MinJungKim.com Braindump v 6.0 Gah. I’m still doing this?

Canuckie Update

12/31/01

Canuckie Update:
~ Have still evaded impalement by Hockey Sticks
~ Have still evaded angry canadian lesbians/cam girls/ex-girlfriends (or a combination of all the above in
relation to members of my travel party)
~ Have still evaded confused American drivers when confronted with blinking green lights
~ Have still evaded getting stuck in the snow
~ Have still evaded use of the word “eh” in conventional conversation

To catch you upAfter dimsumming with Mike, our crew, Jesse, Bertie, Potpie & I made it in to Vancouver without too much of a hitch and were greeted at the door by Ritchie’s Mom and then hung out with the Vancouver crew at Boston Pizza, nearly got kicked out of Roger’s video and cracked jokes over Iron Monkey that night.

Ritchie’s home, by the way, is oblivious to any sort of California Energy crisis that we in SF are familiar with. His house is heated to tropical temperatures that are akin to the humidity and warmth of Cebu in the Filipines. You should check out Ritchie’s fuzzy slippers. They rock my socks off. The following day we chilled downtown, bought warm things, ate an obscene amount of sushi and drank. We tried not to be beligerant after learning about the alcohol tax added to the bill. “Um, are you sure it’s not a lesbian tax, yo?!”

It’s no surprise to anyone that Bertie can drink. What *is* a surprise is how, um, *frisky*, she gets after a few ciders. The woman put her head in my lap and started giggling, licking her lips and nuzzling my thigh. Um, *YIPES*. Were I to have more bisexual tendencies I’d say I creamed. In reality, I think I nearly wet my pants. This left Archie, one of the Vancouver crew to state the following in relation to Bertie “Aww man, can we keep her? Please? Can we keep her?”

A long visit in Virgin records, Lush, Roots, and some other fun shops. This was followed up later in the evening with the last minute purchase of cuban cigars and smoking them waterside as we looked out over the haze at Vancouver’s gorgeous night skyline.

Of note, Ritchie’s friends have an impressive amount of suave stylo. One of his crew made a girl cry after serenading her and brought the gal, a true trophy of a woman, a crown to any man who can who her properly, to join a gaggle of us at Bread garden for late night coffee, smokes, and trash talk.

Things to note. Too much sushi + traveling in a car with sick people,+ cigars = belly ache. To be more specific, gassiness. Poot, poot, poot. I couldn’t poot to save my life and though the conversation for most of the trip involved pootytang, I could not poot to save my sore and achey belly. There’s nothing quite so touching, so beautifuly proof of friendship, as having two people cheer for your ass and sing songs of encouragement so you can fart. The problem being that it just makes you laugh a lot and still not poot.

The songs of the evening, sung to Tears for Fears “Shout” were “Pooot, Pooot, let it all Ooot…these are the things you should poot abooott ” and Destiny’s Child Bootylicious which became “oooh your ass is too pootylicious.” Bertie showed me some karma sutra like maneuvers to try and help. These involved me on my knees, stretched forward, with my ass up in the air like Kobe Tai. Not cute. Nor sexy. Nor pootyful. Potpie & Jesse supplied me with some meds to help my bloated belly settle and I lay in agitated unpootyful rest. The following morning I had a brilliantly obscene poot in the bathroom and was greeted by cheers and applause. Yay. My ass. A la U2. “It’s a pooootiful day” Ahh, true friendship.

The following day involved the thankfully nontragic adventure into Filipino cuisine. Goldilocks. And it was *tasty*. I guess not all filipino food is based on a dare after all. Pancit, lumpia, rice, kare kare, and finished up with some halo halo. Instead of going geocaching which was part of our original plan, we headed over to Metrotown, did some shopping, and chilled out some more. Bertie insisted on taking some thuggy pix in front of the Skytrain.

We missed our rendezvous with Richard Gwailo which was disappointing but we had a tight schedule ahead of us. After a scrumptious dinner at the Casa Macapinlac Cebu we got dressed in our new duds for a Filipino Cotillian. Expecting nothing more than a pack of pinoys doing cha cha, we chilled, greeted the princesses wearing white like it was their wedding day, and then scuttled off to the bar to hide from Ritchie’s x-factor’s parents who proceded to glare at us as if we had nailed spikes in Christ.

Mahal na mahal kita.
And then it was an evening of schooling. Potpie recieved an impressive amount of schooling on the art of wooing and I was schooled in the modus operandi of stylo-charged filipino men. Roses, poetry, songs, and serious wooing. Intriguing to say the least. Much more so than discussions on linux servers which normally accompany gin & tonics down in SF. A short driving tour back brougth us past a few of Ritchie’s “spots”. Romantic woo a girl till her resolve turns into a puddle of goo on the floor “spots.” Odd that this was followed up with Ritchie’s rendition of Filipino nanny phone sex. Too disturbing for words and as I am only good at phonetecizing Korean accents, I will not even attempt to transcribe the monologue here but it was something to the effect of “Who *is* your daddy. You pancit eating mother humper. I will lick kare kare off your navel. You like that eh? You mother humper you”

What? MORE DRIVING?! We went to bed at 3:30 AM. Maybe. We got up again at 5:30 AM. What followed was a two hour drive to Whistler so that Bertie could meet up with his college friends and that Potpie could carve some powder. Ritchie, a man who should definitely do standup, kept us awake & giggling for the drive with more stories of filipino nanny sex, him as a young boy first seeing snow in Vancouver, buying powder blue long johns, and building little snowmen with his mommy.

My original plans for Whistler were, at most, to sit in the hottub wearing either the bikini purchased for me by the diplomat a few days back, or to nap. As my sinuses had decided to explode that morning, I wound up passed out on the couch with Jesse & Ritchie. Left alone while the gang grabbed food down in the Village for a late lunch, the cleaning crew in the condo vacummed around me. Not pretty, but I’m feeling much better now.

We also narrowly avoided an international incident after some random swede hit me on the head with a french fry and followed up by Bertie making fun of Australians getting shitfaced in Sydney who were seated behind us. As the australians departed the shuttle, Bertie shouted after them several things that I care not to repeat. I would only have been more mortified if she had decided to call them “Roo Fuckers.” This was followed up by a friendly and helpful comment in a thick Australian accent by the lone gal sitting two rows up from us when we missed our stop. Woops. And then back to Casa Macapinlac Cebu for us. I was heavily medicated on sinutab. Bertie on Tylenol PM, Jesse on beer and Potpie on well, second hand smoke, I’m sure.

It’s New Years eve now. Not much to note just yet except that our party has finally been joined by Belinda, Dave,
Ernie, Ted, & Ank. In fact, they’ve just arrived with gifts of haagen dasz & krispy kreme. We’ll be checking into a hotel shortly to get duly shitfaced and to ring in the new year.

Wishing you all a very safe new years and a fresh batch of resolutions which we’ll promptly ignore on January 2nd.

Peace Out,
Min Jung Canuckie