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Meet my new lover ... the Hawtub

Wow. First post in nearly two months. As Jeremy would say, "Qu'est-ce que c'est". (Okay...as I warned in the email, and for you Frenchies out there, this likely makes NO fucking sense whatsoever. What is it...??? Is that guy on crack? Sadly not...it is a phrase that we use to describe everything from "what is going on" to the more concrete "I have never seen something so amazing in my life".

Getting back to the story, the reason why I have not posted in so long because I have had no life with school. The spring term Sophie and I took was brutal with homework and between that and being her manager (you know, since she's a stripper). Not to digress...but, uh, Kaitlyn...if you want, I could show you a few pointers. You know...as in how to get in the business and what not? Most of the girls I manage started out slow...basically just stripping in my living room in front of my guy friends, who are also ... uh ... "talent scouts". Yeah...that's it...talent scouts. And if you believe all of this horse shit, I've got some swamp land I'd love to sell you too.


Friday

I am up at the crack of dawn. I am so frickin' excited to go on this trip that I wanted to start right away on the list of tasks that I had to do that morning such as shopping for the food, packing the cooler, and watching porn. Twice. Well, really...I only wanted to watch porn but apparently Val thought we might need to eat something on this trip. She's kinda smart like that...

So I saunter on over to the ol' Super Store. It's barely before 9:00 (I think that was when the store opened) and there is a line up of blue hairs and Minivan Moms waiting to get through the doors. I have come to the conclusion that old people only do two things in their life. 1) Practicing to walk really slow and 2) sharpening their elbows. Jebus...it was ridiculous trying to get around that store and it's worse when some Grandma blocks the cookie aisle with her walker and reaches for the last box of triscuits with her cane.

One item on my list was "supper food". Now...I am a domesticated man. I do a lot of the cooking and grocery buying in our household. But imagine me scratching my head to figure out what the hell was the difference between (a) meatless burgers and (b) veggie burgers. I know that they SHOULD be the same thing...but, part of me couldn't help but wonder why the meatless burgers wanted to high light the fact that they had no meat instead of pointing to the potential veggie goodness. The other part of me wondered if "meatless" equated to "sawdust", which is how I've come to associate any product that is cleverly trying to be something that should only be reserved for red meat.

I honestly spent at least 10 minutes in the meat...er, meatless...er, veggie burger section of Superstore and finally settled on "meatless burgers" and made my way to the check out whistling Deadeye Dicks "New Age Girl". Or, for those of you that don't know...think the "Mary Moon" song...

I got back and packed my cooler til it was bursting at the seams. And that's when I got the call from Val to announce that she got into work late and hadn't packed. We revised our go-time schedule from noon to 2:00pm. No biggie. I was running my schedule...and my schedule wasn't about to run me. LOL, finally she arrives at around 4:00 all flustered, explaining that there was some sort of cluster fuck getting the keys to her ex's place to pick up the dog. It is a long story that includes multiple broken pay phones, lost car keys, and nosy neighbors. Under the auspices of consolling a very stressed out friend, I give her a hug. But in actuality, I was checking to see whether the roots of her hair were blonde or not. Zing...but with all apologies to blonde chicks everywhere -- including my hottie wife!!!

We stop for gas at one of the last gas stations on the way out of the City. It's a self-serve station and I have to show Val how to gas up...

The drive out there is non-eventful...but I"m driving. WTF? We roll into Wainwright and notice that the big rodeo is in town. Stetsons and pick up trucks everywhere. We head into the liquor store to fuel up on "go-juice". I get a flat of kokanee, a 26 ouncer of Orange flavored vodka, and 6 pre-made shooters. Val gets a bottle of wine, 8 strong bow ciders, and Coors Lite (just for you, Paula...a drink in your honor).

All told we spent more on booze than we did on food. By a lot. Which is how it should be.

Finally we get to the cabin. Since I'm driving Val's car rather than my own, I can see everyone craning their necks trying to find out who the fuck just pulled up. That all changes as I jump out of the car to a thunderous roar of approval. (Okay...maybe not, but it's my fucking blog and I can write what I want). Craig hands me a beer and I crack it and take a deep swig. Ahhhh....that hit the spot. You know what? There are times when I'm convinced that alcoholics are the smartest people in the world.

Realizing that we are hungry but that we should set up the tents first, I jump into the car (beer in hand) and park in a more suitable location (i.e. meaning more than 2 feet away from the main fire). Hmmm...beer in one hand and steering wheel in the other. This is what it must be like to grow up in rural Saskatchewan!

All kidding aside, I was all over the unpacking like Michael Jackson on a 6 year old's ass. (Remember...the jury only found him not guilty; not that he was innocent) Within no time I have my tent up and my air mattress is inflated. Let me tell you that an air matress and the ability to sleep on a cloud of air is pure luxury when you drink and feel like shit the next morning. Lord knows that I would need it. Val is also setting up as well, and asks if I would mind if she set up her tent next to mine. I think to myself how odd that is. You see, normally it's ME that's pitching a tent in the general direction of the ladies and not the other way around.

As we are unloading and drinking -- or, as I call it, multi-tasking -- more people start to show up. First Jeremy and Adam, then Ryan / Grant / Tyler, and then Turkey in his new truck. At some point in the weekend I ask Greg when he got that bad boy. His reply was, "Six months ago...it's just that usually we're too fucking hammered that we never need to use it". The man has a point.

Actually, speaking of Turkey, this year Greg was pretty stoked 'cause he had purchased an inflatable air matress. Sadly, he blows that bitch up only to find that the fucking thing is larger than his tent. But, as an ex girlfriend of mine once told me, just push til it fits! I honestly do not know how we did it...but eventually Turkey's mattress is within the four walls of his tent. It took four guys, he'd have to hold his breath a certain way, and definately couldn't move on it...but damn it, that thing was in there.

** edit: please realize that I have no concept of TIME when I'm fucking hammered. So, while everything I type did actually happen...and I'm fairly certain I got my days right, the actual order of SOME of these events may be outta whack **

After pitching our tents (heh, heh, that still kills me) we go and make some supper. We get introduced to a few people who are also cooking. Uh...Brian, Lindsey, Trevor, uh...girl, and other person, and that guy. (As you can guess, I'm a master at remembering names). Lindsey is cooking supper for her husband and throws on one of those garlic toast bread things. It's wrapped in tin foil.

Hey...Sophie...pay attention to this next part. I'm talking about "cooking" and figure you may want some advice. Oh...did I just type that? Meh...you're in Calgary all week and besides, you're not Lise and won't punch me next time we get drunk together unlike she does. (Wow...keep it up, Mulyk, you are on a fucking ROLL).

Now, tin foil and a BBQ go together like white on rice or shit to toilet paper. They are meant for each other. NORMALLY, the tin foil heats everything up without burning anything...hence why it works well with a BBQ. Except not today. Whether it was just 'cause the conditions were right or because Lindsey was a bad cook...but she MELT THE TIN FOIL into the garlic bread. Is that honestly even possible? Oh well...I ate it anyways. You just had to try to avoid the silver parts is all.

Nothing goes quite as well with burgers like beer and I was pretty much two-fisting it from that point on. Uh, and not surprisingly, the remainder of the events from Friday night are starting to become less and less recognizable to me.

But that's not to say that there weren't some amazing times. Craig rolls up to me, drunk as hell, and breaks out his money routine. "Muley...they want to make me a boss. It would be a 27% raise...go from siddy plus (60+) thousand to making 87 thousand. They just hand me bags of money up there". Thanks Craig...I LOVE it when you talk about the billion dollars a second you make in Fort Mac. As Moose would say, why don't you go turn a fucking valve? But...the best part is how Craig kept forgetting that he was telling me this story over and over. Finally, by the 5th rendition, I told HIM the story before he could tell me. He looked at me with amazement, convinced that I was greater than that most amazing T.V. psychic of them all, Miss Cleo.

Just teasin' ya, Craigo. Afterall, you were on your second bottle of vodka and red bull of the evening by that point and, quite frankly, I don't even know how you were standing upright at that moment, let alone talking in a lucid fashion. But things for Craig would get even better when we started the fire. In keeping with Blair tradition, Craig emulated the example of his brother from last year and then "made it his own" (Sigh, that Sass Jordan on Canadian Idol is dreamy...but I digress) by throwing his OWN coat on the fire. That son of a bitch lit up quicker than the Hindenburg...

Eventually someone had the great idea of going in the hot tub. I run to the tent and put on my trunks and climb in with, oh I don't know, 10 other dudes and three chicks. Yeah...the sausage to clam ratio was not so good, 'specially on Friday night. Paula...what did I tell you? My friend you REALLY missed out...

Not that I care for myself, of course, but only because I was worried about the peace and tranquility of the evening being shattered by the sounds of "wanna be Alpha Males" competing for the affection of so few females.

Meh...any other day I'd get in there and show 'em how to swing.

(** At this point, maybe I should clarify for the newbies to the blog. That was a line from Super Troopers (a.k.a. the greatest show ever made). Thus, please don't take it at face value and think that I'm a disgusting pig and that Cori is too good for me. Well, even though THAT statement would also be true, I assure you that I was on really good behaviour the whole weekend. And you don't have to believe me...ask Val, she was my conscience for the evening **).

But, instead I was content to simply stand there, knee deep in the hot tub, drinking my beer. Two fisting, again.

At some point (uh, all I know is that it was dark now), a game of beersbie started up. I joined in the ruckus. Brian, being the helpful dude that he is, decided to grab Mitch's "Redneck deer hunt poaching spot light" and shine it right in my eyes. At that moment, Turkey placed a well aimed throw of the frisbee -- Greg, how can you throw so hard and accurate and yet be so drunk -- and cold cocked me something fierce. I go down and spill my beer...asshole. THAT will leave a bruise in the morning.

At some part I make my way back to the hot tub. And, this time, I have the thing pretty much to myself. A couple of other people join me and I kid you not that I don't move for hours. Well, save for the beer that I'm chugging and running out to the cooler to get more of that glacier fresh tasting Kokanee.

At some point in the evening, I run out to the fire. Now...it is worthy to point out that once the sun went down, I wore NOTHING but my swimming suit. As in, not even sandals...barefeet over the open ground, baby. Val is there with her camera taking a few pictures (I don't really know how she had gotten it back...you see, she had entrusted me with it to take pictures and I, as per usual, had instead abandoned it in the arm of my camping chair. So perhaps in the end it's not surprising to ANYONE to find out I had lost it. I...have a habit of doing that. For example, I lost my virginity years ago and I STILL haven't found that son of a bitch again.

For some reason, I feel faint (could it be that the heat of the hot tub and copious amounts of beer had something to do with it?) I see a bench and I see a lawn chair and for some reason I opt to sit in neither. WHAM...flat on my ass. Scraped my back all to shit but I didn't feel a thing. Too drunk.

Realizing that getting back into the hot tub would be a great idea, I jump back in. Another few hours melted away into the recesses of my mind. The water was actually really cool 'cause it was all cloudy. In the dark, with the lights in the hot tub, the water had an eerie illuminscent glow to it. All the same because not unlike Will Ferrel in old school, I scream at the top of my lungs "We're going streaking" (and I repeat this, oh, a BILLION times). From there I proceed to remove my swim trunks and it was only the cloudy water that saved a few people from seeing the kibbles and bits. Sigh...I am so shamed. Thank the frickin' Lord that Val wasn't there with her camera at that point...I am afraid there are more than enough mostly naked pictures of me as it is... In fact, Val...quite frankly, I want you to burn most of the pictures of me along with all the negatives.

Val announces that she is going to bed. Even though it is 4:30 am, I think she is a complete wimp. But I'm still in the haw-tub with the hanger ons...Lindsey and Brian, and Lindsey was about to crown us with her shining moment of the weekend. You see, Turks had made this CD of all female artists which he had called "Wood". Lindsey announces that she wants to hear the CD...that is, she wants someone to put in the wood. I'll let you figure that one out on your own.
After we contol our laughter, out of no where, my buddy COMPLETELY redeems herself by agreeing to come back in to soak with us. And, because I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't tease her, it was no coincidence that she made that decision after finding out Brian would be there...HI OH!!!

: )

I'm only teasin'...but I warned you I'd do this!

Someone quite brilliant suggests swimming in the lake. Afterall, it's only 5:00 am...if there was a better plan then, quite frankly, I hadn't heard it. Brian and I book it for the lake and jump in and swim around. Oh Lordy it was cold and it was only by the grace of god that our nuts didn't shrivel up permanently into our bodies. Finally, at 6:00am and nearly 20 beer later (as the sun was coming up) I collapse into my tent.


Saturday

9:00 am. Nature calls and I agonizingly make my way out of my tent. "Hi buddy", cheers a too jubilant Val. How in blue blazes did you get only three hours of sleep and have that much energy? I crawl back to bed and sleep for another hour -- or, as I call it, 25%.

At 10:00 our troop makes its way to the wrap around deck by the cabin. I have a mission this early...and it was to find my glasses! I had taken them off sometime in the evening and could not find them. I had thought that it was near the hot tub but I couldn't find them. I was fearing the worst -- that I had lost my glasses in the lake when Brian and I had jumped in. Turk suggests that maybe I should check the bottom of the tub. Since I failed to remove my trunks from the previous night, I announce that "I'm going spelunking" and dive head first into the water. I'll be damned, but those glasses are there!

Deciding that we need to wake up Craigo from his drunken pass-outedness, Turkey takes a can of Axe deodorizing spray and squirts him square in the mouth...this way we can say that he's "had his daily shower". He hauls his ass out of the cabin carrying a bottle of Sour Puss. We crack it there. I can barely stomach the shit -- it's not the good Green Apple flavor...or even the Raspberry. No. That ass hat purchased "Blue", the worst of all flavors of Sour Puss. Uh...maybe it's just me, but what the fuck flavor is blue, anyways? Last time I checked, blue was a color normally associated with the birthing of little boys and not the flavor of, well, anything.

The day wears on and Turks and I sing shitty 80's power ballads at the top of our lungs. (Oh Jody, we needed you my friend). As more people emerge to the pounding headaches and massive hangovers that await them, preparations are made to go golfing. Val arrives back from town in the nick of time for me to go. (The Americans had never had poutine and she needed more toys for her dog since he had destroyed every one of them that we had brought with us).

When she gets back, it is discovered that her camera is lost. On the outside I was really sympathetic and sorry for her loss. On the inside I was giving thanks to Jebus for losing the camera and the incriminating evidence that (I was convinced) was located therein.

The guys get back from golfing and I have the unfortunate experience of seeing a zoomed in digital camera picture of Craig streaking on the golf course. Not to be outdone, the other guys are sans pants and only the thin veil of boxers are separating cock-and-balls from daylight.

Jeremy and Adam break into the Pilsner and I start my remaining Kokanee. The other American dude -- Eric -- saunters over and both me and Jeremy offer him a beer. He accepts the Pilsner. That's okay...he's not from here. He doesn't know better! As Scabs opens the lid to their cooler, I can't help but notice that Jeremy had stashed a bottle of Jagermeister into his cooler. That liquid brown honey is not unlike the Ring of Power was to Gollum. We wants the precious... but, in reality, we're simply too hung over at that point to stomach it.

Starting to feel really good with ourselves, we head over to toss the football around. Needless to say, after a few beers, we weren't that good. Finally, after the third time of hitting Shannon's truck with the football, we decide to stop. Although she MAYBE weighed 110 pounds when soaking wet, she looked pissed enough to take us on all at once!

The three of us then decide that we need a fire and we work on it for a good 30 minutes. It was raining off and on during the day and the wood was wetter than a porn star...so you can imagine that our efforts were considerably hampered. Finally we had a tiny fire that was pumping out more smoke than heat. Disheartened by our efforts at fire building but deciding that we would rather die than admit defeat, we sit around the fire -- nearly choking to death of smoke inhilation. I tell the boys not to worry -- that I have a theory of campfire smoke. Specifically, that women are drawn to the smell of a musky smoky men. We make plans to head back into town to the bar -- Wuzzies -- and allow the women to flock to us like moths to a flame. If only we weren't too cut so that one of us could actually have driven.

(Don't worry, Cori...I was only going to be wing man)!

While we were building our fire, another game of beersbie had broken out amongst the golfing boys. You know, the same ones that had no pants. In a moment that I never thought I'd ever witness...and something that I STILL can't believe...there was Grant...whipping down his boxers, bending over, and rubbing his ass cheeks back and forth to mercilessly taunt and tease the other team. Hey Grant. I don't know what sort of funky shit you picked up in of Peru...but what happens in the jungle STAYS in the jungle, capiche?

We head back to the cabin to cook some supper. The last of the 4 Americans -- Calina and Nicola -- decide to come with us. I totally impress them with my ability to light the BBQ...you know, turn the propane on and light a match. Okay...I'm being slightly facetious...but I did find it pretty funny that they couldn't turn it on. That's okay...Nicola was able to turn other things on, like Mitch. Uh...on the assumption that he won't read this entry...and even if he does, that he won't be mad....but you might be surprised to know that she had...uh, how to put this delicately, "rug burns" on her back...from the night before. (Or at least that's what it looked like...but that's all I'm going to say about that...HI OH!!!)

As supper is cooking, Jeremy asks the two ladies if they want some Yag. So the six of us (Scabs, Timbo, me, Calina, Nicola, and Eric) pretty much finish the bottle in one setting. Funny stuff, that Jagermeister. Spelt with a J but pronounced with a Y. Blessed with a brief moment of enlightenment that can only come from being drunk, I announce that later that evening I would go "Yump in the Yacuzzi" to a gaggle of laughter.

Now the drinking begins in earnest. I have a 26 of vodka and some tequila shooters. Jeremy brought a bottle of Gibsons and the Yag... Oh what a shit storm tonight was going to be. Saturday night was THE night at this place. I have never seen so much funny shit happen all at once.

For starters, we head back to the fire pit area where the masses had begun to congregate. There is some dance music playing and Nicola and Calina are suggestively dancing with each other. Not to be outdone, Brandy jumps on the picnic table, grabs the supporting beams of the roof overhead, and dances in such a way as to have me CONVINCED that she had some experience as a stripper in a former (or current) life?? That was pretty much the only thing I can remember about her...but what an absolute delight she was. And her boyfriend wasn't even mad...which suggests to me that it was "par for the course" with her! I start singing "Bump and Grind" by R. Kelly. You know..."My mind is telling me no...but my body. My body...is telling me yeah". Calina and Nicola can tell that I want to dance and I accept heartily.

The dancing is interupted by Garth loading a wheelbarrow full of wood (I had been chopping wood all day) over to this old outhouse. He must have stacked in at least two full loads. At some point in the evening...don't really know when (prolly about the time that Jeremy threw his lawn chair onto the fire), they lit that structure fire. The heat was enormous. Even though it was raining like a mo-fo that night, you could see that outhouse burning from across the lake and I think I heard that airplanes were using it as a homing beacon!

Uh...again, pouring rain and I somehow have no shoes, no shirt, and only my swimming trunks. I think I need professional help!

After staring at the fire, I head all around the campsite trying to convince people to come in the haw-tub with me. But before we jump in, Jeremy, Adam, and I make a quick pit stop at the cabin to try to call Patty collect (to no avail). Eventually, even the OPERATOR HERSELF hangs up on us.

Sadly, I was unable to convince many people to go hot tubbing with me. Looking back, I have two general theories why.

1. No one wanted to be associated with the loud obnoxious drunk

2. I have a body that is molded as though it was made from the finest Italian marble; so chiseled that even the world's greatest sculptors weep at it's perfection. Guys feel inadequate and the women were afraid at what they may try to do.

Since I would rather choose death than admit to theory number one, I consolled myself into believing number two.

Indeed, in the end, I was only able to convince Jeremy, Adam, and Lindsey to come back into the hot tub. Again...another few hours and most of the alcohol is consumed...including all of my shooters and (nearly) the rest of the vodka. By now, we have even finished off Garth's Jagermeister in the freezer! Jeremy and Adam go for a swim in the lake -- in the pouring rain -- and I would have gone but was scared 'cause I was too drunk to trust my swimming abilities at that point.

I crawl back into the hot tub but it's clear that my body is giving out. At 4:00 I call 'er quits and head to bed. I wonder briefly why my tent has lost the tarp that had been covering it (whereas Val's now had a tarp awning!), but frankly I pass out before I ever get to the point to decide to try to fix it as the rain pours down...


Sunday

Okay...I'm not going to lie. I'm tired of typing... Get up by 9:00 and I feel like death and want to die. We pack up, say our goodbyes, and head back to E-town. Oh...and Val nearly hits an old lady crossing the highway...but she would have only been worth 500 points and, frankly, it wasn't worth it.

Later schmangs! It was a gooder and I hope that you'll come out with us next year.

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 8:01 a.m.