was always very generous; if she knew there was something we liked, next time we went to visit her she’d have a whole stockpile of it. When her vision got too bad for her to continue driving, she gave her car to my cousin who had just got his license. During high school, my Gramma would let me spend the night with her if I wanted to go out with my friends, or even if I just plain didn’t want to go home. I would cook dinner and dessert for her and she’d let me pick what show I wanted to watch on TV. We’d talk about school and music, and I’d do my homework while she watched Jeopardy and crocheted.

I learned to crochet from my dad, who learned from Gramma. She was a master of the craft; she could make anything from basic potholders to intricate lace. My uncle swears he once saw her crocheting in her sleep, and I quite believe him. She was truly an artist. Her hands were always soft and smooth, and every time I went to visit her in the nursing home, she’d hold my hands in one or both of hers. I remember how her wedding ring looked way too big for her finger, but she never once took it off, even though her husband predeceased her by 44 years. For half her life, she remained true to his memory. There’s a lot to be said for loyalty like that. Family was everything to her.

After she gave away her car, my Gramma walked everywhere. She occasionally took the bus or a cab if the weather was terrible, but she thought nothing of walking two hours to the mall to go shopping, or an hour to the grocery store to stock up on our favourite goodies. One day after a trip to the mall, she invited me over for dinner. I showed up and she immediately got a conspiratorial look on her face. She showed me her new purchases, which included not only a new bra, but some realistic looking implants for said bra! She said she was tired of having two shapeless flaps of skin and wanted to feel like a woman again.

For those of you who stayed with my ramblings this long, thank you.

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For those of you who have been following my blog, you might remember that a while back myself and a buddy were mistaken, by some acquaintances, as being a gay couple (See “Why the Fonz Rides a Motorbike”). This prompted me to stop being lazy and set my mind to finding a girlfriend (paraphrasing Tolstoï to boot). Similarly, my buddy Gurbir (who was also wrapped up in this whole “are those dudes dating” fiasco), set out to find himself a lady friend. This was not directly a result of said fiasco however; he had a few nibbles at a singles mixer we had previously attended.

If you recall, this singles mixer was full of cougars (there were non-cougars there as well, but when they are bat-shi*t insane, the cougars are more entertaining -- see “Cougar Hunting for the Criminally Insane”). In order to deal with these predators, much beer was consumed by me. Which leads to my first meeting of Gurbir's current girlfriend. I don't remember actually meeting her that night (although she did look familiar the next time I did), but apparently in my drunken, stumbly stupor, brief introductions had been made.

A few weeks went by, things between Gurbir and his new dame were moving along quite well. He decided that he should invite her out to one of our weekly Tuesday appy night outings. He felt the need however, to warn her about what may potentially come out of my mouth and not to take anything I say too seriously. This is probably wise as many find my humour somewhat offensive. Well prepared for the worst, Gurbir's new lady friend seemed to be very cool and reasonably tolerant of my jokes. She even commented that my humour was in fact not overly offensive despite the fact that Gurbir had tagged me as the ISO standard for offensiveness.  Swell, I'm now a metric.

The ISO is an international standards body that overseas standard measurement units. To understand what it means to be the ISO standard of offensiveness, one needs to be introduced to the concept of applied commentary. An applied commentary is either an insult or a complement which has a degree of offensiveness measured in Juniors (J). The following is an overview of Junior's three laws of offensiveness and how they apply to the standard measure of one's vexation.

 

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.

This is analogous to Galileo's concept of inertia which is often termed simply “The Law of Inertia”.

Junior's Second Law of Offensiveness:

2. The relationship between an entity's indifference i, it's level of disgust o, and the applied commentary C is C = io. Applied commentary and disgust are vectors (as indicated by their symbols being displayed in slant bold font); in this law the direction of the commentary vector ranges from revolt to delight and is the same as the direction of the disgust vector.

This is the most powerful of Junior's three Laws, because it allows quantitative calculations of dynamics: how do revolt and delight change when commentary are applied. Notice the fundamental difference between Junior's 2^nd law and the dynamics of Aristotle: An applied commentary, or insult, causes only a change in level of offence (a degree of offensiveness); it does not maintain its vexatious properties as Aristotle held for velocity.

This is analogous to the difference between Newton's second law and Aristotle's law of inertia. Under Newton, F = ma, but under Aristotle F = mv, where v is the velocity. Thus according to Aristotle there is only a velocity if there is a force, but according to Newton, an object with a certain velocity maintains that velocity unless a force acts on it to cause an acceleration (that is, a change in velocity). Similarly, under Junior's Law, an entity with a certain level of vexation maintains that level of vexation unless an applied commentary acts on it to cause revolt or delight. Applied commentary can be either introspective or external. Introspective commentary is the reason why it can be observed that time heals all wounds; introspective delight is an applied commentary which affects changes in disgust. Introspective revolt is self destructive and stupid.

Junior's Third Law of Offensiveness:

3. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

This law is exemplified by what happens if we tell a guy his girlfriend is fat. Physical or verbal application of resulting commentary will be proportionate to the degree of offensiveness of the original insult. (Note: This type of behaviour is not condoned by the author of this blog unless the result is humorous or amusing).

That pretty much summarizes the concept of the J units for measuring offensiveness. Here are a few conclusions and observations about Junior's Laws themselves and the method that was followed to elucidate them:

• Sobriety directly affects one's indifference. The drunker the guy, the less fat his girlfriend should be, 'nuff said.

• In general, my friends have a very high level of indifference, otherwise they don't remain my friends for very long.

• Further research should be conducted on the implications of Junior's three laws of offensiveness on the phenomena known as “the awesomeness factor”.

• Becoming the ISO standard of offensiveness is both flattering and vexing and is a potential obstacle in actually finding a girlfriend.

If you found any of this at all enlightening, or useful, you may want to consider lowering your threshold for indifference. Since becoming the ISO standard for offensiveness, I've had to do just that and reconsider some of the vile things that come out of my mouth. The whole experience has been positive however; since this change in attitude, I've started dating a girl who hasn't run out on me after one or two dates. So until the next instalment of the Daily Barns, think positive thoughts that your favourite retard will rise above and strengthen his inter-personal relationships. Until then, pray for snow.

Keep Shreddin' the GNAR!

J.

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Well it hasn't been that long since my last instalment of the (not so daily) Daily Barns. Following a weekend with little to no nonsense, it hit me as quickly as my alarm clock shocked me out of my slumber on Tuesday morning (I hate waking up to go to work). I was chillin' with my good friend Gurbir (sounds like “grr! beer” yes that is in fact his real name) and he mentioned something that I found rather odd. Apparently some people, whom we had met at a party weeks before, had made the assumption that Gurbir and I were dating (huh?). Now I'm all in favour of people wanting to be gay, but I also don't bring my snowboard to the beach (if you know what I mean). Apparently when you car pool with another dude to get to a party, it's immediately assumed that your names are Neal Fitzpatrick and Patrick Fitzneal. Personally this says to me that people need to watch less Queer as Folk on TV.

In War and Peace, prince Vassili told Pierre not to get married until he had nothing left to accomplish. I think Tolstoï may have got it half right; you shouldn't get married until you've nothing left to accomplish, or until your friends or acquaintances start to think that you are gay (whichever comes first, like a power train warranty). As it turns out, I fit one of the criteria, so it's time for me to put aside my “lone wolf” hide and jump with two feet back into the dating field (as difficult and painful as that may be).

In that spirit, I've decided to hold open auditions for the part of “Junior's girlfriend”. It's really a career making part so get on it early before you miss the boat.

Junior – more than just a potential boyfriend – is a long-term partner in crime. Junior understands that his most valuable asset is his unique perspective on life that often acts as a lightning rod for hilarity – and his friends know this too.

Junior is currently seeking an adventurous and caring romance-engineer to join his team. Reporting to the director of lovin', your primary responsibilities include:

• Providing moral support to any and all nut-ball endeavours.

• Supporting pre-intimacy and post-intimacy.

• Understanding the intimate stage of each opportunity based on daily intimacy support activities.

• Discussing and ensuring full understanding of expectations to provide accurate and realistic relationship goals.

• Providing regular communication to Junior on project progress status.

As a successful candidate, you will recognize the humour in this blog post. You bring a proactive approach that treats problems as opportunities to learn and improve. You believe in treating Junior with respect and keeping the relationship fun.

If you see yourself in this exciting and dynamic opportunity and you share or appreciate Junior's sense of humour, sense of respect and commitment – please apply online or send your resume and cover letter in confidence to the following below. Online applications are preferred and are reviewed daily.

Jerks-R-Us C/O Arthur Fonzarelli

Happy Days, California, USA

123 (o'clock) 4 (o'clock rock)

Get those applications in the mail ladies (it's sad that I have to specify ladies but if you've read this far, you understand why); this is one snowboarder with a job that will surely be snatched up soon. Only promising candidates will be contacted. So until you hear from me...

Keep Shreddin' the GNAR!

J.

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We recently celebrated the Victoria day long weekend in Canada.  This holiday is affectionately known as the May 2-4 weekend because it always falls on the Monday on or before May 24th and usually involves much consumption of beer (us canucks refer to a case of beer as a 2-4).  The week before I figured it was going to be a low key kind of affair.  No plans had been set in motion so I figured I'd go to a pub and share a couple pints with some friends...but then the madness took over, here's how it all played out.

The weekend actually started during the week when my friend Tiffany suggested that Cold Stone ice cream was the best ice cream ever and that we should take a road trip to upstate New York on the weekend to try some; we didn't have any other plans so why not.  When I mentioned said plans to my cousin Renee who lives near Georgetown, she suggested that we drop by on Sunday night as they were having a party.  So now we had a plan: drive to Buffalo for ice cream with a quick stop in Georgetown to get drunk...BAM!

So on Sunday Pierre, Gurbir, Tiffany and myself jumped in my car with two and a half cases of beer and made our way to Georgetown.  Ten minutes into the trip, the conversation sounded something like this: "Are we there yet? no.  How about now? Still no.  Now? nada.  What about now? Nein."  This went on until we reached Grenville and were we started discussing stopping at Cobbledick road near Oshawa to take pictures of the sign.  This plan never fully materialised so we're putting it off until next time when we can modify the sign to say "Gobbledick Road"...heh!

We then stopped at Krispy Kreme in Mississauga.  Tiffany had never been there before so we had to initiate her to the 700 calories of goodness that is a Krispy Kreme donut.  Pierre and Gurbir each had 4 or 5 then proceeded to chug a beer in the parking lot (no beer for me, I was driving).  From there, it was 45 minutes to Renee's in Garafraxa county.

Once we arrived, the festivities got underway; we had 58 beer left to drink between the four of us so we had some work to do.  Between shots of sour puss, tough guy shots and a few stogies, we put a large dent in our stash of beer.  Then we decided to go drink in the hot tub which was probably a tactical mistake (something about being dehydrated and drinking beer is a bad combination).  By the end of the night, Pierre had achieved the deck tri-fecta (pee off the deck, fall off the deck and puke off the deck).  The dog also fell victim to some projectile vomiting.  By 4 AM the insanity stopped because everyone was passed out.



The next morning we managed to drag ourselves out of dreamland but not exactly on top of our game.  We piled our crap in the car and made our way to Buffalo for our original goal: ice cream.  We had to wait at the border for an hour or so which in and of itself sucks, but when someone in the car (I won't mention names) is dropping deviled egg farts and you have to pee so bad it hurts, that wait is far less pleasant.  It was fortunately made slightly more humourous by the look on the custom agent's face when he asked us why we were goin to the U.S. and we said "to buy ice cream".  In fact, the canadian customs agent's expression was even more priceless when she realised we did a day trip to Buffalo for ice cream.  Too bad they don't let you take pictures at border crossings.

There are a few lessons learned from this story though.  First of all, innocuous things like going out for ice cream can turn into sheer madness before you even know it.  Dogs like eating vomit which is why, to Renee's dog, Pierre will always look like the horn of plenty.  Don't over-achieve when it comes to drinking in hot tubs, leaving half a case of beer behind is bad form.  Finally, the quality of a road trip depends largely on the company...as they say, home is where your friends are.

Keep Shreddin' the GNAR!
J.



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On Tuesday I went out with Amanda. Picked her up from her after school Kids Klub and we went out to Goldstream Park. The original plan was to hike up to the mine and have a picnic. Unfortunately, the trail was super sketchy looking, and as I didn't want a broken bone on our first outing together I decided not to risk it. So we wandered around in the stream bed for a while. The falls were pretty low, and all the water disappears underground, the streambed exists because when the spring runoff season happens, the water kind of overflows the underground stream. Anyways, Amanda was having a grand old time finding "petrified wood" all over, and torturing slugs. Now, her version of "petrified wood" is really just interestingly shaped rocks, but who am I to tell her that?!

As for the slugs... well... let's just say I'm really glad I wasn't a slug in Goldstream Park that afternoon. As we were hiking around, every single slug we saw, Amanda would stop dead and growl. And then she'd run off to find a big stick, with which she would torture the poor slug poking it until it curled up into a ball. And finally, when it stopped moving around, she'd say "ok, that's enough!" and merrily go on her way. Now personally, I'm no fan of slugs, and frankly, her diabolical sense of humour appeals to me! However, I did have to tell her that the green slugs were indigenous, and the black slugs were evil introduced species that were killing off the green slugs. From then on, she only tortured the black slugs! My favourite slug incident was when we found a big one, and she found an even bigger stick. So big she could barely grab it. She jabbed at the slug, and it exploded. Literally. Slug guts everywhere!

After we'd wandered around the park for a couple hours, had a snack, rested a bit, and walked even more, Amanda decided she wanted to go to the beach and make a sand sculpture like the one she'd made in the long jump pit at school. She'd been telling me about this sand sculpture all afternoon, so I indulged her and we drove to a sandy beach. The teddy bear she made had great legs, and a great body, but when it came to the arms and head... Poor teddy. We didn't have enough time to finish it off properly, so the poor guy only had half an arm and half a face. We decided he'd been in the teddy bear war, and had lost his face and arms in battle.

The entire afternoon, Amanda was a complete chatterbox! I didn't have to say anything and she told me about pretty much everything. It was great, I love not having to talk! So all in all, I'd say it was a great first outing. She was excited the whole time, and it made me feel like I'm actually doing something useful here.

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So on Wednesday i finally got to meet my new little sister, Amanda. She lives with her father and grandfather on a small lake, fairly near my parent's place actually. I went out there for the meeting, and it's gorgeous. Helps that it was a nice sunny day too! Right on the water. Amanda's eight and was kind of shy at first, but she warmed up in a hurry. Great sense of humour, and so I think we'll get along just fine! She was so excited to meet me and when we got to know each other a bit she wanted to show me everything that was important to her. So I saw her Pokemon pillow, her gameboy, and her sandbox. While we were chatting a bird flew into the house, and zoomed straight out again. I've actually been worried about that for a while in my apartment, since the windows are big and i leave them all wide open!

We've set up our first "date", we're going to an old mine in a provincial park nearby, and taking a picnic snack/dinner. That's Tuesday, and I'm really looking forward to it. Hope I don't screw it up too bad!

I'm really excited to be a big sister. This is something I've wanted to do for years, so it's nice to finally be able to do it. I may not be the best big sister ever, but I'll try! I like to think I haven't screwed Eryn up too much...

In other news, my job still hasn't started, but I've finally got all my paperwork done, and my tb test completed (no tb for me!), signed my contract... Now I'm just waiting for them to schedule me in for training. Hopefully that will start next week, but I haven't heard anything yet, so who really knows? In a way it's kind of frustrating, but for the most part I'm just happy that I've got a job that gives me a foot in the door, so to speak.

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Alright, so this weekend was pretty awesome. Bethany came over Friday on the bus and stayed the whole weekend, going home on her bus after school on Monday.
We did a variety of things.. even went to the movies Saturday night and watched "Scary Movie 4." The movie was great, funny as hell. I definitely reccommend it to people with a sense of humour! Ba-ding! So after the movies we came home and just chilled at home, nothing overly special, but fun nontheless.
Sunday was a little depressing, considering the fact we had to get our asses up early in the morning for school on Monday, yet we definitely made the best of it. We decided to take a walk, so I showed Bethany the creek down past the end of my road, and at the end of a trail of leafless trees. The trail always looks creepy, and something ALWAYS happens when I go to the creek. Anyway, once we got there we just sat on a bank of straw-like fried grass, and relaxed after the long walk. I had my lighter in my jacket pocket, so I decided to light a blade of grass on fire. Big mistake! It all started with one piece of grass on fire, and then a fire you could nearly put your hands around. I quickly put it out, just incase the wind came along and decided to make it bigger. Our boredom grew once again, so I lit another piece of grass on fire. This time, as I was about to put it out, Bethany threw a bunch of dead grass atop of it and it started a fair sized fire. I turned around and laughed at her, calling her dumb.. keeping in mind that the forest fire level was extremely high at this time of year. I looked back after I had calmed down, and nearly fell over. This huge fire had grew out of the smaller one, and it just kept going uphill, growing larger by the second. Bethany and I started cursing and screaming, not knowing what the hell to do. I'd jump on part of the fire, put that part out, but it only shot over to another and set that part off again. I was really frustrated and time was of the essence. Bethany threw off her shoes, rolled up her jeans and leaped into the dirty, fast moving creek. She tried throwing water on the fire, but by the size of the fire, it was just no use. I must have cursed every word I knew of, one after the other. The fire was about 18-20 feet all around, and up to our waists in height. Luckily, the fire had not yet completely burnned in the middle. I then realized my fear: Being burned alive in a fire. I pushed my fear aside and somehow dove in the middle of the fire and began stomping all around it, as fast as I could, and made progress. The wind had died down a bit, so the fire just continued burning where it was, giving me time to focus on putting it out. Bethany didn't seem to realize that the water she happened to be throwing on the fire was doing nothing, but I was too busy to tell her to come and help me. I had no time to spare. I had a dumb idea of spitting on the fire. Wow, blonde moment? I horked and unfortunately my saliva landed on the tip of my hair. Just what I needed. It was quite miraculous, I managed to get the fire out. By that time my heart was racing, probably as fast as the speed of sound.. I couldn't breathe, and was occasionally falling over. Sometime between throwing water that did nothing to the fire, and me struggling to put it out, Bethany continuously yelled "Where the f*ck is a bucket!? WE NEED A BUCKET!" Yeah.. I'll just look behind this tree and pull out a bucket. I couldn't help but laugh at her attempts to put the fire out with water, and help me calm down that beast. Anyway, all that mattered was that the fire was finally out.
The following morning at school, I told a fellow "Trout Creeker" about the incident at the creek, down the end of my road. Her eyes nearly popped out from her skull as she began to speak. Mary Anne told Bethany and I that later on Sunday night, her dad had to go chase a huge forest fire that happened to be by a creek. No! This couldn't of happened. I made SURE the fire was out! But what if.. oh man. That day when I got home from school I ran all the way down my road, to the end of the trail of creepy trees and to where the fire had been. To my relief, the black patch of where our fire had been hadn't gotten any bigger, and there were still creepy trees hovering all around. Phew! It's nice to know I wasn't the cause of a forest fire! After all, Trout Creek is only so big.. one good fire could burn down the whole town!
So, I've decided I won't bring my lighters into the bush with me anymore... it's things like that, that make you NEVER want to start a fire again. Here it is, two days later, and I'm still kind of in shock. No more fires for Kayla!

Have you ever had a similar experience? Write me.

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ALRIGHT!

So I've talked to the roomate and I'm moving out at the end of my lease. I will however stay on until she finds another roomie. Which is fine, she loves that house, i'm just done with the drive and such
I want to bike to work
Have my own space
I've loved having her as a roomate and if I ever wante dto live ith anyone it would be her. But i'm getting to that point in my life where it's just time for me
I've lived with people my whole life and now I want my own place, space, environment.. .you get the drift.

I've decided my biggest pet peeve is people who don't say please and thankyou. People who are inconciderate to other people and their feelings. But mostly the please and thank you. I KNOW THAT YOUR PARENTS DIDN'T RAISE YOU LIKE THAT so why act like that. It seriously urkes me off.


I can't believe all the snow that were expecting. Wait I can believe it. I'm so sad winter is coming to an end. I remember the first day on the solar chair with Krista. Some good times happened this year. YAH SNOWBOARDING> I HEART THEE!
Friday (tomorrow) I'm going up the mountain. I think whistler... I don't know maybe I should go up Blackcomb before it closes

Saturday work for 10 hours. Its gonna be hella busy this weekend

Sunday I'm going to church. I've been really craving to go to church lately. I find it somewhat hypocritical of me to simply go on a major holiday, but at least I'm going. My parents will be happy. I always laugh when my dad writes me emails.. they always end with "Remember your prayers and don't forget to go to church!" HAHAHA! Ahh Dad you know I don't do church anymore, but I humour him and say I know.
I still pray, I just don't believe that I have to go to building to celebrate my faith. I believe and try to act in the best way possible.
After church I willl go snowboarding.
I love my lfie. 


DO I EVER LOVE MY LIFE!!!




::HEART::

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So last night I went out to a club. Rare occurrence for me, but it was eighties night, so how could I pass it up? Dressed to go, it was going to be a fun night. A night out with the girls (and yes, I include our gay friend and his boyfriend in that!), just to dance it up and rock out to some killer hits like "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" and "RESPECT".

So, my question of the day is, what happened to the good old days of pickups being "Excuse me, would you like to dance?" or "Hey, can I buy you a closed drink and watch you open it in front of me?" or "You must be wearing space pants, because I have a rocket just for you". Really, men, the trend of being gangsta thugs and slapping your women around has GOT to go.

On the way in, while I was freezing, having left my coat in the car, we were stopped by an already drunk man, who told us that drinks were on him, and that we should have a great night because it was eighties night and WOOOOOOO wasn't that just the best? All the while staring avidly at my cleavage. Damn breasts.

There was, of course, the usual round of "what's that in your teeth?" and "OH MY GOD DID THAT HURT?" which, to this day, remains my absolute FAVOURITE question ever (that was sarcasm, folks) and it works EVERY TIME to get me to come home with you (again, sarcasm). And obviously because it didn't work for your friend, that means I'm saving myself for you (sarcasm). GOD.

Once finally inside the club, things went from "interesting" to "more interesting". We were all dancing away, minding our own business, having fun. I was dancing with my sister in a way that would cause most people to question our sexuality, cause, well, that's just how it goes. And one nasty old man was just loving it. He kept trying to break in the middle of us, offering to bring us beers and smoke us up. Ah, true BC chivalry at it's best. "Here, let me bring you a beer, but don't watch me buy it, and you didn't see me slip anything in it did you?? Oh and did I mention I lace my joints with meth? No? Whoops, sorry, didn't mean to let you smoke the whole thing then."

Another favourite pickup attempt that I had the pleasure to witness multiple times (from multiple different men) throughout the night: Pushing the girl to the floor and then literally picking her up again. Here's how it works. First, find a likely looking (preferrably small) girl that you think is attractive. It's an added bonus if she has a similarly small friend that she's dancing closely with. Next, eye her (or them) up and down. Continue. When you judge the song to be full enough in swing, such that she (or they) is not paying attention to any more than the movement of her (or their) own body, take a running leap at her (or them). This should send you all crashing to the floor in a jumble of legs and arms and asses and tits. Now you have the perfect excuse to "pick her (or them) up" and dirty dance your way into her (or their) pants.

There's also a variation on this, termed the "ass tease" where you wiggle your ass enticingly at the girl of your choice, and if she does not notice fast enough (give her five seconds, that's usually enough time), shimmy backwards towards her until you can give her a good firm shove with your heiney, again sending her flying.

And, there's a lesbian variation on that one. First, pick a girl who's similarly trashed as you, and also on some undefinable substance that makes you the centre of the universe. Next, pick the smallest free space on the dance floor, preferrably in the middle of a large group of friends who are all dancing together. Finally, flail wildly about, smacking whoever you want, fingers in other people's noses is entirely fine, dancing backwards and forwards towards your partner, and kissing her passionately whenever you are close enough to touch. If the group you're dancing in the middle of gets annoyed, flip them off, and continue smacking at them.

It was also interesting to count the number of times I had my bum grabbed by a friend's boyfriend. If his girl was nowhere around, his hand wandered to the next available target, be it me, my sister, or any of our other friends. It was also great to watch our gay couple become a foursome with a girl and another guy.

And then there was this, my all time creepiest man experience at a club, ever.

Throughout the night, this one particular guy kept bothering me about my tattoo. Trying to use his interest in it to woo me and get his hand up my skirt. Now, I made it abundantly clear that I was a) not interested, and b) getting annoyed with his attentions. But does he get the hint? No. He comes up behind me when I least expect it, grabs me from behind, pinning my arms behind me forcefully. Starts grinding away, moves my arms so he's holding them above my head. Continues grinding. It happened so fast that I was completely confused and had no idea what the hell had just happened to me. Fortunately my sister and friend were there to pull him off me, and her guy friend took one look at the situation, and told him to piss off. The best part is, the bouncer was standing RIGHT next to me when he decided to pull this stunt. 

So that definitely ruined the mood of the night. My good humour was restored a bit once we left, and I was complimented on my outfit by a guy taking a smoke break. He was sorry that we were leaving, but the hell if I'm going to stay with all the creeps on the account of one potentially non-creep. Because, you know what, I'm really not all that desperate. Thank you and good bye.

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7 Things I plan to do before I die:
1) Travel A LOT
2) Sky dive
3) Be sucessful..or have morderate sucess is my career
4) Make a difference in someone's life every day for three month
5) Attend a protest for a cause I believe in
6) Run a marathon
7) Be a mentor

---
7 things I can do:
1) Help someone feel better when they are feeling down
2) Fall while snowboarding (I do that really well!)
3) Love my friends and family
4) Accept that I am not perfect and that is okay
5) Cook
6) Relate to people with different backgrounds
7) Touch my chest to the ground

---
7 things I cannot do:
1) Draw
2) Sing
3) Put up with ignorance
4) Put up with ridiculous right wing fundamentalists
5) Eat three burgers in one sitting
6) Be bitchy and nasty to someone for no apparenty reason
7) Make a half decent website with flash

---7 things that attract me to another person:
1) intelligence
2) sense of humour (sarcastic wit is a bonus)
3) Cute smile (dimples are a plus)
4) Gorgeous eyes (windows to the soul you know)
5) Loyalty and a sense or honor in general
6) Height (sorry boys but you have to be at least 6 foot to ride this ride ^_~)
7) Physical Fitness
---
7 things I say most often:
1) ...um...
2) ...like
3) I love you
4) I need to go to the gym
5) Mmm...sushi
6) I need more money/ a job
7) Its funny cuz

---7 people I want to do this:
In Siamak's words: *I never respond to this question in these things because they are designed only to make more people do them, and I don't want to be like that. I am all about the choice an autonomy. :)

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LIFE SUCKS RIGHT NOW

My best friend is dying. He has inoperable brain cancer in the form of an agressive, fast growing tumour, right between both hemispheres. It has tendrils growing into each hemisphere. Although he has had minor symptoms for about 6 months, he was only diagnosed just before Easter. He has partial paralysis on his left side, which impacts his balance and he has trouble remembering and processing information. Like directions. He get lost easily.

They doctors gave him up to a year to live, but yesterday he had a siezure and is now in hospital. Although there is an operation planned, it is just a stop gap measure, designed to relieve some symptoms, but not cure him. Even if the cancer was all gone tomorrow, due to some miracle, his physical condition would not improve.

Life sucks sometimes. He is only 50 years old and has four sons, the oldest is 19, the youngest is 10. I have known him for about 9 years and love him like a brother. His kids and mine have grown up together, almost like family, as we are so close. I go out with his wife to do everyday things, like grocery shopping, going to the garden center or the bookstore, when our respective spouses are busy or not interested.

We learned to snowboard together five seasons ago and he is the reason we call hooking your downhill, heelside edge a 'Rectum Fall' (because you can slam down so hard your intestines feel like the come out through your rectum). He has a unique way of looking at life and a wicked and warped sense of humour.

I am going to miss him everyday.



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NEW PHOTOS UP IN THE GALLERY

Go see them!! And a happy hump day to all.


I think one of the funniest things I have encountered as of late is little kid humour. Working for the Nancy Greene program at Mt. Seymour gave me the opportunity to bask in small child humour.

Upon learning that our "team name" was "The Monsoons", the little 4,5 and 6 year olds didnt like it because they didnt know what it was...so I said that they could rename themselves and this is what they came up with:

atomic snow butt
fart boy
comic cheetah
blast off butt
sumo boy
cheetah GRRRR
rocket fart butt

They must make their parents so proud. Sadly, because we had the youngest team, we came in 18th place...out of 18. But its ok, I told the kids, we made "Top 20".

Sadly, the one who called himself fart boy was not there for the award ceremonies because he wet his pants.

aren't little kids the darndest things...?

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