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.