2 July 2006

139 Years of Binge Drinking

Yesterday was Canada Day and my birthday. The twin celebration began at a small restaurant in Big River with Sonja's family. There we ate heaping slabs of motherfucking Alberta beef and drank maple syrup and rye whisky shooters chased down by a pitcher or two of ale so cold it hurt your teeth to quaff it.

Sonja's dad, whose apartment we visited briefly to help him dispose of his moving boxes and set the time on his audio/video equipment, is happy with his new place. It is bright and clean with big maple trees out his window full of noisy birds he can curse and grey squirrels he can feed peanuts. He said, "If only the guy above me would stop dropping shit on his floor. I think there may be something wrong with him."

After dinner we sat on Bjorn's veranda drinking Tuborgs and swapping stories with his wife Lonnie. Bjorn is much more relaxed now he has sold his business and started working for a big company. He was telling me about his latest physical challenge. "My hemorrhoids must have been a foot long. I tried everything to shrink them but they kept growing longer and longer. I was beginning to think I had a terminal condition until I tried some Chinese herbs that shrunk them back into their hole faster than England can miss a penalty kick."

Lonnie is very concerned about herself and her daughters' fashion needs for an upcoming family wedding. She said, "The girls are going to look so much like women in new dresses. I'm just trying to make sure they do not look like little Sliverville sluts. And I cannot find a dress for myself at all. The clothes in the mall are all made for young girls and old biddies. There is nothing for us in betweens."

Lonnie and Bjorn's oldest daughter has a pot smoking boy friend who wears Ramones t-shirts. I told her, "I am disgusted."

After Sonja drove me home safely and I had been sleeping for a few minutes the fucking neighbours arrived home from their Canada Day party. The guy was hollering about something and his wife backtalked him in their Indian language before I heard her sort of whisper, "You'll wake the whole neighbourhood you asshole!"

My neighbour responded as any good Canadian who has drank way too much for his own good and will not remember a thing the next morning, "Fuck the neighbours! They can kiss my hairy ass!"

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