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!)
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
In Addition
I just dipped cheese into gravy and ate it. I feel really gross.
Where should I move to?
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:
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.
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.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
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!
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!
Friday, November 26, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
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.
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!
I heart music.
and that is my best at writing html...if i screwed up the video, sorry!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
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!
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!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
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.
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?
Do I remove the pee covered pee-proofer or leave it?
Sunday, November 21, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Friday, November 19, 2010
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,
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,
Thursday, November 18, 2010
'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.
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.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
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?
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?
Monday, November 15, 2010
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
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.
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.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
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.
Good times.
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.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
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?
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.
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.
Monday, November 8, 2010
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!
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.)
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.)
Sunday, November 7, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, November 5, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
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.
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.
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)
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)
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, November 1, 2010
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!
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.
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.
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