The Proper Way To Egg A House And Rude Supermarket Starers

This morning after  waking up, we discovered that some delinquent  somewhere decided to egg our house. If that could even be considered an egging…

So, I’m here to explain to you all how to properly egg a house. Now, I do have to applaud these so-called “house eggers” because they managed to escape without being noticed. They did however get the wrong date to egg our house. If you’re going for the traditional egging, the proper date ( actually the date expected to egg houses) would be October the 31st.  Another thing you did wrong, dear egger, was the fact that you threw only one freaking egg! I will actually go out to buy you a dozen eggs and invite you  to egg my house, if only you learn how to properly egg a house!!! I’ll even throw in a can or two of shaving cream for your next delinquent ventures! Do you know how pathetic it looks to clean one measly egg off a house?!

So, the next time, dear house egger, you decide to go on some delinquent adventure, DO IT RIGHT!

After silently fuming about the lame pranksters/delinquents we have now a days, I went out to a not so local supermarket. Throughout the whole trip my sister decided she’d hold on to the shopping cart while I steered it.  Nothing wrong with that, right? Well, the only thing she didn’t think about was the fact that she did not have nearly the same mass as the shopping cart. Walking through the supermarket we narrowly missed hitting people, tipped  a few trash cans located throughout the store, and “played” bumper cars with the items for sale.

Just as we were about to leave, I swiped her arm off the cart and said, maybe a bit too loudly ” Get your hand off the cart, it’s annoying!”

After that, I was met with the angry stare of a person advertising his product. I was already fed up enough with everything that I just looked at him with my own angry stare and walked right out of the store. And you know what Supermarket Starer? I’m never buying anything from you!!! Keep your stares to yourself!

After, eighteen days, I have returned. Turns out, maybe I was a bit optimistic about my schedule as I approach midterm season, trying to start up a blog, writing a piece for a McGill newspaper, and reading every-fucking-thing-about-everything for my classes. I thought about commenting on this post because it’s kind of a silly one– my twelve-year-old self trying and failing at sarcasm. I think I need some positivity in my life today because at 4pm I was already in bed, napping and watching sad videos so that I would cry. It’s really not as depressing as it sounds… It’s just, girls know. When you’re like on the 2nd to 3rd day of your period, your whackjob uterus makes you tear-up at those click-bait posts on Facebook and then you’re like fuck it I might as well get a good cry out of my system and then watch some horrible videos about the dolphin coves or something. And on top of that you’re exhausted from literally losing blood all day…. And if you’re me you’re exhausted because your boyfriend worked until 11pm on Valentine’s and kept you up until 4am.

Looking back at the story, I remember how indignant I felt. I saw the first egg on the side of our house and got riled up, shaking my head, thinking about what my parents would have to say about this, coming up with perpetrators in my head, and looking around at the disarray. Except, there was no disarray. I was confused. My memory fails me about where the actual egg had landed, but I believe I cleaned up the goop with a napkin while still surveying the confusing crime scene. Did they only have one egg left? Could they only sneak out with one egg without their mom noticing? (My neighbourhood was lousy with children while I was growing up– 10 plus households full in a closely-knit townhouse neighbourhood.)

As for the second part of the story, I’m not surprised. I was an angry kid. My sister and I were in constant battle until I moved out of our shared room and we grew up a little. I remember days where I would argue about simple things with my parents, like taking my vitamins or going to bed on-time, where I would end up screaming at the top of my lungs to win them over. I would scream until I was red in the face. That type of scream takes over your body and fills you with rage– your body shakes and tightens, your vocal chords reveal an unused pitch, blood rushes to your head. They rarely gave in, but man it felt good. My sister and I got into many physical altercations, and so did my parents and I for that matter. I have bitten my sister, choked her, and I can’t remember what else. She was actually older than me, and always taller/heavier, but she was also a bully. I didn’t understand at the time, but she was constantly antagonizing me, and I couldn’t figure out why she would treat me like that without my parents being able to do something about it. I would always get into trouble for hurting her, thus the  physical altercations with my parents, “the belt”, “the spoon”, and general spankings/slaps, etc. At the time, there was a tremendous amount of financial stress on my parents. My mom had the only job, working at 7Eleven (a convenience store), they had debt, and my dad was an irresponsible spender. At one point, they would take $500 that I had meticulously saved out of my bank account without telling me. Having kids in that situation would explain many behavioural problems. I had anger issues. Later, my sister would reveal to me that she was also a bully to kids at school. There came a point where the cycle of anger in our family ended, and I think that came after the time my dad hit me and then chased me up the stairs with a broom. But, that’s a story for another time.

See you soon,

 

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Roomie, It’s Not You, It’s Me

So, in no chronological order, here I am reviewing my old embarrassing blogs. I thought this would be a good place to start. As I deliberated over which hidden* blog posts of my past would be excavated today, I actually was a bit disappointed in what I had left myself to work with. And, I was actually disappointed in my narcissism… Who really cared about my posts back then? The reason I wrote and read in the amount that I did in the first place was because I had nothing else to do anyways. Elementary school was a profoundly lonely experience for me after fifth grade when I was separated from my entire grade and put with the grade 6 class. Due to class sizes and other formalities, I and 5 other  girls were segregated, and the next years of my life would be trying to understand the dynamics of my old friends. So, a lot of my posts were trying to get attention/views/comments desperately. You’ll see so many changes in my writing style and so many mixed medias as proof of this as time goes on. In a way, this got away from me just being an interesting, funny twelve-year-old in all her honesty. Seeing those small moments of honesty in my writing, though, are what I enjoy most. That’s what I saw in this post. I thought about starting from the beginning of my blogging career, but I thought that would be far too autobiographical.  I wanted to not have to explain me or explain my story, just plunk you guys right in the middle of ten to twelve-year-old me’s babbling. We can discover and analyse me as we go along…

FEB 27, 2012

Yesterday, I must have been possessed or something because I decided to embark on the treacherous journey of……. cleaning my room. Yes, that’s right people! No more white walls for me, I now have a few decorations in my room which represent solely who I am. I also re-organized quite a few things including my now color coated**, size oriented, more likely to wear organized sock drawer. When I do something, I do it right!

I said goodbye to many items I no longer needed, mustering up the courage to throw away my first purse. It was Barbie brand, plastic, and bright pink. I didn’t say goodbye to it completely though, I cut out some patches of fabric and will be using them for decorating purposes later on.

What I’ve realized is that, no matter how cute the stuffy animal may be, YA DON’T NEED THEM! I have a huge laundry bag full of them! You know where they’re going? DONATED, BABY! All except for one, that offers sentimental value. Froggy. There’s a nice story to him….

Once upon a time, a young child (you guessed it, me!) and her sister went to the grocery store with their parents. They left their car locked in the parking lot empty. Upon their return to the car, the  young child discovered a little stuffed frog in the back seat. So, the sisters decided that seeing as the older sister had already a stuffed friend named Whiskers (a mouse), the young child would keep the frog. The young child was silently convinced that Jesus had sent the frog down to her as a message.

To this day, I have no idea where it came from. Creepy….

Maybe the detail passed you by, but something certainly caught my attention about this post: white walls. This is something about me that has never changed; none of my bedrooms have ever been decorated, meaning no paint, no posters… white walls. I really don’t know why, but having things on my walls has always made me feel more cluttered, especially when I have a stressful day/week and I take to my room to stress clean. If the room’s not bare, it’s not clean. Growing up with a sister who was artistic and painted, our bedrooms were a stark contrast. My bedroom was small, plain, and pretty bare. Her’s had purple walls covered in paintings and photographs with warm Christmas lights strung from the roof. She had a bunk-bed with funky sheets, a large desk, and a larger room, so visitors would often give a brief, uneasy look to my room before retiring to her’s for activities. Just from those details, many would think I was probably depressed, but, ironically enough, it is she that suffers from depression. When I first moved into my apartment in Montreal, about 7 months ago, I left it pretty minimalist as well; however my sister helped me hang some pictures in the living room. A few weeks after moving in, I received a large care-package in the mail from one of my friends; it contained several framed photos and a card, signed, “… so your home looks less like an asylum…”. Accurate.

Another thing that caught my eye, and ultimately made me choose this post to begin with, was the detail about my pink, plastic, Barbie-brand purse. I laughed, remembering how I toted that thing around. It was that kind of plastic material only 90’s kids would remember and closed with a large flap at the front, attached with Velcro… Does Velcro even still exist? Maybe on shoes. Anyways, point is, I used the HECK out of that purse. I liked it, but more importantly, I trusted it. It secured firmly with that Velcro, and actually had a couple of zipper pockets for change and things. Nothing was going to get lost out of that sucker… until that fateful day at the courthouse. I remember my dad had some tedious business to attend to downtown (going to pay rent and filing some papers for one of his lawsuits he was embroiled in). He is not by any means a lawyer, in fact, he works with computers; however, he liked to fight his own battles. We packed up into the car, my sister, bringing some forms of entertainment, and me, bringing my purse. I had a precious $20 in that purse, lip chap, and I’m not sure what else. After hours of hanging off service counters and winding around my dad’s ankles, we finally returned home. And would you believe it? The $20 was gone. I traced and retraced my steps in my mind and ran my hand over the inside of my purse a thousand times, but I could not find my money. I’m pretty sure that’s the day I cut that bitch up and threw it away, in all of its pink glory, for a more demure, flaming red satchel-purse.

*I have made private all of my prior posts and will be releasing one or two per week, depending on my schedule.

** No changes have been made to the original posts… Please bear with any grammar, syntax, etc mistakes.