Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Vacation Day 1: Canada Firmly Plants It's Head In It's Ass.

Seriously people, they should not schedule flights for 6:30am. We were up at 3am to be at the airport two hours before our flight. I should add that The Bad One had been up at midnight, puking in her closet while standing on a toybox and shitting herself. According to her, she had no idea what she was doing and just woke up standing in her own effluence. Needless to say, we were not in good shape.

We leave for the airport and get there at about 4:15. Now, Transport Canada says that we have to be at the airport at least two hours prior to the flight because of new security measures. We'll get to that shit in a moment. So we're there when we should be but, the ticket agents are nowhere to be found. What. The. Fuck! So we wait around for a half hour and they finally show up. Then they fuck up both our and my parents boarding passes and luggage tags, run out of paper for the luggage tags (this is unforgiveable) and let two other families cut in line. Needless to say I am not in the best of moods so far. Neither is the five month old baby and she's letting us know.

Next we're on to security. Now, I love Canada. I think it's a great place to live and has the sexiest mooses in the world but sometimes we're complete fucking retards. In reaction to the Underpants Bomber and the US saying our security isn't good enough, we now have to take any layers of clothing off, (including belts and shoes) put them through the x-ray scanner then the metal detector and bag search. Oh, yeah, we're not allowed to take a carry-on bag because of the Skiddy-mark Bomber. But we can take a diaper bag and I can take my laptop. The logic of this fails me. No clothes, but you can take the electronic device that could be wired for anything, bravo. Then, we're off to a full-body pat down. EVERYBODY gets the full search, every fucking passanger. In their infinate wisdom, they only have one woman but three men performing these searches. Guess which line moves quicker? Oh, and they check our bags again because the x-ray didn't do a good enough job. Needless to say, I'm now terrified of what US Customs and the security is going to do to us if Canada is like this. Mercifully though, baby has cried herself to sleep. (she doesn't like the car seat if we're not moving).

Que the boarding of the plane. I step on and immidiately wonder how the hell I'm going to fit in these tiny-ass seats an this old ass jet. I'm lucky enough to be immediately adjascent to the lavatory so I figure I can make some money off this bitch. $3.59 a visit man, that's how I roll. Jacq attempts to wedge the baby carrier into the seat and with an extra 110 lbs of fury she is successful. Then...Everest starts screaming...and screaming...and screaming. It doesn't help that we're sitting on the tarmac for thirty minutes with no air (why can't the goddamn plane have air on during the loading period?) for no apparent reason? So, I'm frustrated and hot. My middle daughter is freaking out because she's kind of a wuss and doesn't know what to expect and, on top of it all, I'm the guy with the screaming baby! Cuntnuggets!

Finally we start rolling, the air comes on and we can all start to chill becuase we're finally getting under-way. Even baby went to sleep when we started taxiing.That is all except The Bad One who's kind of shitting herself. Not literally, but given the circumstances six hours ago, I was pretty worried. We take off and...WOW! look at the city at night! That's cool!  She did freak a bit when the landing-gear came up though. Like I said, old-ass jet. I also didn't make any money as the Potty Troll, motherfuckers were only carrying American money, and I don't speak Amurican.

After an uneventful flight, with little turbulance, we touch down in Minneapolis and sit for another twenty minutes while they figure out how to make the concourse drop down far enough to connect to our pissant little plane. The solution was literally a board that made a ramp and then we had to traverse a lovely incline to get to the terminal. Of course, we are docked at the gate that is as far from the entrance to the terminal as is possible. By this time, I have not had a cigarette in two and a half hours and have to take a very large leak. Nevermid the fact that, given what Canadian security did to us, I am dreading the rectal examination that the United States is about to give me. So we rush down to the terminal and find a bathroom. I see a woman come out of the left side so I go right. Let me tell you, there is no silence like that which greets you when you walk into the woman's restroom. Apparently, the female that was coming out from my left, realized her mistake before I did. Now, as we were the only plane at customs at the time, everybody got to witness my mistake. My answer: "Well, in Canada, women have penis' too." There were many laughs and I had clearly marked myself for US Customs.

We are waiting in a brilliantly speedy line for someone to go through our bags. He checks my declaration, looks at me sideways, may be convinced that the baby is hiding something, and waves us through. "Yes!" I think, "No search!" but there is still The Yellow Line! I approach the line cautiously, with great trepidation...this bitch looks mean. "Passports!" she bellows, so I dutifully pass all five to her. She asks who 'this one' is for, I pick up The Bad One. She changes papers and asks the same question again, I show her the baby. She askes a third time and I wonder why the kiosk is so high.

We get through without a hitch, grab our bags and head to security. 'The Man' tells us, "oversized luggage and pretty ladies over here," I ask what is considered oversized. We are directed to security and have to take off out shoes, jackets, and I have to take my computer out of its bag. I'm expecting a search beyond the portal so I clench tightly. Nothing. We all walk through the metal detector like we were made of moose-hide. I take my clothes out of the bin and ask the lovely miss if there is a place I can go and have a smoke? I'm told I have to go outside but that I can't go outside from here. "Fuck!" says I, "I'ma cut a bitch." She laughs. (Americans are so cordial in the security line. So as I'm puting my shoes and shit back on, one of the guards tells my wife that he's got to test her shoes. You all think that I'm the evil motherfucker in this family, but you have no idea. (I should mention that he rolled his eyes while saying that). He rubs some paper on them, puts the paper in the machine and grins sheepishly at my wife. "Here you go, they're fine." US Customs, Immigration and security; seven minutes. Canadian security; fourty-five minutes. Stupid Canadians.

We board our plane and again wait for another fourty-five minutes with no air conditioning while they manually start an engine due to some broken equipment (THE FUCK!?). Oh, and then a door won't close properly. The plane is full of kids so I don't feel like mine are going to be the problem. Indeed, baby falls asleep immediately and sleeps through almost the entire flight. There is nothing evenful about the flight other than a Jennifer Aniston movie playing. The attendant asks if we would like to purchase headphones, I laugh at her. I begin drinking and come to the conclusion that booze tastes better in little bottles. We land and wait around for our luggage. I text Trouble "The Mooseknuckle has landed" and she squees a bit. I wonder where my complimentary Manatee is. Florida has lied to me just to get me on his wang. We get to the house with only a small detour and unpack. Then we go to get something to eat which takes twice as long as it should as my father has no idea how far away the restaraunt is. Our waitress is named Mercedes, I giggle. Stereotypes are fucking awesome. We stop at the grocery store for food and booze as these are the two things we cannot live without. Upon retuning home we adjourn to the pool-side patio and get drunk. It's winter here but to us it's a nice summer evening. Plus, HUMIDITY! Glorious moisture! My skin hasn't been this smooth since last summer.

Stay tuned for further adventures of the Admin family as well as patented observations from myself which will undoubtably be offensive, un-PC and possibly start a war.

EDIT: I should add that the family count is still at seven. I have not killed my mother or father...yet.


  1. Suh-weet sweet vitriol! How have I missed thee, let me count the ways.

    My head is pounding after thinking of the work involved in getting a family to Florida.

    Good fuckin' thing I'ma broke.

    Happy to hear the mooseknuckle has landed safely. I sincerely hope the vacay is well worth it.


  2. What a glorious trip! Ha! I can't even imagine starting a trip with a screaming baby and one that may or may not have the ebola virus. You are one brave man.

    Hope the vacay gets much better!!


    No Anal Probes? Really? I find I'm slightly dissapointed...

  3. I'm waiting for the admin encounter with Trouble and Tracer.

  4. I am so very jealous. Customs shenanigans or no, I am very, very jealous.

  5. Oh, international travel, what a joy. Our flight from Dallas to LAX was pretty easy - save for my encounter with security, as someone with my name was on a no-fly list - but the security in LA, as we were boarding for New Zealand, was endless and infuriating.
    Oh, you get the manatee as you're leaving.

  6. Finally! Someone shares my pain. You are my brother oh father of three.