I suppose I should embrace our differences

My sister chooses her vacation destinations based on where she stands the highest chance of being mugged, raped, or murdered. It is like these countries have created an ad campaign that is meant to appeal to her and her alone.
Are you a petite, blonde girl with little to no money, traveling alone? Come visit us! Our country is ripe with political unrest, our crime rate is high, and we place little to no value on women!
I do not understand this attraction she has to countries in the midst of turmoil and conflict. Equally, I do not understand the attraction she has to men who are fifteen to twenty years older than her and are unable to handle their own finances.



Your continued existence annoys me, which only causes me further aggravation because I am then forced to acknowledge what an incredible prick I am for being annoyed by someone's existence.
I do not understand it, but the idea of you fills me with anger. Anger. Can you believe that? I never thought myself to be an angry person, but clearly I was mistaken.
- 27/01/08

I filled my sisters car with snow.
That's slightly misleading. I did not actually fill the car with snow, but I did place a great deal of snow inside of the car.
- 07/02/08

"I've heard that Ikea is a great place for a first date," the man standing next to me in the grocery store aisle declared.
On my knees, perusing the display of various powdered sauce mixes, I glanced in the direction of the voice in an attempt to determine who the man was speaking to. After awkwardly meeting his gaze, it became apparent that he was talking to me. Having never found myself in this situation in the past, I briefly scrutinized the stranger, deciding if this was an interaction I felt like having. In the end, I realized it was not.
"I am buying an economy sized pack of super absorbent tampons. Think about that for a minute and then tell me if you think right now is a good time to ask me to go anywhere with you."
- 12/02/08

"Your sister came in here this morning and shit all over my face," my mother told me.
"Pardon me?"
"Emotionally," she clarified.
"Mom, that is the worst analogy I have ever heard," I informed her.
Ever since then, my brother and I have let nary a sentence pass through our lips without inserting "shit on my face" somewhere in there.
- 15/02/08

Yesterday my little brother informed me that my vagina is a cavernous black hole. The only thing I could think of to say in response is that, to my knowledge, a black hole cannot be cavernous.
- 17/02/08

I get a perverse sense of satisfaction out of cursing in front of my mother. So much so that I actually frequently drop the f-bomb in situations where I otherwise wouldn't merely because we are in the same room.
"What the fuck is this?" I ask her, holding up a new can opener.
She has recently taken to entirely ignoring the invectives I let loose, which has only inspired me to try harder for a reaction.
- 19/02/08

I love the way my dog smells, which is gross because my dog smells terrible.
- 22/02/08

"I've never touched myself while talking on the phone with you - until now," I joked.
"Oh baby, you really know how to start my engine," she said, in a monotone, clearly excited by my confession.
"But seriously, I can't talk to people on the phone unless I am almost entirely dressed. I think I've done it without a shirt before, but I always felt incredibly uncomfortable. The internet is a different story though. I talk to people naked on that all the time, especially when I am moisturizing."
- 23/02/08


Unsupportive family members

My brother will not let me ride shotgun in his car anymore.
"It creeps me out when you lower the window and get ready to pull down your pants so you can moon strangers," he says, as if it's a justifiable reason. He also consistently engages the power window locks so that I am unable to yell things to pedestrians as we pass by.
"I do not understand," I tell him, "I let you moon people from my car."
"When have I mooned anyone? Ever?" He asks.
"It's not my fault that you do not grab hold of the opportunity. The point is that I would support you in your choice, not eliminate your ability to put the window down."


Later, she would ask me what flavour of polish I wanted: Orange, Bubble gum, or Raspberry. I chose raspberry.

I spent the afternoon at my dentist's office. Not because I underwent any sort of lengthy procedure, rather because I simply enjoy spending time with dental hygienists. I had two separate dental appointments scheduled; one for my chipped tooth, and the other for my six month cleaning. As it turned out, the chip out of my bicuspid was entirely superficial and only required a minimal amount of grinding to smooth out its surface. The only painful part of the entire ordeal was the lecture I received from my dentist.
"This is all for you," I told him. "I felt like we weren't spending enough time together, so I took matters into my own hands. You should be thanking me. I only do these things to ensure the continued financial success of your practice." My dentist enjoys giving me fatherly lectures. This could be because he has been my dentist since I cut my first tooth, or perhaps because he has known my mother since his birth and thus feels that we are family.
I waited for over an hour between my two appointments, primarily because they had anticipated a more lengthy procedure to repair my chipped tooth. In that time, I decided to read The Last Temptation of Christ. It had been on the assigned reading list for a class I took three and a half years ago, and I felt like it was finally time that I got around to reading it. I cleared the first four chapters before I was called upon to have my teeth cleaned. For some reason the dental hygienist felt the need to apologize profusely for my wait time. "It is fine," I assured her, "it does not hurt me to wait and my appointments were scheduled an hour and ten minutes apart so I suspected that I might have to wait in between them."
Every time I go in to have my teeth cleaned I am asked by the dental hygienist what is new. I would have an easier time answering this question if I had the same dental hygienist each time I went to the dentist's office. Instead, I am left to wonder exactly how much information I should disclose. If it is a new dental hygienist, most everything in my life is new - though I somehow doubt she would be interested to learn that I once dislocated my wrist in an intense water-wing accident. I decided that it was probably best to merely give a summary of what has occurred in my life since my last visit to the dentist. For all I know, the dental hygienists could actually be taking down notes about the going-ons of my life rather than writing about the condition of my teeth each time they add something new to my chart. How embarrassing would it be if I repeated a story that had already been noted? Answer: very.
"I graduated from University, sold my house, moved back in with my parents, bought a new car, and was accepted everywhere I applied for post-degree work. As expected, my parents are thrilled about it all, especially to have me return home after living on my own for two and a half years."
"It is to be expected," my dental hygienist told me, "you are part of the boomerang generation."
I nodded my head, which was all I could do as several dental instruments were in my mouth at the time, glad that she understood my plight.



Magnetic poetry on Bedroom wall
It only took me six months, but I have finally managed to put all of my magnetic poetry up on my bedroom wall(s).
In my defense, for many of those six months my walls were not actually magnetic....


I know I would feel honoured if someone went commando at my funeral...

My great-uncle Norm was an alcoholic, which really isn't all that surprising because most everyone in my family is an alcoholic. He was the identical twin brother of my paternal grandfather and, in the years that followed the death of my grandparents, we spent an increased amount of time together.
Sometimes I feel like I used him.
He was so much like my grandfather.
His smile. His laugh. The way he smelled.
I don't think I appreciated him enough for who he was. For months he functioned as a surrogate. He was a substitute, and I used him as a security blanket.
They were such different people, but if I squinted my eyes just a little I could pretend that I had gone back in time and life was just a little easier to bear.
At Thanksgiving, three years ago, he'd made a comment I'd deemed overly melodramatic. He professed his desire to see me one last time before he was "pushing up daisies." I'd laughed then and assured him he would. I'd hugged him, in that very same hallway where I'd last hugged his brother, and made him a promise: "You will see me again." What else was I supposed to say?
A week later his health began to fail. I drove back to Burlington from North Bay, showered, and got ready to accompany my parents on a trip to the hospital with the intention of saying goodbye. I was tying my shoelace when I realized that I couldn't do it. I couldn't say goodbye to him; I didn't know how. And so I broke my promise and, even though my parents assured me that he hadn't been lucid and it was ultimately for the best, I have had a guilty conscience ever since.
Later, days after his death, family members would recount his final days. "He had a picture of Jim sitting on the shelf across from his bed. The hospital staff did not know that he had been a twin. Instead, they'd assumed he was just an eccentric, slightly vain, old man."
I did not cry at his funeral. In fact, I laughed. I'd run out of underwear the day before and had been forced to attend the function commando. That, paired with the fact that my skirt turned out to be much shorter than I'd remembered it being, had lead me to seek out the assistance of my mother to ensure that I did not show an entire church full of mourners my girlie bits.
"Do not worry Megan," my father had said, "I think Norm would have felt honoured."


Reflections on Elephants

When I used to work at the Safari, the elephants would come by twice a day, every day, to indulge in a relatively quick frolic in a lake that conveniently had many places from which tourists could take their pictures.
Each time the elephants would head out from their barn I would receive a phone call from the gate house telling me to instruct customers not to pull their vehicles through the front gate because the elephants were crossing in front of it.
I can't recall having ever passed on this message in full. Truth be told, I kind of felt that if the customers were stupid enough to pull forward when a train of eight elephants was walking right in front of their car they kind of had it coming anyway. I mean, honestly, if you don't already know without me telling you that a thousand pound animal is likely to pose as an obstacle for your vehicle, I am not sure there is much I can really do for you.