So I broke my arm again. Of course I was drunk, and of course I had my long board with me. But it still wasn’t my fault. It never is.
I met this new gal fresh off the boat from Fort Mac. She was a purple haired party animal that had yet to see the glory of a fire show at trout. If you have never seen a fire jam, go. It's awesome.
I decided to drag her along to a burn and show her a fun time. We picked up a 15 pack of beer, her friend Tom, two skateboards, her bike, and a pair of dirty underwear from my place for her to wear. She wasn’t wearing any and thought it was indecent to be flashing everyone she road past while riding her BMX. Considerate, I thought.
We hit up the fire jam and had a good time, drain the beer, grab some more, and I only light my self on fire twice. We begin to wander to her place out on the edge of East Van, which is mostly down hill so we ride our skates, and her on her bike. I’m carving up the pavement like a mad man. Which funnily enough looks like a drunk guy swerving back and forth across the road. Once we were about 6 blocks away my luck takes a turn for the worst, which it normally does. I lean too far forward and face plant into the pavement at speed. Jas’ (my new purple haired friend) was right behind me on her bike. Seeing my fall from grace she realizes she cannot stop before she hits me. So she rides up my long board and over top of my head. She bails and scrapes her leg.
I lay around for a few second attempting to gather the few thoughts that I still had left, chief among them being, ouch. Once I realized what had happened I inspected my self for damage. Nothing to serious. A tad bit concussed, a little bit of road rash, and my wrist was hurting a bit more than before. Having just gotten it out of a cast I was not eager to put it back into one. I previously broke it on what the thrashers(crazy kids who board parkades downtown and fight security guards) quaintly call the death spiral. It is a 4 level parkade that spirals down to ground level. You have to hit it on a long board going at about 30kmph and drift sideways the whole way down. So of course I tried it. And failed.
We gather our selves up off the road and decide to finish boarding the rest of the way home despite the fact that I am mildly concussed and Jas is injured. But we’re drunk, so who cares? I only make it another block before I bail again hitting my head on the ground in EXACTLY the same place. So now I’m really concussed. Luckily Jas’ has enough sense to not ride over my head this time.
Yet again, I pick my self up off the pavement and climb back on my board. Well aware this is an idiotic idea: to get back on the very thing that has mildly concussed and really concussed me within 5 mins. But I’m drunk, so who cares?
I manage to make it to her place with out horribly maiming my self and they pump me full of T3’s and multiple bottles of wine. I hang out for a bit and everyone starts to drop off. Its getting late and I can tell they expect me to crash. Having an honorary doctorate in self diagnosis from all the injuries I have sustained over my brief existence on this planet, I realize I should not be going to sleep. Sleeping with a concussion can potentially equal a coma, and I just wasn’t down with the idea of going into a coma. So I decided to go home.
Home for me at the time was about 40 blocks away, but it was a nice warm summer night, so I decided to do it. It would keep my awake and gave me something to do. So I plugged my self into my tunes and trekked across the city. I made a point of carrying my long board and not riding it, being responsible for once. I get about three quarters the way home and as I’m crossing Kingsway, a car comes out of no where. No headlights no nothing. I of course am standing in the middle of the curb side lane, which happens to be the very same lane said car is cruising down. The inevitable happens and I am smoked. I roll over the hood and jam my wrist into the pavement, catching most of my weight, then smash my face into the ground in EXACTLY the same place AGAIN! So what does this car do when it has run over a pedestrian? It fucking drives away. Not only that, but I am not wearing my glasses, its dark and NO ONE is around. So I got no license plate and there were no witnesses.
Again I make use of my honorary doctorate to determine I am extremely concussed, my leg is injured pretty bad and my wrist is more than likely broken. I was probably ten blocks away from home at the time and felt that what I really needed was a rest. I decide to forgo the hospital visit and wander in tomorrow. So I go home, call work and tell them I just got hit by a car, and pass out. I’m well aware I should not have done this, but I did, and I didn’t go into a coma. Yay team!
I spent three days in bed before going to the hospital. They injected me with all kinds of radioactive materials and casted my arm up rather nicely. I only spent a week in that cast. How I got it off is a story for another time though.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
You're all going to die!
I was on my way to work riding the B-Line down Granville St. and just dreading the thought of working another shift at the Pita Pit. I had been working there for about 3 months, only 1 day of which I had showed up sober. So keeping with tradition I had dropped some acid 30 minutes prior. Of course, when you consider my luck, the bus I was riding decides to catch fire. Smoke billowed out from under the bench seat on the back and everyone started yelling and scrambled to get off the bus. We all pile out onto the sidewalk and watch a hydraulic line burst and spray into the gutter, which happed to be right in front of all the curious spectators. Luckily I was standing off to the side and remained unscathed.
So after seeing that I decide I was good with not getting on a bus for a while. I had my long board with me and decided it was best if I just rolled across the Granville St. bridge. I get going and about halfway across I realize it is fucking freezing. One of those blastedly cold days where you can see every star and it feels like the atmosphere is disappearing. So with that image in my mind I roll downtown.
I had about 5 blocks left to go and it seemed every cop in the city had come out in force. They were going door to door to tell all the homeless people sleeping on the porches that they needed to get inside or they would freeze to death. So with yet another great idea put into my head I arrive at work.
I usually could do my job completely blasted and in fact had almost always done it completely blasted. But for some strange reason, probably having something to do with the two hits of acid I was on, I couldn’t get my thoughts in a straight enough line to work. So I settled with opening and closing the meat drawer next to the grill. As I happily opened and closed my drawer, feeling proud of my abilities to be independent and work responsibly, the line behind me was growing. My co-worker was doing her best to manage the line and yet even with my exemplary abilities she was unable to do so. I of course, being the senior man on the job, was not pleased with this. So I went into the back and called my manager to tell her what a bad job my co-worker was doing. I told her how the line was growing and that nothing she could do would get it go to away. How she was being lazy and not doing her job properly. I also included an explanation of how hard I was working. I chose not to mention the fact I was on two hits of acid and spent the last 30 mins opening and closing a drawer. I didn’t feel it was relevant. This of course pissed my boss off to no end and she demanded to speak to my co-worker. I handed her the phone and watched her facial expressions as she was promptly fired over the phone.
She didn’t take her sudden loss of employment seriously, which was probably for the best. Because right after that phone call I started to peak. I resumed opening and closing my drawer while watching the traffic outside. To my shock and surprised I saw a B-Line bus drive down Granville followed by two cop cars. Being a pedestrian my whole life I had intimate knowledge of the bus system in Vancouver. I knew that no B-Lines ever ran down the downtown Granville strip. So the only logical conclusion I could come up with at the time was that people outside were rioting and that they stole the bus. The police cars in pursuit were just trying to quell the sudden uprising. I contemplated the reason why people would be rioting and realized that the atmosphere was disappearing. It was the end of the world, we would all freeze to death, and everyone was rioting!
With this sudden realization I noticed the big line of people behind me and immediately saw through their scheme. They were coming into the Pita Pit to be warm before we all died. Again responsibility fell upon my shoulders. Being the senior man at the Pita Pit was a difficult task and I knew this would be no exception. They could not come in here to die. So I told them so.
“You cant come in here to die! You all have to leave! The shop is closed! Everyone out, you can't come in here to die!” I implored.
Unfortunately their sense of reason was not operating as efficiently as mine and they looked at me like I was a raving mad man. This might have been because I was, but I didn’t let that little fact stop me.
“Everyone out! You're all going to die! Don’t come in here to die!”
“Are you alright?” One customer asked me.
Of course I was not all right! Everyone was about to die and all these people could think about was them selves. If they were going to die, they would damn well do it outside. “No I am not alright!” I explained.
This of course made me realize that I really wasn’t alright. In fact, I was in immediate distress. So much so that, like anyone in such distress would do, I began to hyperventilate. I took this as the beginning signs of a heart attack and figured the best course of action would be to call an ambulance. I picked up the phone and dialled 911.
“Police ambulance or fire?” The operator on the other end of the line prompted.
“I’m going to die!” I responded with a collected calm, which to the untrained ear might have sounded like a panicked yell.
“Hold on sir, you will be alright, I’ll transfer you.”
After the regular questions (having been to the hospital more than once) I knew help was on the way. They arrived in record time, being 4 blocks away, and carted me off in a stretcher to my chariot blinking red and white.
The ambulance ride was eventful. The paramedic soon deduced that I was tripping balls on acid and proceeded to calm me down.
“You have to be careful with that kind of stuff. I know what your going through. I used to do all that back when I was younger. You just have to remember, nothing is real.”
“You bastard…” I responded as my mind delved into an introspective nightmare based on the fact nothing truly existed and that everything was only a dream. “Why would you say that to me right now?”
They took me into ER, hooked me up to a saline drip, and pumped me full of vitamins. After about 45 mins I began to come down to everyone else’s level. I was getting ready to get up and go home when I had my first and only visitor, my boss.
She was none to pleased about the show I put on in her establishment. She yelled and raved at me for a while demanding explanations. These were easy to give as I had just come down off two hits of acid, and I told her so. She rebuked me and told me that I need to cut that stuff out. I whole heartedly agreed in hopes of keeping the job that allowed me to be blitzed for 3 months straight. I gave a heart felt apology and with a full helping of remorse. She took my wrong doings and subsequent apology in stride and decided to allow me to keep my job. I went home and slept for two days.
The things I learned about this experience was that I shouldn’t do acid at work, and that my boss was really stupid for letting me keep my job.
So after seeing that I decide I was good with not getting on a bus for a while. I had my long board with me and decided it was best if I just rolled across the Granville St. bridge. I get going and about halfway across I realize it is fucking freezing. One of those blastedly cold days where you can see every star and it feels like the atmosphere is disappearing. So with that image in my mind I roll downtown.
I had about 5 blocks left to go and it seemed every cop in the city had come out in force. They were going door to door to tell all the homeless people sleeping on the porches that they needed to get inside or they would freeze to death. So with yet another great idea put into my head I arrive at work.
I usually could do my job completely blasted and in fact had almost always done it completely blasted. But for some strange reason, probably having something to do with the two hits of acid I was on, I couldn’t get my thoughts in a straight enough line to work. So I settled with opening and closing the meat drawer next to the grill. As I happily opened and closed my drawer, feeling proud of my abilities to be independent and work responsibly, the line behind me was growing. My co-worker was doing her best to manage the line and yet even with my exemplary abilities she was unable to do so. I of course, being the senior man on the job, was not pleased with this. So I went into the back and called my manager to tell her what a bad job my co-worker was doing. I told her how the line was growing and that nothing she could do would get it go to away. How she was being lazy and not doing her job properly. I also included an explanation of how hard I was working. I chose not to mention the fact I was on two hits of acid and spent the last 30 mins opening and closing a drawer. I didn’t feel it was relevant. This of course pissed my boss off to no end and she demanded to speak to my co-worker. I handed her the phone and watched her facial expressions as she was promptly fired over the phone.
She didn’t take her sudden loss of employment seriously, which was probably for the best. Because right after that phone call I started to peak. I resumed opening and closing my drawer while watching the traffic outside. To my shock and surprised I saw a B-Line bus drive down Granville followed by two cop cars. Being a pedestrian my whole life I had intimate knowledge of the bus system in Vancouver. I knew that no B-Lines ever ran down the downtown Granville strip. So the only logical conclusion I could come up with at the time was that people outside were rioting and that they stole the bus. The police cars in pursuit were just trying to quell the sudden uprising. I contemplated the reason why people would be rioting and realized that the atmosphere was disappearing. It was the end of the world, we would all freeze to death, and everyone was rioting!
With this sudden realization I noticed the big line of people behind me and immediately saw through their scheme. They were coming into the Pita Pit to be warm before we all died. Again responsibility fell upon my shoulders. Being the senior man at the Pita Pit was a difficult task and I knew this would be no exception. They could not come in here to die. So I told them so.
“You cant come in here to die! You all have to leave! The shop is closed! Everyone out, you can't come in here to die!” I implored.
Unfortunately their sense of reason was not operating as efficiently as mine and they looked at me like I was a raving mad man. This might have been because I was, but I didn’t let that little fact stop me.
“Everyone out! You're all going to die! Don’t come in here to die!”
“Are you alright?” One customer asked me.
Of course I was not all right! Everyone was about to die and all these people could think about was them selves. If they were going to die, they would damn well do it outside. “No I am not alright!” I explained.
This of course made me realize that I really wasn’t alright. In fact, I was in immediate distress. So much so that, like anyone in such distress would do, I began to hyperventilate. I took this as the beginning signs of a heart attack and figured the best course of action would be to call an ambulance. I picked up the phone and dialled 911.
“Police ambulance or fire?” The operator on the other end of the line prompted.
“I’m going to die!” I responded with a collected calm, which to the untrained ear might have sounded like a panicked yell.
“Hold on sir, you will be alright, I’ll transfer you.”
After the regular questions (having been to the hospital more than once) I knew help was on the way. They arrived in record time, being 4 blocks away, and carted me off in a stretcher to my chariot blinking red and white.
The ambulance ride was eventful. The paramedic soon deduced that I was tripping balls on acid and proceeded to calm me down.
“You have to be careful with that kind of stuff. I know what your going through. I used to do all that back when I was younger. You just have to remember, nothing is real.”
“You bastard…” I responded as my mind delved into an introspective nightmare based on the fact nothing truly existed and that everything was only a dream. “Why would you say that to me right now?”
They took me into ER, hooked me up to a saline drip, and pumped me full of vitamins. After about 45 mins I began to come down to everyone else’s level. I was getting ready to get up and go home when I had my first and only visitor, my boss.
She was none to pleased about the show I put on in her establishment. She yelled and raved at me for a while demanding explanations. These were easy to give as I had just come down off two hits of acid, and I told her so. She rebuked me and told me that I need to cut that stuff out. I whole heartedly agreed in hopes of keeping the job that allowed me to be blitzed for 3 months straight. I gave a heart felt apology and with a full helping of remorse. She took my wrong doings and subsequent apology in stride and decided to allow me to keep my job. I went home and slept for two days.
The things I learned about this experience was that I shouldn’t do acid at work, and that my boss was really stupid for letting me keep my job.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Pork on the First Date
Last week my friends set me up on a blind date, they promised she was a beautiful and intelligent gal. After much convincing and elaborate descriptions I finally relented and agreed to make the date. I called her up via the # given to me, and had a quick awkward conversation with a lady who we shall call Jane. Jane, sounded pleasant on the phone and seemed to be as just nervous as me about the prospect of a blind date. Also, unfortunately, I was strapped for funds and couldn’t afford to take her out, so I suggested that I cook us a nice meal. She offered to bring a bottle of wine for our enjoyment.
After scavenging in my fridge, all I could pull together were a pack of pork chops, some potatoes and broccoli. So I spent the 30 mins before she was to arrive preparing dinner, thinking rather highly of my domestic skills. Jane arrived, in person she was as beautiful as was described. I was pleased. Now, the door to my apartment enters directly into my kitchen, so of course the first question out of her mouth was, “what’s cooking?”
“I’m making pork chops, smashed potatoes, and broccoli.” I replied with a prideful grin.
She gave me a funny look and seemed disappointed. Then said, “I don’t eat pork chops.”
“Why? Don’t you like pork?”
“No, I don’t eat it because of my religion.”
“Ooooh… Sorry, I didn’t realize!” I said franticly trying to figure out how to stave off disaster.
Jane cocked her head and gave me a funny look saying, “You shouldn’t eat pork either.”
Rather surprised at her statement I replied, “But I don’t believe in what you believe in.”
Then to my shock and awe she said something I have never actually heard other than in jest.
“That’s because you’re a heathen.”
A heathen! She actually called me "a heathen!" I could not believe it. Folks, I am not a fan of organized religion. I am tolerant of it as long as you aren’t shoving it down my throat, but I don’t subscribe to any brand of it. So in complete shock my automatic response was, “Well you’re an ignorant bitch.”
To which Jane turned and left the apartment. Luckily she left the bottle of wine behind, because I really needed a drink after that encounter. She also had good taste in wine and my pork chops were amazing.
All in all it was about a 3 min date that ended with us exchanging verbal blows. I will just have to always remember, never cook pork on a blind date!
After scavenging in my fridge, all I could pull together were a pack of pork chops, some potatoes and broccoli. So I spent the 30 mins before she was to arrive preparing dinner, thinking rather highly of my domestic skills. Jane arrived, in person she was as beautiful as was described. I was pleased. Now, the door to my apartment enters directly into my kitchen, so of course the first question out of her mouth was, “what’s cooking?”
“I’m making pork chops, smashed potatoes, and broccoli.” I replied with a prideful grin.
She gave me a funny look and seemed disappointed. Then said, “I don’t eat pork chops.”
“Why? Don’t you like pork?”
“No, I don’t eat it because of my religion.”
“Ooooh… Sorry, I didn’t realize!” I said franticly trying to figure out how to stave off disaster.
Jane cocked her head and gave me a funny look saying, “You shouldn’t eat pork either.”
Rather surprised at her statement I replied, “But I don’t believe in what you believe in.”
Then to my shock and awe she said something I have never actually heard other than in jest.
“That’s because you’re a heathen.”
A heathen! She actually called me "a heathen!" I could not believe it. Folks, I am not a fan of organized religion. I am tolerant of it as long as you aren’t shoving it down my throat, but I don’t subscribe to any brand of it. So in complete shock my automatic response was, “Well you’re an ignorant bitch.”
To which Jane turned and left the apartment. Luckily she left the bottle of wine behind, because I really needed a drink after that encounter. She also had good taste in wine and my pork chops were amazing.
All in all it was about a 3 min date that ended with us exchanging verbal blows. I will just have to always remember, never cook pork on a blind date!
Intro
Hello world. My name is Richard William McDougin and this is my blog. This is just a mish mash of my different experiences in life. I have been writing these stories down so in my continued drunken haze of a life, I wont forget them. They are in no semblance of chronological order. So enjoy!
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