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Friday night, SharkBoy got his old bear head tattoo augmented. We recommend Damien at King of Fools Tattoo: A nice guy with a steady hand and a good eye. SharkBoy has already started to plan his next tatt for Damien to do.

After, we went to Indi-blows at Bloor and Bay to see the Harry Potter fever.

Street magicians! People in costumes! Grown adult children in costumes!

And then SharkBoy caught the fever and we had to line up. Well, he lined up. I was having no part of this, but as a dutiful husband, I supported his need to be at this event.

Let’s play “Where’s WaldoSharkBoy?”

Finally branded with the number of the beast, we make our way over to the line up to get a book.

See this woman here? She is a cow. She is someone who gets through life cheating and when caught, turns the blame around on other people and never herself. That’s right, this is a full grown “adult” who thought it necessary to try to jump the line to get a crappy kids book. (By the way, we were in the same shop the next day and they had hundreds of them still). She came up behind us an hour into our wait (and we still had an hour and a half to go) and, while on her cell phone, kept stepping forward along the side of the line. I would make brief eye contact with her using my best glare and eventually she just stopped looking at me, even when I took out my camera and announced loudly that I needed her pic for my blog so I could show the world what an inconsiderate adult “child” looks like. SharkBoy called her out on her queue-jumping tactic and she gave the lame excuse that she was there all along (riiiiight), and she was hot and claustrophobic and that arguing was stupid!! SharkBoy basically told her to fuck herself. I love him so much!

He Who Shall Never be Named came by and was spat on by teen girls.

And finally, SharkBoy gets his book. At this point I left the line to take shelter from the crush and stood beside a cop. A cop with a gun in a book store. Anyway. We make eye contact and the cop says “Hey,” and I say “Hey,” holding up my hands. “Potter Widow,” I say, meaning myself as I point at the line. He laughs.

Saturday was nothing. We stayed in and slept due to SharkBoy having the goopiest meat packing blood tampons taped to his back. Plus he couldn’t wash until at least 24 hours after the tattoo. So we Wii-ed for the most of the day with Cooking Mama’s Cook Off and Big Brain Academy. My brain weighs 1151g. Yay!

Sunday we met up with The Postman, PhotogRod and Billy and went over to Folsom Fair North FFN 5. When did Folsom Fair take back their name from the Folsom North people? It’s nice to see this event growing, and not just in vendors. When we left at 5pm, it was quite packed. But the sun and standing got to us.

Visit the NOT SO SAFE FOR WORK web album here.

This is a thousand monkeys working at a thousand typewriters. Soon, they’ll have finished the greatest novel known to man. (Reads a page) All right, let’s see…”It was the best of times, it was the BLURST of times?” You stupid monkey.

–Montgomery Burns, The Simpsons – Last Exit to Springfield

Here’s my multimedia of the weekend! Please note, not all pics are safe for work. One dick shot, a couple boobies.

The Best of Times: Pictures of friends, fun shots and fabulousness.
The Bears of Times: Self explanatory. Bears!
The Blurst of Times: Stay home. No, really.

Watch as SharkBoy and Scoundrel show us how great they move after a few beers…

This was a great Pride for me. I didn’t feel pressured to do anything other than people watch, which I loved. Thanks for the Photogs for letting us tag along on their Photo Safari Sunday!

Saturday, Sharkboy, The Mailman, Photog #1 and the Busdriver and I went to O’Greedy’s for dinner. Sorry, I mean O’Grady’s.

Okay I know it’s Pride weekend and they’re busy. But the service was the only good thing about the meal. Everything else was a nightmare.

First, sitting down, we were assaulted by music from the beer garden next door. No biggie. It was loud but hey, it’s Pride. But someone within O’Grady’s brain dead staff thought it was a good idea to try to compete with it by blaring their classic patio music overtop of the beer garden’s techno. So we had a thumping back beat set to Shania Twain competing at a volume level set at “shouty conversation”. Nice! When asked, twice, the server seemed really put off but eventually 2/3rds through the meal, it got turned off.

Secondly, they upped their prices and axed the portions. Not by a measley couple of bucks. A burger and fries and a pop was $22. Actually I should call it A Burger AND A FRY. See the picture? Revel in the vast amounts of potato slices! See the BROWN LETTUCE GARNISH? Yummy!! Sharkboy’s serving of fries amounted to about less than a handful. A glass of fountain diet coke was $2 less than a bottle of beer and it costs the bar about $0.30/glass for pop. The Busdriver had main course of salad that had maybe a teaspoon of dressing on it. The Club sandwich was a one level chicken breast with some bacon and tomato tossed on top. No mayo. The Mailman didn’t bother asking, he’d be done it by the time it came.

Thirdly (and this made us tip less than 8%), as we were getting up to leave, the manager saw us rise and asked: “Are you leaving?”

“Yes,” SharkBoy says.

“Oh thank god!” he blurts and walks away.

Huh? We look at each other. Were we just insulted? Suddenly before we can all collect ourselves after that curious comment, our table is overrun with a large group that had made “reservations” that only then had got half their group seated. That certainly made us feel “unrushed”.

As we were exiting, pushing past fighting waitresses and bus staff, I overheard the same manager in a bitter, passing comment to persons unknown: “Oh great, another $20 table!” Oh I should jump back here and mention that all of O’Greedy’s “Pride version” menus had “Minimum $15 order per person” on them. So damn you for ordering $5 over their minimum! Damn you!

Happy Pride, O’Gradys! I hope you put all that money you made this weekend towards something useful, like a copy of “How to Run a Restaurant for Dummies”