The Housewarming
Good Times. Awesome Times.

November 8th, 2003

Steve had his housewarming festivities last night with his wonderful girlfriend Maritia, and a gaggle of friends and colleagues at their new digs in Ottawa's upscale Glebe neighbourhood. Once we got there, a bowl of nachos and salsa was quickly consumed, and we began partying. We didn't make it to the store in time to purchase any alcohol, but I managed to unearth a Heineken tallboy that I had found in the back of my car from about three months ago. Score! Except that upon touching the frat style alcohol beverage, I realized the internal pressure in the can as a result of being shaken and temperature exposed in my trunk for the last 90 days, including a zig zag trip to Toronto where I tested my car's shocks by rolling through the Arby's drive thru about 30 times. I resisted opening the can in the street before we walked into Steve's house, but upon putting my thumb on the pop tab, I harkened my fond memories of when Bruce Willis verges and ponders thoughts before blowing himself and the asteroid up at the end of Armageddon.

As usual, Kealey was about 50 KING cans of Steeler into his drinking spell when we sauntered into the premises. He greeted me with a cold fish handshake, still slightly upset at me about revealing his fondness for driving around neighbourhoods at night, looking for trick or treaters in June. Tonight, Trevor was into the ghetto fist punch, so I appeased him knowing full well that after beer # 20, he begins to get physical. I planted my seed of concession, and he recognized.

As the night went on, Trevor and I began making fun of each other's clothes, as I accused him of dressing like Mr. Angelino or Mr. Roper from Three's Company, and he destroyed me for wearing Polo. Besides the fact that Trev's collar was about 30 feet high, and my shirt as great if I was at my Grade 8 grad, we both decided to hop into our respective Deloreans (if we had them), and travel back to our appropriate fashion times.

Soon, some of us were huddled around the notebook computer, and discussing the rock music, and of course, 50 beers into Trevor's drinking binge, Aylmer, Quebec. Trevor insisted that Aylmer was fantastic. He quickly dropped the subject, and began hardcore air guitaring with Steve when Freebird came on, and they very cooly knew every single note and appropriate fret placement on the air guitar for the 9 minute solo. I was impressed. Trevor decided to begin poking me repeatedly halfway into the solo, then asked me if I minded in becoming his guitar, as he tried to play the song on my leg and arms, slightly hugging me. Steve began discussing rock music, and when Highway To Hell erupted on the computer speakers, he went into a serious conversation about how "this" was real rock music. He had a point I have to admit. We ate practically all of Trevor's wife Dani's delicious marshmallow treats with chocolate chips, then began bouncing around discussing Propoghandi and John Sutton from The Weakerthans who we had seen a few nights earlier at Barrymore's with The Carnations and The Fembots. Good Times. Awesome Times.

As if time had stopped, Steve did a Liza Minelli style cabaret walk into his bedroom, sank into the mattress, and fell asleep. It took us all but 3 minutes to realize that he had simply dissapeared. We looked in the kitchen, then opened the bedroom door to find our musician comrade in arms.

Steve Palmer was wearing a Shriner's tunic, coupled with Decepticons matching pajamas, and was nestled into his personal sleep headquarters, complete with Hall & Oates bedsheets. We all jumped on him, and he didn't bat an eye initially, but was then pissed severely. I asked Trevor to do our famous Anne Ramnsay impression directly into his ear while he slept, but he instead insisted on faking an exit from the bedroom, and hiding behind his bed. Our friend Brett Tackaberry and I watched from the door, as we shut the lights on Palmer, and Trevor silently laughed while waiting to scare the shit out of him. Steve travelled back to his personal dream land of chocolate guitars and bunnies, and Trevor prepped and executed his sleep invasion. We all laughed. Good Times. Awesome Times.

We exited, Trevor began singing "New Sensation" by INXS very loudly, and poking me and slapping me whenever the vowels were piqued the way that Michael Hutchence used to do it, and we then setlled down.

Once again, The Setbacks party, and do it well.

chris