Monday, June 05, 2006

The Magical Moment Where ThePeach Met ThePilot

By now the name “ThePilot” should be familiar to most of my readers. If not, go through the comments on most of my entries and you will find witty remarks left by him – quite possibly my most faithful reader. ThePilot is the person who convinced me to start keeping a blog, actually. He was always so entertained by the stories I would tell him about my life that he thought I should share them with the world. And thus, thepeachpits was born.

ThePilot and I went to high school together. Then he went to live in white-ville to attend pretentiousU and become, among other things (like trendy, preppy, and every hot chick’s best friend) a pilot. Now he lives in Fort Cha-Ching and works for an airline.

ThePilot and I have a long, colourful history. He is betrothed as my future husband, first of all. When we’re both 40, bitter, and dried up, we’re going to realize that we loved each other all along and live sarcastically ever after with our army of attack-cats. Obviously we’ll do it all the time, but never for procreation. If, by god’s will, we do create a spawn then we’ll have to drown it in a sack in the creek behind our house to SAVE THE WORLD FROM ITS EVIL. You see, ThePilot is – personality-wise – the male version of me. And we bring out the worst in each other. Most conversations that occur between the two of us are so riddled with bitterness and sarcasm that – somewhere – a baby screams and a kitten dies everytime we communicate. I’m pretty sure, at least.

Now you know a little bit about ThePilot.

The story of our coming together is delightful.

It was grade 10, I believe. I am positive that it was biology class, because I remember being bored, sad, and hungry. Next to me, a dark-haired, athletic, skinny boy sat brooding. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I gave him the half-smile. He turned to me and, in a moment that would link our souls in harmony forever, asked:

ThePilot: Did you sneeze when you put on your mascara this morning? Your under-eyes look really dark.
ThePeach:…fuck you.

It was, as they say, Magic.

The friendship grew from there. Bonding over our hatred of science, most people, and our mutual love of TNG (“Crusher is hot. I have a woman-crush on her. I’d totally do her.” “You…you…you…are so amazing. Marry me when we’re 40 and dried up.” “Deal”.), ThePilot and ThePeach grew to love each other. Platonically. In a pervy “I’d do you but it would be too much like doing myself…but I’d still do you” kind of way. Almost every day after school for a long time, ThePilot would drive me home in Nancy (his poor little car, now dead and gone) and I’d serve him popcorn and ice cream (“this way you can balance the sugar with the salt and eat more of each!” “You….you….you…are so amazing. Marry me when we’re 40 and dried up.” Deal.”) as we’d watch TNG and bitch about people we hated. I’d try to help him understand girls:

ThePeach: So you see, the reason you’re not getting laid is because you are nice. Girls like assholes. But only assholes who they think they can change into nice guys. Or at least less ass-holey guys. Girls pretty much only put out for assholes with attitude. But not too much attitude. Confidence is key. But not too much confidence. You want to be an ass who isn’t really an ass. And we should probably go pants shopping for you.
ThePilot: *writes this down furiously* …sooo….I should be an ass?
ThePeach: forget it, we’re fucked.

In hindsight, I have probably hindered him more than I have helped him.

In return, he helped me sort out some problems with the men in my life:

ThePeach: *crying* and then he broke up with me!
ThePilot: Good, he sucked. What the fuck were you thinking?
ThePeach: *sob* I loved him!
ThePilot: You dated for 2 months. Shut your cry-hole.
ThePeach: *sob* it’s because I’M FAT!!!
ThePilot: *mutters curse words under his breath* Ya, and I’m a virile sex-machine. Listen to me, you little hottie: stop crying. I need you to help me shop for pants.
ThePeach: *sniff* ok.

Our friendship is pretty much exactly the same now, except that we bitch over msn instead of in person. He is still painfully blunt with me:

ThePeach: Did you like my blog entry today?
ThePilot: Yes, but in your comments all you’re effectively doing is e-whacking back and forth with your friends. It’s like you’re all so insecure that you have to compliment each other constantly, and frankly, it’s unappealing.
ThePeach:…fuck you.

It’s still magic.



thepilot said...

Actually, I believe what I said was 'oh, and i know you don't care, but the back and forth e-cock-stroking (i can't think of a better term for it) really makes you and your friends seem like attention-starved hambeasts who have so little going for them that all they do is call one another sexy all day'.

Just to, y'know, clear the air on that one.

*ducks and runs*

the hippie said...

Dear ThePeach,

I love you and you love me.

Love, TheHippe

ps youre hot

thehippie said...

fuck, i should have read the blog entry and the comments before commenting myself, fuck.

and i should have edited my comment, theres an i in thehippie, motherfucker.

The Diva said...

dear thepilot: your comment is resented..i may be attention starved but im' no hambeast

by the way: why do you need so many pants? And how can they be hard to buy?

Peach: I still think your pretty

Love.... thediva (M.D.)

asian cymbals said...

Dear ThePilot,

When an attention-starved hambeast is Asian, she's ACTUALLY an attention-starved preserved-pork-sausagebeast, because I don't think we have ham. Sometimes, in a chinese restaurant, you'll see ham in a fried-rice dish, but I think that can be considered early "fusion" food.

Dear ThePeach,
You're so sexy, all I want to do all day is e-stroke your e-vag, you sexy blogmaster poster, you. Tell me I'm sexy as well, and that you want to do me, because I need the positive sexual affirmation to keep from crying because I am fat and sad.

thepilot said...

Men buy clothing to look good for women, therefore it only makes sense to have a woman along to give feedback on clothes when you buy them. The pair Peach picked out for me (which everyone called my 'hot pants') just passed away, and we bought them in grade 12, so I just had another pants shopping session. That makes for...once every 5 years?

Note to everyone; I never said you were attention starved hambeasts, I merely observed that you SOUND like them. Don't worry, I still love you.

Dig UP, stupid... said...

actually, you said "seem"...

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