Save Us, Blair Witch!

You know what I’m not very good at? Coming up with topics to write about on this blog. And suggestions don’t help either because as soon as I hear one, I feel all this self-inflicted pressure. Bleh. Point is, I realize that I haven’t written on here in ages and while I wish I could say it’s because I’ve been so busy at my new job, that would be a bull-faced lie. And I’m not a liar. Unless I’m over-exaggerating a story to make it more interesting. Which really makes me not so much a liar but instead a fucking good story-teller! Which I’m not. Hmmm, a quandary. Anyhow, so yeah, work is not what has kept me away (as Adders once said, how do I get these jobs that require me to do absolutely nothing besides sit at my desk, pick lint off my clothing and refresh People.com fifty trillion times a day? And the answer is, I fucking don’t know but if I did, I would stop the source immediately because OH GOD THE BOREDOM). And while part of it has been the stress (Lordy, Lordy, the stress. But that’s okay because things are about to change. For the better. Starting Friday. Unless, of course, it’s horrific news and then things will change for the worse and I might throw myself into a fast-flowing river and Adders will have to jump in and save me and then we’ll be even more stressed out and OH GOD, HAPPY THOUGHTS! That’s what I need right now. Well, that and my period), it’s mostly because I have had no idea what to write about.

I mean, over the past few weeks, I would have loved nothing more than to post an entry filled with me whining and complaining about my current ongoing journey through hell but (a) you’re all sick to death of hearing about it, and (b) well, I said in my last posting that I would try and be grateful for the good stuff in my life, rather than constantly focusing on the shitty aspects. But that new leaf? I wasn’t so much able to turn it, but at least I’ve refrained from letting the world wide web know that.

So that left me with basically nothing to write about. Because as great as the story is of me being stalked by the Kwokman and Tamara Lee hoping and praying that I’d bear his Kwoklings (how the hell do you spell that?), that story is much better told in person where you can get an exact visual of the size of his head by watching me spread my arms as wide as they’ll go.

So yeah, I was left with nothing to write about. Until two things happened:
Brad Pitt had a baby girl and gave her the ugliest moniker in the history of the universe (and yes, Adders, it is a trillion times worse than Apple. It is too! It is! Shut up).
Adders and I went camping! The night after watching “The Blair Witch Project” for the first time! And I almost got eaten by a coyote! And the lake was the creepiest body of water I have ever spent time near! And there were horses! And drunken festivities! Oh, and a minor (okay, okay, make that MAJOR) meltdown on my part!

So as you can see there is FINALLY something worthy to be discussed other than me just saying, “I hate my life. I’m scared I’m pregnant. Have I mentioned that my mother has crumpled up my heart into tiny shreds of little heartness? I’m lonely. I’m heartsick. I hate long distance relationships. FEEL SORRY FOR ME!” At last there are stories to be told and baby names to be discussed (because if you want to know a not-so-secret Courtney-ism about me, it’s that I am and always have been obsessed with baby names. Not so much adult names because I will immediately forget yours if I just met you two seconds ago. But I am so curious about the process of how one picks out their child’s name. Not that I want to be doing that until a MAMMOTH amount of time from RIGHT NOW has passed).

So first things first: The Pitt-Jolie Spawn. Her name? Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt. First of all, I hate double last names. Yeah, it might be sexist, and yes, I understand that those first two kids were Jolie’s first so it made sense for them to have her last name, but people, for reals. Just get one last name and be done with it. I mean, I too would rather have the last name Jolie over Pitt (except being from Cranbrook, everyone would then assume that I’m related to the Jolie family that resides there and considering they are a white-trash, trailer-residing, McDonald’s stealing, 24 kids producing bunch of redneck weirdos, maybe I’d stick with Pitt afterall) but still. Sheesh.

But it’s not the last name that really irks me. Even the middle name Nouvel, while exceedingly pretentious considering that I doubt Brad nor Angelina speak any French, is somewhat okay. But Shiloh? Why? Why do they hate their baby? Shiloh is the name of a hotel. Cheap, ugly, Motel 8 style hotel chain to be exact. Furthermore, since when are Brad or Angelina Jewish (Shiloh apparently means “Peaceful One” in Hebrew). Blech. But most importantly, it’s just an ugly name. Period. Maybe I think that because I knew a Shilo back at that prison-camp (i.e. Pentecostal private school) I attended and she not only acted like Satan but looked like him as well, but still – DO NOT LIKE THAT NAME.

Grapefruit or Blueberry would have been better. ‘Nuff said.

Now for the camping trip. Oh, the camping trip – what fun and horror all at the same bloody time.

So here’s the deal: last Saturday, Addicus and I were desperate to get out of town and considering we had just bought a new tent (and by we, I clearly mean he paid for it and I complained about it’s lack of space and that it wasn’t pink in colour), we thought it would be fun to go use it at this little lake we had discovered near Koocanusa while out dirt biking a few weeks ago.

After stops at the grocery store (good decision) and liquor store (bad, BAD decision), we headed on our merry way. We were a mite concerned that it would rain but the sun was still shining and we are hardy East Kootenay folks – the wilderness is our element!

Our last stop was at the trailer at Koocanusa. Where Courty promptly loaded anything and everything we could possibly ever need on an overnight camping trip into the back of the truck. Aluminum boat: check. Motor: check. Folding chairs: check. Mammoth table: check. Kitchen sink: check, check and check.
Then what seemed like a trillion hours later we finally arrived at the camp spot and it was lovely. We chose the more secluded spot because (a) hello?! If you’ve ever been camping with Charkins and me you know that it’s all about concealment. If we could camp with an enormous invisibility cloak, that would be ideal. (b) It WAS prettier down there (the lake slowly forms a wide slow moving creek (where we camped) and then narrows into a faster moving river/creek. So it was nice because we could hear a little water fall and this made a terrific substitute for my much-needed white noise to help me sleep.

Problem was, as soon as we set up the tent, we noticed the most atrocious smelling scent in the air. I can’t even explain – it was disgusting. Somehow the creek had managed to produce this green slime/sledge that had built up on the opposite bank and OH GOD it was gross.

But the tent was already up, the vodka had already been broken into and besides, as Charkins well knows, one is willing to forego absolutely anything in order to not sacrifice precious seclusion. So we made do with the smelliness.

It was after we had settled in and unpacked that Adders began to comment on all the deer. And then commented some more. He kept commenting until I was ready to take the ax and club him over the head with it. I mean, yeah great, there are lots of deer splashing around in the water two feet from our tent, but wow?! Are you from Alberta? You’d think he doesn’t kill these animals on a regular basis, much less SEE them.

To distract Adders (“Look there’s another one! And another! Holy shit, I’ve now counted 24 deer! This is insane! And I’m never going to stop talking about it. Ever”), we decided to go fishing on the lake. Now, let me explain. The lake where we were camping? It’s called FISH LAKE. So obviously a person would assume that, like almost every other body of water that can be found in the Kootenays, it must contain fish. I mean, its name practically guarantees it.

Problem is, the “lake” didn’t ever get any deeper than calf-high and the only living specimen it contained was green slime and raunchy smells. No fish. Not one. Nothing. Of course, this didn’t stop Adders and me from making a few half-hearted casts with our rods, even though God only knows what disease we’d catch from actually eating anything that came out of the water.

While we were fishing, we noticed that the trappers cabin halfway around the lake seemed to be occupied. Which, fine. Glad we chose the more secluded spot. But it was then that the 23 dogs that the people brought out started barking. And never stopped. In fact, they may still be barking at this very moment.

Sigh. So we headed back to our camp spot, and while Adders did what boys do while camping (you know what I mean, they just meander. They never sit still. They’re tying something or fiddling with another thing or climbing here, there and everywhere), I cozied up to the fire with my Cosmo magazine (because I’m a Fun! Fearless! Female! Yea for me!). Just as I was reading about how to “Pleasure my man ALL over because who cares about your own sexual satisfaction, it’s all about him. It’s ALWAYS about him, thank you for liberating us so, Cosmo, suddenly I heard a crash! bang! boom! And suddenly a deer across the narrow stream from us SWAN-DIVED head first into the water, no word of a lie. While I sat there absolutely flabbergasted because hello? Am I interfering? Sorry, I didn’t know this is where white-tail deer practice for the Olympic Summer Games diving competition, I noticed that a coyote was right on its heels, but had stopped at the edge of the water. Well, no way in hell was that deer getting out of the water now, so it swam down the stream with the coyote following it by the shoreline. It was at this moment that I looked over at Adam, who’s eyes were as bug-eyed as I’m sure mine were, and bee-tailed it over to his protective arms. What?!!! Those arms would totally defend me from coyotes! Besides, Adders is a tough (sexy) (masculine) (rrrrrowwww) wilderness boy, even without his gun to help out!

Anyway, Addy then wonders why I am now FREAKED out and I start shrieking about the coyote, so now Add wants to go chase it and starts going down the shoreline himself. Meanwhile, the pursued deer has managed to swim to the shore and make his getaway, and the coyote, perhaps on catching the scent of us humans, has made himself scarce.

So wow. Near-fatal-coyote-attack, but whatever, let’s have another drink and then go get some firewood.

That’s when two horses show up beside our tent. Yes. You heard correctly. HORSES. Now I’m not so much scared of horses but when they just mysteriously appear and the one is a little TOO friendly, it freaked me out. But I was drunk so instead of acting scared, I just acted really drunk and laughed uncontrollably at the sight of the horses hanging around our campsite.

And then a dog appeared. And wanted its belly rubbed. And then a baby beaver swam its merry way beside us. And then every single deer in the entire province of British Columbia came out for Happy Hour at our campsite (Woohoo, everybody, the green slime sledge is on half price tonight! Who wants a pint?!). And then it started to rain.

Now by this point, Addy and I were already completely smashed and Phase I of Operation Miss Courty Must Have A Breakdown Because Our Weekend Wouldn’t Be Complete If THAT Didn’t Take Place had already occurred. Adders had lost at cards and I had eaten enough M&Ms to ensure that I’ve reached my chocolate quota clear to the end of the year.

So we decided to head to bed. And then it started to rain. And pour. And then Phase II got underway during which Addy silently prayed for the Blair Witch to show up and kill him, because that would be preferable to now calming down an increasingly hysterical Courty.

However, because he is Patience Exemplified, Adders was able to knock some sense into me and soon we passed out. And yet I woke up what felt like 15 minutes later to the scariest animal noises EVER. You could hear the “deer” splashing around in the water, stomping their feet and running through the woods. On top of it all, there was the constant drip of the rain on the tent and this one WILDLY ANNOYING crow who would have to give his two cents on everything throughout the entire night.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a wink. Adders? Well, if its loudness was any indication, his snoring was in competition with the downpour outside. And so, the next morning we got up, scarfed down some muffins and hurriedly made our way back to Crannie (we didn’t want to be late! Phase III was about to begin!).

But the ironic part is, that as much suckage as our little trip sounds like, it was actually a lot of fun. And so I was a bit disappointed when Addy said on our way back into town that he just wanted to stay home this weekend and take it easy. “Why? It was just too much work to go camping for one night?” I replied. His answer? “No, I’m just so sick of driving every weekend.”

And to this very day, the ghost of Adders now haunts the highways outside of Cranbrook, serving as an excellent reminder to guys everywhere to not say such stupid insensitive things to their girlfriends who drive EIGHT FUCKING HOURS EVERY WEEKEND TO SEE THEM! Ahem.

The End.

P.S. There are some truly great pictures (and even better videos) of the aforementioned camping trip but since I am posting this from work (see how hard I work? Do you see?), they are alas not here. Perhaps, if ya'll are lucky and I'm not knocked up, I will post them later...

P.P.S. You know, if anyone wants to send some non-pregnant thoughts my way, well, uhhh, I'd appreciate it. Full-scale panic mode is now in effect, which invariably means countless more suffering not just for me, but for you all too. Isn't that a sobering thought?