The Spanking

Perhaps I will regale you with a tale from the past, a tale that will have you glued to your computer screen for minutes. I have so many I don't know where to begin. I guess I’ll start with one of my favorites.

Once upon a time, my cousin Sarah and I were waiting for my mother in the parking lot of Canadian Tire. All of a sudden, a boy pulled up beside us. Being teenagers starved for the attention of boys, we started talking to them, and eventually (i don't remember how) made plans to meet them at Sarah's farm later.

We pulled the old, "we're sleeping in the camper" trick, and off to the quonset we went. This is where things start to get hazy for me, as it was also the first time I ever smoked marijuana, so I can't remember exact details. I do remember being in the camper with the boys, I remember playing hide and seek outside in the dark, and being terrified that coyotes were going to kill us, so much so that I thought a post was a rabid coyote coming to eat me, I remember getting shocked by the camper as I stepped out and grabbed the handrail, which was somehow electrically charged, literally picked off my feet and thrown to the ground. And I also remember the spanking (my favorite).

Now, I think that we had gotten away with the SNEAKING OUT TO MEET BOYS for a couple of nights, or maybe it was just one, but I know, for some reason we went down the road to meet up with them. Somehow, her mother figured out we were gone and came looking for us. Damn the pot, but I don't remember how it happened, if we came back before she did, or if she found us. I think I would remember getting found, I think we thought we were in the clear and as it turns out, we weren't. I vividly remember being yelled at in the living room, and then the worst thing that could have happened: Uncle David storming up the stairs. Those who do not know Uncle David, do not know that he has never been angry in his life, unless my father was involved.

This was probably the scariest moment of my sixteen years of life. His face was red, his eyes were wild. I knew we were in trouble. He stormed into the living room and grabbed Sarah, pulled her off the couch and over his knee. And then it happened. A SPANKING AT SIXTEEN. Oh the humanity. I thought I was next. I wasn't, but I think it was close. I didn't know what to do, no one did. As I said, it was one of the worst things I ever witnessed. I believe there were more stern talking toos and being sent to bed, not in the camper, but the thing that i see when I close my eyes is the spanking. Horrifying.

I know that because of this incident, we were more careful when it came to mischief, but it didn't end it, and now whenever I'm feeling blue, all I have to do is close my eyes and open my mind to the day of the spanking, and suddenly I'm not sad.

Call Me Back

I think I'm forgetting how to talk on the phone. Since the creation of the Text Message, i have used my phone for talking less and less. I text my brothers instead of calling them, and I prefer to send an email to actually speaking to a human being.

If you knew me in my teen years (before the invention of IM, TEXTING, and, EMAIL) you would know that the phone and I rarely parted company. Hour upon hour, spent talking into the speaker, the earpiece growing hot on my ear. Locked in the bathroom for privacy, while younger, more immature ears pressed themselves against the door in a vain attempt to eavesdrop. And always, the pounding on the door and the cry of war, "I NEED TO USE THE PHONE!!"

The battles for control of the phone were epic and ferocious. I've had telephones thrown at me, wrenched from my hands mid-sentence, the unfortunate listener traumatised by the sounds of struggle. My brother hit me with the family van in retaliation for ending his call prematurely. Yes, I have suffered the wages of war in attempts to liberate the phone from enemy hands. All for the pleasure to call my cousin and hastily whisper, "Call me back."

Ah yes, the final indignity: Long distance to my best friend, but not the other way. She could call me free of charge, I was not spared the cost. Through hours spent on the phone, we became quite savvy, coming up with codes for things we weren't allowed to talk about (boys, boyfriends, and S E X). Plots were hatched, plans developed, mischief made. Many a night of trouble started with the phrase, "Is Sarah there?"

Now the trouble begins with a chime and a pop up of "Sarah has just signed in". And the trouble does not entail sneaking out and meeting boys down the road, or dumping a can full of trash into a car and running barefoot from the police. No, now it begins, "Why are you up so late?"

The irony of the post is my brother called and I was talking to him on the phone while I wrote this

Reduce Speed

I hate dial up. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much.

If You Don't Want Me To Buy It, Don't Give Me Your Bank Card

The Old Man always chastises me for buying useless things. One time I bought a compost bucket (that you put your kitchen scraps in until you take them out to the bin) and I got in trouble because a regular bucket would have worked fine. But a regular bucket isn't as nice as the compost bucket. And it's see through, which is no good because then you can see what's going on inside the bucket. Which is gross.

When he gets home tonight I'm going to be in trouble. I can't help myself. I bought some drawer organisers, which we already have. But the new ones are NICE metal mesh, while the old one is not. It's plastic and it's stained (from what I don't know because how do you spill in a closed drawer?) and it's stinky white ugly plastic. That I can probably get away with, it's the other thing that will really be the problem. What could that be? Learner's Chopsticks. I bought two pairs. For $4.99. They look like giant clothes pins and they also look like a TONNE of fun. Unfortunately the Old Man can use chopsticks quite well. How I don't know, but he can and will refuse to use the ones I bought and I will be in trouble for wasteful spending.

Another thing is I bought three books and the problem there is:
A) I have no more room for new books. The Book Room is full to capacity and is spilling it's contents throughout the house; and
B) I have already read two of the three I bought. But I read books like people watch movies. If I like it, I read it again and again. That is why I BUY them in the first place rather than borrow them from the Library, which is a whole other issue itself. Who wants to read books that countless others have had in their bathroom, and touched before washing their hands?

I think I will just put the books in the Book Room and hope that they quietly blend in with the others. Thus I will only be in trouble for on thing that I probably deserve to be in trouble for anyway. In the mean time, I have some chopsticks to use.

I Don't Believe in Santa

There is something that really bothers me and I think it needs to be discussed. People who say they "don't believe in chiropractors". A chiropractor is not like Santa or God. They are there. I've seen their offices. I've been to one. My back was cracked and it wasn't because I believed in him, it was because he was a real person with a real doctorate in a legitimate medical practise. So don't say you don't believe in chiropractors, say you don't use one.

Just Call Me "The Genius"

Okay.... so I'm not a genius, but it's a catchy title and really, in a world that judges every book by its cover, you need a catchy title. And an IQ of 121 is mere steps away from actual geniushood. I don't want to hear about anyone disagreeing with me. The title stays. The Genius has spoken.