Please kill me. Please kill me now.

I've done something to anger god. Severely.
That is the only explanation that I can come up with. Why else would my sister have returned from the Middle East with a sudden new interest in techno music? There is simply no other reason.
9:30 AM, her first day back in the country and she decides to welcome the dawn of a new day by playing techno. This may or may not be worse than the time she had the song Aïcha, by the Arabic Artist Khaled on repeat for four days, non-stop.
Don't get me wrong, there is a time and a place for techno music. It's just that that time is when you are high on Ecstasy and that place is somewhere that is far away from me.


Dealings with a two-month-old

She plopped the baby down in my arms and proceeded to sit beside me on the stairs.
Surprised, my newfound charge and I both stared unblinkingly at each other with a hint of suspicion.

I speak to the baby exactly how I speak to adults, which seems to amuse both his parents and casual onlookers endlessly. In fact, the only difference that immediately comes to mind is that, when addressing the baby, I occasionally drive my points home by tickling his ribs and blowing raspberries on his stomach. To date, I have yet to find myself trying to win an argument with a fully matured individual in a similar fashion.

Later, while in my care, the baby voices his displeasure at suddenly finding himself with a wet diaper. "I understand that you are currently perturbed, but I think you would find your angst would be somewhat abated if you would only stop gouging yourself in the eye," I tell him, as I locate his diaper bag and look around for a flat surface on which to change him. "Equally," I add, "you would find that if you ceased flailing around so excitedly I would be able to change your diaper much more efficiently." The baby ignores my words, choosing instead to smile and coo at me for no apparent reason. "I do not understand you," I state flatly. "I think we will get along much better when we are actually able to converse and I can simply buy you material objects to gain your affections." But the truth is, in spite of the many times when my mere presence seems to offend him, we get along just fine right now. And though I am loath to admit it, my heart melts just a little every time his parents refer to me as "Auntie Megan".


A Sentence or Two

Watching Madonna's new video for her song 4 Minutes, I am inspired to go out to a busy parking lot and do some fancy dancing on top of cars - not to mention locate the nearest giant clock so that I can dance in front of it while wearing a flesh-toned body suit.

My dad woke me up at 2 AM to ask me if I'd ever heard of Talk Like a Pirate Day.

"Wow, really? That's so exciting that my nipple just got hard," I said.
"Nipple? Just one?"
"Yeah, righty. Lefty has much higher standards," I explained, though I felt that this should have been self-evident.

I once made pulled taffy in grade three, and, to tell the truth, making it again is something I have thought about at least once a year ever since.

I never had baby fever before everyone around me, it would seem, started procreating like it was an Olympic sport.

Facebook tells me that several of my friends think I am likely to succeed and would make an excellent mother. However, it also tells me that they are less than confident in my sense of fashion and my thoroughness when it comes to bathing. Thanks, Facebook!


And then I ate a cupcake

When I first saw the giant wooden pole on my front lawn I thought, finally, my parents had decided to help me realize my dream of holding a giant Scottish festival, featuring a caber toss competition, in our backyard.
Alas, my dreams were quickly shattered when I saw several Hydro trucks dropping off similar poles next to all their dilapidated carriers of power along my street.
'So close,' I thought.


Hey there, cupcake.

I made cupcakes this past weekend as part of a fund-raising effort - well, a fund-raising effort in a round about way. I think they turned out pretty well, as did the fruit floral arrangement things that I also made.


I am not high

Okay, that is a lie. I am a little high. Or a lot high. Maybe medium sized high.
My parents went out of town for a funeral this weekend and I decided it was the perfect time to break in my new bong. Also, I tend to clean when I am stoned and I thought, since the house was looking a little dirty, that it may just be the incentive I needed to tackle some housework. Really, if you think about it, I am doing my parents a favour by partaking in recreational drug use. I am being completely selfless; thinking only of others. Sacrificing my own personal well-being for the sake of the family.
About twenty minutes ago, while laying down on my bed, I accidentally stuck my big toe in the top of my bong - which was resting on my floor. About five minutes later I would forget this and proceed to stick my mouth where my toe had just been. I should probably mention that I'd been outside just minutes before, barefoot, trudging through god knows what. On this trip outdoors I encountered a snake. Screaming, I briefly looked behind me to see if the dogs would come to my rescue, which, of course, they would not. When I looked back, the snake was gone. 
I spent the next twenty minutes standing there debating whether or not I had actually seen any snake to begin with. "But marijuana does not make people hallucinate," I tried to reason. When the snake did finally make its reappearance, I pointed and yelled at it. "I knew it! I knew it!" I screamed. "You are real! You do exist!" My screaming was quickly interrupted when the snake started to slither towards me. It was at this point in time that I squealed and ran into the house, tripping up the stairs as I went.


Secrets that aren't so much secrets as I just haven't found a way to work them into a conversation yet

Secret Number One: In middle school, I stayed home sick for an entire week just so that I could watch all of the Planet of the Ape movies that were being shown every day at noon on the Sci-Fi channel. I may not have learned how to do order of operation properly until grade ten, but by god did I develop a fear of a primate revolution.

Secret Number Two: I once, at a house party, fooled around with a guy I had known for five minutes because he had already called shotgun on the fold out couch and I figured that it was the best way to avoid sleeping on the floor.

Secret Number Three: I smoked pot for the first time when I was in grade seven. I am not entirely sure if I actually inhaled.

Secret Number Four: I have never had my legs, armpits, or cha-cha professionally waxed because I have never been sure how long I am supposed to let the hair grow before I go back in for another wax.

Secret Number Five: When I am bored, I brush my teeth.

Secret Number Six: I once wore swimming goggles while performing oral sex on a former sexual partner because the two times before that he'd ejaculated in my left eye.

Secret Number Seven: I am borderline socially retarded. I never quite mastered the art of making friends and generally just feel awkward around new people.

Secret Number Eight: I once stole a pack of cigarettes from the gas station my sister was working at. They were Benson and Hedges and package was all pretty and silver.

Secret Number Nine: In grade twelve I tried to cheat on a math test by burning the formulas to a CD I had made and placing that CD in my disc man while I was writing the test. I still barely managed to pass the test because I just could not bring myself to listen to my illicit audio files.

Secret Number Ten: I didn't actually pass OAC Calculus on my own merit. My official transcripts list my mark as 50%. A teacher later explained to me that a 50% really means that your actual mark was under 50%, but that the teacher felt that you deserved to pass and bumped you up. Considering that I had a calculus tutor and was able to successfully complete any calculus problem I was given so long as I was not in a test-like situation, I agreed that I was deserving of a pity pass.