Tag Archives: Travel

I’ve Moved

You guys!!!!  The Chupacabra, Fat One, Drama Queen and I have moved.  I’m in Edmonton now!  And for those asking, Chupacabra is my wife.  At the end of July we gave away/sold the majority of our worldly possessions, packed up what little remained into a 4×8 trailer and made the ridiculously long trek across the country from Niagara Falls, Ontario all the way to sunny Edmonton, Alberta.  Thats right.  We fucking drove to Edmonton.  Who the hell does that with young kids and a wife?

Anyway I was originally planning to blog each night along the journey but after driving for 18 hours a day the last thing I wanted to do was sit down and type out the days events.  Especially since there was surprisingly very little to recount.  My children were shockingly well behaved the whole time.  So now that we’re here and settled, I thought it might be a good time to recount the journey for posterity.

So the plan was to leave late in the evening so that we would arrive at our first stop around the dinner hour.  So after a prolonged and tear-filled farewell we finally got on the road.  An hour later than intended.  20 minutes down the highway the Chupacabra realized she’d left her phone charger.  So we returned home, retrieved the damnable charger and departed yet again.  Now nearly 2 hours later than intended.  Everything was moving along well with the voyage.  Fat One and Drama Queen were watching movies and drifting in and out of sleep.  Chupacabra and I chatted and slammed energy drink after energy drink.  5 hours in I was on the verge of sleeping at the wheel so we pulled over behind some country market and grabbed a few hours of sleep.  Back on the road with another round of energy drinks we plowed ahead.  Covering another 3 hours before I again needed to recharge. Another 2 quick hours and we blasted ahead again this time making it all the way to our destination.  The modern metropolis of Marathon, Ontario.  Marathon is a bustling burrow of approx. 6000.  Their motto is “Built on paper, laced with gold”.  While we were planning our trip there was only 1 hotel with rooms available.  The Marathon Travelodge.  With a solid 2 star rating on, it lived up to its sterling reputation.  2 Australian gentlemen were checking in as I walked into the lobby and were getting a bit of a hard tome from the elderly woman behind the counter because they didn’t have a Canadian address.  Well no shit they don’t have a Canadian address.  THEY’RE FROM FUCKING AUSTRALIA!!  30 minutes later I was checked in and instead of the standard key cards that every hotel in the universe gives their guests, I was given an actual key.  Like a key, key.  So i gathered everybody up and we walked to our wing of the hotel.  On the way in I saw several mice scrambling aroun the outside of the building.  Inside the building looked like it was about 100 years old and  hadn’t seen a new coat of paint in at least 20 years.  The carpet was supposed to be red but was almost entirely brownish black.  So that was fun.  We got to our room and our door looked like it had been previously kicked open as there was a section of plywood on the door where the doorknob was.  So I attempted to unlock the door only to find that it wasn;t actually locked in the first place.  Are you fucking kidding me?  I was ready to go sleep in the truck instead of trusting hanging around this place but the thought of getting 8 solid hours of sleep in an actual bed was too much to resist.  So in we went into our tiny room that barely fit the 2 Queen beds.  We got settled and had had dinner in the room and got the gruesome twosome bathed and ready for bed.  As we lay down with them we realized that the pillows were full of air and about 4 feathers.  As soon as you put your head down on them the completely deflated.  8 fitful hours later we got up, showered and made our way to the lobby for our free breakfast.  The breakfast actually turned out to be quite decent.  We loaded up with bagels and coffee and muffins and made our way back onto the highway.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love Ontario and I will miss it dearly.  But holy fuck it takes forever to get out of that goddamn province.  And the northwestern part of it is all up and down.  Its incredibly frustrating when you’re trying not to use too much gas because your SUV is a pig.  On the plus side, the scenery is breathtaking.  Beautiful secluded mountain lakes, dense forests and some stunning views of Lake Superior.  We ambled on at what felt like a turtle’s pace but eventually we made it out of Ontario and into the cesspool that is Manitoba.  I felt dirty just driving through.  The plan was originally to get to Brandon by evening but with the ridiculous up and down roads of Ontario we were only going to make it to Winnipeg.  So I tasked the Chupacabra with finding us a hotel.  Slim pickin’s for places with rooms available.  We got a place at the Humphrey Inn and Suites.  This was actually a decent hotel and it would have been a fine experience except that downtown Winnipeg IS A MASSIVE CLUSTERFUCK OF ONE WAY STREETS!  Every single street was one way.  WTF?  How do people live like that?

So we spent the night on comfortable beds.  Had hot showers and a good breakfast and started the final leg of our trip.  Pretty uneventful stuff.  As we crossed the border of Alberta I felt a huge sense of relief.  As if some massive burden had been taken from my shoulders.  Behind us lay all our past problems and worries.  Ahead lay opportunity.  Opportunity to transform ourselves from what we were to what we want to be.  Around 11pm we pulled up to our new home in Edmonton.  A combination of exhaustion and relief overtook us and we all slept heavily.  We’re now almost a month in and things are starting to come together.  I’m working at a job I love and Drama Queen is about to start school.  The Chupacabra is discovering her culinary side and Fat One is….well he’s being himself.  Things are looking up.

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Posted by on September 2, 2012 in Family Trauma


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Day 4: The Son Never Rises

5:00am.  Fat One wakes up demanding his Glow worm, creatively named “Glowie”. I assumed this was the end of my sleep but once the pudgy hellion had the irradiated worm in his doughy clutches he went back to sleep.  3 hours later i was awoken again but this time by Loud One and Little One stomping up the stairs.  I tried to go back to sleep but a bizzarre magazine sharing argument thwarted that dream.  I emerged from my doorless bedroom and hastily sucked down some tasty liquid crack to equalize myself.  There would be no elaborate group breakfast this morning.  A bowl of cheerios and a muffin would have to suffice.  Loud One gets in trouble for speaking aggressively.  Its funny to hear someone apologize angrily.

Its now 9:00am and Fat One is finally awake and sweet Jesus is he a miserable fuck!  The Sibling says Little One and Loud one were in moods when they woke up too.  Drama Queen appears to be the only one of the mongoloids that woke up happy.  Grandpa has already gone for a nap with the dog.  The mongoloids are already complaining to go outside.  Fat One hit Little One and refuses to apologize so hes enjoying a timeout now.  Finally got Fat One to apologize.  Now Little One is having a meltdown over the pants he has to wear.  Kids put the F U in fun!  Little One finally submitted and put on the Brown Pants of Despair.  All the little mongoloids went out to play.  Grandpa got the fishing gear ready so he and i could take the hoarde fishing across the bay out of the wind.  We got them all ready loaded into the boat.  Little One alone up front.  Drama Queen, me and Loud One in the middle with Fat One on my lap.  Grandpa in the back driving.  We started out ok but 5 minutes later 5 of the 6 of us were soaked to the skin while Grandpa laughed at us while he enjoyed his warm, dry shorts.  After 10 minutes of crawling across the miserable windy lake we finally made it to the safety of the sheltered bay and set anchor.  A few stress-filled minutes of worming the hooks and telling the impatient little monsters that no they cannot fish until i have wormed their hooks and we were finally ready to fish.  Grandpa and I helped everyone get their lines in.  Christ almighty it was frustrating trying to keep the rods pointed in different directions.  And there was the constant “Do I have a fish yet?”  “Is this a fish?”  “When do I get a fish?”  “All I caught is a worm.”  Loud one caught the first and second fish.  Drama Queen quickly landed 3 and even Fat One got one.  Little One didn’t get any but he got bored super quick and stopped fishing so within minutes so he could practice speaking whale.  I tried to let him real one in but his coordination wasn’t there. A few more whiny outbursts and we headed for home. Thank fuck.  Kids suck at fishing.  Quick lunch and off for naps.  Grandma and Grandpa took stupid dog for a boat ride.  Apparently she was not a fan.  And the wind was still being a bitch.

The tranquility of nap time did not last long as Loud One and Little One slept for less than an hour.  Mostly due to the baby one waking

as they were settling in.  Fucking babies.  Grandma and Grandpa still slumber, as does Fat One.  Drama Queen is now awake as well.  A little bit of playtime in the fresh air while waiting for grandma and grandpa to awaken is my sentence.  But Hark!   I have to poop.  So I tredge up to the outhouse and enjoy a leisurely poop whilst The Sibling wrangles the brood.

Delightful surprise of the day: The neighbours brought over some fried fish for letting them play with our toys.  Score!  It was delicious.  Too bad any fish we might be lucky enough to catch will be thrown back.  Grandpa is no master knifeman and neither am I.  So catch and release is the order of the day. Grandpa has gone into town for some supplies and the kids are watching a movie after wrangling them away from the water.  Lasgana for dinner tonight then Grandpa and I will attempt some evening fishing.  I have my doubts but he seems pretty set.  Also there is supposed to be a bonfire tonight.  Yeah fucking right.  At least the goddamn wind has died down.  There is a pretty epic meltdown at dinner by Little One.  His knack for finding the absolute most annoying pitch for his whining is uncanny.  After 5 or 10 minutes of him complaining about the piece of cheese he was given and than proceeding to shred it to holy fucking hell I took him away front he table for a walk.  Mostly for my own sanity but also so the others could it in peace.  After the walk he seemed to be calm enough and ate some of his dinner.

After dinner Grandpa and I give evening fishing a shot.  The lake is far more calm so I dont get splashed like I’m in the front row at Sea World.  We hit a couple of spots but all we’re landing are fucking sunfish and cunty Rock Bass.  Goddamn shitty panfish.  At least the rock bass try to fight.  We planned out a few more spots to hit up in the morning and head back to the cottage for a bonfire.  As we were heading in we could see the flicker of a fire already going.  When we got out of the boat and over to the fire pit we saw an abandoned fire and the remnants of smores.  Back in the cottage the dinner dishes were still out and Fat One and Drama Queen were just heading to bed.  We sat up for the next 2 hours or so hammering back beers and planning the next day.  Swimming and early morning fishing.  Yeah fucking right.  I’ll let you know how that turns out.

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Posted by on July 8, 2012 in Family Trauma


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Day 3: My Kids Can’t Not Fight

8:00 my fat son wakes up and immediately whines.  I bring him to my bed and he surprisingly lays down with me.  That lasted about 5 minutes.  I let him get up and go to the livingroom to see grandma and grandpa.  5 minutes later I can hear the fat bastard arguing with the drama queen.  So up I get to restore the peace and keep them separate.  So much for sleeping in.  And the shitty 30 year old spring mattress I slept on isn’t doing anything good for my stupid back.  So I’m up, I’m tired and I’m cranky.  Coffee helps take the edge off.  Sweet diuretic coffee.  French toast sticks for the kids.  There’s 1 meltdown related to seating.  Fucking kids.


Breakfast is done.  Grandpa is getting the fishing rods ready to go.  Needless to say this is a point of interest for the mongoloids and they swarm like flies to shit.  Grandpa does well to remain patient despite 8 hands grabbing at things he’s trying to prepare.  I get suckered into helping and remember that this is my least favourite part of fishing.  Fuck putting line on the goddamn reels.  This sucks dick.  Eventually all the rods and reels are assembled and ready to go.  Too bad the old slag Mother Fucking Nature has decided today she wants to show off how fucking powerful her cunty lungs are.  So out of concern for the mongoloids we’re holding off on fishing/boat rides.    Instead we take the kids outside and make them run around like retards for a bit.  The fat one, small one and loud one play on the slide for a bit.  Drama Queen gets an imaginary sliver and cries for literally 20 minutes until i’ve had enough and rip out the fake sliver.  Problem solved.  We had a rare, somewhat peaceful moment by the water until the little one started throwing rocks.  The Fat One had to join in and the loud one and Drama Queen had to up the ante with larger rocks of course.  I put a stop to that shit right quick.  We got them to eat lunch virtually incident free.  Fat One was looking tired so i told him to go to sleep.  Guess what that surprising little fuck did?  HE WENT TO FUCKING SLEEP!  Are you shitting me?  That never fucking happens!  He went to his room, climbed into bed, got under the covers and WENT.  THE FUCK.  TO SLEEP.


Nap time also took hold of the drama queen, little one, loud one, the baby, grandma and my sibling.  Grandpa and i sat on the muskoka chairs outside, had beers and pretended the wind wasnt freezing the fuck out of us.  You’d swear these fucks were roofied or something because they slept for fucking ever!  This was the first time i actually felt like i was on vacation.  Drama Queen woke first.  Then Fat One.   Grandpa went into town for beers and charcoal.  The rest woke up shortly thereafter and somehow i wound up on slide patrol lifting Fat One from the ground to the top of the slide and making sure Loud One stays off the end of the fucking slide.  Also because the goddamn wind didn’t die down until fuck O’clock i got dicked out of fishing yet again.


Getting close to dinner time now.  I’m still trying to keep the hoarde in check but they are deadset on climbing the sandy hill behind the cottages.  I climb my fat ass up there to see whats so interesting and the fucking monkeys are jumping off a rock and landing sideways on a rocky hill.  Brilliant kids.  I ask whose idea this was and not surprisingly it was Little One.  The most accident prone of the batch.  After indulging them for a few minutes i banished them back to the front of the cottages.  Arguing ensued but i quickly put Drama Queen and Little One in place.  More playing out front and slide patrol once again for me.  Grandma and Grandpa and the Sibling were in the cottage getting ready for dinner and watching the baby.  I propsed a movie to the kids.  Rejected outright.  Undeterred, I gave the 5 minute warning.  The countdown went smoothly until the 2 minute warning.  Little One was sitting on the end of the slide and Fat One decided to slide down anyway and drop kicked him to the ground.  It was funny as shit.  But being anadult i had to make sure Little One was ok.  I reprimanded Fat One and he cried.  A lot.  So i cut off the countdown and put all of the in front of the TV and made them watch a movie.  Dinner is hot dogs, chicken burgers and macaroni salad.  Classic cottage food.  After dinner its time to sort lures other odds n ends my dad bought on kijiji.  Then its likely time for bed.  The alcohol consumption is really wreaking havoc with my ability to stay up late.

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Posted by on July 7, 2012 in Family Trauma


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Day 2: The Early Bird can Suck a Bag of Dicks

5:42am.  Fucking kid.  I awoke to my shithead 2 year-old yelling for the puppy.  Then for Grandpa.  Than for Grandma.  I was able to lure him back into his bed by sacrificing my phone to his fat, sticky fingers.  Thankfully he fell back asleep after what felt like an eternity.  I drifted back to sleep myself but that didn’t last long.  This time I was awoken this time by the horrible smelling, yet loving kisses of my parents fat, dopey dog Dakota.  This big goofy chocolate lab showed more excitement at my arrival than my own stupid son.  Its now 8:00 in the morning.  I’ve been up pretty much since 5:45 because my shithead son can’t be in the same house as a dog without knowing exactly where it is at all times so I’m cranky right off the bat.  Not a good start.

Mother Nature is still being a twat-stain and its cold as fuck.  The stupid kids want to go outside because they are fucking idiots.  Just sit down and do what I tell you.  Is that so fucking difficult?  Breakfast was a clusterfuck.  5 kids under 6.  Fucking ridiculous.  Yelling and banging and practicing non-violent opposition.  Fucking christ.  All of you shut the fuck up and eat your goddamn pancakes.

We finished breakfast with no issues.  Got dressed in my room with no door.  That’s fucking awesome.  Anytime they want, one of those little shits can wander the fuck in here and mess with my shit.  Taking those little fucks outside for some fresh air.  The retards are trying to throw horseshoes but their puny fucking arms can barely swing them.  Its like the Special fucking Olympics.  45 minutes of watching these little mongoloids throw ‘shoes.  Grampa says we’re heading to town in a few minutes.  I manage to wrangle the 3 that were outside back into the cottage.  Someone starts a movie to distract them while we get ready and the kids get totally mesmerized.  So of course the other adults take this as a chance to nap themselves.  Lazy plugs.  Since everyone else was sleeping I figured what the fuck ever and took a nap as well because when in Rome, sleep every fucking chance you get because kids suck the goddamn life out of you.  Fucking parasites.

So finally we all roll our sluggy asses out of bed/off the couch and corral everybody into vehicles and made the ‘short’ 1 hour trek into the “city”.  Perth is a miserable little crap dump of a speck of a town.  We bought some groceries, and diapers for my fat, incontinent son.  A quick stop at Tim Hortons for some liquid crack and we were on our way back to the cottage.  Oh btw, it fucking rained on the drive back.  Mother Fucking Nature.

Now for the highlight of the day and so far, the highlight of the fucking trip.  Dinner.  Steak, chicken, potato skins, corn, roasted garlic on melba toast squares.  Fucking delicious!  After stuffing myself full of food , the hoarde of parasites went for ice cream.  Of course the drama queen tripped and spilled her ice cream and had a shit fit.  Guess what, psycho?  Watch where the fuck you’re walking like I’ve told you 10,000 times and this wouldn’t happen!  2 fat kids from next door ran past the window just now and Dakota lost her fucking mind.  It was like she saw dinner slowly rumble by.  Fat kids are funny to watch run.

After pretending that shooting 50 airballs in a row at a basketball net that’s 2 feet above you is a good show, we re-convened inside to wind down.  Movie for the mongoloids.  Beers and wine for the adults.  Getting ready for bed.  Probably going to be an early night tonight.  First boat ride with the hoarde tomorrow morning.  Wish me fucking luck.

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Posted by on July 6, 2012 in Family Trauma


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Day 1: The Journey North

Day 1: The Journey North

So I started out later than I had originally intended. Already strike 1. Strike 2 was motherfucking nature deciding this was the best day to shit out a fucking monsoon all over my drive. Seriously? Mothernature you are a twat. A twatty cunt rag. Despite the abysmal driving conditions I was making decent time, and really, that’s the important thing. WAS being the keyword because as I neared the asshole of a city known as Toronto, traffic decided it had enough of travelling at high speed and decided to take a goddamn nap on the QEW.  Hey Traffic, Fuck you!

About an hour and a half later I finally broke free of the bondage of traffic and foolishly thought to myself  “Smooth sailing from now on!”. Yeah fucking right.  Mother Nature, the cunty old hag, decided to double her rain output for the next 2 mother effing hours!  Undeterred by the biblical rainstorm all around me I decided to power through and maintain my speed of 110 Kmh.  Apparently I was the only one with this idea.  Crawling through a shitstorm of rain and wind at 70 is not my idea of a fun fucking drive. To add to my frustration, at this point all the decent radio stations became irritatingly staticy, leaving me with a choice between Roc Voisine or Norah Jones for the remainder of my voyage. I like both of these artists but only in small, intermittent doses.

Eventually the rain cleared in time for darkness to descend like an all consuming abyss. This isn’t city darkness. We’re talking a black, empty, tar-like darkness that sticks to the landscape. Having only vague directions and being a notorious self-doubter, I became panic stricken thinking for sure I had missed my turn off. And not just once. With each successful direction followed I was sure I fucked up the next one. Nerves shot, driving in unfamiliar and poorly marked land, I see lights flashing in the distance behind me. Instantly I thought “Well fuck. I must have blown by a cop.” So I slowed down and pulled over waiting for the redneck officer to give me a ticket for speeding in an unmarked road, being driven by ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOBODY! So there I sat with my head on the wheel, awaiting Officer Krupke. As the lights approached I looked up and reached across for my ID only to have a goddamn ambulance drive past me. Instead of relief that I wasn’t getting a ticket I hurled silent obscenities at the amblinace for not making it obvious that it wasn’t a cop because of course it was being vague about its identity to fuck with me. About an hour later I turned onto a gravel road and saw the first only highlight of the drive. My dad, parked at a fork in the road, waiting to guide me the last little bit to the lodge. Thank the fucking lord!

We arrived at the cottage and unloaded my gear. I was struck again by how absolutely black the night was. Literally I could not see 1 foot in front of my. Praise Allah for cellphone flashlight apps. At this point old shit tits mother nature thoguht “Oh good. He made it. Let me shower you with ice cold fuck tons of rain!”. Now safely sheltered inside the cottage we had some night beers and I regailed the masses with tales of my harrowing trek north. Around midnight we decided to call it a night. I settled into the creaky, pointy springed bed only to wake 3 hours later with an uncontrolable need to piss. In my under and flip flops I trudged to the outhouse and did my business in the dark. Before returning to the cottage I walked down to the water and ventured out on one of the docks. I looked up at the sky and was confronted with millions of stars up above. Far more than I remember seeing here when I was young. For the first time since I started out on Sunday afternoon I felt very peaceful. I went back to bed and slipped right back into a deep sleep for what i was sure was going to be a good long time.  Fucking dreamer.

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Posted by on July 6, 2012 in Family Trauma


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Lets Start at the Beginning. A very good place to start.

I recently went on vacation with my kids, my parents and my sister and her 3 kids.   The next few entries are a recounting of the 4 days we spent at Brule View Lodge in/near Plevna, Ontario.  Kind of a stupid thing to start blogging about, right?  Who the fuck cares about my lame family vacation?  Well fuck you.  My wife cares because she couldn’t make the trip with us.  5 hours in a vehicle with me and our 2 shit demon kids is enough to give me heart palpitations too.  So this is for her.  Not for you.  Dick.

I’ll probably be posting the entries one per day for all 4 days.  But I am a super lazy plug so we’ll see.  I might end up doing it once per week and making this shit last for 4 weeks.  Wouldn’t you like that?  Well again, fuck you.  Its still not about you.

And in case you missed it in the first few 2 paragraphs above, I like to swear.  I think its funny.  I don’t care what you think.  Also, if you are a family member of mine that happens to read this and are insulted or offended, I’m sorry.  Its supposed to be funny so keep that in mind before you get pissed off at me.  ITS ALL IN GOOD FUN.  Besides I’m pretty sure I insult myself/my own kids more than anything.

Also to stop any confusion before it starts, this vacation happened like 2 weeks ago.  I’m back home and still recovering from the last day of that trip.  I still can’t lift my arms over my head without pain.  Anyway enough attempted rambling to make this initial blog post seem substantial.  Sweet dreams you filthy animals.

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Posted by on July 5, 2012 in Family Trauma


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