Is it just me, or do other women folk shield their nipples upon entering cold water as well? While my whole body is admittedly cold, upon trying to submerge myself in any liquid that is below body temperature, my hands/arms/anything available immediately go to my rack in an attempt to dampen the metaphorical blow my nipples are about to receive.
Why do my nipples need more protecting than the rest of my body? I guess it is probably because they are more sensitive than most every other part of my body.
Regardless, I have found that nipples only need protecting from the cold. Never have I been inclined to shield my nipples upon entering a hot tub or warm bath.
I think I will invent a bathing suit with built-in nipple protectors. It is only a matter of time before I am a millionaire.
12/10/2009
12/07/2009
Blast
My tongue piercing makes it difficult for me to blow bubbles using bubble gum. Correction: my tongue piercing makes it difficult for me to "reload" after having blown a bubble using bubble gum. This is something that I find to be somewhat frustrating.
12/04/2009
Fuck yes.
Today, I was making gingerbread cookies and fucked up the recipe. I tried a piece of dough and it tasted gross. Do not fear though, interweb, I fixed it by adding sugar, cinnamon and lots of ginger.
I tried some of the cookies after I finished baking them. They were fucking delicious.
I tried some of the cookies after I finished baking them. They were fucking delicious.
12/03/2009
But I want you all to know that I follow Margaret Atwood because I am cool like that
I just cannot seem to get into twitter. This surprises me because I am the master of over-sharing, and it seems to me that twitter is a wonderful medium through which to over-share.
If you are my friend, at some point in time you are going to receive a phone call, text message or email from me during/in which I discuss, in great detail, my bowel movements, fears of incontinence or menstrual cycle. I am more than willing to discuss things such as masturbation, vegetation and even ordination. If it ends in "ation," I am in.
But I have difficulty with twitter.
Firstly, I am long winded. Limit myself to 140 characters? Spaces included? Psh.. like that is even possible. I refuse to use weird Internet short forms. That would be contributing to the downward spiral of the English language. I do not even like to use contractions. On occasion, I will use an acronym, but I must first ensure that I have fully spelled out whatever the acronym is representing prior to using it.
Secondly, my life is not interesting enough to warrant keeping people updated about my activities. What am I supposed to say? "Decided to make sure I drink at least three litres of water each day!" followed by a, "Peeing!" and finishing that train of thought up with a, "Still peeing!" Even I can only talk about urine so much.
I feel like the messages I leave should be concise, funny and meaningful. This creates a sense of pressure, and this sense of pressure causes all thoughts that could ever potentially be concise, funny or meaningful to flee my brain.
If you are my friend, at some point in time you are going to receive a phone call, text message or email from me during/in which I discuss, in great detail, my bowel movements, fears of incontinence or menstrual cycle. I am more than willing to discuss things such as masturbation, vegetation and even ordination. If it ends in "ation," I am in.
But I have difficulty with twitter.
Firstly, I am long winded. Limit myself to 140 characters? Spaces included? Psh.. like that is even possible. I refuse to use weird Internet short forms. That would be contributing to the downward spiral of the English language. I do not even like to use contractions. On occasion, I will use an acronym, but I must first ensure that I have fully spelled out whatever the acronym is representing prior to using it.
Secondly, my life is not interesting enough to warrant keeping people updated about my activities. What am I supposed to say? "Decided to make sure I drink at least three litres of water each day!" followed by a, "Peeing!" and finishing that train of thought up with a, "Still peeing!" Even I can only talk about urine so much.
I feel like the messages I leave should be concise, funny and meaningful. This creates a sense of pressure, and this sense of pressure causes all thoughts that could ever potentially be concise, funny or meaningful to flee my brain.
11/24/2009
Golden
I am sure that you all have been counting down the days until my birthday, but, just in case you haven't been, I will remind you that it is tomorrow.
I will be 25 on the 25th. I have been told that this is known as a "champagne birthday," or "golden birthday." I have also been told to make this birthday count, although I really do not plan to alter my daily routine in any way. And I have also been asked again and again if turning 25 makes me sad. To answer that question simply, no, turning 25 has absolutely no impact on my emotional disposition. It does not make me sad, nor does it make me happy. Actually, that is not entirely true. I am happy about my continued existence. Not being dead causes a great deal of contentment within me.
So tomorrow, I will wake up, eat breakfast, use my exercise bike, lament about my continued status as unemployed and probably go out for dinner with my family. Maybe I will eat cake, and maybe I will not eat cake. But each day is full of wonderous possibilities, not just tomorrow.
I will be 25 on the 25th. I have been told that this is known as a "champagne birthday," or "golden birthday." I have also been told to make this birthday count, although I really do not plan to alter my daily routine in any way. And I have also been asked again and again if turning 25 makes me sad. To answer that question simply, no, turning 25 has absolutely no impact on my emotional disposition. It does not make me sad, nor does it make me happy. Actually, that is not entirely true. I am happy about my continued existence. Not being dead causes a great deal of contentment within me.
So tomorrow, I will wake up, eat breakfast, use my exercise bike, lament about my continued status as unemployed and probably go out for dinner with my family. Maybe I will eat cake, and maybe I will not eat cake. But each day is full of wonderous possibilities, not just tomorrow.
11/10/2009
The End of the World
When I visited Mexico, I toured some of the Mayan ruins. I remember hearing over and over again how wise the Mayans were and how they were able to predict their own demise. It is for this reason, I am lead to believe, that we are supposed to pay special attention to their calendar and take heed of their warning that the world will end in 2012. After all, 2012 is when the Mayan calendar ends.
But don't you think that maybe, just maybe, it is possible that the Mayan calendar ends in 2012 because they felt like that was far enough in the future that they could stop for a bit before making more calendar?
My current calendar ends this December, but I do not think this is the printer's way of trying to hint to me the on December 31, 2009, the world has a preordained date with a catastrophe. No, instead I recognize that a calendar has to stop at some point in time, so why not December?
Maybe the individuals who were making the Mayan calendar just got tired. One of them, whom I will hereon refer to as "Jim," probably said to the others, "Dudes, we've already gone, like, 1,000 years into the future. Let's take a break for a decade of so and then get back to this. To be honest, my hands are cramping, and I could really go for a refreshing glass of water." Obviously, the others would have agreed with what Jim was saying because, after all, they were way ahead of the game. Besides that, Jim was super cool and everyone was always looking to please him.
Regardless, can you blame the Mayans for not going beyond 2012? I do not think you can. With all the technology we currently have, I have yet to see a 3010 calendar anywhere for sale. I have not even seen a calendar for 2011 for sale yet.
But I know what you're probably thinking, "Megan, why do you need a 3010 calendar?" And that is a good question. The truth is that I don't need a 3010 calendar, but I would like to have one so that I can know what day my birthday will fall on in 3010 (even though I will be dead).
But don't you think that maybe, just maybe, it is possible that the Mayan calendar ends in 2012 because they felt like that was far enough in the future that they could stop for a bit before making more calendar?
My current calendar ends this December, but I do not think this is the printer's way of trying to hint to me the on December 31, 2009, the world has a preordained date with a catastrophe. No, instead I recognize that a calendar has to stop at some point in time, so why not December?
Maybe the individuals who were making the Mayan calendar just got tired. One of them, whom I will hereon refer to as "Jim," probably said to the others, "Dudes, we've already gone, like, 1,000 years into the future. Let's take a break for a decade of so and then get back to this. To be honest, my hands are cramping, and I could really go for a refreshing glass of water." Obviously, the others would have agreed with what Jim was saying because, after all, they were way ahead of the game. Besides that, Jim was super cool and everyone was always looking to please him.
Regardless, can you blame the Mayans for not going beyond 2012? I do not think you can. With all the technology we currently have, I have yet to see a 3010 calendar anywhere for sale. I have not even seen a calendar for 2011 for sale yet.
But I know what you're probably thinking, "Megan, why do you need a 3010 calendar?" And that is a good question. The truth is that I don't need a 3010 calendar, but I would like to have one so that I can know what day my birthday will fall on in 3010 (even though I will be dead).
Fish Woes
In the last two months, two of my fish have committed fish suicide. One had only been in my tank for a handful of days.
I am not entirely sure it can be called fish suicide though. I have been watching my tank, and I am pretty sure that it is the Blue Damsel fish that is responsible for my other fish jumping to their deaths. You see, these fish have jumped clear out of the tank, and I find their dried up bodies back in behind my fish stand. I suspect the blue fish because he is a giant asshole and I had seen him chasing the other fish around the tank on more than one occasion. I am pretty sure that I am going to make an attempt to catch him tomorrow and take him back to the fish store. Sure, I have had him for a little over two years, but it is just that he is such a jerk.
Regardless, I suppose it is ultimately my own fault. You see, Internet, I do not learn. I have a cover-like device to put over my fish tank, but I frequently take it off in order to feed the corals and various things I have within my tank. The problem is that I frequently forget to put it back on. As a result of this, $50 worth of fish have spent their final moments drying out on an ugly carpet that I bought from Home Depot for $15.
On another note, I have even more clown fish eggs in my tank. My pair of clown fish just keep on getting frisky with one another and refuse to use prophylactics.
I am not entirely sure it can be called fish suicide though. I have been watching my tank, and I am pretty sure that it is the Blue Damsel fish that is responsible for my other fish jumping to their deaths. You see, these fish have jumped clear out of the tank, and I find their dried up bodies back in behind my fish stand. I suspect the blue fish because he is a giant asshole and I had seen him chasing the other fish around the tank on more than one occasion. I am pretty sure that I am going to make an attempt to catch him tomorrow and take him back to the fish store. Sure, I have had him for a little over two years, but it is just that he is such a jerk.
Regardless, I suppose it is ultimately my own fault. You see, Internet, I do not learn. I have a cover-like device to put over my fish tank, but I frequently take it off in order to feed the corals and various things I have within my tank. The problem is that I frequently forget to put it back on. As a result of this, $50 worth of fish have spent their final moments drying out on an ugly carpet that I bought from Home Depot for $15.
On another note, I have even more clown fish eggs in my tank. My pair of clown fish just keep on getting frisky with one another and refuse to use prophylactics.
11/05/2009
Today I passed Prince Charles's motor brigade.
It started with three police motorcycles, spaced approximately one kilometre apart each, and was followed by around eight police cruisers, three white passenger vans (one of which I assume the prince was riding in) and two or three additional police cruisers at the rear.
The only reason I even noticed the brigade (apart from all of the police escorts) was because the highway was closed off at various entrances to ensure that no regular traffic would mingle with the prince. It all seemed kind of silly to me.
I do not find ascribed status impressive. I do not think that Prince William should be given a pat on the back for scrubbing toilets in Chile or that Prince Harry should be applauded for doing a tour in Afghanistan. Regular people do these things every day and receive little, if any, acknowledgment. And what has Prince Charles ever really done? Seriously, I do not feel like putting in the time to do a little Internet research and see if he has loaned his time to any notable causes.
The people I think we should celebrate are the ordinary who achieve the extraordinary: the teenager who spends his or her free time working at a fast food restaurant so that he or she can afford to fly to a country in Africa and help dig a well or the individuals who spend their evenings in the winter driving around the city, passing out blankets and sandwiches to the homeless. These are the people who deserve our adulation. These are the people we should celebrate and want to emulate.
It started with three police motorcycles, spaced approximately one kilometre apart each, and was followed by around eight police cruisers, three white passenger vans (one of which I assume the prince was riding in) and two or three additional police cruisers at the rear.
The only reason I even noticed the brigade (apart from all of the police escorts) was because the highway was closed off at various entrances to ensure that no regular traffic would mingle with the prince. It all seemed kind of silly to me.
I do not find ascribed status impressive. I do not think that Prince William should be given a pat on the back for scrubbing toilets in Chile or that Prince Harry should be applauded for doing a tour in Afghanistan. Regular people do these things every day and receive little, if any, acknowledgment. And what has Prince Charles ever really done? Seriously, I do not feel like putting in the time to do a little Internet research and see if he has loaned his time to any notable causes.
The people I think we should celebrate are the ordinary who achieve the extraordinary: the teenager who spends his or her free time working at a fast food restaurant so that he or she can afford to fly to a country in Africa and help dig a well or the individuals who spend their evenings in the winter driving around the city, passing out blankets and sandwiches to the homeless. These are the people who deserve our adulation. These are the people we should celebrate and want to emulate.
10/28/2009
New Project
I am starting a new project. I am calling it, "Rank Male Members of Parliament From Most Attractive to Least Attractive."
If you would like to put in your two cents, visit this page, look at some photos and tell me what you think.
What do I hope to accomplish by doing this? Absolutely nothing, but I feel like this may be the greatest achievement of my life.
If you would like to put in your two cents, visit this page, look at some photos and tell me what you think.
What do I hope to accomplish by doing this? Absolutely nothing, but I feel like this may be the greatest achievement of my life.
10/22/2009
Fitting
Google Webmaster Tools tells me that the 97th most common keyword on my site is "transvaginal."
10/21/2009
When they ask, and they will ask, tell them about the hand dryers
On Saturday, I took three seventeen-year-olds for a tour of Nipissing University and North Bay.
In case you do not know this, I attended Nipissing University. In fact, many people have attended Nipissing University. But Nipissing has gotten infinitely more awesome since my glory days and it can be linked entirely to the installation of Dyson Hand Dryers in the washrooms right next to the library.
Those hand dryers are like a window into the future. When I unnecessarily wet my hands and then placed them in one of those hand dryers, I knew that, if humans were capable of that kind of innovation, we could overcome silly problems like global warming and world hunger. How do those issues even compare to hands that have not been completely dried?! They just don't.
Conventional hand dryers only half dry your hands. You push the button or wave your hand under them, and you stand there (maybe rubbing your hands together to encourage a faster drying time, maybe not) waiting. And then eventually you just give up. You give up because who has the time to stand there and wait for their hands to fully dry? No one. If you do have that time, stop reading my blog right now and run because I am going to fight you.
But I digress...
So you step away from the dryer and look around for something to wipe your hands on, but there is never anything practical to wipe your hands on. So you wipe your hands on your pants (or skirt) and hope that no one will notice the wet marks now adorning your ensemble. Do not kid yourself; people always notice questionable wet marks on the clothes of someone who has just exited a restroom.
In case you do not know this, I attended Nipissing University. In fact, many people have attended Nipissing University. But Nipissing has gotten infinitely more awesome since my glory days and it can be linked entirely to the installation of Dyson Hand Dryers in the washrooms right next to the library.
Those hand dryers are like a window into the future. When I unnecessarily wet my hands and then placed them in one of those hand dryers, I knew that, if humans were capable of that kind of innovation, we could overcome silly problems like global warming and world hunger. How do those issues even compare to hands that have not been completely dried?! They just don't.
Conventional hand dryers only half dry your hands. You push the button or wave your hand under them, and you stand there (maybe rubbing your hands together to encourage a faster drying time, maybe not) waiting. And then eventually you just give up. You give up because who has the time to stand there and wait for their hands to fully dry? No one. If you do have that time, stop reading my blog right now and run because I am going to fight you.
But I digress...
So you step away from the dryer and look around for something to wipe your hands on, but there is never anything practical to wipe your hands on. So you wipe your hands on your pants (or skirt) and hope that no one will notice the wet marks now adorning your ensemble. Do not kid yourself; people always notice questionable wet marks on the clothes of someone who has just exited a restroom.
10/16/2009
Why I am a loser
I have injured my foot while performing a brave, heroic task - walking my dog.
For the last several nights, the dog and I have been embarking a 10.45 km early evening walk. Yesterday, I wore the wrong shoes.
I wish that I could say that I was sporting something sexy, like a pair of stilettos; an unwise selection, perhaps, but one that would make my story more exotic (or erotic... Rrrrrrrrowr). Instead, I was wearing an aesthetically pleasing pair of Adidas shoes that may or may not have ever been created with the intention that the wearer would walk in general, let alone 10.45 km.
But I digress... The dog did not trip me. I did not fall or injure myself in any way. All of a sudden, there was pain.
So now I limp. The first 5 km gave me horrible blisters, but it was that last .45 km that did me in.
For the last several nights, the dog and I have been embarking a 10.45 km early evening walk. Yesterday, I wore the wrong shoes.
I wish that I could say that I was sporting something sexy, like a pair of stilettos; an unwise selection, perhaps, but one that would make my story more exotic (or erotic... Rrrrrrrrowr). Instead, I was wearing an aesthetically pleasing pair of Adidas shoes that may or may not have ever been created with the intention that the wearer would walk in general, let alone 10.45 km.
But I digress... The dog did not trip me. I did not fall or injure myself in any way. All of a sudden, there was pain.
So now I limp. The first 5 km gave me horrible blisters, but it was that last .45 km that did me in.
10/10/2009
An Ode to my Purple Rubber Boots
From your soft, soft lining, to your deep, rich colour; you are perfect for me, purple rubber boots.
Do I wish you came up slightly higher on my calfs? Yes, I do, but I accept you the way you are.
I am good like that.
If I did not think it would be creepy, I would spend my days stroking your exterior, staring lovingly at my own reflection in the sheen of your rubbery surface. "Never change," I would whisper - to myself or you, I do not know.
You make me want to be a better person. I will be a better person. For you, purple rubber boots, all for you.
Do I wish you came up slightly higher on my calfs? Yes, I do, but I accept you the way you are.
I am good like that.
If I did not think it would be creepy, I would spend my days stroking your exterior, staring lovingly at my own reflection in the sheen of your rubbery surface. "Never change," I would whisper - to myself or you, I do not know.
You make me want to be a better person. I will be a better person. For you, purple rubber boots, all for you.
10/05/2009
It's fantastical...
Help.
Can't stop listening to Lady Gaga's Paparazzi.
It's gotten to the point where I feel like the song will actually now physically make me ill, but I still must to listen to it. It is a compulsion.
I also can't stop watching cover versions of the song on youtube. My favourite one so far:
There is something about that guy. I just love to stare at him. He's got something planned; he's up to no good. I guess that no good could be dressing up like a nun and singing to a photo of the Pope, or it could equally be a secret career in gay porn. Who knows? Still, I can't help but feel a little disappointed that he didn't sing it "Pope-parazzi."
Can't stop listening to Lady Gaga's Paparazzi.
It's gotten to the point where I feel like the song will actually now physically make me ill, but I still must to listen to it. It is a compulsion.
I also can't stop watching cover versions of the song on youtube. My favourite one so far:
There is something about that guy. I just love to stare at him. He's got something planned; he's up to no good. I guess that no good could be dressing up like a nun and singing to a photo of the Pope, or it could equally be a secret career in gay porn. Who knows? Still, I can't help but feel a little disappointed that he didn't sing it "Pope-parazzi."
10/04/2009
I tell it like it is
"We are supposed to be best friend-like, and yet I see Canadian rock stars more than I see you. I am not even kidding about this. I have spent more time with the Canadian rock star this past month than I have with you. And he definitely corresponds with me via e-mail more than you ever have."
"Are you serious?" she asked.
"Yes," I said somberly, "I would never lie about my correspondences with Canadian rock stars. He even sends me little encouraging e-mails throughout the week letting me know that I have done a good job. Well, he sends the the team encouraging e-mails, but every so often there are some that are just sent to me. He knows that I have a low self-esteem and need reassurance."
"I did not realize that you were such a high maintenance friend," she said.
"I can be, yes. But this is not high maintenance. This is just me saying, 'Hey, send me an e-mail once a month to let me know that you are still alive,' and 'If we have tentative plans and you no longer feel like going out it is okay, but send me a text message that says 'no' so that I can go do something else instead of waiting for you.'"
"That doesn't sound too difficult," she replied.
"It's not. You are just kind of a douche."
"Are you serious?" she asked.
"Yes," I said somberly, "I would never lie about my correspondences with Canadian rock stars. He even sends me little encouraging e-mails throughout the week letting me know that I have done a good job. Well, he sends the the team encouraging e-mails, but every so often there are some that are just sent to me. He knows that I have a low self-esteem and need reassurance."
"I did not realize that you were such a high maintenance friend," she said.
"I can be, yes. But this is not high maintenance. This is just me saying, 'Hey, send me an e-mail once a month to let me know that you are still alive,' and 'If we have tentative plans and you no longer feel like going out it is okay, but send me a text message that says 'no' so that I can go do something else instead of waiting for you.'"
"That doesn't sound too difficult," she replied.
"It's not. You are just kind of a douche."
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