My boobs tried to kill me


IMG_6840It’s 5:29am. I have to be awake at 6:10am to get ready to leave the house at 7:15am to coach volleyball at 8:30am. I woke up just past 5am and I should have gone right back to sleep. I should be getting another hour of sleep right now. Except I’m not and it’s because my boobs tried to kill me.

I’ll type that again for you in case you think you’re reading wrong: MY BOOBS TRIED TO KILL ME.

Initially I though this would be a cheeky Facebook status, but then I realized it needed some explaining. I also haven’t blogged in a week so this will be my weekly post. It works out, yo.

326170272_d186dfdea5_bI usually don’t have any issues falling asleep and will usually fall asleep on my tummy or side and sleep for a solid 4 hours. Except last night was a really stressful drive home for me because I had two teenagers in the car with me for the hour long drive and, thanks to the rain, the entire highway was Hydroplane City. I spent the entire drive home gripping the wheel and tediously steering the car around long stretches of puddles because I was terrified of crashing with the girls in the car with me. Normally, driving in the rain is no big deal to me. I like to drive. I like the rain. Put the two together with a good playlist and you’ve got yourself a good time. I’m a confident enough driver, and a good enough driver that I can handle hydroplaning and a drive home at night in the rain shouldn’t be a big deal. Unless there are two teenage girls in the car with me who I’m terrified for if something unexpectedly bad should happen. Sure, these girls are also my younger cousins and their mum totally knows that I’m slightly insane at this point, but she seems to trust me with her children. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Except it was. So I spent the entire drive home, gripping the wheel and doing my best to drive around the massive puddles that had formed on the highway. I didn’t want to have to do a Carrie Underwood and let Jesus take the wheel.

Anyway. I got home and I was really wound up from this stressful, but successful, drive home. I was really agitated and amped up from the drive and ended up tossing and turning and making Instagram posts until 1am. I eventually passed out while laying on my back while reading Alice in Wonderland.

Skip to 4 hours later and it’s just past 5am and I’m dreaming that a giant assed bird has put me in her nest and is sitting on me and her feathers are smothering. In my dream I am slowly being suffocated to death by this birds ass feathers. I start to panic because I actually am having a hard time breathing. I can’t breathe. Why am I struggling to breathe? I need to get this dumb birds butt away from me because her feathers are covering my nose and…

My eyes snap open. I’m awake. I’m still struggling to breathe.


I’m about to panic and scream for my mom.

Then I fully awake up and realize that in my sleep I have shifted around in my sleep so that I’m on my back and my tits are in my face. My eyes focus and the light from the hallway lets me see…well, my boobs. All I can see are my chesticles and somehow they have moved to partially cover my nose and mouth. My tatas had basically moved so that my nose and mouth were mostly buried in their fleshy depths.

I’m not even sure how this is a thing. Yes, my boobs are big and I make jokes about how if I run with no sports bra on I can potentially knock myself out, but I never thought my boobs were big enough that if I slept in just right right position that I could potentially smother myself. So yeah, my boobs can totally kill me if they try hard enough.

But that also means I can totally motorboat myself if I really want to.


Driving Miss Lisa Marie – Also, pooping together


My last week in Wales found Haylee, Lisa, and I getting ready to go our separate ways. Lisa was returning home to the states, I was heading back to BC, and Haylee was going off on more adventures around the UK. I can’t believe that my time with these girls in the UK came to such a quick end. Even though it feels like we squished several lifetimes into our short time together, it still feels like yesterday that I was yelling Haylee’s name in the airport when she came to help pick me and the other international students up.

The weekend after we got our tattoo’s I found myself in my dorm room as I began to pack up all of my stuff and started to realize that there was no way I was going to be able to take everything home. I spent most of my time in the UK being very careful not to accumulate too much stuff and I apparently failed at that task. I don’t know where it all came from, but I somehow had nearly twice as much stuff as when I arrived. Apparently I’m a very stealthy hoarder.

Turd, The Turdettes, Pumba and Scouse!

Turd, The Turdettes, Pumba and Scouse!

That weekend was also my last weekend with my weird little family.

On Monday, Pumba and I went into Carmarthen to pick up a rental car so Haylee, Josh, Pumba and I could take Lisa to the airport. Unfortunately we were not able to get an automatic like we had planned and we wound up renting a standard shift car. Or a manual, as they’re called in the UK. I prefer just calling it a stick shift car. Double unfortunately, I can drive a stick, but I’m not the best at it. Just think about it a minute…

I was on the opposite side of the car.

I was on the opposite side of the road.

I was shifting with my opposite hand.

And my mom has been known to yell at me “AT LEAST TRY AND LOOK LIKE YOU’RE PAYING ATTENTION!” while I’m driving.

My brief stint driving in the UK did not go well and I’m really proud of Pumba for not yelling at me or shitting himself.

So instead of driving Lisa to the airport in a car with the five of us squished in there, Pete drove us all in a minibus! This was very circular because the first time that Pete drove us anywhere was in a minibus to our first basketball game of the year. I was thankful that Pete was driving us to London. He’s more familiar with the roads and road rules of the UK. He’s also probably an all-around better driver than me.

Not that I’m a bad driver! I just don’t drive a lot so I’m not as easy behind the wheel as someone who drives all the time.

The boys hanging out in the airport.

The boys hanging out in the airport.

That night we packed up the minibus with all of Lisa’s stuff. Then we all climbed into the bus too. In order to get Lisa to the airport on time we had to drive through the night. We didn’t arrive at the airport until 5am. I was able to nap off on on through the night and felt bad because I think I drooled on Pumba because I was using him as a very nice smelling pillow. Then we all sat around and rested until we had to put Lisa through at security so she could board her plane.

Josh decided to take inappropriate selfies while Lisa and Haylee got ready to say "see you later".

Josh decided to take inappropriate selfies while Lisa and Haylee got ready to say “see you later”.

As she walked through security I felt heartbroken because she was leaving. I’d grown so used to having her in my life and around me all the time that I genuinely had no clue what the hell I was going to do without her. Despite the fact that I was sad to see her leave, I was also incredibly thankful that I met this amazing, silly, slightly insane, loyal and loving gremlin. Lisa and I went on an incredible journey together. We came to Wales as two nervous poopers who had never met before and who couldn’t shit in public if our lives counted on it. Then, with A LOT of Haylee’s help, we gradually got more comfortable pooping with other people in the next room. From there we actually started to become more comfortable pooping in public. Lisa and I had tons of fun together from our first movie night together, to trying to slide down a muddy hill on our tummies, to her coming home early during Easter break as a surprise, to our weird little cuddle sessions where I let her be the big spoon. However, nothing sums up our friendship better than the fact that we can now take a shit in public if we really need to. We learned that together. Lisa and I are Turdettes for a reason.

In the ever wise words of Butters, “Well yeah, and I’m sad, but at the same time I’m really happy that something could make me feel that sad. It’s like, it makes me feel alive, you know? It makes me feel human. And the only way I could feel this sad now is if I felt somethin’ really good before. So I have to take the bad with the good, so I guess what I’m feelin’ is like a, beautiful sadness. I guess that sounds stupid.”


Weirdo crawling through windows again…

Oh, and by Haylee’s help, I mean her encouragement. We didn’t do anything weird. She was just really understanding about the two of us being nervous poopers and did her best to be a good friend and support us…Ok, there is absolutely no way that I can make this sound less weird. Haylee was encouraging and respectful of our boundaries, but she made both Lisa and I feel comfortable enough to poop when we needed to. I genuinely wish I could write this without it sounding weird, but whatever. I can poop in public now, so I’m happy. Thank you, Haylee-Ann and Lisa Marie.

After Lisa walked through security we all loaded back on the minibus and started the long drive home. It was a long assed day and I am incredibly thankful to Pete for getting us home safely. Now I am literally counting the days until I can see Lisa again.

Driving Mom Crazy


“Hurry up and lets go!” my mom hollered at me as I ran into my bedroom to grab my glasses.

“I’m driving!” I hollered back as I shoved my glasses onto my nose, grabbed my cell phone up off my bed and briefly debated grabbing my iPod.

“Driving me fricking crazy!” mom shouted back at me as I dug through the suitcase of clothes I’ve been living out of since moving home in an effort to find a sweater.

It’s a common conversation my mom and I have had since I turned 16 and got my learners permit to drive. When I was younger I would have insisted on being allowed to drive to and from Kamloops on our trip to the movies, but last night? Nah. Normally I let my mom do all of the driving these days. Now that I’m older, have my Class 5 license and can drive without supervision and can have more than one passenger, I don’t care so much about driving. Don’t get me wrong, I love to drive, but being in the passenger seat is so much better for my relationship with my mom that I’m willing to chill out and sleep whenever we go anywhere. You’re welcome, mom.

You see, when I was a teen, it was a battle to get my parents to let me drive. An uphill battle that I mostly lost. While other kids my age were allowed to drive through our small town, my mom would drive out of town and then let me drive a whole 40km/h down our old dirt road home. It took me forever to get mom to let me drive on the highway and I never actually drove in the city with her until well after I got my New Driver driver’s license and had driven in the city a whole bunch on my own. My mom was really strict on when I got to drive, where I was allowed to drive and then she was really tense the entire time I was driving as though I was going to deliberately drive us into the ditch at any moment. I only ever driven three times with my dad: The first time was the day I got my Learners permit and he let me drive home…at a whole 30km/h the whole way! He claims I almost took the passenger rear view mirror off when I drove off a cattle guard, but I was driving so slow that hitting the mirrors off of anything would have brought us to a complete stop. The second time was after I’d bought my first car, a silver Saturn-SC1, and I got to drive my car for about 10 minuets before he made me pull over so he could drive and “see what the car could really do”. The third time was on an empty highway where I got stuck driving behind a truck doing 20km under the speed limit and he wouldn’t let me pass it.

I never understood why my parents were so spastastic when it came to me driving, but now looking back on those days I realize why. It was because a) I was fucking stupid, b) I was fucking crazy and c) I was fucking irresponsible. Stupid, crazy and irresponsible are not good combinations for any situation unless you’re in some sort of Olympics for morons. It’s also not reassuring when you let your 17 year old kid drive and she gets into the drivers seat and immediately begins to giggle in glee. I get that now.

But now that I’m older, I’m much more responsible, less stupid and I might be a little more crazy, but being a responsible human being evens the crazy out. I also know how to talk to my mom to help ease her fears about my driving. Like last night! Last night I had a good conversation about my driving with my mom over something she yelled at me last summer (the last time that I drove with her).

“Could you at least pretend like you are pay attention?!”

Yeah, my mom yelled that at me while I was driving home late one night from the movies. She was too tired to drive, but not too tired to yell at me about my driving.

Last night I calmly told my mom about a conversation dad and I had about my driving with mom when he asked me if mom ever lets me drive. He laughed when I told him what she had yelled at me one time and we left the conversation alone after that in favor of us debating whether we wanted Booster Juice or Starbucks. Mom laughed when I reminded her of what she yelled that one time and she laughed again when I said that I look like I’m not paying attention because I have that “sharp, useless look about me”. I assured her that I really am paying attention, it just doesn’t look like it.

Especially when driving with mom because she makes me nervous.

So last night when I drove use home because she said I could, I did what I like to do when I drive. I plugged in my dads iPod nano that I’d loaded with music that I like, turned up the volume on the stereo, rolled down my window a bit because I’m that person who will always have the window down even when it’s the dead of winter and I tried to relax driving home. It worked to some small extent because my mom didn’t yell at me and because I didn’t drive like a complete turd canoe like I usually do when I’m with her.

It’s taken me a few years and a weird amount of maturity to realize why my parents hated my driving as a teen and into my early-twenties, but now that I’m all of 25 years old, I think I can start to build their trust in my driving skills when they’re in the vehicle with me. Or at least my moms, because dad still refuses to drive with me.