My life as a wilted wondernanny

Like most young ladies, I have become part of the grand trade that is... babysitting. I've been babysitting since I was twelve. I babysat a little boy that called me his girlfriend when we went to the park, a little girl who was convinced that I was a real princess, a young lady who peed on the floor every time she was mad and a little lad who would jump off stuff just to see if he could fly. I've got plenty of dirt on kids, but the best dirt of all is the stuff that stinks. One hot Phoenix afternoon I was babysitting a little guy and gal. I'd been nannying for them all summer and we were getting along swimmingly. Every once in a while the young boy would pretend to do something silly, he'd never actually cross the line but he'd get dangerously close, like pretending to through his baseball at my car window, smacking my head against the wall, hiding while at a water park or hosing me down instead of the garden. One afternoon he pretended to flush my cell phone down the toilet. We had a couple laughs over the absurdity of this prank and got on with our daily activities (fort making, hide and seek etc.). The younger of the two thought that this prank should be put into action. So as we'd begun our fort building process she yelled a little something from the bathroom. I asked her if she needed help and she said no. When she came back to the fort she said quite coyly, "Miss Jodi I flushed your cell phone down the toilet"... i chuckled and bit and said.. "o no.. what will I do?"... she smiled an evil little smile and said "no i really did it, come look". Remembering that only moments ago I'd heard a flush I immediately raced to the bathroom. She laughed and said "yep I did it". I couldn't believe she'd actually flush a phone down the toilet, so I asked her sternly "where'd you hide it babe?" She just smiled and pointed at the toilet. As a small side note, I was going through a very earnest pink phase (I'm a woman of many phases)in which I was always dressed in pink, I drive a white bug, I've got blond hair and my cell phone WAS pink. Anyways, I peered into the toilet's bowl only to see a little glimmer of pink.. knowing that not many excretions have that beautiful tint, I could do nothing but laugh a bit. Meanwhile the small blond child next to me, still pointing at the toilet, was thinking she was the funniest four year old on the planet. I explained to her that what she did was very wrong, that "you can't just go around flushing things down the toilet" and "Miss Jodi's things are not to be toyed with" ooh and "phones are expensive, so what she did was not funny"(well maybe a little bit). She was put in time out, still thinking what she did was too funny to be disciplined. Later that evening I got a phone call from her mom, she apologized for the loss of goods and explained that my phone was not only broken because it was sitting in yesterdays leftovers, but that it had clogged the toilet and caused a bit of a flood. Not only that but it broke the pipe to which it was flushed. They got new pipes, I got a new phone, all's well that ends well.

My life as Dildogirl

They say high school is a time of humiliation... but they almost never say its a time for self-abasement.
Not only am I a blond individual, but all through elementary school and jr. high I was a regular attendee of private school, a place where naughty words and sexual innuendo's are non-existent, where your mom picks you up from school and lunch is catered by pizza delight. Needless to say I was sheltered and naive.. (enter Catholic school). Once high school hit it became apparent to me that not ALL young girls go to bed at ten, watching Disney movies, while writing in their "journal" (the big girl word for diary).
After a semester, I was beginning to get the hang of the high school walk, but quickly found that I had yet to master the talk. In English class I sat next to my friend Stephen. Our teacher had us put in groups to do a rendition of Shakespeare's "A Merchant in Venice". As we were snowballing ideas, Stephen said, "Let's make the prince of Arragon gay, we'll put a dildo in his pocket and have him speak with a lisp". Knowing all the words but one, I asked "whats a dildo?", the group laughed and suddenly realised that I was serious. "Ask the teacher" chimed Stephen insidiously. So I did. My whole class laughed hysterically and I soon became the school renown dildogirl. Believe it or not this was the sweetest of all nicknames received that year.

My life as waterlogged pirate bait

I went through a painful punk stage in my late years of high school, wearing chains and ties and little red kilts. One fine day I had decided to wear my little red kilt with chains on the side. I was out at a friends party and fell in the pool. Drenched and cold, I opted out of driving home, took my skirt off and hung it out the window to dry. A car full of girls, we were bopping around, listening to the latest in chick music (i had definitly only taken to the fashion portion of this punk phase). As we were driving, we saw a cute gentlemen in a nice white truck pull up beside us. We did a little eye-flirting and kept on driving. Singing away, this truck pulled up really fast and snatched my beloved kilt. Appauled by this act of theivery, I demanded that our driver catch this pirate and bring back my kilt. We followed to truck all the way into a dark alley, realizing the danger we were about to ensue and the small fact that I was wearing but my unmentionables, we left the kilt-theives and drove on home. I'm posting this in hopes of some sort of peace offering or kilt recovery from the guilty party.

My life as a Catholic cardholder

Being the fair-haired brown-noser I am. I quickly became the teachers bitch in my religion class freshman year. I took attendance, warmed up her lunch, scheduled appointments and inputted grades, without gaining any extra credit for it. What I did gain was the Catholic girl of the year award! Being that I am not Catholic, this was quite an accomplishment. With this role, the Catholic girl of the year must read a passage in front of the whole school at mass. Seams pretty easy, memorize a passage, read it aloud in front of thousands of taunting classmates, no big deal. Once I'd done the deed, I sat down in the front row with a sigh of relief. Unfortunately my deed was not done for the day. I had the pleasant task of taking the first holy sacrament. The priest stood at the front of the church while everyone waited for me to take communion, but I, was reverently sitting with my head bowed. I was tapped on the shoulder by a teacher as she whispered, "their waiting dear", I looked up, realizing my new task and whispered "no thank you" to the priest. These catholics don't take no for an answer, so I stood up, took a sip of the wine, had the priest bless me, and place a wafer in my mouth. In the bowl, it looks delicious, like a little Keebler vanilla wafer, but paler and thinner. Once it hits the palate, its a different story. On my o so reverent walk back to my seat I was astonished at the awful taste flooding my buds. I spit the wafer into my hands. At that moment there was a gush of astonishment as I, the catholic girl of the year, was scolded and forced to put this awful wafer back into my mouth. I did as I was told but could not conjure up enough to swallow it. So I kept it in my mouth for the duration of mass. On my walk back to class I spit the soggy wafer back into my hand and slyly threw it on the ground. I thought my act was unseen, but a fellow freshman yelled, "that's the holy sacrament, Jesus' BODY!!!". I had no idea that I'd spit out Jesus' flesh, I felt bad, but I couldn't really believe that God's flesh would taste so bad.

My life as a short bus shareholder

Also known as the handicap bus or retard wagon, we the riders of this bus prefer to call it, the SHORT BUS. My first day of High school may have looked a lot like many others, then again, maybe it doesn't. Dressed in Notre Dame Catholic High School's finest uniform, a forest green plaid kilt, white oxford and forest green vest and knee socks, I awaited the bus outside my Burlington home with my older brother. As the bus approached, my 13 year old eyes couldn't help but notice that this bus was shorter than the buses I'd seen before. My brother loaded the bus no questions asked, so I did the same. We passed 7 rows of empty seats and sat down in the very back (notably the coolest part of this bus). Our bus driver introduced his OR herself as Pat, the sex of the individual was unknown at this point. As we drove past the rest of our neighborhood who were getting picked up on a notably larger bus, my brother leaned in and said "just wait". Minutes later, we had arrived at our first stop. The young lady who I'd come to know as Jessica got on the bus and sat in the first seat, her arrival marked the commencement of this wild ride. Listening to my brothers orders, I waited and watched as Jessica began to pull back the edges of the seat in front of her, not searching for treasure, this young lady was pulling the fuzz from the seats interior... and eating it. As instructed, I took it all in as we approached our second stop. A shorter gentleman with glasses loaded the bus and sat directly behind the fuzz eating girl. He put his back-pack down and adjusted his cardigan, and then he did it again, and again and again. He had adjusted his cardigan so much that his arms were stuck, he was stuck in his sweater. This, was Timothy, sweater boy. Continuing on the journey we had arrived yet again at another home. The young girl that loaded the bus was not in Notre Dame's uniform but in a Toronto Raptors jersey. The kindest of all the riders that day, was Jordan. She, with her jersey and smile yelled "yo yo yo" in my direction as she took her seat beside the sweater boy who had discontinued his search for arms. Within the same neighborhood was our last stop, the stop of no name girl. She sat in the seat opposite fuzz eater and started to scream and cry and foam at the mouth, maybe her name was Tiffany. At this point I had understood what kind of bus I was riding, but why was I riding it. I got off the bus and walked to my first class, sat down next to a pretty girl with long brown hair wearing the same thing I was. She looked at me a couple of times, nope, she was staring at me. Finally I got the guts to look over and say those two vindicating letters, "hi". She just looked at me and said " you don't LOOK special". I was astonished, "i'm not" i said shyly. "I saw you come off the special bus" she said with attitude... proving to Cassandra that I was in fact not a retard was just the beginning of the freshman year fun!

My life as a ...

Bill Myers wrote the "My life as" series of books featuring books like, My life as toasted time traveler, My life as alien monster bait and My life as a smashed burrito with extra hot sauce. Among many others I immediatley connected with these books in middle school. Not just because I have a particular place in my heart for Mexican food, aliens and time travel, but my life IS much like a smashed burrito with extra hot sauce.