- I woke myself from a dream last night when I shouted out, "I do not want an IUD!"
Wow. Okay. Fair enough. I hear you loud and clear, Subconscious, although I have to say that I was never actually considering an IUD to begin with.
- Half the time I only know what day of the week it is because my birth control tells me so. God help me when I reach the little green pills that just say 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, and 28.
- Our conversations usually cover a wide variety of topics and this day was no exception.
"I just do not understand how they could make an actual model of someone's vagina. I would imagine that it would involve pouring some sort of molding gel into the vagina itself, but how would they ensure that the gel filled every nook and cranny? And how would they ensure that nothing got stuck up in there? I tell you what, if I ever do make a model of my vagina I am going to have them recreate it in purple and pink sparkly latex and then I am going to give copies of it out to my friends for Christmas. I won't tell them that it is my vagina though, I will tell them that it is a beer cozy."
1/09/2008
1/07/2008
Stop salivating over my orange peel
I am sitting at the kitchen table about to peel an orange for my breakfast when my mom walks into the room and sits down next to me.
"Oooooh," she says, staring at my orange. "That would be a good one to zest."
I give her a sideways glance and proceed to scoot my chair a few more inches away from her.
"What?" she questions.
"Nothing," I reply, "you are just kind of creepy."
"Oooooh," she says, staring at my orange. "That would be a good one to zest."
I give her a sideways glance and proceed to scoot my chair a few more inches away from her.
"What?" she questions.
"Nothing," I reply, "you are just kind of creepy."
1/03/2008
It takes more to impress me now, but not much
Bars are always more fun when you are underage.
Actually, most things are more fun when you are underage. Once you have hit the age of majority the thrill is usually gone.
Sometimes we spend hours discussing our glory days. We reminisce about all the things that seemed normal at the time, but that we have since come to realize were extraordinary. It seems as though the bits and pieces that make up my life all belong to different people and this one part belongs primarily to him.
I remember one evening, in the middle of winter, when I drunkenly lamented about the profound sense of loss I felt at not being able to write my name in the snow with my own urine. The bar wench brought pitcher after pitcher of beer to our table for the boys and I spent the evening sampling all the girly drinks the menu had to offer. Just before he packed me into a cab and directed it to my home, he pulled me into an alley and pointed at a snowbank emphatically.
"Look! Look!" he whined.
And so I looked.
There, in urine, my name sparkled in the moonlight. "Megan." it said.
"It is beautiful," I told him, moved far more than I probably should have been, "but why is there a period at the end of my name?" It turned out that, upon finishing with my name, he realized his bladder was far from empty and a period was the only artistic embellishment that he could come up with at the time. It did not matter though. I spent the fifteen minute cab ride home smiling and asking the cab driver if he had ever written a girl's name in the snow.
Actually, most things are more fun when you are underage. Once you have hit the age of majority the thrill is usually gone.
Sometimes we spend hours discussing our glory days. We reminisce about all the things that seemed normal at the time, but that we have since come to realize were extraordinary. It seems as though the bits and pieces that make up my life all belong to different people and this one part belongs primarily to him.
I remember one evening, in the middle of winter, when I drunkenly lamented about the profound sense of loss I felt at not being able to write my name in the snow with my own urine. The bar wench brought pitcher after pitcher of beer to our table for the boys and I spent the evening sampling all the girly drinks the menu had to offer. Just before he packed me into a cab and directed it to my home, he pulled me into an alley and pointed at a snowbank emphatically.
"Look! Look!" he whined.
And so I looked.
There, in urine, my name sparkled in the moonlight. "Megan." it said.
"It is beautiful," I told him, moved far more than I probably should have been, "but why is there a period at the end of my name?" It turned out that, upon finishing with my name, he realized his bladder was far from empty and a period was the only artistic embellishment that he could come up with at the time. It did not matter though. I spent the fifteen minute cab ride home smiling and asking the cab driver if he had ever written a girl's name in the snow.
12/31/2007
Chirstmas Posts
Burlington seems to be a little confused.
In recent years the city has decided to create its own festival of lights, only its displays lack any thematic consistency.
Santa flying a helicopter, seals balancing balls on their noses, and dinosaurs.... I do not know what holiday they are celebrating at the lake front, but it is not one that I am familiar with.
As a result of this confusion, I have taken it upon myself to inform the entire city that these lights are ridiculous. "Performing seals and dolphins jumping out of waves have nothing to do with Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or winter!" I shout through my car window as I drive by. I can only do these things when driving my own car because both my parents, brother, and sister all put on the child locks when I am riding as a passenger with them so that I am unable to open the windows to shout things at people.
- 12.20.07
Secret Confession: I sometimes call my brother on his cell phone when I know he is driving his car just to see if he will answer. And when he answers, because he does always answer, I proceed to cite statistics on traffic accidents involving cell phones to him.
- 12.21.07
I handed her the plaster hand and lamented about how my mother refused to mount it on the wall.
"Oh my, but you're missing finger prints on two fingers," she noted.
I narrowed my eyes and glared at her suspiciously. "Are you trying to steal my identity Grandma?" I asked, completely serious, but she just laughed.
In spite of my reservations, my Grandma is now the proud owner of one plaster replica of my hand. I am fairly certain that it is now only a matter of time before she goes on a crime spree, planting my finger prints everywhere to ensure that she is never caught.
- 12.25.07
A few years ago, in what I can only assume was an attempt at family bonding, my father bought two snowmobiles and proceeded to outfit the entire family (with the exception of my older sister because apparently she is unimportant) with skidoo suits, boots, helmets and gloves.
I will take a minute right now to explain something to you, internet. I am not the kind of person whom others look at and say to themselves, "Wow, is she ever cool." Quite frankly, I am the kind of person that people look at and say, "Wow, how did someone so completely uncoordinated ever manage to survive into adulthood?" To my recollection, only once have I ever been referred to as cool (in anything but a sarcastic manner at least), and ironically enough I was doing something decidedly dorky at the time. Cool is not something I aspire to be, so none of this has ever bothered me. But I digress...
I have made it somewhat of a mission in life to become the antithesis of cool, and so it should come as no surprise when I tell you that, in shopping for my skidoo attire, I tried to find the most horrendous outfit I could. If there had been a hot pink, nylon, one piece skidoo suit I would have fallen in love, but alas the best I could find was plain black. But for a helmet I had my eyes set on something I referred to as "the flamer".
- 12.27.07
"I'll have to think about it," I told him.
"It will be fun," he insisted.
"But the last time I went there I ended up vomiting out the sliding door of my van and snorting ecstasy off of the counter. And that's just what I can remember doing. There are entire portions of the evening that I still cannot even account for."
"See!" He says emphatically, "you had a good time."
I decided to ignore him because I knew that if I tried to say anything to the contrary he would simply argue that this "good time" happened during the part of the night that I have no recollection of.
- 12.30.07
In recent years the city has decided to create its own festival of lights, only its displays lack any thematic consistency.
Santa flying a helicopter, seals balancing balls on their noses, and dinosaurs.... I do not know what holiday they are celebrating at the lake front, but it is not one that I am familiar with.
As a result of this confusion, I have taken it upon myself to inform the entire city that these lights are ridiculous. "Performing seals and dolphins jumping out of waves have nothing to do with Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or winter!" I shout through my car window as I drive by. I can only do these things when driving my own car because both my parents, brother, and sister all put on the child locks when I am riding as a passenger with them so that I am unable to open the windows to shout things at people.
- 12.20.07
Secret Confession: I sometimes call my brother on his cell phone when I know he is driving his car just to see if he will answer. And when he answers, because he does always answer, I proceed to cite statistics on traffic accidents involving cell phones to him.
- 12.21.07
I handed her the plaster hand and lamented about how my mother refused to mount it on the wall.
"Oh my, but you're missing finger prints on two fingers," she noted.
I narrowed my eyes and glared at her suspiciously. "Are you trying to steal my identity Grandma?" I asked, completely serious, but she just laughed.
In spite of my reservations, my Grandma is now the proud owner of one plaster replica of my hand. I am fairly certain that it is now only a matter of time before she goes on a crime spree, planting my finger prints everywhere to ensure that she is never caught.
- 12.25.07
A few years ago, in what I can only assume was an attempt at family bonding, my father bought two snowmobiles and proceeded to outfit the entire family (with the exception of my older sister because apparently she is unimportant) with skidoo suits, boots, helmets and gloves.
I will take a minute right now to explain something to you, internet. I am not the kind of person whom others look at and say to themselves, "Wow, is she ever cool." Quite frankly, I am the kind of person that people look at and say, "Wow, how did someone so completely uncoordinated ever manage to survive into adulthood?" To my recollection, only once have I ever been referred to as cool (in anything but a sarcastic manner at least), and ironically enough I was doing something decidedly dorky at the time. Cool is not something I aspire to be, so none of this has ever bothered me. But I digress...
I have made it somewhat of a mission in life to become the antithesis of cool, and so it should come as no surprise when I tell you that, in shopping for my skidoo attire, I tried to find the most horrendous outfit I could. If there had been a hot pink, nylon, one piece skidoo suit I would have fallen in love, but alas the best I could find was plain black. But for a helmet I had my eyes set on something I referred to as "the flamer".
- 12.27.07
"I'll have to think about it," I told him.
"It will be fun," he insisted.
"But the last time I went there I ended up vomiting out the sliding door of my van and snorting ecstasy off of the counter. And that's just what I can remember doing. There are entire portions of the evening that I still cannot even account for."
"See!" He says emphatically, "you had a good time."
I decided to ignore him because I knew that if I tried to say anything to the contrary he would simply argue that this "good time" happened during the part of the night that I have no recollection of.
- 12.30.07
12/29/2007
Because I haven't written about bowel movements in a little while
There was no way I could lie about it, she had caught me red handed - or, better yet, red mouthed.
"What are you eating?" She inquired.
"Beets," I replied, trying to ensure no food escaped my mouth as I answered her.
"How many beets did you eat?"
I swallowed and backed up just a little before responding, "all of them."
She shook her head in mock disappointment, trying not to laugh, and turned around to return to whatever it was that she had been doing before she had so stealthily apprehended me.
Later, when I would spend an hour in the bathroom producing feces in a startlingly, lovely shade of magenta, I wondered if perhaps she had somehow known that I had ultimately already punished myself.
"What are you eating?" She inquired.
"Beets," I replied, trying to ensure no food escaped my mouth as I answered her.
"How many beets did you eat?"
I swallowed and backed up just a little before responding, "all of them."
She shook her head in mock disappointment, trying not to laugh, and turned around to return to whatever it was that she had been doing before she had so stealthily apprehended me.
Later, when I would spend an hour in the bathroom producing feces in a startlingly, lovely shade of magenta, I wondered if perhaps she had somehow known that I had ultimately already punished myself.
12/14/2007
Putting my English degree to good use!
I've spent an inordinate amount of time pondering the lyrics of Fergie's "London Bridge". More specifically, the chorus of the song is what has captured my attention. I understand that "London Bridge" is clearly a colloquialism for something sexual, but I am perplexed as to what. At first I thought that perhaps Fergie was using London Bridge as a metaphor for her underwear. In this case, the lyrics suggest that every time Fergie finds herself in a state of sexual excitement she feels an inexplicable desire to tragically end the lives of approximately 3,000 people (which is what occurred in 1212 due to the earliest of the fires of London). To be fair, Fergie could equally be referencing one of the other disasters that befell the bridge, such as the Tornado of 1901 or a fire in 1136, which did not have quite as much of a catastrophic impact on human life.
However, upon examining both the single's album cover, as well as its video, one might notice that the featured bridge is not in fact London Bridge at all, but rather Tower Bridge. This could indicate that the lyrics to the song actually mistakenly reference Tower Bridge, meaning the properties of Fergie's "London Bridge" should be compared to those of Tower Bridge in order to properly convey the meaning behind the lyrics. It is important to mention at this point in time that Tower Bridge is actually a Bascule bridge. Taking this information into account, the song lyrics would actually indicate that Fergie finds herself in a perpetual state of arousal and it is only when she is in the presence of the subject of her song that she is able to return to a less - umm - exuberant state of being. This could suggest that, in the song, Fergie is actually attempting to examine the propensity a particular individual has to negatively effect her day/evening.
Taking the rest of the song lyrics into account, it seems plausible that Fergie may actually be expressing her discontent with the paparazzi over their intrusive impact on her day-to-day life and ability to enjoy public outings.
If you think about it, "London Bridge" actually has the potential to be a very deep song. But, in all reality, it is probably still about panties.
However, upon examining both the single's album cover, as well as its video, one might notice that the featured bridge is not in fact London Bridge at all, but rather Tower Bridge. This could indicate that the lyrics to the song actually mistakenly reference Tower Bridge, meaning the properties of Fergie's "London Bridge" should be compared to those of Tower Bridge in order to properly convey the meaning behind the lyrics. It is important to mention at this point in time that Tower Bridge is actually a Bascule bridge. Taking this information into account, the song lyrics would actually indicate that Fergie finds herself in a perpetual state of arousal and it is only when she is in the presence of the subject of her song that she is able to return to a less - umm - exuberant state of being. This could suggest that, in the song, Fergie is actually attempting to examine the propensity a particular individual has to negatively effect her day/evening.
Taking the rest of the song lyrics into account, it seems plausible that Fergie may actually be expressing her discontent with the paparazzi over their intrusive impact on her day-to-day life and ability to enjoy public outings.
If you think about it, "London Bridge" actually has the potential to be a very deep song. But, in all reality, it is probably still about panties.
12/11/2007
But maybe I will start using bean bags when practicing
Every time my parents buy tangerines, I feel as though it is finally my chance to become a world class juggler. Each time I pass by the little wooden, mesh covered crate that holds the fruit, I pull out two (three would be too ambitious) and begin to toss them in the air. Without fail, just as I start to congratulate myself on how well I am doing, one of the tangerines will unceremoniously drop to the floor. It is at this point in time that I quickly look around the kitchen, to make sure no one has witnessed my faux-pas, and then tuck the floor stricken fruit back under the mesh from whence it came and proceed to sneak out of the room.
Later, when a family member wonders aloud why their tangerine is slightly mushy, I sigh and make a silent vow to myself that, one day, I will learn how to juggle.
Later, when a family member wonders aloud why their tangerine is slightly mushy, I sigh and make a silent vow to myself that, one day, I will learn how to juggle.
11/30/2007
An Ode to Nina
Nova Scotia is the siren whore that has lured you away from me with its haunting song.
My only consolation is knowing that you will be surrounded by plenty of able semen. Sorry, able seamen (I sometimes get the two confused), although I am sure you could find plenty of able semen if you tried.
"Should your virgin universe taste like a bloody martini I'll masturbate and shoot pubic juice on your balls," you wrote, in magnetic poetry on my wall. I am not sure what it means, and may or may not find it a little disturbing, but I will try to leave it intact there until you return to me. However, "steamy finger tight butt intercourse orgy," which you also wrote on the wall, is another story.
You see, Nina, I don't mind people thinking that I plan to masturbate and shoot pubic juice onto their balls, but I really don't want them to think I want a steamy butt intercourse orgy.
My only consolation is knowing that you will be surrounded by plenty of able semen. Sorry, able seamen (I sometimes get the two confused), although I am sure you could find plenty of able semen if you tried.
"Should your virgin universe taste like a bloody martini I'll masturbate and shoot pubic juice on your balls," you wrote, in magnetic poetry on my wall. I am not sure what it means, and may or may not find it a little disturbing, but I will try to leave it intact there until you return to me. However, "steamy finger tight butt intercourse orgy," which you also wrote on the wall, is another story.
You see, Nina, I don't mind people thinking that I plan to masturbate and shoot pubic juice onto their balls, but I really don't want them to think I want a steamy butt intercourse orgy.
11/24/2007
I guess I should be thankful that she wears any clothing at all
When my sister asked me what I wanted for my birthday last week I told her that I had several things on my list, but what I wanted most was for her to retire her see-through, mesh panties in favour of something more opaque when she went for her mid-afternoon strolls around the house in her underwear.
Rolling her eyes when I went on to profess that it was my one birthday wish, she told me no.
Truth be told, it was the answer I expected as I am relatively sure that my sister is an exhibitionist. She did, after all, once walk into a room that I was occupying with several friends (of mixed genders) wearing nothing but a bra, a pair of panties, and a flask that had been strapped to her thigh using a lace garter and a couple of pieces of duct tape.
"Is the flask noticeable?" she had asked, while nonchalantly trying to examine her reflection in the glass door that lead to my mother's office.
"Yes, Lindsay," I told her, "but that is probably because you are not wearing any clothes."
Rolling her eyes when I went on to profess that it was my one birthday wish, she told me no.
Truth be told, it was the answer I expected as I am relatively sure that my sister is an exhibitionist. She did, after all, once walk into a room that I was occupying with several friends (of mixed genders) wearing nothing but a bra, a pair of panties, and a flask that had been strapped to her thigh using a lace garter and a couple of pieces of duct tape.
"Is the flask noticeable?" she had asked, while nonchalantly trying to examine her reflection in the glass door that lead to my mother's office.
"Yes, Lindsay," I told her, "but that is probably because you are not wearing any clothes."
11/15/2007
Mustard
"Is that mustard on your sheets?" My mother asked me.
"No," I snapped, and then cursed silently to myself because, yes, that was mustard on my sheets and when the fuck had I ever brought anything with mustard on it into my bedroom?
"No," I snapped, and then cursed silently to myself because, yes, that was mustard on my sheets and when the fuck had I ever brought anything with mustard on it into my bedroom?
11/06/2007
Who You Gonna Call?
"I want you to think of a calming song," she said. "I want you to play that song in your head, as you breathe in and out, and then, after you've relaxed, I want you to share with the room what your song was."
Everyone else had good songs; pretty songs. Classical music was the most prominent genre, but every so often someone threw out a title by one hipster band or another. When it was my turn to share I started to turn red. "Megan, what was your song?" the instructor asked.
"Ummmm," I paused, "my song was 'Ghostbusters' by Ray Parker Jr." Apparently it calms me to know that, if there is something wrong in my neighbourhood (specifically of the paranormal variety), there is someone I can call to relate my problems to.
Everyone else had good songs; pretty songs. Classical music was the most prominent genre, but every so often someone threw out a title by one hipster band or another. When it was my turn to share I started to turn red. "Megan, what was your song?" the instructor asked.
"Ummmm," I paused, "my song was 'Ghostbusters' by Ray Parker Jr." Apparently it calms me to know that, if there is something wrong in my neighbourhood (specifically of the paranormal variety), there is someone I can call to relate my problems to.
11/03/2007
Posts Galore!!!!!!!!
My father is probably one of a handful of people in the world who truly believes that using French doors in a bathroom is a innovative decorative feature. It's actually not though. Using French doors in a bathroom, especially a bathroom that has two entrances that are perpendicular to one another, is pretty much always a mistake.
I have nothing against French doors for the most part, but opacity is something I generally tend to look for in the door to the room in which I have bowel movements.
- 20/10/07
How can a tampon have a no slip grip? And do I really want something with a no slip grip inside of my vagina?
- 23/10/07
Halloween is one of my favourite holidays, primarily because all I do is sit in a chair for a couple of hours by my parents' front door and eat all of my favourite candies out of the giant bowl of junk food that has been purchased for the children of the neighbourhood as I wait for tiny beings to bang on the door demanding that I give them stuff. The thing about this neighbourhood is that there are hardly any children anymore. While the lack of children has inspired some of the elderly neighbours to forgo Halloween altogether, it has inspired others to dole out fist fulls of chocolate to anyone who knocks at the door - children, pizza men, Jehovah's Witnesses alike. Truth be told, I am half tempted to cut off my own legs, only from the knees down, and make the rounds each Halloween because I am confident that I could collect enough candy that losing both of my legs from the knees down really wouldn't bother me that much. The only thing keeping my lower legs safe is the fact that my parents have yet to give up on the children of Aldershot. Each year they buy more and more candy, with a "Field of Dreams" type naivety that if they buy it, they will come (the second "they" being the children, as opposed to baseball players from the 1920's). And yet, each year, fewer and fewer children make the rounds and my siblings and I are forced to consume more an more empty calories because - hey - somebody has to eat that candy.
- 31/10/07
"I am re-naming my cat 'Mr. Sparkles!'," I told them.
"Mr. Sparkles?" my mom repeated.
"No, Mr. Sparkles!, there is an exclamation point at the end of sparkles," I explained.
"Just a quick question," my mom paused to take a sip of her coffee before continuing, "do you really hate your cat that much?"
"Yes," I told her. "Sometimes I really do."
- 02/11/07
I have nothing against French doors for the most part, but opacity is something I generally tend to look for in the door to the room in which I have bowel movements.
- 20/10/07
How can a tampon have a no slip grip? And do I really want something with a no slip grip inside of my vagina?
- 23/10/07
Halloween is one of my favourite holidays, primarily because all I do is sit in a chair for a couple of hours by my parents' front door and eat all of my favourite candies out of the giant bowl of junk food that has been purchased for the children of the neighbourhood as I wait for tiny beings to bang on the door demanding that I give them stuff. The thing about this neighbourhood is that there are hardly any children anymore. While the lack of children has inspired some of the elderly neighbours to forgo Halloween altogether, it has inspired others to dole out fist fulls of chocolate to anyone who knocks at the door - children, pizza men, Jehovah's Witnesses alike. Truth be told, I am half tempted to cut off my own legs, only from the knees down, and make the rounds each Halloween because I am confident that I could collect enough candy that losing both of my legs from the knees down really wouldn't bother me that much. The only thing keeping my lower legs safe is the fact that my parents have yet to give up on the children of Aldershot. Each year they buy more and more candy, with a "Field of Dreams" type naivety that if they buy it, they will come (the second "they" being the children, as opposed to baseball players from the 1920's). And yet, each year, fewer and fewer children make the rounds and my siblings and I are forced to consume more an more empty calories because - hey - somebody has to eat that candy.
- 31/10/07
"I am re-naming my cat 'Mr. Sparkles!'," I told them.
"Mr. Sparkles?" my mom repeated.
"No, Mr. Sparkles!, there is an exclamation point at the end of sparkles," I explained.
"Just a quick question," my mom paused to take a sip of her coffee before continuing, "do you really hate your cat that much?"
"Yes," I told her. "Sometimes I really do."
- 02/11/07
10/29/2007
Things to do with a plaster hand
I bought some alginate this weekend with the intent of using it to create a mold of my hand that I could fill with Jell-O and then use to scare small children. The Jell-O didn't set, so, in order to get my money's worth, I filled the mold with plaster. The problem with a plaster mold of ones' hand is that there is not a whole lot to do with it. After my mom passed on mounting it on the wall to use as a candle holder and also declined to use it as the first piece of memorabilia in a shrine dedicated to me, I was at a loss as to how to make use of my hand. In the end, I decided to grab the hand and my camera and see what kind of photos I could come up with.
Please note that the bumps on the hand are due to air bubbles in the alginate and not disfiguring warts/moles. Also, I broke off my plaster hand's pinkie while extracting it from the mold. If you pay close attention, you will be able to see a seam where I used more plaster to re-attach it. That is all.
Use it to hold flowers
Feed the fish
Pretend to climb ropes
Rake the leaves (trust me, that blurry blue thing is a rake)
Take funny pictures with liquor bottles.. That crazy hand loves its tequila!
Ever wonder what to do with those boxes of tiny cocktail umbrellas you bought? Use the hand to hold them!!!!
Scare the cat by using the hand to pet it
Play rock, paper, scissors. The hand is surprisingly hard to beat.
Make your father arm wrestle the hand
In spite of having no arm muscles, the hand wins!
Use it as a place to put your phone (so that you can finally stop losing it)
Use the hand to make it look like you are not hogging the remote
Pretend that the hand knows how to use the computer10/27/2007
Janet Jackson would go on to flash her nipple approximately 45 minutes later
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.
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.
10/15/2007
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.
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