Where do you Bring a Hick for his Birthday?

There's an excellent punchline to that question, I just know it...

 

The actual answer is Montana's Cookhouse.

 

 

For all you non-Canadians (aka, 90% of you readers), Montana's is a mountain lodge-themed restaurant. Half of the menu is solely dedicated to red meat, and the "mascots" are a taxidermied moose and deer. They also serve "man mugs", which hold three cans' worth of beer in them.

 

You get to have a dead animal stare at you while you eat. In Andrew's words,
"it's just awesome/"

Yeah, you can see why he asked to celebrate there.

 

We began the night wearing paper antlers (the hick version of paper crowns). However, as soon as Andrew saw me wearing a full rack of antlers, he ripped it off my head in disgust, shouted " a doe doesn't have antlers!" and tore off the top of my antlers. He then gingerly placed the modified hick-crown back on my head and continued on as if nothing happened.



Apparently this is a deer mating ritual.... I'm flattered, I guess?

After eating a main course primaily composed of animal parts (which cost more than my appetizer, main course and dessert combined), the staff sang him a song, gave him a complimentary dessert and placed this on his head.

Behold, Andrew the Steak Sauce Stealer, the cheapest Viking in the land!

However, once he found out that there was another headgear option that better suited his fashion sense, he had his helmet replaced by this one:

Yes, because when being asked to pose while sporting a moose rack, it is
best to look pensive. A+ for that rationale, Andrew.

He spent the rest of the night proudly sporting the ginormous moose rack, whilst I attempted to finish my dessert without getting knocked unconscious every time he swiveled his head.

I actually had to duck under to be anywhere near him.

Happy Birthday Andrew!

 

 I'm sorry I didn't let you attempt to steal the moose rack helmet. (I'm not genuinely sorry. That was a stupid idea. How the hell would you have pulled it off?)

The Biggest Birthday Party Ever (A Person or Two Might have Called it a Local Bachelorette Party)

So last Friday, I went to my Birthday Party with two friends. It was fabulous. The bridal store really worked hard to make it the best party possible. Just for me.



Lawyer and Ginger, also known as Maid of Honour and Bride
to be, also known as awesome people to get drunk with.

We entered a beautiful banquet room at one of the best hotels in the city. There was a dance floor, a DJ booth, a Henna tattoo stand, a photo booth, the fashion runway, a lounge area and three separate bars (so I didn't have to wak more than 15 feet to get a cranberry-sourpuss-vodka, which I like to call a Party Hour Sweet & Sour).

There were also a bunch of servers offering hors d'oeuvres, but they kept presenting me with seafood, and I was all Haven't you seen The Little Mermaid? Shame on you for killing Sebastian and Flounder!

 

As soon as I got in, Lawyer started buying me drinks. I had no problems whatsoever with this.

 

After a drink or two and a visit to the photo booth, we watched the fashion show. Since I watch America's Next Top Model, I (irrationally) think I'm an amazing judge of runway-walking skills. This means I spent most of the fashion show critiquing the models for their sub-par walks. 

 

You're supposed to sell me the dress. Work it, damnit!

  

Horrible posture and arms, although great attitude.




After the show, there were multiple draws to win prizes. I won a $10 gift card for a jewelry store where bracelets start at around $150. When I got the card, I was like YAY BIRTHDAY PRESENT! Now I see that its basically like saving 7% or less on an item I couldn't afford unless I stopped spending money on cheese and chocolate. Which, let's face it, is never going to happen.

 

Oh, did I forget to mention that there were multiple half-naked men hired to throw lollipops at women and to socialize with the desperate single bridesmaids and the brides-to-be with low morals?

There was also a stripper that gave shows on her pole and taught some girls (and the half-naked men) some moves.

Sidenote: Before her show, the stripper was just walking around like everyone else. As soon as I saw her, I was like Bing-bing-bing! That's definitely a stripper. Turns out that I don't have much of a gaydar, but I do have a great stripperdar.

Us being women of incredible class, preferred to shun the men and grope each other instead.





There is 100% ass-groping going on in this picture.

We proceeded to drink some more.

 





I asked Ginger if it was appropriate to throw money at them.
She said it totally was.

Afterwards, we hit the dance floor, were I taught Ginger how to dance to Gangam Stye while Lawyer looked on disapprovingy (she is a hipster and absolutely refuses to join in any fads, unless they involve wine). After a while, the party planners kicked us off the dance floor so a Burlesque troop could perform.

Men were invited to attend the party after 10pm, but Andrew refused to join, so I sent him pictures of the show with the message See what you're missing? HALF-NAKED WOMEN SHAKING THEIR BOOBS AND ASSES!

 



We were clearly drunk at this point Also, notice the wasted
woman about to poledance in the background.

The night ended with some good old fashioned dancing to the Spice Girls. Then the girls said it was time to call the boys to take us all to our separate homes, since it would take them half an hour to get to us.

 

Because I was having a blast, I totally forgot that there were free limo rides, so as we got texts that our rides were here, the host of the party announced that the limos had arrived and were ready to take the first batch of drunk-ass girls home. Although I suggested that we could just send the boys back home and take the limo instead, both Lawyer and Ginger pointed out that that decision might lead to unfortunate consequences, such as ridiculously angry boyfriends.

 

Before we left, we took one last picture together:

 

 

This was the first attempt of the last picture of the night:

 

My liver didn't like me the morning after.

Giving Drunken Directions Does Not Constitute “Learning How To Stick Shift”

It seems that whenever Andrew drinks, I get pulled into some small adventure.

In this case, Andrew was drinking at his work party during our first summer together. He had invited me, probably thinking that I would make friends with everyone. That was the day he learned that I sucked at making friends.

Sidenote: I went to the same school from daycare at two years old until my High School graduation; meeting new people was a mostly pointless skill.

Technically its "bear spray", because you're not allowed to
carry any weapon in Canadaland.

Because of my lack of social proficiency, my night mostly consisted of :

• Avoiding one of the staff members that I went to school with. (He lived in my neighbourhood and creeped me out enough that I bought some pepper spray).
• Woefully watching the employees' children have the time of their lives in a rented bouncy castle that would only take children under 12.
• Eating multiple plates of Andrew's mother's famous macaroni salad. You haven't tasted macaroni salad until you've tasted her macaroni salad. (I kind of feel like that sounds like a sexual innuendo.)

Sidenote: Andrew got the job in part because his boss wanted to sleep with his mom. Andrew's mom, that is. Not his own mother. Ew.

While I didn't particularly have a blast, Andrew was really enjoying the night, which made me happy. Sometimes, you just gotta let hicks do their hick shit. That way, he can get it out of his system, so that we don't end up with crap like this at home:

Ok, I'm not going to lie, this acually looks like fun. As long as no one pees in the tub. 

Finally, the night was at an end. We were staying the night at Andrew's friend's house nearby, so I asked Andrew how we were getting there. He looked at me (most likely with unfocused eyes) like I was asking him to ride a unicorn. Utterly confused and unprepared.

Andrew:..Well, Corey already went home.  

Me: .......

Andrew: ...So...I guess I'm driving?

Me: No way in hell.

After a long discussion about all of our options, we decided that I would drive Andrew's truck down, as I had only had one drink at 7pm, and it was now 2am.

Andrew's truck was a manual. I had never driven a manual before in my life, and I certainly didn't want to start learning on a late saturday night with a drunken crowd to witness the disaster. Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened.

For those who were taught how to drive by a horrible teacher, think of me in the same situation, with the added fact that the teacher was also completely drunk. It was like I was taught to drive by Ozzy Osbourne. I stalled at least four times in the driveway before I was even able to start moving, and instead of pushing the left turn signal, I ended up flashing the highbeams in the faces of all the partygoers. If I didn't have their attention before, I certainly did now.



Picture this X10, but minus the fur, and add camo clothing, work
 boots and a beer in everyone's hands.

With my lovely audience entranced like deer in the headlights (litterally in headlights), I drove away in first gear with the motor doing some noises that previous experience tells me were extremely unnatural.

I then proceeded down multiple roads in the middle of the woods. I had no idea if Andrew even knew where we were going, because he kept yelling "TURN LEFT!", even though there was nothing but a ditch and trees on the lefthand side.

You'd think you can't take a wrong turn while driving 10 km/h (6 mph), but it turns out you can. When I found out that Andrew's left was really right all along (right as in the direction, not as in being correct), I had to do a few slow-motion 180+ spins. I thank God the streets were deserted that night, cause I'm pretty sure I was driving like I was under the influence. The cops would have thought I had taken a new drug made of weed and sloth blood. (I tried to find a funny name for the drug, but it turns out I would be horrible at marketing illegal drugs. Scratch that off my list of potential careers.)

After fifteen minutes of driving 40km (25mi) below the speed limit, we finally made it to what I hoped was his friend's house. I wasn't sure it was actually his place since I had never been there before - the clarity of Andrew's thinking was suspect. We walked in with my fingers crossed that we wouldn't get charged with home invasion.

Thankfully, although Andrew's ability to comprehend relative direction is hindered when completely trashed, his sense of overall direction is fine. This makes absolutely no sense to me, but Andrew has never made much sense. He can hunt, gut and clean any animal, but he gets grossed out when I show half-chewed food in my mouth.

I'm happy to report that Andrew actually got the house right, so no one was arrested. Well, we weren't arrested; who knows who was arrested at the party.

But no matter how hungover Andrew was the next morning, I made him drive the truck home.