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

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

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

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

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

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

And he became a fucking celebrity. 

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

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

 

 

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

Because When Eat Soup, You Automatically Have To Shit

I’m not sure about you but I’m pretty sure boys are one of the most disgusting things on this planet. Like, anything that doesn’t daintily sit down to urinate just screams DIRTY! DIRTY PENIS THING! And, honestly, I’m pretty sure there isn’t anything dirtier than a penis. Like, have you ever looked at a penis before? It’s hideous. At least vagina’s have the decency not to flop out there for the world to see if you happen to be wearing no underwear and those sport shorts. Not to mention uncircumcised wieners. Those make me sob. If I was ever faced with one up close, I’d have a nervous breakdown.

Now, I bet you are all wondering “What the hell is with all this penis talk? Like, I come on this blog for friendly advice on how to de-cancer my baby kitten angel and she’s talking about the horror of uncircumcised dinks? I WANT MY MONEY BACK!”

SURPRISE! You can’t have your money back because this talk about dinks? Yeah, it’s totally segwaying into the fact that someone in my household who has a penis and isn’t a dog totally decided that it was now OK for the people of the world to eat their lunch while sitting on the toilet taking a big old dump. Because, what makes your soup taste more delicious and flavourful? Why, sitting on the toilet taking a crap!

Needless to say I was horrified when I burst into the bathroom with some type of bathroom area emergency and since we only have one bathroom in our apartment it’s pretty much a given I will burst into the bathroom for any given reason to do whatever. Or maybe it’s that sometimes he hides in the bathroom to get away from me and I just have to burst in and find him because I am the champion of hind-n-go seek. It’s pretty much even more of a given that the dog will kick at the door until it opens up so he can, GASP!, realize that you aren’t in fact dead and he will be alone for ever, and ever but you are just going potty and you know what? It totally wasn’t worth kicking the door open so he wanders off to eat balloons. No joke. Balloons.

So imagine my surprise when I burst in and he’s sitting on the toilet taking a dump, reading a magazine and so casually sipping the soup that he so conveniently had in a cup. Imagine his surprise when I started going “Ew, who the hell eats when taking a dump? ARE YOU EATING WHILE GOING THE BATHROOM? PEOPLE DON’T DO THAT! ARE YOU AN ANIMAL? ARE YOU A FUCKING HORSE? THEY EAT AND POOP AT THE SAME TIME BUT THEY ARE HORSES! THEY HAVE AN EXCUSE!” and I’m pretty sure I yelled that loud enough for anyone in the hallway to hear or maybe or neighbours but it’s OK, I’ve screamed out a lot worse stuff and it totally explains why they don’t make eye contact with us in the hallway.

After my scream fest The Pilot casually said, while sipping his soup and reading his magazine, “Let me be a man. Men do this stuff. If I want to save time and eat and use the toilet at the same time I have that right because I AM A MAN!”

“No, you’re a fucking horse.” And then I took his soup and his magazine to teach him a lesson in that he’s being gross and he couldn’t chase me because he was on the toilet.

So, tell me, pooping while eating? Gross? Yes?

And Then I Made Him Cry & The Universe Thanked Me.

The Pilot, who I should mention off the top of my head is someone that I love dearly and truly wish to have his Guido babies even though he isn't really a Guido but more of a Frenchman so I'm basically saying I want to his have Froglet's, has this thing with his pillow. It's an odd thing, with his pillow, that I'm not sure I fully understand.

You see, his pillow is an old and I would like to call it stinky but I haven't actually found it to be stinky and  I can only assume that it's because when The Pilot sweats he sweats delicious smells but I'm probably just mistaking his sweat for Fabreeze or something and this pillow is flat and gross looking and he demands that he cannot sleep without it because it's his lifeline and his very, very, bestest pillow friend in the world and he'd just die without it. He's also had this pillow since he was a toddler and despite the fact that he asserts a "wizard gave this to me as a gift upon my birth" it's just a ratty pillow long past it's time and I hate the thing with all my heart.

Because it's gross.

And it touches my pillows. All five of them. That I sleep with. Because I like making a Captains Chair out of them so I can feel as if a space ship flies me away in my sleep.

This pillow happens to be one of the only problems that plagues my golden relationship because I'm in the position where that pillow is almost 30 years old and I'm pretty sure it doesn't have fluff in it anymore but just ten pounds of human skin dandruff that attracts bed mites that then have sex on his face while he sleeps and I can't kiss someone who's face has been sexed up by bed mites. He's in the position that this pillow his is only reason for living and that without it he'd be a broken husk of a man and if I ever did anything to it he'd probably break up with me and take the dog with him. Or something like that, I usually tune out when he goes into his pillow hysterics.

Naturally, because of his attachment I've taken a stance that I'll go above and beyond the call of duty to hide this pillow and attempt that he'd never find it and be forced to buy a new one. So far it hasn't worked and as he'd claim he's spent several hundred nights of being tortured because his pillow has gone missing.

Last night, I came close to throwing it off the Balcony of our apartment and if it wasn't for the fact that The Pilot threatened to break-up with me, take the dog and never tickle my back before bedtime I would have thrown it. I can't do without those back tickles, you see.

So I had to consent to give him back his pillow and enjoyed it while he begrudgingly gave me back tickles and he made me promise never, ever, to do this again and I could only promise "I wont touch your pillow for another six months" because, honestly, we are moving in six months and it wont be my fault if that pillow doesn't make the move with us.

Or, maybe it totally will be my fault.

Because, honestly, I can handle it if those bed mites are having more sex than I. On my bed. Where I sleep.

My Relationship Is Better Than Yours. Ever.

Over the weekend the worst thing that could ever have happened and when I say the worst thing? I totally mean that it’s more worse than a whole tribe of Orphan babies catching cancer and you know what would make it even more worse? Those Orphan babies have baby kitties that got thrown in a bag and drowned in the river. Oh, and they also had cancer. Drowning cancer.

The thing that is worse than all that? My internet and television didn’t work all weekend and I was actually forced to interact with The Pilot. Like, we had to rely on our imaginations for entertainment and I know what is in my imagination and it isn’t something you should use as an entertainment based activity because SUPRISE! Everyone gets cancer and then you’d end up in jail. Or kidnapped by a Polar Bear.

Like, instead of watching movies together we had to lovingly stare into each other’s eyes and express our love for each other. Gross.

And, instead of watching all the items on my DVR I actually had to have a conversation with him about our hopes and dreams for the future. Blech.

Rather than cruise around on the internet and play games or taunt random strangers, we had to take romantic dog walks with the dog and act like a super happy awesome romantic couple.

Maybe instead of social networking, we had to make a delicious dinner together and talk about how we are the most kickass people in the world and everyone else? Yeah, they totally blow goats. Because they are gross.

Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out like that instead of how it actually turned out? The Pilot was sick because this man has still decided it would be a good idea to bring illness into my house so while he was quarantined in the other room I had to like read, a book, a real book. And since he was sick I couldn’t really go into the bedroom because each time I did I couldn’t resist the urge to scare him awake or smother him with a pillow before I catch whatever it was he had.

And when he proclaimed smothering your boyfriend isn’t a healthy form of “relationship bonding” I started spanking him until he shut up with his psycho babble and made me some lunch. A bonding lunch that I didn’t have to make for myself.

Because that’s how relationship bonding goes. He makes me a sandwich.

Ride That Never Ended But Did Or How My Vacation Went Pt.2

Part One can be found here!

I'm pretty sure where I left off was talking about the gnomes that I bought my mom. You know those ones that I felt would probably slaughter her before even trying to make her flowers beautiful or have a sappy romance with each other because they would be too busy killing her? Yeah, apparently everyone wanted to see these gnomes so I'm all "Fine, I'll put a picture of them up because you are all a bunch of whiners but don't hate on me when I went to my phone and the only pictures of them I could find are somewhat blurry because I was so damn excited when I bought them and it wasn't at all that The Pilot started to drive even after I was all No! Stop! I'm taking a picture, why is this car moving?" and here is the picture.

I hope you are happy that you forced me to post pictures of those terrible gnomes. They are even prepared for murder what with that saw and shovel. If my mom ends up dead because of these gnomes I have no one to blame but my readership. Or the gnomes.

When I forced The Pilot up out of bed at an ungodly hour that would have made baby angels cry and people to get punched in the face we got up in the morning bright eyed and bushy tailed we decided that it was best to hit the road stupid early because that way we wouldn't waste all day on the road and get that much more time to spend at the cabin! Oh boy, that was such an awesome idea! Not.

All it served to do was make sure both of us were stupid cranky and The Pilot was even more cranky because I made him drive what with me being so tired I'd probably drive us into a tree or a moose just so I could to prove a point about not letting me drive early in the morning.

That meant off to Jasper National park we went! And since it was stupid early in the morning I forgot to have the conversation with The Pilot that we were not stopping for every. single. animal. ever! Last time we went through the park it took three extra hours because ohmyfuckinggod this place just has animals everywhere and they Must! All! Be! Photographed! and I refused to go through that again. Ever.

We stopped several times on this trip to take pictures of a billion fucking elks that all looked the same except for that one elk that had a radio collar on it and I called him "Herpy-Derpy" because all the other elk were like "Dude, you are a complete loser and we don't want to hang out with you because you dress stupid." and had to stand alone all by himself because he was an outcast. Shortly afterwards we saw "Herpy-Derpy 2.0" because he had a radio collar with an antenna and was also eating a paper bag. Classy fucking elk right there, I tell you what.

Then I mentioned that I had to go piss super bad and perhaps The Pilot would be kind enough to turn around so we can go back to the rest stop we just literally drove by two seconds ago and he gave me a giant moving speech about how our trip is about "moving forward" and we should "never turn back" because we should always look towards "the future" and it was very impassioned and somewhat bull shitty because when we saw a bear five minutes later on a hill and drove by it? The Pilot totally pulled a U-Turn on the highway so he could go back and take a picture of it. it was like we were playing "Animal Spotting Bingo" and that was the last animal he needed to win. While I had to sit with a full bladder for another forty-five minutes.

And then we bickered. And then he made me drive. And then I almost got us killed! Fun times!

The Ride That Never Ended But Did Or My Family Vacation Pt.1

Whenever someone speaks the words "Hey, let's all get together in a small cabin that is the perfect size for a retired couple but when you cram it full of other people it's not such a great size anymore and everyone has to sleep like two feet from the other person so if you fart in your sleep? Well, you're probably farting in someones face. Why are we getting together? Because it's FISHING DERBY WEEKEND!" and then suddenly you've planned a trip to go to a fishing derby and spend two days driving in a vehicle with a dog that will absolutely hate you for life because when he gets into the truck he automatically thinks it's "Ohmyfuckinggawd! It's dog park time!" when in reality he'll never see that place for almost two weeks. So when he realizes that we "tricked him" he takes it upon himself to be that moody toddler in the back seat that totally needs attention but wants to pretend he doesn't even like your face.

Since we live so stupidly far away from my parents and the rest of my family, basically, it was going to end up being a two day drive just to get where we needed to go and you know what? Driving more then one day sucks balls. Don't get me wrong, I love road trips, but this time was just horrible. To start off with there have been massive amount of wild fires in my area so for the past two weeks I have been forced to breath in smoke and ash into my precious princess lungs to the point that both The Pilot and I felt like crap starting off. It was the idea of fresh air that really spurred on this trip.

Not for my family. Or the chance to win Five Grand in this fishing derby. Fresh air. Oh, and the ability to purchase fireworks. Because of the fire ban. We could only get fireworks out in British Columbia.

We staggered our trip by deciding to stop in Hinton, AB because it was just outside of Jasper, AB and it would leave only six hours left to drive and stopping after ten hours seemed like the perfect idea.

The drive to Hinton was sprinkled with conversations about the equipment on the side of the road basically being "rape machines" because neither The Pilot or I knew what they did and his choice of them being tools of evil seemed to fit perfectly into whatever I wanted to believe.

It was during this portion of the trip that The Pilot started spewing some of the most memorable quotes I have ever heard come out of this mans beautiful mouth and weird, and odd times.

My favorite one? We were driving down the highway after an over extended period of silence and he blurts out, rather empathetically, "If an eagle ever flew down and snatched Baby Bowie, I would be so pissed. I would never be OK with that. Ever." and it's like fuck, there goes my idea of adopting Bowie out to an Eagle so I wouldn't have to listen to him huffing and puffing and sighing in the back seat in such a way I know he's calling both of us an asshole. The asshole.

When we did get to Hinton we were settled in a hotel room with too beds and because I'm dating a giant child he spent most of the time jumping back and forth between the two beds as the dog leaped happily along with him to the point that I wanted to shoot myself because I was sitting on the bed watching television and I don't need to be plowed over by my boyfriend and dog while I'm trying to watch Holmes Inspection, god dammit.

I also purchased my mother some garden gnomes for her garden as a belated Mothers' Day gift. Why gnomes? Because I had watched Gnomeo & Juliet before we left and my mother got a green house as a gift from my dad so I decided that she needed some gnomes to help her plants grow and hopefully, maybe I could catch them playing out a tragically hip romance in the garden.

Instead, I could only find two gnomes that looked like they would murder my mother and chop her into little pieces and throw her into the lake rather than have a tragically interesting romance under the cover of darkness.

Somehow, I'm more proud of those murderous gnomes than I would have been of those love bird gnomes.

Hey Carpet Stain, Remember That Time When You Almost Ruined My Relationship? Screw you.

Dear Carpet Stain,

Hey, do you happen to remember me at all? We met last night after I made a giant, delicious Spaghetti meal for my boyfriend and I after fantasizing all day about how delicious you will taste only to have said delicious dinner on my plate but right before I could sit down it slid all onto the floor and birthed you?

You do remember that? How you were born out of my misery and all I could do was stand there in shock and the first thing out of The Pilots' mouth was "I'm not cleaning that up!" and then he decided he was going to eat his own heaping dinner while I had to clean up your disgusting face and then all of a sudden once I was done you left this giant stain on the carpet that we couldn't get out because we have no carpet cleaner at this moment and only once I was done and The Pilot was done eating his own whole plate he offered me his what was left of the stuff he didn't want to eat so I could have dinner.

And how after two days of being in a vehicle and sleeping in shitty motel beds seeing you on the floor all stainy and disgusting and being offered scraps after the fact I burst into tears and had a mental breakdown on the floor scrubbing you as if I were Cinderella and I was just told that I was a whore and couldn't go to the ball because my Fairy Godmother was a skank and was more interested in dick then making me a beautiful dress.

Or how The Pilot just stood there shocked for a bit because this has only been the second time he has seen me cry and the first time was over a terrible health scare with a family member but here I was crying over spilt Spaghetti because you, Carpet Stain, are a giant dick that I can't get out until we buy carpet cleaner (which, might I add, we forgot when we just went freakin' grocery shopping a half hour ago so you get to sit there and be smug and taunt me for another day).

But then I suddenly remembered, Carpet Stain, that while we were gone I had left the DVR on and that it had recorded all of those deliciously terrible TLC shows and tonight -- Tonight Dear Carpet Stain -- just happened to be the premiere of My Big Fat Gyspy Wedding and it was basically about sluts with morals and giant dresses so I had nothing to be sad about and I suddenly did an about face from crying to happy because suddenly the world seemed so much better because I could watch crappy television and this change happened so fast that The Pilot was left baffled and in his confusion he decided that he was going to go to Subway and pick me up a sandwich.

So, really, all I wanted to say is "fuck you" because you are a dick and I hate you,

Tristachio

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

Last Thursday The Pilot and I went hoped into a vehicle and decided to road trip it the five or six hours to the big city because I had a grandiose plan of purchasing a new car only to name it Tom Selleck in which I would hang a moustache from the rear view mirror. We also went with The Pilot’s Gay Husband who honestly isn’t really gay but  is The Pilot’s Best! Friend! Ever! Whenever the two of them get together they always manage to get into some type of stupid trouble and The Pilot always talks about his friend in an excited He is the Best! Friend! Ever! Voice that reminds me of a sugar hyped five year old.

Because I am a morning Nazi I decided that we were all going to have to be up at the ungodly hour of five in the morning so we can hit the road early only to realize once again that The Pilot is not a morning person and it was like trying to excite a near dead horse into a frenzy of activity. It didn’t help when GH didn’t wake up until six in the morning.

If I had a whip or a gun I would have shot-whipped both of them into action and managed to keep our schedule.

The Pilot kept insisting on finding excuses of prolonging our departure and the final straw came when he decided that we needed to clean his vehicle last minute and unpack all the crap he had in the back because for some reason the night before he figured it wasn’t the best time to do it and it was best to do it sometime after the crack of dawn.

When we finally got into the vehicle we went and picked up GH who, shortly after grabbing breakfast, passed out asleep in the back of the vehicle with his sausage egg-McMuffin clutched in his cold, sleepy hands.

That left The Pilot and I to entertain ourselves with music or conversation. Since our tastes in music is varied against each other it was only inevitable that I would be denied sleep and would have to have a conversation with The Pilot the whole time he was driving to ensure that he would stay awake.

Somehow we got on the topic of different types of guns and that eventually lead to what would happen if someone invented a gun that shot rapists out of the barrel and how it could effectively be used to subdue protest hippies.  

Halfway through the drive I was forced to change spots with The Pilot while GH still slept happily in the back and despite almost sending us into the ditch while I tried to remember how to work the wipers the drive up to Edmonton was pretty uneventful. Compared to the last time we drove up, that is.

The last time we drove up we were attacked by the body of a dead rabbit that came shooting out of a semi’s back wheels and splattered on our hood and volleyed up over the top of the vehicle.

Upon getting to the big city we, or rather I because I was the Road Trip Nazi, had grand plans of all the places we were going to visit --- The Zoo, The Museums, The Mall, The IMAX Theatre, oh and getting a car.

Which, honestly, car shopping isn’t all what it’s cracked up to be because we managed to come across every scum-bag car dealer in the world which ranged from old men refusing to actually sell us a car but would become angry when we questioned his sales technique to the old man that kept trying to up sell us to the other man who tried to go behind The Pilot’s back when he was asking questions and sell me a piece of crap car that he figured I would just fall in love with and force The Pilot to buy me even though it was my money that was purchasing a vehicle to a creepy old man that kept ogling my boobies and barely answering the questions we had about vehicles to our satisfaction.

Then there was the one car dealership where I had a bit of stomach indigestion and had to go the bathroom right! Now! And ended up literally destroying the bathroom that was attached to the show room and had a toilet that would flush itself every five seconds while I was in the middle of my business that destroyed the bathroom while The Pilot and GH milled around and pretended to be interested in a new vehicle.

Needless to say I didn’t buy a car from that place. Or I should have for destroying their bathroom.

We stayed at The Hilton and had some fantastically nice rooms and GH ended up getting a free breakfast voucher because they found him wandering the halls in his underwear at two in the morning trying to find out where the noise that was bothering him was coming from and they gave him the free breakfast voucher in hopes he would just stop wandering around in his underwear and go back into his room and never come out again.

We never did get get to go to The Zoo, or Museums, or the IMAX. Instead we went to the mall, Olive Garden (where they totally spiked my drinks despite asking for no alcohol and ended up pretty buzzed by the time the second course came around) and Applebee’s because I wanted to try new restaurants.

I didn’t get a car though much to The Pilot’s disappointment because he really did not want me to feel that the trip wasn’t a waste of my time and was worried I would have felt bad about the trip afterwards.

But, honestly, how can you feel bad about a trip in which you come home with a brand new Apple Desktop and a brand spanking new DSLR Camera?

Well, I do feel bad about that massive poop I did but that’s beside the point.

Hotels: They Ruin Relationships.

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

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

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

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

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

Ever.

HGTV Is Ruining My Relationship

Have you ever seen an episode of Dr.Phil in which it's just dedicated to parents who have kids who have very bad tempers and are possibly psychotic and they go onto the Dr.Phil show thinking that he is going to make it better and give them the skills they need to be better parents but all he actually does is yell at them and point out how shitty of a parent they are and never really gets around to helping them? Or, possibly, an episode of the Tyra Banks show where even if her next guest is someone who was sexually assaulted by a bear in a man suit and then was attacked by an actual bear and before they could even tell their story she is making it about her and how she had a bad hair day or that she forgot to put her tampon in correctly or something?

Yeah, HGTV isn't like that but it is ruining my relationship. I've officially been banned from watching HGTV in our apartment or anywhere really. The Pilot's reason? Watching that channel and seeing happy people who probably don't even deserve homes and should be homeless but instead they are happy and buying homes or re-decorating homes get to have all the fun and it makes me realize that they need to be punched in the stomach.

I want a house. I want to have a home of my own. I'm tired of living in an apartment and watching them get to do what I want so badly is annoying and it turns me into an envious crank pot and I spend hours talking about what I will eventually do when I have my own home.

And even though I know that a house isn't in the works for The Pilot and I for at least another year (or more) it doesn't stop me from wanting one so bad.

So instead I'm left sneaking peeks at HGTV while The Pilot is working and I'm home alone.

When he asks me what I did all day? I lie and say I watched Full House and read War & Peace to the dog.

Going To Sleep Angry Doesn't Count If I Don't Let You Sleep

I'm a notorious for spending the first two hours of "bedtime" starring at the ceiling and bombarding a weary Pilot with insane questions that make is head hurt so much that I can hear it cracking under the strain. The Pilot, as most Pilot's, have a way of thinking in the Here and Now of Reality and it's hard for them to stretch the imagination into possible things that are pretty much impossible.

My favorite thing to ask in the wee hours of the night is "What if..." and follow it with insanity. Sometimes The Pilot bites but most times he just lays there silently wishing that I'd shut up and fall asleep and despite the fact that he doesn't answer my question I answer it for him.

Last night I decided that we were going to explore what it would be like if we were Billionaires. Luckily this idea intrigued The Pilot enough that he actively participated in this fantasy:

The Pilot: If I were a Billionaire each room in my house would be different. I'd have a trampoline room, a Velcro Room, a Guitar room...

Me: That'd be awesome! I'd have one room where the floor was just packed with a thousand baby bunnies and you'd walk on them because they are the floor.

The Pilot: Wait..what?

Me: And it'd be the Butlers job that every day to replace the dead baby bunnies with live ones so my floor stays an even, fuzzy temperature.

The Pilot: I'd never go in that room.

Me: You don't have permission to go into my baby bunny room.

The Pilot: I'd have Megan Fox as my personal assistant.

Me: I'd have a secret lab in the basement with a thousand Scientists and they will turn Megan Fox's room into a floor that is made of a billion tips of needles filled with AIDS and then she will catch it and die. And then you would be banned from having assistants ever. Except maybe you can have Steve Buscemi. I'd be OK with that.

The Pilot: I don't want to play this game anymore.

Usually these conversations end with him threatening to disappear to sleep on the couch. I then proclaim that any and all blankets and pillows belong in the bedroom and cannot leave into the living room or else they will explode and he gives up his nonsense and reluctantly stays in bed hoping that I don't voice another crazy opinion.

Why I'm Probably Going To Drive My Boyfriend Crazy

It wouldn't be a far stretch of the mind to openly admit that The Pilot and myself have different ideas of what a good movie is. For The Pilot a good movie includes explosions and boobies and guns and airplanes and somebody getting kicked in the throat.

My idea of a good movie? It's got to play in our DVD player. I have no standards for movies -- zip, zilch, Nada. You just made a movie that involves your kitty cat using the litter box fifty-six times, heck yes I'll watch it! Probably twice because it's a moving picture on my teletube and if that isn't better then sliced corn I don't know what is!

It's because of our different tastes that I believe I'm eventually going to drive The Pilot insane and end up cut up in a body bag hidden in his freezer.

I make him watch bad movies. Movies so bad you can hear the brain melting in your skull. Having a small furry creature shove red hot chili peppers up your butt hole would be better then watching the movies I pick. They are literally that bad.

And he watches them. I'd like to think he watches them with me because he's utterly and totally in love with me but the truth is closer to the fact that I forcefully hold him down and pry his eyelids open so he can watch every amazing second.

This weekend I forced him to watch Mean Girls 2 and Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2. Despite the fact that he proclaimed from high to low that he would never watch BHC 2 I downloaded it. I told him the dog downloaded it and it was our obligation to reward his tech savvy ways with at least watching it.

With much wrestling he agreed.

Twenty minutes into the movie I got mind numbly bored and feigned a potty break. A potty break I never returned from until the movie was ten minutes from the end.

Do you know what I find in the living room upon my return? The Pilot and Dog snuggled up on the couch avidly watching the movie in a sense of nail biting suspense in the hopes everything comes up fine and dandy at the conclusion.

It didn't come over so well when The Pilot realized I had left and that he had, for some reason, allowed himself to get into the movie to the point he couldn't stop watching. Or the fact that I loudly proclaimed that I had ceased to date a man a few months from his thirtieth birthday but a twelve year old girl.

It also didn't help that he proceeded to hide the remotes from me so we couldn't watch anything like this again only to have them found by me twenty minutes before the new episode of Glee aired on Sunday.