In my first year of University, one of my roommates had a hanging lamp, which she purchased from Ikea, displayed proudly in her room. It is important at this point in time, for the sake of the story, that I mention that the hanging lamp was made out of blue rice paper. Needless to say, it was a delicate lamp and it had been made clear to me on more than one occasion that I was never to touch it.
You all know where this story is going, of course I ended up breaking the hanging lamp. That hanging lamp was doomed the minute my roommate packed it up and brought it with her to University. Ultimately it was the finale of Super Bowl XXXVIII's pre-game show that would do it in.
Aerosmith was in the midst of playing their hearts out, and dancers were running around the field with beautiful dancing ribbons streaming after them. Moved by what was happening on screen, I picked up a plastic tape measure that was sitting on my roommate's side table and began to wave it in the air, imitating (with far less sophistication) the movements of the dancers on the TV.
"Wave that ribbon!" My roommate exclaimed, "you were born to do this!" And, for a minute, I believed her. I believed her right up until I heard the metal end of that plastic tape measure puncture the paper body of her hanging lamp.
I stopped abruptly, the tape measure falling to my side, closed my eyes and prepared myself for the painful death that I was sure would follow. When death did no immediately find me, I slowly opened up one eye and glanced cautiously towards where my roommate was sitting.
As I had expected, tears were streaming down her face - however, much to my surprise, they seemed to be the result of laughter rather than sadness/a burning desire to kill me. I was even more surprised at what she said next: "Don't you stop, Megan." She cried, "don't you ever stop waving that ribbon."
"But I just ruined your lamp," I said, in disbelief.
"Forget that," she shouted, "just wave. You wave that ribbon, Megan."
And so, deciding not to question her, I once more waved that plastic tape measure high above my head. I waved that plastic tape measure with everything I was and everything I had in me, all the while making fervent promises to replace the hanging lamp that had fallen victim to my new career.
In spite of numerous man hours spent in Ikea, diligently searching for a replacement, I have only very recently been able to locate another hanging lamp. While relating the entire story over the Internet may not be the best way to keep it a surprise, I am now finally able to make good on my promise to replace the lamp that I/Aerosmith broke.
10/27/2007
10/15/2007
All of my socks have pictures of animals frolicking on them.
No, wait, that's not entirely true. Some of them display a single animal looking bored, and others show multiple animals at various stages of rest.
I am not sure if you know this, but it is somewhat difficult to convince yourself you are in fact an adult when there are woven pictures of kittens playing with balls of yarn prominently displayed on your feet.
No, wait, that's not entirely true. Some of them display a single animal looking bored, and others show multiple animals at various stages of rest.
I am not sure if you know this, but it is somewhat difficult to convince yourself you are in fact an adult when there are woven pictures of kittens playing with balls of yarn prominently displayed on your feet.
9/21/2007
$30 worth of glitter later....
And the award for world's greatest sister in our house goes to: MeganI feel like this sign is so great that I no longer even actually have to go to any of his games - not that I've been to any of his games so far. The season only started yesterday and I was too busy creating my masterpiece to actually attend the opener.
9/20/2007
As opposed to just a weirdo with out pee in her purse
As I sat in the office, waiting patiently in my chair, I couldn't help but think of the container of urine I had hidden away in my purse. The last time I was at the doctor's office I had made a special request to take a specimen jar home with me after I'd explained to my doctor the tribulations I endure when forced to wait to pee until I am locked away inside one of the sterile bathrooms located in the medical lab.
"I always have to pee first thing in the morning and I can never manage to hold it long enough to get down here and wait for them to draw my blood. And then, because I've already peed, my bladder is empty and I am in that little bathroom for fifteen minutes hoping that filling up 1/5th of the container is going to provide enough urine for the lab techs to do whatever kind of magical tests it is that they have to do. It's very embarrassing, especially because 3/4s of the urine I do manage to produce ends up all over my hand and on the outside of the specimen jar. Do you know what it's like to have to turn in a specimen jar with a wet label?" I asked. My doctor just smiled at me, opened one of the drawers to his right, pulled out a small plastic container and handed it over wordlessly.
And so, ideal patient that I am, I fasted all night long, and as soon as morning struck I pulled that specimen jar from off my dresser and headed for the bathroom. I filled that container with an ease I had never previously experienced when it came to peeing in jars. When it was 4/5ths of the way full, I stopped and beamed at the jar as I screwed its top on. After that, I placed the container into a Ziploc bag (just in case), tossed it into my purse and rushed out the door for the doctor's office.
Never having transported urine anywhere before, I was unsure what the proper procedure was - but assumed I should probably keep the container well hidden and not mention to anyone that I was toting around a cup full of my own pee. Before I knew it, my physical was done and I was being sent over to the medical lab for testing. 'This is it,' I had thought. 'This is where all my hard work pays off.' Only no one ever asked me for my sample. No one asked me for my sample because my doctor had not requested a urinalysis. I had just spent nearly two hours carting my urine all around the city and the medical building only to find out that it was completely unnecessary and I was now just a weirdo with a container of pee in her purse.
"I always have to pee first thing in the morning and I can never manage to hold it long enough to get down here and wait for them to draw my blood. And then, because I've already peed, my bladder is empty and I am in that little bathroom for fifteen minutes hoping that filling up 1/5th of the container is going to provide enough urine for the lab techs to do whatever kind of magical tests it is that they have to do. It's very embarrassing, especially because 3/4s of the urine I do manage to produce ends up all over my hand and on the outside of the specimen jar. Do you know what it's like to have to turn in a specimen jar with a wet label?" I asked. My doctor just smiled at me, opened one of the drawers to his right, pulled out a small plastic container and handed it over wordlessly.
And so, ideal patient that I am, I fasted all night long, and as soon as morning struck I pulled that specimen jar from off my dresser and headed for the bathroom. I filled that container with an ease I had never previously experienced when it came to peeing in jars. When it was 4/5ths of the way full, I stopped and beamed at the jar as I screwed its top on. After that, I placed the container into a Ziploc bag (just in case), tossed it into my purse and rushed out the door for the doctor's office.
Never having transported urine anywhere before, I was unsure what the proper procedure was - but assumed I should probably keep the container well hidden and not mention to anyone that I was toting around a cup full of my own pee. Before I knew it, my physical was done and I was being sent over to the medical lab for testing. 'This is it,' I had thought. 'This is where all my hard work pays off.' Only no one ever asked me for my sample. No one asked me for my sample because my doctor had not requested a urinalysis. I had just spent nearly two hours carting my urine all around the city and the medical building only to find out that it was completely unnecessary and I was now just a weirdo with a container of pee in her purse.
9/06/2007
That should be their new slogan
I super-glued my toe shut.
I had a deep slice that looked as though I'd attempted to remove my own baby toe and instead of getting stitches I decided to super-glue it shut.
I'd gotten up to use the bathroom at around five in the morning only to ram right into a street sign I had borrowed from the city. "Fuck!" I exclaimed, and avoided looking down for as long as possible. When I did, look down that is, I noticed that there was blood flowing liberally from a superficial wound on the top of my smallest toe. I thought it odd that a relatively shallow cut would produce so much blood, but shrugged my shoulders and sought out my first aid kit without giving it much more thought.
I hopped around the basement floor in an attempt to avoid leaving a trail of bodily fluids behind me, but failed miserably. Once I reached the laundry room sink, I propped my foot up on the counter to give my wound a closer examination. It is at this point in time that one would think I would have noticed that the sign had tried to sever my toe off, but I did not. It took me an additional twenty minutes to figure out that my toe had actually been damaged in two places.
"Fuck," I repeated, but with much less enthusiasm. While the wound on the top of my toe was nothing to worry about, the slice in between my toes proved more worrisome.
It looked like the kind of cut that needed stitches. I'd had such a cut once before, the result of a failed attempt to cut a watermelon using a bread knife, but had managed to escape getting stitches when the admitting nurse at the ER told me it would only require one. "No. No, thank you," I had told her, and quickly convinced my father that our time would be better spent somewhere other than the ER. But this cut - this cut looked worse than the watermelon fiasco. This cut looked like my foot had started to evolve and this evolutionary stage involved the formation of a mouth.
I wiggled my baby toe and the mouth laughed at me. "Good luck with your day of shoe shopping now," it said.
That's when it came to me: super glue. Both my grandfather and uncle had told me stories in which they sang the praises of super glue and its joyous medicinal qualities. "You know it was developed during the war as a quick alternative to stitches," my grandfather had said.
So that morning I had my father run out to Canadian Tire and fetch me a tube of super glue.
Let me just tell you this, internet: super glue is super awesome.
I had a deep slice that looked as though I'd attempted to remove my own baby toe and instead of getting stitches I decided to super-glue it shut.
I'd gotten up to use the bathroom at around five in the morning only to ram right into a street sign I had borrowed from the city. "Fuck!" I exclaimed, and avoided looking down for as long as possible. When I did, look down that is, I noticed that there was blood flowing liberally from a superficial wound on the top of my smallest toe. I thought it odd that a relatively shallow cut would produce so much blood, but shrugged my shoulders and sought out my first aid kit without giving it much more thought.
I hopped around the basement floor in an attempt to avoid leaving a trail of bodily fluids behind me, but failed miserably. Once I reached the laundry room sink, I propped my foot up on the counter to give my wound a closer examination. It is at this point in time that one would think I would have noticed that the sign had tried to sever my toe off, but I did not. It took me an additional twenty minutes to figure out that my toe had actually been damaged in two places.
"Fuck," I repeated, but with much less enthusiasm. While the wound on the top of my toe was nothing to worry about, the slice in between my toes proved more worrisome.
It looked like the kind of cut that needed stitches. I'd had such a cut once before, the result of a failed attempt to cut a watermelon using a bread knife, but had managed to escape getting stitches when the admitting nurse at the ER told me it would only require one. "No. No, thank you," I had told her, and quickly convinced my father that our time would be better spent somewhere other than the ER. But this cut - this cut looked worse than the watermelon fiasco. This cut looked like my foot had started to evolve and this evolutionary stage involved the formation of a mouth.
I wiggled my baby toe and the mouth laughed at me. "Good luck with your day of shoe shopping now," it said.
That's when it came to me: super glue. Both my grandfather and uncle had told me stories in which they sang the praises of super glue and its joyous medicinal qualities. "You know it was developed during the war as a quick alternative to stitches," my grandfather had said.
So that morning I had my father run out to Canadian Tire and fetch me a tube of super glue.
Let me just tell you this, internet: super glue is super awesome.
8/28/2007
Actually, I know I will miss it
I am laying on a bare mattress that rests in the middle of the floor in an empty room. It is my last night in North Bay - ever, or at least for the foreseeable future.
I’ve thought very little about my actual departure from this city. It has been a date marked on my calendar for months now surrounded by exclamation points and stars, but, other than considering the kinds of supplies I’d require to pack up the house, I’d never really given much thought to the other implications the date held. I am leaving this city essentially the same way I entered it: without any real attachments to its inhabitants and less than thrilled about my living arrangements once I settle into my new life.
Despite making many friends, I knew that each goodbye I made was permanent – unless, of course, it was the other party who made the effort to keep in touch. In truth, I dodged goodbyes wherever possible and implemented a strict “no hugging” rule for the ones I found myself unintentionally caught in. This statement sounds slightly depressing, but I never expected to make lasting relationships in this city and found relief in the fact that it seems I haven't.
I’ve thought very little about my actual departure from this city. It has been a date marked on my calendar for months now surrounded by exclamation points and stars, but, other than considering the kinds of supplies I’d require to pack up the house, I’d never really given much thought to the other implications the date held. I am leaving this city essentially the same way I entered it: without any real attachments to its inhabitants and less than thrilled about my living arrangements once I settle into my new life.
Despite making many friends, I knew that each goodbye I made was permanent – unless, of course, it was the other party who made the effort to keep in touch. In truth, I dodged goodbyes wherever possible and implemented a strict “no hugging” rule for the ones I found myself unintentionally caught in. This statement sounds slightly depressing, but I never expected to make lasting relationships in this city and found relief in the fact that it seems I haven't.
8/14/2007
But not before exclaiming, "This is why I broke-up with you!"
I was surprised when my cell phone rang because, after all, I can't recall having ever given anyone the number - not intentionally at least. I narrowed my eyes at it in hopes that my sheer level of annoyance would cause it to cease its vibrating and cower away in a corner somewhere. When it became clear that the phone was not going to make things easy, I flipped it open and proceeded to offer up a half-assed greeting to whoever was on the other side.
"This is Corey," an unfamiliar male voice announced, "you broke up with me three days ago."
Oh. Corey.
Truth be told, I did not actually know Corey by name. You see, last week I got drunk and decided it would be hilarious to send the same text message out to each member of my family. The idea had come from an episode of the television show 7th Heaven, in which one of the Camden's daughters is broken up with via text message. "M br8kn up w/u," the text read.
What I forgot was that my sister had terminated her old cell phone plan before she went away to Europe/Africa approximately a year and a half ago, and I had failed to update my phone's address book with her new phone number. Needless to say, with a number that was less than current, my sister never got my hilarious text message. Instead, it went to Corey.
Oh, Corey.
Dear, sweet, creepy Corey. Distraught over our break-up, he called my cell phone in a last ditch effort to save our relationship. In what can best be described as two and a half of the most awkward minutes of my life, I attempted to explain the hilarity of my mix-up to the voice on the other end of the phone. When he failed to laugh the way I felt he should and quickly proceeded to accuse me of stalking him, I hung up the phone.
"This is Corey," an unfamiliar male voice announced, "you broke up with me three days ago."
Oh. Corey.
Truth be told, I did not actually know Corey by name. You see, last week I got drunk and decided it would be hilarious to send the same text message out to each member of my family. The idea had come from an episode of the television show 7th Heaven, in which one of the Camden's daughters is broken up with via text message. "M br8kn up w/u," the text read.
What I forgot was that my sister had terminated her old cell phone plan before she went away to Europe/Africa approximately a year and a half ago, and I had failed to update my phone's address book with her new phone number. Needless to say, with a number that was less than current, my sister never got my hilarious text message. Instead, it went to Corey.
Oh, Corey.
Dear, sweet, creepy Corey. Distraught over our break-up, he called my cell phone in a last ditch effort to save our relationship. In what can best be described as two and a half of the most awkward minutes of my life, I attempted to explain the hilarity of my mix-up to the voice on the other end of the phone. When he failed to laugh the way I felt he should and quickly proceeded to accuse me of stalking him, I hung up the phone.
8/09/2007
Save(d) as Draft(s)
I keep having nightmares about dying, night after night.
I used to think that I wasn't afraid of death, but I have come to realize that I was deluding myself.
I am afraid completely afraid to die. The idea leaves me terrified.
7/24/07
I still mean every promise I have ever made.
7/25/07
I used to have an intense desire to own a white duck.
I had it all planned out. The duck's name would be Professor McQuacks and he would follow me every where. We would go to the park together where I would feed him pieces of bread as he swam in the water and the other ducks looked on in jealousy. At the end of each day, I would tuck Professor McQuacks into my bed and read him a bedtime story. However, in the morning I would wake-up with a bad case of salmonella and realize that I had accidentally rolled over the Professor in my sleep.
7/29/07
I sprayed the air freshener in the sign of the holy cross, hoping against all hope that it would somehow purge the smell, that was surely evil, from the room. It didn't though.
8/01/07
My sister is always giving me inside information on things that I don't care about, like dessert wines and diamond mining. "I will let you come to my champagne tasting," she tells me one evening, "I will only make you pay $100."
8/03/07
I have a hard time thinking of myself in terms of anything but goofy looking. I feel incredibly self-conscious when talking about my physical appearance because, after all, I have looked in a mirror before and been greeted by the sight of my bulbous nose and Charlie Brown-like head.
8/04/07
I used to think that I wasn't afraid of death, but I have come to realize that I was deluding myself.
I am afraid completely afraid to die. The idea leaves me terrified.
7/24/07
I still mean every promise I have ever made.
7/25/07
I used to have an intense desire to own a white duck.
I had it all planned out. The duck's name would be Professor McQuacks and he would follow me every where. We would go to the park together where I would feed him pieces of bread as he swam in the water and the other ducks looked on in jealousy. At the end of each day, I would tuck Professor McQuacks into my bed and read him a bedtime story. However, in the morning I would wake-up with a bad case of salmonella and realize that I had accidentally rolled over the Professor in my sleep.
7/29/07
I sprayed the air freshener in the sign of the holy cross, hoping against all hope that it would somehow purge the smell, that was surely evil, from the room. It didn't though.
8/01/07
My sister is always giving me inside information on things that I don't care about, like dessert wines and diamond mining. "I will let you come to my champagne tasting," she tells me one evening, "I will only make you pay $100."
8/03/07
I have a hard time thinking of myself in terms of anything but goofy looking. I feel incredibly self-conscious when talking about my physical appearance because, after all, I have looked in a mirror before and been greeted by the sight of my bulbous nose and Charlie Brown-like head.
8/04/07
8/02/2007
But I'll know for sure Friday morning
It's a race against the clock. Which will come first, my period or my annual physical?
Only time will tell.
Only time will tell.
7/26/2007
Algonquin 2007
I have spent the past three days verbally sparring with a handful of 14-year-olds. In spite of their youthful enthusiasm, I broke their spirits relatively quickly by shouting things like "Get a haircut!" and "In a few years you're going to have to start paying taxes!" at them. They were doomed to fall in love with me from the start.
7/20/2007
7/18/2007
ALL OF GOD'S RICHEST BLESSINGS and then some...
"I don't care which one of them shows up. I am getting one of my cousins drunk tomorrow," I declared.
"But Amanda is only 15!" my mom cried disapprovingly. She is always trying to rain on my parades.
- 07/18/07
"You are just jealous because nobody wishes you ALL OF GOD'S RICHEST BLESSINGS," I said to her, quoting a card I had received (along with $25) from a great-aunt earlier in the week.
"If you say that one more time today I am going to throw something at your head."
"Fair enough," I replied and walked away.
- 07/10/07
We were in the same class for two years, but the only reason I even remember his name at all is because he threw-up one day in the first grade. My friends and I all spent the next few months emphatically avoiding the spot his vomit had landed, which happened to be right smack in the middle of the only doorway leading into the classroom.
I never thought I would be so desperately concerned about the health of someone that I was never even really friends with. Yet each night I squeeze my eyes shut and pray to a God that I don't even believe in, asking him to let this boy I once knew go into remission.
- 07/08/07
"But Amanda is only 15!" my mom cried disapprovingly. She is always trying to rain on my parades.
- 07/18/07
"You are just jealous because nobody wishes you ALL OF GOD'S RICHEST BLESSINGS," I said to her, quoting a card I had received (along with $25) from a great-aunt earlier in the week.
"If you say that one more time today I am going to throw something at your head."
"Fair enough," I replied and walked away.
- 07/10/07
We were in the same class for two years, but the only reason I even remember his name at all is because he threw-up one day in the first grade. My friends and I all spent the next few months emphatically avoiding the spot his vomit had landed, which happened to be right smack in the middle of the only doorway leading into the classroom.
I never thought I would be so desperately concerned about the health of someone that I was never even really friends with. Yet each night I squeeze my eyes shut and pray to a God that I don't even believe in, asking him to let this boy I once knew go into remission.
- 07/08/07
7/12/2007
But other than that, I have a sparkling personality and a winning smile
Did you know that I am an asshole? It's true, I am. A giant one.
It is a realization that has been slowly dawning on me over the past decade or so.
I was once told, in so many words, that recognizing your own flaws is meaningless if you are unwilling to do anything to change them. I recognize that I can be judgmental, introverted, and suffer from a bit of a superiority complex. I hold on to anger for ridiculously long periods of time, and I frequently consider myself morally superior to those around me when, in truth, I am really no more moral than anybody else. And let's not forget the fact that I am incredibly flaky and have severe commitment issues.
Recognizing your own flaws does not somehow negate the negative impact that they have on both yourself and those around you, but I'd like to think that it is a step in the right direction.
It is a realization that has been slowly dawning on me over the past decade or so.
I was once told, in so many words, that recognizing your own flaws is meaningless if you are unwilling to do anything to change them. I recognize that I can be judgmental, introverted, and suffer from a bit of a superiority complex. I hold on to anger for ridiculously long periods of time, and I frequently consider myself morally superior to those around me when, in truth, I am really no more moral than anybody else. And let's not forget the fact that I am incredibly flaky and have severe commitment issues.
Recognizing your own flaws does not somehow negate the negative impact that they have on both yourself and those around you, but I'd like to think that it is a step in the right direction.
7/11/2007
July 11th
The circus is in town this weekend. They have set their tent up right down the street from our house. I remember you in your silly hat, with a smile plastered on your face, as you handed me a mound of cotton candy and told me that you had made special arrangements for me to ride the elephant. What I did not realize until years later is that anyone can make special arrangements to ride the elephants, assuming they are willing to part with ten dollars.
Each year I think that the fact that you are gone will not matter any more today than it did yesterday. This year I find myself surprised to realize that it does.
Those first few days I thought, "Yesterday this time my world was intact."
I continued to count time in relation to when you had exited my life for that entire first year.
I don't remember when I last visited your grave. I can't decide whether this fact would upset you, or if you would simply be pleased that I think of you at all.
Each year I think that the fact that you are gone will not matter any more today than it did yesterday. This year I find myself surprised to realize that it does.
Those first few days I thought, "Yesterday this time my world was intact."
I continued to count time in relation to when you had exited my life for that entire first year.
I don't remember when I last visited your grave. I can't decide whether this fact would upset you, or if you would simply be pleased that I think of you at all.
7/05/2007
It's been longer than 30 days so I may just have to keep him
Three years later and I still have the receipt for my dog (yes, I irresponsibly bought him from a pet store). One day, I plan on taking him back to the family run store where we first met, holding the receipt very clearly in my hand, and asking them what kind of return policy they have.
"I do not think this is the same dog that I bought here," I will tell them. "This one is much bigger than the one I left with. I am not exactly sure what happened, but I am almost positive that it is not my fault."
"I do not think this is the same dog that I bought here," I will tell them. "This one is much bigger than the one I left with. I am not exactly sure what happened, but I am almost positive that it is not my fault."
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