Merry Christmas (from the dog)

It doesn't really look like my dog is telling anyone "Merry Christmas" in this photo, but it really is a very Christmas-y picture and I will tell you how.. If you look at that TV in the background, you will see that "It's a Wonderful Life" is playing. See... Christmas-y. The dog looks like he's going blind in it though, so it's also kind of creepy..

To show I care

I e-mail my sister on a semi-regular basis. She is in Kenya, so e-mails are the only contact I have with her. I like to remind her, at the end of each e-mail, to show her that I care.. So I some how incorporate a message suggesting that she avoids death.
"Avoid getting eaten by lions." is my favorite way to sign off..
So far she hasn't died.. So I'm thinking that she's really listening to what I have to say.

Awesome Plan to Win the Lottery

Step 1 - Buy lottery ticket

Step 2 - Wait......

A bad way to show someone you like them

I once attended an engagement party that was for my then-best-friend's sister. It was across the street, at her house, and the small house was over flowing with people and even bigger personalities. There was a goat being roasted somewhere in the yard, and more food than I had ever seen in my entire life in the kitchen. Italians are great like that, they're always trying to feed you.
I was wearing a gray shirt and blue shorts; it was summer and the sun was high and hot above our heads. I meandered through the crowd, stopping to talk to several people along the way (her family was practically my family back then), and slowly made my way back inside the house. It was too hot for people and I decided to lay next to a fan in my friend's room. My plan was spoiled when I opened her door and found that the room was occupied with several of her cousins. Instead of being able to flop down on top of her bed, I had to settle for a spot on the floor, next to the door.
We all laughed and talked about whatever it is that 14-17-year-olds talk about, all of us except for one, Andrew, who remained uncharacteristically quiet in the corner. The fan did nothing to cool the room. I sat, my back pressed up against the wall, eyes closed, trying to visualize icebergs and snow. I lifted my arm to fan my face and neck when I got the odd feeling that someone was looking at me. I opened my eyes and, sure enough, found a pair of hazel eyes staring back at me. At some point in time Andrew had made his way out of the corner and right next to me.
"You must be hot." He said, "You've got the biggest pit stains I've ever seen."
My eyes went wide with shock. Had he really just said what I thought he said?
I self-consciously pulled my arms in closer to my body, trying to cover up the offending dark spots on my gray shirt.
"Ugh.. Yes. It's very hot in here." I replied.
Andrew continued to stare at me and talk. "Don't worry," he said, trying to put me at ease, "I've got them, too. You just can't tell because my shirt is dark."
"That's lovely." I told him. I wanted to get away from Andrew. I wanted to go home and change my shirt. I wanted to go back in time so that I could have avoided this entire conversation. I did not understand what possibly could have made him feel the need to embarrass me in front of several of his cousins. Maybe it was because he was still embarrassed about that one time when he got an erection while we were all swimming in his Uncle's pool. It had happened years before, and none of us [girls] had ever seen an erection before.
"I shouldn't have said that..." He mumbled.
"What?" I asked.
"I shouldn't have said that.. about you sweating. I just get nervous sometimes." He whispered.
"Why do you get nervous?" I asked him.
"Talking to girls; talking to you. You are cute. I get nervous."
"Oh." I said.
"Oh." He echoed.
"You're right." I said.
"I'm right? About what?"
"You shouldn't have said that.. about me sweating. That's not a very good way to start a conversation."
"Oh."
"It's okay." I said, as I patted his arm and proceeded to pull myself to my feet. "It's hot in here. Let's go outside." And I held out my hand, and he took it.

Conversation About Antiques Road Show

"I'm just watching antiques road show with my parents." Says Ashley.
"Antiques Road Show is awesome!" I say.
"Bah, I can't watch it."
"I used to feel the same way, but then I started getting really interested in it. I would be hoping that people would have stuff worth lots of money. I watch it now as background noise when I'm trying to fall asleep."
"Yeah, it would be good for that. A woman just admitted to having her tortoise shell box buffed and now it is worth way less."
"I would never admit to having my box buffed."
"LOL. Awesome comment."
"I try."

You see, it's funny because I made it dirty... "Box" is also a synonym for vagina.. I learned that thanks to my 9th grade English teacher when I had to do a presentation on the myth of Pandora's box.. Somehow I don't think that extra little tidbit of information was part of the curriculum.

Dear Jack Layton,

I know you are married and all... But can I bear your children? Just one or two.. I'm not talking about big numbers here.. It's just basically for shits and giggles..
Love
Megan

This is my son, Jesus.

When I was little I used to tell my mom that I was going to name my first born Jesus. Not because I was religious, but because I thought that my child would lead a kick ass life if only their name was Jesus. None of the cop out pronunciation of Jesus either.. It would be pronounced "Jesus", as in "Jesus, son of God." No one would ever ask my kid how to spell their name because everyone would already know. My child would never have problems finding things with its name on it, and I would even be so bold as to say that with a name like Jesus they would be able to buy even sweeter personalized merchandise. It would be awesome.
My mom never supported my name selection, and tried to encourage me to veer away from names of religious figures. It didn't work though... I still intend to name my first born Jesus.. And now I plan to name my second born Pope John Paul II.

8 am Dance Party

I have finally managed to get my sleep cycle back to something resembling normal after pulling an all nighter last week in a vain attempt to finish a paper. Now that I wake-up in the morning, as opposed to the evening, I find that there is not much to do. The sun has still not risen enough to avoid dying from the cold, and the television stations seem to have something against playing anything interesting at the start of the day. Today I decided to take matters into my own hands. I searched through my extensive cd collection and began to make a mix cd, but not just any mix cd - a dance party mix cd. Actually, there is nothing spectacular about my dance party mix cd, except that the songs I have carefully placed on it are ones that inspire my to shake my ass (or at least what ass I can find to shake) and sing out loud. I am a great dancer... alone in my room. When you dance in front of other people there is a certain need for silly notions like "finding the beat", and "not looking like you're having a seizure"; alone, in your room, anything is game. The possibilities are endless.. Or at least they are endless until one of your roommates opens the door and sees you flailing around in your underwear.
"Are you okay?" They will ask. "You look like you are possessed."
"I am possessed..." You will answer, "Possessed by the rhythm.. I am a slave to it, and all that." You will then proceed to do your best impression of a blind, deaf man who has been given a combination of cocaine, sugar, and hallucinogens... Your dancing is out of this world, and no one can deny that.

It is my birthday

It is my birthday, so I took the garbage out... Because it is also garbage day.

Missed opportunity

I can't sleep. I have been trying to sleep for roughly seven hours, and yet sleep evades me. Instead I have found myself cleaning. I have cleaned things that I have been putting off cleaning since September. I have cleaned ovens, microwaves, showers, and toilets. I have gotten down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the grout in between each kitchen tile with such enthusiasm that it is now white (when the natural colour of is actually grey).
If only I had a video camera... I could have filmed the first installment of my non-pornographic porn called "College Girls Get Clean!" That way I also could have ordered some pizza; every pornographic film, even when it is a non-pornographic porn, needs a pizza delivery man. In this case, the pizza delivery man would come to the door and say "Where do you want me to put it?" And then I would say "Ooooh, it looks big. Why don't you put it right there.. On the kitchen table." This is when the pizza man would say "Be careful.. It's hot." The next ten minutes of the video would just be me eating some pizza, and eventually I would "accidentally" drop a slice and then start to clean up the mess.

Note to self:

Remember not to start to fill the sink and then walk away...

Dancing Machine!

When you find yourself alone in your house, your roommates having abandoned you for one place or another, strip off your clothes and dance around your living room in your underwear; playing your music much louder than you've allowed yourself in the past.
Boogie down! Practice dance moves that you haven't performed in forever, and then try ones that you'd never dreamed of doing - not even in your most inebriated "I-am-such-a-great-dancer-why-did-I-not-realize-I-could-dance-this-
well-before-I-did-those-five-shots-of-tequila?" state. All these moves you will do, without a care in the world.. Not a single care in the world.. That is.. Until you look into your backyard and realize that one of your creepy neighbours is standing there watching you.
"Why the fuck is he standing in my backyard?" you will ask yourself. Then you will shake your head and remember where you are, and how in this city you are not limited to elderly British gentlemen who like to watch you in a near-nude state. In this city the rules are different, and people don't just stay in their own yards to watch you.. They just walk right into yours.

Best Friends

Apparently my animals have started sleeping together. They claim that it's just because it's starting to get cold outside and the shared body heat makes the long nights easier, but I'm on to them.

Purify this

I bought an air purifier today because every morning I wake up feeling like I am dying, and I can only assume this is either because of a)communists, or b)gross stuff in the air that I am breathing while asleep. Obviously it is probably the communists doing it, but why not try to improve the quality of air being filtered through my room?
So now I have this machine going, a machine that claims it is "relatively noise free" (apparently "noise free" is open to interpretation.. I guess it's the "relatively" part that should have clued me in), and it is blowing me that much closer to waking-up feeling great.

But is it morally wrong?

Sometimes, like now, when my nose is runny... I use my cat as a substitute Kleenex.. Not always intentionally, sometimes it just kind of happens. My nose is running, he is trying to rub up against my face.. BOOM.. No more runny nose. I really don't think he minds it... I mean.. Considering I pay for his food and make sure he has a clean, non-smelly place to take a dump.. It's really the least he can do for me.

Also, evidently this is going to be a day where I write posts every five seconds.. Probably due to a combination of lack of sleep, cold medication, dizziness, and boredom. Bear with me..

Dude.........

I totally just burped for, like, 40 seconds straight..

Under the bridge downtown

Let me tell you about a bridge that is located near my parents house. It is a bridge, much like any other bridge, that allows the road to cross over a valley (and train track) without any trouble at all... But there is a darker side to this bridge.. A darker side that involves men having sex with other men for money.
And today, internet, I saw a man closely resembling George Michaels returning from what I can only assume was a gay romp under the bridge.
At first I did not believe that anyone, let alone gay men, would have sex any where near this bridge.. It is a bridge.. A gross bridge, and it is right near a smelly bay... I, personally, do not enjoy the smell of fish during sex (insert your own dirty snatch jokes here). Anyway, I did not actually believe, at first, that any such thing went on under that bridge.. But then I spoke to a man who worked for a place that I will refer to as the "RBG" (I'm referring to it as that because that is its actual name), and he told me that they find all sorts of condoms and gross mattresses under the bridge all the time. But his testimony only really convinced me that people have sex under the bridge, not that there is some sort of gay prostitution ring being run down there. My opinion changed once I saw a little piece on the local news showing the police busting up the gay prostitution ring (run from under the bridge).
As it turns out, police busting up the party did nothing to deter these male hookers...... I admire their dedication, but only to a degree. The prostitution ring is still going on, and I have yet to be able to convince any of my male friends to go down under the bridge and see what really goes on.
Anyway, each time I drive over the bridge, I wonder what the male prostitutes are doing right at that very moment... Most of the time I can take a guess.. But I'm sure sometimes they'd surprise me.

Self explanatory (almost)

Let's just say that, if you are my dog, you should pray to god that I don't go to the pet store and see outfits for pets that I think are so silly (and cheap) that I have to buy them and dress you in them for my own amusement.
Dogs are so silly... They should learn not to sit still (or trust me at all) for me because otherwise I feel compelled to make them look funny.

Something that I've been thinking about for ages

What happened to Whoopi Goldberg's eyebrows? There is a spot there where I know they should be, and yet they are not... I've literally been thinking about this, on and off again, for years... Which also goes to show that I, clearly, have too much time on my hands. Who spends years thinking about Whoopi Goldberg's eyebrows, or lack there of?
Anyway, I just wanted to get that off my chest...

Born to screw

I built a fence today, while hungover no less. The fence was required to keep my suicidal dog away from the road. It's not finished yet, of course (I had a really busy day), but it will be tomorrow.
Let me just tell you one thing.
I screw amazingly well. If they gave out medals in screwing, I would have one. If there is one thing I would like people to remember about me, it would be that I loved to screw. I put all of my heart and soul into screwing, and once I was finished I was sweaty, dirty, and had no idea how much time had passed. My dad even took note of this.
"Wow, you really like to screw." He said, "And you're pretty good at it, too."
"What can I say?" I responded, "I was born to screw."
I often talk to people about screwing, and my love for it. I tell them how I want people to hear my name in passing and say, "Oh, you mean Megan? Jesus Christ, she could screw. She would screw all day and night if she were able. If I was looking to screw.. I'd want it to be Megan with me."
I used a few two inch screws today as well. You know what they say... There's nothing like a good long screw.
It's true. It really is.

Still hungover

Refer to post title

Satin vs. Satin

For a long time now I have had this plan to buy satin sheets, and attempt to slide across the aforementioned sheets while wearing a pair of satin pajamas.
A few days ago I finally bought satin sheets.
Now all I need is someone with a stop watch. A stop watch is required because this is a very scientific experiment, the results of which will more than likely end in some sort of scientific break through.

Unusually Deep

I got my navel pierced when I was seventeen, or at least I think I was seventeen (I could have been older or younger, I don't really know). While in the process of putting the needle through my flesh, the piercer mentioned that I had/have an unusually deep belly button. I'd never really thought about the depth of my belly button prior to that. I mean, my mom had made me aware of the fact that my doctor intentionally tied my umbilical cord in such a way that I would have an innie, but no one had ever mentioned anything to me previously about having an unusually deep navel.
I believed the piercer, in regards to the depth of my navel, because first off - why would anyone lie about thinking a navel is unusually deep? And second, as a body piercer, I would imagine that she's seen her fair share of navels.
Ever since then I have exposed my navel to anyone who will look at it just to see if they also find it to be unusually deep. So far everyone does. I think it has been determined to have a depth of, roughly, one inch. Frequently people ask me if they can stick their fingers in there, and I warn them that my navel is practically unending and I can not be held responsible for any damages that may or may not occur to their finger while it is "in there".

My Pile of Leaves: RIP 2002

It occurred to me, just now, that soon it will be fall. With fall comes the discarded leaves of deciduous trees, littering the ground, filling the streets with browns, oranges, and reds. I always am overcome with the desire to rake said leaves into a pile, and then jump into that pile for all I am worth.
One year I cam close to realizing that dream. One year it was within my grasp, but then ripped away from me when a group of young children decided to run onto my lawn and jump in the giant pile of leaves that I'd just spent the previous two hours raking up. They just skipped from the road to my lawn. No consideration at all for what I may have been doing with the leaves. They just ran to the pile, jumped in it, threw them all around, and then left. They left, and in their wake they had destroyed my pile of leaves, and created another half hour of work for me in the process.
My heart was broken.
When I say "and then left", what I really mean is "and then I chased them out of my yard, waving my hands and using more profanity than I had ever previously used in my entire life." Little kids need to learn profanity some how, right? I think what bothered me most was that their was a parent right there, and not once did he tell his children (or whoever's children he was with) that it's not polite to run onto someone else's lawn and mess it up. They need to learn that if they want to jump in a pile of leaves, they have to go rake up leaves and create a pile themselves.
I shed a tear that day, for my pile of leaves that was no more - for my dreams that were now crushed and would never come to fruition.
My mom still makes fun of me when I stand at the window and stare down the little children making their way past my house. We all know that I am doomed to be the crazy old neighbor, whose house no one really wants to go near on Halloween (for fear that they will be eaten). At least once I am crazy, and scare neighborhood children more than I already do, I will know what caused it. I will know what event all this craziness was triggered from. It was those children - those children jumping in my leaf pile. Destroying my only goal in life that I actually stood a chance at having come true (unless I win the lottery, at which point in time I'm pretty sure that the mechanical bull thing will happen..). They crushed my spirits, and now I have been resigned to a life with no leaf piles. A life of solitude. A life where my only joy is now likely to be the thirty-five cats that will someday reside in my home.
And when I die - alone (safe for my cats) - it is more than likely that those cats will turn on me, and eat my body.
All because a handful of little kids jumped in my pile of leaves.

My curse

I'm just going to come right out and say it. I have no ass. Oh man, thank god I got that out. I have no ass, and that is a problem for me. You see, most women (and even people, in general) have some sort of bum... Their behind curves outs, and produces a bottom. My ass, on the other hand, is just flat. It's flat, and when I go to the store and buy pants there is always unflattering bunching where my ass should be. The pants make room for my non-existent ass, and thus there is just a whole lot of empty space.
Earlier this summer, my sister and I were grilling things on the BBQ and she said, "Oh my god, you really don't have an ass." We then went inside, where the rest of my family spent a good 30 minutes just staring at where my bum should be. My mom has an ass, my dad has an ass, my sister has an ass, and even my brother has an ass..
I feel short changed... Maybe I should get bum implants.

Bedtime stories

As a special bedtime treat for my animals, I place both my cat and dog on my bed and proceed to read to them from the latest issue of Cosmo. I enjoy this special time because it allows me a chance to bond with my animals. That sentence reminded me of a time when I forgot to put the 'd' in 'bonding', and accidentally e-mailed one of my professors telling him that I had fun boning with my classmates. You'd think I'd learn to read over what I type, but I never do. But that all is besides the point.
So each night I read a little bit more to my pets. I watch them as their breathing becomes even, and their eyes drift shut. I finish off the paragraph I'm reading.
"And that is the sizzling sex tip that will end your summer with a bang."
And I place a bookmark in the magazine so that we don't lose our place for the next night. Then I look down at my animals and let out a contented sigh, then remove my glasses (which I should really be wearing anyway since they are for driving), place the magazine on the bedside table, and turn off the lamp.
Actually.. that is mostly a lie.. I only did it once when I was drunk, and it was more because I forgot how to read in my head. It just so happened that the animals were there, and then fell asleep. But boy did my cat and dog learn how to end their summer with a bang!

Sometimes..

Sometimes, for no reason at all, I like to attempt to break dance... just to see if, for some reason, I have subconsciously learned how to do it. Of course the most I ever accomplish is a sublime impression of one of the three stooges, rolling around on the floor. I guess it's probably a good thing that I can't break dance. If I were actually able to break dance I would probably end up hurting myself. I would, inevitably, hit my head on something, or twist a body part that was not meant to twist. I am probably likely to end up at the hospital even with my "attempts" at break dancing, as it is only a matter of time before someone calls 9-1-1 to inform them that there is a blonde woman seizing on the floor.

I Dyed

I sat, unmoving, at the table with the kitchen over head light shining in my face. My parents took their respective places, one directly in front of me, and one just to the left.
The only thing sweating more than I was the glass of ice water that had been pushed in my direction several minutes earlier. I grabbed hold of the glass and took a slow, deliberate sip. I crunched an ice cube in my mouth, and closed my eyes as it's remains melted away on my tongue. When I opened my eyes I looked directly into the eyes of my mother, signifying that I was ready.
"Megan." she said, "I'm not really sure if we even need to ask you this, but were you the one who dyed the dog purple?"
"No," I told her, "I was the one who dyed the dog 'Egyptian Plum'."
My father offered up a smirk, and my mom shot daggers at him with a well timed glance.
"And why, might I ask, did you dye the dog 'Egyptian Plum'?"
"I had leftovers, and didn't want them to go to waste." I said, with a shrug.
"Look at the dog, Megan. He is purple. Do you think that is funny?" She asked me.
I looked over, to where our formerly blonde Cocker Spaniel lay licking his paws, and tried not to laugh.
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
"Why would you put the dog through something like that?" She questioned.
"He sat still the whole time. He really didn't seem to mind at all. It's his own fault, he should have put up more of a fight. He wanted it."
"Only a clear 'yes' is consent, Megan." She said with a frown, "What are the neighbors going to think?"
"Probably that he is just going through a phase. He's expressing himself by altering his outwards appearance so that it matches what he is feeling on the inside."
"You are such a smart ass." She said flatly.
I could get away with just about anything at sixteen. Seventeen too. I often sit and wonder if I could pull some of the same stunts I did then, and still manage to avoid jail time now.

The Beautiful

I once knew this guy from somewhere in England. His name was Andrew, and he was my voyeuristic neighbors great-nephew. I was in the ninth grade when he came to Canada, and I have no idea how old he was. A lot of innocent flirting took place between the two of us. I thought he was unbelievably cute, and his British accent made my heart skip a beat. I took him to school with me one day so that he could get a feel for what the Canadian education system was like. The other kids bombarded him with questions, and eventually the teacher told me that she'd kick us out of the classroom if we continued to be such a huge distraction.
We ended up cutting out early, and I skipped the rest of my classes that day. We slowly made our way back to my house, the sun shining bright over our heads. Every so often there was a playful push, followed by an awkward silence. He introduced me to The Beautiful South, and gave me his CD's to listen to. He frequently wore a t-shirt with the bands name on it, and had confessed to me that he wore it so often because it was his favorite shirt.
I had nothing to offer him in return, and no CD's to share with him. I wanted desperately to have something that I could impress him with.
The morning, before he left, he knocked on my door. When I opened it I found him standing there, favorite shirt in hand, with his bags along side him. He gave me his shirt, his favorite shirt, and left me his address.
He told me to write him.
I never did.
It is days like these, when I am overcome with a strong desire to travel, that I think of Andrew. I wonder if I should ask my neighbors for his address again, and if he'd even remember who I am. I think of writing him a letter, telling him of the hours I spent listening to his CD's just so that I had one more thing that I could say to him the next day. I wonder if he enjoyed that summer as much as I did.
I miss that time.
I miss that innocents.

I like it when strangers get to see my cooter

Today I had my ultrasound, and I still smell like hospital-ness. I started off my morning by drinking two bottles of water, and then collecting the President and driving him to the vets. After I dropped him back off at the house, I called to my mom and said, "Hey you. Get in this car." And she did. We then drove to the place where they do ultrasounds. In total, I drank four bottles of water. Four. I had to pee before I even got there.
"Take all your clothes off and put on this gown." the technician told me as she lead me to a change room.
"Everything?" I asked her.
"You can keep your underwear on."
I sighed in relief because it would be harder to stick anything up anywhere with my underwear in the way. This meant the chances of a surprise invasive procedure were slim to none. 

I had been hoping that I'd be able to keep my pants on in general, and, once I realized that wasn't possible, I cursed myself for not making sure my bikini line was waxed before going to my appointment. The technician instructed me to lay down on the table and get comfortable. She then grabbed a towel and I thought, "Great! I won't have to lay on the table with my underwear hanging out while she does this whole thing. That is when I felt a draft. The technician tucked the towel into my underwear, as well as pulled my already low-rising underwear down so that they we barely covering anything.
"One more inch and you're going to know me really well." I told her.
She laughed and shook her head. I was not kidding though. I didn't want to look down to see how low she had pulled my underwear.. It felt like I might as well have forgone it, but I was praying that I was left with more covered than the breeze was implying. "Just ignore it, and act like this nice lady cannot see your cha-cha." I told myself.
"Your bladder is only 1/2 full, so we're going to come back to the pelvic ultrasound after we finish the abdominal ultrasound." she explained.
"It feels like it is very full. How much urine can a bladder hold?" I asked her.
"Between 10 and 20 ounces."
"I see." It was a lie though. I did not see. I am not very good with units of measurement and therefore had no real frame of reference.
After that there was a lot of polite conversation and more than a dozen "Breathe in... hold it..... okay, breathe out." After the abdominal ultrasound, the technician checked the progress of my bladder.
"You're still only 3/4 full. I will give you two more glasses of water to drink and we'll wait twenty minutes. You can change back into your regular clothes, and you can keep those on when we come back to do the pelvic ultrasound."
I thought I would die. I already had to pee so bad that I could not sit still. In the waiting room, I drank the water I was given and waited with my mom until they called me back in. I also forgot to mention that during the abdominal ultrasound I thought I was going to throw-up (at first) because she had to look at my stomach and that requires a little bit of pushing on the stomach and so on. I also was a little gassy, and I worried that when she was pushing on other parts of my abdomen I would end up letting one go. So it only made sense that, by the time my bladder was ready for the pelvic, I was seriously worried that I was going to wet myself. And lucky for me that I was now wearing my own clothes, so, if I did end up wetting myself, I'd have to go home in wet shorts. The technician got re-acquainted with my cooter (when she tucked another towel into my underwear) and proceeded to slide the wand over the surface of my stomach. Once we finished, I jumped the gun on pulling up my pants. All the ultrasound goo ended up coating the inside of my shorts. I didn't notice this until I went to the bathroom (which felt like heaven) and encountered wet, cold jelly. I wish I could say it was the first time I had experienced such things.
All in all, I enjoyed my ultrasound experience. So far I've had two ultrasound (or I guess technically three) without being knocked up. I figure by the time I am pregnant I will be a pro at it.

The not so hidden danger of sparklers

I remember this one New Years, when I was four. My dad bought fireworks to set off at midnight, and my mom bundled my sister and I up and lead us into the backyard. It was the first year my dad ever bought a "Burning School House", and I guess it was a dud because it literally just burned right to the ground. That didn't matter though, my sister and I were easily entertained. Anything that suggested destruction to the school already filled us with joy (even though I'm pretty sure that at this point in time we still enjoyed going to school). After the fireworks had all been set off my dad handed out the sparklers. It's hard to have a whole lot of fun with sparklers when you can barely move your arms due to so many layers of clothes on, but I still tried. I wrote my name in the air, and I spun around in circles... and when that became dull I poked my sister in the arm with my still-burning sparklers. I was disappointed with the results. Thanks to the "flame retardant" material her snow suit was made with the only visible sign of my attack was a small burn hole on the sleeve of her suit. My parents admonished me, and I remember plenty of "Don't set your sister on fire!"'s... I never wanted to set her on fire.. I just wanted to see what would happen. Since then I have done plenty of experiments "Just to see what would happen", and when I get caught I simply say, "I love to learn."

That is where babies are made

Today, as I worked away diligently at my booth, a man pulled his car up to my window and asked me if I could let him through without paying because he was a private investigator who was investigating someone in the area. Naturally I wanted to, but I knew that I would not be allowed so I double checked with my supervisor before telling him no. I'd decided that he must be investigating insurance fraud because why else would he have come to my work? It's a tourist attraction in the middle of nowhere, and hardly an ideal spot for an extra marital affair. My supervisor did not agree with me.
"We catch people having sex here all the time." She told me.
"Why would you tell me that? Why?" I questioned. "You have ruined this place for me." I joked. Later on a co-worker and I joked about ways we could leak the information to customers.
"I do not know how many people come here, but do you see over there? That is where babies are made."

Cosmic Joke

I guess it would make perfect sense that the only man currently in my life would be possessive of the remote control, and snores loudly when he's sleeping.

How I will die

The other day I was watching this elephant have a tug-of-war with a bunch of people. I was intrigued.. I wanted to have a tug-of-war with an elephant.. I think I could hold my own until that elephant decided to actually try. More than having a tug-of-war with an elephant, I would like to wrestle one. I am not sure exactly how I would wrestle the elephant, which is why I would drink a whole lot before I went to do it. I am not silly, I know that wrestling an elephant would more than likely result in my own death... which is why I will wait until my late 80's to do it. Some might think advanced age would hinder my chances... to those people I say the following: "An elephant weighs 11,000 pounds. It does not matter how old I am because either way I am screwed." And since it's really just going to be a game of seeing how long it takes before the elephant squishes me, I might as well try and eliminate any thing that may slow me down... That's right.. I'd wrestle the elephant naked. So, in about 60 years expect to see an obituary in the paper that reads as follows:

After a long battle with an elephant, in her eighty-fifth year, Megan
finally succumbed to her injuries after several hours of intense wrestling. She
refused to let anything hold her back, which is why she was buck naked while
engaged in her final challenge. As her last breath left her body, in a whisper,
she said, "This isn't over yet, elephant." A testament to her spirit, or better
yet.. the spirits that she'd consumed earlier that day.

Death by elephant... What a way to go!

My goals in life - in order
Sometimes I manage to forget about all the little things I love the most. I'm not talking about taking people for granted, although I probably do that too. I mean all the little things that give me the warm and fuzzies when I slow down enough and make time to remember them. Jell-o for instance (oh yes, it all comes back to the jell-o). Sometimes I forget how much I love Jell-o. I buy it, I put it in the cabinet and then I forget about it for months. I forget about it for months until I'm cleaning out the kitchen cabinets and getting ready to donate all the stuff I won't be able to finish to the food bank. That is when I remember how much I love Jell-o. I look at my packages of Jell-o and I remember how I never actually was able to achieve my number one goal in life of filling a kiddie pool up with jell-o (or pudding) and allowing it to set by turning on the central air. I guess that is why I am lucky that I am only twenty, and that it is a life long dream.. not just a short term one. My number two goal in life is to buy a mechanical bull. I was going to buy one last year with my inheritance money but then my dream was crushed by reality. Obviously inheritance money would be better spent getting me out of debt as opposed to pretty much getting me further in it (could you imagine the law suits I would get if someone hurt themselves on my mechanical bull?). My third goal in life is to get a job that consists of me playing with puppies all day long. I really enjoy playing with puppies and thus I think it could really be a job that I would be able to excel at. So far I have been unable to find any university courses that would better prepare me for a job of playing with puppies all day long - but I promise you this... If I did find a course like that I would never ever miss a single class.
Now excuse me please while I go finish off my giant bowl full of jell-o.

Bulimic Party
Every time I leave my apartment in the Bay to come home I worry that my bulimic roommate will celebrate my absence by indulging further in her bulimia. When I think about it to myself (in my head) I call it a "Bulimic Party"; occasionally I will accidentally mention bulimic parties to others and then have to try to explain it without giving too much away (as it is not my place to blab to anyone, barring the internet, about my roommate's eating disorder). I have never really thought about what goes on at the bulimic party (aside from the obvious bulimia), but I would imagine that it involves listening to loud music and ordering lots of take out. Sometimes I feel sad that I do not get invited to these parties, but then I remember that I am not bulimic and that I hate vomit. Still, ordering lots of take-out sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me.

R.I.P. Brad Bear 1988 - 2005
Today I had to throw out my teddy bear and it almost broke my heart. I was four when I got him; at two feet he was almost bigger than I was. He went almost every where with me, and each night I'd haul him up in to bed with me. For nearly seventeen years he served me well, my glorious bear.. He endured injuries of all kinds (a nose that was chewed off by an teething puppy), some that were even a mystery to me in origin (the hole in his crotch.. I think he was busier than I knew).. But of all things to take him out of the game of life for good, it was a shot to the knee that delivered the final blow. 'A shot of what?' you may be asking yourself.. To put it simply, my dog had diarrhea. A teddy bear, no matter how great, never recovers from diarrhea.

So maybe I shouldn't have made her drive...

"Drive my car home from Sobeys" I told her.
"No, I'm a really bad driver, I can't drive at all. I don't want you to know how bad of a driver I actually am." She told me.
"It's okay, you're not that bad. You have your G1, and I have my G. You are able to drive with me. You're not supposed to drive after midnight, but it's late and no one will be around right now, so if we do it now it will be better." I reasoned.
"Okay, I'll do it." She sighed.
She pulled my van forward, and out of it's parking spot, edging closer and closer to the actual road.
"I can't do it!" She exclaimed.
"Yes you can, you are, you're doing well. I thought you would be way worse." I reassured her.
She turned on to the road, and proceeded to steer the car around a bend. She was wobbly, but stayed in her lane and didn't even come close to riding up on the curb. We came to a traffic light and she stopped, as we waited for the light to change to green so that we could make a left-hand turn.
"I'm just going to wait here until there are no cars, so I hope it doesn't turn green."
No sooner had she said that, the light turned green.
"I'm not going. I'm not going. I'm not going. There is a car there!"
"Turn, just turn." I yelled.
And finally she turned.
"If you'd turned sooner the car wouldn't even be behind us now. Go to the left a little, you're going to get into the snow and it will pull you to the right. You don't want that."
I repeated my instructions to go to the left several more times before we came to a stop sign. Almost home free, she turned right, our respective buildings were in sight, and then we saw the flashing lights behind us.
"Oh my god Megan, I'm getting pulled over. We're going to get in trouble. You don't have the right license for this!"
"Calm down, you didn't do anything wrong. I have the right license, just pull over and roll the window down."
And so she did. Her hand shook as she reached into her pocket to find her i.d. My hand shook as I reached into the glove compartment to get the insurance and registration. The police officer made his way to the car and looked at us.
"Have you been drinking?" He asked her.
"No, I'm just learning how to drive. I am so bad. I am sorry that I am so bad. I will never drive again."
"You just have your G1? Do you have your license Ma'am?" He motioned to me.
"Yep, right here. I've got my G." I said as I handed it over.
"Do you have the insurance and ownership?" He asked.
"Yes, it's right here." and I handed that to him as well.
"I'm sooooo sorry. I'll never drive again." She pleaded.
"Do you still live at this address Kelly?"
"No, I live in that building right there, I'm a don... My students are all going to see me." She said, defeated.
"That's why I pulled you over here, before you went into the parking lot, so that they wouldn't see." He explained.
"I'm sooo sorry. I promise I will never drive again."
"It's okay." He said, "You were just exhibiting the signs of impaired driving."
"I am teaching her how to drive. We're doing it now because there's no one on the roads, and other cars make her nervous." I told him. He was a fairly cute cop.
"I see," He smiled, "You can go now. Have a nice evening."
"Thank you." We said in unison.
He nodded and turned away.
"Megan, I am never driving again!" Kelly said, as she turned to me.
"You weren't that bad. The only reason he pulled you over is because you did that thing at the lights and you were a bit wobbly. It is also nighttime, so really you shouldn't be learning how to drive right now. More often than not, people who are driving like that at this time are drunk, not learning how to drive. Do not worry... If you'd been horrible he would have given us a ticket for being out at this time driving. You did fine. You will drive again. You were not bad, for a beginner." I reassured her.
"I am never driving again." She stated.
"We will see."
And that is how my trip to the grocery store at 1 am ended.

Happy 'Dress-up like a dirty prostitute to pick your friend up from the bus stop' day!
Today Steven is coming to visit from Ottawa. In honor of Steven's arrival, we (we being myself and some friends) are going to put on a lot of make-up, wear short skirts and stiletto heeled boots, and wait for Steven's bus to pull in at the bus stop.
I suggest you celebrate 'dress-up like a dirty prostitute to pick up your friend from the bus stop' day by going out and dressing up like a low class hooker yourself... and then maybe going to the grocery store.