$30 worth of glitter later....

And the award for world's greatest sister in our house goes to: Megan

I 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.

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.

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.