Anyways, there’s a part where Emma Stone and Abigail Breslin are riding in one of those swinging-boat rides at the post-apocalyptic amusement park.  If you haven’t seen it, don’t ask.

I said, “if they’re by themselves, how are they supposed to get off?”

Jeff didn’t miss a beat.  “I never tried to understand how girl bits are supposed to work.”

If you’ve read previous posts you know how I go on ad nauseum about the evils of P-90X and how I’m always getting up early and jumping around like an idiot in a vain attempt to be physically fit.  I apologize, but that ain’t changing anytime soon.  The jumping around part, that is- I’ll try to find other stuff to write about.

There’s on simple reason why I’m still writing about busting my ass with a 90-day program almost three years after first starting it; I loves me some food.

I like to think that I’m not neurotic about it; I don’t binge and purge or starve myself (ha!  If you know me and my lack of willpower you know what a joke that is) or live on McDonald’s and Ben & Jerry’s.  I just tend to… forget about the healthy stuff when I’m hungry, or within proximity of junk food, or you know, awake.  And damn, I love beer.

So, I decided to make a serious change; no more meat.  I’m still eating eggs and drinking milk, but no more steak, chicken, fish, turkey, nothing.  Maybe that way, I won’t have to P-90X until I die.

So yeah, I’d kick a bunny for a cheeseburger.  Or failing that, I’ll seriously consider eating the bunny.

I failed the geek test: Isn’t She-Hulk Hulk’s Cousin?

Anyways. The story:

Around June 23rd or so we arrived in Peterborough and had a great first day visiting with my mom and step-dad Dave. We sat on the patio, chatted for a long time, and I drank more beer in one day than I had between January and June, but it was hot enough that I sweated it out faster than I could drink it, and didn’t get smashed and make an ass out of myself. Not even kidding. Even better, the storm clouds on the horizon waited for the end of our evening before rolling in with a HUGE rainstorm.

After saying our good nights, my mom showed Jeff & me to our room in the basement, which was amazing. It looked like one of those places that a designer had been called in to do. The only downside is that there were twin single beds, and we had to push them together- in the middle of the night I nearly fell through the middle. It’s a very good thing that I didn’t.

Just as we were about to turn out the lights, I plugged in the travel fan and all the lights went out. I freaked because I thought I’d blown every fuse in the house, but it turns out the storm killed everyone’s power. Mom came down to let us know, and we went to sleep listening to the storm. Very relaxing.

Aaaand then the shit hit the fan.

Mom & Dave’s place is about thirty feet from Buckhorn Lake, and the water table is amazingly high. So, Dave has always had a sump pump to keep his basement dry, and it works like a charm.

While there’s electricity to power it.

I was dead to the world, but when the power came back and our lights popped on, Jeff woke up immediately and went to turn them off. He hopped out of bed and landed in icy, ankle-deep water. If it were me, that’s when the cussing would have started, but Jeff just gave me a poke and asked me to get up and help him try to rescue stuff from the wet. Luckily the room or basement was on an angle and only half the room on an angle was underwater. Only a corner of our suitcase was soaked and our clothes were mostly okay. I nearly had a heart attack when I remembered that I’d left my iPhone on the floor on my side of the bed, but the water had only come up to within a few inches of it.

Anyway, mom was very Zen about the whole thing and so was Dave. They called a restoration company to rescue as much as they could, everything salvageable was packed away and the bedroom was torn out down to the studs.

The next night we slept in the sunroom, which was gorgeous and like camping but with sheets, and after another relaxing day we packed up and headed to Montreal.

Now, if you’re reading this you probably know me, and know I have a propensity for being a bit of an ass- if there’s a way to say something stupid or miscommunicate, I’ll find it.

We were doing the hugging goodbye thing and I said to mom “Well, I know you haven’t had a good visit with us”, meaning it sucked that she had to do all this crap with the flood while entertaining us. However, mom’s hearing sucks and she thought I’d said (after not being home for six years) “Well, you know we haven’t had a good visit,” and so she started crying.

Oy.

I straightened it out but it was a shitty way to end our first visit, and after visiting Montreal and Ottawa and coming back for another visit before flying out we made sure to make mom and Dave know how much we appreciated their hospitality and how much we loved staying with them.

Jeff was so anxious though, he kept breaking their stuff. We’re still looking for a replacement butter dish that he inadvertently spiked like a football.

Let me be clear- we had an amazing time in Goderich, Ottawa and Peterbprough. However, it says something about our vacation to Ontario when my Mom includes in her return letter the phrase “sorry about the flood”.

That story is coming up next.

I’m embarrassed to say though, I’m friggin’ terrible at playing video games.  That’s annoying, being interested in something you have zero aptitude for.  What’s worse though is that Jeff is a freakin rock star at gaming, which he has zero interest in.

Since we met, whenever I got to part of a game that I was stuck at, say Lara Croft couldn’t swing onto the alligator or Guybrush Threepwood couldn’t open the vault, I would try for an hour with ever increasing levels of frustration and blood pressure.  Then I’d come to my senses and shamefacedly hand over the controller to Jeff, who usually had never played the game before.

I’d explain the concept, he’d look at the controls, peer at the screen, and press a few buttons.  Then, a “tada!” sound would come from the tv, he’d hand back the controller and go back to building a website or programming a mainframe or whatever else he does on his laptop.

So yeah, you can understand why I’m pretty much done with anything that involves extra lives or combo moves.  I can still beat Jeff at some things, though.  I just need some time to figure out what those things might be.

The guys behind Fringe were downtown shooting a scene that looked like a follow-up to last season’s finale.  I didn’t see Pacey, but that fourth pic is either the female lead, whose name I can’t remember (I lie, it’s Anna Torv) but I call her Serious-Blonde-Lady-Who-Needs-Product-Desperately or at least it’s her stunt-double.  Either way, she seems very nice.

Like punchbuggies.

If you’re between the ages of 1 and 100, you know the game- give a shot in the arm to your buddy when you see a VW Bug.  No big.  Jeff and I though- we’re Olympic level punchbuggers.

I have just now decided that we need a new name for that.

Anyhow…  So, we have extra rules.  Double-hits if the Bug is close but nobody’s noticed it.  Double-hits if it’s a classic.  Also double-hits if I had a bad day or if Jeff said something snarky.

So, we have the game.  Yesterday, I was walking Jeff and Rum home from their office and spotted a lime-green Bug zooming down Helmcken Street, and gave Jeff the customary “punchbuggy green, no punchbacks” and gave him a shot in the arm.  He turned around  too late to see the Bug.

Jeff politely inquired to my about whether there really was a green Bug.  I politely confirmed my previous smack was correct and offered to kick him in the butt for doubting my honesty.

“Besides,” I continued, “when have you ever known me to fudge a punchbuggy?”

Jeff stopped and looked at me for a minute, with that old familiar look that says “there’s something truly filthy within arm’s reach of that phrase, I just can’t find it.”

I nodded.  “Yep.  Fudge a punchbuggy.  We gotta find something really rude to apply this to.”

Suggestions?  Maybe, “lie to you?  I’d sooner fudge a punchbuggy.”  How about “I’m so hungry I could fudge a punchbuggy.”  My favourite so far is “I was so drunk I think I fudged a punchbuggy.  Now I have to go to the free clinic and get tested.”

The English language is just poetic, no?

BTW, we also have a game where we kick each other in the ass every time we see a Porsche.  Not even kidding.