Etiquette of a One Lane Bridge

I understand that there are many fancy things to learn when you drive in new places (those round-a-bouts that keep popping up might seem easy until its too dark and you go one arm off the circle too far), and I know it is unfair to be critical of those people who are confused by new and unusual traffic patterns, especially if you have been driving it since before you drove and they're lost and confused.

Not all of those people out there driving on the same roads as me are lost, confused, or new to one lane bridges, heck, I'd even venture to say that the lost/confused/new people are more careful about the whole one lane bridge thing than most people who drive them everyday. If you ever find yourself at a one lane bridge please take a deep breath and follow the following rules:

1. Slow down before you cross the bridge.
2. If another vehicle is approaching the bridge, stop. (And that goes for both sides, because really we all know that the other person wants to kill you.)
3. If you are the person closest to the bridge or you were too retarded (I use the term loosely don't be    
 offended) to stop out of the way of traffic, make eye contact with the other driver and cross.
4. After you've crossed wave politely.
5. If you were behind a stopped car and it crosses the bridge but there are cars waiting to cross from the    other side, DO NOT CROSS. Wait until one of the cars from the other side passes.
6. Most importantly, remember to not hit a car that is crossing a one lane bridge. (This happened to  me once, it was [I was the hittee not the hitter] and it is a bit of a mess, if the person following me had know the appropriate etiquette for crossing one lane bridges and hadn't been following so close he would have spared himself the embarrassment of rear ending me and busting his headlights on my '86 Trecel [built Ford tough].)

For those unfamiliar with one lane bridges, note that many people will not follow these rules, they will consider themselves superior to proper form and just drive however they please. Use caution whenever you chance upon these secret speed traps.

Please also note if a bridge has a double yellow down the middle of it, it can handle two cars, do not treat it as a one lane bridge. I will be forced to drive into you head on if this ever happens again, keep to the right.

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...

That's a lie, the mice are stirring and it's driving me insane in the membrane. There is a flock of mice in the ceiling of the family room, they usually just run back and forth but today, being December 24th, they are shooting for ironic. If there was music I would find their behavior both amusing an appropriate but the dancing in my head should be sugarplums and the clatter on the roof should be eight tiny reindeer.

There are threats of calling the exterminator but I'm not entirely sure I'm ok with that. The mice seem to be keeping out of the comestibles (with the exception of that bold mouse that chased the cat into my sister's room, poor mouse died of suffocation in a water bottle because my sister was too afraid to put it outside). I don't see the sense in killing them, they were here first (species wise) on this place (and I mean the plot of land where my house sits, I don't know about the evolutionary thing) and we have taken over pushing them out. It just seems wrong.

While we live and let live I hope you all have a Merry Christmas.

I'm hoping the next two days are  better than I anticipated, it just might be this year.

The Africa Tree is Dead



This is an actual tree in Africa. This is my tree's twin.

 When I was very young there were more fields than yards, most of the fields have windscreen trees from years of farming but this one field had a lone tree near it's center, to me the tree looked like something out of National Geographic. I always wanted to take a picture but seeing it in life was better than a photograph.

That tree made me want to see things. I want to go to Africa and see real African trees.

The tree looked like it belonged somewhere else and for much of my life I have felt that only part of me belonged in my small town.

A town that in the last 20 years has become less and less recognizable. The yuppies and houses have taken over. It has gone from being Virginia to Northern Virginia, land of sprawl and nothingness. A hostile (sometimes) foreign land which I have some how landed back in after running away to better more interesting places.

The other day, because I started writing this when I first saw it but couldn't make it work, I drove past the field where the tree stands. It is still a field, but now a house sits in the far corner and it is fenced for cows and horses. As I drove passed I saw the limbs more on the ground rather than in the sky. Progress strangled the tree's home and nature is finishing it off. The tree has been dead for several years, the leaves are few and far between but now it will never have the chance to try to bud again. It is more than dead. It is broken and with it my spirit. And my connection to this place.

Sorry for My Neglect

Today I have anxiety.

Later I shall write the most excellent post ever.

Sorry it has been so long in the making.

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow

I keep hearing rumors that the snow is piling up everywhere but other than the TV (and we all know everything we see on TV is fake) I hadn't seen any hard evidence... until this morning. It's snowing here finally! But don't get too excited it'll send soon enough and the grass isn't even covered yet. The roads are an extreme hazard despite the lack of depth.

Here in VA we like to freak at the first flake but the reality is the roads are mostly untreated, so frozen, and will remain uncleared for a while. I will have to call work tomorrow to inform them that I'm running late because after I drive eight miles out of ruralaliy (not a real word) the first town I hit is going to be snow covered with not-particularly-smart people driving their fancy sports cars (all of which a lining the edge of the roads that have already been cleared, its hard to drive up hill you know) like the road is dry. I'll get stuck in accident traffic and become a bit frustrated with my fellow man. Also it will be busy as all get out with people who couldn't drive to work because of the torturous conditions but can make it to the outlet mall.

Settling Up (?)

Today, I worked really hard to find a job that isn't the job I'm working right now. I need more hours and I need a higher wage, my college degree (that's right gay manager Jason, I have a degree) demands it.

The whole idea of taking a job that isn't in the field that I want makes me sick to my stomach, not as sick as making $8.10 an hour with an acting store manager who does everything but manage makes me but still. I'm forced in some way to continue to settle for less than what I want, no, I take that back, I'm settling for less than I deserve.

Wait, where is cheeky Megan? Who is this righteous bitch who has replaced her? (I don't know, we'll blame the crazies.)

I think that even with my uneven bangs and my current inability to dress myself appropriately for my current job (lack o' funds you see) I worked hard to get to where I got this time last year. But all I've done is back peddle.  I beg people to open credit cards, people who claim to make $200K a year and can only manage a $750 credit limit because they have a barely passable credit score. I'm ruining my own future, how is the economy going to recover if I don't stop doing my job?

So we'll see where I settle. Maybe it'll hold the bad off long enough or maybe (and this is my hope) it'll be just enough to get me into the classes I need, (fingers crossed) I'll come out in a year with software knowledge and a publishing certificate.

Here's to Hoping!

Passive, Aggressive or Passive Aggressive

I might be making it up as I go now but I've got a lot to consider, especially how I'm supposed to handle my current stressers.

If you didn't know it already I am an aggressive individual, assertive and confrontational, mostly at appropriate times but you know you get in a bad head space and I may or may not break your face for no reason. I have always felt that confrontation (though not always fighting) solves problems quickly. You tell me why you're angry, I give you my side there is some shouting and someone stomps off, an apology usually follows whether in an hour or a year, and everything is right as rain.

Most people support the passive way of doing things but I refuse to bend over and take it over and over when I have the power to stop all the nonsense. I have a few friends who are passive, we get into sensational fights. Mostly when one of said friends tells me "it'll all be ok." Ok is not ok unless it's the best I can do and at this point ok screams failure. And passive means it'll all be ok because I am not powerful enough nor willing to change it.

Passive aggressive is ironically not a combination of the two, it's slimy. But today I tried it. And it was a bit fun. I did as I was told but took forever doing it, not unlike the person who instructed me to do my job. After two hours working in the same five by five foot space I was told to move on. Usually, I'm not one for making work hard or sizing and reorganizing because it is the most useless work ever, but I only worked three hours and managed to meet all my goals and do nothing, it was epic.

I'm torn now, do I continue this passive aggressive route and win, or do I go all out confrontational, I can lose my job either way, not that I want to keep it but I have to have other options first.

Options, options, options, I remember when they existed.

Making It Up As I Go

 The rules of the game have changed. What was said, and written, seem to no longer stand so I have no choice than to make it up my own rules as I go.

First, I need a doctor's note. I'll see if I can procure one of these some time this week. Shouldn't be too hard, a mental health day always does a body good any who.

Second, I need the stars to align and the weather to be horrid when I wake up, I also need a few calls and emails about jobs to at least put my mind at ease. I'm hurting myself by playing dirty, it'll shrink my paycheck to a scary small point, but I am a human and deserve to be treated like one, something the acting store manager has yet to figure out.

Third, I need the cosmos to align and make everything ok. It's vague but this is dirty (?) laundry that doesn't really need Internet airing. But I need this black hole of the last couple of months to turn into a bright sparkling wonderful thing. Sooner would be better, please cosmos, the whole thing makes me a bit sick to my stomach.

So here's the game. I work retail, the hours are never predictable this time of year, you could get 47 or you could get five and the bills aren't getting paid either way so 47 looks better and better. Lately, the schedule that is put out a week in advanced has started to count for nothing. So one particular manager, who I admittedly detest, and I'm sure she feels the same about me, likes to just change the schedule. She cut me a few days this week and told me I'm not allowed to work more than 16 hours, this is incorrect and that makes me angry. Today when I got to work she had decided to cut seven hours from my week. No cool. One of the shifts I understand, if there are no boxes to open I have nothing to do but last time I checked cutting a four hour shift means that you lose four hours from your week, though I'm beginning to think people think I'm daft so I'll roll with it. But what I don't get is when I show up at 2 PM next Saturday what am I supposed to do now that she's changed it so that I don't work until 6 PM?

I will not be working that's what. That's where the doctor's note comes in. An MD is a slacker's and, in my case, a disgruntled employee's best friend. Thank you future writer of a doctor's note. (It'll probably be a GYN if I can get someone to forge one for me, no one will ask about the lady problems, and if they do I'll remind them that HIPPA is a real and serious law thing.)

I'm actually getting increasingly angry as I write and I know that my flow is super off, so I'm going to head to bed. I have a lot more I need to make up that pertains to real life and not Ann Taylor (I mentioned you again, and in an ugly light, contact me higher ups, we'll have a chat).

Get on Gayle's Level

My sister is home from school. Oprah is a Barbara Walter's special. I'm bored so I'm watching this with her. Oprah's best friend, but not lesbian love, is Gayle King. Oprah describes Gayle as:

The mother she never had and the best sister anyone could wish for.

Hannah's response:

Megan get on Gayle's level.

And to that I have to say:

Alright.

Ha ha ha or not because really come on if I could be on Gayle's level I'd ditch my sisters and go find Oprah. Hell, that woman could find me a job, my sisters just threaten me and let their African friends touch my hair since I have to ultimate white people hair.

Which gives me an idea... I'm going to be the star attraction at the petting zoo! Or a stripper, which ever pays better.

A Kick in the Face

Today I woke up, did some chores and was getting read to go to work when I got a call.

Don't come in.

Yeah thanks for that. Give me shit for getting sick, keep me over what I'm scheduled and then get pissy when I leave an hour and a half late, next yell about all the times I didn't take breaks when I work enough hours to because well you know.

I am back to my crazies. No deep crazy yet but teetering towards that good ol' fun place.

Help me find a job that wants me to work the hours they schedule me for.

Also, Nahome- Suck It.

Help Wanted!

I've been looking for signs around town that express interest in hiring people. They are super hard to find. But looking for the stupid red signs got me thinking, when I was a young child I believed that a "Help Wanted" sign was in fact a PSA to help fugitives.

I know, you think I'm a nut. But for some reason I had this strange idea that we were supposed to aid the most wanted, keep them clothed and fed and out of the police's way. I didn't think this was a smart thing to do, as far as I had discerned criminals weren't people you really should be associating with, but I also was wise enough as a child to understand that people had differing ideologies.

Maybe it has to do with my religious mother and her Catholicism in a not particularly large town where plenty of Catholics reside but aren't always welcome (second most unwelcome Christians next to the Mormons I might add). Maybe it's that my parents are non-political (mostly) and maybe it's because growing up I understood that people only understood what they had experienced and living in a homogeneous place gave people a lot of room for misunderstanding. But mostly I think it was because even as a kid I was awesome.

I always wondered why some people wanted to put criminals in jail and why others wanted to help me, so much so that they posted it on shop windows. You're thinking now, "Well hells bells Megan, in all you're wisdom you're not that bright and shiny." But wait there is more!

I got my first job when I was 16, the sign that led me into the store said "Employment Opportunities." I had figured out by this point that "Help Wanted" meant the same thing but I had yet to come face to face with a real bad ass criminal. My first job, and subsequent jobs for that matter, have brought me into close contact with these people, I've worked with people jailed for being part of a gang that beat a man to death, stealing $5000 work of goods from a Target, possession of narcotics, DUI, credit card fraud and just being all around stupid. I have only not gotten along with two of said criminals, the Target thief (and not because she is a thief but because she wants me to risk my job to help her [though that might be part of the being a thief thing]) and the guy with the fraud issues (he also had a nasty habit of taking money out of other people's wallets, including mine).

Everyone else has been a "woops! my bad criminal." They seemed to be on the right track at that point and I would have helped them in some reasonable way if they had needed it. I would not have gone on a date with their criminal friends no matter how awesome they potentially were. Some how this idea from my childhood has made me sympathize with these social rejects. Maybe it's my bright and shiny wisdom shining though or maybe I'm a saint. But I've always wondered what would happen if we actually did help the wanted.

Christmas Letter

Each year as the Christmas cards flood the mailbox you are inundated with pictures of people you don't really remember and letter explaining the lives of those very same folk. In my family there is one letter that we love to open because, though it is not intended to be, it is hilarious. Its a good ole run of the mill holier-than-thou letter of awesomeness. The kind where people announce their toddlers speak in paragraphs (there's nothing wrong with pride, but come on, who speaks in paragraphs?) and then describe their unborn offspring as impending. I don't know about you but impending has always connoted doom (ie impending doom) or something wholly unpleasant, next time you guys qualify it with impending joy or something, not just impending.

Last year one of my uncles sent a letter just to say "Yo, we're here too and we hate these letters so here is yet another one to read." It was actually a pretty good letter and it inspired my mother.

Last week my mother asked me to write a form letter. I was very confused as to why I was writing a form letter, though I have the capabilities it's not really something I enjoy doing, but then she clarified. My mother wanted a Christmas letter to send to all of her family. It was a daunting task, I needed the right balance of humor and superiority, I needed a good shock factor and I needed everyone to think that maybe, perhaps, my mother didn't write the letter.

So, here it is:

Seasons Greetings Folks!

We hope all is well this Christmas and as the year ends you will be able to look back on 2010 with fond memories. We have been incredibly busy this year, so busy in fact we would like to share the high points with you.

April has become a world traveler. Last spring she went on a cruise that circled the Caribbean with one propeller, though it was still chillier than she would have hoped, she had a blast and returned home, to the second decent snow storm of this year, with a tan. Before her tan faded she was snowed in for a week, trapped by about five feet of snow. This fall she took a quick jaunt to the Emerald Isle where she forgot to eat the cheese she dreamed about but drank in the sights just long enough to know that she wants to go back and see more than just Dublin.

Hope had a successful end to her sophomore year and got her first job. All summer she lounged by the pool tanning with her sun glasses on, waiting but nobody’s life needed saving. After school started and the homecoming buzz began she found herself loathing the popular girls as they announced the junior homecoming court, she apparently wondered aloud “I wonder who the fourth bitch is?” only for her named to be called. Even Hope agrees that this was the best bitch for the job. Unfortunately, her tan didn’t get to participate in the homecoming festivities with her.

Hannah turned 21 this year, was maced at a school dance and finally declared her major. If you ever need a good PO look her up, after hearing that could be one of her career options she jumped on the sociology bandwagon. When Hannah isn’t studying how to best beat the criminal mind she is wrecking cars and playing in the mounds of snow that have been falling in Wise since October.

Mark was laid off early in the year and moved to Roanoke to work, where late in summer he was laid off and he moved back to Round Hill. Aiden is three now and keeping his dad very busy with his love of dinosaurs, library books, library books about dinosaurs and his clever quips.

After Megan graduated last December she found an internship for a group of history magazines, fell in love with getting published and has been working for Ann Taylor Factory Store ever since. Who needs a byline when they have a double certification in pants fit?

Merry Christmas!

Love,
The aforementioned sign.

Facebook

So I'm on facebook. I know, right, I'm so trendy-cool. Everyone wants to be me. Everyone wants to be on the facebook. Including my grandmother.

Yes, my grandmother decided that she would like to be my friend. Don't tell her but I only became her friend because I don't want to worry the family. I'm the nice one here, I have accepted the "friendship" of several aunts, my mom's childhood best friend and so forth. I'm not even a friend-whore, I go through and delete "
"friends" every once and a while but some of them you just can't get rid of, they'll call your mommy.

Curses facebook, curses!

Also how am I supposed to create traffic via facebook? I don't want her to know that I despise everything about everything she's ever said to me, and if she reads this she will know.

hmph.

To Do

As my crazies fade a bit I'm faced with a need for a plan of action. This task is enough to throw me back into the throes of depression but fear not good friends I shall persevere, and probably take out my frustrations in small acts of road rage.

My brother called me today, asking me about where to put your cover letter when sending a resume via email. I giggled a little (it's all I could muster, my innards hurt from vomiting for 24 of the last 38 hours), he was asking my advice on something that I can't get anywhere on myself. I'm super happy to help but my God ask the right person! I'm trying not to weep over my most recent rejection letter but you know how it goes.

Anyhow, I need to get my ass in gear. I'm going to read some good books.

Reread:
1. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
2. The Descrete Pleasures of Rejection
3. The Poisonwood Bible
4. Lolita
5. A Time To Kill

Read:
1. Jane Eyre
2. Catcher in the Rye
3. Catch 22
4. Slaughterhouse-Five
5. Brideshead Revisited

I'm going to apply to a few schools, vomit over application fees but apply none the less.

I'm going to start buying things that I need, a computer, going out clothes, navy shoes, underthings.

I'm going to get my bangs trimmed and whiten the teeth.

I'm going to make new friends. I'm serious, new friends, where I'll find them I do not know.

I'm going to do things. See things.

I'm going to live.

I've spent this whole year wasting time and now that I've had a complete and disguesting breakdown it's time to change everything.

Winter Weather

I work two pairs of pants yesterday. Its not even that cold but its getting to me. I'm not into putting on a heavy coat just yet, I can barely remember to wear shoes other than flip-flop let alone taking gloves and a hat just in case.

They've taken snow out of the forecast for where I live so I'm going to just dive right in (Sorry, Nora you thought I was visiting for your birthday) I'm heading to a place that has a high chance of accumulating, if only a half inch, some snow today. I'm taking my coat, even though I'm not sure I can bear to put it on, and boots but not snow boots.

Wish me luck!

A Sigh of Something Like Relief

This week isn't shaping up so badly. The shoulder is killing me but it could also be a thousand times worse, I can still use my right arm but am somewhat restricted to how high I can lift things, and my hand keeps shifting from numb to achy, and don't even suggest a visit to an MD. I'll live with a bit of rest, good thing I have this weekend off.

Speaking of the weekend off, I'm going to a college party tomorrow night. I'm not entirely sure what to wear; I have always found this whole trendy/slutty/cute thing to be very elusive. I think it has something to do with having an ample bosom at a young age. I spent forever hiding the girls and now I don't have a damned thing to show them off in. Most of my clothes are for work any way, not that I have a real job the requires real work clothes (Girl Scouts, always prepared for the future that we planned for to come to fruition). I have good shoes for this party. I could wear jeans but the top thing is still a problem. What has happened to my wardrobe?

Also what is with the dry skin thing that happens this time of year? I'm itchy and my itching hand is attached to my bad shoulder by an arm. I'm going to have to gain some dexterity in my left hand if I'm going to survive the next week. I can barely drive my automatic transmission vehicle with just my left hand, maybe they have helping-hand dogs and I can barrow one until I regain full range of motion?

Sorry Mommy

My mom read a recent post while she was at work. I'm in trouble for saying the eff word on the computer.
Sorry. I shall try to curb my potty mouth.

I Choose to Believe I am Unbreakable

Yesterday I killed my shoulder. I'll be holding a memorial for it today at work where I'll be spending eight hours slinging boxes and heaving piles of hanging things. You're welcome to join me, though, they probably won't pay you as well as they pay me!

Goodbye shoulder strength. Goodbye shoulder.

THE Journey

I am one of the Three Wisemans (ahahahahaha) and Christmas is coming. My sisters and I are gearing up for our annual journey. This year's journey was planned over the Thanksgiving holiday, I think my sisters are going along with my suggestions to appease me but in a way I appreciate it.

As the usual we'll leave on the 25th. We'll follow the star until we get there hand over our gifts and then go on our merry ways, at which point we'll probably divide up for sanity reasons but none of us will return home right away. You know, things to do, people to see.

The biggest issue I'm having is gift shopping. Gold is expensive, today is a time when I'd rather have stock in gold than have to buy a lump of it for a child. My sisters will have to find their own gifts because I'm currently hunting for transportation. I was thinking camels but camels are hard to come by in these parts and it's fucking cold, I have a hunch that camels aren't super into cold weather. I could filtch a donkey from down the way but that would kind of work against the pricipals of THE journey, wouldn't it?

If you have any suggestions as to where I can find cheap gold let me know? How about some camels?

I think we may need a guide and a chaparoen as well. Volunteers?

Meds

While in an unrelated discussion one of my friends mentioned that while she was taking the meds that I am currently taking she went nuts. It got me thinking, could my meds (which I don't need to live, but prefer not having to live with not having them) be part, probably not all, of my crazies?

It's an idea that hadn't crossed my mind, it makes sense, but after nearly ten years taking them (that number is frightening) why now? Or really why not just October and February which are the months I usually catch the crazies.

To all the folks who keep talking about the horrors of this new medical reform just remember I cannot go to a doctor to change my meds because I don't have insurance or the $200 give or take that it would cost to do so uninsured, but if my medication is part of my problem I run the risk of glassing someone, wrecking my car into pedestrians and walking out on my job. If I do any of these three things I run the risk of harming myself in the process (the deer are trying very hard to harm me) I'll actually cost you more as a tax payer because I'm not only uninsured, I'm underemployed, and would not be expected to foot my bill because well I'd starve to death if I had to pay for more than a doctors visit for a simple illness.

Ok, well that got a little heavy. It's sort of a response to the shit I get from the people I work with, I am scum to them for not having health insurance. They are scum to me, living on maxed out credit cards, strumpeting around and spending their miserable lives bitching about everything there is to bitch about (you ladies know who you are).

I am not going to run anyone over, not intentionally anyhow you pedestrians need to wear lighter colors when crossing three lanes of traffic before dawn. I won't harm myself either, I think talking about the crazies worries people. Come January I'm going to the doctor, I'm going to the dentist and I'm buy contacts, the one pair I have has lasted too long as is. I'm also going to refill all my prescriptions. And when January rolls around after my appointments and all, I'm going to change shit. I don't know how but I will.

Glutton for Books

I'll end up in Hell one day, probably after I'm dead, and I'll be faced with the my sins. I'm not terribly worried about the big ten, I try to limit my murdering and thieving and I've never quite taken to adultery*. (I wonder if God winces as much as people do when I vomit truth?)  The seven deadly sins I may have issue with.

But today we'll discuss just one of my failings, gluttony. I've mentioned the chocolate and coffee in the past but today we're going to discuss a gluttony of something other than comestibles. I am a consumer of culture and when I take culture into material goods I stick with books and movie-films (is it a movie or a film? depends I'd say, hence the Borat-esque combination). After I was burgled for the second time my junior year of college my movie-film consumption has taken a hit. Books, on the other had, I am still in need of a twelve-step program.

I love books, and I read everything, except the nonfiction books that make my mom a feminist and my sister want to work for child protective services. I'm not one of those people who picks up and book and must finish it, I will buy books that sit on the shelf until five feet of snow falls and the TV just becomes an annoyance, then struggle through the book like its a job rather than a pleasure. I don't consider myself well read though because I tend to stick to what I know and like. Though I love to brag about how many books on the BBC's reading list (I don't know its official title but its on facebook in many places) and the number of books on the ALA banned books list I've read (PRIDE).

I'm on this thing right now where I look for books that will help me but not self-help, that's a waste of time. I go for fiction, seeing as it is "a lie that tells the truth," for my rescue. I actually stumbled upon the most fitting and amusing book the other day while being indulgent in target. The book is called Hector and the Search for Happiness by Francois Lelord. It is French and of my favorite authors my only other French author is Martin Page, luckily for me Penguin seems to be publishing English translations of these author's books for me and me alone.

A book is much easier to pay for than an actual psychiatrist. And books about people who may or may not be normal being happy with themselves is a better for me than some over paid person bored with my fear of rejection (I think I'm going to reread Martin Page's  The Discreet Pleasures of Rejection next) and disgust with my current situation. I don't want pills I want peaceful sleep and people to stop telling me to "buck up, things are bound to change" and instead be proud of my accomplishments.

I know, as an English major I should be more in tuned with the classic literature but as much as I love Pride and Prejudice there is no Mr. Darcy coming to sweep me off my feet and carry me home to the lap of luxury where I will want for nothing. It's a nice sentiment but I have to live in the real world. I feel more connected in postmodernism and post-9/11 (if it's an actually genre I don't know but it should be because there is a definite shift in literature- I know I'll teach it at some University!)

Books, I have boxes of them. Some are awesome, some are a waste of the paper they were printed on and some I'll give away as Christmas gifts (I'm all for a good purge of material goods). I need a sponsor, I need a custodian, I need someone to handle my book finances. I should be a library, though funny enough I abuse the local public library, I wish it had more though.

Also, if you want to trade I'll be happy to, or I'll just take from you and give away later, that's usually how it works until I have something worth handing off.

*Did you know adultery has and e in it? I just discovered this, which means not only have I been spelling it wrong for years, I've been saying it wrong. (And you thought I was going to blab a juicy confession, silly you!)

In Addition

I just dipped cheese into gravy and ate it. I feel really gross.

Where should I move to?

Healthy Living

I'm going to venture that the world is an unhealthy place to be. The other morning as I drove to work there was fog lifting in the distance, the fog was a putrid yellow-brown. Overindulgence runs rampid in these parts. You fall in the Potomac River you get a tetanus shot. You fly on a plane, you are exposed to x-rays then slap on a paper mask (or so I hear, my travel has been limited to driving in the past year). I can't find a job because of the economy-or at least that's the excuse I've been given. Now you're thinking:

Jeez, Megan, my ass is asthma free and my BMI is within the normal range, I don't worry abut the tetanus thing because I don't go outdoors, I'm reading your blog instead.

And my response to that is:

Thank you and I can breathe as well but just sit and listen for a second.

I just got home from a run/walk. I'm combating the crazies so it's a must in my daily routine but it's more than just a drug substitute, it's a non-surgical butt enhancement, it's the next best thing to a tummy tuck and its the closest thing to controlling my chocolate intake I can muster. My skin is less likely to resemble a pizza and though it hurts them very badly, it's the best medicine for my hips which seem to hurt everyday now. I see the same few people when I go out on these looped treks, mostly older women walking their dogs and a few running so they can focus on their homework later on. The men run before I get up but on the weekends when we cross paths they're all hardcore with their mini shorts and aggressive waves. The men look "healthy" the rest of us look "normal." I don't think the men who run in the shorts are living any healthier than I am though. So what their muscles are bigger than mine and they have -55% body fat. You can't tell me that they are completely satisfied in their lives.

Lets look at our cars. I drive a car that gets called many names, nice isn't one of them, but I love it. My '97 Outback is a bit abused and not mint but it gets me where I'm going without making me worry (most days) and hasn't let me down too many times. Now I still have to pay for it but I will and it won't kill me in the process. Those men who run in the morning, they drive expensive European cars. Status symbols and they love them too I suppose, not for getting them back and forth but because as they pass people they feel as if they have risen above the rest us. Status symbols are unhealthy (one or two is fine, but your fleet of cars parked outside of your McMansion with your maids and gardeners is a bit excessive). Status symbols are more or less the definition of dissatisfaction. They are the smile you can't bear to wear because it hurts your face and feels false.

These men with their wives living in their houses don't have children but their homes could house a family of 12 comfortably. The energy to heat that house is a waste, and I live in a rather large home, one my mom is going to leave (probably) once my youngest sister graduates high school and move into something smaller. At one point there were 12 people living here nine permanent residence and three squatters and though it was a bit crowded at dinner life wasn't bad. I've lived in apartments where cooking was impossible because there was another person trying to fix a meal. I've lived in a flat that seemed small compared to that apartment but it was all we needed (plus an extra bathroom!), in that flat there were three or four of us living in two bedrooms, a living room and a tiny kitchen, the running men would have been fine for space but not for status.

I drink too much coffee, I eat too much chocolate, and I fight the fight everyday against falling into the bottom of a bottle (not that I have ever been there but it seems like a super idea some days). This week I've been told several times that I have a case of the wants. I won't deny it but I will explain it away. The wants are a sickness stemming from stagnation. I need a change and there is something to be said about buying new things when you need a change, its a quick fix, a band aid on a gunshot but for a short while it works. I want more than anything to have an adventure, I don't care if it's an adventure into the mundane world of having a nine to five with a 401k and health insurance or if I win a trip to a country where I don't speak the language and I don't understand the customs, New York would be a nice happy medium. I have this urge to try new things and move on, grow. My wants are false.

Maybe I need a doctor to keep me from buying a BMW.

I Have a Photographic Memory, for Numbers

I don't. I'm good with numbers, dates, locker combinations and the like, but today my good with numbers was trumped by a man with what appears to be an actually photographic memory. I was working this morning and a man came up to me and explained that he needed to make a return but didn't have the credit card or its replacement but he knew the card number, expiration date and security code. And he did.

 I was green with envy.

I fear that this lack of stimulation is actually making me stupider (ie stupider). My intelligence is oozing out my ears, my memory is filled with useless facts like stock stats and product placements. I'm consulted often before people go looking for things in the back because two out of three times I know what we have and what we don't. I try to keep myself stimulated (that's what she said, you're welcome Hannah), editing the newspaper, crossword puzzles, reading things, doing mental math problems. It helps but its not enough. I'm losing my grip. Not long ago I misattributed a quote, my spelling -which was improving slowly- is growing worse. I can't even self-diagnose illness and injuries any longer, I may have a sprained hand or a bruise, I have a tumor or a cyst or arthritis or something. And I have the sneezes and a sore throat which could be a cold or pneumonia.

Someone help!

Black Friday

I worked last night. I went to bed at seven this morning and woke up to screaming (apparently, getting a bath is about as traumatic as getting stabbed to death to my nephew right now) only to fall back asleep until just after noon. I'm still foggy, but I'm going to make it through the day.

As I faded fast in the wee hours of the morn shoppers played sympathetic, "I bet your tired. You've been here since 11!" It was nice that everyone was kind and forgiving of sheer stupidity at times, I lost my ability to talk at one point though my voice stuck it out, but we opened at 9:30PM not midnight as the later crowd had thought. People were crowded around the store's doors when I arrived at quarter to nine.

My neck hurts from holding my head up.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

I just want to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving and remind each and every one of you: I don't want to see your ugly mug out shopping tonight! (Read that in the sweetest tone please.)

As I sit here thinking of Thanksgivings past I'm in love, with the holiday that is. What other occasion can we celebrate the harvest, the intercultural exchange of syphilis (woot America) and small pox (double woot Europe), the family gathering together to resent each other and over indulgence. And the cherry on top? My sister will probably makes us go around the table and say what we are thankful for.

With all the excitement of this year I don't know if it will top last year's awesome Thanksgiving.  Maybe it was the sheer number of people in attendance, or the fact that all of us got along for a few minutes, could have been the excessive drinking or just a nice combination of everything but I'm going to vote that last year, Thanksgiving was nearly perfect. It somehow worked, all of that food and all of those people. We even had a full day of classes before sitting down to the most enormous meal imaginable (I made two different types of gravy- two types of gravy is too much). The turkey was fresh, not frozen, which was pretty cool. The aftermath of dinner turned out to be interesting also. There was a panty raid, poor Jamie scrambled to get her wash greyed panties back, and it more or less turned into a brawl. We met the security guard that night, he was a bit confused.

This year taping hand turkeys to the cabinets would be childish, as would passing a bottle of wine around the table sans glasses. I will not carve the turkey because there are people who are much better at it than me. And instead of a small drunken riot, I'll head to work after dinner (a riot indeed, but of a differerent sort, I'm glad I'm getting paid for it).

Happy Thanksgiving.

I Giggled While Listening

Not because it's funny. Not haha at least, funny fitting.
I heart music.



and that is my best at writing html...if i screwed up the video, sorry!

Light Bulb

Today has been a day of revelation. I know very well that I have fallen into a dark space but such is life and experience tells me that spending money I don't have and a short period of bulimia-esque binges and a few days of starvation I'll be back to my old self.

My light bulb moments came when I was crying while driving (I don't suggest this). I've come to realize that in some cases it is me and in some cases it isn't. I am a bit of a monster, I cracked my neck at a middle-aged woman that butted in front of me in line at the grocery store and she got the hint. I also realized that until I become more chipper (ain't gonna happen) and dress in candy colors (I'll stay away from black, but candy, nope) shrink about two inches, become less assertive in nearly every way, and lose the blond I can't be what the I want to be. I am not a monster for loving who I am even when I am.

The light bulb kinda makes me want to vomit.

The neck cracking thing, because I was in a confrontational mood, was awesome.

You're all like, "Wow, Bitch is Crazy!" and I'll agree, in a sort of fleeting way I have lost my grip. Give me a few weeks and if I haven't become an raging alcoholic I'll be an awesome rut free version of me.

I'm applying to a grad program for next summer. I'm sending out unsolicited resumes again. I'm trying to figure out how to find a new physical location, this place where I live is hilarious but it's not helping me. I'll be ok, my life will be a bit tilted but maybe that's what I need.

I could use a more interesting social life, if you'd like to help let me know, I'm around.

I could use a bigger balance in my bank account, if you're gonna knock over a bank, I'm in.

You need someone to slash some tires or key a car- call me within the week, after that, I don't know if I can help.

Here's to living this thing called life!

A Chin is Honor; A Chin is Trust

I'm prejudice. I'm judgemental. I'm not a horrid person. I'm honest to the point of brutality sometimes and that my friends is only a fault when it comes to being prejudice and judgemental.

I don't trust people without chins.

I feel like they are they lying type. They are sneaky conniving. I know, intellectually, that chins do not count as a moral indicator but I'm not willing to go back on the idea that a person with a chin not only has a stronger face but a stronger character.

You're immediately thinking of Jay Leno, I'm underwhelmed by his chin though, its large but he is one of those exceptions to my rule, his chin might not be his character, I actually think, not knowing the man personally of course, that he is a chinless person masquerading as a chinned person.  Maybe I should exclude celebraties all together from this rule. They're all shadey in some way or another plus who knows whose had their chin redone and who hasn't?

Poor Dr. Seuss created an entire race of people to distrust based on their chin status. Have you ever really looked at the Whos? I mean seriously no wonder the Grinch stole Christmas! I know they seem repentant at the end of the story but really aren't they just smarter than your average bear? If they really remembered not to care for the material things then, well, when the Grinch, deceived as he was, returned the Christmas he had stolen the Whos would have rejected materialism and worked harder for the spirit of it all.

When I was in middle school there was a substitute teacher who lacked a chin, she seemed nice but I didn't trust her for a second. She was the type that would let the class do as they pleased and then ratted them out to the teacher in a scathing note at the end of the day, her chin, I'm sorry to say, only shrank away farther to the point of being swallowed by her neck by the time I finished high school. She was a thin woman which made her disappearing chin an ever more curious wonder.

I don't ever recall villains being chinless in stories of my childhood that would create this prejudice. It actually seems to be the other way around, the chinny ones in movies were the ones to watch out for. But maybe I'm wrong or maybe there is a real life villain that I cannot recall.

Dear friends I hope this does not change your opinion of me. I know it's tough to swallow. I am judging you by your chin, so save face and fix it your honor and integrity lie in your chin's hands.

Carmel Colored Cat

My sister has a cat. She leaves the cat at my mom's house while she goes of to school. The cat makes lots of noise when he's just sitting around. Last night I heard the cat under my bed. I fell asleep. The cat slept at my feet all night. The cat seems to have peed on my sister's bed.

Do I remove the pee covered pee-proofer or leave it?

Deer: It's What's For Dinner

It happens to be hunting season. I'm not a participant, though in a strangely uncharacteristic twist I don't particularly mind it, in a hunter and gatherer sort of way. I'm a fan of venison stew, jerky and the like. I'm not really a fan of heads on walls but if you ate the rest of it, I'll let it pass. But come on people!

I keep waking up in the sounds of gun shots. Gun shots are not supposed to happen in the middle of the night, I'm pretty sure that hunting after dark is illegal, if not it's super duper stupid. The other day I was taking a different route on my run and saw a lovely shot up sign. I can only assume it was a drunken mistake: sign, deer, person they all look the same as you drive by in the dark.

What astounds me the most is how proud people are about the deer they kill. There are numbers involved like sports, stories and silly lingo. It's so bad that people trade the meat like cards. Hell, you kill a cow you freeze that for yourself, but not a deer you split your prize for bragging rights.

Antlers usually constitute a lasting trophy- for the wall  or the back window of the truck, perhaps a coat rack (that's a bit of a pun, hehe). One would think that for a trophy to count you'd have to shoot the deer yourself, but I may have thought wrong. The other day I was driving home from work at dusk and there was a small crowd gathered in the median. I figured it was the aftermath of an accident or people decorating the pine tree, I was wrong. There was one man standing bewildered and stupid, one man hold half a deer's rack and the third man was holding a saw. It wasn't a hit and snatch the trophy, that deer has been there laying on the side of the road for a while.

I still don't know why the bewildered man was there, he didn't walk away with the other two, he didn't have another car.

Wave, How Do You?

I've been observing how people wave recently. I have ample opportunity seeing as I live in a fairly rural setting where it is still the expectation that you wave as you pass someone* and regularly walk/run on the roads.

When you are driving by a pedestrian on a dirt road your priorities shift the first being that you figure out who the pedestrian is for gossip purposes, second is that you drop your speed so he or she thinks you are looking out for his or her safety, third wave appropriately but not too enthusiastically and fourth is most obviously do your best to not hit the pedestrian or move your car from its original path.

The wave of a driver passing is fairly standard, the right hand has extended fingers without lifting from the steering wheel. If you know the person you get a bit of bending movement from the lifted four fingers.

The other day my interest was peaked by a wave that seemed inappropriate for the aforementioned situation. It was the wave that starts with a falling pinky followed by each consecutive finger falling. I've always, maybe wrongly, thought that particular wave was flirtatious.  It came from a strange middle-aged woman which again makes me wonder why the hell women like me so much (I need to stop wearing my rugby sweatshirt when I run.)

I wave strangely, I keep my hand flat by my fingers spread and pivot it at the wrist. I didn't think about this until a while back I was at a stoplight behind an old friend, he waved and I waved and we waved the same way. It looked funny but worked.

When we teach babies to wave its the open and closed fist wave but if you see an adult do that and they're not waving at a child under the age of two they need help. Not a good look.

I know I've missed a few waves, I mean there are tons of them.


*Please note: not everyone observes the custom and it is often hindered by retards texting while driving on roads nearly wide enough for one car when there hasn't been rain.

Let Myself Fall Asleep

Last night as I had trouble falling asleep so I popped the ear buds in and listened to the shuffle. I have to say that only three of the artists that shuffled through were right for my mood. It's just sad they aren't the same three artists who make running easier. Much love music people.

Enough Already

If I hadn't have figured it out by now it would be one thing, but since about third grade it's been clear, I can't spell.

I can't spell.

I can't spell.

Now that I've told you please don't correct my spelling in a text message, an off the cuff email or a note I dashed off to you while running out the door. I know, my spelling is poor. The world isn't filled with spellcheck. I don't always have a dictionary handy. Its clear enough. I sent that text while walking through a parking lot, I never read it so, yeah, it's wrong. I wrote that text while talking to someone else so, yeah, I didn't check the spelling.

I'm not one to think that misspelling is ok but in some cases you should let it slide. You correcting me stopped being cute with that one silly text message. But now, I don't care what you think about my transposition of letters, my mixing of Us and UAs and AUs and whatever I may do.

Your perfection is smothering me.

Blue as Blue Can Be Because of Me

This always seems to happen to me, which seeing as I am the only constant in the situation makes me think it's my fault. Now I just need to know what I am doing wrong.

First thing: every time I wear contacts I spend the day crying. It's not really a cause and effect thing I don't think, it's more of a correlation thing. I wear contacts when I want to feel better about myself, I want to feel a little bit pretty or something, which usually means that a bad day is coming but people keep suggesting that on bad days I do something special for myself as a kind of pick-me-up. Its a great suggestions and I think it works for people who are a little down, but I'm never a little down, I'm up or I'm shattered into little pieces on the floor. Do I stop wearing the contacts or now? (Right now, I've stopped crying to type this but I can't see any of it, I'm running on blind faith because my contacts are so twisted that for me to see I have to have my nose four inches from the screen.)

I cried over my clothes today, nothing felt pretty. My white is all grey and I can't find most of the things I want to wear. My jeans that I did find are too long, the only pair of too long jeans I own and they're too big in the hips. I'm not even picky, a pair of baggy jeans is a good thing but jeans that fit in the legs and not in the whole top area are a bit of a heinous thing. Don't worry though, a size smaller is something truly revolting, too tight in the legs (I have very muscly legs, they're not fat which is why this is so stressful) which pulls the butt which tightens the hips but don't worry the waist gaps a good inch in the back.

I cried over my friends today too. Most of them are excused, with the holiday season approaching people's older (and sometimes not so older) relatives start to hit rough patches. Be with your families, my heart goes out to you. The rest of my friends (excluding those who have not neglected me and have responded to queries) just call me or text me. I'll probably return the birthday present I bought you. I won't because I'm weak and though I wonder why we're friends half the time (you know who you are). And in that respect I need to grow up. I have issues with people, especially authority figures and men, I have issues with loyalty and trust. This is nothing new, hell I think I've been pretty open about my crazy, so please please for my crazies' sake stop ignoring me and for everyone's sake stop lying. Lying is a sin and for it you will burn in hell. (I'm not entirely sure I subscribe to this but honesty does get you much farther in life.)

I think I have a cavity. My tooth hurts a bit, though it could be from grinding them and I can't wear my night guard because it needs adjusted. I'd get all of these things fixed or at least checked out but going to the dentist would cost me the whole of my pay check. I can't pay my rent let alone pay for my teeth so instead I cry about not having insurance, which makes me cry about not having a real job which makes me cry about the debt I have because I have a degree which in turn makes me queasy about the thought of going back to school because a BA is just not good enough if I want to make more than minimum (ish) wage.

I'm still not happy with my hair.

My hands have gotten skinnier which I'm sure makes the rest of me look fatter. Though the good news is I know how to lose weight now, the bad news is I have to stop taking one of my medications which will screw with a lot of internal things. The new gym I joined is supposed to be opening next week, it won't.  I'm going to cry about that because its getting too cold and dark to keep walking too many miles outside. My hips hurt and I stretch them like people tell me to do, they still hurt. I am broken out like a nervous 15-year-old and I'm sure my hair touching my face all the time isn't helping.

I'm starving. I hate leftovers and there isn't anything I can just whip up. I can't eat another egg or grilled (a misnomer, I do believe) cheese this week.

All I wanted when I woke up today was someone to join me in being ridiculously spontaneous. I just wanted to go to that concert and as fate would have it, it didn't sell out, which would have made it easier for me and my spontaneous friend but I now realize that to be whimsical you have to be willing to go it alone, I'm willing to go to movies alone, I'm willing to eat in restaurants alone, I'm willing to travel to new places alone but I have yet to find the courage to go to a concert alone.There is nothing worse than being truly alone in a crowd.

So tell me, what do I need to do to make all my dreams come true? How do I make my life meet my expectations?

I'm sure I'll still be crying next month but I'm not sure how much longer I can stay stagnant like this. Spending one full day a week with contacts super-suctioned to my eyeballs is the least fun I've ever had and I need it to stop,

'Tis the Season

I'm a Scrooge if I've ever met one. But, and its a strange but, I love giving gifts. I love finding things for people. I'm not even a shopper, but I love Christmas shopping.

I went Christmas shopping yesterday, it was, all in all a great trip. Picked up a few things, got some great deals, gagged over Christmas music and Santa at the mall.

For Pete's Sake, Thanksgiving is a week from today, the trees have been up since before Halloween. It is getting out of hand. The commercialism is getting out of hand. The pressure to make the numbers for cooperate when they refuse to pay you enough to put up with the stress and bullshit is getting out of hand. The sales are getting out of hand. The consumers are out of hand.

It makes it easy for me to be a Scrooge. The "broken home" thing is at this point just a bit of an annoying its the people absorbed in themselves and trying to get the most for themselves so everyone can love them the best because they spent the most. I'm not alright with that, I'm not alright with greed.

Hello Dark Ages!

Today I went to turn on the television for a bit of napping with noise. I fell asleep to the sound of a man teaching me how to play piano from the comfort of a public access network. That's right, public access television, the kind your TV and AM radio pick up without an antenna.

This is sad, not that I was watching WHUT, but that I didn't have any option. Today the cable cut itself down to the channels we pay for- we've had cable for a year and a half and today is the first day they've decided that we were getting extra programing. Did you know that you have to pay extra for basic cable channels these days?

Now I don't pay the bill here, but when I was actually involved in paying the cable bill I had the basics, no HBO or anything, but I had Bravo, A&E, USA, TNT and the likes now I'm down to network and public access. Guess what, I used to not pay for this stuff!

Whats up with this?

A Note to the Mailman

I'm sure I shouldn't have to write this, hell, the fact that I am means that I should probably do it formally and send it to the local postmaster but that would take planning and a bit of research, I'm not into that today. But note that my earlier post today was done in haste, I've got a lot to do and not a lot of time, but this, this is something that had I been to my mailbox before I had posted would have fit in nicely with the title.

Dear Mr. Mailman (whose name I think is Dan),
     I want to thank you for delivering all the awesome junk that you deliver everyday (kind of). I love the pay stubs and mass quantities of duplicate Victoria's Secret catalogs, I love the adverts and the poorly written and considerably poorerly (I know) edited weekly local papers. I love those papers so much I read them and correct the spelling, grammar and syntax as I go. I know, I know I should have gotten the mail on Saturday when you left it in the box but at the moment with the spotlighting I'm not particularly comfortable walking to the mailbox in the dark. So today, Monday, I went to get Saturday's mail and upon opening the box find the more reputable local paper covered in blood.
     If you ever find yourself bleeding again while delivering mail, DO NOT WIPE YOUR BLEEDING FINGER ON THE MAIL, that is why God made clothing.
    You are disgusting. I do not know why you would think this is even remotely ok. I do sincerely hope there isn't a next time because instead of chucking the paper then I will return to your work places with it and hand it over to your boss insisting that for my safety you be fired. It might not be fair but normal people don't do things like that.

Thank you for your new appreciation for hygiene,
Megan

Strange Days Indeed

This morning I am going to mow the leaves so they don't kill the grass. I don't understand this, not one bit but I must do it before my mom returns from Ireland in 12 hours.

I also need to vacuum and figure out where all the clothes on my bedroom floor belong. If you would like to help it would be greatly appreciated.

Lost a Horse? Call

I live in a very interesting place. It is mostly lacking in culture and when culture does spring up people dismiss it as yuppie. I'll tell you what folks, there are a ton of yuppies livin' 'round here so might as well embrace the goodies they bring with them.

Its not like 15 or 20 years ago where the town social life was based at the volunteer firehouse. Hell there aren't any farms left really so cow tipping and field parties are a thing of the past. The child sluts are no longer "just bored country kids" but rather "bored sub-suburban kids," back in the day you dismissed promiscuity to lack of things to do, so now that there are houses filled with people why is there still nothing to do? (I am veering off topic here, we'll discuss the nothingness another day.)

Back to this place being different.

So I was driving home this fine evening (the weather was gorgeous today, I'm just sad I missed it because I was working) and my headlights caught the white of a sign that sent me into giggles.

Lost a Horse? Call (540)338-____.

It was the perfect description of what makes this place different than other places. I mean so its considered "the horse capital" but would you really expect someone to find one a post fliers? Most people do that with puppies and kittens!

Good times.

Something's Gotta Give

I'm thinking I need a change in scenery. I'm thinking a more or less permanent change would be better than a vacation. I'm in the mood to move myself across the country and hope that everything makes more sense there. But what I can't wrap my head around is the whole ends meeting thing.

Does anyone ever feel like the money they make is enough? I don't know how I'm going buy anyone a Christmas present, birthday present, graduation present or myself gas next week. Its not even my budgeting skills that are lacking but the catch that is working, I don't make enough (I'd like to see the higher ups in to company, the ones with letters as titles, live on my hourly wage for a month, that'd be a fun game!)

So you say, suck it up and get a second job. I've done that before, its an ugly mess. You'd think that two part time jobs would equal 40 hours a week, which seems reasonable but what it comes down to is that you work everyday, seven days a week without fail, but the money you spend wasting time and making sure you get three meals a day ends up being more taxing than just working one job.

I am seriously considering the going back to school thing, yes, it creates more personal debt and perpetuates the whole cycles but I'd be adventuring again.

There is no great option, not until something gives.

Hair

My hair has been the bane of my existence and the highlight of my vanity for forever. And today (this is not the first today either) I wanted it all gone. I want it chopped off, poof gone. But I didn't because everyone told me no, it'll make your face look fat, and your head look big and blah blah blah. So instead I ended up with bangs, they hang straight down into my eyes gradually getting longer as they get farther from the center point of my face and "frame my face." The points of the long parts point to my chin after laying across my cheeks. Everyone raves about how good it looks but I'm more adamant about cutting it all off, except now I can't because it's too short in the front.

For the past 23 years I've been told by every adult I've encountered to get the hair out of my face. My grandmother has gone as far as buying barrettes and bobby pins while we were out for the day to keep it pinned back. My mother yells at me to fix it. So now my hair can only hang in my eyes and it apparently looks good, Its touching my eye lashes, and my cheeks, how is this good?

The other complaint I've gotten for the majority of my life is to keep my hands off my face, its a bit of a neurosis for me, it has a name and its a normal coping mechanism for fatigue and stress, its all about reassuring yourself. I live a life where I need to cope apparently and am constantly making sure my face is still attached to my body but it also causes the occasional (haha) breakout. Now my hair, laden with mousse and serum is laying on my face, tickling it and irritating my eyes, tomorrow I'll have a brand new break out to contend with not to mention the stress hives that seem to be getting worse instead of better.

I don't think people understand why I'm so upset, the haircut looks nice, but its not me. Actually it belongs to Rachel McAdams in Morning Glory, or at least the previews on TV. And, for fuck sake, they tell her in those previews that her hair is a problem so why do I want this haircut?

But beyond the fact that I hate it touching my face and I can't see through it, I now have monochromatic hair. I have never had monochromatic hair. My hair has been delightful enough to highlight naturally and hold onto its color palate through the winter but all of the lighter highlights have been cut out of my hair, no more front streak, it's all drab dirty blond.

And if another person says it looks good with my shoes I'm going to scream. I only wear these shoes a few times a month so how does it help me?

Maybe I'll grow to like it. I can't do anything about it now, but please stop telling me it looks good and you don't understand the problem. If you like it so much go cut five inches off your hair and then cut feathered bangs into it. I don't have to like it because you do.

Today Is Like: Aww, Sniffle, Suck It Up.

Today was supposed to be the day that I drove to Philly to see Mumford and Sons in concert. I will be staying in this here Northern Virginia though, weeping that I've only seen once concert this entire year, which I cannot lament in itself, it was a very good one and it was Mumford and Sons but remember when I used to go to concerts all summer long? And remember when Nora and I saw music often while in London? And remember when I had a sense of adventure?

Tell me what the hell has happened?

Job Hunting

It has been more than a week since I put some serious effort into looking for a job. I like to pretend that it's because I've had a bit of positive feed back but in reality its much closer to the rejection I've suffer combined with an entire years worth of failure falling onto my shoulders and this week I feel like giving up.

I've had a couple of freak outs in the past year, I was talked down from a ledge (figurative, but I'm ready to take it out on my hair again) and am considering going to back to school, not because I've paid off the original degree but because if I do enroll as a full time student the loans will be deferred. I've started drinking coffee like its water and stopped drinking water. I was running between five and 12 miles a day at the beginning of this year, now I'm doing a lazy four every couple of days (lazy because I walk about half of it).

I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to do at this point, I lack connections, I'm not the pretty girl who can waltz into an office and bat my lashes into a full time job that seems relevant to what I want to do. I was told this year that it would be better for me if I were the type of girl who giggled and smiled all the time, and while I'm sure I'd see a change in people's attitude toward me I wouldn't be happy because I'm just not that girl, she has her place and I'm here to balance her enthusiasm out.

I just need a big fat change. Until then I'll just have to play pretend and hope that the world comes around for me.

Boots Sweet, Boots Sweet the Wonderful Candy You Wear on Your Feet

I have never quite understood the power of a boot. People love them. I have only been wearing these magic shoes for 14 months and they have changed my life. I love them. They're warm and cozy and they make my naked legs less naked, and somehow add a touch of sex appeal to an outfit even without adding a stupid 17 inch platformed heel.

As it begins to be consistently cold I am compelled to wear my boots more, for obvious reasons, my feet stay warm and dry and the truck drivers, strange homeless-looking outlet shoppers and occasional lesbian flock to me in droves with kind complements that both perplex me and make me smile (and turn a nice shade of purple). Take today, the truck driver who drops off our shipment told me I looked too nice and smelled too nice to be working shipment, he also told me he liked my boots and fishnets (Logan did warn me, they are a bit whorish).

Maybe if I go out into real public places, ones that aren't filled with women and bargain shoppers, in my fantastic boots I'll win the lust, and in turn the heart, of a man who is not wearing a sports jersey or complaining that his job driving places and dropping things off is too hard. I don't need much just a bit of intelligence and understanding for I will have to take my boots off at some point and this poor man will be left with feet!

"I'm Not a Baby, I'm a Man!"

I hate when people call each other "baby." There are so many other, more creative and more personal terms of endearment that sound so much more intelligent. Grow-ups have had plenty of time to expand their vocabulary enough to only use the horrid word "baby" when talking about a persons newish offspring or my sister's evil feline. Calling an adult "baby" especially if it is said with a "baby voice" is as bad as eating baby food when you have the physical capability to chew solid food (yes, that is a specific reference to someone I went to school with, I hope you find it as strange as I do). Hell babies don't even like being called "baby." My now three year old nephew used to walk around saying "I'm not a baby, I'm a man," which was freakin' hilarious but also a valid point. He's a walking, talking, clever human, not a goo-goo ga-ga baby (unfortunately, he has move on to being called a boy, which is probably more age appropriate but much less funny).

Don't call me "man" either, or dude, which I am guilty of using, because I am a "lady." I don't really mind being called "woman" but I can see how that can get offensive really quickly, depending on who and how it is said, so watch yourself.

This may or may not be a specific dig at Justin Bieber. Though it is possible that he is of the age group where baby is still appropriate (that is an attempt at an unfunny joke, so laugh for my sake.)

A Bit of Electric Shock

Oy Goodness! I'm so tired of nearly killing myself with electricity.

Please don't put Vaseline in the light bulb thingy-ma-bob because its a conductor. Light bulbs are designed to conduct just fine.

Turn off the vacuum before you unplug it. Plugging in a running vacuum usually sends blue sparks.

Ok, if I don't make it through to tomorrow blame the electricity.

Panties.

Occasionally I get into trouble when I call underpants "panties." I'm sure that it's probably disheartening for my male friends to hear me call their underroos "panties" after they worked so hard to pick the right pair for the situation, I mean no one wants to see panties sticking out the top of a nice pair of jeans or the white board shorts you wear swimming. I do it to upset you, and I will not apologize.

I'll tell you a secret, I find the word panties to be a bit of a gas. They refer to the silly underthings that girls under the age of 15 wear, they're bright and have bows and flowers or bizarre frillies. Its an attempt at cutesy where no one can see, which I have to say is all underwear, its self expression but the kind you keep close, like a dark secret that only the creepy ladies at the gym know.

I hate adult women's panties that are all flowers, bows and cutesy patterns, I'm not saying that this type of thing doesn't have a consumer base for, I'm just saying that I will not* buy them for myself. I want serious under my jeans, in three colors, two of which should be too close to flesh tone to be considered colors. I'm not talking just pink, beige and black cotton briefs, because that's no fun (plus my pants don't have a high enough rise to cover up something that stops just under my bra). But purple and green landscapes and semi-clever statements written on my ass are a total no-go.

But if you ever look at my socks, you'll know, I'm a bit of a kook.


*out of desperation I will break this rule.

Deer Make Me Sad

You've seen the movie Bambie, yes? It's not a particularly uplifting film unless you think dead mothers and absent fathers are hella awesome. Lately the deer have been bringing me down in real life. They're everywhere trying to make me wreck my car, they make the sides of the roads foul when I am running and apparently they're pooping all over the back yard.

Partly this problema comes about because of the time of year- hunting season. The poor dears are scared that some stupid hunter is going to shoot them and not eat them (tis a cryin' shame to not eat the venison) so they dash wildly about in front of cars--during the day no less. I have yet to get one (and in writing this I am jinxing myself) but not for their lack of trying.

You should have seen it the other day. I walked downstairs to see Hope running through the backyard screaming like a wacko. Apparently, since my dog died in September, it is Hope's job to chase the deer out of the yard. Yeah, it seems weird but Hope is about the same weight as the dog. She moves quicker then he did at the end so they freak and flee.

Poor deer, being chased by teenagers and gun toting rednecks, it's no excuse to commit suicide under my tires.

Why My Mom is a Polygamist

Today, I was telling my mom's boyfriend about the time when after watching about 15 minutes of "Sister Wives," TLC's reality polygamy show, my mother stood over me and with her long pointy finger with its long pointy fingernail telling me that she will never be a polygamist, she doesn't believe it it blah blah blah. This wasn't something I thought she would be into because she's Catholic, and historically Catholics only take one spouse. While driving to the target it somehow came up that my mom married a man who's first marriage had not been annulled by the Catholic Church. I now live in a cloud of confusion.

My mom is a polygamist?

Ok no, but that was my first thought. Good times.

Update: Mother just proclaimed that Polyandry is a-ok.

Missing the UK

So today as I complained about the cold, damp cloudy weather I realized that last year this was my heaven.

O London, I miss you so.



This may be a bit forward of me but...can you send me the $Money$? I need to get back.

Disclaimer

Dear Prospective Employers,

This is my personal blog, it is not particularly appropriate for your viewing because it is neither professional nor relevant (other than an example of my cheekier writings).

If you are reading this, do so with a grain of salt. I don't list this URL on my resume because I don't think it is appropriate. But since you're here, enjoy, with a grain of salt.

Sincerely,
Megan

PS If you would like my contact information comment or email me!
PPS My favorite word is inappropriate.

My Mom Doesn't Like What I Say

Today while discussing this here blog with me mama I was reprimanded.

Did you know I'm not allowed to name names, even if they are assholes and I am asserting power (think back to the gym fight and responding to "you don't know who I am").

I also need to watch my language- "suck it" is no longer acceptable because I'm looking for a job and perspective employers may somehow find this here weblog.

I'm sure I won't change but to those I've offended my sincerest apologies, and mom sorry, but you know.

Food and People: A Special Relationship

There are a few "special relationships" that everyone knows about: the US and the UK, Bill and Monica, Fat Kids and Cake which takes me to the whole food and folks thing.

As I was warming up left over chicken and my famous mac'n'cheese'n'pepper I was caught by memory blow back. As a child I was at my great-uncle Emory's house for dinner, he's dying I think, and the old folk, who I know know would have only been in their 40s then, were talking. That dinner would have been something southern, fried chicken is the only thing I can for sure remember. Fried chicken was a treat, the family has a history of bad tickers and fried and salty didn't happen in my house because of that. 

The even bigger treat, the chicken was fried skin on. (I know, I know, it sounds revolting but fried skin [with the exception of bagged  pork rinds] is one of those things that is somehow is life-changingly delicious.) But that treat was ruined after the meal when I heard my father's Aunt Barb discussing the meal with a man, who I believe is her ex-husband. At some point someone said, "They says [sic] chicken skin causes's [sic] the cancer [sic]." (It might not have been that bad but that's how I hear them.) And I felt a lump in my throat, my heart beat was heavier and I knew that the meal I had just eaten was now killing me.

Ok, so I'm a bit excitable and now that I am an adult (as I occasionally assert publicly) I know that even if chicken skin causes cancer I'd have to eat it in mass quantities over a long period of time. Its amazing to me that food has the ability to cause so much fear, but food is a nicest for life.

Food and I have an especially strange relationship. I have food allergies, strange ones, and I can't consume carbs like a normal human because I was blessed with a metabolism that is so efficient that it forgets to metabolize.  Today I was considering  making gumbo, a good hearty meal but it contains shrimp which I'll eat but the family won't (fear of swimming things, I think) and okra, which I love but cannot eat for fear of death, so I stuck with chicken and macaroni and life.

If I eat okra or kiwis I die, if I don't eat I die. If I eat what I want everyday I die early of a heart attack or stroke and am ostracized for being severely obese, if I eat what I should I am unsatisfied.

Food and people it's all about balance, as long as you can balanced on both your feet while walking up a flight of stairs you're doing it right.

(HAHA don't believe the last sentence, you're in trouble if that's your guide)

Fearing Feminism: A Disappointment to my Mother

I am a woman, though I probably wouldn't classify myself as a feminist. Feminism is a dirty word, on that means that I hate me and want saggy tits (yes, I said tits) because bras are men's invention to confine a woman, put her in her place, coerce her into sex and threaten her life and the lives of the children.

Before you're panties get too bunched up, the ugly stuff is no joke. I have a problem with women who have been afforded every opportunity in life and come up believing that because they posess a vagina/uterus combo the world owes them more. Their plight is disgusting. Their entitlement is considerably more disgusting.

I grew up in an upper-middle class type situation, I went to one of the better public schools out there, I went to an excellent public university, I have never been for want of food, I have never had an illness go untreated and I wear a bra because in day to day activities the support is more comfortable plus, my clothes look better.

Lately my mother, who I live with and is a labor and delivery nurse, has been reading about the atrocities that occur around the world to women. She's up on all the stoning, the use of rape as a weapon, female circumcision and the sex trade. I'm not sure when it started, this need to read about the horrors and then spew them on the world, sharing the stories in the books she's reading before passing the books off as must reads. It's killing me slowly. I don't want to read about the 10 year-old who has been raped by every man in the village because her father owes another man money, I don't want to read about women paying with their lives with sexual affairs when their male counterparts see no consequences. I don't care to know how many people need to witness a rape for it to be an actual rape.

Again, I sound insensitive. These people she's reading about are in need of help, awareness is the only way to stop this time of thing and the ranting college educated white woman from the burbs is doing the rest of femininity, or humanity for that matter.

My reasoning for not wanting to delve deeper into these things is complicated, selfish, as well I suppose, and I have yet to make her understand. So I'll try you. I know of the horrors and I avoid them. I spent my breaks during college working for a local group of midwives. Most of the phone calls I answered were about setting up yearly gynecological exams and women trilled with positive pregnancy tests. A few calls a week would be women seeking abortions, most of them were not "I'm a stupid irresponsible human being and I think its easier to get rid of this than to face it" calls, they were desperate women who begged me not to judge them.

Some days the 15 year-olds with their more or less brain dead boyfriends were too much, their mothers made me sick. The day a woman signed at me and asked me if I had kids, all I could do was smile and tell her not yet, her kid wouldn't even fill out her own paperwork. I don't think the pregnant girls decided to kill their mothers slowly, but they do it every day. But what killed me was the one call I didn't take, a teen girl's neighbor called. Not her mother or father, not herself but her neighbor. The girl needed prenatal care but she was already past the point in which the practice I worked for would take her, she had been to the free clinic once and had been treated poorly, which is one of those things that sadly is to be expected and the neighbor didn't want to make the girl return to the clinic. As the neighbor pleaded explaining that the girl's family had kicked her out and she had been homeless for the majority of her pregnancy until the neighbor found out and took her in, that the girl couldn't get decent care, that she didn't have a job, couldn't get a job and was more or less a child herself all the secretary said to her was that she was sorry but there was nothing that she could do.

She was wrong. I made a Rolodex that had all the names of public agencies and safe houses for women in this girl's situation but the secretary spent nearly a half  hour explaining that she couldn't help instead of giving out the names and numbers of people who could. Hell, Child Protective Services would have been an option but "I'm sorry we can't help you" was all she could say.

It is not that I don't see the bad, its that after having my heart broken by all the bad in my own community I don't have faith in people. They don't care enough about each other unless there is something in it for them. If people with money and time can't fix the bad in their backyards why would they care about people halfway around the world. They're busy fighting about who should and should pay for the public schools and roads and bitching about "wasteful" social services.

So I apologize that at 23 I've given up and choose not to know the horrific details.

Hello Canada

I see that a good bit of my tiny viewing audience hails from our Great Northern Neighbor. I just thought I'd say, hi, welcome, hope you find me interesting.

To the rest of you SUCK IT. You bore me with you're boring American viewing. (Sorry, Kristin, you may be foreign but you view in the US.)

But wait! Aren't Canadians technically Americans too? I think its time for a new more specific name for the people of the United States, just so when people who also live in the Americas are called American there isn't any confusion.

Just a thought.

Falling for Fall

There was frost on my car when I got in it at 6:30 this morning. It's November 2, last week there were days in the 80s and the week before a day in the 90s, now I have socks and a sweatshirt on and I can't feel my hands or feet (I'm indoors, if that isn't a given variable).

I need you to know that Autumn is my most favorite season and last year I missed it while I was living in London, the weather turned cool but the leaves stayed green. This year the color is beautiful, the grass is finally green again after the summer draught and the leaves are yellow and orange and red and everywhere. It is breathtaking.

I drove home this afternoon and as I hit the dirt road and drove through the tunnel of trees and it was all yellow, the sky, the walls of trees and the edges of the road, all yellow. I can't really describe it, but it is the most beautiful thing, that half-mile of road is the reason I don't really mind living at home. That half-mile is the reason Robert Frost is such a successful poet (I know, I know he's not from here, he's from much farther north and I hear that New England has the most gorgeous Falls).

I need a few more days of warm then I'll surrender to the cold. And if after two days of warm the colors fade and the grey sets in, I'll be ok.

Really Baltimore?

Today I had an interview in the lovely city of Baltimore. (Lovely, really Megan, really?) It is a bit of a drive, but there wasn't any traffic, unlike the commute to DC, though the 40ish mile difference is hard to swallow (that's what she said). Somehow I managed to get to my destination in one and a half hours, despite the road work in the city, I wish the return trip would have been as easy.

Really Baltimore?

You're going to work on every street at the same time? I don't think that is particularly practical. I also think that the poor construction workers have to be a very careful with the perhaps-less-than-sober drivers floating through red lights, stopping at greens on one flat and one naked rim. I don't know how I escaped alive!

10 Reasons My Mother is Not a Polygamist

1. She doesn't share her man.
2. She doesn't share her man.
3. She doesn't share her man.
4. She doesn't share her man.
5. She doesn't share her man.
6. She doesn't share her man.
7. She doesn't share her man.
8. She doesn't share her man.
9. She doesn't share her man.
10. She doesn't share her man.


I'm not sure you understand. She stood over me while I was typing a nonsense something and was doing the scary finger pointing thing she does and had her serious face on. Then she asked if I understood. But on the plus side having women kin folk would be nice. And that is where I have to disagree, I don't like too many women, cycles get messy and feelings get hurt. Plus I'm kind of a bitch and as Lauren from work says, "You're mean, but you're like that everyday so it's ok." I don't think women and I would make good kin. So I agree with mom, without the pointing finger thing.

If I Could I Would Lay My Eggs in Your Brood Pouch

The preggos are out in abundance and yet pregnancy is a very interesting topic, to everyone. I find it amusing when you run into people who run up to a big belly cooing and rubbing it, I find it infintantely more amusing when it happens and the belly is not a pregnant one.

(It hasn't happened in a while so next time you seem me attach a fat person. P.S. Don't do it to me.)

The Insult of a Mean Girl

Today at dinner we were discussing Cialis or something and somehow the insults started slinging. They went as follows:

You came from your dad's penis.
You have a teaspoon of poop on your clothing.
Your parents still have sex.

I'm not sure which is the most disturbing. It was a big step up from the usual "Your Mom" which inevitably turns into "Your mom's penis."

Its frightening to think these are the things my sister uses against her friends, I like to use "ball sack" in place of penis in the first insult but apparently that is "crossing a line." Penis ok, balls not ok. Poop ok, wondering how you ended up covered in poop not ok (this is an actual fear my younger sister has, when she is home from school we have to waste the water to was the undergarments separately).

Please Note: My parents don't have sex, with each other, so I'm not sure how disturbing the last one is for 15/16 year-olds who live with parents who are still married.

Customer Quote of the Day

Today while working I had a strange yet meaningful encounter with a stranger. I'll set it up for you.


Standing behind my register I was approached by a woman buying a scarf and her male counterpart. The woman looked normal, the man was wearing khakis, a red fleece jacket, women's tortoise shell sunglasses and an almost authentic looking camo cap. The encounter started out normal then turned wonderful when he asked me if he could ask a question. I allowed and out of his mouth popped:

Do you know a place around here where we can get burgers called Five Guys?

The question is, indeed, formatted very oddly. I know places to get burgers, I know places to get burgers near the store I work in, but I do not know places to get burgers near where I work called Five Guys.

Though I do  know what a Five Guys is, and where it is, in cities all over Virginia. Just not in Leesburg or its neighboring towns.

If I Don't Make Sense

David Hasselhoff is singing right now and my brain is melting.

And my IQ just fell through the floor.

Communication: I Think I Minored in That

If you haven't noticed folks of my generation don't communicate well, at all. My friends and I talk, mostly in person, after countless texts and an ugly amount of back and forth, some confusion and cursing. We make a rare phone call to each other, usually at inappropriate hours of the day for not particularly good reasons.

Today I found out that even our backwards texting ways, our middle school speaking through other friends and the occasional email/wall post isn't enough. One of my friends failed to communicate something super important to any of his non-school friends. Those friends, including me, consider themselves too important to miss this type of thing. Not that our knowledge would make a difference in the events but because it was important to our friend.

Fuck, I received a message the other day from a friend complaining that his messages to another friend had gone unacknowledged, I had the same problem with that friend, for nearly a week. The unresponsive friend had a good reason, but we bitched and bitched and bitched at the dead silence we received in response to our hilarity.

Sorry for the assholery. Next time slap out a mass text or a two word email. We'll understand.

My uncommunicative friends and I, we do communicate with each other when need be.

Everyone has a friend they call when they're in a new relationship.
Everyone has a friend they call when they've had a rough week and need a drink.
Everyone has a friend they call when they're stranded after their car breaks down.
Everyone has a friend they call when they're using heroin, again.

And those calls always are answered.

As are the "Happy New Year," "Why the fuck didn't you give me a shout out on the radio?" "I'm so wasted" calls.

Oh and by the way, if you're using heroin ever seek help.

SPELLING!

I would like to announce that my spelling is improving.

Thank you for your applause.

(Not one spelling error in this post!!!!)

A Drink or A Cry But I Can't Cry Over a Drink

I was super excited about taking that test. And after 10 months sans tests I knew I'd be rusty but I know tests. I had it, not in the bag, but I had it. So I got my results today, I missed passing by 12.6 points. Now I'm sitting here typing this drinking hot chocolate, I might cry. Not because I didn't pass, that happens sometimes but because right now not passing hurts too deep. I can't let it go, I need to get away and I can't.

I could have a drink, but drinking alone defeats the purpose in this case and I have to be at work at 7, as does my geographically nearest friend, all the others are too far away. I know that drinking is not the answer and let me assure you that I actually drink on a fairly rare basis these days. But drinking is a very social activity for me, not as in I need to drink to be social, but more drinking occurs and good times are had sometime between a beer and falling asleep on the floor of some friends parents' house (because at 23 most of us cannot find lucrative enough jobs to move out of our parents homes).

The upside is I have an interview for what seems to be a potentially awesome but is also part time and in Baltimore. If another person points out how far the drive is, I will gather up all the hair that is dropping out of my head and sprinkle it in their bed. My hair is fine, it's a disgusting feeling, and I'm potentially balding again.

Maybe a panic attack is a good way to go?

Or I should buy a sports car... I'd prefer a pony but ponies don't speak directly of mid-life crisises.

Someone figure my life out for me and let me know when you do, I'll be eternally greatful.

Geniuses Tie Their Shoes and Read, At the Same Time.

Got to love the family. They're all kinds of not normal, and today full of near genius quotes. Hope quipped impressively today, kudos Hope.

The gem of the evening: "Geniuses ties their shoes and read, at the same time."

I must add context- we were discussing the family, especially the backward folk from the hills (they are backward hill folk indeed, and I can say this feeling secure that they'll never read this and feel offended). The discussion was a bit of a childhood development lecture, one cousin normal but stunted by his circumstances and the other is socially inept due to his brain chemistry. Without going much deeper, some kids read before they can tie their shoes, the readers aren't geniuses, and neither are the children who tie their shoes first.

Anywho- the family.

When I was about 16, during a dinner with my father, his second wife, her children and my grandmother we were discussing college. My grandmother was adiment that I not attend college, it was a waste of time and money. I could, and she said this to my face, become a secretary and seduce the boss man, get myself pregnant and force him into marriage. I disappointed her, I still do.

I just turned 23, the age my mother had me, her second child, the age my grandmother had my father (if I calculate correctly), her second child, the age my aunt gave birth to her second child (again, this is math not fact but most of the women in the family had at least one child by the time they were 23). I am unmarried and single, not like I'm unmarried single, like I'm not dating anyone and haven't in at least the last year. I work in a female-centric place. I graduated and its ok that I don't have an MRS I guess but I don't even have a career.

I have yet to live up to my dreams let alone hers. I won't live up to hers, but mine, that'll just take a bit of time. I do intend to get married one day. I don't think seducing the boss is the best idea, thats another story for another day though. I hope to get out of lady land and meet new folk.

Today I declare that unlike the cousins I will not end up sitting in the "holler" twiddling my thumbs wondering whats happening beyond the directTV.