Thursday, October 20, 2011

It's Not A Road Trip Until Someone Is Hysterically Crying For Hours Pt.2

Remember yesterday when I posted about how my vacation started off so fucking terrible that I spent a majority of it crying in a hotel lobby, our vehicle, a grocery store parking lot that we later had to attempt to sleep in? Yeah, I totally remember it, and I still want to punch it in the face and sleep with it's mother out of revenge. I left off with how I believed we were probably going to freeze to death or be stabbed by marauding homeless people but fortunately all we had to show for those two hours of sleep was the paw prints on our faces from where the dog figured it was the perfect time to perfect his elaborate circus act of balancing on people's faces while they tried to sleep. I don't know why he needs to practise because he's a fucking natural at it.

Let me tell you, it's hard work sleeping in a grocery store parking lot because there are lots of lights and it's a parking lot next to the highway and did I mention that even though I am just a teeny bit taller than a dwarf even I found the vehicle cramped. The Pilot? Yeah, he's easily over six feet and he had to curl up on the back in attempts to stretch out. It also didn't help that while I was sleeping I may or may not have kicked the keys in the ignition and it turned the whole car on with a blaring radio screeching white noise at us as if it was personally offended that we were sleeping in a vehicle like animals and not in a hotel bed like people.

From that point we decided "Fuck it, we might have had only two hours of sleep in the past day so what's our next logical step? CONTINUE THE ROAD TRIP!" and after slapping each other in the face half a dozen times in a game of "Let's see who is awake the most" we started to drive to Jasper. I lost that game, so I was the one who had to drive. And I drove, and drove, and drove and drove until I reached the National Park and decided that it's probably not a good thing to be imagining five extra sets of roads in front of me because it's confusing and one would probably lead me to our death. Or a violent gang of Mountain Sheep. So I did what was only natural and starting slapping The Pilot awake in attempts to switch spots and when he feebly fought me off like a five year old I decided it was probably best to pull into the truck stops along the way and try to sleep again.

That lasted for an hour until we almost got side swiped by a Semi-Truck that had pulled into the truck stop too wide as if he was personally offended that an SUV was sitting in a Semi-Truck stop and figured the only solution was to murder us in our sleep. It was only when I threatened to start hysterically cry again did The Pilot take the drivers seat. I tell you, hysterical crying will get you anything.

You see, if we were just going to my parents place the drive would have been over once we started again in a mere five hours and we could have found a blissful sleep awaiting us but because we were going to Womb Mate's, well...we still had another ten hours to go because God hates us and wants us dead. Like, super dead. As it just so happens we have to drive through my parents town anyways and my loving, spiteful parents thought it was an awesome idea that we should pick up my Little Brother on our way through so we can at least attend some type of school and pretend to learn something that day. Before we got there, we switched driving and while I was behind the wheel I kept trying to get The Pilot to use my phone to text my bother to give him an update of when to ditch school to meet us. Despite my best efforts The Pilot would only send polite, abridged versions of what I wanted texted so my Little Brother would not know what I truly thought of him and the fact that he was probably most likely adopted from homeless street urchins. The Pilot has shitty dictation skills, is all I'm saying.

By the time we grab my Little Brother The Pilot is complaining over the fact that he's literally starving too death right next to me and we probably should get him some food and I turn to my Little Brother and tell him "We are taking you to lunch not because we like you but because you just happen to be here with us. AWESOME TO SEE YOU AGAIN!" and we head off to lunch. And we eat. In a shitty diner. Who's bathroom probably gave everyone AIDS because they were disgusting.

And then we started our drive. And let me tell you, by this point I was getting near delirious because of the lack of sleep but The Pilot was worse off then I was and my Little Brother fails at life because he doesn't have his learners so he couldn't even drive for us.

And you know what makes total sense while driving with very little sleep and having a sixteen year old Little Brother in the back seat that is now forced to listen to you for the next six hours? Imitating banjo music in every conversation.

"How was school *banjo music noise*"
"Oh it was great...*interrupted by banjo music noise*"
"Will you stop...*interrupted by banjo music noise*"

The Pilot, who was trying to sleep, couldn't really sleep because his girlfriend had just finally snapped and was willingly destroying the population of the vehicle with epic banjo renditions.

And then the truck in front of us decided to throw a kink in my whole plan and totally fucked everything up for a short period of time. It kicked up a stick or a dead rabbit body or something that got flung at us and it almost caused me to swerve off the road but my awesomely delayed ninja fast reflexes prevented us from crashing.

But if The Pilot was to tell you exactly how it happened while he was trying to sleep it would have going a little something like this:

Me: "BANJO MUSIC BANJO MUSIC I TOTALLY WANT A BANJO! BANJO MUSIC BANJO MUSIC----- HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THAT?" Vehicle swerve, vehicle swerve, vehicle swerve, fast recovery save by awesome girlfriend.

Since I saved our lives, we were able to continue with our normal program and I slowly progressed from imitating banjo music to terrible singing of every single road sign I could find. Until the road signs started creeping me out because they started getting prophetic. If I called my Little Brother awesomely hilarious names such as "Penis Mouth" and "Anus Eyes'' a sign would suddenly turn up that would proclaim "God Judges You By The Words You Say To Others" and since it was already determined that God hates us and wants us to die, that was a little off putting. And when the topic of drugs were brought up a sign came up that said "DRUG DEALERS NOT WELCOME HERE" and it's like rude, drug dealers are people too. Who just happen to deal drugs. And destroy today's youth. But they are people.

And when sign singing got boring? I used my Little Brother as my personal Secretary and had him text things to my little sister that basically went a long the lines of "Little Brother likes dinks in his mouth" or "Little Brother wants to move to Dink Town USA" and when we were asked about our location I had him text "DINK TOWN USA BABY!"

So, basically it what I am saying is that Little Brother has far superior dictating skills then The Pilot ever will have.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

It's Not A Road Trip Until Someone Is Hysterically Crying For Hours Pt.1

Now, I’m not sure what a road trip looks like for you but the last road trip I took a week ago it ended up with me hysterically crying in a hotel lobby and you know what? A road trip ain’t a road trip until someone is left hysterically crying, is all I’m saying.
The Pilot and I made the mutual choice that once again, for Thanksgiving, we were going to make the trip to my parents cabin and force my mother to make us a turkey dinner and while she was at it, she might as well do all the laundry that I had stored up that I was supposed to do but she’s my mom so it’s sort of her obligation to do all my laundry. And make me delicious finger foods. But because we are ambitious and suckers for pain, we decided that “Hey, why not have Thanksgiving at Womb Mates’ because she just crapped out a baby and she’s willing to cook the turkey for us!” and despite the fact it would have doubled the length of the time on the road for an already long road trip, we all high-fived over the idea. And by “we” I totally include the dog in that high-five moment but his was more of a “frantic face slaps” then a high-five.
The day of our trip started off great enough. I had taken an extra day off of work because I wanted to have a lot of time to properly pack and prepare for our voyage and by “prepare” I mean sleep in, lounge around in my sleeping clothes and realize that “Holy fuck, I’ve only got four hours left before we go so I better clean the kitchen, and do laundry, and pack.” And I was left scrambling around to get everything done.
Now, if The Pilot was to tell you about how I got us ready for our trip he would give some rant about how I didn’t really pack but just threw everything into a suitcase and closed the zipper but what he doesn’t realize is that when I was packing our clothes I started out packing it nicely and folding the clothes but then I got tired and bored and wanted to do something else so the rest of the clothes I may or may not have just dumped into the suitcase and closed it. Now, it’s not my fault that all the clothes that got folded before I got bored were mine and it was in no way intentional that the clothes that got thrown in once I got bored were his. So it totally wasn’t my fault that my mother may or may not have made fun of The Pilot when he wore his first wrinkled shirt. Or that my dad may or may not have given him a look as if saying “Hey, you lazy ass bum, don’t you know how to fold clothes? Asshole.”
With the packing done, fantastically might I add, we were ready to go but The Pilot didn’t get home on time because he may or may not have forget to leave his corvette keys with his corvette so a friend could put it into storage for him while we were gone so it may or may not have added an extra half hour to his trip home and put us that much farther behind schedule. I may or may not have yelled at him because he broke my schedule that I had so carefully crafted a week before.  I may or may not have kicked a baby kitten angel with cancer afterwards out of frustration.
When The Pilot got home I threw everything at him, I grabbed the dog, and we locked up and drove off into the sun set singing show tunes. Or, got stuck for an extra hour and a half in the drive thru of a popular fast food chain because when it comes to “fast food” in my town it’s more like “Asshole, we going to make you wait soooo long because we can food”. By the time we got out of that line-up I was frothing at the mouth and The Pilot was frantically searching for his emergency stash of holy water. Or gun. Never sure with him.
And then we drove off merrily into the sun set singing show tunes while cartoon birds flit around and feed us golden grapes.
Or, got stuck in fog that was so thick I refused to watch the movies on my Ipad because I had to diligently watch The Pilot to make sure he didn’t kill us in the fog by driving off the road or hitting a skunk or getting hit by other vehicles. It’s extremely stressful, you know, being the protector of our family’s safety by criticizing everything your partner does. They just don’t appreciate your safety conscious attitude and long suffering martyrdom.
And then we drove off into the sun set singing show tunes and having little cartoon woodland creatures braid our hair and adorn it with flowers.
After hours of driving we pulled into our destination for the night and because of all of the delays and the fog and that stupid Asshole Food place, instead of getting in at 11:00pm we ended up reaching our hotel at 3:30am because that schedule I so carefully crafted the week before? Yeah, it totally fucked us in the ass and didn’t even take us out to dinner first.
This hotel I had booked was booked for one reason and that one reason is my dog. You know, the asshole one who spent the whole trip thus far throwing an Emo tantrum in the backseat because “OMG WHY ARE YOU TRAPPING ME IN THIS MOVING HELL? YOU TOLD ME WE WERE GOING TO THE DOG PARK! I HATE YOU! YOU AREN’T EVEN MY REAL PARENTS! I WISH YOU NEVER ADOPTED ME!”? Yeah, we couldn’t leave him in the vehicle so I had to find us a hotel that allowed pets and had a free room that could have pets. I was assured our dog was welcome. So welcome in fact that they were going to charge me an extra twenty dollars for him!
So after checking in and confirming that our room is still there and waiting for us we go outside to grab our things and bring the dog in and the lady at the counter? Yeah, when she saw the dog so was all “SURPRISE! U CAN HAZ NO HOTEL ROOM CUZ WE SCREWED UP UR BOOKING! LOLZ!” and both The Pilot and I shit our pants. I was beyond tired so it took me a few minutes to process what had just happened and when I realized that we had lost our room and had no place to sleep at that moment I did the only thing I could think of. I started hysterically crying much to the dismay and horror of the hotel lady and The Pilot.
And I continued to cry.
And cry.
And cry.
I cried until The Pilot directed us back into the vehicle and started to search the other hotels in town while frantically trying to make me stop crying.
I cried when The Pilot went to all the hotels in town to find out that SURPRISE! This town that normally has hundreds of hotel rooms open all the time is suddenly fully booked because there’s some type of Lumber Mill shut down and thousands of workers have flooded the city.
I cried when The Pilot broke the news to me that we’d have to find a parking lot and sleep in the vehicle because there was no other option.
I cried when The Pilot found a 24hr grocery store and attempted to purchase us blankets and pillows and the old man working the nightshift kept trying to sell him fucking lawn chairs instead of blankets. Fucking lawn chairs.
I did stop crying when we both tried to go to sleep but I did start crying again when our fucking dog decided that “Holy shit, this is the coolest thing in the world, CAMP OUT IN THE VEHICLE!” and figured it was a good time to start jumping everywhere. For two hours.
I figured by that time we were either going to freeze to death in the vehicle or be stabbed by a homeless person.
It could have gone either way, really.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Back To Your Regularly Scheduled Posts About Poop...Sort Of.

After what seemed like the world's longest Thanksgiving, I'm now back to work and life and have to actually show up to my job because I'm techinically being paid for it and you know what? Some days I'd rather be a pimp because I don't have to do nothing but collect the money my skanks collect. That's a job I think I can handle. But even that sounds trying because it's still a job and that's what I'm trying to avoid.

I need to find a rich old man that wouldn't have a problem with me keeping The Pilot on the side because who would want to have sex with a rich old man if you could continue to pork your young, virile boyfriend? Me, I wouldn't want to have sex with a rich old man if I could continue to pork my young, virile boyfriend. Maybe I can keep him on the side. The old man or The Pilot. Either or, just as long as I don't have to work anymore.

Considering that my vacation decided it was going to start off with giant flaming balls of crap that shattered my soul and left my crying hysterically in a hotel lobby I'm going to have to say it was a success but an epic failure because it had to end. Vacation fail.

Of course  I will let you all know why my vacation took epic dumps and left me crying hysterically in a hotel lobby and grocery store parking lot but today? Yeah, I'm not bothering with it because I've got to slowly ease myself back in to it. Read: Lazy ass fingers.

Also, I sort of set myself up with this blog to talk about poop so...poop.

That is all.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Thanksgiving Isn't Thanksgiving Without The Penis Talks

Right now I am currently away with my family at their cabin in the woods that will probably be the perfect setting for an ax murdering to happen and you know what? I'm going to make sure I am on the right side of the ax in that scenario.

I'm just giving a quick update because I'd like to go on record that I may or may not have embarrassed The Pilot by staging a fake blow job so it looked like he was an extreme pervert while watching television in my parents livingroom.

Or how I spent my whole Thanksgiving dinner talking about the horror of uncircumsized dinks.

Or stuffing my nephew into a pumpkin against his will.

You know, the usual.

Monday, October 3, 2011

Because When Eat Soup, You Automatically Have To Shit

I’m not sure about you but I’m pretty sure boys are one of the most disgusting things on this planet. Like, anything that doesn’t daintily sit down to urinate just screams DIRTY! DIRTY PENIS THING! And, honestly, I’m pretty sure there isn’t anything dirtier than a penis. Like, have you ever looked at a penis before? It’s hideous. At least vagina’s have the decency not to flop out there for the world to see if you happen to be wearing no underwear and those sport shorts. Not to mention uncircumcised wieners. Those make me sob. If I was ever faced with one up close, I’d have a nervous breakdown.
Now, I bet you are all wondering “What the hell is with all this penis talk? Like, I come on this blog for friendly advice on how to de-cancer my baby kitten angel and she’s talking about the horror of uncircumcised dinks? I WANT MY MONEY BACK!”
SURPRISE! You can’t have your money back because this talk about dinks? Yeah, it’s totally segwaying into the fact that someone in my household who has a penis and isn’t a dog totally decided that it was now OK for the people of the world to eat their lunch while sitting on the toilet taking a big old dump. Because, what makes your soup taste more delicious and flavourful? Why, sitting on the toilet taking a crap!
Needless to say I was horrified when I burst into the bathroom with some type of bathroom area emergency and since we only have one bathroom in our apartment it’s pretty much a given I will burst into the bathroom for any given reason to do whatever. Or maybe it’s that sometimes he hides in the bathroom to get away from me and I just have to burst in and find him because I am the champion of hind-n-go seek. It’s pretty much even more of a given that the dog will kick at the door until it opens up so he can, GASP!, realize that you aren’t in fact dead and he will be alone for ever, and ever but you are just going potty and you know what? It totally wasn’t worth kicking the door open so he wanders off to eat balloons. No joke. Balloons.
So imagine my surprise when I burst in and he’s sitting on the toilet taking a dump, reading a magazine and so casually sipping the soup that he so conveniently had in a cup. Imagine his surprise when I started going “Ew, who the hell eats when taking a dump? ARE YOU EATING WHILE GOING THE BATHROOM? PEOPLE DON’T DO THAT! ARE YOU AN ANIMAL? ARE YOU A FUCKING HORSE? THEY EAT AND POOP AT THE SAME TIME BUT THEY ARE HORSES! THEY HAVE AN EXCUSE!” and I’m pretty sure I yelled that loud enough for anyone in the hallway to hear or maybe or neighbours but it’s OK, I’ve screamed out a lot worse stuff and it totally explains why they don’t make eye contact with us in the hallway.
After my scream fest The Pilot casually said, while sipping his soup and reading his magazine, “Let me be a man. Men do this stuff. If I want to save time and eat and use the toilet at the same time I have that right because I AM A MAN!”
“No, you’re a fucking horse.” And then I took his soup and his magazine to teach him a lesson in that he’s being gross and he couldn’t chase me because he was on the toilet.
So, tell me, pooping while eating? Gross? Yes?
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