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.