To be fair, anyone could give me the injection

"Hold on just one second," I said into the receiver as I waved down a colleague. "If I wanted to get a B12 injection, could you give it to me?" I asked.

"Yes, that is something I could easily do," she replied.

"And would you have to give it to me in the bum, or could I get it in the arm?" I asked.

"I can only give it to you in the ass," she said, narrowing her eyes. I swallowed visibly before she took pity on me. "I am just kidding. I could give it to you in the arm," she finally said.

"Okay, thank you!" I shouted to her as she walked away and then I returned to my phone call. "Sorry," I said into the phone, "I had an important question. That was one of the nurses," I explained.

"I had hoped so," replied a voice from within the phone.

Sisterly Love

"Hello?" I answered.

"There is some weird shit going on here," she whispered.

"Like thousands of dead birds and fish weird, or is it something else?"

"No, like the power is off and I do not know what is going on. And then I turned on my computer and on the main screen there is a naked picture of me," she said flatly.

"Are you drunk?"

"No. There are naked pictures of me," she repeated.

"On the Internet, or just on your computer?" I asked.

"Do you know who took this picture?" she asked me, as if genuinely looking for an answer.

"Ugh, no," I replied. "You are in India. I am in Canada. I do not know who is taking naked photos of you."

"I am not naked in the picture," she sighed.

"You are the one who told me there is a naked photo of you on your computer screen."

"There is!" she exclaimed, "it's me! With my tits out! Where did it come from?!"

"I have no idea where it came from. And there is no way that you are not drunk right now. Are you awake in the photo? Do you appear to be aware in the photo that it is being taken?" I asked, but, alas, my questions were met with a series of indiscernible mumblings and silence.

A few minutes later, I think she said something about crawling under the bed to either hide or die, but I could not tell you for certain.

I am pretty sure this is her way of letting me know that she misses me and is excited about my upcoming visit in March.

Next step: get a raise

Each morning, the staff meets to tell each other how we are feeling.

"I am well," I always say, because that is the grammatically correct thing to do. Some days, I interject additional comments into my morning reports. "I am not sure that I am actually doing as well as I think I am because this morning, when I first entered the building, I realized that my shirt was on inside out. I had to go into one of the washrooms and switch it around before anyone noticed."

Other days, I tell my coworkers about shaving my legs or exciting things that I have eaten. "Here is the bad news though," I whisper, "when I got here, I realized I only managed to shave one of my legs. Guess which one...."

Based on the number of Christmas cards I received this year, I feel that I am fitting in well. I have experienced nearly a year of full time employment and still generally enjoy waking up each morning to go into work.

The cat ate my pot

The President is an addict.

There. I've said it.

One day, a coworker gave me a little bag full of catnip. "Here," she'd said, "I found this in my cabinet yesterday. I don't have cats anymore, so I thought you might like to have it."

And so I brought the catnip home and put it in the drawer of one of my bedside tables. I proceeded to go out (I forget where) for a couple of hours, trusting that all would still be right with the world when I returned home.

It wasn't though. I opened the door to my apartment only to find it entirely disheveled. As I am not always the best of housekeepers, this did not overly worry me until I looked at my bedroom. The cat was laying on the middle of my bed, eyes wide and glassy. Scattered all around my bedroom was catnip and shredded pieces of plastic from what had once been the bag containing the catnip.

Oh yeah, there was lots of cat vomit too. There was cat vomit on the dog's bed. There was cat vomit on the floor in front of the door. There was cat vomit in my closet. There was cat vomit on the top of my dresser. Essentially, the cat had made a game out of vomiting as many places as he could.

"You have a problem," I told him sternly. After all, he had actually figured out a way to open up my side table and remove the catnip from it.

Needless to say, I decided not to enable his habit and have since ensured that he has zero contact with catnip. And this all seemed to be working fine. The cat, no longer able to access his drug of choice, turned to other ventures and took up hobbies like pulling at my area rug and crocheting. All was right with the world again... until a few hours ago.

You see, Internet, it was a few hours ago that I entered my bedroom only to find my feline companion sprawled out on my bed, chewing on a plastic bag that contained some of the marijuana that I am obviously just holding for a friend. "You douche bag!" I exclaimed. "That is not yours!" The cat did not care though. The cat does as he pleases, and, knowing he is an addict, I should have known better than to keep anything like that around him.

I am pretty sure that marijuana does absolutely nothing for cats, but I will state that the cat has spent the last two hours literally running from one end of the apartment to the other. This is fairly standard behaviour for him, but usually he does not do it at 4 am (or at least not while I am awake).

I will eat a spicy tuna roll

It is my birthday tomorrow. I will be twenty-six.

Twenty-six, I suspect, is not so very different from twenty-five. There are no added perks with this birthday as far as I can tell, but, equally, I do not see any real downside to it.

At work, each staff member's birthday is celebrated with a gourmet cupcake. I had been adamant that I did not want a birthday cupcake. "I appreciate the idea of it, but I will not eat it. I do not want $2.50 wasted on something that I will not even eat," I explained at lunch one day.

"I will eat it," a coworker piped up.

"Instead of a birthday cupcake," I suggested, "when we meet that morning to discuss our feelings, I would like to run around the circle and get birthday high-fives from everyone." The table was suddenly quiet. I would have felt uncomfortable if I was not so sure that everyone was secretly cursing themselves for not having that very same idea on their own birthday.

Today, my boss is taking me out to lunch for birthday sushi, even though it is a day premature. "If anyone asks," he stage whispered, "it is a business meeting because we are not supposed to celebrate birthdays beyond the birthday cupcake."

In reality, my birthday lunch is less about celebrating my birthday and more about my boss's desire to try the sushi place down the street. "I've heard they have all you can eat!" he'd exclaimed one day. Ever since finding that out, he's been trying to casually lure a group of people over there for lunch. "You know what would be fun to do one day?" he has asked on more than one occasion, "if we were to go to that sushi place down the street and get some lunch!" He's also been known to throw out a casual, "Hey, how about, when we're going to have a meeting or something, we go to that sushi place down the street and just go over some notes. It will be lots of fun."

I do not trust his judgement when it comes to fun things though. Other things he has told me are high in "fun factor": Silent auctions, breakfast meetings, investment seminars, board meetings, award presentations and getting insurance quotes.

Aiming High

When I google my own name, I am often jealous of the lives of my name twins: A registered massage therapist, a gastrointestinal specialist, a general medical practitioner and body builder, among other things.

I would like to be all of these things at once.

I am adding it to my goals in life.

Street value or sentimental value?

Several, several months ago, I baked some cookies and sent them to my brother via Canada Post.

They were chocolate chips cookies, and they were made with a whole lot of love, a lot of chocolate and just a splash of marijuana.

I paid extra to have them overnighted because, after all, I did not want them to go stale. It was important that the cookies arrive as fresh as possible so that they retained all of their cookie goodness.

The next day, I called my brother to see if his cookies had arrived. "What cookies?" he responded.

"Are you being coy, or do you really have no cookies from me?" I'd asked.

"I really have no cookies," he'd said.

Upon calling the next day, I found that, again, he was cookie-less. And so, like any good sister, I used the tracking number I had been given to try to find out where his cookies were.

According to the website, someone had attempted to deliver my cookies but had found that the package had been addressed incorrectly.

Lies.

The package was addressed both very clearly in marker on the centre of its front, as well as on a sticker thing put on after I paid for delivery. I can assure you that the address was correct both of these places.

Regardless, the website said my package was returning to the Ottawa depot to be readdressed and then would go out for delivery the following day. Two days later, however, the package was still not in my brother's hands and, instead, according to the website it was on its way to Brampton.

Of course. Mississauga. Why not?

And Mississauga is where that package stayed, apparently, for a day before heading back towards Ottawa, where the website stated it was simply waiting at the warehouse.

Only here is the thing, Internet: it was not waiting at the warehouse. When I called Canada Post to figure out what the hell had happened to my package, they informed me that it had been destroyed because they had been unable to deliver it.

"What do you mean that it has been destroyed? Why would you destroy it?" I'd questioned. I did not listen to their answer, but it amounted to claiming that they did not know what to do with the package once they had determined it "undeliverable."

"What is the return address for? Is that not what it is for? As I paid for express shipping and had to give you all of my information, you very clearly had a return address."

Do you know what I think happened, Internet? I think someone ate those cookies. I declared the content of the package to be cookies and I think someone at Canada Post got hungry.

If that is what did happen, I hope they at all of the cookies at once and freaked the fuck out when the drugs kicked in.

About three weeks later, Canada Post contacted me to inquire about the value of my package. They wanted to send me a cheque to reimburse me for the costs I had incurred trying to be a great big sister.

Surreal Moments

11:30 p.m. on a Monday night.

Sitting, alone, in your apartment taking bong hits while watching a video in which the Sound of Music cast is reunited (after 40 years!) and singing Edelweiss.

Things I know

- All relationships are finite and invaluable.

- Sometimes good people do bad things.

- If you pick at it, it will scar.

- If there are dirty dishes in your sink and you leave them there, and no one except for you ever enters or leaves your apartment, those dirty dishes are just going to stay dirty.

- Happiness cannot be found at the bottom of a carton of ice cream. Temporary contentment can be, but it often leads to indigestion and cottage cheese thighs.

- Lying is not for lazy people. It takes too much thought and organization to be good at. Trust me, it is just not worth it.

- There is no cool way to choke on your own spit.

- At some point in time in your life, a dog is going to lick you directly after licking its own anus.

- There is no need to be embarrassed if you slip and fall in mud. Mud is slippery. It is not your fault.

- Adding chocolate chips to chocolate pudding does not make the chocolate pudding more awesome. You will just end up disappointed and feel bloated.

- Wearing white clothes allows you to fully realize just how dirty you truly are.

- At any given moment, you are exactly where you are supposed to be. Unless you are running late or are lost, in which case you should really have a map and learn to plan better.

- Breakdance cannot be learned through osmosis. You're going to have to practice that shit.

- It is best not to make bacon while naked. Especially if you do not even eat bacon and are just trying to be extra sweet. It is in your best interest to put an apron on.

- Even when the little man is lit up and, as a pedestrian, it is your turn to cross the street, it is important to look both ways. Some motorists are assholes and will run you down.

- Frequently, men seem to be unfamiliar with the concept of trimming their toenails.

- Saying, "Why me?" when something bad happens to you just makes you sound like a whiner. Why not you? Why not anyone?

- Being embarrassed about pooping is a waste of time. Everybody poops. You should be proud that you have regular bowel movements.

- Although they may claim otherwise, most people would eat a bug if you gave them enough money or if they were really hungry. Besides, most people have probably already eaten bugs in their sleep.

- If you get pink eye and you have not been around another person who has pink eye, you probably do not wash your hands well enough after you go to the bathroom.

- Eating fourteen hash browns in one sitting: better in theory than it is in practice.

- If you are somewhere that is foreign to you (specifically a country) and what you are eating tastes good, don't ask what is in it. It is sometimes better not to know.

In honour of my cousin's wedding

"I'm going to tell you a secret," I half whispered, "I am a little drunk."

It wasn't really a secret though. It was actually fairly obvious to most anyone within a 100 miles of me that evening. One whiskey sour, four gin and tonics, two glasses of wine, one glass of champagne and three screwdrivers will do that to you though.

"I am drinking on behalf of my sister and in honour of my dead grandparents," I told anyone who would listen - or at least anyone who looked like they may be judging me.

At the end of the night, I pulled my father aside and had a frank discussion with him. "Here is the deal," I said, "I need you to go get me pizza because if I do not eat something now I am going to throw up tomorrow in the car when we are driving home." I was anticipating a 'no,' so when he promptly agreed, I celebrated by having one last drink.

When I returned home a few days later, everyone asked how my trip had been. "Was it windy there? Is Chicago really the windy city?"

No, Chicago had not been windy.

The only "wind" I had experienced came in the form of an unexpected burst of air through a grate above a subway line. Accidentally showing strangers your underwear, while walking down the street, is a good way to make friends. Remember that.

Adjusting to being employed

As I sat there, in my skirt, I realized that, between my floor-to-ceiling window to the hall and my open office door, anyone who passed by could easily take a gander at my whoo haw if I forgot to carefully sit like a lady all day long. Sure, I was wearing panties, but the idea of my whoo haw was out there.

These are the kinds of problems I have been having at work - unintentionally potentially exposing my whoo haw to coworkers.

But I will be back with Starbucks

The mental health ward was not what I expected, although, admittedly, I hadn't really expected much of anything.

Our first several minutes of visiting seemed awkward. I admit that it was probably my fault when I opened the conversation by saying, "So, do you come here often?" I asked her if she'd made any friends or met any cute guys. We quickly decided that developing any type of relationship, friendship or otherwise, while under an involuntary hold was likely to result in more complications than it was ultimately worth.

We talked about many things in the two hours I was there. I vowed to bring her slippers and a bouncy ball ("Be careful not to hit that thing," I said, pointing to some sort of fancy looking device on her ceiling. "We had something like that in residence, and, if you hit it, it caused an alarm to go off in the whole building," I explained). We discussed what other entertaining items were permitted on the premises. Glass and cords are forbidden, as is anything that can easily be used to self-harm. It sounds simple enough to avoid these items but causes a lot of second guessing when you really think about it. If a person is intent enough, anything can be used to self-harm.

We talked about the arts and crafts patients are requested to participate in each day. We talked briefly about her therapy sessions and the other inhabitants of the ward. But what I really wanted to tell her was that she had nothing to be ashamed of. There will be people who judge her for the time she has spent in this place. There will be people who will see her in a different light when (or if) they learn that her brain isn't quite right, chemically speaking. But those people are not worth more than a passing thought. While it is technically true that there is something wrong with her, her value is no less than any other person around her. She should never let her self-worth be determined by the opinion of anyone but herself.

It takes courage to admit you need help. It takes strength to keep moving forward when you are so paralyzed with fear that you can hardly breathe. It takes bravery to remove yourself from your comfort zone to go to a place where you know you will be scrutinized by professionals who have the ability to turn your voluntary three day stay into an involuntary two week long admittance.

There is nothing to be ashamed of, but there is a whole lot to be proud of.

"I will see you tomorrow?" she asked just before I left.

"No, not tomorrow, but you will see me Monday. You will also see me Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday.. Well, you get the idea. I will see about having chocolate bars delivered to you each day at noon as well."

And then, with a heavy heart, I left.

Spiderman stickers are pretty awesome

"Megan," he whispered, "at night, the cat jumps into my bed and sleeps on my pillow. And my tongue tries to eat him."
"What?" I asked, thoroughly confused.
"My tongue tries to eat the cat," he replied, as if I was daft for my lack of understanding.
"Why would your tongue do that?" I asked.
"I do not know," he said, pausing thoughtfully to consider the question. "I think my tongue must be hungry," he decided.
"That is awfully silly of your tongue," I told him, and he proceeded to giggle.

Little boys can be endlessly adorable. They can also be endlessly frustrating, especially when they decide that "fooled" is a bad word, rip up the picture they had previously been colouring for you and then, filled with remorse over ruining said picture, begin crying with such despair that you would think someone had died.

In the end, most every problem can be solved with a cookie, a spiderman sticker and a hug.

I do not think that adults and children are that different after all.

Happy Statutory Holiday

I grabbed an olive from the dish and popped it into my mouth. When I bit down, I realized I had made a mistake. Blue cheese. The olive had been stuffed with blue cheese.

If I were to create a list of people and things I consider to be my nemeses, blue cheese would fall somewhere around number fifty.

But it was Christmas day eve. Dinner was late to the table, and I was hungry. So the blue cheese ultimately won this round with its surprise presence and my need to consume something in order to silence the rumbling thunder that was emanating from my stomach region.

Christmas, as a whole, had been enjoyable but relatively uneventful.

During the Christmas eve service, my brother and I whispered back and forth to each other.

The minister called all of the young children to the front of the church to explain to them the significance of Christmas presents. "We give gifts as a reminder of the gifts of the three magi. They are in celebration of Jesus's birthday," she said.

I leaned into my brother and said, "Actually, that is only partially true. Yes, the gifts are meant as a reference to the magi, but they are not in celebration of Christ's birthday. They are in celebration of Christ's birth in general. He would have been well over a year old by the time the magi reached him. Evidence suggests that Christ was born in the summer or early fall, so handing out birthday presents for Jesus in December and calling it 'Christmas' is a misnomer."

"You should stop the minister right now and correct her," my brother said.

"Don't worry, I will," I said.

I didn't though.

I know where my bread is buttered, and I suspect correcting the minister in the middle of the Christmas eve service is probably a good way to cause the church to rethink the pay raise I am getting in the new year. Plus, I do realize that the minister was probably just trying to explain Christmas to the children in a relatively simple way.

My sister refused to attend the Christmas eve service. In fact, she refused to follow through with many long established Christmas traditions held by my family - my favourite being the one where she sleeps with one of the neighbour's sons on Christmas eve and my father has to use all of his problem solving skills to determine which house on our street he should call on Christmas day in order to summon her home to open presents around the tree. So she is in a relationship. Big deal. That is no reason to end what we all consider to be, arguably, the most entertaining aspect of the holiday.

And now, with the holidays over, it is time to dress my dog up in the Santa suit my father purchased. Sure, he cannot wear the pants (they are much too large), but I am sure he will look handsome in the coat, beard and hat. Humiliated... but handsome.

Fitting

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