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.

Happy Birthday (to me)
So today is my birthday.. It is the start of a new decade to my life. My twenties. If it is anything like my teens a lot will happen, and I will develop breasts.

This Explains It...

This makes perfect sense, I mean where else would Monica's thong be? Before I read this article I would have just thought that thongs don't randomly appear in the circulatory system, but I would have been wrong. I can freely admit that now, underwear do randomly appear in arteries. Thank you, Weekly World News. Thank you for opening up my eyes.

Now with Unicycle
I arrived home late last night, made my calls to friends in order to make sure they knew I was home safe, then opened the door to my room with the intent on getting into the bed and never waking up (until it was time to go to Ikea). That is when I saw it, leaning up against my exercise bike in all it's one-wheel glory. My parents had got me the unicycle I so very much desired. I immediately went back to the phone and called my friends (again) and told them the super news. They were almost excited as I was.
A unicycle... Now all I need to do is learn how to ride it and then I am well on my way to my dreams as a pan-handler. Well, after that all I need to do is learn how to juggle, and then from there I will switch from juggling balls to juggling sharp knives or things that are on fire. How hard can it be? Naturally, because I am so realistic, I will learn all this over the long weekend so that I can go back to school and 'wow' people. Surely one can learn how to ride a unicycle, juggle balls, flames, and sharp knives in the span of four days. (I just want you to know that I am aware that I will not really learn how to do all this in four days, that would just be crazy... but five days is a different story. By the way, this should not detract from the rest of my post at all since we all know if it's in parenthesis it does not count)
So anyway, since I will not actually be partaking in turkey (I am a vegetarian), I will use the time that I would be doing turkey stuff to learn how to ride the unicycle.

I may have dropped the ketchup, but I didn't drop the ball
Today, due to excessive clumsiness (I blame genetics); I dropped an economy sized container of ketchup on the floor. It broke without a doubt because God hates me. The economy sized ketchup bottle left an economy sized puddle of ketchup on my economy sized kitchen floor. After I finished crying (it wasn't so much crying as it was whining, I was really looking forward to having ketchup on my veggie dog), I cleaned up the puddle lake of ketchup, but not before sticking my hand in it. Lucky for me the ketchup sticks out well so I will not have to worry about missing spots like I did when I dropped the container of mayonnaise on the floor last year.

I thought it would be bigger
Today my mom told me that she doesn't think my dog is going to get any bigger.
"No, he will get bigger." I said.
"I'm not so sure about that. I mean, he doesn't seem to be growing." She told me.
"He is only four months old, mom.. He's going to get bigger..." I am determined to have a large dog. I would really like it if my dog would grow. I mean, I don't want him to be Clifford big (read: big red dog, who is larger than a house), but I would like him to be big. Not that I wouldn't like a dog who is larger than a house.. I could ride that dog to school.. And sell advertising to go on his sides. But really, do I have enough money to feed a dog that big? Probably not. I would imagine that he'd eat a lot, and I am a student. I just don't see that working out well.
Plus, what if the dog wasn't really paying attention, and then he stepped on someone. I know I would feel bad, and I would say, 'Bad dog!' But he probably wouldn't know what he'd done wrong. Then he would look very sad and I would say, 'Go to your cage!' But then, how big of a cage would I need? It would have to be pretty big.. And I would probably not be strong enough to close the door.
All in all, dogs that are bigger than houses are probably a bad idea.

A Conversation With My Mother

Just so you know, for when I get lazy, what my mama says is in italics.

"Ugh.. It smells like ass in here..." I say.
"How do you know what ass smells like?" She responds.
"Do you really want to hear the answer to that, or was it just a rhetorical question?" I ask her.
"Well, I'm just saying that you don't have any basis for comparison." She tells me.
"Not that you know of." I tell her.
"Well.. I'm just saying..."
"And I'm just saying, that for all you know, I could be handing out the rim jobs."
"What's a rim job?"
"I feel that, after the whole 'pearl necklace' incident, you should just look that up on the internet.. That's what it's for.. to look up sexual-related terms that your daughter doesn't want to explain to you."
"Well, I sometimes need to know things like that for my courses."
"Mom, I do not know what kind of fucked up psych courses you are taking, but if knowing the definition of a rim job is a pre-requisite.. I suggest you switch courses."
"Just use it in a sentence."
"Okay, fine. My name is Megan, and despite what my mother thinks, I do not hand out rim jobs."
"That didn't help me. Use it in another sentence."
"My mother wants me to give her the definition of what a rim job is, and that makes me uncomfortable."
"Use it one more time."
"In order to pay for tuition this year, I may be forced to give out rim jobs in exchange for money."
"You are not being particularly helpful, Megan..."
"Then my job here is done. If you need me, I will be downstairs explaining to Jamie (a.k.a. my little brother) what a rim job is."
"You are a smart ass."
"I am not sure how healthy your obsession with asses is, Mom..."

Pictures of my beautiful car

This is Charly.. Charly is a 1974 Volkswagen Westfalia Weekender

Charly is, in my opinion, a beautiful car. I fully admit that I am biased being that Charly is my car, but that is hardly the point...

Sometimes Charly back-fires, and I get embarrassed because it is almost like he is a little gassy or something. Although, this one time he was shooting fire out of his tail pipe, and that would have been pretty neat if I hadn't been so sure I was going to die.

This is the inside (back) of Charly.. Please note the painted ceiling (I did that myself), and how the bench folds into a bed.. Just what every father wants for his teenaged daughter.

I hope you love my car as much as I do.. If you don't, pretend, I don't really care about sincerity..

Why I gave a seven-year-old boy the finger
Sometimes, little kids and I do not get along. I think it is probably because we are both very childish, and they seem to be under the impression that I am an adult. What little kids need to realize is that how old you are has nothing to do with whether or not you are an adult. Over the years, this 'problem' I have with some little kids has caused me to do such things as come running out of my house in order to chase them away from my leaf pile.. I was the one who raked the lawn, I was the one who made the giant pile, so I am sure as hell going to be the one to jump in that mother fucking pile - not some little kid who lives down the street from me, and obviously does not realize that it is rude to run onto someone else's lawn and jump in their hard earned leaf pile.
Today, my clashing with a child lead to me giving him the finger - but I can explain.....
I was sitting, politely, in one of my dad's work trucks. We were on our way to a park so that I could take a picture of my dad with his truck for the yellow pages. I was also enjoying a brownie blizzard (yes, that now brings my brownie blizzard consumption up to two!), and was generally just minding my own business. That is when we came to a stop at a traffic light. Now, I am inquisitive by nature, so I began to look around at the other cars. That is when I saw him... This blonde haired boy, roughly seven years old. He looked at me and proceeded to stick out his tongue. First I was shocked, why would he just stick his tongue out at me? I had never done anything to him... But I was not going to be out done by a seven-year-old just because I was confused as to what his motives were, so I stuck my tongue out at him and scrunched up my face. To my utter shock and dismay, he began to sign the official ASL sign for 'asshole' and pointed at me. 'Fuck that!' I thought, 'I will give him some sign language of my own.'
And so, I gave him the finger, and that is when the light turned green, and that is when my dad accelerated, and that is when that little boys parents looked at me like I had just run down their dog.
'Are you proud of yourself now?' You may think. 'Does this make you feel like a big person?' You may also think. The answer to that question is simple, yes, it does.

Too much free time, or.. How I spent my Saturday night...
I am so pleased with my dog right now. I am pleased because he is only 3 months old, and already he can sit still long enough for me to subject him to numerous forms of 'entertainment' (for myself).

The following are pictures of my dog and his dramatic makeover... Well, maybe not dramatic, but it's a good start.


He is so naive... Playing with his can... (which happens to be the only way that I can get him to stay still long enough for me to take a picture that shows how much he's grown)


'I know that look... What are you planning on doing now?' He thinks, as he stares at me, judging... Always judging...


'Please... No... Anything but that...' He begs, but I am without mercy.


'Come here!' I tell him, not really giving him a choice.


As many paws as I could fit in one picture...


It is a work of art... Beautiful colour. It complements his colouring wonderfully...


'How could you do this to me?' He questions.


What he does with his new found beauty...

He is lucky that he's fairly dark colours.
My parents dog, Bailey, is blonde... but he has been red, purple, blue, and hot pink. My mom says that 'colouring' the dog's fur is cruel, but I say if he sits still enough for the manic panic (the dye I used, which does not create any fumes or burning sensation.. I know because I once used it on myself) to set then he is only getting what he deserves. Just like if Bailey sat still long enough for me to give him a David Bowie Labyrinth inspired hair cut, it's his own fault.

Another excerpt from my second grade journal...

So I gather that I went to a corn roast... I'm sure that was super. And I saw Brianne at said corn roast (she was one of my friends in grade two)... But I'm a little confused about the smelling bat part. What do bats smell like? And how did I know that I had smelt one, considering I am relatively sure that I have no basis of comparison for the scent of a bat. What I do know about bats is this... Their saliva is made up of three main ingredients to keep blood flowing, anticoagulants (to stop the clotting), something else that stops the red blood cells from sticking together, and another thing that stops the veins from constricting near the site of the wound. I also know that as soon as vampire bats begin to feed (on blood), they begin to urinate. It's because blood is primarily made up of water, and thus they need to rid themselves of the excess water in order to get the proper amount of nutrients they need.

I remember things like this but ask me anything about the classes this year and I probably couldn't tell you anything..