So, I Made This Commercial

So, this one time, I had to make this commercial of this well known product for Film School and during the filming of it, I may or may not been indirectly involved with our Actress losing a layer of skin on her shoulder because one of the men chasing her got too enthusiastic when we told him to tackle her and they missed the grass by an inch and hit the cement instead. And she was bleeding all over and it was really cold and we had her in shorts but figured "Fuck it, we aren't rich, we shouldn't have to provide blankets!" and then she slightly froze until our shoot was over.

And then she later came back to do a pants-less music video for us. She's a trooper.

It's Been A Long, Long Time.

It's been an awful long time since I have blogged anything and I'm going to, once again, blame it on having such a busy schedule.

Film School is going great, life is just peachy, and everything is dandy.

Except that, y'know, I'm getting to a point with this blog that I'm afraid I might have run out of things to say. What can I say to my audience that will tickle their feathers and boner their wieners?

I'm afraid I've lost the magic that sent my fingers typing in a flurry of flanges.

Perhaps I can talk about the music video I just did where the actress spent 90% of the time running around in a shirt, a bowler hat, and no underwear and we didn't discover this until we asked her to straddle and ride on the back of a Panda.

Or perhaps I can talk about how another actress involved brought her cute puppy a long to the shoot until we all realized it was in the middle of heat and bleeding all over the place.

Wouldn't it be funny if I mentioned how I may or may not have broken an old French man's back and instead of sending him to the hospital we gave him a bunch of random pills we found in a shady little pill box and then forced him to keep fake playing guitar while a near naked boy danced next to him?

It'd be more hilarious if I tickled your fancy with a story about how said music video was shut down because a rumor went around the school that we were going to force naked ladies to crawl through the mud while a child wearing full bondage dragged her around on a collar.

But, alas, my life has been pretty dull and I've lost the drive to tell funny, witty stories. I might as well curl up with my asshole dog and give up.

CREEK SHOW!

Ded Jeremy Presents: Creek Show. This film was submitted into my first festival and it may not have won any prizes, but it sure did win the crowds heart and became the Audience Favorite of the night. The making of this has a crazy back story that I'm in the process of writing, but in the mean time enjoy!

Vote Or She WILL Kill You.

I'm sending this blog post on behalf of Womb Mate who has alerted me to the fact that if I didn't share it and if y'all didn't vote, she would kill all of us. And after knowing her for all of her life, she will do it. She'll straight up murder y'all.

She entered my Nephew, the adorable devil, into some contest about who has the cutest dirty kid and you can possibly win some money for it and she promised me that if she won the money she'd, y'know, not throw some of it my way so I'll get to karate chop her in the uterus sometime in the future for not sharing. And that would be freakin' sweet.

And so far the winner of it is some stinky old kid doing nothing cute at all because they are old and not baby cute.

My Nephew? He's baby cute.

So go vote here.

OR WE WILL ALL DIE.

Just Because I'm Drunk Doesn't Mean I Still Don't Care.

So, it seems again I am writing another blog post about how "I'm still alive, just too cool to hang out with you blog people because I HAVE A LIFE!" and y'know what? Even I am getting sick of it.

I should really be posting here more because my life is pretty exciting right now. Like, did I mention that I won some money to make a Short Horror Film for a festival? OF COURSE I DIDN'T! Because I've been neglecting telling these stories.

Y'all should really add me to facebook because I always talk there about the cool shit going on.

Right now I'm on summer break from school and you know what I did? I went and hung out with a baby for almost a week. Well, I'm still hanging out with a baby. Womb Mate's baby who is now a year old and just a monster. But a loveable monster who shrieks and points and wobbles around on his fat legs like a belligerent drunk.

I also most likely got a job editing professionally. How did I manage to pull that off? BECAUSE I AM AWESOME. And I sent a lot of emails. A lot of emails.

I'm going to start posting more (I know, I know, I said this a lot already) and update what is going on in Film School and my life.

I promise.

And I may or may not be lying on that promise. WE SHALL SEE.

Most Important Meal Of The Day. And Time Travel

Presenting one of the projects two fellow students and myself handed in yesterday. It blew away the other projects and left our Department Head a quivering puddle of goo in the corner. I've got to say, I'm never doing a Time Travel story again WITHOUT identical twins. That shit is fucking hard.

Also, the two Film Students and I have created a film collective called DED JEREMY. It's where we will be posting group projects for school and outside of school.

We have a youtube account. You should probably suscribe too.

We also have Twitter and sometimes witty banter on it. You should probably follow it.

We also have a Facebook that you should probably like and help us take over the world.

Check them out and show the love! Or the hate. We'll take that too. After all, we're desperate Film Students.

I Tired Of These Mother Fucking Ants In This Mother Fucking Livingroom.

Nothing is better than coming home from school to hear "Hey, Sweetums, how good are your eyes?" and I'm like, "Dude, I wear glasses, are you making fun of me? How much times do I have to slap you in the face until you get it right?". But, y'know, I go into the living room anyways because whenever The Pilot wants to show me something it's always something sort of cool.

Like the time he found and captured an injured hawk. Yeah, we totally found an injured hawk and did a total "Let's rescue this awesome animal and resist the temptation of raising it as an attack pet." and sent it off to an Owl Rehab Center. He might have also been named Falco Peachtree the 3rd. Because, y'know, he was a classy as fuck bird.

So, I go into the living room and I'm like "I can't really see what the problem is here what are you trying....oh fuck, Ants! ARE THOSE ANTS? WHY ARE ANTS IN MY HOUSE? ARE THEY GOING TO EAT ME?" and then I ran out of the house. Because, y'know, MOTHER FUCKING ANTS!

The Pilot had to re-assure me that they weren't people eating Ants and that they probably were not going to leave our house carrying the television on their tiny backs or anything. So I came back into the house.

And then I tried to convince the dog to eat the ants crawling all over the floor boards but he just sort of sniffed them and looked at me with a "Are you kidding me? These are mother fucking ants up in our mother fucking house, I don't think so gurlfriend."And then he walked away with a huff.

Basically this left us with the only option of trying to find things that kill ants at stupid o'clock at night and wouldn't y'know? Midnight convenience stores aren't really packing Ant Killer or anything awesome. But they did have taquito's and hot dogs. That counted for something.

7-11, though, dear sweet 7-11 had Raid. They had it right next to the deodorant. And then when we bought it we got clapped at by the workers because "Hell, we've had this stuff for four years and you are the first people to actually buy it from 7-11.". Made me feel like some sort of a hero. An ant killing hero.

To make a long story short we sprayed the shit out of our house and managed not to kill the dog or get carried away by Ants in our sleep. Which is a bonus.

I'm Getting Too Old For This Shit

Desperate to find cool and hip things to do in this new town that I've been living in and having an idea in my head that it's awesome to start socializing and collecting favours from film people, I decided that I was going to agree to be a zombie in a Zombie Web-Series.

This choice happened to be the beginning of the end for me and a fellow student (who I will refer to as Dougie Howser because he looks like Dougie). We decided that being on time is super important in our industry so we decided to car pool and that he'd pick me up extra early at my house so we can find the obscure location the set was going to me. We started the day bright eyed and bushy tailed. We had no idea the horrors that waited us.

We first followed the directions that were sort of vague to begin with and this road took us past some expensive homes that soon turned into no homes and a random road we were pretty sure we were going to die on before we realized that we probably weren't where we were supposed to be. 

So we went the OTHER direction.

Which, you know, happened to take us to this isolated desert area on a sand/gravel road over looking all of the valley our town sits in. We decided maybe the smart thing to do was park and wait for the rest of the crew vehicles to show up so we can make sure we are at the right place.

We sat around for an hour.

We played CSI by stumbling across six condoms, their wrappers, a homeless burial ground that had cans filled with bees, holes in the ground that probably had snakes in them, knives in trees and a weird plant that looked like a penis.

Dougie, however, had a grand old time. He was throwing rocks down hills and then with a loud "I'M MAKING A TRAP!" he threw a rock larger than his head into the road. Remember this fact, dear readers, because it will be important in the next sentence.

Eventually we got word from the rest of the crew that we were supposed to find "A silver van and yellow car" we, TA DA!, happened to see those exact cars on a ridge above us. We thought we were fucktards who spent the last hour throwing rocks twenty feet from the actual set. What we ended up finding was a house that just happened to breed puppies and have the same type of vehicles.

So we turned around.

And we almost crashed into Dougie's trap that would have sent us careening off of the road and down a hill. The crafty bastard.

Then we get to set and get dressed up like zombies and spend two hours running around a ravine pretending to eat people. I think I had a vagina painted on my face.

Once we were told to go home we found out Dougie had gotten his vehicle stuck in a sandtrap. We had to wait another two hours in the grueling sun watching for someone to come save us. We waited an extra hour after that because our rescuer got lost. While waiting concerned people rushed at us wondering if we had gotten into a car accident because we were all bloodied and our car was stuck. When we responded "Zombies, sorry." they drove away fast.

After we got towed out of the sand we drove until we saw some rich house with their sprinklers on and got out in full zombie make-up to take a hobo shower in their sprinkler system.

And then we went and got slurpee's in full zombie make-up and made jokes about startling raccoons.

A Dose Of Reality

One of the biggest things I find that Film School wants to teach it's students is the "Reality" of the Film Industry and how "Soul crushingly lonely it will make you" so sometimes they come up with activities that help you come to the conclusion that Film will probably kill you.

Like, for example, today we did an activity that involved learning what it takes to be a Location P.A. One thing we had to learn was how to handle crowds and preventing them from entering the shooting area.

Naturally our Instructor was all "Let's experience what this is like so I'm going to make you three the P.A's so put these vests on and hold these walkie-talkies you can't use and you other three be people trying to get onto set." and then he let us fly at this role playing.

It was only a matter of time before it de-volved into people screaming about wanting David Duchovny's autograph and a person repeating Japanese auto-makers as a fake language and accidentally karate chopping himself in the nuts.

Basically, we showed our teacher we can't roleplay. Ever.

Or have walkie-talkies. He took them away once he listened in on the radio and heard us going "Fart fart, butt, penis, fart, butt."

Sharks Wearing Suits.

All it took was for some crazy bitch to open her mouth and say "Hey, There needs to be a video of Sharks swimming around to the Law & Order theme song!" for me to create, for her, the coolest damn thing in the world since sliced bread.

Neglectful Parenting. I Do That.

The other day I was going off to The Pilot about how my parents and family have been extremely neglectful lately by not calling or texting me and the promises of them visiting us in our cool, new place had seemingly been forgotten.

And right around the time The Pilot opened his mouth and was sort of telling me that "Hey, you can pick up the phone and call them or text them too, ya know. You're kind of being neglectful of them too." I kind of had a light bulb go off in my head so I pushed at his face until he shut up and was like "Dude, I'm been a horrible blog parent. Those blog kids of mine? They are most likely all dead. DEAD! Dead before I had a chance to remember their names and promise them birthday gifts that I have no plan on ever sending."

And that was the time my guilt drove me back to my blog to write this. Are you all dead children? Have I killed you by being a bad Blog Parent? Do you blame Film School for your parents divorce and the fact that No, this year you will not be getting double Christmas presents because your parents got divorced because SURPRISE! Your parents didn't get a divorce. They decided they'll be partners in bitterness until you grow up, get a job and stop being  disappointment. Are you happy now? 

Now that we've got that out of the way, we can all be friends again. Right? Right?

GRAND!

On a lighter note, I took my dog on a picnic and when I was just thinking to myself "What a great fucking pet owner am I? I took the asshole out on a picnic, brought him treats and water and set up a great little picnic area!" the dog took a giant shit on my picnic blanket and then I packed it up and went home crying.

I was sitting right next to him when he did that. 

So in other news, the dogs still an asshole. 

But it's a really good paying job. Honest.

And this is what happens when a group of us have time after class to make something sexy. One student always loses his shirt when things get creative. It's a process.

Yup. This Was Made. Get Over It.

Welcome To The World. Again.

Whelp, I moved and I FINALLY just got my internet hooked up.

Perhaps I'll properly update tomorrow a controversial topic.

You know, to spice things up a bit.

Just Double Fisting Homeless People

Right now I am sitting in this moving limbo waiting for my new landlord to call us and say "Hey, I've got those keys that you need to open the door to your new place so you can start moving in." but, you know, he hasn't called us yet because I'm pretty sure he's in some dark alley double fisting homeless guys for some quick cash because he's a real estate agent and they have to keep their families fed somehow in this housing slump. Is there a housing slump? I have no clue.

He probably just likes double fisting for free. Keeps his hands warms on cold nights.

I'm currently living in a maze and castle of boxes filled with my things that I can't really do anything with but build protective walls that keep my asshole dog out.

I'm not good at this waiting patiently thing.

It's Not My Fault You're The Least Loved Child

I'm starting to notice that I treat this blog like a red-headed step-child that I just can't shake. It sits in the corner, in the dark, starring at me with it's large eyes and freckles glowing softly as the light of a passing car shines on it's face. It just sits and waits for you to look over and make eye contact because when you make eye contact you are forced to sit for hours listening to it go on and on about it's stamp collection and how no one likes it and how it's still a virgin and plans to change it through wacky antics at prom that wont work out because it's a red-headed step-child no one will fuck.

But then I start to feel guilty that I'm leaving this red-headed step-child alone in the dark with no one to talk too but I get easily distracted by shiny things and I'm like "Oh, hey, IS THAT A BIKE?" and then I run outside with my arms flailing and forget about the neglected child no one likes.

Then I start to feel OK with my neglect because, you know, I'm just lazy and caring about neglect just seems like a lot of work.

You know?

Soooooooo much work.

So I'm going to promise to try harder and not neglect and listen to the stories about your stamp collect.....

Oh fuck, is that a bike?

Just Period All Over The Place. Because I'm A Girl.

It's almost official, I've survived my first three months of Film School. I may have made a Porn commercial and a commercial selling freelance suicide bombers, but I survived.

Apperantly I'm pretty awesome at Film School. Like, I'm so awesome at it I'm pretty sure I've made people jealous with said awesomeness. Or maybe I'm just stupidly full of myself and people have just been telling me that I'm awesome to ensure that I don't start hysterically crying all over the place and spontaneously bleeding because I'm the only girl in this semester of school.

I'm going to be the only girl in this course for the next eighteen months. So, that's something.

After these next few classes, I'll be preoccupied with moving to a new joint that is officially heroin user free but according to the landlord the tenant above us is "Like, super gay. Super, SUPER gay." and I'm like "That's awesome, I'm either going to have a fabulous gay best friend in the upstairs above or the most fabulous enemy neighbor ever."

And then once we're moved, I'm going to be start rolling out some web series with a few of my fellow film students because that's what we do. We make things. Mostly offensive things. But we make things.

So, maybe, watch out for that.

Oh, and I'll blog more.

Yeah, that too.

I Paid This Much & All I Got Was This Stinky Movie Poster

I Met Famous People And Almost Died. No Biggee.

They sat in these, I assume.

So, the other day I happened to be working on the set of a Lifetime movie that is coming out and it just sort of happened to have a few famous people in it that some of you may or may not know. Like, that asshole gay dude from Glee? Yeah, he was on it. And that asshole drug chick from 90210? Yeah, she was totally on it too.

And it was a pretty wicked experience even though I found out one of the famous people *coughthedudecough* is a massive jerk who openly laughs in the face of special needs kids. Yup, he totally did that. The girl was extremely nice, though. I talked to her when she face planted right in front of me and I figured "Holy shit, she just face planted, this is totally my in to become her Best Friend Forever!" but I totally fucked it up and just awkwardly asked "Are you happy to be back in Canada, because it's pretty nice here." and she just gave me a "Yeah, it's great, so much fun." as she was desperately trying not to show that face planting actually hurt and this asshole crew worker didn't even ask her if she was OK. Because, I totally didn't ask that. Because I'm an asshole.

I got to stand behind the Director and this bitch.

For the first part of the day I got to stand around near the Director and listen to the actors say the same lines over and over again for three hours. I'm pretty sure this Lifetime movie is going to be the shittiest Lifetime movie because 90% of the dialogue is about "Skanks".

I've got to say I was totally fucking bored by the 100th time they went through the same scene and was actively looking for something to stab myself but my Australian Boss kept glaring at me because, well, I guess it was my job to pretend They. Were. The. Best. Actors. EVER!

And in between takes Mr. Glee would circulate around and ignore all the extras that desperately were trying to get his attention and only pay attention to those he deemed "cool" and really, no one was that cool enough for him. He only got close to people when he was forced to take a photo with them. BECAUSE THAT'S HOW THE INDUSTRY WORKS!   
   

OMG, HE'S GLEE FAMOUS! 

 

 

 

 

She fucked up this take soooo bad.

And then my face burned off.

And then I had to sit outside next to some trucks for hours in the sun and then my face almost melted off but I was like "CAN I HAVE SOME MORE SKIN CANCER PLEASE!" because if I complained I would be White-Fanged from the set -- someone would throw rocks at me and yell "Git, GO!" until I ran away howling.

There was also a giant squirrel-cat that kept chasing me around the trucks because I may or may not have thrown rocks in it's home because I was bored and didn't know it lived there, but if I didn't know that it lived there, I would have thrown rocks too. Because they were FUCKING MONSTERS.

And then I got sent home and almost died of heat stroke.

That One Time I Met That Dude From Glee But I'm Totally Not Talking About It Right Now.

So, one time I met this dude who happened to be on Glee and I also met this chick who happened to be on 90210 but I'm totally not going to talk about that right now because I'm just letting you know that once I have a chance too (tomorrow) I will totally talk about it.

Because, you know, I want the suspense to kill you.

Somehow, I Knew My First Project Would Be Porn-Esq

School is a hard thing, you know? It's harder than doing a Degree over Distance Education while working a full time job. They actually expect you to show up as if you don't have anything better to do at 8:30 in the morning. Like, HELLO, it's not like I enjoy sleeping in or anything!

But the thing is that it is fun despite the lack of getting to sleep in and be all leisurely, and it's even funner (Yes, that's totally a word and I'll cut you if you disagree) when you get to film crap. Literally, they will let you film anything.

School project that involves fake mustaches, tied up shirts, and instructions from behind the camera to the actor that basically says "Push your butt out more, WE NEED MORE SASS!" they will totally let you film that shit.

Well, the stand in teacher might have a horrified look on his face when he walks into the middle of that set without any context of what is going on, though.

And the odd thing? This really had nothing to do with what we were shooting.

So it's obvious that it's my Destiny to be a Porn Director.

A terrible Porn Director.

Who needs more Sass.

Twinsies!

Hey there Friends that I have been ignoring because life is so busy and important and too cool for any of you to actually be apart of the group but I do still sort of feel bad for you so when all the cool kids leave then I am sort of willing to hang out with you but I stand five feet away just incase your uncoolness is catching! How have you been? Good? Great? AWESOME!

I'd like to recant a special story to you all that happened a few nights ago that I feel you will enjoy.

I'm a whore for back tickles. If you have fingers and you can move them I will probably force you to tickle my back until you develope finger pain and then they fall off. You can say I'm addicted to them because I can't fall asleep unless I am tickled to sleep and The Pilot is the one stuck tickling me no matter how many times he tries to tag in the dog to do it. That fucker scratches.

The other night The Pilot fell asleep tickling me and it sucked because I had not fallen asleep before him. So, I started to move around and in his sleep state he started to give me shitty tickles. They may have sucked, but they were still tickles and I need my god damn fix. So I moved some more and got more tickles. And then I started to talk to make sure if he was sleeping or not and no matter what I said, I got tickles as if his sleeping mind was trying to shut me the hell up and leave him alone.

So I was making sounds just to get tickles. That's how bad I need these things.

And then I farted.

And he gave more tickles than I had previously gotten just by talking to him.

 I farted and that sleeping fucker took it as I was talking and gave me mega tickles.

And then it stunk and woke him up.

The end.

What's Relaxing At The Spa? Horse Sex, Obviously.

This past weekend I just so happened to have to make an unplanned trip to my parents place, which just happens to be about eleven hours of being stuck in a vehicle with the spawn of Satan (The dog, of course, and not The Pilot (( even though he did call me 'Piss Lips' this weekend over something trivial. Yes, Piss Lips. Think about it for a second. Ah -- there you go, you got it.)) ) and it was a woozy.

You know what made the trip though? Seeing an advertisement for this Spa that totally made me almost make The Pilot swerve off the road and kill us because it was so fucking insane. I've tried Googling the image of their billboard but I couldn't find it so you'll have to excuse my weak attempt at describing it's awesome horribleness.

Picture a naked lady who has her nakedness covered by what appears to be cloves of garlic laying down in a field of a ranch looking as if she is going to be ready to sleep. And then, behind that naked lady covered in garlic cloves, is a horse that totally looks like it's about to run her the fuck over or have sex with her. Because she's a naked lady covered in cloves of garlic.

Naturally when I saw this I was like "Fuck, why is that horse about to run over that naked chick covered in garlic?" and The Pilot just casually said, "Because it's relaxing, I guess."

And I could only shake my head and exclaim, "But. She's. Naked. And. Covered. In. Garlic." and he responded with "Either way she's naked and about to be run over by a horse. I guess it's confusing and slightly erotic." and then our trip basically became silent for a full hour because that's a hard sentence to fucking process.

And that's how I came to the conclusion that I'd probably never be allowed to go to that Spa because the moment they come at me while I'm naked with a horse or garlic I'd start karate chopping fucking throats.

Someone Needs A Falcon Punch

The other day while The Pilot and I were shopping at a grocery store we had never shopped at before in an area that I'd like to call sketchy but The Pilot says isn't sketchy because the buildings around were too nice and it was close to the Hospital, we happened to stumble upon something that made me laugh and shake in disgust at the same time.

When we came back to our vehicle after shopping around the store, I happened to notice something that was next to the vehicle that wasn't there before and fuck me, I didn't even bring my camera.

Next to the vehicle was a used pregnant test. A recently used pregnancy test. So, this basically means someone bought a test in the grocery store and decided to use it with our vehicle as cover for the fact they are poppin' a squat in the ghetto grocery parking lot.

Then I realized that the dog was in the vehicle while we were inside and most likely had witnesses the whole thing. And it made me wonder how awkward that would have been to be peeing on a stick in a parking lot of a grocery store while some random dog watched and or barked at you.

And then I realized it was positive.

And then I cursed myself for not having my phone and taking a picture.

And then I went home and made dinner.

Shit Son, This Is Hard

I have to admit it was tons easier having a blog when I had a job that didn't entail that I actually had to do a lot so I was able to dick around on the Internet and just make up blog posts to entertain myself. But, now? I actually have shit to do and it's hard to keep up with this because like, I'm busy.

But the funny thing is really awesome things are happening in my life right now and it should be the time that I am blogging about it and being "Shit yeah, son, this is awesome!" and then bragging to all the people on the internet about it.

Like, I should be bragging about how one of Canada's television providers/stations decided to give me and two others our own talk show to be in charge of because we're just that mind blowingly awesome? Or, maybe one of the guys blew a lot of people to give us this chance but I don't care! We got this chance.

Or about how I get to work on a movie set that is populated by television starlets from 90210 or Gossip Girl? Not that I really watch any of those shows. Okay, my friend might watch 90210 every now and then but I don't.

Or about how The Pilot almost applied to a sex shop that had a deceptive name called "The Wild Kingdom" which he thought was a pet store and I thought was an outdoor adventure park but it ended up being full of dildos and fake vaginas.

Well, This Makes Living In A Heroin Den More Awesome.

I found this hilarious exchange while attempting to do my laundry today. Funny thing is, I think that was my mess I made a week ago and didn't bother to clean up. Why? Because I'm living in a heroin den and there was no paper towel in the laundry room. And, really, I live in a heroin den.

Lesbian Pregnant Bellies? I've Got You Covered. Maybe.

Parenting? We Got This

(Conversation between The Pilot and myself while he is away for a few days.)

Me: How was dinner?

The Pilot: Ok, my tummy is full of water though


Me: Giving birth to a water baby? Going to have a water birth?

The Pilot: Haha to much drinking from heat

Me: Can we name the baby Aquafina?

The Pilot: Sure

Me: And only raise it in the finest of glass bottles.

The Pilot: Ya.

Me: And it's unwanted younger sibling, Poop, will be locked in a box and buried.

The Pilot: Ya or left on a sidewalk with underpants

Me: Obviously we've already picked our favorite child.

The Pilot: Haha

Me: When we have real kids, we should set up mini Olympics every four years and the winner becomes the new four year favorite.

The Pilot: Haha ya summer and winter

Me: And it's just hardcore amateur sports. You pick your player, I pick mine. And it's just full out competition. Loser is ignored for four years. It will make them work harder for the next win. The (Insert Our Future Last Name) Olympiad.

The Pilot: Haha, torches to be lit

Me: Then later we will write parenting books and film education videos for sale on our websites
and when one ends up a psycho murderer, we'll blame in on video games.

The Pilot: haha

Me: That's a life plan right there.

The Pilot: ya, my team gets red uniforms.

Me: My team gets flame shirts. And their theme song will be "Final Countdown" cross faded with "Eye of the Tiger".

The Pilot: Can i use huey lewis? Lol.

Me: Yeah, if you want your team to be continually ignored over four years. OH BURN. Your team mascot can also be Phil Colins riding a unicorn.

The Pilot: Haha your lucky i agree to keep Terence Trent Darby out of this.

Me: Why? Because you want him to be the unicorn that Phil Colin's is riding? You can have that on your shirt, no problem.

The Pilot: Haha well you might loose to team Horatio.

Me: I pity your child that is chosen to wear that shirt. A t-rex with laser guns for arms is going to be my team mascot.

The Pilot: Ya. well I am gonna eat your t-rex for breakfast.

Me: Yeah, not going to happen. My kid will slip your kid steroids and get them disqualified from the favorite Olympics.

The Pilot: haha

Me: I guarantee, we are probably going to fuck up at least one of our kids. Probably after the first games.

This Right Here Is My Future

Just A Bunch Of Balls In My Mouth.

As much fun as I'm having in Film School, I don't think I was fully prepared for the fact that once I'm just doing school that's all I really get to do. It's been a weird experience being back at school full time instead of doing it part-time while working.

It's like, now my life revolves around my class schedule and I don't get to book vacations all willy-nilly and go where I like. It's all based on the school's vacation times. And you know what? This school don't really take no vacation.

Which sucks balls.

That's what my school schedule is like right now. I have to stand in line at a predetermined and always the same time and suck on some big ole sweaty balls and gargle them for a good solid three hours before I move onto the next pair of big ole sweaty balls.

And by the end of the day, my mouth is so dried out from all those balls and I think my teeth might have been flossed several dozen times but I'm satisfied with all that ball sucking.

I guess what I'm saying is that Film School, so far, is like having to suck an old guys balls but you fucking enjoy it so god damn much.

Only A Face A Mother Can Love

Beards.

Do you know what happens when you've got a script due today and you spent all weekend Eastering it up and just doing nothing and suddenly you realize, "Fuck, I got NOTHING DONE!" and then you stay up all night frantically trying to come up with something to write about that would encompass a five minute short?

You write a script about beards. And Gypsy's.

But mostly about beards.

I think it's because I have a complete inability to grow a beard that makes me fascinated with them and I wanted to delve into the world of beards.

Or maybe it's because The Pilot was sporting a pretty bad ass beard this holiday weekend and it was all I could think of writing as I was staring at his face in the middle of the night as I used the Internet to avoid getting my script done.

Or maybe it's because I have a burning need to find a Gypsy and just ruin them before they can ruin me with a Gypsy curse.

Or maybe I've just finally hit the edge of insanity when it comes to procrastinating my school work.

I'm starting to think it's the insanity part.

Or maybe it's because I couldn't stop watching this.

I'm Off To Eat That Rabbit's Ass Candy

I'm off this weekend to go to The Pilot's parents house to eat me some rabbit ass candy and just naturally sit around and do nothing at all. Yes, I've got some homework and some scripts to write but, you know, those will be my excuse to avoid all the things that may or may not be un-fun this Easter.

Because, you know, I'm a student so all I do is show up and sponge food and resources and conveniently escape out of any type of responsibility because I have homework.

Well, at least that's my plan.

They Took Our Shit But Didn't Take Our...Huh..Yeah, They Took Our Dignity.

Last night, we got robbed. Someone broke into our vehicle and took our things and probably rubbed their penis all over the drivers seat where The Pilot usually sits the most and probably wiped their butts with our insurance and registration papers because we'd need those, you know, because we got robbed.

The Pilot was the first to notice that the lock on the drivers side door was loose and sort of broken and I got into the vehicle without him unlocking it. A lot of our stuff was rooted through and the only things that happened to be missing was our GPS and all our charging cables that we use on long road trips. Basically, they took the only good stuff in that shitty vehicle.

So that left The Pilot having to deal with calling the police while I sauntered off to my second day of Film School and I got to sit around and watch Film clips with kids that are several fucking years younger than myself and have no clue what it's like to function as a cohesive team in the real world.

There are only six of us and I'm the only thing preventing it from being a straight up sausage fest by throwing in a little clam.

Otherwise it's been a very interesting two days of school and the rest of the week looks like it will be grand!

Unless we get robbed again.

I hope they take the dog.

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 Do These Things Because I Love You.

Bowie always wanted to have the body of Fabio.

Hipster Baby is unimpressed with your impressiveness.

The Pilot was always prone to ruining those sweet moments.

Even Jesus knows it's only proper to eat your cake with a fork.

It's Like I'm In A Time Warp. And Then I Dance.

The month of April has been going by at a nearly insane pace and each morning I wake up and go "Where the fuck am I, what day is it, and can I go back to sleep please?" because that's all I have been doing since moving here. Sleeping. Staying up late. And watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic because friendship is really magic and fuck you, I watch what I want.

I know what is happening to me is a profound sense of aimlessness and a habit of whimsy that guides my life whenever I don't have work or school or anything to keep my time occupied.

Last time this happened to me I got addicted to watching Maury and my DVR was overloaded with episodes that I had to obsessively watch or else the world would fucking end and no one would know who their baby daddy was. And I just couldn't have that burden on me.

It got to the point that The Pilot would call me up from his work and say "You better not be watching Maury. You promised you'd do laundry and clean and not watch it. Are you watching it right now? Is that Maury's voice that I hear? DO NOT HANG UP ON M-----" and I never caught what he would say because I'd hang up on him because I had so much cleaning to do.

And then finally my three week vacation of just sitting at home ended and I was forced to give up Maury and go back to work and that was the end.

Now, my aimless time of just being a vagrant asshole bum is coming to an end because next Monday I will be starting school and, you know, doing school things.

But it's hard to now suddenly give up this waste of space life I have become accustomed too this last month and I'm going to have to force myself to get into a proper sleeping pattern, and cut out naps, and cut out not doing anything, and start being focused on what I need to do.

But...you know, after this next My Little Pony episode because I fucking need to know if those ponies get their cutie marks.

Online Dating: It's A Mess Out There

The following is a service announcement about what happens when you let your siblings discover funny computer programs that can hideously deform them.

It was only natural that they would make a serious of online dating profiles.

And it was only a given that I'd post it all over the Internet.

This Is Why I Don't Get Emails. Ever.

A few days ago I got this email in my inbox:

"I designed a Dental Degree resource guide for students called some random dental website. I know from personal experience that searching for the right Dental Degree program can be a time consuming task and it is certainly very competitive. That is why I designed my dental resource guide to help students who are interested in becoming a dentist find programs across the country just by visiting one site. As you have a related site, would you mind helping me to connect prospective students with my site by adding it to your resources page of http://www.tristachio.com/2012/03/trust-me-im-not-dead-just-fighting.html? Thank you so much for your time and any effort to add my link to your page! If you prefer to not receive another email about my Dental Degree site, please let me know! 

Best Regards,  

Some random lady :) "

So it was only natural for me to respond like so:

" Hi Some random lady,

As you can probably tell from my blog, I am a Film Student and spend more time fighting off the homeless people from shooting up drugs in my carport than searching for a dental degree.

Perhaps when my schedule clears up and the homeless problem gets cured, I can fit in searching for dental degrees.

Until then, keep your teeth white.

Tristachio. "

And I wonder why no one ever responds back to me.

This Is Happening. Try To Pretend To Act Like You Dislike It.

This Is The Post Where I Talk About The Time I Pooped My Pants.

This is the post where I talk about the time I crapped my pants while viciously vomiting in The Pilot's parents basement while the said parents and The Pilot happen to be having a dinner party upstairs.

Yeah, that statement? I never thought I'd have to write that sentence in my life ever. This is my life, this is what my life is about. Crapping my pants in the basement during a dinner party.

It all started when we had the bright idea of going to The Pilot's parents for a few days because it seemed like the best idea ever after I went to school and paid a shit ton of money and suddenly became instantly poor. You know, because I gave them all my money. And they took it without ever making eye contact and treating me like every other John on the street who's dick they suck for money. But, you know, like the metaphorical dick of money. Because I don't have one. Or, at least, I think I don't have one.

So, between running to the bank and paying the school and packing up our stuff we happened to forgot to eat before we left and that's a big no no in this household because if The Pilot doesn't get three square meals a day that's packed full of meat he starts murdering little baby kittens and turns them into baby kitten angels.

OK, I haven't seen this happen yet but I can assure you that's what he probably does.

Half way to his parents we stop at Tim Horton's for some quick food because we figured it would be better than the other options and also, hello, we're fucking Canadian. Duuuhhhhh.

We eat it, continue our journey, get to his parents, have a great time, spend the night, and don't have sex because it's his parents house and that'd be weird. Also, we didn't bring condoms. Duuuhhhhhh.

The next day we get up and help around the house with some painting and moving things around when mid-day The Pilot starts feeling like crap and is all poopy. And I make fun of him because that's sympathetic to his plight.

And then a few hours later, right before a dinner party his parents arranged with family members, I start to get fucking poopy. Like, this poop? It's not even poop. It's orange water coming out of my ass.

But that's OK! Because I can power the fuck through this and while in the basement trying to get dressed I figure, BATHROOM TIME! And I get up and get to the door and BLAAARRRFFGGGGHHHHH! I vomit all over the brand new carpet that was just installed the day before we got there. And it just keeps coming.

When there is a break between the throw up I rush to the bathroom to finish throwing up only for it not to finish. It just kept coming.

And then I fucking crapped my pants because of the force of the vomiting. 

Yes, I crapped my pants. Like, no just a tiny squirt. Full on crapped. Pants destroyed. Underwear ruined. Dignity shattered.

The best part? Everyone upstairs was having a good time and laughing. It sounded as if they were laughing at me crapping myself. It was the perfect soundtrack to the shame I was feeling at that very moment.

I probably kneeled at that toilet for a good ten minutes crying my ass off because I had just crapped myself in The Pilot's parents house. I never thought I'd have to carry around that dirty secret ever. It's not like when I first came into their home I was secretly thinking "I'm so going to fucking ruin your carpet and shit myself all over the place, just you fucking wait."

But it gets better! Once I've cleaned the bathroom, myself, and changed into The Pilot's pajama pants and stashed my shitty pants outside in a bag, I go to the stairs and ever so quietly call "The Pilot!" up the stairs in hopes my baby whisper would come to his attention.

Thankfully his dad noticed and told The Pilot to come downstairs. And then I burst into tears telling him I shit myself and vomited all over the floor and I need his help cleaning it up. 

The Pilot takes one look at the vomit mess I had made and the fucker throws up twice as worse all over the place in response.

Because he's sick too. And always throws up at the sight of vomit. That part I should have remembered when I was asking for help.

At least he didn't crap his pants too.

The people upstairs? Still laughing.

And the pooping? Didn't stop.

I bet these people are so happy to have me as part of their family.

Yes, I Moved Into A Heroin Den. THANKS FOR ASKING!

Moving is an exciting, beautiful thing! You pack up your stuff and you put it in boxes and then you load into transportation and move it to your new place. It sounds so fucking easy it makes you wonder why people don't do this all the fucking time.

The trip down here was something that magic is made off because it consisted of packing our place into a trailer at the last minute because uHaul decided they were going to fuck us over and tickle our genitals while withholding our reservation from us until the last! possible! minute! Because that's how they roll. They roll like assholes.

And The Pilot was extremely tired and he was the one responsible for driving the truck and trailer across one province and into another so when he sadly said to me, "Babe, you've got to drive some of this trip because I am so tired and I need some sleep." and my first reaction was "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? If I drive we will fucking die." but I saw how tired he was so instead I said, "OKAY!" and totally faked any type of confidence I was supposed to have about driving while pulling a big ass overloaded trailer.

In total, I drove an hour out of a 17 hour trip. The whole time while The Pilot was trying to sleep I kept say "OMG, we are so going to fucking die! We're dead! I'm killing us! Any minute now we are going to fucking die in fire!" until the point he told me to pull over so we can switch because it'd be more relaxingly for him to actually be driving so I would shut up about death and fire.

And then we made it to Edmonton late at night and decided to crash as soon as possible because The Pilot was so beyond tired but I figured "He can't really be that tired, he's still functional, let's make him watch a show that neither of us have watched before but I'm going to demand that he fucking watch it straight from start to finish because I am an asshole with no soul.". True story.

Dude probably didn't get to sleep until midnight.

In the morning we were also criticized by the hotel manager for talking too loudly in the shower.

I couldn't have even made that complaint up if I tried.

And then we drive again for some hours and despite me being a gas gauge Nazi and always demanding we are filled up at the whim of my paranoia, The Pilot ignored me with a hand to the face and drove and drove until we were practically out of gas. So it was only natural for me to get hysterical and proudly declare "I was so fucking right, you should have listened to me and now we are going to be stranded and eventually die of fire and hobo raping!". But lucky for The Pilot, who'd be the first natural target of the hobo raping, we managed to limp into a small rink-dink town just in time.

So it was kind of nice that we didn't die. Or get hobo raped.

After that it was smooth sailing, I think. I slept most of the way. It was a good sleep.

Then I woke up when we were an hour away from Kelowna, our new home, only to be told by The Pilot that I was ruining his life because I was ruining his music choices by not letting him listen to the stupidest shit ever. Phil Collins? FUCK THAT NOISE!

And then we pulled in and found a place to crash that didn't have hot water but a working toilet so that was nice. Then the dog vomited on us as a "Fuck you assholes for ruining my life" sort of deal.

Then we woke up and moved into our place the next day and while we were unpacking we totally saw a junkie shooting up heroin in the car port after fighting off a few other junkies from his score. Then he got chased off by a soccer mom that informed us that there is someone in the building here that supplies the homeless people from the fucking homeless shelter next door with heroin and then supplies the rest of the building with pot.

You know, because we're in BC y'all.

Can you guess who got hysterical after that? Both of us. Because fuck that shit.

And then we visited The Pilot's parents only for them to inform us that the McDonalds' that's behind our building got shut down for being the biggest drug haven in Kelowna and that they were never going to visit us as long as we live in that street and would we like chicken or beef for dinner?

But hey, at least we have ducks out back.

Heroin ducks.

What's Exciting In My Life? I Don't Know. Maybe Heroin?

I finally have the Internet in my place so I can finally, you know, join civilization and keep up with current events that may or may not have anything to do with gossip, and cats flushing toilet videos, and comics. Because that's what I do on the Internet --- WASTE TIME! THANKS FOR STATING THE OBVIOUS!

I think one of the things I should point out about this move is the fact that I may or may not have happened to move into a Heroin den that also has a side business in pot dealing. You know, pretty standard "Welcome to the neighborhood and HOLY SHIT IS THAT PEOPLE SELLING AND SHOOTING UP HEROIN IN THE CAR PORT?" only to be told, "Why yes, yes it is. WHAT ABOUT THIS WEATHER EH?".

And that's totally how the conversation went with the landlord. THE WEATHER HAS BEEN GREAT, though, THANKS FOR ASKING!

Oh, why am I yelling at you? BECAUSE OUR BACKYARD IS FULL OF DUCKS! That just QUACK, QUACK, QUACK all fucking day. You can't hear yourself think or let alone take a shit in the privacy of your own thoughts.

Ever taken a poop while a duck is talking? It's awkward.

Trust Me, I'm Not Dead. Just Fighting Homeless People.

I'm not dead, I swear. I'm just fighting homeless people with my fists and teeth.

I wont have any internet hooked up in our place until Wednesday and trust me, once it's up I've got a dozy of a story to tell.

Also, I apparently live next to a homeless shelter. LIFE FOR THE WIN!

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."

CLASSIC!

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.