Thursday, March 31, 2011

Pooping At Work. I Don't Do It.

Taking a doody at work is awkward enough because you never know if someone is going to walk in and look under the bathroom stall and see your shoes and immediately identify you by either saying your name and starting up a conversation and you hope to Baby Jesus that the "plops" don't happen in a lull in conversation or they just simply snicker to themselves and suddenly you're considered the "Work Pooper" and everyone knows that you have no problem dropping that load in a public toilet when, in fact, you really hate going doody in public because it's most likely a sin against evolution and one should only poop in their own toilet because then you can't be judge by the various levels of sound emitting out of your anus.

The only thing that can take the whole "It's awkward to take a dump at work" scenario into the realm of unreal awkwardness is when you finally give in because you really really got to take a doody and you hurry to the bathroom and thankthelorditsemptyandIcantakethisdumpinpeace! And as soon as you drop your drawers and start someone walks into the bathroom and instead of identifying you by your shoes or starting the work nickname "Work Pooper" they do something completely unexpected and just throw their breasts out there and begin to pump milk with a motorized breast pump.

Once you have set your mind to work poop there's no turning back so the only thing you are left to do is either hold it in until you possibly die from the strain or try and time the "plops" to the "sqooosh" of the pump and it's totally awkward because you know the person is letting her tits hang out  and Breast Pumper knows that you are totally trying to take a poop and timing the sounds so her breastyness hides the fact. In which case it becomes awkward for everyone.

And the next thing you know you're sitting in the bathroom for half hour because you're trying to play the "Who will either magestically finish their poop first or who will run out of milk first" game and it's a game you really don't want to play but you also don't want to loose so you wait until the point your ass is kind of getting numb and she finally finishes and leaves and then when you do finish your poop it's not anywhere neaer magestic and bordering on rabbit poop and it's a disappointment you waited that long for such a small pay off.

Then you realize you totaly missed a meeting because you just won The Great Poop Wait Off 2011.

But not that this happened to me or anything. It happened to a friend

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Just Because I Couldn't Come Up With A Catchy Title Doesn't Mean This Isn't Still Interesting

I have a disease. It's called "Cantthinkofathingtowriteitus" and it's highly contagious and the only cure is six lines of crack cocaine. I spent all my money on useless home decor things last week I can't afford six lines of crack cocaine. I'm just going to have to carefully snort lines of Good Host* Ice Tea Mix off of my desk with my door wide open and hope my co-workers notice. It's a great conversation starter.

Example Conversation:

"Hey..are you sniffing Nestea mix off your desk with a rolled up peice of paper?"
"Then what are you sniffing?"
"Good Host Ice Tea Mix, betch, because I can't afford the good stuff."
"I'm just...going to go now."

See that? Instant friends. I'm really amazed that I don't have more work friends then I already do. What more could they want? I've got a sparkling personality, dazzling looks and a crippling addiction to ice tea that I keep in my cabinet next to my stockpile of glitter. Can never have enough glitter, as my grandmamee always said.

If you haven't already guessed I have no clue what the topic of this exact blog is but I'm pretty sure I'll just meander my way to some type of moralistic, life improving moral that would leave you all better people which would then allow me to acheive Sainthood and the ability to shoot rainbows and puppies out of my eyeballs. It'd be pretty wicked. I'd be able to walk around feeling even more superior and entilted. If anyone has a problem with it they'd get a Labrador in their face via my eyes. Now that's hardcore.

Wow, that came out alot more blasphemous then I expected. Still hardcore. Like, look at those puppies. I'd be terrified if those things came out of someones rainbow filled eyes. Just terrified.

*Poor Mans Ice Tea or Cheap Addiction?

Monday, March 28, 2011

And Then The Dog Threw Up On Him

Did you know that dogs are prone to instant vomiting if they suddenly decide to drink their water super fast and then rapidly inhale a whole bowl of Kibbles N' Bits in two point five seconds flat and will just upchuck where ever they happen to be at the time they feel like vomiting? If not, they totally do that.

Since my dog, Bowie, is an excitable douche-bag this happens a lot with him. He inhales anything in his water bowl as fast as he can as if he were in a race that no one else was competing in and sometimes he decides that he's going to eat his food just as fast despite the fact that most days it takes him two and a half days to eat a full bowl of food. And it always happens that when he does both at once he always makes a mess. Most of the times it was on the kitchen floor. Sometimes on the carpet.

This weekend? Naw, it wasn't in the kitchen or the carpet or anything. He decided that he was going to up the anty.

After inhaling both bowls of food he suddenly decided that The Pilot was sleeping and it was probably time to wake him up so he first spent his time running circuits around the kitchen to work up speed so we can burst through the bedroom door and land directly on The Pilots' chest waking him up.

His thought pattern must've been something like this: "Holyfuckingshit! That guy must stillbesleeping and I've totally got to wake him up so I'm going to run so fucking fast around the kitchen and wake up him SUPER GOOD! OH BOY THIS IS GOING TO BE SO AWESOME! HA HA, I just jumped on him and OMG NOW HE IS AWAKE AN----BLARRRFFFFGGGHHHH!"

And that's when he upchucked in The Pilot's face. Mouth, eyes, ears, nose, forehead, chest was completely covered in projectile vomit. Which, in turn, caused The Pilot to throw up himself. On the dog. Who then ran out of the room and left a trail of vomit in his terrorized wake.

I couldn't help The Pilot, who was making sounds a strangled baby would make, because I was laughing too hard and once I fully processed what I saw I ran out of the room and huddled behind the television and called my Womb Mate to breathlessly tell her what happened.

Because, that's just the type of girlfriend I am.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Sunday Photography: At The Gun Range

" Tristachio's Angels"
 The Pilot picking for discarded Shells.
"Holy Crap guys, it's a Pistol!"

Friday, March 25, 2011

A Dramatic Reading Of A Sexy Pirate Story

I have this book, you see, that I bought The Pilot for Christmas. It's a romance book about sexy Pirates, Rosie O'Donnell and our dog. It also features The Pilot as a sexy Pirate and myself as a stupid skank. Seriously, I think my character is a skank. What with her boobs hanging out in the first paragraph almost.

Since Christmas this book has been sitting in our Nightstand collecting dust until I found it again and decided that what is the best thing to do with this book? Dramatically read it out part by part on my blog every Friday.

Because, honestly, who doesn't want to hear me eventually read out steamy sex scenes on my blog?

This first part isn't as Dramatic as it should be because the start of the book is extremely boring so all you got is me. Pretending to be dramatic. And wearing a pair of glasses that look terrible because I broke my other good glasses. YAY!

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Polio: The Reason Why I Shouldn't Work With Other People

(I am selling tickets to our companies 50/50 Draw and I was supposed to pick up my ticket packet last week but was too lazy to walk up the stairs to my Co-workers office to get them. So I IM'd her instead.)

Me: You! I demand you walk down here and bring me those tickets! Ditty mow!

Co-worker: You totally said you'd come get them you weiner!

Me: Yeah, well, I got Polio. In my legs. Because that's what Polio does.

Co-worker: LIES!

Me: Seriously, I'm not lying. Don't be all hatin' and racist against Polio what with all my Polio withered legs.

Co-worker: No. I'm not bringing them.


Co-worker: ...

Co-worker: I'll be down in five

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Open Letter to Kuato

Dear Kuato,

What. The. Fuck. How are you? As good as a mutated baby erupting out of someones chest could be I bet, right? That's just great.

What. The. Fuck. Are. You? Considering you are a psychic mutant chest baby you probably already know why I am writing you this letter. You are also probably amazed over my ability to send a letter into the future and into a movie that is set in the future. I think it had something to do with the leprechaun I previously sent through my wash -- it's given my clothes mystical magical powers that allow me to do this. Might also have something to do with the fact I've spent the last four hours shooting up Meth and puppies snorting glitter.

You make me want to eat a pineapple, and then vomit on a Llama and then watch as the Llama vomits on a parapalegic whale which then vomits on you.

Honestly, I've been wondering. How did you find a jacket big enough to hide the fact that you were growing like some kind of cancerous, baby-esq tumor Harry Houdini. Is it something in the padding of the jacket? Or do you just tunnel into his empty chest cavity? These are answers that need to be questioned. Or questions that need to be answered. Honestly, I don't really care.

You are just disgusting. I want to step on your face with a tank. The horrificness of your existance was more then enough to gloss over the fact Arh-nawld was attempting to act. (Like when he was pretending he was getting suffocated because Mars had no atmosphere and his eyes got all bulgy and gross and he was like " ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh". It was hillarious right? Probably as hillarious when he looked at you and said "It's probably a too-mah.")

You owe me a new television since I vomitted on to mine. Please mark it for:

The Past
Somewhere in Canada

I think the post office workers will know who to send it too.

Wanting to step on you,


P.S: Remember that Vagina face mutant in the movie? Ha ha, that guy was so hillarious because he had a face vagina mutation! Ha ha ha.

P.P.S: You disgust me.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

A Road Trip That Wasn't Going To End But Then It Did

Last Thursday The Pilot and I went hoped into a vehicle and decided to road trip it the five or six hours to the big city because I had a grandiose plan of purchasing a new car only to name it Tom Selleck in which I would hang a moustache from the rear view mirror. We also went with The Pilot’s Gay Husband who honestly isn’t really gay but  is The Pilot’s Best! Friend! Ever! Whenever the two of them get together they always manage to get into some type of stupid trouble and The Pilot always talks about his friend in an excited He is the Best! Friend! Ever! Voice that reminds me of a sugar hyped five year old.
Because I am a morning Nazi I decided that we were all going to have to be up at the ungodly hour of five in the morning so we can hit the road early only to realize once again that The Pilot is not a morning person and it was like trying to excite a near dead horse into a frenzy of activity. It didn’t help when GH didn’t wake up until six in the morning.
If I had a whip or a gun I would have shot-whipped both of them into action and managed to keep our schedule.
The Pilot kept insisting on finding excuses of prolonging our departure and the final straw came when he decided that we needed to clean his vehicle last minute and unpack all the crap he had in the back because for some reason the night before he figured it wasn’t the best time to do it and it was best to do it sometime after the crack of dawn.
When we finally got into the vehicle we went and picked up GH who, shortly after grabbing breakfast, passed out asleep in the back of the vehicle with his sausage egg-McMuffin clutched in his cold, sleepy hands.
That left The Pilot and I to entertain ourselves with music or conversation. Since our tastes in music is varied against each other it was only inevitable that I would be denied sleep and would have to have a conversation with The Pilot the whole time he was driving to ensure that he would stay awake.
Somehow we got on the topic of different types of guns and that eventually lead to what would happen if someone invented a gun that shot rapists out of the barrel and how it could effectively be used to subdue protest hippies.  
Halfway through the drive I was forced to change spots with The Pilot while GH still slept happily in the back and despite almost sending us into the ditch while I tried to remember how to work the wipers the drive up to Edmonton was pretty uneventful. Compared to the last time we drove up, that is.
The last time we drove up we were attacked by the body of a dead rabbit that came shooting out of a semi’s back wheels and splattered on our hood and volleyed up over the top of the vehicle.
Upon getting to the big city we, or rather I because I was the Road Trip Nazi, had grand plans of all the places we were going to visit --- The Zoo, The Museums, The Mall, The IMAX Theatre, oh and getting a car.
Which, honestly, car shopping isn’t all what it’s cracked up to be because we managed to come across every scum-bag car dealer in the world which ranged from old men refusing to actually sell us a car but would become angry when we questioned his sales technique to the old man that kept trying to up sell us to the other man who tried to go behind The Pilot’s back when he was asking questions and sell me a piece of crap car that he figured I would just fall in love with and force The Pilot to buy me even though it was my money that was purchasing a vehicle to a creepy old man that kept ogling my boobies and barely answering the questions we had about vehicles to our satisfaction.
Then there was the one car dealership where I had a bit of stomach indigestion and had to go the bathroom right! Now! And ended up literally destroying the bathroom that was attached to the show room and had a toilet that would flush itself every five seconds while I was in the middle of my business that destroyed the bathroom while The Pilot and GH milled around and pretended to be interested in a new vehicle.
Needless to say I didn’t buy a car from that place. Or I should have for destroying their bathroom.
We stayed at The Hilton and had some fantastically nice rooms and GH ended up getting a free breakfast voucher because they found him wandering the halls in his underwear at two in the morning trying to find out where the noise that was bothering him was coming from and they gave him the free breakfast voucher in hopes he would just stop wandering around in his underwear and go back into his room and never come out again.
We never did get get to go to The Zoo, or Museums, or the IMAX. Instead we went to the mall, Olive Garden (where they totally spiked my drinks despite asking for no alcohol and ended up pretty buzzed by the time the second course came around) and Applebee’s because I wanted to try new restaurants.
I didn’t get a car though much to The Pilot’s disappointment because he really did not want me to feel that the trip wasn’t a waste of my time and was worried I would have felt bad about the trip afterwards.
But, honestly, how can you feel bad about a trip in which you come home with a brand new Apple Desktop and a brand spanking new DSLR Camera?
Well, I do feel bad about that massive poop I did but that’s beside the point.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Hotels: They Ruin Relationships.

Have you ever found yourself booking a fantastic hotel that is so magically special that it resides in the worlds largest mall, each room is a different theme, and has a giant Jacuzzi tub in the middle of the room and suddenly your excitement is turned to soul crushing disappointment because your "better half" decides that the room is far too expensive and that we should stay somewhere cheaper or possibly even sleep in the fancy hotel for one night and then change to a cheaper hotel for the other night and that the reservations should be cancelled a day after they were made and you feel like such a god damn idiot for cancelling you call up your little sister who lives in a different province and ask her to cancel it for you? Yeah, me too.

Or when you try and argue with your "slightly less then better" half about the why it would have been awesome to have had that room and you point out if we sleep in a cheaper place we'd probably get bed bugs and anally probed by mysterious visitors in the middle of the night because he decided to be a "tight wad" and when he asks you who ever would spend four hundred dollars on a hotel for one night and you point out that your little sister did the night she got pregnant and immediately lose the argument due to the whole "baby trap" clause that was written into your relationship who knows when? Yeah, me too.

Or that after hours of talking about it you finally win and your boyfriend agrees and says that you can go ahead and rebook the first hotel you cancelled but you just end it with "I don't want to stay there anymore" and somehow find yourself the bad guy in the situation? Yeah, me too.

Needless to say we will probably be sleeping in the back of the vehicle when we travel to Edmonton tomorrow. To make it even awkward we are bringing The Pilot's Gay Husband with us.

That's a threesome I never thought I'd have to be involved in.


Monday, March 14, 2011

She's Either Pregnant Or Just Slight Bloated.

My little sister is pregnant. My little sister who practically shared a womb with me and read the messages that I carved into our mothers used, used Uterus is my Womb Mate. We're tight. We're close. I'm pretty sure between the two of us we could beat up a cancerous, dying bear. We're just that good.

She's due in August. She's four months pregnant but she looks like all she managed to do was eat a giant sandwich and it gave her stomach gas but it wasn't that bad she had to undo her pants. That's what her baby is. A gassy, sandwich mass.

When she excitedly told me that she was posting her stomach pictures on Facebook and I had to Go! Look! At! Them! Right! Now! and about two hours later I looked at them.

And then I called her.

And laughed at her. For ten minutes.

I totally judged her because she took her "Belly" Photo's in her boot room. I asked her if she had a giant lunch before these two photo's. I even asked her if she was just puffing her stomach out just a little. I'm kind of afraid that my Niece or Nephew is going to be born like a super small Thumbalina or...a giant turd.

I don't think my family is prepared for the first grandchild to be a giant turd.

She also has a "Hormonal Countdown" that she uses as an excuse whenever she starts getting annoyed. You annoy her three times, it's strike out and you better watch out. Unless you threaten to take away all the gifts that were bought for the baby and then she shuts up.

I can't wait for this baby or turd to be born because I'm going to be the Auntie that teaches him/her how to say Colonoscopy instead of "Juice Box". Or Pap Smear instead of "cookie".

Friday, March 11, 2011

Unicorns, Beavers, Bill Cosby & Drunk Tristachio

I'm not a drinker. I don't really drink. I can't really stand the taste of drinking. When I was fifteen I ruined drinking for myself. It involved drinking cheap, disgusting booze in mass quantities only because we had it bootlegged and refused to waste it. We drank in the woods between 7-11 and the Police Station because we were rocket scientists. I got blitzed. I got paranoid that my dad was going to find me. I found my Womb Mate at the arena and she refused to acknowledge that we once lived in the same uterus. And probably knew each in passing as sperms -- we were born that close apart. A ten year old convinced me my name was Mary. I rolled around in the snow, convinced that undercover Lesbians were everywhere so I asked if everyone was a lesbian and when my friend got me to her place, I slept for an hour and woke up perfect.

That's how it goes when I drink the few, rare times. I get easily drunk and sleep it off in minutes. No hangovers.

I've only been drunk in front of The Pilot once. I like telling stories when drunk. So I told him a short five minutes story that he thought was funny and he wanted to record. When he recorded it...this is what he got.

It is a bit on the lengthy side and probably not something you want to listen too at work unless you have headphones on. Or your children. Or grandmother. Or anyone, really.

Watch Story Of The Beavercorn in Comedy  |  View More Free Videos Online at

Thursday, March 10, 2011

9-1-1 Never Appreciates A Good Butt Sex Joke

The Pilot is a musical guy.

He can play guitar.

He can sing.

He can dance.

He also turns every song in the known universe into ballads about butt sex. It's always about the butt sex songs with him. It's not his fault. It's a compulsion. Or the fact that no matter how much times he mentions butt sex in a song I always laugh. Because I'm five. And a little boy. Who thinks butts are funny.

Today while he was driving to work he was singing loudly to the radio and sprinkling it with a healthy dose of anal intercourse when his phone decided to have a life of it's own and pocket dial someone. Or, as The Pilot would love to state is that his dink dialed the number because that's how savvy his dink is. It knows how to use touchscreen cellphones.

It just so happened to dial 9-1-1 and they got a five minute rendition of how to have butt sex to the tune of Bon Jovi.

And then they called him back.

And then they lectured him about how inappropriate it is to call 9-1-1 and sing about anal intercourse loudly.

And how it's terrible people like him that ruin it for everyone else.

And how he should learn to lock out his phone so it doesn't call 9-1-1.

And how he has a nice singing voice and to never, ever call 9-1-1 again even if he was being stabbed by a dude with a knife made of cancer.

When he told me this I giggled every time he mentioned butt. Because I'm a six year old girl.

Breaking News: I Sext Like A Grandmaw

The other day I got a phone call from my little sister, who for the record would like to be mentioned more on my blog because she's pregnant and I guess in the "needy" trimester where she needs tons of attention and has decided that she will be called Womb Mate despite the fact that she has something growing in her womb but her first few attempts at spelling womb involved several extra letters, about an embarrassing thing she had done.

It would seem that she, while shopping with her fiance The Welder, had decided it was a perfect time to try and sext him or in her own words "sext him as a joke" and wrote something about the size of his special man organ and sent it off. It just so happened that seconds after she sent it off he checked his own phone so she figured nothing was up and he was responding to her text.

The response she got back was something along the lines of "Terrible, and gross, and this is so wrong" and it confused my Womb Mate and she laughed only to ask The Welder why he would send that text in response to her flattering sext. Only when he proclaimed he had no clue what she was talking about she realized what she had done.

She had sent the penis text to my younger brother. After she told me the story I laughed at her for hours because when they showed up to my parents place later that day neither of the three involved could look each other in the eye. I also told her I was never stupid enough to do something like that.

That is, until last night.

I accidentally sexted my Womb Mate. The first text was something about "The Pilot, you need to get home like really really fast and right now" and that alone wasn't really "sext-y" per say until I followed it up with a "because we're doing it tonight!".

I realized my mistake the moment the last text message was still in the middle of sending and I frantically wished for a recall button because two seconds later my dear, pregnant, turd faced Womb Mate called me up and laughed in my ear for five minutes straight.

Then she told my little brother so she wouldn't look like such a perv. And then she told The Welder. And they all agreed that my sexting is like that of a grandmother or an eight year old who has some vague knowledge of sex but not enough to be crude.

Needless to say I'm not living down the words "Do It" anytime soon.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

When The Pilot Flew Into My Life Pt. 4

With the Taxi Drivers' resume in hand and The Pilot waiting with a single rose, our date was finally underway. There was no more fake traffic, or fake delayed taxi drivers to get in the way of sitting down in the restaurant and going through the awkward getting to know each other in person phase that can either make or break a first date.

We laughed about the resume that I was still dutifully carrying around because I was only somewhat afraid that the Taxi Driver was lurking somewhere watching me to make sure I actually give it to someone instead of throwing it in the trash. We were seated in a booth in the back of the restaurant that was right next to a creepy velvet lined picture of a child, or a clown, or a misshapen clown-child that grinned down at us. It really set the mood.

Considering it's a pancake restaurant we both ordered breakfast items and I gorged myself on pancakes while we awkwardly talked about our day and what things we had in common and any other random things we could think of because despite the fact we had a lot to say to each other while we were texting it seemed to all dried up when we were in front of each other.

Needless to say it was extremely awkward.

After our meal we decided to pick up a movie and went back to his place to watch it. At this time he only rented a room in a house with several other pilots so when we showed up to watch the movie all of his room-mates were milling around and they kept trying to come into the living room and spy out or tease or just kind of hang around being weird and making it even more awkward.

At this point, honestly, I really was thinking that this date wasn't going to go anywhere because The Pilot literally sat across the room from me while we watched the movie and there was little to no talking while it was on. It was only after it was over that we began to talk and it was basically, "Do you need a ride home?" which I accepted.

The funniest thing about this part that always makes me laugh to this day is the lecture and speech The Pilot gave me as he was driving me home. He waxed on and on about how he wasn't ready to jump into any type of serious relationship and he wasn't sure what he wanted for himself and if he wanted anything at all it was friendship or casual dates that went as slow as a snail in a coma.

This lasted the whole fifteen minute drive to my place and I had mentally checked out and believed that this was going to be that and it was back to the drawing board. I was a bit disappointed because he was cute and his texts were so funny so it kind of sucked that I left with this feeling.

Luckily the wasn't the last thing I heard from The Pilot.

I've Got The Smoothest Movies Since Sliced Bread

(Start Scene: The Pilot and Tristachio curled up on the couch watching terrible television. )
The Pilot: You have no idea how comfortable I am right now. Snuggling up to you is the best thing I could ever be doing with my time.
(Both parties go silent. Commercials roll.)
The Pilot: What are you thinking about?
Tristachio: Uh...honestly?
The Pilot: C'mon, you can tell me.
Tristachio: You know how red necks put cars with no wheels up on cinder blocks in their front yard? Imagine that done with a BOAT! How cool would that be?
The Pilot: ....
Tristachio: If I had a boat, I'd do that.
The Pilot: ....
Tristachio: What were you thinking about?
The Pilot: I was thinking about how nice it would have been to kiss you but you were thinking about Boats on Cinder blocks.
Tristachio: I'm just that radical.
The Pilot: I'm not kissing you now. You've ruined the moment.
Tristachio: And you're not allowed on my boat. You god damn boat racist.
(End Scene)

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Sometimes He Makes My Brain Hurt So Much

Usually when The Pilot works afternoons he isn't home until late in the evening and I being the person who gets home shortly after five makes dinner. Heck, I make dinner mostly every night and when The Pilot makes dinner it almost always turns out to be such a disaster that I can't even get mad at him because it makes my brain hurt so much just to see what he's managed to do to ruin dinner.

Last night after I got home from work I wasn't feeling very well so I went to bed early because I wanted to ensure that I would be able to punch whatever illness in the face or at least wake up feeling even sicker that I could call into work and lounge around in my jammers all day while watching Full House.

When The Pilot got home, later then usual, he saw me sleeping and since it's basically like baby kitten angels sleeping when I sleep he decided that he was going to take on the great task of cooking dinner and began to tackle Chicken Alfredo Fettuccine. Normally this is a very easy, easy dish to make when your sauce comes from a can and all you have to do is cook the chicken pieces and boil the noodles.

With him? It was like rocket science and he ain't no scientist.

After being home and literally cooking for an hour and a half, he woke me up to present to me dinner! Which consisted of giant, mangled pieces of chicken that weren't exactly all the way cooked and a pile of starchy, clumpy noodles with no sauce anywhere in sight.

Looking at it literally made my brain melt. We had to mop it up off the floor before the dog started licking it up.

When I pointed out that, "Honey, where's the Alfredo sauce?" he gave me a blank look before he clued in and dumped cold, cold, sauce on top of the mixture and proudly handed it too me.

It took ten more minutes microwaving each dish to ensure that the chicken was fully cooked (which really didn't help much when the outsides were so crunchy hard) and the sauce was hot before we finally ate our food around midnight.

The Pilot & How He Flew Into My Life Pt.3

The Pilot continued to text me like crazy after our first talk and at first I was flattered and then I was amused and then I was just almost, nearly, kind of on my way to being somewhat smitten just with the fact that his texts were witty and funny and entertained me while I was working.

As is my style when it came to that tricky world of virtually meeting someone and then trying to find a way to blend into actually meeting in person I was always iffy about that. I didn't want to be blindsided by the fact that even though his texts are awesomely witty he was actually a professional axe murderer who liked to axe people on the first date.

I'll fully admit that whenever he would bring up meeting, I'd vaguely make a comment and then do the textual "Oh, look it's a fucking bear!" and talk about something else. It just so happened at that time it was the middle of winter and I was spending all my time outside at work training people in sub-zero temperatures and managed to catch myself a case of Bronchitis and had the perfect excuse as to not meet right yet.

But wouldn't you know it, the turd face managed to weasel a meeting out of me and reluctantly I agreed to a date despite the fact that I was sick and could probably infect him because that's how I roll on first dates.

Just to be safe I told him that I'd meet at Smitty's. For those of you who don't know what Smitty's is it's kind of like an IHOP. Filled with old people. And pancakes. Served by old people. Naturally it's the safest place to hold any type of first meeting because if he does try to axe me the old people would save me. Or shuffle away while I got chopped. Really, it's a 50/50 chance with that crowd.

The thing about that date, though, was I had to run errands most of the day and (as I thought) clearly expressed this to The Pilot but he must of understood it as "She's going to run errands but it's going to only take like five minutes and then we can go on our date. So any time after five minutes I'll text her and let her know that I'm already at Smitty's and I'll eagerly await her to show up and when it takes another forty minutes I'll text every five minutes until I get results.".

Yeah, that happened and it rushed me like who knows what and I had to keep saying (for some reason I didn't want to tell him the truth and admit that I was still in sweatpants and grocery shopping clothes and had not yet had a chance to get changed) that I was on my way despite the fact I wasn't. As I hurried to get ready I made up excuses that the taxi was late (at this point in time I didn't drive so it was a valid excuse) and he would counter with "I'll pick you up!" which would then have me decide to say "There's a lot of traffic!" which on any given day it could be true.

Once I finally did get into the cab though and get on my way I was bombarded with a taxi driver who gave me a long winded story about how in his country he was an Engineer and was top of his class but when he came over to Canada no one wanted to hire him and he was forced to drive a taxi for a living and Hey! Wouldn't you know it? I worked for A Giant Oil Company that always needs Engineers!

The taxi driver gave me his resume. Which he just so happened to have in the glove box of his taxi van and eagerly handed it to me as he pulled up into the parking lot of the restaurant.

Resume in hand, I got out of the van only to see The Pilot standing outside of the restaurant holding a single rose and looking utterly adorable.

Monday, March 7, 2011

I'm Sort Of A Relationship Guru, Like Dr. Phil, But Better

Top 10 Things One Should Probably Not Say To Your Boyfriend Unless You Are As Awesome As Me
 1)"Let's invite your gay husband over for dinner. You know, that friend of yours you are gay with?"
2) "So, they were handing out free sex changes at work so I decided to get a bigger dick then you so we can spend the afternoon comparing them. Or sword fighting. Or, you know, playing with them."
3) "Can I punch you in the face? No? Fine, can I throw the dog at your face?"
4) "When did your vagina get bigger then mine?"
5) "I brought you home a cup cake that has a black penis on it. And a penis straw. I thought you'd enjoy these."
6) "I bought you a rape whistle for tonight. Because I'm going to rape you. Put that on your calender."
7) "I'm so going to buy us a breeding pair of pygmy goats and then when they have babies we're going to raise them to fight gladiator style and if your pygmy gladiator goat beats mine I'm going to fucking cut your face."
8) "Just remember, when your bromance with the dog takes the next natural step in your relationship, wrap it up. He's kind of a slut and I'm not sure I want to date someone who's got Canine AIDS."
9) "I'm thinking of having sex with your corvette. What type of cheap wine should I seduce her with?"
10) "Every time I call you Megalodong I picture your penis as a giant prehistoric shark that wants to eat my vagina. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that anymore."

Thursday, March 3, 2011

The Pilot And When He Flew Into My Life Pt.2

The world of Internet dating on Internet dating sites is a strange, weird world filled with strange, weird people that probably want to stick you in a hole with lotion and a hose only to eventually wear your skin and prance around with their genitals tucked into their legs. And during my foray into this weird, weird world I had my fair share of encountering those type of people.

Some of these people wouldn't even hide the fact that there was something wrong with them. Right off the bat they'd talk about how I should doing their masterbating for them down by the river in the dark with ropes and other gross, creepy things that would have led to me being buried in a ditch or a hole or the river and those emails got deleted as fast as they would arrive.

Then there were some that weren't creepy or weird but normal people that things just didn't quite work out with. Like the one guy who once I had determined was "sane" enough and given him my phone number decided that it was OK to send me texts that were overtly sexual and kind of odd but then I decided to ignore and divert to other safer, topics until the night we went on a date and had pasta and then he had me sit in his car for a good forty minues in my driveway while he showed me Weird Al music videos on his ipod. I was only set free when I sent a stealthy text to my best friend (who, luckily for me, happened to be staying with me for a month or so) and had her come outside and tap on the passenger door window to rescue me and ensure my freedom.

I never had a second date with that guy.

Or the guy who took me out on our date to Tim Horton's as an unknown group date with his friends which ended up with us playing boardgames in a weird old ladies house and since I never played the board game before and I ended up utterly dominating the other players in my victorious win I was sent home and never bothered to try to arrange anything else with the guy.

So after these two dates I was pretty put off by what I had encountered online and was ready to put in the towel. What was the point? To me, at time the, it was pointless. Nothing was coming from it and you know what? I was growing happier each day just being me and not worrying about some boy.

Wouldn't you know, it always works out that way. The moment you declare "I do not need a penis in my life!" BOOM, suddenly you get a penis. Well, not your own, but someone elses. Like, a borrowed penis. Not for keepsies. You still have your vagina.

It was then that The Pilot popped up into my radar. He messaged me first and when my email dinged and proclaimed that I had mail, I was watching television with my best friend and was only slightly bored so I decided to check it out. Both of us sat there for fifteen minutes looking at what he wrote and what his profile was about. It was full of airplane pictures and pictures of him and his corvette. It wasn't a profile that really jumped at me but it was mildly interesting and like I said, I was bored.

"Are you going to message him back?" my friend asked in mild curiosity herself.

"Yeah, I'll give him my email so we can talk to each other on MSN." which was an odd first step for me to pick because I normally didn't give my email out that quickly and just preferred to spend an extended period of time messaging back and forth on the website.

Seconds after I had sent it to him, MSN dinged with an offer from an email I didn't know and it was him! Excitement all around! At first we did the normal small talk about names and how long we were in the town together and blah blah blah and I could sense that my friend was getting mildly interested just as my interest was growing.

But it got to the point in our conversation that things started to get interesting and I got more interested and as my interest grew the more I kept shielding the screen from my friend. I didn't want her to see my excitement or interest after I proudly proclaimed my "No Need For Penis" stance.

The funny thing about our first conversation? It was funny about how we both kept trying to make creepy references and only served to make each other laugh.

The Pilot is six years older then me, in fact this September he's going to be thirty while I just turned twenty-three this past January. I was twenty-one and he twenty-eight-going-on-twenty-nine when we met. Naturally, of course, we talked about his shag carpeted stranger-danger van and all the candy he'd have to offer me and the fact that it was way past my bed time and his retirement home was calling and it was time he went to have his sponge bath.

It was funny, I was laughing and no one had made me laugh like that. So when he so casually gave me his cellphone number I gave it back and then he declared it was time for him to eat dinner (which seemed odd because it was 10:00pm at the time) and he would talk to me later and promptly got offline.

And I left it at that.

Until before I fell asleep he texted me.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

The Pilot And When He Flew Into My Life Pt.1

The thing that I never really explained to anybody except the few people close to me and not even my own parents, really (and I'll dive into that in a moment), was how exactly The Pilot flew into my life and completely turned it upside down and forever stole the affections of my dog in the process.

You see, we met online. Yup, we met on a popular free dating site. Even just saying that sends a bad taste in my mouth and makes me want to hid under my desk and hide away for the rest of the year rocking back and forth while some motherly figure soothingly strokes my hair and feeds me delicious soup or something. It just fills me with an overwhelming sense of "loser hood". Like, only dorks or unlikeable people find love or some form of it online and I've always been slightly ashamed of it.

Whenever my parents would ask (and they still do, trust me) I always flippantly give them a "oh, we met through friends" and luckily my parents have never really asked "Oh, what friend" because they don't really know anyone I know up here in this town. Which is luck, just right there.

The main reason that brought me onto that dating site was the fact that I was dumped two months previous and I was miserable. Because getting dumped does that to a person. I spent at least two days rocking back and froth not knowing what to do because despite the fact that I knew the year long relationship was crumbling to the ground and it was only a matter of time before it ended I kind of tried to pretend it wasn't and just thought of rainbows and cute puppies instead.

But that's what happens when (due to various reasons at the time like getting diagnosed with Bells Palsy) I had become an emotionally, needy grabby handed person that needed to be coddled all the time because, hell, I had a frozen face and probably wasn't ever going to have it cured but when it went away and I was fine again I still needed to be coddled because I was wallowing in the "Woe is me, why is this happening to me?" sort of mind-set.

Heck, I would have dumped myself. Or punched myself in my theoretical girl nuts and told me to suck it up and walk it of while not being a pansy. Once I stopped rocking enough and let my little sister in on my woes she told me, "Why not join a dating site? Everyone is doing it these days."

And I sort of dug my heels in for a little bit because the idea was just embarrassing. Was I not a hip enough cat to meet people face to face or in a strange social setting in person that I now had to resort to like online dating?

Then I sort of decided to do it after hemming and hawing over it because I realized what type of town I lived in and I'd probably get stabbed by someone first before I ever got to the phase of asking them what they did for a living and what type of hobbies they enjoyed doing. Stabbing people, apparently.

With my profile made and pictures loaded to said profile and with what I managed to fill out my "About Me" section with something I thought was super witty and not all cheesy like those old "Lady Friend Wanted Ads" found in the back of old newspapers, I joined the world of online dating.

And it was from there that I eventually met The Pilot.....
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