As my little brother watches on

Since my sister is busy in South Africa having $4,000 surgeries on her neck to determine why it has swollen up and is now causing her an excruciatingly large amount of pain, it would seem as though I have taken over her role as resident alcoholic (for as long as I am at my parents house.. Which is one more day). I'm not going to lie to you - I am drunk right now. I imbibed two and a half mickeys of rum, and then for good measure I finished off a big bottle of peach schnapps... All while my brother sat next to me watching a movie. I know. I know.. It's not healthy.. But I have a really poor justification for it all. You see, internet, I keep a certain amount of liquor at my parent's house so that it is always on hand in case I need it for something. When I came home this trip I realized that my father had been dipping into my stash of liquor. Since I had no need to take it with me back to school (I already have a full bar there just for the occasions that my friends ask me to mix them a drink), I decided that it would be a super great idea just to drink it all so that it wasn't there for him to drink. I can't really tell you why I thought this was a good idea. I can only assure you that, at the time, it seemed like a really great way to teach my father a lesson. Obviously it will teach him nothing at all, as me becoming inebriated rarely teaches anyone a lesson... Except maybe the elderly, who should learn not to be out so late or else they run the risk of being flashed. But seriously, at this point in time it would seem that driving home tomorrow may not be the best idea as a killer hangover is most certainly headed in my direction. Please forgive any spelling mistakes/things that do not make sense in the post.. I don't actually read over them when I'm sober, so editing when I am drunk is out of question.
It serves me right for getting drunk in front of my little brother...

Medicine

I am an impulsive shopper, to say the least. I see things. I want things. I buy things. Or at least I used to, back in the days when I could afford to spend money. During my first year of University I decided it would be an awesome idea to buy a home pregnancy test. Why? I don't really know. I think I thought that it would be funny to have for when people went through the medicine cabinet in our bathroom. Everyone knows that people look through your stuff when they use your bathroom, so I really wanted to give them something to think about while they were in there. Later on, our collection of "stuff in medicine cabinet for shock value" grew to include a party pack of condoms and a douche. But this post is not about a giant pack of condoms, or a product to fix womanly odor problems. No. This post is about the evening I bought my home pregnancy test. I, shockingly, came up with the idea when I was looking at the display of tampons right next to the home pregnancy tests. The idea popped into my head and the next thing I knew I was scanning to see which one was the cheapest, and grabbing it off the shelf to stick in my shopping kart. Upon checking out, my friends made sure to reference the pregnancy test as many times as they could. "If you could keep your legs close this would not be a problem." one would say, while the other would nod in agreement. The checkout boy (man?) looked embarrassed, and hid the pregnancy test away in a bag as quickly as he could. I smiled to myself for some unknown reason, and entered my pin number to pay for the groceries. What I did not expect was the alarm to sound as I was leaving the store.
The mortified clerk rushed over and said to me in a hushed voice "I think it is your medicine."
"My medicine?" I questioned, and looked to my friend to see if she could offer any clarification. She shook her head, and then it dawned on me. "Oh, you mean my pregnancy test." I briefly wondered if I should take the time to explain to the clerk that a pregnancy test is not a form of medication. It does nothing to clear up a bad case of pregnancy. No matter how many times you take one, the pregnancy is not going to go away. I decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. The clerk scrambled, pregnancy test in hand, back to his checkout lane to pass it over that magical device that disables the alarm triggering tag and then hurried back to me to hand it over. "Thank you." I told him. "I've got to get home now to use my medicine." I explained, as I walked out the door.
I see the same clerk pretty much every time I go to buy groceries. His name is Corey, and since that fateful day he has even asked me out on a date. I can only assume this is because he thinks I am more likely to put out due to the whole "medicine" incident. Each time he sees me approach the check out lane, he smiles to himself. I can only hope that he never knocks a girl up because he will be awfully disappointed with the results of the "medicine".

The World is Frozen

I took my dog for a walk today and got in slightly over my head. Sometimes snow is deeper than it looks. I realized this when half of my leg suddenly disappeared into a mound of white death. The dog loved it, of course, as he was able to submerge himself almost completely in the snow. The only sign that I even actually had a dog with me was the wisp of black fur that broke through the surface of the snow, attached to a furiously wagging tail.
It was surprisingly warm out. My cheeks were still rosy, but the feeling remained in all of my extremities.
Here are some pictures I took along the way...




The last one is of the fishing shacks on the lake. There are far less this year than there were last year, but that is probably due to the fact that for the longest time the lake remained unfrozen.

Sledding

"Grab hold of her ears!" I urged, "Use them to steer!"
My friends sat in front of me, working out the semantics of doubling up on a crazy carpet while laying flat on their stomachs. Somehow, hurling your body down a steep incline is oddly appealing to University students as well as young children. I stood there, freezing, watching as time and time again my friend performed increasingly complex takes on the traditional act of sledding.
"Let's go over that jump standing up on the mat while facing each other!" They would shout with glee. "Megan! Come get on this mat with us! We will do it with three people!" Each time I would shake my head and decline their offer. I have found that I can only tempt fate so far before it rears its angry head to bite me in the ass. So I stood there and watched in awe, all the while losing more and more feeling in my extremities, at the sheer happiness that exuded from my companions.
It is easy to forget what a joy being alive is. Sometimes it takes hurling yourself down a hill before you remember all that sage-like knowledge you once possessed as a child. Sometimes you just have to forget about mid-terms.. or papers.. or bills.. or mortgages and just risk dying a little so that you can remember how to live.

Wild

My dog went on a bender this weekend and was so hungover this morning that he had to wear sunglasses all day.
That says a lot because he mostly stays inside my room and my room is pretty dark as it is. His drinking is getting pretty bad. The cat and I are thinking of staging an intervention.
I am not 100% sure what his reasons for hitting the bottle are, but I am guessing that it has something to do with depression.
It's been a mixture of intense rain and snow for the past week and I haven't been able to take him out for his daily 5 km walk. I tried to cheer him up by playing a new game I created called "Eat all the fruit that I don't like from the container of fruit I bought at the grocery store", but he still just mopes around, occasionally crying.
I, on the other hand, was overjoyed today when I realized that my cat was physically capable of giving people the finger.Now that I know he is able, I just need to train him to actually do it. Imagine.. A cat who gives people the finger on command. I do not think life could get any better than that...

It's Election Day!

Does anybody else feel almost like it's Christmas all over again? Today is full of magical possibilities... OR bitter disappointment and fear for where our country is headed. It shocks me that not everybody is as enthusiastic about voting as I am. How can you not be excited to vote? Students (a.k.a. my peers) leave me with a overwhelming sense of disappointment. Today I saw a statistic that said only 25% of people ages 18 to 24 vote. It is not like voting is particularly strenuous. We're not being asked to a run a marathon here. It is really simple, trust me. It's almost idiot proof. You go to the place where you're supposed to vote, you give them your name, and then you walk behind the little cardboard booth they have set-up and you make an 'X' in the circle next to the candidate you want to vote for. I do not know about all of you, but I learned how to write an 'X' before I was even in kindergarten.
Today, I plan to ensure that all of my friends, every last one of them, head down to the polls and cast their votes. I couldn't wait this long to vote, and did it last Saturday instead. It was awesome. I didn't even have to wait in line or anything.
But seriously... you can't complain about the way your country is being run if you can't even be bothered to take a half an hour out of your day to put your two cents in.
In closing, whether you win or lose, Jack Layton, I still want to bear your children (assuming that Olivia Chow gives us her blessing).

Go figure....

I'm considering hiring a small crowd of people to wait outside of my bathroom and cheer every time I have a regular bowel movement. I'll either give them the thumbs up or thumbs down, and if all my efforts prove fruitless they will console me and say comforting words like "Don't worry, I'm sure next time will be better." or "I have a feeling tomorrow is the day!"

In other news, I have been instructed by the veterinarian to give the dog Metamucil. Apparently, he is not getting enough fiber in his diet and is having trouble passing stool. Super. So my dog is constipated, too. We can bond early in the morning as I drink a glass of "Smooth, orange flavor" Metamucil, and he somehow ingests his.
Metamucil is gross, and I have learned that you should drink it as quickly as possible otherwise it gets thick and gelatinous.. And there's nothing better than ingesting something that looks a whole lot like slime.

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.