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

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

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

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

Anywho- the family.

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

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

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

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

Mommy Look! I Knew Just What to Do to Make Ciccibello Better!

I'm watching cartoons right now. To be fair I'm not watching them, Aiden, my three-year-old nephew, is watching them. I'm being dumbfounded by the quality of the products being advertised.

Did you know that next month on Cartoon Network a new movie entitled Firebreather premieres? I know it doesn't sound terribly outlandish but, goodness me, the premise is just plain weird. Now before I tell you the idea behind the movie I want you to know that I consider myself open-minded, accepting, cultured and not a bit racist. Now that I have laid down my disclaimer I am prepared to offend. The Cartoon Network's new movie is about a misfit kid who has an "overprotective mother" and a "60000 pound dragon" for a father. I'm not sure this is kosher. Species mixing is just wrong. Wrong!

That is all on that.



The other commercial I saw that had me worried was for this Cicciabello doll (don't google it, I tried, I'm frightened at what I saw). The doll has different bottles, one of milk, one of juice and one of medicine. In the commercial the doll had red cheeks and after the girl takes her temperature she discusses which bottle she will use to make the doll better. Don't fret, shes a smart kid, she drugged the doll and saved the world.  Now I know it is insensitive of me to discourage species mixing but do we really want kids dispensing drugs.

When I was a kid we had Scruff McGruff taking care of kids and drugs, now they want the kids doing drugs, I'm so confused!!!!

As a closing note, I've stopped watching the TV and am now watching Aiden talk to himself in a full length mirror. There was dancing. It was Hilarius.

Cake: It's Just that Good

The manager of the store in which I am employed is eight months pregnant. This has somehow made work a lighter more fun place, this week we had a meeting because huzzah! Black Friday is just around the corner. We took the time during that meeting to through a small surprise-ish shower for said knocked-up boss complete with cake and baby boy themed gifts. The cake was excellent. So excellent in fact the next day upon arriving to work one of the other managers declared

Megan, you must get pregnant so that we can have more cake!

And despite all rationale not to, I'm considering it because, hell, baby themed cake is better than any other I suppose. Now before you go trying to talk me out of this nonsense hear me out. I am a single 23 year-old, living with my mother, looking for full-time employment while making "ends meet" at the aforementioned job. It's is the perfect time to bring a new human into the world!

Plus my birthday was last week and birthdays only happen every 12 months but babies happen in nine, cake is quicker if I put a bun in the oven now rather than waiting for my 24th birthday.

I'll accept applications for my cake-baby's father starting....NOW!

The Dreaded Hipster

I was in class one day discussing Visual Rhetoric (it was the name of the class) with my most favorite of professors when the title was created. Jay just blurted it without regard to the potential hipsters in the room and to this day I can recall the exact quote

"Then from across the quad you spot him; skinny black jeans, iPod playing (insert hipster song title) and you know. It's the Dreaded Hipster."

Ok, so it's a fairly inexact quote, but you get the idea.

Anyhow, the dreaded hipster has become very important to me of late. A few days ago my good friend Nora sent me a picture via the facebook of some girls wearing silly garb and drinking in a bathtub, more importantly the photo was captioned

"When I get home I'll add Mumford and Sons lyrics and we'll be hipsters."

It made me giggle, 1 because I think hipsters are redic and 2 because if loving Mumford and Sons makes you a hipster I need to rethink my wardrobe and drink in a bathtub more often.

I do wear the skinny jeans sometimes. My friend Nora lives in them. I listen to Mumford and Sons instead of the radio because, despite Rolling Stone's disapproval of the heavy handed lyrics, I love them. While visiting Nora and joking about our hipster status, mine status being more of a joke than hers, she pointed out that we saw Mumford in concert before they released their first single, in the US and the UK(? on the UK release I'm not sure but they were defiantly the 1st supporting act).

Let us rejoice in my need to be an individual!

It almost disappoints me to think that the hipsters have started liking something I love. Hipsters who think they are super unique are indeed a large group of like folks. They dress alike and drink PBR together and laugh at the rest of us followers of trends (at which I laugh back).

I am happy for the success of Mumford and Sons, pissed that their current US tour is just out of my geographical and financial reach but deeply saddened that they aren't my special band anymore.

Oh another thing Mr. Hipster my sister wears plaid, converse, skinny jeans and the other one carries her beer in a backpack. You aren't that special.

But Last Week Was Awesome?

I must say that I was flying high there for a while. Nothing ground breaking, I had a good birthday, I joined a new gym where the general manager insists there will be no need for gym fights (he doesn't know me well), and had a more or less awesomely unplanned visit with the old roomies from London, hell even the bad party experience was fun.

But this week, this week makes me want to strangle a caterpillar and then buy a hand gun to wear in my belt (if you didn't know, I'm super against guns, sorry Kat). Saturday started well, then I rushed the 120 miles to work so I could close the store from hell because outlet shoppers are also sloppy hags. I got home at 11 pm and had only eaten a sandwich all day so I had some peanuts and a shower and went to bed. Waking up at 5:45 the next morning my tummy was pissed about the peanuts and my hair was nearly as perturbed about the evening shower. But I went to work and worked form 7 am to 1pm then I drove home and showered again, had some chili ate way too much and pretended to nap. At 6pm I left for work again because we had a meeting (not all bad but it takes me a not particularly pleasant 45 minutes to drive to that horrid place.) I didn't get home until 11 again. After a very pleasant 5 or 6 mile walk this morning I started the laundry only to get a text message reminding me that I have to be at work at 5 this evening: funny story, this is the first I had heard of this. My schedule says that I am to work from 5:30pm to 2am not 5pm to 2am. Guess what- the laundry is not done! I have to leave in 45 minutes and I haven't even eaten lunch yet. Hip hip fucking hooray!

Now to go along with the whole work thing the holiday season is approaching. And in my old age I've grown tired of the Broken-Home-Christmas, guess what, I work retail which means Dad that I will work Christmas Eve so no I will not be making it to your house this year. Also to my boss: my mother works Christmas Eve and Christmas Day so yeah you will be giving me the 26th off because I too like the family holidays.

It has come to my attention that I am not the only person who feels this way about the holidays, I will be inviting these people to Thanksgiving. Wear jeans with elastic waist bands please I plan on making way too much stuffing again. Also after last year I shall refrain from carving the turkey until someone teaches me how. Mind you I have to be at work at 8:45 that evening so it will be fairly booze free, thank you for your cooperation and, yes, I know my job would be more fun drunk but I need it until something real comes along.

But wait we still have Halloween! A cushy buffer between now and Thanksgiving to find a party and drink a bit too much. Cheers to All Hallows Eve!

A Bit of Rude Goes a Long Way.

In recent times I have been working an interim job. I know ten months is a long interim, but I must stay positive or I will go against my mother's expressed command to "not take it out on my hair." This job means dealing with a lot of people and I've become that person who smiles when being talked to like I'm not worth the spit I get for doing everything I can to make the customer's day pleasant. While discussing this issue with a fellow interimer (not a word, but you get the idea) she mentioned she was so put out by how downright mean people can be. And they are.

Ok, don't gasp, you know that when you shop or go out for dinner any little thing that goes wrong gets blamed on the sales associate or the waiter. You, my friend, are an asshole.

Assholes of the world take it as a lesson: my favorite coping mechanism is rudeness.

Its a taste of your own medicine and it works! Oh, how it works! You treat me poorly and I help you to the best of my abilities because it is my job. I will not smile, I will not be chipper, I will not offer an opinion as to whether or not the outfit suits you and I will not help you complete a look that will get you the job, win you the promotion or get the guy. I will tell you that the shirt is, indeed, not on sale and no, we don't have it another size. Then I walk away. You're even more pissed now. But I still win- How about I save you 30% (ha ha its not) by opening a credit card and ruining your already ruined credit?

Ok, so I'm not really as excited about this as I should be. I've had a good evening. Thank you and good night.

Too Long

Let it be known that I have been commanded to take up the blog again. Mighty pen (ha ha whats that?) arise!

I promise that I shall write more frequently and with vigor and vim (or not I just wanted to say that all day and I didn't have an outlet).

Kristin- You must help me remember to write. Many thanks dear friend, now help help help me please!