The good, the bad, the ugly.

On Saturday Dale and I went up to the cottage. The plan was to spend the day tidying it up, as we have it on the market for sale.

After a somewhat leisurely drive up, and a stop for home made butter tarts, we arrived at the lake. It was a beautiful day, and while I started tidying up inside, reorganizing, etc, Dale set to work on the outside.

It was during this time that our neighbor, Brian, wandered over. Now Brian is not your average neighbor. The first time we met him was at dusk. We heard this crashing sound in the bush. New to cottaging we were wondering "Is it a bear? A deer?"...oh no, it was Brian. Through the bush he staggered, wearing a white wife beater, a Speedo, and holding a glass of red wine. He was tanked!

This has not changed over time. Brian assures us he only drinks at the cottage (he lives up there from April to November) and the rest of the time is spent involved in various ventures...selling diamonds, running a commune, swimming against world-class athletes. He's a bit of a character.

Brian is also deaf as a post. Apparently he was a music teacher, who is currently on disability due to his hearing loss. He also lost his sense of smell due to a head injury of some sort, has broken most of his bones in various mishaps, and he loves to squirrel away anything and everything that might be of use this lifetime.

He also has a penchant for wearing as little as possible, and what he does wear is bizarre to say the least. I can't count the number of times he has come over in his leopard print thong, or in his underwear. He just doesn't care, so long as he is comfortable. There was one time he left his dog at our place. Buddy is afraid of the dark, and so you have to walk him home. Dale and Lesley had the honor this particular night, but when they got to Brian's, the music was blaring. They knocked and knocked on the door, but to no avail. So they opened it up. and there, on the floor was Brian's thong. They shoved Buddy in the door and hurried away before becoming completely traumatized. It's always an adventure.

So as I was saying, Brian wandered over. Today in his little shorts, wife beater, and with his glass of wine, he told us he was sad to see us go and wondered if we would like to come over for dinner. He told me he understood that I was not comfortable at his place as he is usually naked, but would we join him for dinner and to watch the hockey game. Well, how much harm could there be in that? Right?

Brian's cottage is a mishmash of buildings stuck together. He does not believe in building permits, and has built his place from old lab equipment from his old school, things he found in his ex-wife's basement, boards he took when someone was replacing their dock. But he does have a great big plasma TV.

So we decide on spaghetti, and he gets the ground beef out. Then he brings out a big box of wine, Maria Christina, and sets to work. So we sip and chat, and I notice that the beef is in need of some care and take over. Brian was grateful as he can't smell things burning. I chop up peppers, onions, garlic and add them to the meat. Start the noodles. Hmmm...how did i get conned into this?

We decide to have bruscetta with our spaghetti, but all we can find is Everything bagels . So he grills them, melts mozzarella on them, puts slices of tomato on top. And while we nibble, I ask for the sauce for the spaghetti.

"Oh, its on the counter' says Brian. But all I can find is BBQ sauce. So I ask again, and he points to the BBQ sauce. Apparently in cottage country, anything will do, so I glob BBQ sauce onto the meat. My spaghetti sauce now looks like Sloppy Joe mix. Oh well.

So we continue sipping our wine, which I figure will make the "spaghetti" taste that much better, and I hear Dale ask Brian where he can go to have a smoke. "Smoke?" Brian yells (because the music is really really loud). "In the next room". Well it appears that Brian has mistaken our idea of smoke, because he directs us to a bedroom where he has "bags of pot" that people keep leaving there. Jeez! After clarifying what we meant we are invited to smoke anywhere because he cant smell it anyway.

After dinner, which was surprisingly good in my modestly drunken state, we settle down to watch the hockey game. But not before a bottle of Tequila Rose comes out and shots are passed around.

At 9pm I was dying and begged off to go to bed. Brian's was weaving like a bobble head doll, and Dale was intent on watching the game. At 1030 Dale appeared and said he left Brian asleep on the couch.

I think that despite all his little quirks, I will miss Brian when we sell.