Hick = Connections to al-Qaeda?

After purchasing more camo hunting gear (as if he doesn't already have enough), Andrew proceeded to drive home looking like this:

During our half hour on the road, I am shocked that no one called in for a SWAT Team to take down the "suspected terrorist driving a Ford truck".

Giving Drunken Directions Does Not Constitute “Learning How To Stick Shift”

It seems that whenever Andrew drinks, I get pulled into some small adventure.

In this case, Andrew was drinking at his work party during our first summer together. He had invited me, probably thinking that I would make friends with everyone. That was the day he learned that I sucked at making friends.

Sidenote: I went to the same school from daycare at two years old until my High School graduation; meeting new people was a mostly pointless skill.

Technically its "bear spray", because you're not allowed to
carry any weapon in Canadaland.

Because of my lack of social proficiency, my night mostly consisted of :

• Avoiding one of the staff members that I went to school with. (He lived in my neighbourhood and creeped me out enough that I bought some pepper spray).
• Woefully watching the employees' children have the time of their lives in a rented bouncy castle that would only take children under 12.
• Eating multiple plates of Andrew's mother's famous macaroni salad. You haven't tasted macaroni salad until you've tasted her macaroni salad. (I kind of feel like that sounds like a sexual innuendo.)

Sidenote: Andrew got the job in part because his boss wanted to sleep with his mom. Andrew's mom, that is. Not his own mother. Ew.

While I didn't particularly have a blast, Andrew was really enjoying the night, which made me happy. Sometimes, you just gotta let hicks do their hick shit. That way, he can get it out of his system, so that we don't end up with crap like this at home:

Ok, I'm not going to lie, this acually looks like fun. As long as no one pees in the tub. 

Finally, the night was at an end. We were staying the night at Andrew's friend's house nearby, so I asked Andrew how we were getting there. He looked at me (most likely with unfocused eyes) like I was asking him to ride a unicorn. Utterly confused and unprepared.

Andrew:..Well, Corey already went home.  

Me: .......

Andrew: ...So...I guess I'm driving?

Me: No way in hell.

After a long discussion about all of our options, we decided that I would drive Andrew's truck down, as I had only had one drink at 7pm, and it was now 2am.

Andrew's truck was a manual. I had never driven a manual before in my life, and I certainly didn't want to start learning on a late saturday night with a drunken crowd to witness the disaster. Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened.

For those who were taught how to drive by a horrible teacher, think of me in the same situation, with the added fact that the teacher was also completely drunk. It was like I was taught to drive by Ozzy Osbourne. I stalled at least four times in the driveway before I was even able to start moving, and instead of pushing the left turn signal, I ended up flashing the highbeams in the faces of all the partygoers. If I didn't have their attention before, I certainly did now.



Picture this X10, but minus the fur, and add camo clothing, work
 boots and a beer in everyone's hands.

With my lovely audience entranced like deer in the headlights (litterally in headlights), I drove away in first gear with the motor doing some noises that previous experience tells me were extremely unnatural.

I then proceeded down multiple roads in the middle of the woods. I had no idea if Andrew even knew where we were going, because he kept yelling "TURN LEFT!", even though there was nothing but a ditch and trees on the lefthand side.

You'd think you can't take a wrong turn while driving 10 km/h (6 mph), but it turns out you can. When I found out that Andrew's left was really right all along (right as in the direction, not as in being correct), I had to do a few slow-motion 180+ spins. I thank God the streets were deserted that night, cause I'm pretty sure I was driving like I was under the influence. The cops would have thought I had taken a new drug made of weed and sloth blood. (I tried to find a funny name for the drug, but it turns out I would be horrible at marketing illegal drugs. Scratch that off my list of potential careers.)

After fifteen minutes of driving 40km (25mi) below the speed limit, we finally made it to what I hoped was his friend's house. I wasn't sure it was actually his place since I had never been there before - the clarity of Andrew's thinking was suspect. We walked in with my fingers crossed that we wouldn't get charged with home invasion.

Thankfully, although Andrew's ability to comprehend relative direction is hindered when completely trashed, his sense of overall direction is fine. This makes absolutely no sense to me, but Andrew has never made much sense. He can hunt, gut and clean any animal, but he gets grossed out when I show half-chewed food in my mouth.

I'm happy to report that Andrew actually got the house right, so no one was arrested. Well, we weren't arrested; who knows who was arrested at the party.

But no matter how hungover Andrew was the next morning, I made him drive the truck home.

Canadian Feature Friday: Weekly Culture Shock

I've been trying to think of a fun themed weekly post that I could start, like Wordless Wednesday or Flashback Friday. But hopefully more original. I feel like the structure will help me keep posting on the blog.

Like my boobs, I need structure in my life. No, wait. Boobs need support, not structure. My brain must have just wanted to subconsciously mention my boobs.

Boobs.

Anyways, I decided to do weekly posts about different parts of my identity. It'll either be about Canada in general (like today) or more specific, like the East Coat, New-Brunswick, being French Canadian,  etc. I'll be posting facts, photos, links, videos, whatever the hell else I find that's interesting and that others may not know. Cause it's my blog and I can do whatever I want.

To start this traditon, here's some facts about the land of the Maple Leaf:

• Canada was invaded by the US two times, in 1775 and 1812. But we got even with the help of the British, who were pissed that the US was bullying us. They sent troops and burned down the White House in 1812. Take that, Bully Ancient Americans.
• If you're beyond badass and actually downright fucked-up, you should go to Dawson City in Yukon (which is not even near where I live. There's no way you can associate this weird-ass shit with me.) There, you can join the “Sourtoe Cocktail Club”.  Requirement: you must finish a drink that has a dehydrated and severed human toe in it. I am not making this shit up. “You can drink it fast, you can drink it slow — but the lips have gotta touch the toe.”
• If you want to hear about the toes donated to this "cause", click here. I'll let you go vomit now.



Mike Myers at a NY Fashion Show walking the runway in a kilt,
dog-eared hat and a Canadian hockey jersey. This is why I love him.

• Jim Carrey is Canadian, but Canadians don't care, because he pretends he isn't. Mike Myers (aka Austin Powers) on the other hand is proud of his nationality, and we therefore love him.
• We're also the home of Pamela Anderson and Justin Beiber, but let's ignore what I just said out of shame.

You're still vomiting thinking about the toe drink, aren't you?

Bonus Fact: The Moosehead Brewery in Saint John, New Brunswick, produces 1,642 bottles of beer per minute. This makes Andrew a very happy man. 

That's it for this week. Hopefully I'll actually keep this up. Unless no one likes these posts, then I'll stop doing it. After crying for hours.



Will you be my Brideschicken?

You can probably guess why Andrew and his
parents like him so much.

Today, I expressed to Andrew my desire to go visit his parent's chickens, especially the two little red hens named Red and Green. If you don't know who Red Green is, it's ok. He's a character from an old Canadian comedy show. And I'd rather not know who he is either. If you do know who he is, I'm sorry (And if you know who he is and like him, you're a hick.) Regardless, Red and Green are much cuter than Red Green.

Me: I love those chickens so much, they will be bridesmaids at my wedding!

Andrew: Ooooookay then.

Me: Chances are, a Chicken of Honour has happened before somewhere in the world.

Andrew could not argue.

And lo and behold, look what I found:



Those chickens are like the Freddy Mercury of chickens! MAMA MIA, LET ME GO!

Ok, so it turns out that these are just random chickens held during a bridal photoshoot (which is a new one for me. I had no idea that there was such a thing as a bridal photoshoot. I thought weddings were about the couple, and not just the bride, but I wouldn't know. I HAVEN'T BEEN PROPOSED TO YET.) I really hope that this shoot was done after the actual wedding, because I imagine it would be extremely difficult to clean chicken shit out of a wedding gown. Not that a chicken has ever shit on my blue boho/prairie summer dress before...

Okay, I may have scared Red shitless by hugging her and talking to her excitedly (aka, very loud and high-pitched). 

Note to others: don't treat chickens like puppies. You will be shit on. 

10 Hints that you Might be a Hypochondriac

As some readers know, I'm totally a hypochondriac.

Sidenote: I always forget the word, and constantly say kleptomaniac instead. Even though I've never stolen anything in my life. Well, except for a finger puppet from the bloodwork unit at the hospital. They're for the kids, but I deserved one too, Goddamnit.

Anyways, I thought I could use my experience of being paranoid about the state of my own health and that of those around me. So without further ado, here's a list that may help you to identify whether or not you are a hypochondriac.

• A cold is never just a cold. Its probably West Nile Virus. Or Ricin poisoning. The odds of it is like .001%. The chance is still there.
• You know the signs and symptoms of every major illnesses and a few rare ones too. Early warning signs of MS: tingling, numbness, blurred vision, lack of balance.  ... Shit, I have all those symptoms...
• When someone around you is sleeping, you have to periodically make sure they're still breathing. Just in case they suddenly died for no reason whatsoever.  This check might range from watching to see if their chest rises, to throwing things at them to make sure they wake up.
• You constantly ask others to check your vitals, like if your forehead is warm, or your tongue is red. And the bitches never get it right.
• If more than one symptom is showing up at the same time, it definitely means you have some sort of major illness. You have a fever and a bruise? It's Leukemia. You should call your doctor and get that shit checked out.
• You watch medical shows like Mystery Diagnosis that present case studies of rare disorders and diseases. You then check to make sure that you don't have the illness too. Or maybe you just skip the checkup and automatically think to yourself "Oh God, I have that."

• You always seem to have some sort of physical or mental symptom. In fact, you can hardly remember a time when you didn't feel some sort of symptom. Wait, it might have been a Tuesday in February...
• You have a cabinet filled with every single legal drug you can find. You never know when you're going to need Aleve, Benzocain, Pepto Bismol, or Ketoprofen. You might even have shit you don't need, like Claritin and Sudafed when you don't have any allergies whatsoever. But you might suddenly develop allergies. So better safe than sorry.
• WebMD Symptom Checker is bookmarked on your computer. Hell, it might even be your homepage.

• If you just read all of these hints and thought to yourself "Oh my God, I think I have that!", you definitely have hypochondria. Welcome to the club. Membership includes monogramed surgical masks.

I now have to go get reassured by Andrew that I'm not dying of a terminal illness.