A short comic about the time my friend Melissa was over for a sleepover and I accidentally crotched myself.
It hurt a lot. The End.
A short comic about the time my friend Melissa was over for a sleepover and I accidentally crotched myself.
It hurt a lot. The End.
This story is dedicated to my mom, as it is her favourite story about me and she asked me recently why I haven’t told it yet. So heeeeere it is!
When I was just a little kitty, my very favourite cereal in the entire world was Lucky Charms.
So magically delicious. Like every child I of course looooved the marshmallows. Could not get enough. I could eat an entire bowl of just the marshmallows, easily.
Whenever I would eat my bowl of Lucky Charms for breakfast I would eat all the boring oat pieces first and then save all the little marshmallows for last. I still do this with my dinner plates: eat the stuff that isn’t my favourite first so then the good things are all saved for last. It’s a good eating method. I recommend it. This way your favourite thing is the very last taste in your mouth.
One day when I was about three or four, my mom bought a giant family-sized box of Lucky Charms. She brought it home from the grocery store and as soon as she took it out of the bag I was all over it.
My mom noticed me admiring the box of deliciousness.
And she decided that it probably wasn’t a good idea to just leave the box lying around, as I’d probably get into it.
But I didn’t WANT them for breakfast tomorrow, I wanted them right NOW.
My mom thought that a good place to “hide” the Lucky Charms would be on top of the refrigerator, because I was just little, and wouldn’t be able to reach it.
But when I want something that badly, I want it, and I WILL get it.
I stared at that box for the rest of the day. And as I was going to sleep that night, all I could think about were the Lucky Charms just sitting on the top of the fridge waiting for me. I had to have them.
So I woke up super early, before my parents, with the plan of acquiring that box of Lucky Charms. And actually I am not even sure how I woke up so early, but it’s possible that I didn’t sleep at all.
But anyway, I woke up super early (it was still dark), crept into the kitchen, and there they were.
In the same spot my mom had left them the night before. Still too high for me to reach.
But I was a resourceful little minx. So I grabbed a chair from the kitchen table, quietly dragged it over to the fridge, and climbed up onto the counter.
The Lucky Charms and I were reunited.
I quickly (but quietly) put the chair back, took the box of Lucky Charms with me into my bedroom and shut the door. I was alone with my conquest. The Lucky Charms were all mine.
I immediately dumped the entire box onto my floor.
And then I sat down next to the mound of Lucky Charms and got to work.
I meticulously separated the marshmallows from the boring oat pieces one by one. It took me ages, but I didn’t give up. I picked out every last colourful piece of marshmallow and set it aside. In the end I had a pile of oat pieces (which I discarded), and a perfect pile of just marshmallows.
Which I then ate. I ate the entire pile of marshmallows.
In the morning my mom woke up a bit later than usual and thought it was weird that I wasn’t up and harassing her yet. It was very unlike me to be so quiet in my room so late. So she came in to check on me.
And this is how she found me.
As my mom tells me the story, and as she tells everyone she tells this story to, she found me eating the very last marshmallow in the box.
I spent the rest of the day alternating between laying around in a sugar coma and magically throwing up the rainbow.
But surprisingly I am not sick of Lucky Charms even now! And I still love those little marshmallows!
So I mentioned last week that I had a few dates that were a bit on the weird side when I was doing the online dating thing. For the most part my dates were fine. Everyone was very nice, and I didn’t meet anyone who was creepy weird (but like I said in my original online dating post, I had a screening process – had I not there would have been huge potential for creepy dates). I probably went on dates with about seven different people, and mostly they were fine. I did meet some cool people, and most were normal, regular guys. I just ultimately didn’t feel a connection or didn’t see it working out.
But let’s get to the weird ones.
The Socially Awkward Liar
The Socially Awkward Liar said in his dating profile that he was 5’11, but it was clear upon meeting him that he had lied about his height. He was shorter than me (I am 5’9), and just overall slight. I could for sure piggyback him no problem. When I was describing him later to my friend Sherrie, I believe I said that I could pick him up and throw him. Probably one-handed.
But, height is not something you can control, so I was not so shallow that I was going to shaft him because of that. It bothered me that he had lied, of course, and as a general rule I think it is very important to be honest and up front in your online dating profile — if you are going to end up dating someone you meet on there the ugly truth about you is going to come out anyway. Why prolong it? And I don’t know why he would choose to lie about something so OBVIOUS. But, we had dinner plans and I was hungry so I was willing to look past it.
It quickly became apparent though, that he had lied about several other things as well. Such as having any sort of sense of humour or personality. He came across very well through typing, but in person, nothing. Zero personality.
He barely laughed at anything I said. And people usually tell me I am funny (it’s my favourite compliment). Or if he did laugh, it seemed very forced and way delayed.
I also found it really hard to talk to him in general. Our entire dinner conversation consisted of him bombarding me with questions. It went something like this:
I hate that question. What don’t I do for fun? I do all the things for fun!
But he went on…
The entire date. Just relentless questions. He didn’t even wait for me to finish answering one question before launching into the next one. I felt like I was on a job interview for a job that I didn’t even want. It was so painful. And the questions he asked were all things that I think can come up organically in regular conversation. But he did pay, so all was not completely lost. And my dinner was really good.
The Bill Splitter
I was out for dinner with a guy who I thought was extremely funny. He made me laugh very hard, which is an important quality. He was definitely weird, but I have been known to be kind of weird as well, and I thought I might have a bit of an affinity for his weirdness. I was having a good time.
And then our sever came over to inquire about the bill…
And things took a turn for the awkward…
I didn’t mind paying but…call me old-fashioned or whatever, I think on a first date the guy should at least offer to pay. I would probably offer to split or at least cover the tip anyway…but especially if HE asked ME out. I didn’t want to get all weird about it though, so I tried to keep my face expressionless.
And then the server, all awkward, asked…
And he thought about it for a second, and then said…
I just stared at him. I didn’t know how to react. It was so weird. And it wasn’t even the most weird for me, it was so weird for our server!
Waiting for the bill (oh, sorry, bills) to come mayyyy have been the most awkward few minutes of my life. I just didn’t know what to say. And he didn’t stop staring at me during this time. He just looked at me all intensely with a creepy smile on his face. Neither of us said anything. I felt very uncomfortable.
And then finally, our server came back with our bills. She put each of our bills in front of us, and then looked at me like “This guy’s a douche.” And he did not take his eyes off me.
And then he grabbed both of the bills and ran away to pay them. Both of them! He paid for mine also. I was so confused. When he came back, I said something.
Here’s the thing. This guy was pretty funny (he used to be a stand up comedian), so I think he only did this to test me to see how I would react. He had planned on paying the entire time. While this is funny to an outsider, and it is funny to me now, it was not very funny at the time. This guy was way too unpredictable. I’m pretty sure he would make it a point to embarrass me in public all the time, and though I don’t embarrass easily, I am just not down with that. Unnecessary. No thank you.
“No Thanks, I Don’t Eat”
Date #3 seemed promising. He was very cute, great spelling and grammar, was tall, funny, and seemed super fun. And he took me to a comedy club. So wins all around.
Afterwards, we went out to a pub to get a drink. It was kinda late and I hadn’t eaten in a while, so as I was perusing the menu I asked…
Because I LOVE nachos.
Surely I misheard.
And so he repeated himself.
And then he explained to me that he worked in a bar, so he just didn’t buy food, and only ate when he was working.
On the one hand, I was impressed by his ability to not have to eat, because it would be nice to be able to go more than a few hours without dying of starvation. On the other hand, that is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard. Also, I am very, VERY, very very very food oriented. VERY.
I explained to him that I love food. Very much. I love it so much I have a blog basically about food. And he said that was great because he really needed to broaden his food horizons, because currently he does not eat fruit, vegetables, seafood or dessert. Under any circumstance.
Nooo thank you. No. I love food too much. How would we go out for dinner? What if I was at his house and he had no food available? I could starve! Images of me starving flashed before my eyes. I did not trust him not to let that happen. It would never work out. Eating is a VERY important part of my life. Not eating is a deal breaker.
And I did. And I ate the entire plate of them, and he did not even have one. Not even one. Because they had lettuce and tomato on them. And he doesn’t eat vegetables.
Oh don’t even get me started.
This is a story about the worst day of my life. But do not fret! This happened nearly 10 years ago, everything has worked out, and it is now one of my best stories. So, all good.
Please make sure you are reading this correctly and remember to note that this happened 10 years ago and not yesterday. This is very important. Someone has made this mistake with a previous story of mine, and I like to think I am a little more responsible than this now. Also, if this happened yesterday, I would not be ready to blog about it.
In our early years of college, my high school friends and I were all attending different colleges and universities across the province. One Saturday night on Easter weekend (ohh, have just passed the anniversary), we decided to all get together and have a reunion party. We chose a small town that was a good central location for everyone, and where two of my friends were attending university.
After a night of shenanigans (nothing crazy, we are weird, but we were good girls), my friend Emily and I left the next morning to make it to our respective Easter festivities. I was driving, and the drive home was about an hour and a half. We stopped at McDonalds for breakfast before hitting the highway (this is important to the story because Emily pointed out later that I had Ketchup and Egg McMuffin all over my face).
We left not long after we woke up. Both of our hair was a mess, we were in track pants, I was wearing heels, and Emily in fancy boots. She was also using a garbage bag as an overnight bag (Angelina anyone?), which was shoved in the backseat.
I was driving my teal mobile from high school (1993 Pontiac Sunbird), and it was getting close to its last legs by then and the speedometer (amongst other things) was broken. I wasn’t sure exactly how fast I was going on the highway, but we were in a hurry to start eating (hello, it is Easter!) so I knew I was probably speeding.
I believe I have set the scene for you.
A few minutes into our highway drive, I was pulled over.
Perhaps I am biased, but the officer looked like he was just not a very nice person.
I did not, actually. I didn’t want to tell him about my broken speedometre though (thinking that might be an extra ticket), so I just said I wasn’t sure. Well I don’t remember what I said, but I felt scared so it was probably just:
While the officer was writing the ticket, we sat on the highway for at least 40 minutes. He took forever. To us it felt like a million years. Emile and I were both tired, and really antsy to start eating Easter chocolate, but we tried to be patient and entertain ourselves.
Finally he came back to the car.
And it turns out, surprisingly enough, that I had been speeding…
And also, my insurance slip was expired. My dad had given me my new one (my insurance was still in my dad’s name then), but I had it in my purse, and I (stupidly) had switched purses the night before to my “going out” purse, so I didn’t have it on me…
Both of those I could have dealt with, but then…
(It’s important to note that my license was only suspended for a week or so, and I was unaware of this. Mainly because I have problems with checking the mail…)
It was a lot to process. But the most pressing issue at hand was that I couldn’t drive, and Emily would have to. Emily and I just looked at each other. My car had a manual transmission, and Emily didn’t know how to drive standard.
Please note we were on the highway, NOT a side road. Cars were whizzing by us at crazy speeds (probably a lot faster than I was going when I got pulled over).
And then he walked off back to his car. And sat in it. And waited.
But not before saying “Just so you knowwww, I will not be on this side of the highway again for the rest of the day.”
I don’t know if he was trying to trick me into driving so he could catch me again, or if he was saying I was safe (I am thinking trick me).
But as he was right behind us, at the moment we didn’t have a choice. Emily would have to drive. We got out of the car and switched seats.
It was not the ideal situation to learn how to drive standard. This normally would be around my meltdown threshold, but I knew I needed to hold it together and stay strong for my little Emilio.
I gave her a pep talk.
Emily went to start the car. It didn’t start. It didn’t do anything.
By this time we had been sitting on the side of the highway for nearly an hour, and my four-way flashers had been on the entire time, so I figured that my battery must be dead.
Again, briefly thought of having a meltdown, but had to stay strong.
I got out of the car, and walked back to the police car to explain the situation, and ask if he could possibly boost me.
I stared at him for what may have been a long time, cars flying past me (driven by people who were speeding and probably on drugs, but hey-ho). I allowed a single tear to roll down my cheek.
And then I said…
And he looked at me, and I thought for a second that maybe, just maybe, he would find some compassion within himself, and he might be a little bit forgiving.
And well, he was not wrong. It was a really beautiful day.
Then he added…
And then he left.
So he just left. He left two girls in a broken down car on the side of the road on a busy highway, on Easter Sunday, with one driver who was not allowed to drive, and another driver who didn’t know how to drive (sorry, Emily knows how to drive, but you know what I mean. Manual is a different beast.)
But all was not lost. I did have CAA, thank you very much. My Dad had just gotten me the Plus services thing that gets you any service for free. So I called them up.
They informed me that actually my Plus membership didn’t kick in until Monday (and it was Sunday), so they could boost me for free…but if they needed to tow me anywhere they would have to charge me.
I was absolutely almost at my limit.
And so, Emily and I waited again. And waited. In the (actually quite hot) Easter sunshine. Because hey, at least it wasn’t snowing!
FINALLY the tow truck driver arrived, and pulled up behind us.
As he was getting things ready in his car, Emily was watching him in her passenger door side mirror.
She noticed something metal glinting in the sun. She cried out.
She was referring to the movie “Adventures in Babysitting” (but forgot the name) if anyone remembers it…
(The truck driver with the hook from Adventures in Babysitting.)
And sure enough, he came over to the door on my side, and Emily and I stared at the giant metal hook that was in place of his hand, as he tapped on my window with it.
We were dying, but we tried our absolute hardest to hold it together. It was tough, but somehow we managed, and I got out of the car to talk to him.
Captain Hook turned out to be pretty much the nicest man on the planet. And he was very handy with his hook, hooking his cables up (literally) to my battery. But my car didn’t start. I needed to be towed. Emily and I had to ride with Captain Hook for over an hour back to our hometown. I sat in the middle, and we just watched as he hooked his hook around the steering wheel, worked the radio, and basically just used it as a normal hand.
It was incredible.
And when I got home I had a complete and total meltdown.
I found out later that my starter was broken. It just picked that exact moment to stop working, which probably was a blessing, as I don’t know if Emily would have been able to drive my car. So, Captain Hook probably happened for the best.
He really was a knight in shining armour.
And if you were wondering, I fought and got off of all my tickets. All of them, except speeding (dropped to 10k over though), so no complaints here. But I will just say it was an expensive day.
And I learned some important lessons:
It’s all about life lessons, my friends.
And the legend of Captain Hook will always hold a special place in my heart. And now hopefully yours too.
So on Thursday I turned the big 2-9. This is crazy to me. I can’t believe how close I am to 30. It seriously feels like just last year I was 20!
Actually, I can remember my 20th birthday so vividly, I am going to tell you the story.
For my birthday that year, my best friend Lisa planned a big night out for me at a bar in Peterborough (for you Ontarians, and if you are not from Ontario, please note the legal drinking age in Canada is 19, so we were all well and legal).
I used to absolutely LOVE the bars in Peterborough, as it was a huge university town, the bars were always rammed, and it was always such a great (and random) time. Some of the best nights of my life were in Peterborough.
It is a fairly small town, and I always felt that the people there were genuinely nice. Whenever I would go to the bathroom in one of the bars, all the girls in there would be like “OMG I loooove your necklace!”, “Where did you get your shirt?”, and “You are so beautiful tonight!”
And I would come out of the bathroom with about eight new best friends.
Unlike the bars in Toronto, where all you got was side eye and no new friends.
Anyway, on my birthday night, we all met up at Lisa’s house before the bar for pre-drinks, and my friend Joel brought me a birthday hat to wear. It was a huge hat, shaped like an oversized candle, and it said “Blow me, it’s my birthday.”
I loved it and thought it was hilarious, so obviously I wore it to the bar.
As in, blow out my candle. Get your minds out of the gutter you cheeky cats.
The hat was a huge hit. I have never seen another hat like it, before or since, and everyone was fawning over it. It was a conversation piece for sure.
The bar was packed, so the giant candle ended up being a useful tool in helping my friends find me. If they were ever unsure as to where I was, they told me later that all they had to do was look across the bar over the top of everyone’s heads, and there my hat would be, bobbing in the distance.
I could be spotted immediately. Very handy.
At one point, the girls and I were dancing in a group on a small stage, having a fab time being wild and crazy gals. And it’s possible we were being a bit obnoxious. We may have been bumping into people slightly (it was busy, you never know…)
And then out of nowhere, someone pushed me hard.
I wasn’t expecting it. I went flying off the stage, hat and all.
I landed on my bum, on the floor, in someone’s spilled drink. My butt was all wet, and my hat had fallen off and landed in a puddle of drink and was now all wet and dirty.
I was so embarrassed. Someone deliberately shoved me off the stage, and what the heck!? It was my birthday! How dare someone push me on my birthday? I had the hat on! Clearly I was cool and fun.
I looked up at the stage to see who had done it, and there she was. A girl who I didn’t know. She was standing there, arms crossed in front of her, staring at me, with a smug smile on her face.
She looked happy with herself. She looked proud of herself.
Everything stopped for me in that moment. Everything else in the bar was a blur. The cheesy dance music was muffled in my ears. All I saw was this girl who had just shoved me on my birthday, made my hat fall off and get all wet and dirty, embarrass me in front of my friends, and then look happy about it. And this was Peterborough. I loved Peterborough. Everyone was supposed to be nice.
I have never in my life been so angry.
Let me just say, it takes a lot to make me mad. I’m pretty easy going, and it is really difficult to get me actually angry (unless you are my parents, then it can happen instantly).
But this girl’s smug expression was too much. It drove me over the edge. I was absolutely enraged. How dare she? Who did she think she was? No no no.
I snatched my hat off the floor, shoved it back on my head, climbed back onto the stage, walked over to her, and just started yelling.
I was all “How could you push me?! It’s my birthday! I am wearing a hat! Do you see this hat? Do you have a hat? No, you DON’T have a hat. It is MY hat, because it’s MY birthday, and you do NOT push the birthday girl!”
My friends were at my side. My friend Lisa told me later that she was shocked at my reaction, and it was so hilarious to her because it was the first time she had ever seen me truly angry at someone.
The girl was not taking my yelling, and in typical girl fashion, she threw her drink in my face.
Which prompted two of my other friends to both throw their drinks on her at the same time.
It was just a big drink-throwing fest.
And then, the girl got kicked out.
And all was well again.
And the Blow Me It’s my Birthday hat lived on.
I have another frozen lake story from my childhood I’d like to share with you. This time, I was with my good friend Melissa (the one who I fought with over Jason Priestley Ken).
When I was about 10 or so, Melissa and I were skating on the lake around my house, just like any other day.
It was really windy that day, and in a rare occurrence, all the snow had blown off the lake. The entire lake was frozen, snow-free, and the ice was perfectly smooth and inky black. There was not one bump on it. It was an amazing phenomenon. We could skate anywhere! There was no rink, and no boundaries! Usually there are snowbanks or bumpy ice that you have to watch out for, but not on this day. It was the best skating conditions I had ever seen on the lake (and I have never seen anything like it since).
Since it was so windy, we decided to open our coats like sails to see if the wind would blow us without us having to do any work.
We couldn’t believe how well it worked. The ice was as smooth as glass, and the wind blew us so fast! It was the best time!
We closed our eyes and coasted in the wind. We were racing over the ice.
We sailed in the wind for quite a while, having the time of our lives. Eventually we closed down our sails and turned back to see how far we had come.
Like halfway across the lake. We couldn’t believe how well our makeshift sails worked, we had been blown several kilometres from where we came from. My house was a speck in the distance.
We immediately panicked and tried to skate back…
But we couldn’t. The wind was too strong, and it continued to blow us in the opposite direction!
It was now starting to get dark, and we were starting to worry.
There was a house in the distance in the direction we had originally been blowing in, so we decided to continue to let the wind push us towards it.
We finally arrived, and walked up to the door in our skates and rang the doorbell. An elderly man answered.
Luckily, the man was very nice and let us come in, and we called my dad to drive over and pick us up. While we waited, the man’s wife gave us hot chocolate and cookies! It was great.
And that, my friends, is the story of how I blew across the lake.