Wednesday, February 29, 2012

And We're Outta 'Ere

As of today The Pilot and I and our shitty little dog are officially no longer living in Alberta and on the road to living in BC. A road that is filled with challenges and arguments and horrible renditions of songs that either involves butt sex or farts. Ya know, a typical road trip in the Tristachio household.

You know what's also typical? Getting a Uhaul late because Uhaul sucks ass and having to spend all night packing to make sure we get out of our apartment in time before the Land Ladies show up and torch our belongings and steal the dog. Because they like our dog, you see.

You know what's not fun? Having a fiance who didn't sleep the night before because he was too wired and then having to do the bulk of the driving because the female of the household may or may not have had a mild panic attack while driving the vehicle that is towing the trailer and who may or may not have been driving on the road like a slow ass grandma.

You know what's completely usual? The Pilot declaring this sweet quote after I ask if our child's first vehicle could be a van when we have a kid:

"Giving a teenager a van for a vehicle is a sure fire way for them to be having sex in the back of it with street rats."


Monday, February 27, 2012

I'm Back Just To Turn Around & Do It All Again

You never realize how much siblings you really have until they are all crammed together inside of a cabin that can comfortably fit three people and a bathroom that at any moment could destroy the septic system. It felt like a can of sardines, really, the whole time I was visiting my parents.

Oh what? Visiting my parents? Yeah, that's totally where I have been for the last week. I flew down to see my dad in the hospital because it was all "Oh, he's not doing good" and "Holy shit, is his heart going to explode?" so I hopped on a plane after telling The Pilot "This shit better be all packed by the time I get back!" and met up with my siblings and parents and one baby.

It was a whirlwind trip that ended too soon and then I had to come back only to turn around and move to BC in two and a half days. It feels insane for having to come back to Alberta just to leave province again, but that's how I roll apparently.

But regardless, after a few scary days my dad is doing a lot better and we all felt comfortable going to our separate homes on Sunday.

Later this week I'll share the stupid adventures that came out of having all five of my siblings in the same roof and how I got to sit next to a chain saw artist on the plane.

But for now? Now I will sleep under my desk and wait for my last two days of work to be over.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

If I were Him, I'd Be Concerned About Poop Too

Over the weekend my dad was hospitalized because he's had some type of cold or flu for three weeks and when my mom and Womb Mate finally convinced him to go to the doctor to figure out what it was, they told him it was just a bad case of a virus that was going around and "Here, take some happy time pills and this should all just go away." and he took the pills.

Except they weren't happy time pills, they were more like "We are going to make things that much worse that we will actually attempt to kill you in your sleep, and you know what? That's because WE FUCKING HATE YOU!" and then they kicked his dog in the face while they were at it. He couldn't breathe in his sleep and every time he would fall asleep it was a mini suffocation.

So my mom took him into the emergency room again and the doctors were basically "Oh shit, OK, we were wrong. That cold? Yeah, totally a bunch of fluid around your lungs and your heart is doing something stupid that we may or may not want to shock it straight or, you know, cut you open and give you a ROBOT HEART! We don't know, but I'm sure it will be pretty fucking cool." and kept him in the emergency room. And then they stuck him full of needles and made the comment that they want to move him to a bigger hospital but the bigger hospital is so full of crackheads there isn't room for him. So they are sort of stuck of what to do.

Naturally, this caused a lot of family to mobilize that maybe shouldn't have mobilized and when it was brought to my dads attention of if he wanted to have a bunch of guests descend upon their cabin his answer was, "I don't want to have too much stress on the septic tank." because, naturally, when you are faced with probably getting a robot heart you don't want people to show up and cause your poop bucket to over flow.

Which, honestly, is a typical Tristachio Dad thing to say.

Womb Mate and I are torn. She lives five hours away and she wants to go but she's also got this baby that is sort of attached to her tit and there is a chance he could catch the bad cold that started all of this for my dad and that'd be a shitty thing to happen. I also happen to live a province away, have work, and am in the middle of a move. I'd love to drop all my shit and take off but then the poor Pilot would be stuck handling all of it on his own. Even though he sympathizes and has told me to take off if I need too.

This is one of the reasons why I am moving to BC in the first place, to be closer to family so it's not such a hard thing to deal with being so far away.

But then again, it's always nice to be closer in attempts to overflow that septic tank. You know, make a nice poop lake on his lawn.

Full of poop.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Moving, It Sucks Balls

You know, after the past week I've come to the realization that moving fucking sucks and The Pilot and I have two very different methods of how to deal with the whole "packing up your whole apartment and fitting it in boxes and going through your shit to make sure you actually need it" thing.

Like, The Pilot gets into hardcore moods where it's WE! NEED! THIS! ALL! DONE! NOW! ORWEAREGOINGTODIE! and he's rush, rush, rush, clean, clean, clean, pack, pack, pack, and maybe somewhere in there he takes a break to poop. I don't know, I haven't seen him poop this week. That's how busy he's been.

Me? I get started in fits and spurts that sort of mimics a kid on too much sugar and I run around flapping my arms and kicking my legs so high as I run that I touch my butt and start about ten different boxes of things to be packed before I eventually get bored and distracted by shiny things or Jersey shore and I just give up. And then I get ashamed of giving up so easy when we have tons of things to do that I attempt to try and sneakily convince The Pilot that he should give up too so I don't look like that big of a dead beat.

But it usually never works, ever.

Well, sometimes I can convince him to have a nap but that always backfires because we have a nap and then I wake up a bitch and the whole night is ruined because it was his fault that he was weak enough to give into me sneakily demanding that we have a nap.

You know what else fucking sucks about moving? A dog. More specifically, my dog. As soon as we start pulling out boxes and packing tape he starts acting like each box is trying to kill him and it's our job to save him from the boxes we are trying to fill with our belongings. When we packed his belongings? It was like we had forced his on-and-off again girlfriend to eat their love babies in front of him as if she were a startled hamster. It was that bad.

Or if you get on the floor to start packing boxes he forces his way into your lap and demands that you cuddle him like a baby and if you don't? He's totally growing thumbs and calling social services because you are punching him in the face while eating a ham sammich.

We've got one weekend left to have everything packed before we've got to pile it into a Uhaul to move it to Kelowna and right now I'm thinking that's not going to happen. Last minute we are probably going to throw everything in garbage bags because we're bad ass like that and toss it in.

It doesn't help that I am so over packing that I just want to pile everything into the middle of the apartment and burn it. Or throw it off of the balcony and see who can hit the most middle schoolers.

Or finally convince The Pilot that it's okay for me to stick the dog in a box and pretend that he's a box dog and convince him that no it is not my fault the dog has a paralyzing fear of fucking boxes.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

And Then I Was Drowned By The Ghost Of Valentines Love

The Pilot kind of has it rough the last month of the year and the first two months of the year because it's expensive for him because of Christmas, and my Birthday, and then Valentine's day. Normally I'm all "Fuck yeah, I'm a greedy ass bitch that JUST WANTS GIFTS!" but considering the fact that he gave me a wicked awesome Christmas gift, Birthday gift and then proposed the day after my birthday, I figured I'd give him a pass at Valentine's day and we can just eat our food on the floor and watch television like hobo's. Well, not exactly like hobo's, per say, because we've got a television. That makes us classy hobo's.

The Pilot being The Pilot straight up refused to just let this holiday pass us by without making any type of effort so he had planned it out that he'd do something romantic to try and keep in the festivities of what this holiday is about.

"They are having a couples firework show with fire dancers and bonfires and hot chocolate, let's go to that!" he declared while throwing the poster for the event at me, "It will be a great Valentines Day!".

"But this starts shortly after we get off work! That leaves us no time for dinner! And all the traffic! And we'd be home late! And you'd get hungry!" I said throwing the flyer for the event in the garbage because I really hate traffic and being out late on a work night and fireworks? Fuck that, I want to eat Chinese food on the floor of my living room because I'm bad ass.

So we compromised and decided that we were just going to eat steak dinner at home and watch whatever happened to be on television, on the floor, and be happy with that.

It was my job to pick up the steak after work at the nearby butchers and it was The Pilot's job to pick up everything else on his way home from work.

I got my job done. But it took him forever to get his job done because I guess he was running around trying to buy flowers on the biggest flower day of the year and couldn't find any so he came home instead just with food and when I jokingly said "Hey, where's my flowers?!" he kind of had a mini breakdown while ranting about how "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WOMAN I TRIED!". And then he gave all my Valentine kisses to the dog as revenge.

So we ate an awesome steak dinner made by myself truly and then The Pilot said he had a surprise for me and that I had to go hide in the bedroom until it was ready. I heard him singing in the bathroom the whole time I was waiting so I was half expecting to be called in and shown what an amazing heart shaped dump he had made for me because that's usually the only time he sings in the bathroom is when he is pooping.

But, lucky for me, it wasn't a heart shaped dump. It was a bubble bath drawn just special for me! And what was that? A candle? A candle lit bubble bath for me? AMAZING!

Until, that is, I had to get into the bath and he turned off the lights and left me with a glass of sparkling lemonade to enjoy my bath. Do you know how creepy the bathroom is in the dark with only a single tea light candle to light it? I've seen horror movies. This is how people are killed by insane ghost clowns people.

And my only defense against insane ghost clowns? A glass of sparkling lemonade. That shit burns the eyes, you know.

And then the dog wandered in and got curious about the candle and ended up puffing it out so I was left in the dark with the sparkling lemonade and a fiance that suspiciously couldn't hear my calls for help. That is of course until he did hear them and turned the light on for me.

Afterwards we had some dairy queen ice cream cake because we bought that bitch on the weekend as a giant HIGH FIVE to painting the apartment and had a bitch ton left.

And then we watched a movie in bed that was completely ruined by the worst fart in the world that smelled like a million dead bodies covered in goat cheese that came out of a million dead goats asses.

That was my fart. Because I'm lactose intolerant.

And farts are the only way to make sure Ghost Clowns don't kill you in your sleep.

It also has the unfortunate side effect of killing any and all romance.

And then I went to bed safe from Ghost Clowns.

Friday, February 10, 2012

It's OK Landlords, We Will Only Cry A Little Bit When You Bend Us Over & Fuck Us

At the start of the week we officially gave notice to our apartment building that we were no longer friends and that we were going to go our separate ways and if they could never contact us again, that'd be great! Naturally, our apartment people, didn't take this unfriending very well and decided that instead of putting on their big girls pants they pulled out their dildos and tried to fuck our faces and asses as we ran away screaming in horror.*

When we first signed on to be friends with our apartment they told us this lovely fairy tale that went something like this "If you leave before your lease you only pay xxx.xx amount of dollars and we leave as fond memories of greater times" but in reality it went something like this "Oh, so you don't want to be friends anymore, huh? Is it because I fucked your ex boyfriend and this shit on your kitchen floor that one time at the part? FINE! I don't want to be friends with you anymore and now you owe us xxxx.xx amount of dollars even though you have a month left on your lease and then xxx.xx amount of dollars for each month of your lease you've already lived with us. FUCK YOU AND YOU ARE A WHORE! I NEVER LIKED YOU ANYWAYS!"

And then they pulled out their dildo and chased us down the hallway while threatening to kick our dog in the face.**

So now we are spending this afternoon and weekend painting the apartment and doing what we can in attempts to get our damage deposit back or at least applied to the xxxx.xx amount of dollars they are trying to charge us. And the fun part? The list of things they gave us to do? Totally against what the government says we've got to do so at the last minute I'm pulling out MY government issues dildo and attempt to fuck them in the face while they run down the hill screaming in terror.

The best part of this moving in 16 days thing? Yeah, we've got like 2% of the packing done and THAT'S GREAT AND OK!***

Because, you know, it will eventually get done. But maybe after an episode of Jersey Shore, oh look! It's a fucking squirrel! AND I HAVE A BIKE!

Oh my god, we're screwed.

*Totally true story.
**Still totally a true story.
***Totally not a true story.

Monday, February 6, 2012

Sometimes My Life Is Like The Goonies

(After watching a video about a celebrities reaction to a sloth)

The Pilot: "What, wait, hold on! Sloths are real?"

Me: "Uh, of course?"

The Pilot: "I thought they were like, fake."

Me: "How the hell did you figure Sloths were fake?"

The Pilot: "Because that guy from The Goonies. He was called Sloth so I figured that's what type of monster he was. A Sloth."

Me: "Sloth was horribly disfigured and mentally slow that's why he was called Sloth, because he was slow like the Sloth, which is a totally real animal."

The Pilot: "Oh."

Me: "So, you are telling me at 30 years old you spent your whole life believing Sloths aren't real?"

The Pilot: "Pretty much, what's for dinner?"

Me: "Sloth."

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Womb Mate; An Undiscovered Rhodes Scholar. Pt. 3

Considering the fact that the last two Wednesdays I pretty much used up the stories that the Womb Mate had written down in the box of her belongings I searched through, I was at a loss of what to post because I didn't have anything else to write. So I went to the Womb Mate and said, " Little sister, I have nothing to post today and because of that I'm going to have to close down my blog and stop my Internet fame." and she who shared a womb with me once but not really shared because I was born before her said, "I shall tell you another story child, gather around my fireplace and shut your fucking face while I tell you this awesome tale."

So I present to you the next story of the Womb Mate; An Undiscovered Rhodes Scholar.

The Bum Boat Pirate

Once upon a time in the great big Caribbean sea there was a pirate or two or four. However many that needs to be put in the story to make this work. He had a really really ugly boat so all the other pirates would call him The “Ugly Boat Bum Pirate”.

Since he got called The Ugly Boat Bum Pirate he wanted to kill them all. So, he hired a bunch of assignation mermaids to do his job.

So one glowy moon night there were three mermaids, one of which was one legged, swam to the other amazing awesome boats with three drunken pirates on board. They back flipped out of the water and on to the ship like ninjas, and they threw a bunch of fish eggs on the pirates. And then peed all over their boat and mermaid pee is corrosive. There for causing their ship to start disintegrated.

Then they wrapped the pirates in seaweed while distracting them with their big coconut boobs. All the pirates were screaming, “Darn that Bum Pirate, he’s got to be behind this. No pun intended. If that’s even a pun.”

So, they were thrown overboard by the mermaids and they have a back-up of an entourage of Balooga Whales also known as “Agent Zeros”. And they threw the seaweed-infested pirates onto the whales back. And then the whales glided to the Bum Pirate butt pounding boat.

And the Bum Pirate called all of the other seaweed-infested pirates to come on to his boat. He then locked them into a room filled with his farts that have been sitting there for ten years waiting for this moment. And it’s really stinky because he might have scurvy. We don’t know what he has. But it’s bad. And we don’t know if it was from Bum Piracy or not.

In the fart chamber as soon as he opened it up, green gas seeped out of it and he threw the pirates into the chamber. It was like a fart holocaust. And then the pirates died by choking on anal juice that evaporated into gas . 

So the Bum Pirate jumped onto his entourage of whales and took the mermaids back to the disintegrated mermaid pee boats. He made the mermaids spit on the boats to reverse the boats and he whipped the mermaids so they would cry and spit all over the boats to renovate them to good enough condition for a Captain Bum Pirate.

Once the boats were restored he walked over to the mermaids and he stepped on them with his peg leg and with his good leg, he booted them off the boat and said “GEET!” and just as he went to go sail away his heart blew apart and he died of a heart attack.

The end.

Anal juices turned into gas, y'all! I'll just let that seep in.
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