August 21 – Village Idiot

Dumb and Dumber

Yesterday we had a look at some of the stupid things I’ve done over my many awesome years. Did you really think that was it, though? There are so many other wild tales of great idiocy in my archives. Here are a few more select stories!

One More for the Road

Well before I became the seasoned drinker you see before you today, I was still learning the ropes of the liquor game and picking up experience points where I could. At a party very early in my drinkdom, shortly after high school graduation, I was having a great time catching up with folks I hadn’t seen since our days of set school schedules and also meeting some newbies to the Sip Advisor’s world.

Before I knew it, I was 10 beers deep. With the party still in full swing, I was sad to discover that my stock had been completely depleted. I was now regretting giving out the couple brews I had gifted to others for past offerings bestowed upon me. For shame, Sip Advisor… but it gets worse. In my bag of goodies was one Mike’s Hard Lemonade – the popular drink of my graduation summer. Why I brought it with me, I don’t know. Perhaps the devil slipped it in my bag for its own amusement.

Mikes Lemonade

Without much thought, I cracked the can open, took a big swig, and immediately felt it not sitting very well. Being young and dumb as I was, I finished the beverage and decided to make my way home. What was usually only a ten minute walk home took me nearly double, as I was forced to stop frequently to get sick on some poor stranger’s lawn. I eventually made it home to get sick once more in my room, before passing out. Lesson learned, my little sippers: beer before liquor, never been sicker… liquor before beer, you’re in the clear!

Wax-on, Wax-off

For years following Mrs. Sip and I becoming an item, I had complained about not liking my chest hair and wanting to have it removed. Mrs. Sip must have finally hit her breaking point because one night, she showed up at my place with a waxing kit and said the time had finally come to put up or shut up. So, there we stood, in the bathroom, Mrs. Sip warming and dripping hot wax over my body, as Broski Sip snickered and filmed the incident for prosperity purposes (or at least that’s what they told me!).

Finally, it was time. RIP! Mrs. Sip pulled away the first patch and left in its place was a bald patch of skin. I was surprised that the whole process didn’t really hurt that much. So, we continued and in no time we were finished and I had a nice smooth chest. End of story, right!? Not so fast. Within minutes my chest was covered in all these tiny red little bumps that never really went away until the hair started growing back. A man just can’t catch a break!

chest waxing

Cruise Ship Quarantine

Back in early May, I wrote an article about how to enjoy an open bar. Let’s just say I wrote that post a little too well. You see, my aunt was getting married aboard a cruise ship and the wedding package featured a one-hour open bar with little appies and such. With only an hour to drink like kings, a game plan was needed and I captained that ship straight into the rocky cliffs.

Video and photo evidence from the event shows me with two drinks in hand for nearly every appearance. We also lined up at least 10 rounds of shots to go with the double fisting of doubled drinks. I can throw down pretty good in the game we call alcohol, but my biggest mistake that day was building all that booze on top of nothing. I hadn’t eaten that morning (not a huge surprise, as I’m not really a breakfast guy) and still hadn’t touched anything edible by the time the wedding ceremony was over around 2pm.

I guess it could have been worse!

I guess it could have been worse!

Largely on my advice (and coercion) three of us ended up getting quarantined, while a couple others were incapacitated for much of the trip. Worst of all, we were banished to our rooms because those of us who got sick did so in front of ship staff and we were forced to miss much of the post-wedding celebration. Let’s just sum up by saying that it was far from my finest moment, but I can still provide a lesson of sort to all you little sippers to keep yourself on track and only lose your cookies in the privacy of your stateroom!

Drink #233: Village Idiot

Village Idiot Martini

  • 1 oz Gin (I used Bombay Sapphire)
  • 1 oz Vodka
  • Top with Lemonade
  • Dash of Lime Juice
  • Garnish with Lemon and Lime Slices

Again, I implore you to share your stories of stupidity. I’m starting to feel a little lonely here, sharing all my goof ups and not hearing any of yours. Let’s make this a give-take idiot relationship!

Sip Advisor Bar Notes (5 Sips out of 5):
If you make one of these, you’ll be far from a village idiot, you’ll be a genius. It’s so refreshing and tasty, crisp and clean. The recipe is pretty simple, so I spiced it up a bit with top shelf liquors Grey Goose Cherry Noir Vodka and Bombay Sapphire Gin. Everything worked well together and left me thirsting for more!

January 16 – Not So Fuzzy Navel

Mantiquing

Waxing

I’m not the biggest man-scaper out there. That doesn’t mean I don’t take care of myself. I hit the gym, clip my nails, gel my hair on special occasions, shave and shower regularly… you know, all the necessary stuff… Wow, I’ll stop right there because this is starting to feel like an eHarmony profile. (P.S.: I’d be horrible in today’s dating world!)

Let’s cut straight to the chase. Recently and for the second time in my life, I got my chest waxed. I won’t do things like manicures and pedicures, but when I’m going to spend a week or longer with my shirt frequently off, the chest hair has to go. It’s my personal choice, but I like to think the results speak for themselves.

Back to my story, remember I’m a rookie at all this, I enter the house of pain otherwise known as a spa and I’m not even sure what to do or where to go. I’m quickly ushered by the uninterested receptionist to a back room (I don’t like where this is going). The door is then shut behind me and all I see is a pot of wax being melted, jazz music being played and a muted showing of Pirates of the Caribbean on the little TV in the room.

I quickly conclude that this could possibly be a death trap at the hands of a pirate-loving saxophonist. Adding to my uneasiness is the faint sound of screams I can hear that seem to have been absorbed by the walls over years and years of hair being ripped out in the name of self-beautification. But it must be my imagination, right? At this point I’m wondering what on earth made me decide this was a good idea.

Then the door opens and a woman comes in and tells me to take my shirt off… if only it was that easy in the outside world. This must be the waxer… waxist?… whatever, I’m past caring by this point. Once topless and lying down on the gurney (easier to wheel out the bodies after?) – some wax is applied to a strip-sized area of my chest. My shoes are still on. Don’t want to get TOO comfortable, plus it gives me the ability to run away, if necessary. What a sight that would be: the Sip Advisor running half naked down the streets of downtown Vancouver with one patch of chest hair missing.

The first few strips are yanked off and it’s not a walk in the park. She must almost be finished, I think, until I take a quick look down and see that barely any progress has been made. “You have a strong pain threshold,” the waxologist tells me and I feel like a badass! She tears another strip and tears well up in my eyes, so much for being a badass.

The worst part is that Ms. Wax N’ Buff wants to have a conversation while she’s doing her job. It’s like the dentist chatting you up while their fingers and tools are in your mouth… okay dirty birdy, not that tool… As I’m in mid-reply to one of her questions, she yanks a strip of fur off my stomach and I nearly choke on my own words.

Finally, it’s over! I breathe a sigh of relief and let my guard down, until I’m splashed with alcohol. My eyes shoot open and I try valiantly to push through the burn. Then it’s time to towel off, pay my bill and leave. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am!

When I get home, I’m looking to recover from the traumatic experience… I need a drink. I drink when recovering from most things: chick flicks, the Canucks losing the playoffs (again), the mention of the word vasectomy… it’s what I do! That’s when I stumbled upon the Not So Fuzzy Navel. It seemed like perfect choice.

Drink #16: Not So Fuzzy Navel

Not So Fuzzy Navel Cocktail

  • 1.5 oz Peach Schnapps
  • Top with half Grapefruit Juice and half Orange Juice
  • Garnish with Orange Wedges

The drink did its job and numbed my pain… that is until I had to do my next application of rubbing alcohol… Not to fear, loyal readers, that was followed by my next application of drinking alcohol!

Are you into mantiquing? Got any tips for me? Leave me a comment. My wife may appreciate your advice for me, more than I do!

Sip Advisor Bar Notes (3 Sips out of 5):
This is a very light drink given it’s only liquor is Peach Schnapps. The flavour was pretty good given you have peach, grapefruit and orange all coming together and I was surprised they blended so well.