I Was In Jor Mom & I Left A Baby

Sometimes amazing things happen and sometimes those amazing things are only more so amazing because suddenly, BAM, I'm a part of that amazing thing and this is one of those times.

Two people came together and started making out with their voices and created this podcast called "Jor Mom" and on the first episode they happened to talk about my greatness and for their third episode they broke the fourth wall and invited me to be on it. And then I made out with them with my voice and it was just a giant voice orgy.

And this voice orgy? It was great. It was tasty.

So here it is, in all it's amazingness.

To celebrate I almost made the most insane version of Jorge, Jorah & myself to visually prepare the listeners for what is about to happen to them.

But of course it had to be edited a bit because some type of people took fault with what was seen. Because it was just so mind blowingly awesome. Looking at it will impregnate your mom. With my child.

And that's how you have me from a fake step-dad. WIN!

The blog that we covered was No Haikus Ever.

And of course, Gun Genie. The best thing ever to come out of Canada.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Some One Should Give Me A Tiny Naked Man For This.

Do you know what sucks balls? I know, I know, your first thought was most likely "Old people, because they are old and gross and their balls hang down to their knees and look like someones been sucking on a Jawbreaker too long and drained all the fun, vibrant colours from it." and normally, I'd totally fucking agree with you.

However, today, I've got to say apartment hunting is far worse than nasty old man balls that look like wrinkled bath fingers. It sucks even more when your a province away from where you want to live and can't actually visit any of the places you are interested in. All you have is a wing you ripped off a bird and a prayer you are forcing for a priest because you threatened to beat him with the bloody wing you ripped off of a bird in front of him.

Searching for an apartment this way, dear readers, means I've got to trust the Internet and what it tells me and you know how I know I can't trust the Internet? Because I'm on it.

So it isn't really that far fetched to know that after spending all weekend searching for places on line and making spread sheets of questions we need to ask and calling people about their available spaces for March, I had a mental break down and refused to do anything more "Let's not live on the street" related and instead watched a Full House marathon.

Naturally this distressed The Pilot who was attempting to keep a brave face about our search and he kept trying to entice me with places that looked cool and could compete for my attention more than Stephanie getting stood up by some type of school Jock because she is the least likable Tanner girl.

"Look, this place has two bedrooms and a neat kitchen!" He would say as he tried to shove the computer in my face. Which didn't work because I was really into the Full House marathon and it seemed that every place he found would turn out not to accept animals or not have a good enough place to park his corvette.

Finally, I had another mental break down inside of my first mental break down and it was something the Tanner family couldn't save me from.

"Where going to be HOMELESS!" I declared throwing my arms up in the air and kicking over the TV tray next to me, " All because of your stupid car and that stupid devil dog. We're going to have to live under a bridge and we wont even be able to afford cardboard to make cardboard furniture out of."

And before The Pilot could say anything to stop me, I took a deep breath and continued, " And when we have children they are going to be raised by homeless people because we can't afford to send them to public school and you know what you learn in hobo school? ALCOHOLISM! And they wont even be able to afford that!"

The Pilot opened his mouth to say something I started all over again, "Maybe we can find a horse and cut it open and live on the inside of it like that stupid dude from Star Wars. And maybe we can upgrade to Pinto in the future. And a few little ponies as we expand our family."

"But Baby ---" he tried again but was cut off because the phone rang and I had to answer it and who'da thunk it? It just happened to be a landlord calling us back about their place to rent that was two bedrooms and dog friendly for a cheap price a block away from my school and who was more than happy enough to rent a place out to us suite unseen and people unseen and all we had to do was fill out a fucking form!

Once I arranged for her to fax the application to work for today, I hung up with a happy assurance we're going to get a "cute place" and I jumped on The Pilot declaring, "We're going to have a place to live! Can you believe it? It's a good thing I never gave up hope even though you sat there telling me we were going to be some type of fucking homeless beggars on the street forced to live in horses. You sick fuck."

And all he could do was push me off the couch and attempt to smother me with a pillow because of all of his negative energy.

It was really bringing me down, man.

Eventually, It Will Eat Us In Our Sleep.

On impulse three weeks ago, I decided that my life wasn't all that cool and I needed to do something drastic to bring the awesome up to eleven and the only way to do that was to buy a shark.

"Trista," I said to myself in the bathroom mirror with a quiet passion so as not to wake The Pilot and clue him into the fact of what I was going to do, "we both know you are awesome and sometimes that awesome can be threatening and intimidating but it's still awesome. But something has been missing in your life and it's dragging that awesome down."

I nodded vigorously to myself because, honestly, I was totally right. " But I know exactly what you need," I said with an air of suspense, " You need a fucking shark."

And I was totally right, again.

It was only natural to sneak out of bed in the middle of the night and buy a shark online but I wasn't really prepared for the fact that it's probably illegal to buy a shark and I don't think my apartment is big enough to fill with club soda and salt so this thing could live. Or that I'd probably get in trouble when The Pilot catches me giving the dog swimming lessons in a shark infested tank. That'd probably get me like three spanks or something.

Refusing to be deterred because my reflection in the mirror told me I had to buy I shark, I stumbled upon the best fucking thing in the world.

A remote controlled powered helium filled AIR SHARK on eBay for like ten dollars that I totally bid on and after two weeks of waiting I finally won it and had it mailed to me. And the funny thing? I those two weeks I totally forgot that I had bought a pet shark late at night one night because my reflection told me so when I picked it up at the post office it was awesome.

Almost as awesome when I brought it home and hid it until I could go to Walmart and get a helium tank and the look on The Pilot's face when I randomly came home with a helium tank I totally didn't explain anything about was sort of priceless. It's almost as if he doesn't even know me to be surprised over me bringing home things such as compressed gas and just leaving it on the kitchen counter for three days with no explanation at all.

It sort of went like this:

The Pilot: "Baby, what's this helium tank doing on the kitchen counter?"
Me: "What helium tank? Baby you crazy."

This, of course, went on until I excitedly woke him up at seven in the morning on his first day off to declare "I BOUGHT A FUCKING SHARK!" and dragged him out of bed before he could start crying in fear or throw me out of the room so he could continue to sleep.

I wont lie about the fact he may or may not have let out a whimper when he realized that he was the one who was going to have to build me this flying shark while I didn't do anything remotely close to helping but I like to call it "supervising" because that's what I do. I supervise and back seat build.

Let me tell you, building a fucking flying shark isn't easy. It's hard work. From what I saw from the couch. I also didn't realize that this shark was totally like four feet long and pretty much as tall as me. It takes up a bunch of fucking room.

And I'm pretty sure we leaked half the helium tank into the atmosphere of our apartment.

But success! We had it built and motoring around and the first thing that I did was terrorize the dog until it got to the point he crawled behind the toilet and refused to come out because there was a fucking shark circling around the apartment.

And then I had the great idea of taking it into the apartment hallway and knocking on our neighbours doors so they could come face to face with this awesome flying shark. Several people didn't answer and others just closed the door on us and my giggling.

But then I got bored of it and needed a nap and since the thing was so huge we had to anchor it in our second bedroom because there was no where else to put it. And then in the middle of the night when you get up to get a drink or order more exotic animals off the Internet, it scares you shitless because a dark blob is menacingly floating around the bedroom.

But it's OK, it's just your pet shark.

I've named him Donkeypunch because it seemed appropriate.

Womb Mate; An Undiscovered Rhodes Scholar.

While digging through our guest room in an attempt to start decluttering our shit, The Pilot and I came across a big box of shit that was titled "Womb Mate" and to my curiosity I pulled it out and decided I had to snoop. Which, of course, is what older siblings do and it was in my house it basically consisted of "mine".

However, I called her up on Skype to get an insight over what I was reading and finding in this box. Even though it was full of crap (Which, I must assure you she says is all great wonders and needs to be kept) I found a gem. A gem of stories.

Stories, dear readers, she's graciously allowed me to share with you on the blog. And by "allow" I mean she demanded because she was all "I'm super smart and funny and your readers need to share in my super smartness." and then she sang the Kit Kat song until my ears bled and I gave in.

I present to you: "The New Dog".

The New Dog

Once a pon a time there was a little boy named Jack. He lived in Mackenzie, BC. He always wanted a dog. He would bag and bag his parents for a dog. But they would say "NO!". Finilly one day his dad said "we are going for a ride son". I was wondring where we were going! I asked my dad like a hundred times. He would always say you will find out when we get there. I knew he would say that because thats what every parent would say. 

Then after 10 minutes we were in a big store called Pinkys Pet Store. I didn't know were he was going. But he whent to the store keeper and asked were the dogs were. Then I reallized the dog was for me. My dad said "Son pick out a dog." I could not say anything for a few minutes because I was so shocked. Then I found a golden retrever. It was just a pup when I got it so I called it Spunky.

Since that day I'm still doing chores to keep him. My mom thought I wouldn't pay money for him to keep him alive. But she thought wrong, like wushal! I even still play with him and I am 15.  I got him when we were 2. He was two too. He has the same birthday as me too. 

50 years later they both died. They are barried in the same spot.

The End.

If that touching story of a boy and his 50 year old dog didn't bring a tear to your eye, you are a heartless bastard fuck and I want to be your friend. Stay tuned in the future for the next installment of Womb Mate: An Undiscovered Rhodes Scholar when I present to you "The Big Move.", which I am assuming is semi-autobiographical.

Ring, Ring, Ring! Fuck You Phone!

Considering that I've only been engaged for a few days, I got to tell you -- it already feels like forever. When we got home from that flight where The Pilot didn't kill us, he promptly decided that the best thing to do Post-Engagement was have a nap. That nap was totally interrupted by his phone ringing off the hook because people saw things posted on Face book and his parents and my parents had spent the afternoon phoning up everyone in Canada to tell them the great news.

This phone ringing? That wouldn't stop? It totally made The Pilot start having a hissy fit as he was curled up in a ball on the bed, rocking back and forth while whispering "Make it stop, please make it stop." and all I could do was cackle because I found it funny because nap times are precious to him. And I'm an asshole who can't let him nap.

It's sort of like when you see an innocent child sleeping undisturbed and you're over whelmed with the greatest urge to just shake it awake because if you can't be content and restful, they so fucking can't. That's what it's like when The Pilot naps.

The phone ringing didn't stop for hours and days and it got to the point we both wanted to turn off our phones and ignore the world but we couldn't because everyone wanted to know if we had a date set, and what we were going to do for the wedding, and oh my fucking god, have you set a date yet?

And then we did it.

Just joking! We couldn't do it because the phones they just kept ringing.

But we did make a lot of fucking toast.

We got a toaster, you see, and it was the first time we got to taste delicious bread on a constant basis in two years.

We had sex with that toaster.

Not kidding.

We totally fucked it good.

Not Dying 2300ft In The Air In The Middle Of A Snow Storm Was A High Point, Really.

Yesterday on my birthday when I turned twenty-fucking-four, it really hit home how old I have suddenly turned when I didn't want to do any type of birthday celebrations because I was so tired and just wanted to take my pants off and go to sleep. Since The Pilot is stupid old he totally jumped on the bandwagon of going to bed early and we just decided to postpone any birthday stuff until Friday, which is today.

See? Twenty-Fucking-Four totally has peaked already and it's full of early bedtimes and long naps and complaints about being tired, grump, old and not wanting to do anything.

In the morning, however, The Pilot woke me up early and declared "WOMAN! Get out of bed, we's going flying!" and despite having a boyfriend who is a pilot, I don't really get to go flying with him that much because of both of our schedules and I refuse to pay him to escort me around the skies. Naturally I sprung out of bed bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to meet the day and not at all anything close to being a person who didn't want to get up out of the warm bed and contemplating throwing something heavy at him.

At the airport as we got the plane ready the winter day started to snow and get cold and ice was everywhere and the clouds were low with a threat of spitting in our faces and ready to throw crap at us. The Pilot hemmed and hawed about following through on flying until he finally gave a big old fuckit, and demanded that I get into the plane.

We flew up to 2300ft and right when I was like "Holy crap they all look like ants down there, I wonder what would happen if I started throwing stuff out of the plane, would it hit someone? Because that'd be cool." The Pilot demanded that I pay attention to him and stop pretending I'm going to ruin the people behind us, and he pulled out a box and said "So, are you going to marry me or what?".

But of course he asked it in sort of a long winded "I love you so much" sort of speech before he got down to asking the question and looking at me in an expectant way because it was obvious I was supposed to say yes. Like, you don't tell the person flying you "No" because that scenario only ends up with fireballs and death.

It was a no brainer to say yes and immediately after I gave him a sloppy kiss and put the ring on, we got caught in an ice storm and had to almost emergency land the plane safely so we didn't die in the snow.

Because that'd suck to die so shortly afterwards. People would have thought  I said No.

Does This Mean I Qualify For Sponge Baths Now?

Tomorrow I happen to turn twenty-fucking-four and it's made me realize that I'm getting old and it wont be long now until I am thrown into an old folks home by uncaring children because I'm assuming at that point I'll be a horrible old lady no one wants to hang out with. But that nursing home? Yeah, totally the cheapest thing the uncaring children could find because they don't want their inheritance drained by such trivial things as "preventing bed sores" and "having paid staff be nice to the gross old people".

Oh, wait, I apologize. That's my plan for my parents.

Turning twenty-fucking-four as defiantly made me give a cold hard look at my life so far because it will be a year until I am twenty-five and what have I accomplished? An unfinished degree, starting a new degree, I haven't bought my own private island and I wasn't appointed the new Supreme Ruler of North Korea. All I can say is Kim Jong Il made promises he couldn't keep. The dick mouth.

Before I wasn't so concerned with my accomplishments because I could laugh it off due to the fact that I was young-ish and do you know what people expect of young people? Absolutely fucking nothing, and it's great!

Now it's just like "Oh she's getting so old and she hasn't even conquered a third world country yet. I bet her parents are so ashamed because I would be." and all I can really say is fuck you people who are disappointed on me not conquering a third world country yet, it's really hard OK? I didn't know there was laws about Human Rights and not enslaving people to make giant statues of dicks and cats. I didn't know.

The Pilot, however, seems to see a great positive in the fact that I'm getting older on my birthday and why I just can't turn twenty-awesome-three twice.

"But honey," he says, "the older you get the less I look like a creepy old man who's sleeping with you!" because we've got an age difference, you see, and he just turned thirty-fucking-old last September. It's good to know there is a light at the end of the tunnel, though.

He also told me that a new mexican restaurant opened in town and right before I got super excited and was going to suggest going there for my birthday he so cruelly cut in and said, "I've got standards woman, I don't take no one to a Mexican food joint on their birthday. I'm more of a KFC man."

So, at least I've got that going for me.

After Being In A Car For Two Days, I'm Surprised It Only Took Him 7 Hours To Snap

Things The Pilot Has Said On Our Road Trip Home

On what would happen if he ever contracted HIV: "If I have AIDS, I'm just going to go out with a bang and have a sword fight and shit."

On realizing what he said in regards to what he'd do if he contracted HIV: "I just said I'd have a sword fight with another dude, I didn't mean to be gay about it."

His feelings on when I wear boy boxers: "When you wear boy underwear it's exactly how I remember it feels like to feel up boys. Wait, that came out wrong, didn't it?"

Conversation after leaving his parents place to head home:

Me: "Why is there pieces of pepperoni scattered all over your parents driveway?"

The Pilot: "I thought the Quails would eat it, for like Christmas Dinner."

On his pride over having purchased a metal shelf for his tools: "When people come over and they see my glistening metal shelf in the garage they are going to blow their load. But not when they see my guitars because they already blew all over the shelf."

On realizing that everything he says is going to end up on my blog: "If your blog becomes famous, how am I going to convince the world that I'm The Pilot for realsies? Like, what happens if a sperm bank wont want my stuff because I can't prove my internet fame? What then, huh, what then?"

Christmas: It Totally Fucked Us Over.

So just when I thought that Christmas wasn't going to do anything stupid and destroy our holiday and I was politely tipping my hat to it and extended the hand of truce, it reared it's ugly head and kicked me square in the lady balls and then spit on my face and stole my hat. Because that's what Christmas does -- kicks you in the lady balls.

Our vehicle, we learned, is a ticking time bomb that can explode at any time it damn well chooses and stop working on us because somewhere inside of it there is a hole that's spewing liquid like it was diarrhea and that? That is bad, I guess. I don't know dink all about cars but I'm assured that it is a horrible thing to happen and so beyond expensive to fix that it's just laughable to even fix it.

And then the roads that we need to take home are all full of of avalanches and danger because once again Mother Nature is bleeding out of her soiled vagina and refuses to take out her tampons and let us catch a break.

Christmas: No One Died This Year.

Christmas has basically come and gone and considering that I haven't lost any limbs and The Pilot still has all of his limbs and the dog hasn't been stolen or murdered, I'm going to have to say Christmas was a complete fucking success.
We all got great gifts and some great gifts where given and everyone had a great time.

Did I mention that no one was murdered yet?

Christmas with The Pilot's family has been different, that's a good safe word for it right? This is the first time in my twenty-three-odd years of life that I haven't spent Christmas with my family and The Pilot is French and we all know the French are fucking weird so I wasn't sure of what I was going to encounter this Christmas.

Basically Christmas boiled down to the fact that The Pilot and I had to creatively come up with a way to avoid Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve because we are Godless heathens and sit around watching Gremlin's while everyone else was trapped at an extremely boring Mass that left a bitter taste in their mouth and complaints.

The Pilot and I had no complaints over Gremlins.

And then at Midnight we got to open our gifts because that's how the French roll and then after that gift opening? Yeah, we had a big ole French feast of meat pie and other delicious stuff and when we finished eating? It was totally 3:00am Christmas morning.

And then we slept all Christmas day and then had Turkey dinner.

Oh, and watched The Green Mile because that's totally what the spirit of Christmas is all about.

The Pilot and I totally also messed with his mothers nativity scene and when she found it under the tree Christmas Day, The Pilot totally got the blame for my horrible misdeeds.

And then we made shortbread and The Pilot got banned from decorating cookies because he wanted to be offensive and I totally got called the best genuis ever when I made a Bigfoot and Mr. T cookie.

Christmas: Still Alive But Will Probably Change

One of the wonders of being on Christmas Vacation is not having to get up in the morning and drag my ass out of bed because I've got to work. Instead, I get up in the morning and drag my ass out of bed because someone may or may not be making me homemade blueberry waffles because that's how it rolls in The Pilot's house. Waffles, bitches.
We got to The Pilot's parents house on Saturday after a sleepless night at the Disco tech because when I book a fucking hotel I apparently book the party hotel and don't even get invited to the fucking party. It's like high school all over again where it's the Womb Mate throwing the party illegally at my parents house while I'm away for the night babysitting and when I get driven home by the parents of the kids I'm babysitting? Yeah, kids are totally puking over the balcony. Talk about awkward. That's what that hotel stay was like.

High school kids can suck my dink, is what I'm saying.

And then we nearly died on the road because it decided it was going to be a bitch and just suck. Ice? Snow? Rain? Icy Snowy Rain? WHY THE HELL NOT? Mother nature wouldn't be doing her job if she didn't wake up in the morning and decide that "You know what's the best part of waking up? Fucking with those two assholes trying to have a Christmas vacation." and that's totally what she did.

And then she put in her tampon because she was obviously bleeding out of her vagina and flipped a logging truck for good measure so we'd get stuck on the highway for an extra two hours.

Mother Nature can suck my dink, is what I'm saying.

But thankfully The Pilot gets us there while I spent a majority of the time napping and his parents welcome us with open arms but more importantly dinner I didn't have to cook or order at a window,and all is right with the world.

Ha, as if I was totally going to leave this with a fairy tale ending because what type of person would I be if I did that? Probably one that punches cancer kids in the face to steal their wish from that magic foundation and sees nothing wrong with what she did when Hospital security begin to question her credentials and connection with the cancer victim.

We decided to go shopping and that apparently offended Mother Nature because she decided to piss all over the hill leading to The Pilot's parents house and then freeze it so that we almost crash into the ditch and off the face of a cliff and nearly ruin our tires to get up the hill because sliding down it backwards wouldn't work because it'd be a domino effect and just kill the people behind us but that's slightly OK because hopefully their mangled bodies and broken cars would soften our fall.

Mother Nature can massage my balls, is all I'm saying.

Christmas: It Hasn't Killed Me Yet

My Christmas road trip has officially started and so far I'm proud to say that the drive to Calgary hasn't killed either of us yet and we haven't killed each other yet even though we sort of maybe came suspiciously close to dying when The Pilot saw an airplane in the sky and paid more attention to that then the merging traffic in front of him. So, we only almost sorta died.

Our road trip was riddled with arguments that started in fits and crackles over who was in charge of the music and several of my face book statuses totally explain what happened there:

Surprisingly, I haven't jabbed out my ears yet.

And then I fell asleep and woke up to endlessly repeating Christmas music and a boyfriend who was read to through the radio out of the window after ripping it from his vehicle because it just wouldn't stop and he had misplaced his own iPod so he couldn't listen to something better.

And then I pointed out cows.

Then we got to our hotel which actually turned out to be a motel and now I think we're going to be murdered in our sleep because the front desk guy was protected against the worst possible case scenario by sitting in a cage made out of bars because at any moment monkey's on tanks will attack a horrible motel.

And then we got a room that happens to share a wall with what I am assuming is an Indian Techno party because that is the only way I can describe the horrible music radiating from the wall.

Favorite part of the trip so far? When I asked The Pilot if we could stop for gas by innocently saying "Is that a gas station we can stop at?" he responded with, "No, that's a rape station and we are never stopping there."

Which, honestly, is pretty good advice to live by.

Is It Considerd A Good Gift If You Wrap The Cancer First?

Because we are going away for Christmas this year and most likely will die on a road trip or divorce each other and go into a custody battle of who doesn't want the dog, I've come to the critical choice that I'm not doing butt-hole-all to decorate this apartment for Christmas because this obviously must mean I'm the worst person in the world and ruined Christmas for a dozen orphans who later got Christmas cancer and Christmas died. Or so The Pilot might claim when he retells how I so cruelly denied him the pleasure of putting up Christmas lights all over the place because for some reason he treats them like mood lighting and if he had his choice they'd be up all the damn time.

Last year I let him go all out and he had Christmas lights over everything and if I hadn't of stopped him the dog would have been strung in lights and wrapped around the tree as a Christmas decoration. And he would have suddenly become a Christmas Tree Nazi that would hold me at gun point if I dared come close to his tree while it was being decorated and lo any who dare not to delightfully fluff the tree so it looks more real-y and less cheap-y.

I'd be a liar if I said it didn't make me laugh cruelly every time we'd walk outside of our apartment and find everyone's door decorated with Christmas stuff or see that ours is basically the only balcony that isn't lighted up like the entrance to a Gay Bar because he'd get a sad, frown-y face and point out all the Christmas cheer while simultaneously calling me the Christmas Devil. It's not my fault that his soul dying is a sweet, sweet nectar I'm shockingly addicted too.

But eventually his sad, Christmas puppy dog eyes got tired of pleading and begging with me for Christmas cheer, and decided that they were going to take matters into their own eyeball-y hands and do something about Christmas. Because that's what his fucking eyeballs do, can make Christmas happen.

And what did those eyeballs do? They stole my fucking Christmas sweater that I totally forgot that I owned and that may or may not have been hiding in a box inside of a box under another box in our avalanche prone closet and he wore it to work.

And he became a fucking celebrity. 

Everyone at the airport found themselves gravitating towards him and complimenting him on my sweater and I, Christmas sweater thief victim, had to read all of his texts about how stupidly awesome he was and that I should suck someones dink because I nearly ruined Christmas but he saved the day and the world from my Christmas Cancer Giving ways.

And then he gave Kayne a Christmas mustache ride. Because that's how you save Christmas. 

 

 

But joke was on him because he later had to wear that into the grocery store and he went from being a Christmas Celebrity to that guy who wears clothes that makes everyone else think he's going to murder them in their sleep and turn their faces into Christmas sweaters to wear into other grocery stores to lure more people into being Christmas Sweater victims.

If I Don't Get Slaughtered, I'm Considering It A Good Christmas

Christmas is almost upon us and the one thing about Christmas that is almost a dead certain is the fact that I'm going to be going on another road trip to British Columbia and it also certainly means that something terrible is going to happen on this road trip. It's not like I'm being a road trip grouch or anything but considering that the last few times I went on a road trip we had several dead animals flung at our windshield and that one time I started hysterically crying because our hotel got messed up and I ended up having to sleep in a grocery store parking lot. Yeah, that time was fun.

This year we are driving down to The Pilot's parents' house for Christmas because for some reason it always ended up in the last two years my parents got all the holidays and The Pilot's family was neglected. I'm not sure how that ended up happening as it did but I'm also not saying it may have been rigged that I always won the road trip destination lottery. Because it's fixed. That's what I'm saying.

Of course this means that we're going to have to pack that asshole that lives with us into the back seat and it's always fun to be on a two day road trip when your dog acts like you've punched his mother in the uterus and destroyed his siblings in front of him or something because that's how he totally acts.

I'm anticipating horrible things to happen that will eventually turn out to be something we can laugh pompously about in years to come because I imagine myself to be rather pompous in my old age and the type of person that will drink Bourbon from fancy glasses and wear golden underwear and blankets made out of thousand dollar bills.

Basically, I picture myself as Donald Trump when I'm older and that's fucking weird because I'm a girl and don't have a penis.

Halloween Revisited: Because I Couldn't Actually Care About It Earlier

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*"
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER MY AWESOME BANJO SKILLS!"

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.