The Bra Guru

I have this weird habit of the same week a year, all of my clothes die.  I have no idea why, but I go from having a full closet to having two shirts, one pair of pants, one pair of underwear, and all of the wires in my bras snapping.

 

I blame the bra wires on Alex since he has this nasty habit of not keeping his hands to himself.  To be fair though, I think every man on the planet has this weird habit of grabbing their girlfriends or wives boobs every chance they get.

So after four days when all of my pants got holes in the thighs, the wires in all four of my bras snapped, the dogs ate all my underwear (it was weird, one week they all decided my underwear is delicious), and all of my shirts getting ripped or so worn that they’re see through, when they were never see through before, and all of my socks no longer having a match, I tell Alex I need to go bra shopping.

For anyone who has boobs, it’s very obvious how important it is to have a good bra.  They perk you up, they help your back, and they can give you some confidence.

Weirdly enough, Alex has a really weird talent.  He can find any bra.

He is the Bra Guru.

Let me start from the beginning.

I am a very strange size.  I’m a heavy girl and I have really small boobs in comparison to my body.  Fat girls never have a flat chest.  It just rarely happens, so a lot of the time I have to order bras, then send them back because they just don’t fit right.  Luckily, Lane Bryant usually has my size, but very few and far between.

A little over a year ago, my mom and I dragged Alex to LB and we searched for over 20 minutes to find me a bra and had no success.  We were about to give up and Alex, who had been sitting in the corner of the store watching from afar, offers his searching abilities.

Within five minutes he found eight different bras in my size.  Of course, they were the leopard print with tons of padding that would make me look like Pamela Anderson, because, you know, he’s a guy, but my mom and I realized at that moment that Alex has a gift.

He has the gift of finding the right fucking sized bra.

So last week we walk into LB, and the two women at the front counter thought it was strange that I said to Alex “DO YOUR MAGIC!” and he began to search all of the bras and underwear for the right bra.

These women were confused as hell, and I explained the situation.

“He’s the Bra Guru.  I wear a weird size and no matter what, he can find the size in every style.  It’s a weird gift.”

A few minutes later he has found six bras, all leopard print or racy lace, and these women were astounded.

One of the women even commented that they didn’t even know that they carried that size for that bra.

When in the fitting room, obviously he had to go in with me to make sure that they fit, and every time I’d have it on, he’d conveniently unhook it with one hand and giggle like a school girl because… well… boobs.

Of the six, I found two that were perfect.  I figure two bras will last me for a while, so then I send Alex on a venture to find panties.

Naturally, he put his gift to the test and was rummaging through the panties, throwing all the lacy goodness my way.  You know, stuff a married woman would NEVER wear because I’ve rediscovered granny panties and their glorious comfort.

Image

You will never know such comfort

He found me some cute panties that were a compromise, and while at the counter, the women asked Alex if he wanted to work there to officially put his skill to good use.  He declined, stating that he hated his gift, and we were on our way.

So for any of you who visit me, if you have a weird bra size and need help finding a bra, I’ll send you off with Alex.  He will put his Bra Guru skills to the test.

Do you have problems finding clothes?  Do all of your clothes seem to rip and become unwearable overnight?  Do you have any funny stories of finding clothes?  Tell me in the comments!

Like what you read?  Follow me on facebook!  I’ll be posting strange news stories and updates!

Questions, comments or concerns?  I have an email now!  Transplantedtothesouth@gmail.com is my official email for this blog.  Feel free to email me anytime about anything in regards to my blog, as well as any requests, questions, comments or concerns.  If you have suggestions, please feel free to email me and tell me.  I try to check it once a day in the evening 🙂

Elvis Hates My Vagina

I’m finding more time to blog since I threw out my back a few days ago, enjoying the plethora of pain killers given to me by the doctor, so I figured I’d write a blog post for y’all.

 

This is the story of how I met an ancient Elvis and how he decided that my Vagina was not good enough for him.

When I was working one day, I was doing my usual wonder woman thing, when I heard on the intercom, “Someone from donations is needed for a carry out.”

Since I work in donations, I figure I can go up to the front and help them carry out whatever object they need.  Before grabbing the dolly, I decide to see just how big the object is.  Usually it’s something small like a chair that’s around ten pounds, so I don’t worry about it too much.

I walk out and the girl who paged me pointed to this old man by the TVs.  He was tall, about 90 years old, but had Elvis hair.

Except way older

Except way older

The man looks at me, and says one sentence that makes me want to lose my temper.

“Oh geez, why the hell did they send a woman to lift up this old tv?  Women can’t lift for shit.”

I felt my eye twitch and I say to him, “Sir, I’m Midwestern.  I can lift the tv you need.”

He then begins to argue with me.  “No you can’t you’re a woman.  Women can’t lift. I’ll just do it myself if they can only send a woman.”

To which he reaches over to lift up a 6” screen tv, that weighed maybe ten pounds, and he carries it to the front of the store with no effort.

I stood there, unamused and confused.

Did Ancient Elvis just tell me that I can’t lift something because I have a uterus?

Thanks Elvis.  Thanks for thinking my vagina is not suitable for lifting.

Ever been discriminated against because of your dirty bits?  Ever been told you can’t do something because of something you can’t help?  Let me know in the comments!

 

Like what you read?  Follow me on facebook!  I’ll be posting strange news stories and updates!

Questions, comments or concerns?  I have an email now!  Transplantedtothesouth@gmail.com is my official email for this blog.  Feel free to email me anytime about anything in regards to my blog, as well as any requests, questions, comments or concerns.  If you have suggestions, please feel free to email me and tell me.  I try to check it once a day in the evening 🙂

Things My Mom Was Right About: Carrying A Purse

Now, for most of you women out there, you’re probably thinking, “This girl must be an idiot for never carrying a purse unless her mom said so,” and I would be inclined to believe you, except I had very particular reasons.

I. Hate. Purses.

I am not a girly girl by any means.  I actively avoid make up.  I can’t style my hair to save my life.  Hell, five months ago I bought my first hair straightener and I still have no idea how to use it.  My hair is still frizzy after using it.  My mom still does a lot of my clothes shopping.  I own four pairs of shoes.

I’m going to a wedding in about two months and I think I’m going to have to ask my friend to take me shoe shopping since I do not own a pair of heels.  I only have steel toe shoes.  And tennis shoes.

So I hate carrying a purse, but it is a necessary evil.

When I was but a wee young girl, in high school, I had my wallet which had my debit card, my drivers license, my school ID, and any various money I would possibly have, I would put that in my pocket.  As well as my cell phone, which was a Katana II.

You know.. Before Smartphones were cool?

You know.. Before Smartphones were cool?

 

AND THEN I would have my keys.  In my pocket.  As well as my chap stick.  Now I did this because I really hated carrying a purse.

My mother is the polar opposite of this.

Here is a list of things she has in her purse.

  1. Wallet
  2. Keys
  3. Checkbook
  4. Manicure set
  5. Comb
  6. Bottle of ibuprofen
  7. Mirror
  8. Rosary
  9. Six different pens with different color ink
  10. Miscellaneous coins
  11. Deeds to a small country
  12. Leprechauns
  13. Tiny civilizations
  14. Chapstick

 

No lie, she has all of those things in her purse.*

She told me that I needed to start carrying a purse since my wallet was constantly falling out of my pockets and it was causing us to go back to restaurants to get my wallet.  She was convinced that someone was going to steal my debit card and steal my identity.

Funny how when I was in college someone stole my debit card and spent over $100 on gas.

And how one time when my wallet dropped out of my pocket all of the cash was stolen.

And how when I got a purse I can carry candy into a movie theatre.

Yep. Mom was right.

Carrying a purse is a good idea.

I don’t forget stuff nearly as often.

Thanks mom.

Is there anything that your mom was right about that you were like PFFT! No way mom!  I want to hear about it!  What was YOUR mom right about?

Like what you read?  Follow me on facebook!  I post random news stories and I love the input!

 

*Okay, she doesn’t have all of those things in her purse.  Obviously she has no room for chapstick when there are leprechauns in her purse.

Why Being A Housewife Sucks

So my mom pointed out that I cuss far too often for my own good, so every time I want to say the “f” word, I’m going to put “FLUFFY BUNNIES”

So I recently quit my job at the bowling alley due to conflicting interests.  Probably the best decision I ever made, and I’m currently doing stocking at a store where nobody bothers me and I’m left to my own devices.  It’s FLUFFY BUNNIES awesome.

 

So here is my FLUFFY BUNNIES list of why it FLUFFY BUNNIES sucks to be a housewife.

1.You get Filipino Vision

I swear, I’m not racist.  I usually call it “Gina” vision because I worked with a Filipino lady named Gina who would always clean.  This woman’s house was so clean, you could eat off her floors.  She would work for eight hours then go home and clean for another eight.  She once canceled a vacation to Denali National Park so she could clean her house.  When I called her once, she said she was cleaning and I even said “What the FLUFFY BUNNIES are you cleaning?” and she would say, in a dark, hissing voice, “Everything is dirty.”

I always imagined Gollum from lord of the rings when she said that.  “Must clean the precious house… SO DIRTYYYY”

2.  You go out of your way to make elaborate food only to be afraid to eat it

This probably makes absolutely no sense to those who are not conscious of your weight.  I’m a chubby girl.  I refuse to go up another pant size.  Last time I went up a pant size, I found out in a fitting room and Alex had to hug me while I cried in the fitting room.  So I’ve been cautious when cooking tasty foods because I know that if it’s delicious, I will devour every single FLUFFY BUNNIES bite.  Chocolate never lasts more than an hour at my house.  I can’t buy chocolate or I eat all of it.  But lately, I’ve been making bread.  And while I’m not a bread person, it’s impossible to resist fresh bread out of the oven.

3.  The cleaning never ends

Maybe I’m a horribly sloppy person, maybe I have a haunted house, I don’t know.  I’m pretty sure that my dogs grow hands when we sleep and destroy everything in the house and I’m too forgetful to notice.  I spent three hours straight cleaning today, and I can already tell I’ll be spending at least another three FLUFFY BUNNIES hours cleaning the house.

4.  You never stop brushing the dog

My poor dogs.  I’ve been brushing them everyday so there isn’t fur on everything.  The bitches clogged my FLUFFY BUNNIES vacuum.

Alright, no more fucking FLUFFY BUNNIES.  I’m done with it.

5.  You’re bored out of your mind.

Seriously, how did fifties housewives do this?  I’ve been doing this for two weeks and I’m about ready to stab Alex with a rusty spoon.  I’ve been told that kids help, but I’m not getting knocked up so I’m not bored anymore.  I’m working on getting a new job that’s full time, and I’m a full time student, and I do this, but fucking seriously, I sleep all the time to pass the time.

I can’t think of anything else, but if anyone can come up with anything else, please share.  WHY WOULD BEING A HOUSEWIFE SUCK DONKEY BALLS?!

Thanks y’all.

Merry Christmas! (From the Velociraptors)

So Alex and I decided to get Christmas portraits done since we haven’t had pictures done since last year, and we forgot to get prints of them (but they’re on facebook!) and before that we had pictures done at our wedding.  So the entire three years together, we’ve had pictures done twice.  We felt that since we couldn’t really afford to get gifts for many of our friends and family this year, that we would get pictures done (it was only $20 for 64 prints, you can’t beat that), so we dressed up nice, I straightened my hair and did my make up, and off we went to get pictures done!

While sitting in the waiting room to do the pictures, we were looking at all of the example portraits on the walls, and Alex and I decided to do our normal thing of completely weirding out.

Alex: Dude, wouldn’t it be funny if they had totally retarded pictures on the wall?

Me: Yeah, or just the worst possible shots and be like “Don’t get these pictures done”

Alex: Or maybe of velociraptors, or velociraptor faces and be like “We have a sense of humor too”

Me: Oh my god… Velociraptor Christmas cards

Alex: OH MY GOD WE HAVE TO DO THAT!

Me: AND GET THE 10X13 PICTURE OF THAT FOR US!

 

So while we were doing the pictures and the poses, our photographer was absolutely awesome.  We have a habit of making everyone laugh, but I think they’re usually laughing at us because we’re just so weird.  We did a few silly pictures, but we couldn’t stop laughing posing for the velociraptor pictures.

So the time came where we had to choose which pictures we wanted for the cards and for the portfolio prints.  When we saw the velociraptor picture, we knew we had to use those for the Christmas cards.  It was then we found out that we were only allowed one picture for the entire portfolio.

I also found out that for an additional $14, I could get 20 extra Christmas cards with any picture I wanted.

 

RAWR BITCHES!

RAWR BITCHES!

 

Our mothers didn’t know that we bought additional Christmas cards, and so we sent out the velociraptor card to everyone we knew.

I was expecting my mother to flip out on me, which is kind of what I was hoping for.  I was certain my mother in law would shrug it off and laugh.

Their reactions were actually flipped.  While my mother in law didn’t flip out, her response was “That better hell not be the real picture because I am NOT putting that on my wall for everyone to see!”  to which Alex and I couldn’t hold it in any longer and were dying from laughing so hard.

My mother is a hard woman to rattle.  She just saw it and said “I know that this isn’t the real picture.”

None the less, several friends have gotten a good kick out of it.  I’m glad they enjoyed it.

So what do YOU all think of the Velociraptors?

 

Also, I would like to thank Portrait Innovations for doing such a FANTASTIC job on our portraits.  Your staff was so courteous and if there is a portrait innovations near you, I highly recommend you.  They had great deals, they were friendly and offered the best service I have ever had from a photography session.

How the Hunger Games Saved My Marriage: Part III

So we didn’t find a hotel in Montana.  And every hotel we went into between great falls and Medora, ND, had vacancy signs but the people at the desks were total dicks.  By the time we got to Medora, it was around ten in the morning and we decided to say “Fuck it, we’re just going to Grandma’s from here.”

I decided to drive from Medora to Fargo because I had done that drive before with my family. 

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Medora, if you ever get the chance to visit, I suggest it.  It’s in the bad lands in North Dakota and it’s a very pretty landscape of endless fields and the painted canyons.  The musical there is breathtakingly wonderful, the old fashioned pictures are great, and there’s lots to do if you’re there for a day or two.  I highly recommend it.  I’ve been there a few times and I would love to go again in the near future.

 

Anyway, since Alex isn’t really big on sight seeing, he decided to sleep while I drove.  While I had chosen to drive so he could enjoy the beauty that is North Dakota (I don’t care what anyone says, NoDak is beautiful).

At around one PM, we drive through Bismark, to which I decide it’s time to call Grandma and let her know that we’re halfway across NoDak.

Me: Hey Grandma, we’re in Bismark!

Grandma: Okay.  So when will you be here?

Me: Uh… How far is Bismark from Fargo?

Grandma: I dunno, not too far I don’t think.  I’ll have dinner ready at five.  Get here by five.

Me: Uh… okay.

 

So we keep driving and once we get into Fargo I am totally confused.  Fargo had doubled in size the last time I had gone there.  To which Alex, of course, is teasing me.

Alex: I thought you knew Fargo really well.

Me:  I’ve never known it really well, but nothing is the same.  WHERE THE FUCK AM I?!

So I go onto google maps which has caused Alex to take away my driving privelages, which is when we notice Luna.

Luna is shaking in the backseat.  Her tail is wagging and her ears are up.  We’re confused until we realize that the rolling fields of grass look like a giant dog park to her, since the dog park in Alaska was always in a large grassy field.

We roll our eyes.  She thinks that after four days of straight driving we’re at a giant dog park.  Poor girl.

We get to grandma’s to which we arrived ten to five, where grandma was putting food on the table.

Now, I’m pretty sure my grandma is a Wizard.

You see, she was a farmer’s wife for 47 years, and about nine years ago my grandpa died, but she never lost that farmer’s wife mentality.  On top of that, she’s a full blooded Norwegian and has a really thick Minnesota accent and honestly looks like a grandma.  She has the big glasses, short curly white hair, a few inches shorter than me, pleasantly plump, and has a very distinguishable laugh that I adore.  She fits into the grandma look and persona very well.

The reason I say that she’s a wizard is because the food she makes tastes like she used the tears of angels to season it with, all cream based food, with a pistachio dessert that is to die for.  And we were so full.  And we woke up full the next day, 14 hours after we ate.

Like, not even kidding, I’m pretty sure I was going to die.

Now, my grandma is 80 years old and has lost her filter, giving her quite a bit of spunk that she’s never had before.  She mentions about how she doesn’t like animals in the house.  My dogs are passed out on the floor in the living room.

Me: Do you want me to put them outside?

Grandma: No, they can be in here.  But I really don’t like animals in the house.

Me: So tell me, what was it like growing up in the dirty thirties?

Gramdma: Well we had nothing.  No television, no food, hardly any clothes.  Dust everywhere.  And we never had animals in the house. (these are her exact words)

Me: I told you I can put them in the garage or outside.

Grandma: Oh no, they’re fine.  I just don’t think animals belong in the house.

 

I posted on facebook that Alex and I had made it to Grandmas after four days of driving, to which it seemed a lot of my cousins decided to stop by to say hi.  Alex came out to say hi then retreated to the bedroom to pass out.  My cousins and aunt were confused, until I explained that we drove for over 30 hours from Prince George, British Columbia, all the way to Minnesota.

When they realized that I had been awake for close to 32 hours, they wished me luck on the rest of the trip and left.  But only after mooching some dessert from Grandma.

Next morning at 7:30, grandma had breakfast for us.  And we were still full from the night before.

Seriously, she’s a damn wizard.  We forced ourselves to eat the freakin’ delicious breakfast she made, fed the dogs the leftovers, to which she told us how she doesn’t like animals in the house, we gave her a hug, and off to Minneapolis we went.

I had Alex drive most of the way, but there is one place, in Clearwater, that is possibly the best truckstop ever.  The Nelson Bros. Truck Stop and Bakery.  They serve wild rice sausage, everything smothered in gravy, two breakfast platters of food that’s cheap, and their apple fritters are about a pound from how freaking huge they are.  This is a favorite of Alex’s to stop at when we go to Minnesota, so we stopped in and got some pastries and sausage, immediately regretting the fritters because we were still full from Grandmas.

Now, I understand this is a fairly boring post so far, but it’s about to get entertaining.

Since I’m originally from Minneapolis and I used to steal my moms car at two in the morning to drive around, then fill up the gas tank so mom wouldn’t notice (sorry to break it to you this way mom), I like to think that I know Minneapolis pretty well.

Except I forgot that I haven’t lived in Minneapolis in five years and I hadn’t been to Minnesota in the summer for the past five years. 

And every single fucking highway was closed for construction so I had to take the FUCKING SIDE ROADS.

But I couldn’t tell Alex this.  Because he said if I got lost once, I wasn’t allowed to drive the rest of the trip.

So we were on I-94 from montana and it goes right through Minneapolis, which is perfect.  But in order to get to my home town, which is technically a suburb of Minneapolis, I have to hop onto 694.

I saw a sign for 494 and for 694.  I got excited because I was like OH MY GOD I RECOGNIZE 494 SO THAT MUST BE THE ROAD THAT GETS ME TO MY MOMS HOUSE!

Oh, how wrong I was.

I take 494 and after I’ve gone thirty miles south of my mom’s house and end up in fucking Minnetonka, I decide to tell Alex that we’re horribly lost and I have no idea where we are.  And we need to call my mom.

Alex: Hey, we’re in Minneapolis and we’re lost.

Mom: Haha, Leah’s driving isn’t she?

Alex: Yes, actually.  We’re in… Minnetonka?

Mom: WHAT THE HELL?!  How the hell did you end up in Minnetonka

Step-dad (who was listening to mom): They took 494 instead of 694, didn’t they?

Alex: I heard him say that, yeah we’re on 494.

Step dad (who takes the phone from my mom): Alex, why did you let a woman drive?

Me: (while driving into the town I was born in, Crystal) OH MY GOD I KNOW WHERE WE ARE!

Alex: What?

Me: I’M SIX BLOCKS FROM MY DADS HOUSE!  SCREW YOU GUYS I KNOW HOW TO GET HOME!

 

To which all the roads had changed names and locations because of the construction in the past five years, so we had to look on google maps on how to get to my moms house.  To which my entire family teased me relentlessly for the entire eight day visit in Minneapolis.

 

My defense: They never told me there was insane amounts of construction in Minneapolis.

Their retort: It’s Minnesota in the summer, of course there’s construction.

 

The fourths and final part shall be posted next week.  Give your thoughts on this installment of the trip.  While this part was slow, it’ll pick up for the next piece. 

Comments? Thoughts?  Suggestions?  Cockroaches?  LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS BELOW!

How The Hunger Games Saved my Marriage: Part 1 (the drive from Alaska to Louisiana)

Just to warn you, this is going to be a loooooooong post.  And it’s only part one of probably three or four parts.

Can’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

I think I’ve mentioned how Alex and I drove from Fairbanks, AK, to Shreveport, LA, over the course of two weeks.  My husband is an enlisted man, and we adopted two dogs, as I’ve mentioned on several occasions.  They’re fantastic dogs, and I did not ever have the intention of giving them up once laying eyes on them. In addition to this, military families have a horrible reputation for giving up their pets after leaving a base, and considering my dogs had both been abandoned once before, I knew that they would have broken hearts if we left them.  So because of this, when we found out that we were getting stationed in Louisiana, I had eight months to figure out exactly how we were going to bring the dogs with us.

My husband briefly mentioned how we could find new homes for them considering how expensive it was to ship them, to which I told him he would be divorced and die mysteriously if he ever suggested that again, to which we both looked into the two options of moving our pups.

The little devils

The little devils

The first would be flying them from Fairbanks to Shreveport, to which the military would not help us with, and it would be over $1,000 per dog.  When told this, my first question was “Are they riding in first class?” and when the woman said they’d be in a kennel next to each other in the cargo area.  Apparently they would have a layover in Minneapolis and Houston, then from there in Shreveport.  They would not be flying on the same planes as us, possibly getting there hours before or after us.

This was basically a hell no.

We considred flying to Minneapolis for a few days to visit my family and from Minneapolis, driving down to Louisiana, but flying a dog to Minneapolis from Fairbanks cost about the same as flying a dog to Louisiana.

Once again, this was a hell no.

My husky mix Luna is… special.  She’s way too smart for her own good, and incredibly beautiful for a dog.  As my vet in Alaska put it, “She’s perfect and emotionally damaged.”  She’s afraid of her own shadow, and took six months to be able to approach us in the house for belly rubs. While she’s much better than she was when we first got her, she’s a very skittish dog.

Luna is not amused by your shenanigans.... ever

Luna is not amused by your shenanigans…. ever

So after much fighting and debating, we decided we were going to drive the 4,200 miles across North America.  Luckily, we were driving in early August so we hoped that the roads wouldn’t be too horrible and we thought, for sure, it would only take two days to get through Canada.  We were planning on driving at least 700 miles a day, just trying to get through Canada as fast as we could.  Maybe stopping to take pictures.  We were going to camp out in a tent every night to save money, bring our miniature gas stove so we could cook eggs on that in the morning and we got a small cooler and I spent two days making sandwiches and getting freezer packs so we wouldn’t have to eat out.  Ever.

Of course this didn’t happen, but we will discuss that later.

Luckily, the military will pay you for driving down, so we bought an SUV, hearing of how the mountain roads are a little rough, loaded up the back, got all the doctor appointments out of the way, got seatbelts for the dogs, and bought The Hunger Games Series audiobooks to listen to throughout the drive.  Thank you Suzanne Collins.

Now, if anyone has ever met me or my husband, you would probably wonder why we would ever need audiobooks.  My husband is the chattiest person I have ever met.  He will talk for hours upon hours and never quiet, and while not as chatty as him, I’m pretty chatty.  My mother has commented how there is never a quiet moment when we’re in a room together.

But when you spend ten days in a car together, there’s a chance that you’ll run out of stuff to talk about.  To ensure that we didn’t stab each other on the drive, we bought the audio books, thinking that those books would be more than enough for the drive.  We even got The Hobbit audiobook to ensure that if we did run out of the first choice books, we wouldn’t be totally at a loss.  We had lots of Christopher Titus on our phones, nearly memorized, and we commented that NOBODY can ever get tired of Christopher Titus.

So my last day in Alaska, I went to my work, hugged all of my previous coworkers, cried a little bit, tried to see all of my friends before I went (and failed miserably, I’m sorry Marissa), and cleaned our apartment to within an inch of its life.  Seriously, I mopped the walls so nobody could say I didn’t wash the walls.  Only to find out they were going to paint the walls and I didn’t need to do that.  We got our full deposit back, and our Landlady hugged us and told us that if we ever moved back to Alaska, we could rent from her again.

We got the dogs in their seatbelt harness, told them we were going for a car ride, and we were off.

We had sedatives for them, but we wanted to see if we could go without.  For you see, they are usually excellent car dogs.

The first two hundred miles in Alaska went very smoothly.  The roads were uncongested, our cooler was fully packed, the windshield didn’t have any chips in it, the tires weren’t flat.  Really, you couldn’t ask for more.

But the dogs were a little miserable.   You see, whenever we took them on a car ride, they expected the dog park for an hour and a twenty minute drive home, followed by a giant rawhide and belly rubs for the rest of the evening.  After two hours in the car, seeing terrain that was unfamiliar to them, Luna looked like life had totally and completely defeated her.  Sahara was in a full blown panic.  She was whining and shaking and trying to crawl into my husband’s lap.  She hated her harness to the point that she twisted herself in her seatbelt so badly that she was stuck and howling.

Oh, no dog was more miserable than Sahara.  Hell hath no fury like a Sahara who is tangled in her seatbelt and homesick.

 

Don't let her misery fool you, she's just looking for attention

Don’t let her misery fool you, she’s just looking for attention

So we decide it’s time to give them the sedatives.  Luna reacts very well to the sedative, being asleep for 12 hours from it, or waking up with hazy eyes and curling on my lap, her face similar to “I love you so much mom.  You’re so awesome.  I love belly rubs. And ears.  My ears are awesome.”  Basically, Luna was stoned out of her mind.  She even had the munchies.  While Luna didn’t really need the sedatives, we knew she was scared and wanted her to feel relaxed and realize that it was just a very long car ride through Canada.

Sahara was not so lucky.  The sedative worked on her for a half hour.  Then she was whining even more.  Being even more miserable than before.  Her expressions were more like “I took a nap, TIME TO GO INTO BATSHIT CRAZY MODE!  WHERE ARE THE BEARS?!  THEY SHALL BE MURDERED BY MY RAZOR SHARP PAWS!”

When we got into Canada, the roads went from smooth and pristine to pothole city.  We went over one pothole, causing the service light to go on in our car.

How we looked and felt considering we were only three hours into the two week drive

How we looked and felt considering we were only three hours into the two week drive

We stopped the car, looked around the car and saw nothing wrong, but the words “Perform Service” kept popping up.  The road was bumpy, we were terrified that we’d get a flat tire, and we were slowed down to a crawl because of all of the potholes.  But not to worry, the potholes turned into GRAVEL ROADS WITH BIGGER POT HOLES with around 80 miles between towns.  Yukon Territory really believes in spacing out their towns.  Occasionally we would see signs for Pie and Coffee, to which we never turned down.
We stopped driving around midnight in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory.  A beautiful little town, we stopped at Takhini Hot Springs, and spent ten dollars on a tent site, tied the dogs up outside, blew up the air mattress, and curled up.

To which the dogs began to bark and cry, freaking out that they were being forced to sleep outdoors.  Sahara was a rescue who spent, likely, several months in the Alaskan wilderness with her puppies, so she always liked to sleep inside, on the bed, head on the pillow, between my husband and I.  She’s very particular like that.  Luna tends to sleep on the couch with one leg straight up in the air, tongue hanging out of her mouth, sometimes with a blanket on the lower half of her body.

No spoiled dogs of mine were going to be forced to sleep outside!

Afraid of waking up other campers, we brought them into the tent with us.

Now, please keep in mind, my husband is close to 6’7” and he’s pretty solid.  I’m round, and it was a “4” person tent. The queen size air mattress took up most of the floor space in the tent.  The dogs, of course, had to be in the bed with us.  So a blow up queen mattress, which is actually a full size, a very tall, solid man, two german shepherd mixes, and myself on this TINY air mattress.

Then there was thunder.

There is no such thing as thunder in Alaska.  At least not in Fairbanks.  My dogs had NEVER heard thunder in their short lives.  So they go into a full panic.   Not only did they puncture the air mattress, they almost destroyed the tent, attacking the side while howling and snarling, trying to scare the thunder away.

We were awake at 7 AM, having only gotten a couple hours of sleep, smelling awful from not being able to take a shower.  We decided to not go to the hotspring to soak, and we found a truck stop to have some breakfast.

The story will continue in part 2 of this epic tale of traveling through Canada.

What are your thoughts so far?