17 notes &

The Mystery Box

In second grade, for Halloween, we were told to bring something creepy or scary to put in the ‘Mystery Box.’  We would then close our eyes and put our hands in to feel the gross-ness.  Whoever made the most disgusting thing would win a bunch of candy.

Well this was RIGHT UP MY ALLEY!!!

Other kids brought things like cold spaghetti and boiled eggs to mimic brains and eyeballs. 

I brought cat poop.

I think I missed the note where it was supposed to be something fake.

The first kid reached in… “Ewwwwww… it feels like… like… poo or something.” He took his hand out and laughed. 

"Yuck!’  It even smells like it!"  squealed another. The other kids giggled as they each clamored for a turn.

"Great job, Eliza! What did you use?" my teacher smiled as she reached in to feel for herself.

I was confused. “It’s cat poop. From the litter box.”

"WHAAAAAAAAT???" she sniffed her hand, then looked at me in horror. "Children… go wash your hands. NOW!!!"

"Did I win?" I asked, clapping my hands together with excitement.

No. I did not.

8 notes &

It was the best of timelines, it was the worst of timelines…

I think it’s interesting when a couple has been dating and is very Facebook PDA about their love for each other.

And then their relationship status goes back to single. But they remain friends because, y’know, they’re cool that way.

And then they start dating new people and they each ‘like’ each others’ new ‘in a relationship’ status because they’re cool that way.

And then they start tagging their new boyfriend/girlfriend in photos and updates (e.g. “At the beach with Jason. I love my life! #happiness”

And 5 minutes later, the ex-boyfriend comes back with “At the beach horseback riding with Christy the most amazing woman ever.”

And then an hour later she comes back via Foursquare. “My man Jason spoils me SO MUCH! Reservations at KOI! #blessed”

And then 15 minutes later: “Christy is not only gorgeous but she MADE me a chef-worthy dinner. Sorry guys she’s all mine! #lucky #filetmignon”

And then 2 hours later via Instagram: “Roses? For me? Do I have the best boyfriend or what?”

And then 28 minutes later via Tumblr: “I wrote this poem for Christy. There’s something about Christy that has inspired me in ways no one ever has. I love you so much, Christy. 

Christy. You are everything to me. You are the sun. The moon. The meteor that crashed into my heart. Twinkle. Sparkle. Shine in my galaxy of love. For you. 

And then 14 minutes later: “Nothing says romance like champagne, strawberries and a bubble bath for two in our executive suite at the W. #fairytale #romance

And then an hour later: “Seriously, Christy is the best sex I ever had. Round 3 over here. #WOW”

And then 15 minutes later: “Trying anal for the first time tonight! #excited”

And then 5 minutes later: “We do anal, like ALL THE TIME.”

10 minutes later: “I’ve never been so happy. SO HAPPY. DOING ANAL. GETTING ROSES. Happier than I’VE EVER BEEN. YOU HEAR ME???”

2 minutes later: “I miss my ex.”

1 minute later: “I miss my ex :( #sad”

1 day later: Christy and Jason are now IN A RELATIONSHIP.

10 notes &

The “E” Stands for Entertainment

*Originally published in MEDIUMimage

Despite the fact that I still have P.T.S.D. about their animatronic singing rats, and the fact that the fecal count in their ball room is higher than a port-o-potty at Coachella… I still love Chuck E. Cheese.

When I was a kid, Chuck E. Cheese was THE place for birthday parties. The kids at school would always talk about it. The games. The pizza. The prizes. “It’s basically Disneyland,” they told me with a faraway look in their eyes.

The closest one to where we lived was in a super ghetto part of town. Half of the windows were boarded up and someone had vandalized the name with red spray paint, so it read: Chuck E. SUCKS DICK Cheese.

Every time my mom would take me and my sisters, the parking lot would be filled with rough-looking teenagers drinking out front. Their music blared from their dented pick-up trucks as they drank beer and smoked cigarettes. At the time we assumed they were prettydangerous. I mean, their music DID feature several shred guitar solos.

After a few trips, we learned to expect this. So we’d wait in the car for a few minutes to assess the “sitch.” I could see our breath hanging in the cold air, our hands eagerly gripping the door handles, as we waited for my mom’s signal. She’d eyeball the rearview window, and when the time was right she’d slide out, wave us on furiously and yell “RUN, KIDS!” and we’d all haul ass to the front door.

All part of the fun.

As the doors slammed behind us, I realized it was a different world in there. It was like being in OZ. You know, that TV show about prison. We were on the inside now. Shit was getting real.

The first thing that would hit me was the smell. Mold, bubble gum, barf and possibly a grease fire that had recently been put out. Then the familiar chorus of screams. Happy screams, cry screams and horrified screams. All DQ-swirled in with the sound of bells, whistles and those godawful fleabag singing Chuck E. Chupacabras. I remember the first time I stood there as the great Chuck E. Cheese (mascot) himself waddled past me, carrying two plastic jugs of root beer. As I stood there, starstruck, he shoved me and muttered, “You’re in my way, kid.” And some of the root beer splashed onto my shirt.

That was my baptism.

As the stain began to seep in, I realized it was every man for himself at Chuck E. Cheese.

Then there were games. THE GAMES! They were everywhere I looked. It was a glorious sight to behold, although as you got closer it turned out most of them were barely functioning. Some were just really old, some were missing parts, while others had huge shards of glass or wires sticking out and you’d likely need some kind of tetanus shot if you played them.

My game of choice was Whac-a-Mole. If you aren’t familiar, it’s a game where you hold a mallet and a bunch of plastic moles pop out and you beat the living shit out of any mole you see. Oh how I used to wail on those feisty moles. Although at this particular location most of the moles had already been whac’ed off (so to speak.) So I was mostly just aiming at metal stumps. This required a certain level of skill however, because if you hit the metal the wrong way, you’d hear a loud clang, and a jolt of pain would shoot right up your arm.

All part of the fun.

And who could forget the legendary Ball Room™. I never ventured in. Too dangerous. Over the years I had lost a few good friends to that room. Tommy, Ashley, foreign exchange kid Angjærd. All lured in by the beauty of the colorful orbs. Sometimes I’d see parents head straight for that room and just dump their kids in. I’d watch the children’s eyes slowly turn from excitement, to confusion, to sheer terror as they’d sink down, dowwwwwwn into the balls OF DEATH. Once they went in, we never saw them EVER again. Well, like, for an hour. But in Kid-Time that’s like eight years.

However, my main goal at Chuck E. Cheese was getting tickets. Like a junkie I’d do anything to get my fix. I’d scavenge around the floor, pick through the garbage, even fork over my last precious token to the punk kid with the bandana and creepy early-onset mustache in exchange for tipping me off on a busted game that was accidentally spewing up scads of tickets.

One time I even managed to befriend the sister of one of the scary guys from outside. His name was Todd. How the hell does THAT happen? We snuck over to a deserted area where her brother was perched on top of a Skee-Ball machine. “Is the coast clear?” he asked. She nodded and instantly he began to jimmy open the control box and proceeded to make it RAIN with tickets. We squealed with glee and outstretched our arms as if money was falling from the sky.

“We’re rich, you guys! RIIIIIIIIIIICHHHHH.”

And then, at the end of an exhausting day, after giving Chuck E. Cheese my all, I’d lug what seemed like MILLIONS of tickets up to the counter only to discover that I barely had enough for a crummy eraser or a lousy mouse sticker.“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” I’d wail,“THIS IS BULL CRAP. Thanks for nothing, CHUCK.”

And that taught me a lot about life.

17 notes &

How to Win an Argument


Every once in a while we find ourselves in the middle of a disagreement. Some people would rather live and let live. I call those people “losers”. What’s REALLY important is to get your point across and to hell with friendship. Here are some tips:

1. Fixate on something just above their head. When they ask what you’re staring at, say nothing and then stare even harder.

2. ‘Answer’ your cell phone while they are talking, then proceed to have a full-on conversation while they stand there.

3. Yawn and/or slowly begin narrowing your eyes, as if you’re fighting the urge to fall asleep.

4. Yell ‘DO YOUR RESEARCH!’ as loud as you can. Always a surefire winner.

5. Laugh maniacally in their face, and/or nudge the person beside you as if to say, “Can you believe this idiot?” Doesn’t matter if you know the person standing beside you or not. Use your surroundings!

6. Echo their statements in a baby-talk voice. Bonus points if you do it in Gollum’s voice, “You’re not listening to MEEEEEE …. pressshhhhussssssss.”

7. Tell them they’re completely nuts. And use LOTS of expletives. Think of expletives as the cherry on the debate cake.

8. Start insulting their clothing, their looks, family… WHATEVER YOU CAN. Remember – this is an argument. You’re not here to solve anything dum dum, you’re here to WIN.

9. Do the violin-playing gesture. Bonus points if you use a real violin! I’m telling ya, the lessons will be worth it!

10. Point your finger right in their face. This will usually provoke them to yell something like “Get your finger out of my face.” At this point you should point your finger even closer to their face. COMMIT TO IT.

11. Throw a drink in their face. I’m not a big proponent of wasting alcohol, so make sure to have a glass of water on hand at all times.

Or… you COULD just agree to disagree… but how crazy would THAT be?

18 notes &

The phone conversation I had last night…


Me: Wanna come over for a beer tonight? I bought some Budweiser Lime-A-Ritas and I know they’re going to be disgusting but I HAVE to try them. 

Emma: Can’t. I have a blind date with that guy from OK Cupid. 

Me: Cool. Where are you guys going?

Emma: He wants to take me to see some community theater.

Me: Culture! I like it. What play?

Emma: Some weird name… Equus or something?

Me: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? He’s taking you to EQUUS?

Emma: Do you know it?

Me: UM, YEAH I KNOW IT. It’s that play about the dude who f*cks horses!

Emma: So crass.

Me: Sorry. MAKES LOVE to horses. 

Emma: What? You’re full of it.

Me: I’m totally serious. That was the one where the Harry Potter guy caused a ruckus since he had to drop trou onstage in London. And apparently our Harry has QUITE the magic wand. 

Emma: THAT’S the play? All he said was that it was getting great reviews…

Me: HAHA! Oh my god. You don’t take a girl on a first date to see a Horsey Sex play. He should’ve done his research on what the play was about first. 

Emma: He’s already seen it. Like last week. He wants to see it again.


Emma: Is that bad? That’s bad, isn’t it?

Me: Not if you’re into weirdos who like horse sex.

Emma: Stop saying that!

Me: Horse sex horse sex horse sex.

Emma: I hate you.

Me: Just do something else instead. I hear they’re doing a book reading of 50 Shades of Neigh downtown. HA! HA! HA!

Emma: Why can’t I meet just ONE normal guy? JUST ONE???

Me: Did you see what I did there?

Emma: Yes. Congratulations. 

Me: You know what you need to cheer you up? 

Emma: A disgusting Budweiser Lime-A-Rita?

Me: A disgusting Budweiser Lime-A-Rita.


15 notes &

Things People Say When I Tell Them I’m Canadian


- Canadian, EH? HA HA HA HA 

-Is ALL your bacon ‘Canadian Bacon’?

-Did you go to Degrassi?

-How come you don’t have an accent?

-You have a really strong accent.

-Do you know Alan Thicke? 

-You guys sure like your Tom Hortons coffee over there (It’s TIM Hortons)

-Do you put maple syrup on everything? HA HA HA HA

-Do you know the Kids in the Hall?

-Why don’t you ever say eh?

-So that’s why you always say eh!

-Do you know my friend Stacey? She lives near the edge.

-Isn’t it always snowing in Canada?

-Where IS Canada anyway?

Filed under canadaday

13 notes &

Today I met up with a girl I knew from high school…

Rachel: So do you still play the piano?

Me: Yeah. Haven’t played in awhile though.

Rachel: You were so good! I remember you’d always play that song My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion and I’d sing along.

Me: Oh yeah! I remember that! 

Rachel: Do you still play it? 

Me: Nah. I hate it now. Reminds me of a funeral. Like the typical cliche song someone would play at a funeral. Like in some cheesy movie of the week or something (I start belting it out in my best/worst Celine Dion accent) Neeeeyarrrrrr….. farrrerrrrrr…. wherrrrEEEEEEbbbber yeuuu arrrerr… 

Rachel: Yeah. They played that song at my mom’s funeral last year.


Filed under conversations classicbayne