Christmas: It Totally Fucked Us Over.

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

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

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

Christmas: No One Died This Year.

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

Did I mention that no one was murdered yet?

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

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

The Pilot and I had no complaints over Gremlins.

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas: Still Alive But Will Probably Change

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Not A Road Trip Until Someone Is Hysterically Crying For Hours Pt.2

Remember yesterday when I posted about how my vacation started off so fucking terrible that I spent a majority of it crying in a hotel lobby, our vehicle, a grocery store parking lot that we later had to attempt to sleep in? Yeah, I totally remember it, and I still want to punch it in the face and sleep with it's mother out of revenge. I left off with how I believed we were probably going to freeze to death or be stabbed by marauding homeless people but fortunately all we had to show for those two hours of sleep was the paw prints on our faces from where the dog figured it was the perfect time to perfect his elaborate circus act of balancing on people's faces while they tried to sleep. I don't know why he needs to practise because he's a fucking natural at it.

Let me tell you, it's hard work sleeping in a grocery store parking lot because there are lots of lights and it's a parking lot next to the highway and did I mention that even though I am just a teeny bit taller than a dwarf even I found the vehicle cramped. The Pilot? Yeah, he's easily over six feet and he had to curl up on the back in attempts to stretch out. It also didn't help that while I was sleeping I may or may not have kicked the keys in the ignition and it turned the whole car on with a blaring radio screeching white noise at us as if it was personally offended that we were sleeping in a vehicle like animals and not in a hotel bed like people.

From that point we decided "Fuck it, we might have had only two hours of sleep in the past day so what's our next logical step? CONTINUE THE ROAD TRIP!" and after slapping each other in the face half a dozen times in a game of "Let's see who is awake the most" we started to drive to Jasper. I lost that game, so I was the one who had to drive. And I drove, and drove, and drove and drove until I reached the National Park and decided that it's probably not a good thing to be imagining five extra sets of roads in front of me because it's confusing and one would probably lead me to our death. Or a violent gang of Mountain Sheep. So I did what was only natural and starting slapping The Pilot awake in attempts to switch spots and when he feebly fought me off like a five year old I decided it was probably best to pull into the truck stops along the way and try to sleep again.

That lasted for an hour until we almost got side swiped by a Semi-Truck that had pulled into the truck stop too wide as if he was personally offended that an SUV was sitting in a Semi-Truck stop and figured the only solution was to murder us in our sleep. It was only when I threatened to start hysterically cry again did The Pilot take the drivers seat. I tell you, hysterical crying will get you anything.

You see, if we were just going to my parents place the drive would have been over once we started again in a mere five hours and we could have found a blissful sleep awaiting us but because we were going to Womb Mate's, well...we still had another ten hours to go because God hates us and wants us dead. Like, super dead. As it just so happens we have to drive through my parents town anyways and my loving, spiteful parents thought it was an awesome idea that we should pick up my Little Brother on our way through so we can at least attend some type of school and pretend to learn something that day. Before we got there, we switched driving and while I was behind the wheel I kept trying to get The Pilot to use my phone to text my bother to give him an update of when to ditch school to meet us. Despite my best efforts The Pilot would only send polite, abridged versions of what I wanted texted so my Little Brother would not know what I truly thought of him and the fact that he was probably most likely adopted from homeless street urchins. The Pilot has shitty dictation skills, is all I'm saying.

By the time we grab my Little Brother The Pilot is complaining over the fact that he's literally starving too death right next to me and we probably should get him some food and I turn to my Little Brother and tell him "We are taking you to lunch not because we like you but because you just happen to be here with us. AWESOME TO SEE YOU AGAIN!" and we head off to lunch. And we eat. In a shitty diner. Who's bathroom probably gave everyone AIDS because they were disgusting.

And then we started our drive. And let me tell you, by this point I was getting near delirious because of the lack of sleep but The Pilot was worse off then I was and my Little Brother fails at life because he doesn't have his learners so he couldn't even drive for us.

And you know what makes total sense while driving with very little sleep and having a sixteen year old Little Brother in the back seat that is now forced to listen to you for the next six hours? Imitating banjo music in every conversation.

"How was school *banjo music noise*"
"Oh it was great...*interrupted by banjo music noise*"
"Will you stop...*interrupted by banjo music noise*"
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER MY AWESOME BANJO SKILLS!"

The Pilot, who was trying to sleep, couldn't really sleep because his girlfriend had just finally snapped and was willingly destroying the population of the vehicle with epic banjo renditions.

And then the truck in front of us decided to throw a kink in my whole plan and totally fucked everything up for a short period of time. It kicked up a stick or a dead rabbit body or something that got flung at us and it almost caused me to swerve off the road but my awesomely delayed ninja fast reflexes prevented us from crashing.

But if The Pilot was to tell you exactly how it happened while he was trying to sleep it would have going a little something like this:

Me: "BANJO MUSIC BANJO MUSIC I TOTALLY WANT A BANJO! BANJO MUSIC BANJO MUSIC----- HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THAT?" Vehicle swerve, vehicle swerve, vehicle swerve, fast recovery save by awesome girlfriend.

Since I saved our lives, we were able to continue with our normal program and I slowly progressed from imitating banjo music to terrible singing of every single road sign I could find. Until the road signs started creeping me out because they started getting prophetic. If I called my Little Brother awesomely hilarious names such as "Penis Mouth" and "Anus Eyes'' a sign would suddenly turn up that would proclaim "God Judges You By The Words You Say To Others" and since it was already determined that God hates us and wants us to die, that was a little off putting. And when the topic of drugs were brought up a sign came up that said "DRUG DEALERS NOT WELCOME HERE" and it's like rude, drug dealers are people too. Who just happen to deal drugs. And destroy today's youth. But they are people.

And when sign singing got boring? I used my Little Brother as my personal Secretary and had him text things to my little sister that basically went a long the lines of "Little Brother likes dinks in his mouth" or "Little Brother wants to move to Dink Town USA" and when we were asked about our location I had him text "DINK TOWN USA BABY!"

So, basically it what I am saying is that Little Brother has far superior dictating skills then The Pilot ever will have.

It's Not A Road Trip Until Someone Is Hysterically Crying For Hours Pt.1

Now, I’m not sure what a road trip looks like for you but the last road trip I took a week ago it ended up with me hysterically crying in a hotel lobby and you know what? A road trip ain’t a road trip until someone is left hysterically crying, is all I’m saying.

The Pilot and I made the mutual choice that once again, for Thanksgiving, we were going to make the trip to my parents cabin and force my mother to make us a turkey dinner and while she was at it, she might as well do all the laundry that I had stored up that I was supposed to do but she’s my mom so it’s sort of her obligation to do all my laundry. And make me delicious finger foods. But because we are ambitious and suckers for pain, we decided that “Hey, why not have Thanksgiving at Womb Mates’ because she just crapped out a baby and she’s willing to cook the turkey for us!” and despite the fact it would have doubled the length of the time on the road for an already long road trip, we all high-fived over the idea. And by “we” I totally include the dog in that high-five moment but his was more of a “frantic face slaps” then a high-five.

The day of our trip started off great enough. I had taken an extra day off of work because I wanted to have a lot of time to properly pack and prepare for our voyage and by “prepare” I mean sleep in, lounge around in my sleeping clothes and realize that “Holy fuck, I’ve only got four hours left before we go so I better clean the kitchen, and do laundry, and pack.” And I was left scrambling around to get everything done.

Now, if The Pilot was to tell you about how I got us ready for our trip he would give some rant about how I didn’t really pack but just threw everything into a suitcase and closed the zipper but what he doesn’t realize is that when I was packing our clothes I started out packing it nicely and folding the clothes but then I got tired and bored and wanted to do something else so the rest of the clothes I may or may not have just dumped into the suitcase and closed it. Now, it’s not my fault that all the clothes that got folded before I got bored were mine and it was in no way intentional that the clothes that got thrown in once I got bored were his. So it totally wasn’t my fault that my mother may or may not have made fun of The Pilot when he wore his first wrinkled shirt. Or that my dad may or may not have given him a look as if saying “Hey, you lazy ass bum, don’t you know how to fold clothes? Asshole.”

With the packing done, fantastically might I add, we were ready to go but The Pilot didn’t get home on time because he may or may not have forget to leave his corvette keys with his corvette so a friend could put it into storage for him while we were gone so it may or may not have added an extra half hour to his trip home and put us that much farther behind schedule. I may or may not have yelled at him because he broke my schedule that I had so carefully crafted a week before.  I may or may not have kicked a baby kitten angel with cancer afterwards out of frustration.

When The Pilot got home I threw everything at him, I grabbed the dog, and we locked up and drove off into the sun set singing show tunes. Or, got stuck for an extra hour and a half in the drive thru of a popular fast food chain because when it comes to “fast food” in my town it’s more like “Asshole, we going to make you wait soooo long because we can food”. By the time we got out of that line-up I was frothing at the mouth and The Pilot was frantically searching for his emergency stash of holy water. Or gun. Never sure with him.

And then we drove off merrily into the sun set singing show tunes while cartoon birds flit around and feed us golden grapes.

Or, got stuck in fog that was so thick I refused to watch the movies on my Ipad because I had to diligently watch The Pilot to make sure he didn’t kill us in the fog by driving off the road or hitting a skunk or getting hit by other vehicles. It’s extremely stressful, you know, being the protector of our family’s safety by criticizing everything your partner does. They just don’t appreciate your safety conscious attitude and long suffering martyrdom.

And then we drove off into the sun set singing show tunes and having little cartoon woodland creatures braid our hair and adorn it with flowers.

Kidding!

After hours of driving we pulled into our destination for the night and because of all of the delays and the fog and that stupid Asshole Food place, instead of getting in at 11:00pm we ended up reaching our hotel at 3:30am because that schedule I so carefully crafted the week before? Yeah, it totally fucked us in the ass and didn’t even take us out to dinner first.

This hotel I had booked was booked for one reason and that one reason is my dog. You know, the asshole one who spent the whole trip thus far throwing an Emo tantrum in the backseat because “OMG WHY ARE YOU TRAPPING ME IN THIS MOVING HELL? YOU TOLD ME WE WERE GOING TO THE DOG PARK! I HATE YOU! YOU AREN’T EVEN MY REAL PARENTS! I WISH YOU NEVER ADOPTED ME!”? Yeah, we couldn’t leave him in the vehicle so I had to find us a hotel that allowed pets and had a free room that could have pets. I was assured our dog was welcome. So welcome in fact that they were going to charge me an extra twenty dollars for him!

So after checking in and confirming that our room is still there and waiting for us we go outside to grab our things and bring the dog in and the lady at the counter? Yeah, when she saw the dog so was all “SURPRISE! U CAN HAZ NO HOTEL ROOM CUZ WE SCREWED UP UR BOOKING! LOLZ!” and both The Pilot and I shit our pants. I was beyond tired so it took me a few minutes to process what had just happened and when I realized that we had lost our room and had no place to sleep at that moment I did the only thing I could think of. I started hysterically crying much to the dismay and horror of the hotel lady and The Pilot.

And I continued to cry.

And cry.

And cry.

I cried until The Pilot directed us back into the vehicle and started to search the other hotels in town while frantically trying to make me stop crying.

I cried when The Pilot went to all the hotels in town to find out that SURPRISE! This town that normally has hundreds of hotel rooms open all the time is suddenly fully booked because there’s some type of Lumber Mill shut down and thousands of workers have flooded the city.

I cried when The Pilot broke the news to me that we’d have to find a parking lot and sleep in the vehicle because there was no other option.

I cried when The Pilot found a 24hr grocery store and attempted to purchase us blankets and pillows and the old man working the nightshift kept trying to sell him fucking lawn chairs instead of blankets. Fucking lawn chairs.

I did stop crying when we both tried to go to sleep but I did start crying again when our fucking dog decided that “Holy shit, this is the coolest thing in the world, CAMP OUT IN THE VEHICLE!” and figured it was a good time to start jumping everywhere. For two hours.

I figured by that time we were either going to freeze to death in the vehicle or be stabbed by a homeless person.

It could have gone either way, really.

Back To Your Regularly Scheduled Posts About Poop...Sort Of.

After what seemed like the world's longest Thanksgiving, I'm now back to work and life and have to actually show up to my job because I'm techinically being paid for it and you know what? Some days I'd rather be a pimp because I don't have to do nothing but collect the money my skanks collect. That's a job I think I can handle. But even that sounds trying because it's still a job and that's what I'm trying to avoid.

I need to find a rich old man that wouldn't have a problem with me keeping The Pilot on the side because who would want to have sex with a rich old man if you could continue to pork your young, virile boyfriend? Me, I wouldn't want to have sex with a rich old man if I could continue to pork my young, virile boyfriend. Maybe I can keep him on the side. The old man or The Pilot. Either or, just as long as I don't have to work anymore.

Considering that my vacation decided it was going to start off with giant flaming balls of crap that shattered my soul and left my crying hysterically in a hotel lobby I'm going to have to say it was a success but an epic failure because it had to end. Vacation fail.

Of course  I will let you all know why my vacation took epic dumps and left me crying hysterically in a hotel lobby and grocery store parking lot but today? Yeah, I'm not bothering with it because I've got to slowly ease myself back in to it. Read: Lazy ass fingers.

Also, I sort of set myself up with this blog to talk about poop so...poop.

That is all.

It's Like Kindergarden Cop But The Kids Have The Guns

The thing about being a parent, or even a step-parent, or even anyone who has anything to do with kids is that you've got to set an example that they can live by. Like, always say "please"and "thank-you", or wash behind your ears when you have a bath. Or possibly even be kind and loving to anyone and everyone because you never know who will show up back in your life and save you from getting eaten by a half-dinosaur/ half bear monster that wants to eat your face.

Or, if you are my Womb Mate, you will teach your step-sons that when playing "Cops and Robbers" it's not fun playing Good Cop/Good Cop, or Good Cop/Bad Cop but you might as well change the title of the game to "The Most Corrupt Precinct In The World Because Ethics Are For Pussies".

From the moment I woke up this morning and barely having enough time to scarf down my breakfast, one of the kids who I will call Corrupt Cop #1, set upon me claiming that I had stolen a shit whack of stuff and it was time that I go to jail. The stuff that I stole? A rock and a twenty dollar bill he shoved into my pocket in broad daylight. My loving Womb Mate, who watched this horrible incrimination happen sat at the table and proclaimed that I stole a whole mansion worth of stuff and told them that my finger prints were everywhere and that I was guilty and needed to go to jail.

My loving mother, who pushed me out of her twatter, sat there and presented false forensic evidence to get me jailed. I was handcuffed and thrown into the prison in the living room and forced to lay down on a scratchy blanket. Womb Mate then decided she was going to be a cop.

With Womb Mate in charge, I found myself being stabbed, and shot, and poked, and bullied, and beat up, and eventually my hands were cut off so I couldn't wipe my butt or steal more fake things and when Womb Mate said "what can we do to keep her from running away?" my legs were promptly cut off by her corrupt lackey who wanted nothing more than to just shoot me in the face and be done with it.

I was given one phone call and I was allowed to call The Pilot as my Lawyer Boyfriend and the twat-dink decided that since he didn't go to Lawyer-Boyfriend school he couldn't help me and if I could put him in my will before I was executed that would be a super awesome thing to do and then he hung up on me.

At the second hour of being beaten in living room prison, the lines between vacation and Gitmo started to blurr and I was confused at why I had even bothered to wake up in the morning.

Who knows, maybe tomorrow I will wake up to being water boarded.

And Then I Killed Myself Over A Game Of Canasta

I don’t know about you but whenever I picture cruises I always think bikini clad ladies and nearly naked men frolicking around a giant boat as it sailed through the ocean as laughter and wine bottles floated in its wake. It’d be filled with laughter, cocaine, good times and sexy, sexy moments.

I’m sure you can only imagine my surprise when I barely survived sitting next to the two Columbian drug lords on my flight to the Galapagos only to arrive to find out that all the people that were supposed to be on my boat were ancient.

Like, Crypt Keeper ancient.

It was a sixteen person boat but they had only managed to book five of us on it so at first I was excited because the tour group would be smaller and I’d get a more personalized experience. That excitement? It got molested to death by old people. In the group I was the only one who was under 70 years old and at first I was confused and concerned that I had gotten into the wrong line and would end up trapped in a retirement home to accumulate bedsores and neglect.

After fifteen minutes of us standing around and eyeballing each other with such looks of disbelief on my part and nervous old person flatulence on their part because they were in the presence of a person who wasn’t close to death and they probably thought I was there to stab them menacingly and steal their dentures, I realized that no one else my age was going to be on this cruise and I was stuck with the Depends Brigade.

All our cruise pictures looked like this.

I’m not lying when I say it was the most fucked up cruise that I have ever been on, and my first cruise, because when you are outnumbered 4 to 1 by people who can barely stand to be awake for two hours straight at a time you spend five billion hours taking a walking tour that would have lasted only an hour.

On two occasions we actually lost three of them old people while walking which caused our Naturalist Tour Guide to have a mini freak-out because holy shit he lost his old people and we spent two hours trying to find them. After getting confused by the brisk pace we set for our speed they had begun to frantically mill around and get swallowed up by a larger group of tourists their own age and no one listened to me when I suggested that we abandon them to their fate.

We eventually found them, on both occasions, on other cruise boats. Because they naturally followed the larger groups back to their boats. Because they were old. And easily confused.

On one occasion one of the old men ended up crushing his way through a sea turtle nest because he was trying to take off his pants in what I was at first horrified to think he was planning on snorkelling naked but he ended up having secret swimming trunks under his pants but they wouldn’t come off properly so like a hundred baby turtles had to die.

And then he proceeded to almost drown in the water because his snorkel wasn’t fitted properly. My suggestion for abandonment was yet again ignored.

Our nights on the boat consisted of me watching “The Galapagos Rose” with the crew after dinner because the old people would fall asleep at like six and you know what’s more fucked up than Spanish language soap operas? Nothing.

After being on that cruise full of old folks I can kind of see why the Eskimo’s used to force their elders out onto ice flows to die.

It’s because they are so fucking boring.

Que The Miami Vice Theme Song

One of the things I did while I was in Ecuador was visit the Galapagos Islands with the intention of stealing a tortoise and sailing it out to international waters just so I can bring it back to Canada and raise it until I eventually grow bored of it and attempt to flush it down the toilet but it’d be too big to flush so I’d probably have to turn it into soup or release it into the wild where it’d probably piss off a gang of moose and get stabbed.

It may not have been a well thought out plan but it was my plan so you can shut up about “Only human laws don’t count in International Waters, not animal laws” and just let a person dream, OK?

To get to the Islands I had to take an airplane from Quito, the capital of Ecuador. There was a brief stopover in Ecuador’s second largest city, Guayaquil. How do I know these facts? It’s called reading the in-flight broucher. Oh snap, you’ve just been learned.

It was on this flight into Guayaquil that something magical happened and made me turn into the charmingly funny and witty and dashingly handsome adult I am today. What, dare you ask, was so magical about this flight? I’ll tell you dear child. I sat right next to two Colombian Drug lords.

I.Sat. Next. To. Two. Colombian. Drug lords.

I’m not even kidding. Honest to god drug lords. My first indication that they were Colombian drug lords happened to be the fact that they looked as if they had walked off the set of Miami Vice and on to my airplane. Gold everywhere. Grey tweed blazers over black t-shirts, dress pants, coke nails and moustaches.

The moustaches were a dead giveaway.

After reviewing the movie Taken multiple times before I left the country so I was up to date on my “insurance policy” which was basically “If kidnapped and sold into the sex trade, call Liam Neeson”, I knew making eye contact would probably lead me down some type of horrible road littered with Colombians and cocaine.

Folks, I made eye contact. Honestly, how could I have not? How often do you get to be thisclose to a drug lord?

Unfortunately I should have listened to my movie instincts because the moment I made eye contact to the one sitting nearest me he started striking up a conversation that I couldn’t understand because he was speaking whatever they speak in Columbia (Columbanese?) and I can barely master the English language on a good day so I was at a loss for words.

The guy kept trying to speak to me despite the fact I couldn’t understand and it frustrated his friend to the point that he decided he was going to translate. He only knew a handful of English so it didn’t really help my efforts of “not inadvertently agreeing to be kidnapped.”

Because, honestly, that’s all I got from that conversation. That by forcing mini vodka’s on me from the plane they would get me drunk and sell me into the sex trade and maybe Liam Neeson will or won’t come for me because in the movie he was totally a dick who ignored the fact his daughters friend got kidnapped too and left her to rot. I didn’t want to be that daughter’s friend in this scenario.

They did get extremely excited to find out I was Canadian as if Canadian meat goes for a far better price than say Russian meat. Since I didn’t want to be kidnapped and turned into bacon, I feigned interest in what was going on outside the window and that every cloud I saw was more beautiful than the last.

This backfired because the guy next to me suddenly got interested in my intense interest for what was happening out the window and tried to get his friend to ask me what was so interesting that I wasn’t having any vodka they kept trying to slip me.

Fortunately when they ended up getting off of the plane at Guayaquil and the old couple who sat across the aisle from me (who, also, ended up being on my cruise but more on that disaster later) started talking to me about how when they were in the airport those exact same guys next to me ended up losing a briefcase that had $60,000 in it and had started freaking out because they refused to go to the Police and how terrible it would be to show up to their boss empty handed.

So basically not only was I sitting next to two drug lords, I was sitting next to the two worst Columbian drug lords in the history of druglordshipness.

Which was pretty awesome considering they probably would have botched my kidnapping leaving me free to enjoy the rest of my vacation.

For A Price, She'll Molest You Too.

A year ago I was sort of wandering around in a daze and felt that my life was missing something that would have made it totally awesome. Instead of cutting off one of my arms and replacing with a robot arm that had lasers to enable me to fight crime or commit crime, the logical solution to increasing awesome was to hop on a plane and go to Ecuador for a month.

Of course, while being in a foreign country and never having actually left your country of birth before this trip, I totally did the tourist thing and packed my days full of stupid things that included sightseeing and horseback riding up a freaking’ volcano with a tour guide that talked about how horrible marriage was and the best thing I could ever do is live alone until I’m dead. No joke. That happened.

One of the things I decided I was going to do was a traditional “Shaman Cleansing” that I had booked through the resort I was staying at. Being the naive, silly Canadian that I am I figured it would be something like what the Native’s of my homeland do. Burn shit and then wafts it around you until you smell like burnt poplar while having a feather in your face. You know something simple and mildly entertaining. And, apparently, cleansing.

Ecuador, my friends, pretty much took my expectations and beliefs and punched them right in the face after giving my grandmother a reach around.

After getting up at a stupid early time in the morning we had to drive three hours to Otavalo to have this uplifting and magical experience. Our trip was sprinkled with sight-seeing, stray dogs, being educated by the marriage hater why poor mountain people are a disease on the land, and seeing some type of sacred mountain we managed to get to the town and submerge ourselves in an old world market that has been going on since the dawn of time that, by some miracle, catered to tourists.

After shopping and lunch we drove to a nearly abandoned parking lot where I was instructed that we had to wait in our vehicle until someone who worked with the Shaman would come greet us to make sure we weren’t spies or the police or something. It felt like an awkward, inappropriate stake out. Then some kid on a bike peddles up, bangs on our window and forces us to follow him in our van through various back streets until we came to Shanty Town USA (not in the USA). There were chickens, goats, and children running around wild in a mystical sort of fashion.

When I was greeted by the Shaman lady she looked to be about a hundred years old, midget sized with age and missing just about all her teeth. She also didn’t speak English and I only know how to rudely say no in Spanish so everything had to be translated by my tour guide.

Everything was going fine when the lady brought us into her little Shaman shack and showed us her beautifully creepy alter that was full of bleeding pictures of Jesus and what I assumed the smiling happy faces of her family because wouldn’t it just be weird if those were just the models that came with the picture frame? Things got weird when she started speaking in Spanish and trying to pull my clothes off of my body in a SURPRISE! I’m going to granny date rape you sort of way.

I tried to fend her off while looking at the tour guide for some help when he eventually said to me “you’ve got to take your clothes of for your Cleansing” and he kind of said it with a smile on his face as if he had waited his whole life to tell a naive, innocent Canadian girl that it was time to strip down for a toothless hundred year old lady.

Eventually Date Rape Granny drew certain across the hut for privacy so I could just show my titties to grandma and not the tour guide because he was an unhappily married boy. But he still had to sit on the other side of the curtain because he would have to translate for us. It was the most awkward peep show I never wanted to be in.

After my mental breakdown I shucked all my clothing until I was just standing in my underwear in this dirty like shack with pictures of bleeding Jesus staring into my soul in a leering, judgemental fashion while her picture frame model family smiled at me. The ritual began with the little old lady grabbing a bottle and spouting of some nonsense before she took a big gulp of liquid. The Tour Guide barely gave me enough warning when he told me I should probably close my eyes for what was going to happen next.

She spit the liquid all over my face. All. Over. My. Face.

Now, getting spit in the face is off putting I’ll admit. What makes it worse? FUCK YOU! It’s tequila that has been distilled to the point that it’s the purest form of alcohol it could ever hope to be. And it Just. Got. Spit. Into. Your. Face.  What’s worse than it getting spit in your face? Having to rub it into your face until the burning is slightly less burny.

She didn’t stop with the spitting either. She continued it until my whole body was drenched four or five times until I was pretty sure I had accumulated a contact high by having it rubbing in my face or soaked through my skin. Oh by the way, her hands were roaming every during this just to make sure that my tits and everything else was soaked in liquor.

That feeling of potentially being date raped by a Shaman Grandma? Totally increased tenfold. I couldn’t even concentrate super hard on being cleansed as I was supposed to because I had to formulate a plan of how I was going to tell The Pilot I was date raped by a Ecuadorian Grandmother who didn’t even bother with roofies because she’s hardcore and just decided to start with spitting in my face.

I didn’t think it could get any worse than it was until shit got real.

Once I was completely covered in magic juice she started beating me with nettles. Fucking nettles. As in, I’m going to pull this thorny shit from a bush and beat the first fucking person that willingly comes into my shack. Just for fun. The nettles stung so much against my liquor stung skin that I almost wished she had just planned on date raping me instead.

Just to add insult to injury, she spit more magic juice on me too. Then almost as an afterthought she rubbed an uncracked egg and stones me on too. Just like “Hey, while I’ve got all this random shit sitting around I might as well just molest you with them. For fun, ya know?”

Finally I was allowed to put my clothes back on and I was told I wasn’t allowed to eat anything good and wasn’t allowed to have a shower until midnight. Then we had to drive the three hours back to the resort in a country that routinely boils your blood on an overcast day in a van that didn’t have air conditioning. Needless to say, I’m pretty sure the driver got drunk off the fumes I was emitting after my cleansing beat down.

It wasn’t until I got to the resort and tried to have a shower that I found out they had shut my water off in my room until at least midnight because they take this shit super seriously in Ecuador that it hit me.

I just paid that lady a hundred dollars to spit on me and then beat me up while Jesus cried blood and picture frame models watched. Next time, I might just ask for Shaman identification.

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!

Sunday Photography: A Preveiw Of My Vacation

Surprise! We Didn't Kill Each Other On Our Trip...Almost!

So I managed to survive and get back from the vacation I had at my parents cabin and surprisingly neither of us killed each other and The Pilot and I didn't end up dying in a fiery car accident while his butt expelled the most disgusting smell in the world. Literally, his fart nearly killed me and I almost hit another vehicle in another lane because I thought, momentarily, that I could drive away from the smell of his asshole but SURPRISE! It was trapped in the car with me.

Once my head clears from that smell I'll do a better update of what went down and how I'm somewhat happy to be home but mostly just missing my family.

A Vacation That I Hope Doesn't End Up With Someone Crapping All Over A Hotel Bathroom

All this week I am going to be preparing myself to hop into a vehicle for a two-day adventure towards my parents cabin where I am sure amazingly stupid things are going to happen. The last time we made this two day trip the dog ended up Dorito dog farting all over the place and when we stopped at our hotel for the night he spastically crapped all over the bathroom and the smell was so foul and disgusting we nearly threw up as we used all the towels in the bathroom room to clean it up and then threw them into the bathtub in a crappy attempt to hide the evidence. Despite locking the door we had to smell that smell all night long and it nearly destroyed our relationship and killed all the babies in the world by giving them cancer and in the morning we checked out as fast as humanly possible and now I’m probably sure that we aren’t allowed in a Best Western ever again because the maid that found that murder scene in the bathroom? She will most likely stab us if she ever finds us.

So this blog week is going to be pretty slow because The Pilot is working until super late all week and that leaves me to pack up all our crap and try not to forget anything and attempt to conquer my secret drinking habit because when he comes home at night and finds out that I did nothing? I’m pretty sure that’s grounds for him to break up with me and if he broke up with me I’d have to throw the dog off the cliff to show him that he never should have dumped me and we both know the dog would have picked to go with him and my fragile ego just couldn’t handle that after being dumped for not packing for a road trip.

All next week I do have on guest blog lined up because 99.9% of my readers are giant douchebags and only one person got back to me with an actual post and that person is someone everyone should have sex with because it’s just that good. The guest post. Not the sex. I’ve never had sex with her so I wouldn’t know. But I’m sure it would be good. She just looks like she is good at it.

Perhaps during the whole next week I am gone, I might just update my blog with what is going on because that Womb Mate of mine? Yeah, she’s going to be there. That means I am going to have a massive amount of stuff to blog about once the trip is over. But the thing about updating a blog while on vacation, it only works if you have access to the Internet. And my parents? Yeah, ever since they retired to live in a cabin on the lake they’ve decided they are going to live like homeless people and have no real access to the rest of the world. I’m not sure how I’m going to manage to do that without stabbing someone in the eye for some type of updated current events or just for my own amusement because there is only so many times a girl can play monopoly without killing someone. Sorry Grandma, you’re the oldest so you are probably going to be the one stabbed.

I also plan on making a lot of videos so you can look forward to that as well. If you don’t want to look forward to it…well I don’t look forward to giving you that intervention you so desperately need for your coke habit you ungrateful turdmouth. Yeah, that’s right. No Intervention for you. Whore.

P.S:  I didn’t really mean to call you a whore but you sort of kinda are. And that intervention? Yeah, it’s just going to be a giant party you aren’t invited too. Whore.

P.P.S: And that intervention that is just a giant party that you aren't invited to? Yeah, it's going to have George Michael performing all of his music and eventually he will end up knee deep in a pile of coke while simultaneously floating in a river of beer while fighting of a giant owl dressed in a red sequin wrestling outfit while Careless Whisper blasted on the sound system and lightening gold struck all the party goers. The night will end in tears and the next day will begin with the intervention we throw George Michael and once again just ignore you and not invite you to the giant party it will turn into.