my first trip out of the country... an hour by hour, play by play analysis of the fantasmical adventures of the gran massa and the superjanel...
day one: hour one
we took a six hour delay, coded to cough syrup and ord. don't eat at blimpies. it's not good car food. the cows are big but they're not buffalo. my bank sucks and i don't know juanita and eduardo - they're not my children.
day one: hour two
second stop at the kickapoo kwik stop. in the bathroom, the tampon machine is chained and padlocked to the wall. no joke. i heard a grown man say the word n****r in a public place (and we're only in wisconsin!) and my atm card FINALLY works! i've decided what i'm getting the gran massa for his birthday - i'm going to take out a billboard that will advertise the following: BRENT - AVAILABLE - SINGLE, GAY & LOOKING - 555.555.5555. he's not pleased with this idea. (but yet he said i could advertise his phone number... what's up with that?)
day one: hour three
in the grand state of wisconsin, there is a city named cataract. it's not just an eye disease. also in wisconsin, all roads lead to madison. it's hell. all sorts signs pointing to madison, yet there are no signs IN madison. i still hate madison. we entered trempealeu-pepe-le-peeu county - pronounced "fuck that", according to the all-knowing gran massa of everything, who "is not a judge" (rewind) "is not a judge." lots of contruction. boo. it's brr here. i toungued a trucker and he liked it. there's a barn where you can buy any or all of the following: cheese, artwork, antiques, lattes and liquor and that's AWESOME.
day one: hour four
i really want a map; i can't access the one in brent's head. but i do know i want to stop at exit 52 and i want access to the money - we're going to the adult superstore, baby! okay. so i learned the hard way why i shouldn't keep my phone in my pocket - i just made a completely random phone call from the potty and left gran massa a 6 minute voice mail. you can hear me flushing. omg. maps! yay! and coloring books and crayons! double yay! except kari (who was wearing a bandaid on her nose from covering a nose piercing) tried to suck me into the conveyor belt - she scared me! gran massa wants to steal babies from random folk at walmart and keep them for a lil' while, just to see if people notice. i told him i think that's a little weird and that if that's really true, he should conspire with my mom. it's officially more brr now. and i cried over homeless people and brent said that they didn't need money they just needed razors. apparently that karma thing is starting tomorrow...
day one: hour five
not much to report here. lots of janis joplin, lots of therapy. i'm sending you a bill. or you can take it off my rent.
day one: hour six
word of the day: totagatic. it's similar to deltamatic and used to described totally ignorant and ganked up things in wisconsin. i'll give you an example: the city of madison is totagatic and i fucking hate it. in solon springs you can get liqoured up and buy sports equipment, i'm not sure if those two activities should be completed at the same time but i hope they have a first aid kit. we almost ran over a deer head. just the head. ew. and we might run out of petrol. that's AWESOME. gran massa is making me feel bad for not calling baxter - it's kind of late and he's been kinda sleepy and not very talkative lately. maybe i'll call. up here they have signs for reindeer in the road. i need to reformat my internal hard drive, i could be a god damn doctor. format drive j:? yes. so i made the call. and i talked to sheena, she still sounds hot. we're in superior, wisconsin. well, well - big head much? what the fuck are you so superior to, except maybe madison. have i mentioned how much i hate madison? my camera isn't working. and brent's is on crack, holy crizzap. there are billion cows here and milk costs a freakin' fortune. "live deeper, love bigger, leave wider..." it's gran massa's new slogan, and thank god it's dark, that's all i have to say.
day one: hour seven
baxter called, i adore that ringtone. :) plans have been made and my horoscope came true. how rockstar is that? time for granny's onion (ring) boobs and gran massa's friend pat rice, who makes kiddie car bombs for pre-adolescents and advises against actually ordering a car bomb while in ireland, apparently the outcome is different than that while in the states.
day one: hour eight
more granny's onion boobs and i played with the food. more pat rice. florida won the ncaa tourney and my bracket was officially fucked (but that's been going on for a while now). i was having flashbacks to the 2006 ncaa tourney and chocolate martinis and ord and ramp training... LOL. i heart joakim noah. we're exercising tomorrow but only for four minutes. granny's onion rings have my guts in dismay. and it's fucking cold.
day one: hour nine
it's dark. and it doesn't look much like east dubuque. minnesotans are racist bastards, much like wisconsinites (unless you're from madison, and then you're just dumb), they have a river called paleface and another one called whiteface. nice. brent's not tired but his ass is. i think we should find a bar. midnight: we are officially in bum fuck egypt. brent's phone has no service, mine has five bars. woot! the deer are friendly here. they wave their little hoofs and say "hi" while standing so close to the damn road they ought to be in the damn car.
day one: hour ten
vermillion motel, cook, mn. off to the cook muni, which is the local term for bar. brent's hot for the guy in the white shirt but he stands no chance because i'm the only one with tits for miles. (that and i'm not on meth.) six drinks and four shots for a grand total of 22$. rock on. and the bartender goes to knoxville every summer AND he's not a race fan. he makes a great drink called a southern hospitality (red bull, watermelon schnapps, and so co... you've got to try it) AND he knows what a sam hill's whore is! woot! we get invited to an afterparty. we're both quite buzzed, but it sounds like fun. we're there.
day one: hour eleven
afterparty at rachel's. she's a recovering meth addict and the way we find this out is by watching her play her tivo-ed news reports for us, as well as her "don't do meth" commercials where she looks like a cracked-out meth head. she's interesting. she has vodka somewhere in the house but i can't find it. mikey and white shirt boy are entertaining but the gran massa is ready to go after one cheap beer. so much for the afterparty. it's time to go back to the motel. we should have walked.
day one: hour twelve
(at this point, i have no idea what hour it really is.) motel. bed. sleep sounds good. brent can't remember the name of the guy in the white shirt and thus has started referring to him as "fuck me hard." i've made a mental note not to touch the gran massa's bedding in the a.m. while getting up to turn off the light in the room, i went to get into bed and missed it entirely, landing on the floor after bouncing off the corner. this makes me laugh for a long, long time. gnite...
day two: hour 19
daylight. awake. phone ringing. we're in a room paneled from floor to ceiling in knotty pine, not naughty as in bad, but knotty. however the idea of naughty, naughty pine makes us giggle. then we're sort of weirded out when we realize that we have the same toothbrush. how bizarro is that? in minnesota, they have spiders that don't die, even if you flush them down the drain with scalding hot water for a long, long time. they just crawl back up. we've been given a coupon for a free breakfast, consisting of coffee, milk or soda BUT NO JUICE, under any circumstances, no matter what, ever, even if i'm dying and the only cure is juice. suffer, bitch. no juice for you.
day two: hour 20
mcdonald's in cook is hiring. but they only want happy people. so neither of us can apply. our breakfast order consisted of the following: two sausage biscuits (mine), one steak and egg bagel (his), three milks (two white and one chocolate - all mine) and one bottle of water (his). do you think i ate a lot? take into consideration that the gran massa ate 1.5 creme filled chocolate covered long johns and can of soda ten minutes prior. i look like i'm on a damn diet. plus i needed some grease to soak up the beer. i'm not good at beer. i'm driving and we're not mad, we're just in the city of cusson and we have nothing much to write aboot.
day two: hour 21
we're in coochie county and i kissed a giant ass fish. brent has vowed to flirt with the customs agent in the hopes to get a body cavity search because he's not getting much lovin' these days. in hind sight, this may have been a poor decision. a revelation has occurred in the 01 gold alero: we're not as smart as we thought we were and i quickly prove this when i once again run my head into the ceiling of the car. this is like the third time i've done this over the course of the trip so far and i may be mildly concussed. it all started when i decided i wanted to take snow to home to send to baxter. international falls. is this how we get to canada? i have to give the lady 6$ before she'll answer me, which i think is a rip off but they call it a toll bridge.
day two: hour 22
this hour is spent in the canadian customs office. we already cleared customs, but we voluntarily went in because i wanted a stamp in my virgin passport. so we voluntarily hand over our documents to a very angry looking and unpolite canandian gun toting fuckhead customs officer, who takes his time thumbing through the gran massa's last two years of travel history. again, we answer their questions and watch as he takes the passports to someone else for stamps. we have to answer questions again. and then we're ordered to sit. forever. then brent gets called back into an office where's he's chained to a desk and flogged by a large man in leather pants... no, not really. they ran a background check on him and found his owi, which apparently is a big deal in canada. big deal enough they don't allow owi offenders to enter. or leave. i guess they could have kept him if he'd committed the crime there. but since he has one, they (politely, i'm sure) asked him if he'd like to voluntarily leave the country. as the other option was deportation, he opted for the former and was promptly issued a neat-o piece of paper that said "brent garbett is not allowed in canada. ever. again. ya you betcha. love, canada. now get the hell out." or something to that effect. but i did get my passport stamp. next stop, us border patrol.
they're way nicer. they laughed about him getting rejected by canada and said it's like being rejected by an ugly boyfriend you never really liked in the fist place... at this point, we are officially no longer friends with canada and i say fuck that bacon. this concludes the janel's journey onto foreign soil, except the fun keeps going...
day two: hour 23
back down the road and we're officially cusson (the city, that is) at canada. gran massa doesn't want to talk about it but my point of view is that it could have been worse, like he could have been rejected by canada and the us and then he would have to live on that bridge in one of the blue buildings that he claims is prolly full of isrealis. i have to give the canadians credit; must keep the pakistanis in a separate building because it's pretty quiet up there, the little that i saw of it. it's snowing like a mother. i'm still driving for fear of being followed by the canadian mounted police. really good burgers; my tummy is in dismay. again. in the car on the way to buy magnets i watched him kick his own ass with the passenger seat of his car. classic brent. you should have been there. if his jaw's all swollen tomorrow, it wasn't a bar fight, it was his own damn fault.
day two: hour 24
brent is thowing a hissy fit. i'm not sure why. we've figured out a way to make money in minnesota: we're going to buy a plow and attach it to the front of the alero and drive really fast down the road and i'm going to roll down the window and throw sand because these assholes don't know how to plow. grr. and that's not grand rapids. roads in town = okay. roads out of town = okay so far. gran massa is not making scared faces or noises. 1514: goodbye cook.
day two: hour 25
gran massa has discovered a new way to blow... his nose that is. sort of like a farmer's blow but with a twizzler. use your imagination. it happened too quickly for me to get a picture. in minnesota they worship heavy equipment. they just don't use it because the road sucks. still. i was angry and sort of snapped because the gran massa is quite melancholy. brent discovered the way to make a woman happy, even though that's sort of useless knowledge for him. it involves not making the wife angry in the bedroom and popcorn shrimp from long john silvers everywhere, if you know what i mean, dude.
day two: hour 26
i'm in a tizzy over the cubbies being sold and mark cuban as a prospective buyer. we recapped the last 26 hours and cracked ourselves up because that's how we roll. drove through the raging metropolis that is twig, mn... twigs are not just small sticks, apparently. but there are no berries in sight. it's really snowing now and i've decided that i want to dictate things for the gran massa to write down; he takes that to mean that i want a dick-ta phone - he apparently thinks i want a penis shaped phone, even though i don't like penises anywhere near my ears. i defined the meteorlogical term of blizzard in the hopes of getting brent to understand that not all snow equals a blizzard and i got him to admit that we are not driving in a blizzard.
day two: hour 27
in duluth they know how to plow. we followed three plows in a synchronized swimming routine for several miles. it was great. brent was all zinged out, thinking he was hearing shakira and as it turned out, she was along for the ride (on his old cell phone which shouldn't have been working. how bizaare). as an apology for being snarky, i bought him a present from a high-class machine in the bathroom as we left duluth. neither of us knew what it was and i was a little afraid to find out. turns out it was a genuine imitation spanish fly. funny stuff. i twizzler slapped that bitch for screaming like a little girl as we went down a cliff. we couldn't find the four minute gym. or the pleasure palace. :( no super work outs, no new toys.
day two: hour 28
captain's log (neener, neener, neener): we've got scared faces and noises. the roads suck. it's our luck to travel to canada and through minnesota on the only day this year they've had snow. we ROCK.
day two: hour 29
it's sleeting, which is rock star cool. my mom called to remind me how dumb this entire idea was. cars in the ditch... and another one. i accused the gran massa of being dramatic. he emphatically and dramatically denied such allegations and wondered why on earth i would ever say such things, as he threw both hands in the air and made that super melodramatic face like no one loves him and someone just ran over his dog. exactly.
day two: hour 30
i've heard the same two songs for two days straight now and if i ever hear natasha bedfuckingfield again i'm going to start kicking babies. meanwhile, the superfly gran massa just continues to shake his ass to the same two songs. how is that possible? i'd ask this outloud, but the answer is probably long and dramatic. mother nature is a jerk. the gran massa is driving and everytime we get passed by anything - a semi, a car, a goddamn horse and buggy - his knuckles go white and he starts whimpering. south of spooner (not spooning, get your mind out of the gutter!) the snow stopped. thank god. the wisconsin deer are not as polite as the minnesota deer, but they're prolly from madison where everyone is an asshole. i accused brent of being argumentative; his response? "NO I'M NOT!" i love it.
day two: hour 31
is that a beat? i think i hear a beat...
day two: hour 32
i've officially been ordered out of the car, and i'm not talking fast food style. nope, i was ordered out of the car in a stop, drop and roll, bitch, fashion and even got called kunt with a "k". RUDE. brent's macking on some dude from tol whom he wants to carry his baby via text message, it's the new and improved version of safe sex.
and you're now officially up to date. everything written from this point forward is written as it happens...
2039: i'm wondering if i should call baxter. we're pondering the sanity of this trip. it cost a little more than we expected and the results were not as splendiferous as they should have been. he almost got deported and i only got two magnets. however, we did meet a bunch of really nice meth heads in a cute little town, i got to swear at madison-ites which is my new favorite hobby and neither of us have showered yet today, which if you consider it, are the makings of a great vacation.
brent's top five highlights of trip to canada:
- seeing pat rice
- being back up north
- the cook muni
- hearing janel fall out of the bed (tha-thump, tha-thump)
- being allowed back into the usa
janel's top five highlights of trip to canada:
- falling off the bed in the middle of the night
- phone call from baxter
- i'm not a passport virgin!
- hearing the us border patrol make fun of brent about getting the body cavity search
- cook muni and the afterparty
janel's top five lowlights of trip to canada:
- inconsistent cell phone service and brent's damn beep-beeping cell phone
- my fucking bank sucks
- getting to canada and seeing only the inside of the customs office
- knowing that getting to see only the inside of the customs office is technically my fault :(
- i don't have that accent!
brent's top five lowlights of trip to canada:
- lots and lots of white (snow). he doesn't think white is the new pink.
- gas prices.
- blimpies. not a good way to start a trip.
- us border patrol making fun of him possibly being anally probed.
- gas from granny's onion boobs.
2103: brent just made the most annoying sound in the world because he has five cell phone bars and i only have two. he just broke up with his text message baby carrying internet boyfriend, but the make up text sex will be great, if toledo timmy ever writes back.
2205: i talked to baxter. so sweet, i know he’s tired and has to get up early but he had time for my crazy ass “my roommate got rejected by nine million canadians” story. he asked why i didn't call him when i was drunk. oh honey. you think you know me, but you have no idea. a drunk superjanel with a phone in her hand is a dangerous, dangerous thing.
brent’s driving all over the road like a crazy ass crack whore, i don’t really know what that means but it can’t be good. we’re in leon, and i’m not talking france, there’s a town in wisconsin called leon. and they have a muni. i’m going to start saying muni instead of bar, it’s kind of cute.
2208: the gran massa didn’t break up with his baby daddy from tol. they’re just on a break because baby daddy was up past his curfew and had to go to bed and brent’s cell phone has no service. woot! but I do! woot!
2214: we’re still not home yet, i don’t think we’ll ever get home.
this is especially true because i got us lost on the detour. we ended up 15 miles north of the road we needed to be on, and while it was curvy and fun, i had to pee and he was pissy that we were lost. but now we're home. no fish have died and the cats are okay. all is well in the house of vehemence.
next week... MEXICO!
photos to come tomorrow. :)
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