Part 1 may have left a little of my testosterone on your monitor. Some windex will get that right off.

You missed a spot. No. Right there. Got it.

Now the top 11 fellas...

Brandon Jones - Kenny Rogers - "Lady"

Dude is from Quispamsis, NB. At one point during college I worked in a city near Quispamsis. One night a bunch of guys were getting together to play basketball at the highschool there and invited me to attend. I did. I was a foot taller than anyone else. They were playing so erratically it was baffling. And I caught two elbows in the cherries. I didn't go back a second time.

As for his performance, it was okay. He likes to put his own spin on songs. Which he seems to make up as he goes along. He's only 17 and has a decent voice. Plus he did a Kenny Rogers song. Kenny is a PIMP. For real. (Brandon on ye olde YouTube.)

Chris Labelle - Marc Cohn - "Walking in Memphis"

Remember in Part 1 when I mentioned "loons" getting through? This is who I was talking about. He is rocking a mowhawk. And wore a t-shirt that says "Grammaz *heart* mowhawks."

Dude is a ton of fun. His voice is a little different, but really pretty good.

My only complaint is that I hate the song. I get flashbacks from it. During college, I fished lobsters for two summers. This required me getting up at 3 am (after staying out with my friends until midnight), trying to stomach some food and then hopping in the old truck and heading for the wharf. And EVERY single morning this song played on the radio. It inspires a Pavlovian chair-tossing effect with me now.

Craig Sharpe - Rascal Flatts - "What Hurts The Most."

Craig is 16. He has a very, very good voice. But, he sounds like a girl. Honestly. (He also has child-bearing hips.) It's all quite odd. Dude can sign though.

Greg Neufeld - Jason "I'd like to buy a vowel, Alex" Mraz - "You And I Both"

This dude is our token pretty boy. He's from Abbotsford, BC. His band opened for The Trews during their last tour. That is quite cool. Management here at PDDC likes The Trews.

And this dude can also really sing his ass off. He is like our Ace Young, but with possibly a better voice, and none of that falsetto bullshit.

Oddly enough, his type doesn't seem to go as far as expected in these things. They never last as long as the non-threatening pretty boys. (See Jones, Brandon.)

Nathan Brown - Sam Cooke - "Change is Gonna Come"

Sadly the change was his ass getting shipped home. He's 26 and from Edmonton - the city of champions.

He did a very gospelly version of this song, and the viewers didn't feel it. I can't judge as I fast forwardededed most of it myself. He does have talent though. And he looks very funny when moving super fast.

Rob James - Al Green - "Let's Stay Together"

Rob used to belong to a singing duo called McMaster & James. The had a hit or two up here a number of years ago. He is competing now because his recording contract from the day has finally ended.

He's a great singer. Very professional. Seems like the kind of guy you'd like to watch the Super Bowl with.

But, so far he is not displaying the "wow factor."

I could TOTALLY judge this sumbitch.

Sheldon Elter - Paul Pena - "Gonna Move (New Train)

Yeah, I had no idea who Paul Pena was either. Apparently he wrote Steve Miller's "Jet Airliner." I like to educate in my blog.

I thought this guy was all kinds of awesome. You definitely want him at your next party. The judges weren't feeling him all that much. I blame the song. I think he would rock some Burton Cummings or Guess Who songs.

Rock.

Koz - Bryan Adams - "It's Only Love"

So, dude auditions as Jeremy Koz. Because, well, that's his name and junk. But, somehow when he made the top 22, he decided that he wanted to be referred to as "Koz." Fair enough. Let me try it...

Koz got sent home.

Ridiculous name changes aside, he wasn't a bad singer. Another rocker dude. He looked like Constantine from last year's American Idol. He owns 22 custom designed tuxedo jackets.

He has a powerful rock voice, but not a very pleasing one.

Wait... 22 tuxedo jackets?

Chad Doucette - Keith Urban - "Tonight I Wanna Cry"

Keith Urban, is he the dude who married Nicole Kidman? 'Cause I'd wanna cry too, if I woke up next to her skinny, personalityless ass.

Chad is from Nova Scotia. (Whoooo!) East Chezzetcook, to be specific. You know, I've never, ever heard of West Chezzetcook. Odd.

He almost made the top 32 last year (yes, I said 32) as a 16 year old, but came up just a bit short.

Chad kicked this song's ass. If you don't believe me, ask YouTube.

This song has been stuck in my head for days. I kinda hate Chad and Keith Urban right now.

Keith MacPherson - Howie Day - "Collide"

I was not prepared for this guy to be as good as he was. (Again, YouTube it.)

He's a funny guy, though I suspect a little of him might go a long way.

He kind of reminds you of the geeky guy that dates your ex-girlfriend after you break up. The one who, while you grudgingly accept his right to exist on your planet, in your darkest hours punching him in the face crosses your mind.

You know, hypothetically speaking.

He also looks like he could be Seth Green's second cousin. On his father's side.

Tyler Lewis - 3 Doors down - "Here Without You"

Tyler is 19 and from Rockglen, SK. He has a good rocker voice. He could also totally fill in for the lead singer of 3 Doors Down, or any of the similar sounding bands out there. Five For Fighting. The Four Tops. Whatever.

Tyler watches Family Guy. That's bad.

But, he has a belt buckle with a beer bottle opener built into it. That's good.

However, beer bottles are twist offs these days. That's bad.

So, I'm torn on Tyler.

If you have read my stuff for a while, you'll know that I enjoy the Idol shows. Both American and Canadian.

Don't judge me. Especially not YOU. The things you are into... A goat? For real?

Anywho...

If you have read my stuff for a while, you'll also know that anything Canadian gets a little special love from me.

That being said, I do think that Canadian Idol is a more enjoyable viewing experience than it's American cousin. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed Taylor Hicks. His "Levon" in the first week of the Top 10 was one of the three greatest American Idol performances ever. (It was slightly ahead of Carrie Underwood's "Alone.") And I think that Katharine McPhee is probably the hottest female in the history of reality TV. Seriously.

But, there is something different about Canadian Idol. The Canadian kids seem... less polished. More likeable.

I think it helps that our judges come from more of a rockish (or hip hop) background. The Americans get one token rock guy each year, while we typically get a few more. Plus we get folky types. And usually one lunatic. The Americans never put real loons through. Pity, that.

So, I am going to recap for you the past week on Canadian Idol. It was the Top 22. Why 22? I have no idea. With the strength of the Canuck dollar, I can't even make exchange rate jokes. Way to handcuff me there, rebounding economy.

The top 11 guys sang on Monday night. The top 11 girls on Tuesday. Canadians voted. On Wednesday night they sent home the bottom two from each group. This brought us down to our... top 18? Yeah, I still don't know why.

Here is what went down. Ladies first:

Alisha Nauth - Bon Jovi - "Always"

Personally if I am doing some Bon Jovi, I'm going old school. A little "I'll Be There For You?" Either way, she was quite good. She's a horrific dancer though. Which seems odd for a cuteish 19 year old girl. I do like that her entire family moved to Toronto from out west someplace to support her singing career.

Talented but lacking zazz. That's right, I said, "zazz."

Alyssa Klazek - India.Arie - "Ready For Love"

Peter.DeWolf didn't like the song. I also didn't like her performance... her voice... her hair... her clothes... the arrangement...

You know you've watched too many of these shows if you are commenting on arrangements or pitchyness. She's kind of a hippyish chick. She's 17. I was surprised that she didn't get sent home.

Anna-Belle Oliva & Valerie Jalbert - Two songs I have forgotten already.

Do you remember on Star Trek: TNG how they'd put together an away crew? "Take Jordi... Data... Wesley Crusher... and Ensign McMurtry and go down to the surface." McMurty would be tasked with investigating the strange giant rock that somehow gave off life-signs. He'd be running his scanner dealie across the surface of it when someone would yell "Look out!" and BLAM! the rock would eat him.

Every year there is a female French singer (or two in this case) from Quebec who makes it this far, but gets sent home immediately by the voting public. They are the expendable crew members and might as well be wearing red starfleet uniforms. I'm not sure why it always happens. Maybe their singing reminds us of Celine Dion. Or maybe it is because of *cough* separation attempts. *cough*

They got sent home.

Ashley Coles - Heart - "Alone"

She is 16. She is from Caledonia, Ontario. I have family there. Her singing made the speakers on my TV crackle.

That is all.

Ashley Coulter - Sam Cooke - "Bring It Home To Me"

How come when I look at women with short hair I immediately try to picture them with long hair? She seems talented. The song didn't really work for her. She should try a different style song next week. And she should let her hair grow. You should ALL let your hair grow.

Grow.

Steffi D. - Ella Fitzgerald - "I Only Have Peepers For You."

She has a 15 letter Italian last name. She's 17 years old, perky and sings in a very broadway show tunage style. Which I hate. She is talented though. And --

Oh. It says she watches Family Guy. Next.

Sarah Loverock - Michael Bolton - "Since I Fell For You."

She has this huge booming voice and she picks a Michael Bolton song? For my money it doesn't get any better than when he sings "When a Man Loves a Woman," but still...

She IS from Gibsons, BC though -- home of "The Beachcombers." Come on.

Kati Durst - Dobie Gray - "Drift Away"

She's a cute, hippy chick from Goderich, Ontario. She didn't do as well as she did in early rounds, but you just know that she's waiting to explode.

She works as an "automotive detailer" which, for some reason, just seems cool. Maybe it's a guy thing. Plus, she sings at charity events, wants to make the world a better place, and has had over 70 foster siblings since she was 12. Crap, she's won me over.

Nancy Silverman - Jann Arden - "Can I Be Your Girl?"

Yes, yes you can.

I am not even sure how to explain this one. You know how old dudes sometimes describe chicks as "She's a firecracker, that one. Now where's my stool softener?" Well she is, most definitely, a firecracker.

I don't think she has a great voice, but she can sing. If that makes any sense. Though she kind of growls most of the lyrics. But, her stage presence is insane. She teaches hip hop by day, so of course she is constantly dancing.

In the top 100 in Toronto, everyone was coming out singing power ballads and the like. Then she struts out, unleashes an energetic version of Bonnie Raitt's "Something To Talk About" which she ends with a big "Whoooooooooo!"

It was awesome. The watchability factor is strong in this one. I have the show pvr'd and can't bring myself to erase it.

Her motto is "I can't get nervous 'cause it gets in the way of me kicking ass." You don't get that on American Idol, my friends.

Did I mention the cute girl glasses? Mmmmhmmm.

Eva Avila - Sarah McLachlan - "Angel"


Her name is pronounced Evah and not Eeva. She's from Hull, QC, which is close enough to Ottawa, to keep her from being an expendable crew member. Well that and the fact that her voice is staggering and she is insanely gorgeous. She looks like Rachel Bilson (from "The O.C.") with healthy eating habits.

She is a French-Canadian/Peruvian mix. Which may now be at the top of the pantheon of hot mixes. I think it trumps Kristin Kreuk's Chinese/Dutch goodness, as well as whatever delicious concoction Reiko Aylesworth is.

And there is just a slight hint of a French accent when she sings.

In case you were wondering, here is how French accents measure up for hotness. In reverse order...

4. Acadian
3. Parisian
2. Quebecian
1. Northern New Brunswickian

Eva's performance was just awesome. Singing was perfect. Looks amazing on camera.

Now I can't decide if I have more of a crush on her or Nancy.

I wonder if they've ever seen "Big Love."

This is easily one of the coolest shirts ever. EVER!

However, in men's sizes, it only comes in 50% cotton/50% polyester. Polyester? This isn't a leisure suit. T-shirts are supposed to be cotton. Cot-ton.

*rages*

But, alas, Bob Ross was never about raging. Bob Ross was about peace... nay, peace AND love.

And Bob Ross was lousy with zen.

That was his appeal.

I can remember playing in a high school basketball tournament in scenic picturesque half-decent Truro, Nova Scotia. It was Saturday morning and our next game was getting close to starting. However, 3/4 of the team was in our motel room watching Bob Ross. There was no way in the world that we were leaving for the game until Bob was done painting.

Eventually we went. And probably lost.

I do wonder if we used our signature song for the beginning of warm-ups though. We typically came charging out of the locker room to...

Ice-T's "Colors."

It probably never occured to us that the only team in the history of basketball that was whiter than us won the state championships in the film HOOSIERS.

At one point we used Billy Idol's "Dancing With Myself" to begin warm-ups. I am really not sure what that was all about.

It could have been worse. When we played Judique High, they used Aerosmith's "Dude Looks Like a Lady." That made me giggle every time we played them. What also made me giggle was remembering the time I elbowed their best player in the face. It was awesome.

I went up and grabbed a defensive rebound. When I came down, I immediately brought my elbows up and started swinging them. (In basketball, this is the equivalent to being able to shoot someone who broke into your house. ) I vaguely remember a satisfying feeling, but I spotted our point guard breaking up the floor so I passed the ball and ran up the floor mysef. A teammate told me that the guy - the biggest jerkass on their team - got hit very hard squarely in the jaw. And that he ran after me - like Bambi on ice - trying to keep his balance while he threw punches at the back of my head. Gold, Jerry. Gold.

(I think it's funny that most guys my age tell high school sports stories involving them scoring the winning basket or catching a big touchdown. Mine involve Bob Ross and getting to crunch a tool in the jaw. It's all about priorities, really.)

What was my point? Oh yeah, Bob Ross is awesome. And my high school basketball team was very white. In fact, Bob Ross might have referred to us as "titanium white."

See how I did that?

And now, watch some Bob goodness!

When I was a little kid I loved the Montreal Canadiens. No, I mean I REALLY loved the Montreal Canadians. I owned three pairs of Habs pyjamas in a row. I’d wear each one until they became threadbare and then I’d whine until my parents replaced them. I had Habs sweatshirts, t-shirts and even a Ken Dryden lunchbox!

Sadly my devotion didn’t end with apparel and where I kept my peanut butter sandwiches. I was a snot-nosed stalker. It’s taken me a long time to be able to admit that to myself. You see, the Canadiens were playing an exhibition game against the Chicago Blackhawks in Halifax in the early ‘80s and my parents agreed to take me.

Now I wasn’t an overly active kid – or adult, depending on whom you ask – but for some reason I went hog wild when I got to Halifax and realized that my beloved Habs were in town. My cousin and I ran amok in the hotel trying to figure out if the team was staying there. Any man in his 20s or 30s got stared down in an effort to figure out if he might be a Hab or even one of the hated Blackhawks. Not that the teams were rivals, I could just hate another team for showing up to play against my favourites. I was talented like that.

Then it happened, Steve Shutt made the unfortunate decision to walk through the lobby of the hotel. I think I sensed him before I even saw him. But, when I turned and saw the face that had often stared back at me from my TV and O-Pee-Chees, I took off like a shot. I was jumping over suitcases, knocking old ladies onto luggage carts and moving like Oprah on a ham. When I caught up to Steve, I glommed onto his arm and stopped his forward progress. “You’re Steve Shutt!” I yelled. He calmly replied, “I know.” Which at the time baffled me a fair bit, but now I find quite funny.

On the same trip, I tried to follow Rod Langway into the hotel bar. Granted I was tall for my age (maybe 11), but bar staffers weren’t going for it. As my mother searched for my cousin and I – who were busy doing our imitations of The Tasmania Devil on speed – she peaked into an elevator that was just starting to close. Bob Gainey was inside. He smiled at my Mom, pointed left and said, “They went that way.”

Et tu, Bob?

The morning of the game we went to Metro Centre at the time we knew the Habs were practicing. I am not sure how we found out the time. Maybe it was a terrified Steve Shutt who spilled the beans. We waited outside and got autographs from Guy Lapointe, Serge Savard (who whipped out his own pen!) and Larry Robinson. Something I didn’t realize at the time, but Larry’s brother was also there and I got his autograph. His name? Moe. I kid you not. Larry and Moe. Had I been older, the Three Stooges jokes would have been flying.

Something else happened that morning. As I was standing by the player’s entrance – and unsuccessfully trying to convince a security guard that I was Guy Lapointe’s illegitimate son – goalie Denis Heron walked by and I asked him for an autograph. He kept walking in through the door, and let it slam in my face. I was shocked. Even a “No.” would have been better than that. I would have been satisfied with a “Bite me!” too. But, to just let that door slam. It was more than twenty years ago and I still get annoyed thinking about him. I booed him for years afterwards. I made a Denis Heron voodoo doll and constantly worked the groin. (Not really, but how funny would that have been?) That was my one bad memory of the trip. Had he taken two minutes, it would have been a perfect childhood memory. Screw you, Heron! Anyone know where I can get a good voodoo doll? Though at his age, Mother Nature is most likely working his prostate for me.

But, there was something else VERY cool that happened on that trip. I met Guy LaFleur. I loved Guy. As much as I loved the Habs, I think I loved “The Flower” more. I was an official member of the “Guy LaFleur Fan Club.” Seriously. I had a big Guy poster on my wall. I cheered loudly every time he scored a goal. And I met him on the street outside the Metro Centre. He was arriving a little later than everyone else and had a mini-entourage with him. (How do you say posse in French?) I meekly asked for an autograph. Guy stopped, smiled and took my little notepad from my shaking hand. He also signed a puck for me. (More on that in a moment.) He asked where we were from and seemed amazed that we had driven three hundred and fifty kilometres just to see them play. It was a great day for me and I still remember it as clearly as can be. Guy made this kid very happy that day.

The next day we made the trek back home. I was showing my little sister my autographs, program from the game, and my puck that Guy had signed. My sister still sucked her thumb at the time. She picked up the puck, looked at it for a moment, and then proceeded to wipe Guy’s autograph off with her saliva covered thumb as I watched in horror. That was about as angry as I’ve ever been.

I really loved hockey back then. My sister? Not so much. But, I’ve forgiven my sister. Mostly. Can hockey win me back?

My name is Peter and I'm a giant sap.

No, it's true.

And, I suspect, I always have been.

I was reminded of this yesterday, when I shared a link to a Terra Naomi song with a female friend and she called me "a girl."

My first reaction was...

"What-- Why you little -- No good rotten --"

Then I realized that she is a little right. While I don't think a nice, mellowly awesome song is girly just because a female is singing it, I do have a history of liking girly music.

No grown man should enjoy Lisa Loeb's "Stay" nearly as much as I do. (I blame the cute girl glasses she wears, but that's neither here nor there. )

Even as a teen, I always had a mixed tape of sappy music in my car. I told my friends that it was used to "get ladies in the mood." And while it was likely utilized to attempt to do just that, I also really enjoyed the mellow music. If you won't let yourself sing along to Chicago's "You're The Inspiration," then you are a robot, my friend.

I found one of these tapes recently. I think I had called it, "Mellow, mushy, make-out music, motherfucker." Apparently I liked alliteration as much as mellow music. I so wish that I had kept a track list.

It wouldn't be a big deal -- and this would be a shorter post -- if my sappiness was only evident in my musical tastes. But, alas...

I am something of a romantic.

I was chatting with the same female friend recently and we were discussing marriage. (Not to each other, just in general.) She asked my opinion, and I shared a laundry list of "What I'd need..." in a relationship before I'd get married. I had given the list some thought, and if you read it, you'd fully understand why I'm not married.

She didn't feel like my list was at all realistic. I replied that I felt it was much more realistic than she realized. (And she likely thought "And THAT is why you are not married, ya maroon.")

What I should have explained is that my list wasn't exactly a check list. It wasn't as though a woman had to score 9 out of 10 to be considered. It was just more of a "these are the factors that are weighed, but I go with my gut" type of scenario. My gut processes the information, then sends the question to my brain, as if it is one of those notes you get passed in the seventh grade:

"Do you think this relationship is going to last? Check one.

_____ YES

_____ NO

(Mr. MacPhee has a chalk handprint on his butt!)"

I don't like the thought of divorce. I'd have to give her half of my hockey card collection. And I'd hate to have my boudoir proclivities discussed in the courtroom. Or worse yet, the press. (Because obviously the media would be very interested in how I get down.)

Maybe I am at an age where I should be more jaded about the whole thing, but that just hasn't kicked in yet.

And maybe my "list" has caused me to miss out on something great.

But, I think you have to go with your gut.

With that said, I am going to listen to some Joni Mitchell.

My name is Peter and I'm a giant sap.

Have you ever wondered what toys do when you leave them alone all day? Personally I like to imagine them living out their own little lives. Perhaps as if they are in their own soap opera...

"Cassie, my darling, I don't think that we are going to be able to make this work. We are from entirely different worlds."

"Plus, the not being anatomically correct thing is a bit of a downer."

So, ET and Cassie went on about their days in quiet desperation.


"My milkshake DOES bring all the boys to the yard."

"Oh, Dave Barry, you scamp!"

Until...

"I can't take this any longer. I am sleeping with BT -- your EVIL twin!!"

"Well, I wouldn't say that there was much sleeping involved. Mwuhahahahahahah! You can tell that I'm the evil twin because of my black goatee."

"I am shocked. SHOCKED! But, I too have a confession. I am sleeping with Sassie -- YOUR evil twin."

"He wears his socks to bed."

"Uhm, I slept with her also."


"Yeah, me too."

With all of the secrets out in the open, ET & Cassie had to turn their attention to the big board meeting at ET's family's cosmetics company. There were rumours of a takeover bid.

"Cassie, are you ready for the board meeting of my family's cosmetics company? There are rumours of a takeover bid."

"Who would do such a thing?"

"I would."


"Dad!?!?! I thought that you were in a coma."

"Really? I thought that he was just a heavy sleeper."

"I was in a coma, but someone made sweet love to me and it woke me up."

"Don't look at me, I was in Paris."

"I thought that I felt something."

"It was I who slept with ET Sr. I figured with a guy in a coma there wouldn't be any of that annoying cuddling afterwards."

"Call me."

"Me too."

"I think that I need to lie down."

What will become of the cosmetics company? Will ET and Cassie find a way to work things out? The answers to these questions - and six more - on the next episode of "General Days of Our Bold Passions & the Restless."

I had a dream...

That one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of it's creed...

No, wait. That was Martin Luther King. Though that IS a hell of a dream.

Mine was actually a bit different. It was last night. And the dream went a little something like this...

I was dreaming that I met up with a girl I knew in university. It was present day. She was married and pregnant.

Maybe I should give a little backstory.

Picture it... Sicily, 1931.

Actually it was Halifax, Nova Scotia... 1992.

My overuse of ellipseseses hadn't begun yet.

I was living in The Apartment with my BFFs. (Wouldn't they be BFsF?)

It was September and a bright-eyed Peter was attending Dalhousie University. Mihkel Mathiesen had just assumed presidency of the Pre-WWII Republic of Estonia, in exile. Right Said Fred recently reminded us that we were all considerably too sexy for our shirts. And I was about to see HER for the first time.

As I plunked down into my seat in this small, horseshoe-shaped classroom, I instinctively looked up to see what other suckers were here at 8:30 am on a Monday. She was seated directly across from me. She was petite, blonde, and had a pony tail sticking out through the back of her baseball cap.

I knew I was in trouble.

I also knew that my classroom attendance was going to be the best it ever was from this point on.

I don't remember what class it was, but I'll never forget the first time I saw her smile at a friend sitting next to her.

You may not know this, but an interesting fact about the North American Peter, is that historically he could not talk to women that he really like liked. A girl he just liked was no problem. He could be confident, funny, maybe even charming on a good day. But, if he was really interested, his brain shut down and no words came out. Needless to say, that wasn't really handy.

A few days later, my friend and I were in some kind of meeting. A large group of our classmates were there. She walked in with her friend and they sat directly across from us. Immediately my buddy leans in to me and whispers, "We must have them. Which one do you want?" Without hesitating, I whisper, "Blonde!" He smiles. He wanted the buxom brunette all along.

You gotta love "dibs." I often wonder if Paleolithic man ever sat around the fire with his homies saying, "See woman with only a little brontosaurus burger mashed into hair? Dibs!"

Okay, you got me, I've never actually wondered that. Way to ruin a story. Jerk.

I hope that P-Lith and his boys were better at respecting the time-honoured tradition than my friend was, because after 6 months of no progress, he said to me, "You know, I think I want the blonde now."

It turned out that she was in quite a few of my classes. And somehow I managed to increase my GPA that semester, even though I spent the majority of my time staring at her. I would catch myself doing it - so obviously she and others could too - but I just couldn't stop myself. I'd be thinking, "Dude... you are doing it again. STOP. You are staring. You look like a fool. Stop it now. Okay, that's it. I'm going for a slice of pizza. You are on your own, fucko. *Homeresque footsteps walking away*"

Then one day I looked up from my notes and she was staring at me. Of course I looked to see if anyone interesting was sitting to either side of me, or if I had something hanging from my nose. Nope and nope.

Without thinking, I smiled a half-smile at her. She smiled back. I heard violins. Possibly violas.

So, every day we'd stare at each other. This went on for quite a while. Then one day we both left at the same time, from different doors, and our paths crossed. I stopped. She stopped. I said, "Hi." She smiled and said "Hi."

Then I started walking again.

Ack.

If I could meet up with Past Peter right now I'd give him such a punch in the kidneys.

Do I regret walking away? Absolutely.

Would I do it differently if given another chance? Without question.

Do I realize that I am talking like Robert Evans? You better believe it.

One day I realized that a dude I was working on a group project with had gone to high school with her. I immediately asked about her situation. Apparently she had been dating the same guy forever and they were "practically engaged." I was crestfallen. You know, if crestfallen is latin for "punched in the cherries."

For the next couple of years we'd stare off and on in class. Our paths would cross at various Commerce Society events. Including one night when a bunch of us were looking for something to do and she offered a joking suggestion of "We could all go skinnydipping at Chocolate Lake." It was met with silence until I offered up, "Yeeeah, I'm hanging out with HER tonight."

She was even a waitress in my favourite place to eat in the city. An insanely cute woman bringing me delicious chicken fingers. Now THAT, my friends, was living. For some reason, whenever she waited on me, I tipped like a drunken Frenchman. Actually I don't know if the French are good tippers. I know that it wasn't like a drunken Scotsmen. I kid, I kid. It's not right to generalize based on unfair stereotypes. That's something Belgians would do.

Okay, back to the dream. You had totally forgotten, right?

So, in the dream she and I had met up. We were chatting like old friends. She was pregnant and not feeling well and wanted a drive home. I'm not sure where we were, but I immediately volunteered.

(A weird part about this dream is that I actually woke up, popped a couple of sinus pills, then fell back asleep and continued it. )

I go to get my dream car and it is blocked in by some jerkass. So, I start looking for an alternate means of transport. I am frantically asking everyone. Eventually a friend lends me a car and I go back to get her.

I am carrying her bags and heading towards the door, with her in front of me, when a dude walks along and knocks a hat off of her head. (She hadn't been wearing a hat moments before.) I pick up her hat and put it on her head, and just want to get her home. But, she is enraged. She takes off after the guy and slaps him in the face. He says something rude to her. So, I sigh and put down her bags. I take off my jacket and walk over, ready to punch him in the face, so that I can get her home.

Suddenly he starts getting really excited. It turns out that he is some kind of deviant masochist who gets off on getting pummeled by strangers. She and I are both creeped out, and I grab her bags and usher her towards the door.

Once outside, we are walking towards the car when she doubles over with a contraction. I put my arm around her and start consoling her.

Then I wake up.

What the hell?

I wonder if this says something about who I am that I immediately wanted to be her "white knight." Maybe we should REALLY delve into this deeply right now. I should just bare my soul and --

Oooops. I didn't realize how long this had gotten. Oh well. Perhaps another time.

Crap. I just thought of something. What if she had been unhappy in her relationship way back then and I really did have a chance?

Past Peter, you've screwed me again. Damn you, you spineless handsome bastard!

Adorably Cute Niece (ACN) and Cassie (from "Dragon Tales." Duuuuh.) were playing in ACN's bed this morning. They were giggling, so I asked ACN if they were sillies. She shook her head "No." I asked, "Is Uncle Pete a silly?" She yelled "Yeeeeeeeah!" I said, "Cassie, is Uncle Pete a silly?" ACN replied - in a quieter voice - "Yeah."

I said, "You guys are picking on Uncle Pete. *sniffle*" ACN cracked up. She was howling.

Later on ACN was sitting in her wheelchair (aka Chairy) and colouring with Uncle Pete. Well she was colouring AND having fun pushing her little feet against my chair and sending herself rolling across the room. She loves the *thud* when Chairy hits the door. Or the wall. Or someone standing there.

ACN is very picky about what she wants to colour. I showed her every picture in the book at least 7 times before asking, "Do you just like making Uncle Pete show you every picture again and again." She gave me a sheepish little grin and started giggling.

Then when we'd finally pick a picture to colour, she wouldn't let me pick the colour of marker to use. And she didn't want to pick them herself. Cassie would have to pick them. (ET is in another room because he is bad and pinches bums and makes little girls yell.) I'd pick up the yellow marker and ask ACN if she wanted that one. She'd shake her head vigourously. I'd ask if she wanted me to check with Cassie. "Yeah!" So I'd say, "Cassie, what colour? Oh, yellow?" and ACN would agree.

After doing this about ten times, I turned to ACN and whispered, "Hey, isn't Cassie a bit of a bossypants." ACN looked at me and said a low "Yeah." Then we both giggled.

It is MUCH more fun to be a picker than a pickee.

Labels: ACN

This is 32 seconds before I score a goal on the monkey. (Low, left-side.) She does NOT like to lose.

This is 47 seconds before her Mommy gets mad at us for playing soccer when First Communion photos need to be taken.

But, neither of them could stay mad at me, because I spent 4.5 hours Friday afternoon/evening refreshing a page on the Hilary Duff fanclub website, so that the monkey would have first crack at concert tickets that would only go on sale to the rest of the public the next day.

Because I know that I'm going to be busy Monday-Wednesday, I am sitting here on Saturday morning working on a post for you people. That's dedication.

So, here is a sonnet for the lovely and talented Lauren Graham. I'm no poet, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.

Why, tell me why, was a sonnet my choice,
In this particular scenario?
Mostly because I have a crappy voice,
That'd clusterfuck an oratorio.
It didn't take long to see you're the one.
(My iambic pentameter's shitty.)
I think it was on "Third Rock From The Sun,"
Or maybe "Caroline in the City."
Man, I adored the crap out of "Townies."
Working on "Family Guy" just makes me sad.
It really just gives me all kinds of... frownies.
What Thornton did to you in SANTA,BAD.
Such beauty and charm couldn't be clearer.
Not seen since I last looked in my mirror.

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************************************************************************************

That's me.

My name is Billy.

I am eight years old.

I am in my bedroom right now. I'm not sure if my Mommy is ever going to let me come out.

She is very mad.

She is madder than when she found my booger wall.

And madder than when she found me blowing up Daddy's special slimy balloons.

She even took my X-box.

My mommy is mad at my daddy too. When he was leaving she called him a bunch of bad names. She used an f-word, a c-word, an s-word and a word I don't even know how to spell. But, I think it is a bad one.

I am pretty used to getting into trouble. I pick on my little sister a lot. I told her that the tooth fairly had a younger brother who was bad and came around and stole teeth from children's mouths. She had bad dreams for a month.

I get in trouble at school for not listening. And for drawing in my notebook when I'm "supposed to be paying attention like the other students."

But, it's boring! I know what twelve times twelve is already.

It's one hundred and forty-four.

I draw horses. Wanna see one?

Oh, my mom took my notebooks too.

She's pretty thor-- throug-- thoro-- She thinks of everything.

I've been up here for an hour. I'm getting huuuuuungry. I have a box of Smarties under my mattress, but they are all melty and gross. I'll probably make my sister eat them later.

Maybe if I stomp my feet on the floor, my mommy will come and let me out.

She really did seem very mad though.

What's a divorce?

Who is John Wayne Bobbitt?

If they didn't want me to play in the garage, then they should have locked the doors AND the windows.

Mommy said that I'll be in REAL trouble when daddy gets home.

I don't even know what a "meth lab" is... But, that policeman sure did.

I guess I'll eat the melty Smarties.

Women may be from Venus, but they can certainly obtain a Martian working visa.

The animal known as "man" really isn't all that hard to understand. And control. Because we here at PeterDeWolf.com love and appreciate our female visitors, we are going to offer you ladies some easy to follow steps for getting your man to do what you want him to do. I know that in the past I've preached complete honesty in dating, but sometimes you have to go another way.

1) The "Spoonful of sugar" method.

Let's say that your heart is set on renting BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN this weekend. However, your man is completely against it. He doesn't want to see two cowboys kissing and that's that. It gives him the heebiest of jeebies.

All seems lost, right?

Wrong.

By simply mentioning, "Doesn't Anne Hathaway take her top off in that movie?" not only will he now be willing to rent the movie, but he'll likely also run over old ladies and set seven land speed records on his way to Blockbuster.

Just FYI, the "topless Anne Hathaway" gambit can also get a man to:
- meet your parents for the first time
- get a proctological exam
- lop off his pinky toe with pruning sheers

Maybe this should have been called the "two cups of sugar" method.

2) The "It could be worse" method.

This one is genius in it's simplicity.

Let's say that you want to have a dinner party this Saturday night. He is completely opposed because it means that he may actually have to put on pants.

All you have to say is the following:

"Sweetie, this Saturday you have to drive me and six of my girlfriends around antiquing all day as we discuss our diets and menstruation. Finally, when we get home, we'll be hosting a dinner party. Or, I suppose, we could JUST have a dinner party."

That flash you just saw was your man starting to fold napkins into swans.

Of course you could replace "have a dinner party" with "kick you repeatedly in the nuts" and it would still work.

3) The "Positive reinforcement" method.

I'm not going to lie, this one is going to take a little extra commitment from you.

Let's say that no matter what you do, it is like pulling teeth to get your dude to take out the garbage. You beg... you plead... you put up signs... Nothing works.

If you wait long enough, eventually he'll take out the garbage at least once. And that is all you need.

Right after he completes the task, you are going to have to reward him in that special way that only you can. (You see, when big boys and big girls really love each other, they express this love in a physical manner.)

Suddenly taking out the garbage is forever linked with ill freaky na-na in his head. He won't even know why, but the mere thought of taking out the garabge will put him in a good mood. It'll be like you shacked up with the Man from Glad.

This will also work with; cooking dinner, walking the dog, washing his own clothes, shaving, giving you a kidney, dusting, and wearing butless chaps and a feather boa while dancing on your kitchen table and singing every song off Bon Jovi's "New Jersey" album. You know, if you are into that sort of thing.

Of course, you do have to ask yourself if it is really worth the ultimate sacrifice just to get your trash taken out.

Hey, don't look at me. You picked the hairy bastard.

4) The "Dress up like Wonder Woman" method.

Uhm... Okay. Maybe this one would only work on me.



Regardless, I think that I've given you some really good ideas to work with. What you choose to do with them is your own business.

(Don't read too much into the fact that my plans will lead to a dude getting more sex, getting to see Anne Hathaway topless, and never having to hear about a diet again. That's all purely coincidental. Cool? Cool. )

Just so you know, not even these methods would be able to convince me to watch DIRTY DANCING.

Well, maybe the Wonder Woman one...

So, today is yet another provincial election in la Nouvelle-Ecosse.

[Why do I drop in random French words? Who do I think I'm fooling? I had cute blonde french girlfriends do all of my french homework in high school.]

The oxymoronic Progressive Conservatives are currently in power, but, hopefully not for long. And I know that it is bad form to discuss religion or politics with folks, but this is my blog, suckas, so deal.

The poll opened at 8:00 am, and by 8:30 I was turning into the parking lot. I realllllllly enjoy voting Liberal. I just do. And after I cast my vote, I once again felt that familiar buzz of striking a blow for good over evil.

As I drove out of the parking lot, I noticed the "service engine soon" light on in the truck. I assume that the PC party is somehow involved.

I should mention that the Liberal candidate that I voted for today is a very good friend and a college roommate of mine. So, I know where the bodies are buried. I may have even tossed a couple shovels full of dirt myself. I kid. He's never done anything wrong in his life... except for the stories that will show up in my tell-all biography on him. Shhhhhhh.

Beyond this, voting Liberal is hardwired into my DNA. It's right in there with freakish height and lack of patience.

As I walk up to each ballot box, I can hear the shuffling of past generations getting ready to roll over in their graves if I make the "wrong" decision.

Not that I actually COULD vote for another party. If, say, Hitler was running for the Liberals in my riding, I'd just refuse to vote. Not that we'd nominate Hitler or anything. (The NDP might. I'm just sayin'.)

My grandparents were hardcore Liberals. My grandfather even let the Liberals use his house as their headquarters during an election. Or two maybe. (Which turned out to be where I met a super cute blonde french girlfriend.)

My grandfather's brother was even harder corer. He'd be willing to throw-down in the parkinglot of a polling station if someone said the wrong thing to him. He'd also get drunk, throw his fridge out of his house, and the next day need 4 people to help him bring it back in.

Back in the day, bottles of liquor were a staple of elections around these parts. Someone would pick you up, drive you to vote, then give you a pint of rum. But this, sadly like party patronage, faded. My grandfather's brother once made me go to the liquor store for him to buy some pints of rum. I was 16 at the time. Did I mention the freakish height?

I did have a falling out with the Liberal party a decade and a half ago or so. They decided to vote out a fellow Cape Bretoner as the leader of the party. I was heartbrokeneded. I stood at the convention yelling "Nooooo!" and "Shaaaaaaame!" with a friend of mine.

As it turns out, that was the same friend that I voted for today.

Full circle, bitches. Full circle.

Friday night a small community in eastern Nova Scotia raised $75,000 with a Cancer Society Relay For Life.

This is almost $20,000 more than they raised last year in their first ever Relay.

Last year's $56,000, was $20,000 more than what people in the Nova Scotia offices of the Canadian Cancer Society expected.

Some people in the offices expected last year's event to raise $10,000.

Total.

They don't understand Cape Breton.

Clearly.

They didn't anticipate a woman in her mid-50s walking around all night until blood vessels burst like mad in her leg.

They didn't realize that people from all over the area would donate so much food, time, and their services to make sure that the people walking would be well taken care of.

They didn't know that a group of twelve would get up at 4:00 am to cook a celebratory breakfast for everyone involved.

The rep they sent from head office didn't believe that when the ogranizing committee came up $1700 short of their $75,000 goal, that the passing of a hat would put them over the top.

It did.

No one expected an area with a population less than 5000, would be able to sell 2000 luminaries.

They were.

Everyone who attended saw 9 year olds walking hand in hand with 60 years olds, giving everyone hope that the next generation would see the importance of this event.

Everyone who attended saw the tears of joy and pride in the eyes of the survivors - in their bright yellow t-shirts - when they walked outside to make their victory lap and were met by hundreds of cheering team members.

Too few people know the stories of local businesspeople writing cheques to make sure that Survivors were celebrated as they should be - with flowers and a delicious meal.

Too few people REALLY know how hard the committee worked to make this event the success that it was.

But, the people that do realize are thanking and hugging these organizers enthusastically.

Friday night a small community in eastern Nova Scotia raised $75,000 with a Cancer Society Relay for Life.

Next year they'll aim higher.

My Fellow PeterDeWolfdotcomicans,

Since I don't have an idea for a new post today, I figured that I'd just give you a little catch-up entry. It was either that or run a "classic" post. And, by this point, you should have poured over every single entry in my archives anyway.

1) Annie Sertich asked in a recent post:

When did you figure out that people from your past were reading your blog? People that you aren't friends with anymore. Not family or people that you want to reconnect with. But others. Like reading it, and not telling you they were reading it. Not commenting. But kinda spying on you. Cuz when you cross paths with them, they know. And you know. And you can see it in their eyes they are secretly judging?

I guess that's the risk you take, right?

But what did you do?

Did you pull the plug on your blog? Did you stop being honest? Did you just say fuck it?

That's a good question. (Or bunch of questions. Details...) It's not that much of an issue for me, because A) I'm a glory whore. And 2) I get more visitors from foreign countries than I do from my home town.

But, I'd tell whoever it was to keep reading. And to get their friends to read. Because we all know that website traffic, like sexual conquests, is all about quantity over quality.

In the comments to her post, Shane Nickerson linked to a post in which he addressed much the same issue. *cough* *cough* Lazy bastard. *cough* And, as usual, Nickerson wrote something that I really liked:

To answer the standard newbie question (and all of its variants), here are the answers to the commonly asked, "Why are you blogging?"

- Because it keeps me writing.
- Because I get instant feedback on that writing.
- Because it feels good to verbalize my thoughts, actions, and experiences.
- Because it's part of a dynamic global community, and therefore, I am also part of that community.
- Because it gives me a voice.
- Because I have complete control of my content.
- Because I love the internet.
- Because it reaches people; sometimes more than was ever intended or imagined.
- Because I like it. It satisfies something in me. It continues to drive me to write, explore, and learn.
- Because you can only leave comments so many times before you decide it's time to have your own forum.
- Because in the end, I'm just a nerd.

I think that really does a good job of summing up what I dig about blogging as well. You know, except for the nerd thing.

I am usually amazed by how Nickerson makes creating great posts look effortless. Of course, in this medium it is impossible to tell how much work went into them. He may smear Nutella on his nipples and swaddle himself in cling-wrap for three days just to come up with the ideas.

Try to get rid of that visual now.

You are probably wondering, "Man, can this goof possibly drop the names of any more bloggers?" Well, the answer is YES! I totally can. Mostly because I am listening to a The Replacements greatest hits compilation streaming link, that was provided by Tony Pierce. I had no idea how many of their songs were awesome. And how many I had known, but didn't know who sang them. ("Unsatisfied" kicks 2.37 metric tonnes of ass.)

I've never claimed to be a music expert. I'm the same dude that wore out his Bruce Willis "Return of Bruno" cassette in his youth. It's true.

2) Since you are currently visiting this site, you know that it looks like poop. I was telling people that, "The lack of a look IS my look. And I just want people to focus on the writing." Which, if you consult your handy Peter to English dictionary, means "I have no eye for design, and PhotoShop makes me want to cry in the corner and wet myself a little bit."

So, I'm admitting that there is a problem. That is step one. And I really want to have a prettier site. But, you couldn't convince me to sit down to try to do it on my own even if you offered me a free pizza-making hooker wearing a chocolate Pop Tart bikini.

But, if you are a genius graphic artist, that doesn't like making money and just adores working with people who really can't explain what they want and expect you to read their mind, then you should, like, totally e-mail me at info@peterdewolf.com.

3) I am going to do my first ever vlog one of these days. Next I'll probably do an ascii text Tweety Bird. Or I'll insert a pic of that dancing baby.

But, it's better late than never, right?

It won't be today though. I'm just not feeling pretty.

Don't look at me.

I don't want to oversell this future vlog, but suffice it to say that it'll be the single greatest thing that you've ever watched in the history of eyes. (Except for maybe this.) It will cure impotency and regrow hair. The sheer brilliance of it will create peace in the middle east and end Jennifer Lopez' career.

But, I don't want to build up expecations.

4) I am also planning a photo cartoon (photo comic?) starring the diaper-wearing stuffed ET. It will star some of his stuffed friends and possibly Michael Rappaport. And here is a pic of ET with ACN.

ACN looks all suspiciouspants, like ET is up to no good again.

I've always had what one might call a healthy level of self-importance. That is probably why, when I was ten years old, I started practicing signing my autograph. It never once occured to me that it was a possibility that people wouldn't ask me for it. I wasn't sure yet why I'd be famous, but I just figured it would happen.

It may have begun with my show-stopping performance as ET (this one, not this one.) But I'm not positive.

I wish I had the actual pages and pages of my practice signatures. Instead I've tried to recreate them for you here.

Let's start with my earliest version. I enjoyed the feeling of writing it, but it didn't seem grand enough for a person of my stature. And my "P" kind of looked like Snoopy's ear.

I later decided that it would be bad ass, if I took the line that came out of the second "E" (or "R" depending on my mood) and then used it to cross my "T." No wasted penstrokes for this dude. Even then I was economical in my energy outputs.


I wanted to move away from Snoopy's ear with my next one. And I didn't want to take the chance that people would somehow miss that fact that I was a star.


A bit on the nose, eh?

At this point, I began to suspect that I'd become a famous athlete. And since Guy LaFleur was incorporating his #10 into his autograph, perhaps I should too. I did end up later wearing #10 when I played basketball. However, a lack of anything resembling jumping ability, and a propensity for elbowing people in the face, probably kept me out of the NBA. That and politics, of course.

The next one was inspired by a grade school teacher who would sign something with her initials and then turn it into a check mark. I was impressed by her multi-taskinicity, so I decided to put my own slant on it. And despite the fact that I thought I was smarter than all of my teachers, I didn't have much use for an actual check mark.

The important thing to note in this next one is the squigglies underneath. And this example is at the low-end as far as the number of squigglies go. It got worse. Much worse. I would sometimes make 15 squiggles and THEN wrap it around like the one above. Three of those and I would have carpal-tunnelled the crap out of myself.

Around this time I realized that my Dad signed his name with his first two initials and then the last name. I gave this a whirl. However, I quickly scrapped it when I thought that there might be other people with the same initials. How would people know it was actually me? I was horrified by this.

This next one was a case of me anticipating the huge number of people that would want me to sign things. I knew that my hand would sometimes get tired. So, I started practicing what it would look like after I had signed a thousand autographs in an hour. You have to anticipate any eventuality, people.

And this is pretty much what it looks like now.

Sadly the only people who request it are package delivery drivers. So far... Though I am sure that they are saving copies of it to eventually sell on eBay? Right?

Right.

This is Kevin and Dave. I'd tell you which is which, but let's face it, you'll only forget in five minutes.

Don't feel bad. They are staggeringly forgettable.

Kevin's Mom forgot him at the mall when he was 3... and when he was 5. Dave's prom date just forgot to show up all together. She got deeply enthralled in an episode of "Melrose Place" and blanked completely.

Kevin and Dave have been living together since college. They are 36 now.

Neither Kevin nor Dave has ever seen a naked woman outside of a strip joint. Did I mention that they are 36?

Other than the expected Picard vs. Kirk arguments, they got along very well.

Recently though, things had not been going as smoothly. Kevin had taken to eating the last of Dave's Raisin Bran and then not buying more.

Dave decided to play a trick on Kevin. He glued Kevin's phone to his desk. Dave didn't factor in just how spectacularly unpopular they were, and it took four days before anyone even called.

Kevin knew that he'd been had. He didn't know why Dave did it, but he knew that he must get his revenge. So, Kevin threw one red sock in with Dave's dirty laundry. 5 days later, Dave looked like Pinky Tuscadero. Again, this did little to their popularity. They did however both develop cravings for cotton candy.

Dave wasn't going to take this sitting down - on his special-ordered gaming chair. He broke into Kevin's desk and stole his favourite 20-sided Dungeons and Dragons dice. That very night Kevin (aka Lord Elsior Nonooky) got killed by a menacing ogre.

The war was on.

Kevin cut the toes out of Dave's socks.

Dave put peroxide in Kevin's dandruff shampoo.

Kevin put Dave's toothbrush in the toilet.

Dave told Kevin that it was actually his own toothbrush.

They both went to buy new toothbrushes.

Kevin got Jehovah's Witnesses to go visit Dave.

Dave signed Kevin up for a gay dating service.

Kevin questioned some things -- then let the air out of Dave's tires.

Dave had had enough. He sat down at his computer to put his new plan in motion.

The next morning Dave returned from a Power Walk around the park, to see the light on their answering machine flashing. Dave had never seen this before. He clicked the "Play" button.

It was Kevin and he was frantic.

"Dave! Oh my God! Somehow I got on a terrorist watch list. AND the FBI most wanted list. Interpol wants to question me now. There was a full cavity search! Dave! Help!! Call a lawyer. Call my parents! For the love of God help me!!!!"

Dave shut the answering machine off.

"Eat my cereal now, bitch."

Yesterday a friend e-mailed me a link to the online dating site ad of a girl that I BRIEFLY dated a decade or so ago. And, like most other people would be, I was curious to see how she had described herself. After a quick glance, I noticed the complete absence of phrases such as "cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs" and "the anti-christ." So, I know that she wasn't completely forthcoming.

This led me to think that maybe the whole internet dating scene would work even better if everyone was completely and absolutely honest about themselves.

I mean brutally honest.

Isn't it better to find out all the bad stuff upfront? Otherwise you can meet a nice girl, spend weeks getting to know her, and then BAM! you find out that she watches "Family Guy." I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

You can probably guess where I'm going with this...

What would I write?

Good question. I'm glad you asked.

[Please note, I reserve the right to make things up for my own amusement.]

*******

My Honest Personal Ad
By Peter DeWolf

1) I'm going to be sarcastic. Frequently. And even when I feel that you've had enough and are on the verge of stabbing me with some kind of homemade shiv, I'll make one more annoying comment. I don't know why. But, it's going to happen.

2) I'm oddly obsessed with the colour of your bra and panties matching. I'm a stickler about this -- even while I'm wearing Homer Simpson boxers that are completely falling apart.

3) I am not going to shave frequently. But, you have to. Seriously. Just the thought of it --- Eeeeep.

4) I don't really care about that chick at work that you are feuding with. Oh, it is going to seem like I care. I'm going to say the right things and have your back completely. But down deep I'll be thinking, "Buy her a drink, punch her in the face, or get the hell over it. How friggin' old are you people?"

5) I may screen your call if you try to catch me during "Gilmore girls." This will enrage you.

6) The reason for #5 is that I have a crush on Lauren Graham. It's best that you make your peace with that now.

7) The Toronto Raptors play 82 basketball games a year. I am going to try to tune in for every single one. I won't be listening to anything you say during the games. I also don't stand behind anything I agreed to do while watching a Raptors game. Nice try though.

8) I'm probably not going to think you look fat. Like ever. And if you say something like, "Oh, don't touch me. I feel huge," this is going to baffle me. I'll be thinking, "But, doesn't someone wanting to touch you make you feel better about yourself?" Then I'll lose interest in that madness and watch a Raptors game. I'll also probably buy you your favourite snack foods anytime you are having a bad day.

9) I hate dancing. And if you somehow convince me to dance, you better believe that you'll pay for it later.

10) I won't watch DIRTY DANCING with you. Not going to happen. I also don't give a flying fuck whether or not baby ever gets put in the corner.

11) I expect you to read my mind.

12) I expect slavish devotion. If you aren't with me, you are against me. I'm not entirely sure who I'm at war with, but you best be in my bunker.

13) I like hookers. Just kidding... I actually like strippers. KIDDING. I like hookers AND strippers. Okay, I jest.

14) I like cocktail waitresses.

15) I enjoy any and all versions of "Landslide," "Wonderwall" and Leonard Cohen's "Halleujah."

16) I like "good girls" and "nice girls." If you have to ask whether or not you fall into one of these categories, you probably don't.

18) I make overly long numbered lists.

If you are still interested, e-mail iheartpeter@peterdewolf.com - But, I won't even look at your mail until after I'm done watching "Gilmore girls."