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.

By The Grace Of Kirk Cameron, Amen.

This morning at a crazy stupid time in the world when I was sleeping and drooling over my pillow and inventing an awesome fucking party that had me make a chocolate fountain that turned out so boss, my phone went off with a DING! DING! DING! DING! Wake the fuck up! And  I sort of woke up enough to glance at my phone and realize that it was just a tweet and tossed my phone down and went back to sleep.

Then an hour later when my bladder threatened to piss all over the bed, I checked my phone again to see who would be tweeting me at stupid o' clock in the morning. The tweet was from Kristine declaring that something amazing had happened and I'd finally fucked my way to the top and made it into The League of Funny Bitches. And then I shit myself. Kidding, I only farted a little. And then I dived at The Pilot screeching that I was "One Funny Bitch!" and after his panic attack he sort of muttered something along the lines "One of those words are true." and rolled back over to protect himself from early morning Fiance onslaught.

Naturally I strutted around the apartment and all around town because, c'mon, I'm now fucking internet famous and that makes me better than .0001% of the world that isn't on the internet. So, basically, I'm more famous that Ethiopia.

Sense of entitlement? Yeah, it's never coming back down to "poor college Film student" level ever, ever again. But then again, in two weeks this fame may get to my head and I'll end up drunk in a gutter screaming about my internet famez.

In light of this "I'm now better than you" pillar I'm on, it totally justifies the fact that I just bought a new Macbook Pro despite the fact that I should be saving up for my move and school expenses.

But, I'm a Funny Bitch and I can do what I want.

Womb Mate; An Undiscovered Rhodes Scholar. Pt. 2

Let's once again delve into the mind of my Womb Mate circa 1999 and see just what Opus is awaiting us because, honestly, despite the fact it's riddled with spelling mistakes that make me fondly remember what she types to me on Facebook in the present, it still takes my breath away over the level of emotion and symbolism she was able to use at such a young, tender age.

Our Little New House

It all started when my dad told us we were moving. 

"What! We can't move. I lived here all my life." My sister said. 

We got all packed up. We were on the road. When we got there everyone was so unhappy. 

"Lets go home. I dont like it here." I yelled at the top of my lungs.

"Womb Mate, Shut up!" Dad yelled. 

When we got to the new house, it was a big house.

"That's a big house." my sister said.

We all settled in.

The End.

I'm not sure what you'd consider angsty and pre-tween rage, but that right there? That totally is some really hard rage going on. Was it because she was uprooted at a tender age and forced to start a new? Or was it the poignant part where our dad told her to shut up? Reading this is like reading to the bottom of your soul.

That, or reading the first essay in Special Ed.

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.

Speed Whacking, It's The Future.

Because television is awesome and something you should obey without question, it has come to my attention that Vaseline, I guess, has come up with this NEW! GREAT! IDEA! for mens' Vaseline that makes me wonder what exactly Vaseline is doing with it's time and can I join it's THINK TANK because it'd be the best. job. ever!

It seems that they are claiming their new brand of Vaseline is non-greasy and dries in 15 seconds. Non-greasy? Dries in fifteen seconds? Do you know what this means? Do you have any idea what this fucking means people?

Vaseline, obviously, wants to start a new penis themed Olympics that is all about Speed Whacking and if you can whack off before the fifteen seconds YOU WIN! Yay!

Can you imagine it? Twenty men from around the world gathering in one room, in one line, in the semi-dark, furiously whacking off in the hopes of making it to the sticky finish before the Vaseline dries and it the friction burn sets in. First one to explode all over his opponents wins the grand prize of being the fastest whacker in the west. Or that room.

And then the winner goes on a Speed Whacking North American Tour where he's forced to whack off in front of crowds of men and woman and maybe children, I'm not sure what Vaseline is into, and attempts to beat his record over and over again in various malls until next year when he's faced with his competitors who want to jerk off faster than him in front of him and others.

Or, Vaseline just hates masturbation. Is all I'm saying.

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.

Time Goes By Too Fast

I think it's beginning to dawn on me that in a month and a half I'm going to be making a drastic change in my life and that maybe this change is something I've got to face head on because the buffer of days is dwindling.

I'm going to be quitting my job in a month and a half that has enabled me a steady, somewhat comfortable life while still being able to afford paying for school.

I'll be going to school full-time in April and only working part-time. I gave up a possible steady career of teaching Elementary school just when I was thisclose to having my degree to, instead, get a degree in Film where any job would be cool but it could be a hundred times more risky.

I'm going to be moving to a whole new city and have to start over again by looking for a place to live, and work, and carve out a security niche that will enable me to achieve everything I want to do.

It will be hard. Maybe only some of it will be easy, but in the end it is going to be worth it.

By moving I will be closer to my family, The Pilot will be closer to his family.

We will be happier.

I think the happiness we will gain by far outweighs any obstacles or trials we may face in 2012.

Because in the end, we all just want to be happy.

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?"

If I Said I Wanted To Abort 2012, Would That Be Weird?

I'm figuring now that I am home it's the obligatory time where I am supposed to describe how it felt to be on the road for two days straight and how The Pilot and I didn't kill each other but that seems sort of boring to me right now so I'm just going to not do it and fuck y'all who desperately needed to know how my time on the road went.

Or maybe I'm not going to tell how my time on the road went because someone in the vehicle who wasn't The Pilot or the dog may or may not have come extremely close to pooping their pants until we luckily came upon a loan safety pullover that had bathrooms that may or may not have been freezing, and may or may not have come close to having my butt frozen to the stinky seat but, that's OK because that person who wasn't The Pilot or the dog didn't crap their pants in the vehicle so I'm going to call that a win.

Instead, I'm going to try and look forward and forget that I almost crapped my pants on a road trip and look at what 2012 has in store for me.

Like, the fact that in April I'm going to Film school and shitting on the teaching as a career path even though I was so close to having that degree but that's OK because I'm going to make movies and apparently at the school I am going to The Pilot and I were told that in the Film studio sometimes nudity gets very casual if they are shooting nude scenes and it's lead me to believe that I may or may not be making a porn by the time my education is done.

Oddly, I'm OK with that.

Or the fact that in a month and a half I'm going to say goodbye to the place I have been working at for the last five years and that I may or may not hand in my resignation by vomiting on every one's desk but that seems sort of rude and cold so I might just vomit on their desk and then write something nice with the vomit all over their desk so before they vomit they can be all "Aw, look, she cares, she's wishing me a happy life BLARRRGGGHHHHHGHGH" and then that message is covered in vomit which is kind of rude, really.

What about the fact that in a month and a half I'm going to be packing up all my belongings and moving somewhere that isn't the Northern Wastelands of Canada and go to a place where underpaid french people are forced to pick fruit for hours on end only so I can buy it on the side of the road for a cheap price because that's how the fruit industry in BC works. Slaves, y'all. French Slaves.

Basically the start of 2012 will be kind of insane and exciting all at once and I think that I can manage to be super successful in this new year because if I haven't shit my pants yet, I don't think it will happen at all in 2012.

But then again, if I do shit my pants in 2012 at least I'll have something to write about.