It's been an extremely eventful last few weeks, hence my lack of updating. Thanks though, for asking what's up in any manner of ways. Drunken/nasty/flirty/insanely cute comments are always an inspiration.

You know who you are.

Last Friday Night was looking like yet another in the long string of extremely depressingly, alcohol-soaked weekends in my life recently, but BossGuy invited us to check out the BikerDiveBar near our new offices. I would attend an AssHair Plucking Convention if it meant Free Beer, so naturally I was in.

I moderately stumbled home in time to get a call from an old hockey buddy/roommate/ex-wife of mine, Wilbur, who now lives up in glorious Steamboat Springs. He's been bugging me for quite some time to come up there and relax after what he calls, "The Divorce," and after I told him that my future weekends were booked up, he reminded me that "Fuck It" is a beautiful mantra. I left the next morning, moderately hungover, but with the promise that I'd only have to spring for gas and he'd take care of the rest of the weekend.

I'd never been there, but a 3-hour drive planted me firmly in a valley that is surely a slice of Heaven.

And by "Heaven," I mean, "That mountain behind us is called 'Sleeping Giant' and I sincerely wished he would've woken the fuck up in order to get up and smash all the touristy fuckwadshitfaces into a mushy, red, jam in-between his 25-foot toes."

I keed, it's not that bad, and Wilbur was as good as his word for I paid for nothing. We were roommates for a couple years, and played hockey together (college and rec) for about 10 years so I knew he wasn't just in it for the sex either. I did my best to express my love for him though, in-between bites of $45 Prime Rib and $15 Raspberry Cheesecake, but the beer was also free (and brewed in town) and it distracted me.

No Shit. Free Beer. AGAIN.

I am such a whore.

You know how people tend to look like their pets after a few years? He definitely needs some time away from that mutt.

Seriously, it's an extremely picturesque little town, and is surely God's Country.

I can say that because we ALL know that "God the Almighty" is none other than the "Almighty Dollar," and I enjoyed, more than I can express, walking around being the drunken, crude, white-trash, assjob that I am, in front of hundreds of people that literally SHIT money.

I had barely been fed and drunkered up when I noticed a band getting their shit together on a stage in the middle of the resort square. I then proceeded to rock and swing my ass off to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy with some random chick from Utah, whom I plied into paying attention to me with my offers of free beer and lies about being friends with the band.

After the show, I watched yet another band in the lodge and then journeyed up the mountain with Wilbur to check on one of the restaurants using his usual mode of transportation.

He's lucky that he got me fuckered up first, because I may have normally shown some trepidation, or at least gotten bitterly cold, were I to soberly mount the back of a snowmobile and go blasting up a 15-foot wide mountain trail at 40 miles per hour, in the middle of a snow flurry, in nothing but a jacket.

Thank Dog for alcohol, for as I stared down the sheer 50-foot dropoff to my right (a mere 5 feet away) while we bounced, airborne at times, along the track, I threw my head back and howled in pure enjoyment before Wilbur politely reminded me to shut the fuck up and hang on.

The evening progressed into much BarHoppingDrunkeness when a couple of other old college-hockey teammates joined us on our pub-crawl through town. Live Music and even more Free Beer turned the night into one I would definitely remember... if not for all those shots of Jaeger.

I do vaguely remember many hockey stories and drunkenly slurring to UtahGirl that I was having a very nice time with her but nothing could happen as I am desperately in love with an Aussie that I've never met and am going to visit soon.

When she replied, quite soberly in fact, that she could tell this already, I replied, "'OW deh fuckkkk dijjyeww nooo sheez Ozztraylyun?!? Arrr yeww sykeek?!? Do yew have ESPN?"

I woke up the next morning to a delightful Timpani-and-Bass drum solo in my head, and an extremely drunken phone call from Femme Australis's sister and crew, complete with her husband dryly and sarcastically telling me that my name wasn't any good, and that I needed a new one, right after she had apparently farted on his head.

A slurred "I love you" from my girl made my headache go away (here's where you go, "Awwwww...") but sleep would forsake me as I was then beset upon by Wilbur's Minions of Hell.

The OldestFuckingCatInTheUniverse and one of two RetardedlyLovingDogs. ALL of whom wanted my undivided attention.

Yet another incredibly delectable FREE meal was presented to me the next morning before I set out fishing on the Yampa, and I spent my day wondering whether or not throwing up in the river would entice the fish to feed or scare them away.

Hungover or not, I am still a complete Smacktard in front of a camera.

The weekend proved to be everything I have been needing lately and it wasn't even because of the Free Beer.

Awright, that was a good majority of it, but my Liver would love to believe that it is sacrificing itself for noble things, like great people and good times.

SHIT. I almost forgot. I wrote a story for The Clintons Band site.

Go read it if you want, it's kind of funny, but definitely check out the boys and their music.

They. Fuckin'. Rock.

Oh, and pay no attention to the decided lack of JuddHole-like swearing, edits had to be made for the sake of decent folk. Something I obviously pay no attention to in this blog.

Buy their tunes and tell them you love them... or at least tell them you love them from Me.