January 14, 2005

• ---

  
  DAY 6/7:::WHISTLER/VANCOUVER NYE

  THE LAST DAYS

  ---

  
  The drive to Whistler licks baboon shit. You have to get back on good ol’ route 99, the slowest freeway in the world. There are backroads in Taiwan faster than this.

  Mountain driving can get annoying when you’re rolling with the wrong pack of cars. There was a Yukon from Washington State who drove nervous. The driver thought every curve deserved a tap on the brakes. I thought one of the first things you learn about freeway driving is not to use your brakes excessively?

  What’s worse is homeboy speeds up when a passing lane opens up. My little Lexus can barely compete with the gobs of torque the Yukon has. I drive a Yukon in Texas because it makes sense there. This guy in front of me doesn’t make any sense, but I pass him up anyway and moon him for good measure.

  ---

  
  

  

  

  

  I’m not much of a snowboarder, meaning I don’t do it much. Skiing is my forte. I am very proud to say that I haven’t fallen for over six years. That probably makes me a dork. But I guess if I bleach my hair and grow it past my neck, I can be a ski instructor.

  Actually, I’m very suprised that I haven’t fallen in so long because I ski like an asshole. I like to cut people off, especially snowboarders. If they have something smart to say, I stab them in the crotch with my pole. If they’ve got something clever, they get a pole in the butt hole. Dare show me up with a move? You get the shocker.

  ---

  
  I swear the runs here are a lot harder than in Tahoe. Like a black diamond in Whistler is a fucking double black in Tahoe. This is crazy. I wasn’t prepared at all. My ‘didn’t fall streak’ is still alive, but I almost bit the snowflake. Get it? Snowflake like dust. Oh god. Shoot me.

  Anyway, Whistler has me confused. First I have to slow down for stupid route 99 even though the speed limit reads 100. Now I have to ski for my life on a run I thought would be brisk and peppy. Fucking metric system. Sure it scared the shit out of me, but I started to feel like John Cusack getting chased by a paperboy. If you know what movie I’m talking about, you get a gold star. You’re also probably much older than I am and I have to ask why you read absolute crap like this.

  Then again, you watched John Cusack get chased by a paperboy.

  ---

  
  New Year’s Eve rolls around and I set up Kinky real good. I keep trying to talk her into having dinner at Denny’s. It was pretty good, too, my performance. I’d look deep into her eyes and ask to share a Moons Over My Hammy with me. We can sip on a bubbly Sprite and share a special sundae.

  C’mon, who wouldn’t want to spend a special night at a fine establishment that has a $3.99 Sampler Platter and things on the menu that is tough to pronounce? I’ll have you know that French Canada calls it the Gran Slam.

  ---

  
  

  

  

  To get her mind off of my bad taste and lack of romance, I take her to Stanley Park and the Aquarium. I was really psyched because they had sea otters. If you’re looking for some crude commentary about sea otters, you have the wrong blog. I fucking love sea otters and believe I will be re-incarnated as one if I’m lucky.

  I’m not kidding. At all.

  ---

  
  We get back to the hotel and I let her know that I took the initiative weeks ago to make reservations for us and a few of her friends at a restaurant called Coast. She kissed me and stuff. By stuff, I mean she started yelling, “I knew you wouldn’t make me eat at Denny’s!”

  I could tell you about how the hotel discouraged us from walking there and how we could have walked there and that Canadians are lazy asses. Except this time, the hotel was right. We had fifteen minutes to walk about twelve blocks, and all the girls were wearing heels. They were walking faster than me, though. Fucking clown shoes. The buses had free admission, but they were crazy packed and running way behind schedule.

  So I hail a cab easily and we end up at Coast five minutes too early. It’s in the middle of Yaletown, a trendy area that seems to have a bunch of lofts. Kinda reminds me of those small alleys in Earl’s Court in London. For a few minutes, Kinky and I think about moving and being canucks.

  And then I realize I’m straight and have a giant penis, prompting me to sing “American Soldier”.

  ---

  
  Okay, I didn’t do that because, well, I don’t have a giant penis. But I really did think about what life must be like in Vancouver. Seems so laid back and that’s terribly appealing.

  ---

  
  

  

  

  The food was good.

  ---

  
  This was our last night in Canada and we started to get those last night blues. Man, none of us had felt this relaxed and spoiled in so long. Kinky goes back to work after this and so do I. Except I have to go back to fat ass Houston.

  There’s a lot of good stuff that happened that I didn’t cover. Words wouldn’t do it justice, especially cheap words like mine. All I know is, I still feel a good vibe reverberating in my soul. Let’s hope it can last through my last three months here.

  

  ---

  
  My thinking, route 66 is next as far as road trips go. On the international side, I’ve nixed London in favor of Greece.

  ---

  • 12:00 am
  • 14 Comments