I got my own bank account when I was 16. I had just started working part-time at a certain fast food establishment with a very famous red-headed clown mascot, and I needed some place for my fat pay cheques to grow. So my mom trucked me on down to the Royal Bank in Sackville to open up my very first little checking account. I felt so adult. I'd had a savings account as a kid, but it was in my parents' name. This was my money--I'd earned it and I could spend it how I pleased. Plus, the piece de resistance...I now had a debit card.

I held the blue plastic rectangle in my hand and traced my fingers over my name embossed on gold. The virgin magnetic strip had never been swiped. This card was the key to financial freedom! No more dirty bills and coins. If I wanted to buy something I could just go buy it, anytime, anywhere. My palms started to sweat.

As soon as we got out of the bank, my mother hissed, "I don't trust those cards."

My heart sank. "It's just a DEBIT CARD, Mom," I whined. "I can't spend money I don't have."

"Yes, but you hear stories all the time about people breaking into bank accounts because there's no security on those things. I don't trust them. 'They' can hack into the machines and steal your information," she insisted.

Paranoid, I tucked the untrustworthy card into the back of my wallet, where it remained for more than a year, unused, unswiped. I went to the bank every time I needed cash, waited in line for a teller, and withdrew $20 or $40 or whatever amount I'd need to get me through the next couple of weeks. I gave ATMs the hairy eyeball as I passed them by, expecting them to sprout arms and rip my wallet from my backpack any second.

Then, one day at work, I was really hungry on my break. I had no cash on me. And contrary to popular belief, Ronald McDonald does not provide unlimited free food to his slaves. I wanted, no, NEEDED, an Egg McMuffin, hashbrown, and chocolate milk, which just so happens to be the breakfast of champions. I remembered the devil card in my wallet.

I slinked to the ATM and looked over both shoulders as I slid Satan's cash source out from behind my student ID and slipped it into the machine. Hunkering low over the buttons and shielding them with my left hand (PROTECT YOUR PIN!!!!) I carefully tapped out the four-digit code I had so craftily compiled many months earlier. The machine whirred and spit out a $5 bill. And...everything was OK. The world kept turning. People kept coming in and ordering greasy breakfasts. The coffee continued to burn. I had used my debit card, and everything was OK. My mind? Blown.

That Egg McMuffin was the breaking of the seal. From that day forward, my life changed. I bought shit. Everywhere. I. Went. I took money out every time I saw an ATM. The power of the card was unreal. The bank teller's grandmotherly face became a foggy memory. And then. AND THEN? I realized I'd paid more than $30 in bank fees in a month FOR WITHDRAWING MY OWN MONEY. No big deal? No big deal?! I was earning $5.60 an hour...30 bones was totally a big deal.

Mom was right.

The card was not to be trusted.

This post was inspired by the 20SB Blog Carnival theme: Friends and Money. Head on over to see the other participants! While you're there, try out the Charles Schwab Community Services Financial Check Up tool, which I tried and scored a 90.

It has occurred to me that I don't have a particularly picture-heavy blog. In fact, I very rarely post any photos at all, which is something I'd like to change. In order to kick start my photo-posting habit, leave a comment with something you'd like to see a photo of and I'll post them all in a few days. Yay, homework! GO!

Sometimes I think the thing I'd like to change most about myself is my assertiveness, or lack of. Sometimes, I'm perfectly capable of standing up for myself when I should, but other times, I'm caught off guard or don't want to ruffle any feathers, and I keep mum or back off. I don't like conflict and I don't like being seen as a bitchy type--I much prefer the kill-'em-with-kindness-smile-and-nod approach--but I'm afraid it's not always the best way to deal.

There doesn't seem to be any method to this madness. Sometimes I'm completely fine speaking up, like when the self-serve checkout at the grocery store ate my $20.00 and the girl "helping" me claimed it was gone and I couldn't get it back--I was ready to rip the cash machine apart with my bare hands when the store manager showed up to save the day and return my moolah. (Lesson learned: only use a swipe card in the self-serve lane).

But often, when someone disagrees with me particularly at work or in group scenarios, I completely clam up and become a nodder and an "uh-huh"-er, preferring to agree to keep the peace rather than defending myself. Sometimes it's no big deal--I like a particular movie and someone tells me it sucks and I say, "Yeah, I know it's not great, I just like it for whatever reason, heh!" Sometimes it's a bigger issue, like a client questioning a budget or a group of colleagues critiquing a design. Rather than ruffling feathers I'm quick to agree for the sake of keeping the peace, smiling and nodding like some kind of unnaturally happy simpleton.

I Googled "how to be assertive" (original search terms what!) and came up with the following suggestions courtesy of Pioneer Thinking:

1. Develop a value and belief system, which allows you to assert yourself. In other words, give yourself permission to be angry, to say "No," to ask for help, and to make mistakes. Avoid using tag questions. ("It's really hot today, isn't it?"), disclaimers ("I may be wrong, but…"), and question statements ("won’t you close the door?") all lessen the perceived assertiveness of speech. I say "I may be wrong..." or "I'm not sure if this makes sense, but..." ALL THE TIME!! That needs to stop.

2. Resist giving into interruptions until you have completed your thoughts. (Instead, say - "Just a moment, I haven't finished.") I let people interrupt all the time too. 0 for 2 so far. Boo.

3. Stop self-limiting behaviors, such as smiling too much,
nodding too much, tilting your head, or dropping your eyes in
response to another person's gaze. GUILTY. I am the world's biggest nodder. I'm like a life-size bobble head.

4. When saying "No," be decisive. Explain why you are refusing but don’t be overly apologetic. I wouldn't know. I don't know how to say 'no'.

5. Use "I want" or "I feel" statements. Acknowledge the other
person's situation or feelings followed by a statement in which
you stand up for your rights. E.g., "I know you're X, but I feel…" Need to start doing this, too. Way too often I preface my statements with 'maybe'.

6. Use "I" language (this is especially useful for expressing negative feelings.) "I" language helps you focus your anger constructively and to be clear about your own feelings. For example:

When you do (Behavior)
The effects are (Results)
I feel (Emotion)
Remember: Stick to the first person, and avoid "you are". I usually say "we". I'm not in the royal family, so that should probably stop, too.

7. Maintain direct eye contact, keep your posture open and relaxed, be sure your facial expression agrees with the message, and keep a level, well-modulated tone of voice. After years of tortuous practice I have finally mastered the art of freakily steady eye contact. I need to work on my voice--it gets all high-pitched and fast when I'm nervous.

8. Listen and let people know you have heard what they said. Ask questions for clarification. I'm OK with this one.

9. Practice! I definitely need to practice. Currently I avoid situations that are potentially awkward or confrontational.

Do you have trouble being assertive? Do you think it's worse to be seen as "bitchy" or "weak"? How do you stand up for yourself without being too aggressive?

It's Friday Five time again, which is great, because I'm completely pooped to the point where coming up with a blog post topic is just not on the ol' agenda. It's been a busy week and I've been a sleepy bear. Last night I went to bed before 10 and slept like a log, and I'm still yawning today. Luckily, it's shaping up to be a not-too-crazy weekend. My plans include dinner at the Keg with Pete tonight, going out tomorrow night with some girls, brunch with the in-laws on Sunday, lots of runs, hopefully a tennis game and other than that some cleaning and throwing away of crap. And naps. And wine.

Without further ado, here is the Friday Five, once again devoted to food. Those Friday Fivers love to eat, which makes them near and dear to my little heart. This week it's all about breakfast. Hubba hubba, me loves a good breakkie.

1. Oh my goodness! You have to run out the door right now and you haven’t eaten! Before dashing out, what do you grab to wolf down on your way?
Granola bar and an apple or banana. Super easy to eat on the go, and it fills me up. Bonus, eat the granola bar first and the fruit second, and it cleans all the granola and crap out of your teeth so you don't get to your meeting or appointment looking like a hobo with oats in your teeth.

2. What’s a popular breakfast you dislike?
Anything with pig meats. Just can't do it. I will choke down bacon if it's so crispy it's almost burnt, but no hammies, no sausages. Also, Froot Loops.

3. You’re going out for breakfast anywhere you want, and someone else is treating! Where do you go and what do you order?
Cora's is great for breakfasts, and I'd have the crepes with strawberries, cream cheese and walnuts.

4. What do you have when you need a simple, healthy (or healthy-ish, for those of you who just don’t do healthy!) breakfast?
This week I have had the same thing almost every day: blueberries and strawberries with vanilla yogurt and some Special K Vanilla Almond on top. Pretty healthy and tasty especially with the fresh strawberries, om nom nom. I looove fresh strawberries.

5. You’ve been invited to a breakfast potluck. What are you most likely to bring?
Probably the worst contribution to the entire event. I'd bring something shitty like a loaf of bread that I bought at Superstore on the way over. I'm the worst at potlucks, don't invite me. I don't even dress it up to pretend I made it myself. I bring my food in the plastic bag from the store with the receipt still in the bag. Zero effort.

Annnnnd, now I'm hungry again. Thanks, Friday Five.

I think high school kids, girls in particular, are sadly misinformed when it comes to the "magic" that is prom night. Expectations are set way too high, and the next thing you know, it's halfway through THE BIG NIGHT and you're chugging a mickey of Smirnoff in the janitor's closet with mascara tear-tracks running down your face and you don't understand WHY! EVERYTHING! ISN'T! PERFECT! I! SPENT! FOUR! HUNDRED! DOLLARS! ON! TANNING! GODDAMMIT!

There's no need of this, girls. The key is to manage your expectations from the start, stay realistic, and understand that prom is just another shitty school dance adorned with more hair product and bad decisions.

Take my own prom for example. It wasn't bad but it certainly wasn't anything to write home about:

Myth: You'll be the prettiest girl at the prom!
Fact: Yeah, you've spent six hours perfecting your blush/bronzer contouring trick and you have approximately eight thousand bobby pins penetrating your cranium to hold the world's most complicated updo in place, but so does everyone else. "But...but I got a French manicure?" So did everyone else. "But...but...but...I'm as tanned as Barbie!" You're not the only one who's developed melanoma for this event. "Buuuuut my dress is soooooooooooo sparkly!" They're all sparkly, sweetheart. You only look fancy getting ready at home in your dirty bedroom. You get to the prom and you're just one of two hundred swans.

Myth: My pictures are gonna look gooooooooooood!
Fact: You're going to look A-W-K-W-A-R-D. Nobody looks good doing the Charlie's Angels pose or cringing while having a very sharp corsage pin unfortunately attached to their boob. Prom pictures are truly the most hideous photography ever. Worse than engagement pictures, even. They are never, ever candid and always a little bit painful to look at.

Myth: It's my last chance to hook up with my crush of the past four years, AND HE'S GOING TO BE TOTALLY INTO ME, FINALLY!
Fact: He's been ignoring you for four years. Nothing's changing tonight.

Myth: The party after the prom is going to be the best EVARRRRRRRRRR!
Fact: The party after the prom is going to be Safe Grad. You're going to be sober bowling with your classmates until 5AM. Hardly the best EVARRRRRRRRRR!

Myth: We're all going to be friends forever!
Fact: You're going to be mere acquaintances by next Christmas break. You won't even go to one another's weddings.

Summary: Here is the harsh reality, kids. Prom is just the same as every other school dance except everyone's more dressed up. It's the same kids! The same lame DJ! The same crappy gym/lunchroom! There will be no She's All That moments. This is just one last gathering of the peers before you graduate and get the hell out of Dodge.

If you go into it with that in mind, you won't be massively disappointed you've your parents have shelled out thousands of dollars for your dress, shoes, jewelry, special underwear, hair, makeup, clutch, rented convertible/horse and buggy/tractor (yes, some of the kids at my school arrived at the prom ON TRACTORS) for another lackluster high school experience. You may even be mildly pleased that someone bothered to decorate the dance floor with white mini-lights and that there's punch trickling out of a Plexiglass swan for no apparent reason.

Maintaining the lowest expectations you can dredge up is the key to having the best possible prom. I also recommend bringing a flask. But no crying in the janitor's closet--keep it classy and go out to the parking lot.

Moving is pretty low on my fun-o-meter. To put it into perspective, it's a bit like receiving a pap smear during the worst hangover of life while Kid Rock plays in the background and the room is full of seagulls. So basically, if you extend that experience for the duration of packing/cleaning the apartment/inspection/load the truck/clean the house/unload the truck/unpack/set up the house, that's essentially what I am looking forward to in about a month. Plus painting some rooms. Oh, and it's hot and muggy as balls here now, which adds to the excitement!

I don't know if there's any way to make moving less horrible. Any seasoned movers and packers out there? Does anyone have any tips they can share on how to not spend the next four-five weeks sobbing in the corner and scratching myself with paper clips?

I have a rough little timeline drafted up, which goes something like this:

June 21-30: Throw out as much stuff as I can bear to part with. The less stuff we have, the less we have to move! Update our address for all mail/magazines/bills. Get utilities switched over for July 19.

July 1-8: Start packing up non-essential stuff and labeling the boxes.

July 9-16: Packing continues...everything but the essentials

July 19: Get the keys!

July 20-22: Clean the new house top to bottom; pick up additional stuff we need (lawnmower, ladder, table and chairs, BBQ)

July 23-25: Paint; pack the rest of our stuff; start moving boxes

July 26: Moving Day AKA Armageddon

July 27-29: Clean old apartment; set up new house; return apartment keys

OH! And during all this, I'll also be working Monday-Friday each week. And planning and attending a bachelorette party. And getting ready for my sister's wedding July 31.

So if anyone has any advice to keep us from losing it, now is the time to speak up. What works for you? Concentrate on one room at a time? Beg people for help? Just throw crap into boxes and hope for the best?

I was excited to learn that today's Friday 5 is all about snacks. I could win a gold medal in snacks. I don't like being, heavy, stomach-stretching meals...they cause me to roll around on the ground like a beached manatee and cry. I also say stupid things like, "I'm as full as a bull!" But snacks? Totally different story.

Without further ado...

1. What are your movie-snacking habits and preferences? I like the Kids' Pack. A child-size popcorn (which still feels unhealthily large), Smarties and a small Coke Zero. Runner up: soft pretzel.

2. What are your late-night snacking habits and preferences? I try not to eat late and night, but it usually involves peanut butter out of the jar.

3. What are your sports-watching snacking habits and preferences? Beer and chippies.

4. What are your lonely, rainy afternoon snacking habits and preferences? Hot chocolate or tea with lots of honey and something baked, like banana bread.

5. What’s your favorite carnival/fair snack? I make it a rule not to eat food out of mobile units.

When I was in Grade Four I almost drowned on the first day of swimming lessons. We were divided into groups, and the instructors asked if we could swim or not. The non-swimmers went into the Yellow group and the swimmers went into Orange, Red, Maroon, or whatever based upon their skill level.

I told the instructors I could swim, even though I could barely even float. When it was time to jump in the pool, I leaped in with my mouth, nose, eyes, everything wide open. Water closed over my head and I swallowed about a gallon and flailed around a bunch until one of the instructors fished me out by my bathing suit straps and sent me back to the shallow end and the rest of the Yellow noobs, looking very much like an ashamed drowned rat in a neon-green one-piece.

Why did I say I could swim? I guess I just assumed I'd be able to. When I was little, I figured I could do anything I tried, and do it well-and swimming was no exception. Why not? A) It looked easy enough on TV, and B) Stupider kids than me could do it just fine. You just swirled your arms around and kicked, right? Easy!

In addition to my Situation-sized childhood ego, there was also the bigger problem: when I realized I wasn't an instant expert at something , I didn't want to bother with it anymore. In swimming lessons, I went from being all "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY SWIMMING! I'M GOING TO BE THE NEXT MICHAEL PHELPS!!" (exceptmichaelphelpsprobablywasntbornyet) to "Meh." If I wasn't going to be the very best at swimming/skiing/art/music/whatever, I immediately lost interest, preferring to stick to what I COULD be the best at...which is why I was the best speller and the uncontested hurdles champion at track and field day from grades one through four. Hurdles and spelling. My talents.

With swimming, over time I grudgingly came around. I passed Yellow, then Orange, then Red, and it wasn't long before I was one of the swimmy kids splashing my way through the Red Cross badges. Unfortunately I have always had a hard time accepting that there's a learning curve to every new thing I try.

The mosst recent example occurred about a month ago when Pete tried to teach me to drive a standard in an empty mall parking lot. Here's the thing, I don't have six hours to sit around after starting the car to make sure I let the clutch out...ever...so...slowly...and...gently...so as not to piss it off and lurch at me. I have places to go! So after half an hour of stalling repeatedly (and failing to get out of first gear) I decide that people who drive stick are all jerks and car manufacturers shouldn't even be making these barbaric pieces of shit anymore. I give up because I can't do it like an expert on the first try.

I know the key is learning to embrace the suckage, to accept that not everyone can be a rock star at every.single.thing. on the first go, and to figure out how to enjoy the process of improving. I just don't know how to deal with being so bad at things like driving stick...and baking bread...and painting pictures. It's too bad adults no longer get spelling tests.

This post was inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. Hop on over to her blog to see other posts from this week's writing prompts!

I think it's disgusting that I was 16 years old THIRTEEN YEARS AGO. Sad faces. That being said, it's getting kind of hard to remember what it was like to be the big one-six, but if I think waaaaaaaay back I can almost recall being a young pup.

For a 16-year-old, I was pretty drama free, which is mostly a side effect of being a bit nerdy and actually enjoying high school. There were still lots of things I agonized over that were completely not worth it. If I could go back and talk to my 16-year-old self, here's some of the things I'd tell her:

1. Dress your age. There's a picture of me and my friends from our grad banquet. My friends are all wearing cute, short sundresses. I'm wearing a twinset and a flowered skirt that reaches my ankles. I kind of look like their mother. There is nothing wrong with slutting it up as a teen, or at least exposing your knees, but I missed my window of opportunity.

2. He's just not that into you. My "boyfriends" in high school were a parade of sporty guys to occasionally hold hands with at noon hour. In addition to dressing like a nun, I had the sexuality of one, too. Whose fault is it that the guys I went to school with were not V-card material?

Anyway, because I was reluctant to get all deflowered, I would get broken up with the "nice" way: via the ignore tactic. My flame du jour would just stop talking to me in an effort to ditch me without hurting my feelings. The non-talkery would continue for one, two, three weeks. No conversations in the halls, no eye contact in class, no phone calls, etc. "Oh yeah, he's just really busy with hockey and work and stuff," I'd tell people when they asked suspiciously why I wasn't hanging around with such-and-such-supposed-boyfriend.

And then, Monday morning rolled around and I found out he'd hooked up with some hussy over the weekend, and surprise, it didn't count as cheating because we'd been actually been "broken up" for weeks. News to me!

3. What these people think really doesn't matter. My biggest source of stress was worrying about what other people thought of me. It wasn't until much later in life that I realized a) I'm never going to see 90% of these people again and b) it never mattered anyway.

4. Do NOT put that shit in your hair! 16 was the year I discovered Sun-In. I'm sure it was about as healthy as pouring a jug of Javex over my head.

5. You are not fat. I wasn't fat, so why did I moan about being fat? Because everyone else was, and that's how 16-year-old girls bond?

6. Don't change who you are for a guy. Over my high school years, some of the things I've faked in order to get guys to like me include:

-The San Jose Sharks are my favourite hockey team! (Not true. It's always been the Maple Leafs.)
-I like football! (I'm decidedly "meh" on football).
-I like beer! (In high school I LOATHED beer.)
-My boobs are at least a C! (What's up, pair of nylons stuffed inside padded bra!)
-I like it when you play your guitar at me! (I HAAAATE having people sing/play at me, to this very day.)
-I loooove action movies! (No. No. No.) And wrestling! (NO.)
-I don't mind the smell of smoke! (I hate the smell of smoke.)
-I have no problem wearing your favourite shirt three times a week! (Pathetic.)

7. Brown lipstick is not a good look. Ditto pencil-thin eyebrows.

8. You are a girl, not a professional basketball player. I should have left the Nike Air Forces and the XL Adidas track pants to the NBA and stopped wearing them to school. Especially with the brown lipstick!

What would you tell your 16-year-old self if you could go back and give her head a shake?

I was so happy to discover that the Friday Five still exists! This week's is all about gestures.


1. What are your thoughts on “air quotes?”

I hate air quotes. Once in a while I catch myself doing them, and I want to start crying. I knew a chick once who put air quotes around everything she said. I kid you not. Everything. Every time we were having a conversation, and it was her turn to speak, she would find a reason to do air quotes. I'm going to "Subway" to get a "six inch steak and cheese". Do you want me to "pick you up" anything? That's not even exaggerating.

2. If you are the sort to flip someone the bird, what were the circumstances surrounding your most recent flip? If you’re not that type, have you ever, ever used that gesture?

I flip the bird at my friends in sneaky ways like scratching my face or adjusting my glasses. In terms of genuine pissed-off bird flipping I'm not sure when the last time it happened. I know I've done it while driving. Such good manners.

3. What’s a gesture you’ve made up, or what’s a gesture made up by (and shared with) your friends or family?

My sister and I have a dance move where we put one arm straight out in front of us and "wind it up" with the other arm up by our ears. Does that count as a gesture? We make duck faces when we do it too which makes it that much better...gets the whole body involved. It's practically a workout.

4. Are there any gestures that have specific, unique meanings in your workplace?

I'm still new at work so I'm trying to maintain a professional and mature air as long as possible. I've been keeping the gestures pretty minimal. At my old job we had an inside joke that included mimicking fisting.

5. Have you ever received an anonymous gesture of kindness or affection?

Once I went to Tim Horton's drive-thru to get a tea and a bagel, feeling crappy and really sick. The guy in front of me paid for my order, which I thought was an incredibly kind gesture. I felt better all afternoon. Pay it forward, peeps!

Hubby is a movie buff and could easily go to the movies every single day. Myself, not so much. Going to watch a movie at the cinema is a pretty significant investment of time and money and the experience is usually lost on me.

My undiagnosed-but-I-think-I-have-it-so-gimme-Adderall-for-experimenting adult ADHD kicks in somewhere around the 60-minute mark, and I spend the last half of most movies squirming, kicking the seat in front of me, loudly slurping the last drops of Diet Coke clinging to the bottom of my cup, staring at people sitting around me in the darkness until they get uncomfortable, and checking the time.

Honestly, what would be wrong with a one-hour flick? Why the need for these marathon films?

Suffice to say I don't like to go to the movies unless it's something I really, really want to see. I don't like to just "go to a movie" to see something that could potentially be horrible. It's $12 per ticket, plus snacks*, plus a two-hour minimum time investment. Not something I take lightly.

However, this summer Empire Theatres has a Tuesday promotion--every Tuesday, admissions are $5.99. That's essentially two for one. Not a bad way to kill a couple of sticky, humid hours on a summer evening, sitting back in a cushy seat sipping an icy Diet Coke that I have sneaked in from home and spiked with rum and being blasted to numbness via A/C...for $5.99. Who can resist a sale like that?

I've been keeping my eyes open for some movies to see on the cheap this summer. Here's my criteria for willingly watching a movie:

-it can't be sci-fi
-it can't star Nicolas Cage, Jennifer Lopez, Chad Michael Murray, or any rapper
-it should not be based on a Nicholas Sparks novel
-it must be 120 minutes or less in length
-it should not feature aliens or robots
-ideally there are not more than two dance scenes per movie. Exceptions: Dirty Dancing and Saturday Night Fever. Movies with "Step Up" or "Bring It" in the title are not permitted.

That being said, I have narrowed down my summer movie list to the following flicks:

Get Him to the Greek: Russell Brand makes me laugh and I've heard it's a pretty funny movie. I love funny movies, even though I hate laughing in a movie theatre. There is something creepy about staring at a screen with 200 people and everyone laughing together.

Sex and the City 2: I knowwwww it's a bad movie and it's "not realistic", but if I wanted to see something that mirrors reality, I would watch a movie about a girl who just discovered a hole in the crotch of her very favourite black pants as sshe sits on the couch and blogs while her husband plays Red Dead Redemption on Xbox Live and has British kids swearing at him through the speakers, AND THAT WOULDN'T BE A VERY GOOD MOVIE.

The A-team: Just so I'll have a reason to go around saying "I pity the fool!" to any and all questions people ask me.

Eclipse: I'm reading Eclipse now! Team Jacob! I hope the werewolves pwn some vampire ass in Eclipse, although I have a sneaking suspicion it's not gonna happen.

Wall Street 2: Money Never Sleeps: I need to see the original Wall Street first and then make commentary on how much older Michael Douglas looks. Plus, I like money.

What movies do you want to see this summer?

*I loooove to sneak snacks into the movie. There's nothing like the crack-hissssssssssssss of popping a can of Diet Coke during the previews or the rattle-rattle-rattle of a bag of chips. Better idea: smuggle ALCOHOL in. Pete and I brought blueberry Smirnoff to The Hangover and mixed it with blueberry Kool-Aid slush, a combo which I highly recommend!! Adult movies should be licensed anyway.

"I'm the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral.
Can't understand what I mean? You soon will."
-Barenaked Ladies, One Week

In middle school, I had an intense love/hate relationship with our daily silent reading period. For half an hour after lunch every day, we got to sit at our desks and read a book of our choosing. For a dork like me, this was heavenly. I think I enjoyed it more than lunch hour.

The problem was, this was often when I'd have an unprovoked fit of hysterical laughter...right when the entire class was more or less silent. So quite often, I'd have to go sit in the hall because I was being disruptive. Then I'd get upset and be sooky and sullen with my teacher for the rest of the afternoon. Thus, my love/hate with silent reading. There was just something about not being allowed to make a peep that made it impossible not to laugh.

Some kid's chair would squeak and it would remind me of a fart, which would send me over the edge. Or I'd see someone scratching their ass, or someone would be breathing funny, and I'd lose it. Knowing that we weren't supposed to make noise made it harder to hold it in, and this is something that holds true to this day.

I have always had trouble not laughing at the most inappropriate times. Weddings and funerals are awful for me. Funerals are especially bad. There's always some hick whose Alan Jackson ringtone goes off in the middle of the service, or the soloist's voice cracks, and I have to hide my face in my hands and pretend to be sobbing.

Church services are bad. Remembrance Day services are bad. The words "let's have a moment of silence" or "let us pray" are triggers for me. Meetings are bad. Witnessing dramatic episodes between other people? Bad. Getting yelled at by my parents? Bad. Getting shushed in a movie theatre? Hysterical. Basically any time I'm not supposed to be laughing, I'm laughing.

Why am I such a fantastic jackass? I think it's human nature to be inclined to do what we aren't supposed to do. It's why dieters who vow to give up chocolate snap after three days and nom on everything brown in sight. It's why you tell a kid, "don't touch!", and he immediately goes after The Untouchable. If it were Unsilent Reading, I probably would have been sober as a judge. Thing is, I feel bad about laughing at memorial services and serious times, and afterward I tell myself that next time I'll hold it together. It never works.

The worst part is that moment when you oh-so-sternly tell yourself, "Don't you dare laugh!!" Then you're gone. I've tried everything. Biting my cheeks, biting my tongue, thinking of my pets dying, and nothing works. Do you have suggestions for holding back inappropriate laughter?

This post was inspired by Mama Kat's writing prompts. I'm a day late, but better late than never! Happy Friday!