I like pleasure spiked with pain and music is my aeroplane….

::knocking dust off keyboard::

I have just returned from the land of Fruits and Nuts (ie California)….a lovely (if not kooky) place.

So, I must have been there visiting The Boy, right? Nope! This was a girls only trip. He let us use his place (he is out of town) and Amy had free airline tickets (four to be exact) so we decided what better time to take a vacation then when it’s FREE!

Well, we almost missed out flight, but thanks to Amy’s mach 12 driving skills we made it to the gate about 5 minutes before we boarded. Seeing as how I hadn’t worked out in at least a month, the jog from parking lot at the terminal to the gate nearly exploded my lungs. My suitcase was teeter tottering behind me like a weeble wobble twisting my wrist around like a top….my poor WalMart suitcase never had a chance (and neither did my wrist for that matter). In any case, we got on the flight and headed out.

One thing I’ve realized is that as I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten less tolerant of flying. Gone are the days when I thought it was fun and my mom brought a bag of games to play and my sister and I goofed off. In fact, I recalled a story from my childhood on this trip. My sister and I were sitting together on a flight to Montana and my mom gave me a banana. We must have been like wild animals, keep ‘em fed and they won’t turn on you. ANYwoodle, after I finished with it I had a banana string on my finger (eeeeew! I HATE banana strings!) and I proceeded to flick it off my finger in an effort to expel the grossness from my person. Well, wouldn’t you know it was a direct hit on the guy sitting in front of me. In his hair. It was just hanging there like a little hair decoration. Of course my sister and I nearly died laughing, but were holding it in to prevent the guy from turning around, thus dislodging his new blond ‘hair’. So what did we do at this point? Tell the guy about it? Oh no, we just watched the banana sting the whole flight. We watched it hang there and kinda turn brown. So I’m sure this poor guys got home and his wife accused him of having a mistress that has a banana fetish. Whoops. So word to the wise, if two young girls are giggling behind you, I can almost assure you that you have some sort of foodstuffs in your hair…and they probably put them there those little bitches.

So yeah, I don’t fly as well anymore. Taking off and landing are the WORST. Everyone acts all calm and shit while the plane is rocking and creaking and I’m pretty much saying any piece of an Our Father or a Hail Mary that I can remember, burying my head in a magazine (literally, face touching magazine) and looking for fellow airline patrons that would make a good a) parachute b) floatation device or c) sled, in the event that we have to slide down one of those inflatable slides and it’s wet so I don’t ruin my clothes. I have also started to research how to survive an airplane crash. Tip #1: sit toward the back of the plane. It may be a pain in the ass for departure should you land safely, but you’ll be happy when the heavy front end of the plane snaps off and your not…on….it….wait….why is it good to be on the back of the plane?? #2 You should always count the number of rows to the nearest exit row in case you land and the plane fills with smoke and you can’t see your exit. Hmmmm, but since 99% of the other passengers won’t be doing this, I’m not sure how helpful it will be since everyone will be going completely apeshit. Unless you’re wiling to king fu punch people out of your way. Which I am totally on-board with. Survival of the fittest, people…heard of it? (note to self: sign up for kung fu classes ASAP) #3 Don’t drink heavily or take pills before the flight so you’re alert if an emergency should take place. Riiiiiight. How bout instead, I paying the leering creepy guy next to me five bucks to put on my air mask before his while I’m passed out. And if he succeeds, I’ll show him my boob. Of course, there’s not much chance of that event actually happening and really, showing him my boob is not that much of a prize. But he doesn’t know that.

So now that I have my in-flight disaster strategy planned out I should be able to relax, right? Heck no….why is it that the 5’9” girl always get stuck behind the passenger that wants to lean their seat aaaaaallll the way back? Seriously. I had zero leg room on any of our four flights. This compounded by the fact that I feel like a gargantuan human every time I sit in one of those seats and I’m not only worried about my safety, but also my health considering according to how I feel in the airplane seat I must be morbidly obese. Oh, and I was sitting next to Amy on almost every flight….and although she is a great conversationalist, if I see that skinny bitch cross her legs easily on another flight and then realize she has at least 6 inches between her and the armrest…..too the moon! I’m seriously force feeding her Crisco. It’s my only option.

After all of this, I’m wondering how I’m going to handle the one gazillion hour flight to Rome and then from Paris to home (I know, I know *poor* me). I don’t ever go to the doctor, only to the ‘lady doctor’ so I was wondering what vaginal affliction I could come up with to score myself some sleeping pills for the flights. If anyone has any ideas, let me know….vaginal insomnia? Hyperactive ovary? I need to put more thought into this. OBVIOUSLY.

Technically...

I'm still meeting my goal of posting once a week. Technically. Although, what do I have to write about? Well, I think my feelings will best be expressed in the form of bullets. Baby steps people, baby steps.

• The rest of the trip with The Boy commenced without incident. I got to meet some of his friends and I'm happy to say I didn't crap my pants/barf without notification/pick my nose/have spinach in my teeth. At least I don't THINK those things happened. If they did I'm sure I would have blocked them out of my memory by now.
• The Boy and I are officially going to Europe in March! Specifically Rome, Florence, Nice and Paris. 10 days...we've already booked hotels and such, but any suggestions from those who have been?
• I started Weight Watchers again this week. I have gained about 10 pounds in the past 3 months or so. I am so uncomfortable. And the weird thing is after a week of eating really well and working out like a madwoman....I feel like a bloated cow. Can someone explain to me how this happens?
• Work is going to be killer for the next two weeks. Um, yeah, that's all about that.
• I've been selling all my old textbooks on Half.com and now I am independently wealthy. And by wealthy I mean I've made $400. But still. What a deal! I keep looking around the house for things to sell....don't think I haven't eyed up the animals and estimated how much they would fetch.
• I'm going salsa dancing tomorrow night for a friend's birthday. Give me some music and a table top....I'm a dancing queen. Give me actual set steps to do? I look like the Whitey McWhiterton. I appologize to all of you that have to witness it tomorrow. Your retnas have been warned.
• I keep laughing at something that happened on my trip back to Dallas after Christmas. My flight was packed. Like every seat was taken. And I was towards the back so it took a while to deplane. While I was waiting the flight attendant kept coming on the speaker announcing, "Those of you that are waiting on a wheelchair, we're a bit delayed. Please remain seated." .......alright, call me insensitive, call me a biatch, but if you're waiting for a wheelchair, do you really have another option?? Do you need a ditsy stewerdess telling you to stay seated? Nobody else batted an eye, so I'm guessing it's just my weird sense of humor.

That's all for now...school starts next week...I'm taking 9 hours like a fool. I just want.to.be.done. Sigh....

Have a great weekend!

Poopgate 2008

Yeah yeah, I realize I have been slacker #1 on posting. Seriously. I'm not sure what the deal is, I even think of posts in my head but with each day that goes by I have felt less motivated to write. So it's only natural that it took an event of epic proportions to get me out of hiding. In addition I think I'm going to try to post once a week starting next year...oh yeah, that's tomorrow. Anyhow, enough apologies, on to Poopgate 2008.

So me and the Boy (we'll call him that now as short for 'cowboy') have been seeing each other for a few months now. We've known each other for over a year though, so we were already quite comfortable with each other when we started dating. Anyhoo....if you didn't already know, he lives in another land...a land far far away....a land I like to call The Land of Fruits and Nuts. That's right, California. So over the past few months we have been traveling back and forth fairly often to visit each other. In fact, currently I am sitting on his couch right now....but I felt I must bang out this post now before I forgot even a little detail. Soooo, this time instead of flying into his city, I flew a bit North and we went to meet the parents. I was a little nervous since it wasn't just like dinner or something, we would actually be spending the night there. And ya know, it's just those first time meeting jitters....and you know how my mind tends to go to worst case scenarios. Kinda like I break out with an episode of Turrets and start calling everyone a Fuck Face or spontaneously throw up while we're talking. Ya know, reasonable things like that.

None of those happened...oh no...it was much worse....much MUCH worse. I am feeling nauseous just thinking about it. If you are squeamish, please stop reading now...but you know the curiosity is too much to bear and you're going to keep reading anyway...really, just try to stop. You want to feel my pain and humiliation, don't you.

So as some background, I'm just like most girls, we are afraid to let boys know we poop, or fart, or anything of the sort...ya know, we're delicate little flowers that smell like roses and always have a twinkle in our eye. Yeah, so the first time I visited The Boy I didn't go to the bathroom the ENTIRE time I was there. Seriously. I have bowels of steel. Seems a bit ridiculous, yes, but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. Well, this incident blew any sense of decorum out the window.....

So we all go out to dinner. The Boy, his parents, his sister and her boyfriend. We all have a lovely time. We get back to the house and settle in to watch a movie, so I decide to go change into something comfy and go 'to the bathroom'. My neuroses were kicking in and I was thinking I should do a 'test flush' beforehand just to make sure the toilet was in proper working order. Then I decided that I was crazy, his sister had just moved out and I assumed used that bathroom all the time. So I do my business....not a lot of business, mind you (TMI, I know) and I don't even use a lot of toilet paper...ya know, now knowing the plumbing strength or anything. So I get up....and flush....and instead of the water going down LIKE IT SHOULD, it starts rising....and rising....and risingholymotherfucker. I try to find the little valve thing to turn off the water...I couldn't get it to turn. I am watching in horror as the water and other asundry toilet contents rise in the mother effin bowl. I am trying to think as quick as possible. "alright Megan, this is an emergency, what are you going to do!!" I seriously thought about grabbing the contents and throwing them out a window, but decided against it. Nothing like being caught with a fistful of shit in your hands trying desperately to get a window open....I most certainly would not have been invited back.

So the water is rising while I watch in horror, paralyzed and unable to move and rises to about 1.5 cm below the top of the bowl. It stops. I am sweating and praying and trying to find a rosary to pray and swearing to God that I'll be a good girl FOREVER. Since it doesn't appear that it's going to overflow and start running like a flowing poop river down the stairs, I decide my only option at this point it to go get The Boy from downstairs. I call downstairs, "The Boy? Can you please come up her a minute?" I try not to sound panicked, but my voice sounded like a strangulated mouse. He comes up the stairs and I greet him with a look of sheer terror on my face. " HolyshitIjustpoopedbutnotalotandnowthetoiletisoverflowingholyshitwhatdoIdo? BUT DON'T GO IN THERE." He has a calm but amused look on his face and told me to use a plunger. He goes to get me one and I hold it not relaxing my look of terror and tell him that I have never used a plunger before BECAUSE I DON'T POOP BIG AND BECAUSE THE TOILETS IN TEXAS ACTUALLY WORK. He give me an instructional and sends me on the way. I close both doors to the bathroom to put as much barrier between him and the 'situation' as possible and attempt to use that Godforsaken tool. Nothing (not to mention, EW, I'm never touching a plunger even again now that I've seen it in action). The water goes down a little but not all the way. Now what? He tells me to flush. HELL NO, what if it overflows this time? He told me that if it looked like it would to just plunge like crazy. I am hoping to God that sweet baby Jesus sends down the angel of death and gets me out of this place. I pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming...oh wait, I mean having a FUCKING NIGHTMARE.

Anyway, 12 flushes, 4 plunges, 20 Hail Mary's and an Our Father later I am finally in the clear. The Boy find this all amusing, while I'm covered in a cold sweat and thanking the Lord that it at least didn't overflow and that I was able to handle it without intervention. I think the relationship would be over if he or his father had had to take care of the situation. I didn't care if I had to read an entire book on plumping, go buy a whole set of tools and spend the next week in coveralls and knee deep in poop...NOBODY was going in that bathroom.

So we go back downstairs. And it's not like his parents couldn't have guessed what was going on. Either a) Their son and his girlfriend have some sort of toilet flushing fetish or b) Their son's girlfriend's desperate pleas and the subsequent 12 flushes were due to an overflowing toilet. I swear his dad laughed once I sat down. Sigh....

This shit just does not happen to anyone else. I am a walking, talking sitcom/comedy movie.

Please cross your fingers that The Boy doesn't think about this too hard and decides to go for a non-pooping girlfriend. Thnxs.

Oh, and I'm holding it until I get back to a Texas toilet...which is Sunday. Wish me luck.

Evolution

Whew! Another Halloween down! Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. Yeah yeah, I realize it's really not as important as baby Jesus' birthday or any of that stuff, but when else do you get to be someone else for the night? And who doesn't love people watching that night? I mean, I know Halloween is getting more slutty and I agree that as a culture we're probably over-sexed, but so what? If someone else wants to wear two band-aids and a cork as an outfit, what do I care? As long as it doesn't become mandatory for all women in the US to dress like hoochies, why should you care? ANYway. Back to the story. So I used the same costume as last year (sexy cop) and wore opaque tights under it this year since I was going out in public (to a club for a Halloween/birthday party) and I didn't want my butt cheeks to totally hang out. Also, I feel like maybe I've gained a few l-b-s over the course of the year. Scale-wise it's like 5, but it might as well been 500...when you're wearing not stretchy polyester that's already meant to be form fitting, 5 pounds translated into 'Megan now knows what it feels like to be a sausage.' Seriously. So...it's a short outfit. Amy also wore a short outfit. We were thinking we were a little risque for the night. And then we stepped out of the car and were greeted immediately by butt cheeks. Oh. Well, shit, now I look like a nun. Seriously. This chick was wearing butt shorts, a bra-like contraption and suspenders (to hold her panties up??). Wow. Alright, so into the club we go. At that point we are literally surrounded by butt cheeks and boobs. Everywhere. We are WAY overdressed! There was one chick who was dressed as Wonder Woman. Well, what wonder woman would look like if her career as a crime fighter didn't work out and she was working a new job and the local tit-ay bar. I thought this chick was wearing no clothes, only paint. So I did what any concerned citizen would do. I took a picture of her butt. And upon inspection this morning, I realized she did indeed have clothes on. Well, kinda.

(see the oh-so-modest thong?)

So Tere's party was lots of fun...a lot of her friends came out and everyone was dressed up. I drank WAY too much WAY too fast and proceeded to throw up at the house party we went o after that. Nice. A little overboard for someone who's about to be 32, don't cha think? (Oh Lord, typing that number gave me a little heart attack). Enough about that. Everyone looked great. And then I spotted him. And smiled to myself. One of Tere's friends was...how should I say...colorful...an obvious bad boy. Someone I totally would have dated ten eight five years ago. (Hey, some of us take a little longer to get out of our bad-boy phase than others) So, I did what any other normal person would do. I asked Tere to take a picture of us even though I hadn't spoken a word to him. ::Hai, will you please take a picture with me so I can prove a point on my blog? kthxs::
I had her take it for two reasons #1 Because hello, our outfits went together and #2 Just as a reminder of how far I've come. I've evolved. I no longer want the unattainable guy, the one that I fear may disappear from my life at any moment, the one that treats me like crap, the dumb but pretty guy, the guy with the criminal record (eek!). I've had that, suffered the consequences and don't want to go there anymore. I want a guy who's kind, funny, is good with kids, makes me feel special, makes me feel safe, good looking (hello, I'm at least a little shallow), rational, and smart.

And ya know what? I think I found me one....

More to come, but for now*...

Well I have been searching all of my days
All of my days
Many a road, you know
I’ve been walking on
All of my days
And I’ve been trying to find
What’s been in my mind
As the days keep turning into night

Well I have been quietly standing in the shade
All of my days
Watch the sky breaking on the promise that we made
All of this rain
And I’ve been trying to find
What’s been in my mind
As the days keep turning into night

Well many a night I found myself with no friends standing near
All of my days
I cried aloud
I shook my hands
What am I doing here
All of these days
For I look around me
And my eyes confound me
And it’s just too bright
As the days keep turning into night

Now I see clearly
It’s you I’m looking for
All of my days
Soon I’ll smile
I know I’ll feel this loneliness no more
All of my days
For I look around me
And it seems he found me
And it’s coming into sight
As the days keep turning into night
As the days keep turning into night
And even breathing feels all right
Yes, even breathing feels all right
Now even breathing feels all right
It’s even breathing
Feels all right

All My Days by Alexi Murdoch

*Sorry for the cheesiness. Regularly scheduled, snarky, neurotic postings to follow :)

Trip part 1

California was a dream...it was all beaches and pools and sun and sand and food and dessert and everything you could imagine. it was also a bit hot. Hard to believe, no? I was nothing like here in Dallas, but with most places kinda shy with the a/c it made for some unexpected sweaty times.

But we all know I have some sort of glandular problem when it comes to sweating and this time it started before I even stepped off the plane. Seriously, the plane from Salt Lake to California was hot. Like no a/c was pumping. And I actually didn't think too much of it. I mean, I hate being cold on a plane and I was wearing short sleeves and flip flops, so not much of a problem, right? Wrong. About 15 minutes before landing I get up to use the bathroom. As I'm washing my hands in the coffin-sized bathroom I noticed HUGE sweat rings under my pits o' sweat. Seriously? My eyes got really wide and I broke out into a panic. I am usually pretty resourceful and can fix most problems McGyver style with two paperclips and a toilet seat, but I was at a loss for this one. I try to use the bathroom paper towels to negate the rings. No luck. Not to mention I'm now noticeably starting to sweat because of the panic. "Think on you toes Megan, maybe you can fashion a airplane blanket into a tube top". Except now they charge you for airplane blankets. "Maybe you can steal a blanket for that passenger asleep in 34B, nevermind that it's a frail old lady. Her day has come and gone, you need sweat free clothing." After realizing that I didn't want to get arrested, I made my way back to my seat. Did I mention I'm meeting a GUY in California? I mean, if I was meeting my Grandpa or something I would have totally been, "What's up, I got sweaty pits, did I get them from your side of the family?" But this was a little different.

I scooted back to my seat and saw a young couple on the way back. The guy leaned over and was talking to the girl and he was looking at me. Holy Jesus he's noticed the sweat and is laughing about it with his girlfriend! I will be ridiculed and probably stoned upon Delta's arrival into Gate B14. Sigh. There's nothing to do but wait.

So we landed and I was waiting for my luggage, thinking of new and creative ways to look sexy while keeping my arms rigid and pasted to my sides. I kept looking at my armpits. People started to think I was weird. Figures.

So I gt my bag and make my way out to the outside part of the airport, waiting for my host to pick me up. For reference purposes, let's call him...Cowboy. Makes no sense, but just roll with it, mmmkay? So he picks me up, we hug, I try to keep my arms down while we hug (interesting way to hug, no?), he lugs my 5000 pound bag into his trunk and we're off. And I'm still thinking about my pits. And wondering if the sweat ring has reached my waist yet.

We're off to lunch at that point. We get to the place and decide to sit outside. It's California, I reason. It's wonderful weather! Ummm, I got sat in the sun. And I started drinking a beer. Alcohol makes me sweat more and apparently this area of California was experiencing warmer than usual temps so in conjunction with the panic, it was like being on the surface of the sun.

I am in full panic mode. Think Megan THINK! Ever the girl scout (fine, I didn't actually make it past Brownies) I decided to go to the bathroom to figure out a plan. I was starting to sweat under my boobs now, on my back. The shirt I was wearing was the material of a button up...and it was light blue...and it showed every droplet. So I get to the bathroom and it's like a scene from the Bourne Identity. Frantically searching for a solution. Finally it dawns on me...I have another shirt in my purse! I was worried that I would get cold so at the last minute I had thrown in a few long sleeve shirts into my bag and one into my carry on. Yes, it was black and long sleeved, but it was also thin and cotton. Bingo! So I rip off my current shirt of shame and put on the new one. Now for the explanation. Cowboy is going to think it's weird that I am changing clothes mid-lunch. Then I reckon that he knows me well enough to know that I am nothing if not weird so I head back out.

I come up to the table and yell "surprise! It's outfit number two!" He looks and me strange but asks no questions. Crisis kinda sorta, not really avoided.

Alright, the sweat story took longer than I thought. Part two will have to be tomorrow to keep you from falling asleep on me.

alright...another goal.

If you remember, earlier this year (or was it last year?) I set a goal to do a triathlon...or wait, was it a half marathon? or maybe a 10k? hell, I don't remember, but in any case, I set it and then totally didn't do it. Apparently having accountability to my blog readers doesn't help. Soooo, the obvious thing to do this time is to...um...well, have accountability to my blog readers. I see now that this may be an issue, but nonetheless, here I go.

::clears throat::

I'm going to train for the Dallas White Rock Marathon, December 14th. Wait, the half-marathon portion of it. Sigh...yes, let me set a goal that will involve the beltsander of death. Oh, and on a sidenote, I'm going to the doctor tomorrow...my hand still hurts, my knee is healing but still hurts and apparently when you get a tetnaus shot it hurts and swells for days on end. WTF? But I digress. I'm using this training guide http://www.halhigdon.com/halfmarathon/novice.htm and seeing what happens. I've never run more than 4 miles so this should be interesting.

Anyway, wish me luck! Or don't! Really just cross you fingers that I don't die at the hands of an out of control treadmill....that'd be greaaaat. thnxs.

On to other news. I never talked about my California trip! I swear to start in the next day or so...some of the stories are too weird not to share. What? I'll only be like three weeks late.

And one more tidbit. I paited my room this weekend. I got a wild hair and decided it *must* be done the very second I thought of it. So I did...broken hand and all. Not the smartest thing ever but it just HAD to be done.

No before pictures..at least on purpose, so here's a random pic of Daisy so you can see the day-glo yellow. And then an after so you can see the calm, soothing blue (Faint Flicker to be exact.)

well, that was the biggest mish-mash of a post I think I've ever done...I think that's a sign I need to go to bed...goodnight!

This makes me want to bake pies and stay at home with the kids...

check them out!

http://www.carolynskitchenonline.com/index.html

Working out is hazerdous to your health...

....you heard it here first! So I went to the doctor this morning. After some poking and prodding, he decided to take x-rays. It must be mentioned that today my hand is less swollen, but now a lovely shade of brown. And the palm had a lovely tinge of black. But overall it feels somewhat better to the point that I was thinking I may not go. But due to the prodding of certain individuals, I decided to bite the bullet.

And what did doc in the box tell me?

Twins!!

Awww, aren't they so cute?? Wish me luck!

Alright, back to reality. So he said he *thinks* I broke my hand. Like the pinkie bone, but in my hand. He showed me the films and I was like....uhhh, I'm not sure what I'm looking for here. I mean, it's not like I have some sort of grotesque compound fracture that is sticking out of the skin and shit. Only one of the x-rays caught it but he is deeming it a fracture and told me I would have to go to an Orthopedic hand specialist to get further treatment. He put me in a pinkie splint and a wrist splint (ya know, one of those carpel tunnel looking wrist things) and sent me on my way. I wore that shit all day. When I left for school it finally dawned on me that the splint was making it hurt worse so I took it off and don't intend to put it back on. In fact, I can type in caps now! woo hoo! don't get me wrong, it still hurts like a bitch if I do certain things. My eyes cross and it takes my breath away (take my breath awaaaaaay a a aaaaaaa, a a aaaaaaaa, a a aaaaaa <--Top Gun, anyone?) so I'll still probably go to the other doc, but at least I don't have to wear that silly split. Ya wanna know what *really* hurts? Like, what started hurting worse and worse as the day progressed? Like, what stopped me from going to class tonight? I got all the way there and almost cried at the thought of walking all the way from the parking lot. What? My freaking knee of death. Wanna see? I've had to tell the story a million more times and have now started responding with 'I got in a fight' just to avoid the inevitable roaring laughter when I tell the treadmill story. Seriously. This was forwarded to me at work today along with all my co-workers.



And they were laughing so hard they were crying. I must admit, I've gotten a pretty good laugh out of it as well. Occasionally though I want to run over their faces with a belt sander....but only sometimes.

My SVP asked me today if I was alright. I had told him the story yesterday. When I showed him my knee (thanks for not shaving today,Megan) and told him my hand was broke, he looked at me with a weird look and said 'and you ran another mile after that?'. Ummm, yeah...but it didn't hurt that bad immediately! and you could hardly notice the blood since I was wearing black pants! He looked at me like I had just told him I arrived yesterday from the moon. Humph.

Well, on the upside, since 2 aleave didn't work wonders for my knee of death tonight, I'm going to attempt to take a vicodin before bed...I've only ever taken one before and I just remember feeling very fuzzy, so I figured I'd write this post first so I wouldn't start writing all tripped out and end up spilling all my deep dark secrets in a vicodin high. I suggest if you want to know the truth about something, call me in 30 minutes. I'll either snore in your ear or tell you that yes, I think your boyfriend is a douche and that pair of pants you wore today was doing you no favors.

Oh, on one other note. If you buy the Johnson and Johnson antiseptic wash and it say something to the effect of 'hurt free' on it, don't believe the hype. That shit is going to burn like you've just poured crazy acid onto your delicate skin (you know, crazy acid, like really strong acid, duh). And when the Neosporin tube says 'with pain reliever'? Take that to mean "we know this already hurts, but would you like it to hurt even more? Great. Put this on it." Is today opposite day or what??Ouch...no more caps...the shift pain is back. and yes, i can only hit 'shift' with my right hand. Let's see what color the knee of death is tomorrow!

Till then...watch out for possessed treadmills...

What do you get...

....when you combine Me + treadmill + gym at work + lunchtime?

yeah, so it was painful....and maybe even more so mentally than physically. Wanna hear the story? Of course you do! And I'm here to bring it to you even though half of my right hand is rendered useless. I've got about 2 hours to spare until my doctor appointment. One of those doc-in-a-box places. I somehow wanted to brave it through the day, but my knee and mostly my hand are starting to really hurt so I'm going to go get a diagnosis. My prediction? A broken hand...but maybe because I'm a wuss and it hurts and I assume hurt + swollen + kinda crunchy = broken....but we'll see.

So, embarrassment 101...listen up, if you want to make an ass of yourself in front of co-workers while wearing a too-tight sports top for the first time, this is how to do it. So I was on the treadmill and had hit about a mile. I was sweaty as usual. I wanted to take like a 30 second break to go to the water fountain and get a towel. seriously 30 seconds. so I hit pause on the machine. the belt stops. i get off the machine (btw, no caps...my pinkie can't handle it). i get water and a towel. i bound back over to the machine. i do a little 'hop skip' onto the treadmill. oh, btw, note to self...the treadmill is possessed and will TURN BACK ON while you least expect it. oh yeah. and both feet are on the treadmill at this point. and then both promptly go backwards, defecting from my torso...one foot hits the floor, the other hits the belt. next, my hand slams somewhere on the treadmill. then strange things start to happen. my one foot is stationary, but the rest of my body is being shoved back by the belt so i'm kinda totally wonky. it seriously felt like it took 30 seconds to get off the belt sander of death, all the while my one knee is being sanded just about to the bone (alright, not quite, but it hurt!). then it was over...and i almost started to cry....almost. i kept my shit together, dusted myself off. answered that i was fine. felt my pinky throb, saw that the inside of my pants have about two layers of skin on the knee, pull myself together and run another mile. and then say wtf am I doing and stop, shower and go back to work.

at first i thought i jammed my finger...then my hand started to swell, then i had a hard time typing. oh lordy.

andrea was running right next to me at the time and didn't even notice i hit the deck. she said she heard a really loud noise...my heft hitting the belt...and then looked to her left and saw nothing. then she looked to the right and saw nothing...mostly because i was on the floor....then she saw me get up. she did a good job holding it together and not laughing. i think she even turned off the machine for me. ya know...so i didn't lose ALL the skin on my knee.

sigh...want to know the crazy part? the lady who runs the gym told me that she's seen other people have this problem. excuse me? a note on the machine about that MAY be nice. ya think?

anyway, we all got a big kick out of my retelling the story 5000 times at work and everyone laughing that my dumb ass got up and ran another mile (ya know, to show with a quivering lip that i'm okay..sniff sniff) and laughing at how andrea never even noticed i fell like a sack of potatoes. i did get a few e-mails later in the day asking if i was okay...ug...you mean you SAW that atrocity?? so much for being the cool girl at work...

i'll let you know how the doctor goes. i'm kinda assuming that since i'm going to the quack shack they'll tell me i'm pregnant with twins or something. we'll see!

update: well, no pregnancy diagnosis tonight. i called to get an update of when they could see me and it was bordering on 10pm so i cancelled and will call in the morning. i'm kinda exhausted and sore so i think i'm going to take 12 aleave and go to bed. hopefully the swollen hand of death doesn't go crazy while i sleep and quadruple in size. will someone come bring me ice cream? i think that would help. thnxs.

Hai, I'm not drunk...

Well, unfortunately I'm NOT drunk anymore, so I don't get to bestow on you a rambling post with no real direction. Wait, I'm thinking that was not a by-product of the drinking.....

I have a plethora of hilarious stories to tell you guys. Seriously, I had the most bizarre experiences at Macy's, got hit on at a pool by a very creepy Navy guy who seemed obsessed with my 'very white and very straight teeth' and who owned a bunny rabbit, hung out with gay guys (fun!), went to the beach, ate great food, drank questionable wine, got to spoon, lay my head on a chest, and make dinner for someone. It was all very delightful and I have to say I had the requisite 'vacation blues' when I got back. Nothing like going back to work to ruin a perfectly good vacation.

But today I just feel kinda yucky. Tired. Can't get enough sleep. A terrible pain in my shoulder. Grumpy. And in general, I just feel blah and I'm not quite sure why. For the love of God I cried at a scene in Tori and Dean Home Sweet Hollywood today. Seriously. Mi mi La Rue's memorial service. Lots of tears. Then I sniffled at some commercial, now, at the movie Hope Floats. OMG, what is my issue? I am nothing if not happy go lucky (um, hello, URL) but I guess everyone has their funks. Maybe I need to go to the gym and sweat it out. It's been probably two-weeks since I've gotten my sweat on, and that may help. ...of course I maybe have to amputate my shoulder in order to do it, but I'm willing to take one for the team.

So that's it for now. I promise next time you visit I will be back to normal and writing about my California shenanigans. For now, I go slap on a spandex unitard and work out with the suburbanites. (kidding about the unitard, but how fun would *that* be??)

Hai Im drunkedy drunnk

hello...I'm here in California, blogging to my 5 readers....maybe it's 4 now that I haven't been blogging in a while....anywho....soooo, I'm here at my vacation destination and I've been drinking lots of rum with some gay guys....gay guys who don't like Bush...the president or otherwise. So, you could say it's a fabulous vacay....beach, sun, sand, fake tan being rubbed off by said sand (sexy to have white feet and a bronzed body) and maaaaaaybe a cute guy....maybe. But you dind't hear it frome me.

Currently I'm listening to some good music, sitting in a towel and looooking forward to a night of food, drinking and fun. What could be better? Wait, maybe dancing? Oh yes, for those of you that know me, you know that I can't resist a beat....like ever. So I must dance....music is my crack and I want to be a junkie tonight. Speaking of which, there are a lot of homeless people here...and guys that jack off in front of you in the Macy's downtown....I'm just sayin....but that's another story for when I'm sopbher..

gay guys
jack off guys
peeing in the dressing room (not ME!)
credit card meltdown
buys with bunny rabbits that don't want me to get dressed and who LOVE my white teeth. (seriously, that's the pick up liine??)
oh, and my burnt ass from tanning before I got here...red, I tell ya. But I still look hot...hell yeah.

well, I'm going to go pick up my long red wig and head out to the club. later bitches.

I am a bad blogger...

But you guys already knew that. I have gotten comments such as "Are your fingers broken?" "Are you alive?" and "I think my feed reader is broken". Yeah yeah, I got it. Problem is once I get in a writing funk it's really hard to get out. I still am writing stuff in my head and am hoping to invent a new contraption that will take what I'm thinking and make it into a blog post. Wait, not everything, that would make for some really revealing posts. Dirty posts...but that's another topic entirely.

So today I am off of work to prepare for a trip I'm taking tomorrow. To California. For vacation. Three cheers for vacation!! And obviously I'm do scatterbrained/lazy that it takes me a whole day to get ready. Obviously. Since I'm sitting here writing. I've been running errands all day, having lunch with one of my girlfriends and then dropping dear Gracie off with my mom. I called my mom to see where she wanted to do the handoff and she was out to lunch with her old work buddies from the dermatology office. She gets all kinds of goofy and silly when she's with them. In fact, they've told me that during work my mom would dance like Tina Turner in the office for them. Like I ever doubted where my affinity for dancing and making a fool of myself came from. Anyway, mom answers the phone and says in a very cheerful voice....

"I'm up at work with the girls after lunch...I have a hello kitty band-aid on my nose!"
"Um, why??"
"Well, Shannon thought the spot on my nose looked bigger and darker so the doctor took a biopsy to see if it's cancer!" "Oh wait, get away! I'm going to hide in the supply closet! ::giggling:: ::out of breath:: okay, I'm locked in the supply closet now." (I can hear her friends laughing in the background)
"What the hell is going on? Wait, did you say you might have cancer?? Why are you not freaking out??"
"I am, I'm hysterical!"
"ooookay...so call me when you're ready to get Gracie"
"Okay ::giggling:: bye!"

Ummmm, what the eff is going on here? I get my tendency to worry about brain tumors, death and destruction form my mother. It was only later that I realized that she really IS worried, and actually was hysterical. Sigh...the doctor doesn't think it's anything to worry about, but here's hoping. Because shit, I found this out about 30 minutes after I went tanning. WHAT? I went for like a month just so I wouldn't be the color AND texture of the jet-puff marshmallow man. AND I thought I had excellent genes when it came to tanning. My mom grew up in Arizona and was outside all the time and my grandpa was a rancher and literally looked black at some points in his life. And no cancer to speak of. Now this. I'm going to take the attitude of not worrying until I have to. And dammit, I wish I didn't like the way I look tan. Yeah yeah, white and glowing is beautiful, ethereal. Whatever. That works if you're Nicole Kidman and weigh 115 and are 6 feet tall. The rest of us poor saps just look like albinos with a cellulite problem. For reals.

So to add to my maladies, my stomach has been straight up hurting for like three weeks. Mostly after I eat. This happens from time to time, but I usually just use it as an opportunity to not stuff my face since it hurts afterwards. This time, I was sure it was something more sinister.

I decided I was pregnant.

Even though the baby would probably be able to walk at this point. And maybe even signing up for college.

But still, a possibility. A model marvel of science, but a possibility nonetheless.

On to other news, I'm obsessed with the Olympics just like everyone else. I've been going to bed super late to watch everything. I of course love swimming, but I'm not swooning over Phelps. He's like a little puppy to me. Don't get me wrong, great body...but he's a little goofy looking. but totally adorable like a puppy. Nope, my eyes belong to the tennis guys.

sigh...Federer..my favorite...Nadal...my close second favorite.

Although now that I think about it, I shouldn't be going for Federer. He's got a very strong jawline like me. Our children would look like...well...big jawed people....anywho.

Oh!! I got my haircut finally! A long time ago I pondered going short. Lots of people said don't' do it. But I couldn't stop thinking about it...so I did it. I cut like 10 inches off. It;s shorter than it's ever been before...like ever. And ya know what? I love it. Really love it. It's sassy and I've gotten lots of compliments. The two things people say most? "Have you lost weight" and "you look younger". Holy hell, if I knew that was all it took I would have done it years ago. Even my dad, a dyed in the wool long hair guy, said I shouldn't' ever let it grow out again. shocking. I will put a picture up as soon as I get one!

Well, that was a craptastic post, but my mind is already in Cali, soaking up the sun (but at a much better temperature than the current 550 degree Dallas heat). Talk to y'all when I get back!

Oh Lordy

You know Ive been busy when I don't even have time to procrastinate and write a post! The past two weeks have been hellish, both from a work and a school perspective. I think the worst is behind me or at least soon will be.

Well, I finally have time to procrastinate, at least a little, so I'm going to give you a quick recap, in bullet formation. But you all know I can't keep anything short (there's a penis joke in there *somewhere*).

Gray Hair- I know I've waxed poetic about the finding of gray hair before. No? Shit, I'm too lazy to go actually look to see if I have, but I have had the occasional gray hair or two. Nothing to worry about, they aren't prolific, and to be honest, I'm dying the shit out of my hair once I start to gray. Because I do not age gracefully. I will be the 80 year old woman with jet black hair and wearing hot pants. And swearing that she's only 35. Just watch.

Alright, so gray hair, I'm not too freaked out, right? Well, today after my laser appointment (ya know, the laser appointment that's a cross between a beauty treatment and a gynecological exam? Is it wrong that my laser technician (and also happens to be my neighbor) has seen things that the opposite sex hasn't seen in oh, I'd say, 5000 years?) ANYway, after we're done today she tells me. 'Megan, did you know you have like 3 white hairs 'down there'?' Ummmm, exsqueeze me? 'Yeah, and they were pretty long too' WHAT? I was too mortified to ask her exactly where so I could terminate them if they ever come up again. Cause here's a fun fact, laser doesn't work on blond/gray hair. So I can only conclude that after my laser treatments are over I'm going to have three beautiful gray locks growing from my nether regions. I'm getting ready to puke a little in my mouth.

Nut Snack- To keep in the general category of 'nether regions', I'm going to discuss Nut Snacks. What did you say?? Nut SNacks. Has anyone else seen this commercial? Shit, at this point I'm not even sure what the brand/product is, but I do know their marketing department is either 1) full of frat guys or 2) full of nuns who don't know any better. (edited to say: I just found it, True North Nut Snacks)

I was innocently sitting on the couch doing my homework (instead of non-innocently?) and a commercial came on. I loathe commercials but didn't change the channel because I wasn't really even paying attention. Then I hear something to the effect of "A new, tasty nut snack" and my head snaps up. A new tasty WHAT? Then I see nuts (of the legume variety) dancing around the screen and I pick my jaw up off the floor. Marketing brilliance. Disgusting Marketing brilliance.

I'm not the only one who thought this, right? I brought it up at work with the disclaimer 'this is not a work appropriate topic' (because that clears you of any HR infractions when you say that) and everyone thought it was funny. So I'm assuming I'm not the only dirty-minded one out there.

See for yourself:




Anyone? Anyone??


Pooping: Going along the lines of teenage humor, poop is always funny. Poop stories are even better. Even have to really really go? I mean like desperately go? But you're in the car and you're white knuckling it and sweating trying to get home, praying that you don't crap your pants, but telling yourself if you do, it's okay, because you're fortunate enough to be on your way home? No? Just me? I'm the only one with bowels that have unfortunate timing? Fine.

Anyway, this happened to me on the way home from work on Thursday (TMI, right?). I am frantically trying to get home and rush down my street and pull, Dukes of Hazard style, into my driveway and garage. I can't even be bothered to get my belongings out of my car. My across the street neighbor is sitting in a chair in his driveway....the following conversation ensues:

"What's up speed racer?"

"Ha ha"

"You gotta poop?"

"Actually....YES!"

And with that I close the garage door and bolt inside.

I get a text a few minutes later. "Sweet!"

Did I mention that this is the husband of my laser hair removal technician? This family knows WAY too much about me.


Victoria's Secret, the pot smoker: Speaking of...well hell, I'm not sure there's a good transition for this one. So you know how I spoke of the hideousness that was the VS bathing suit I tried on at the beginning of the summer? Well, last week after a few glasses of wine and left to my own devises with the Internet I ordered a BIKINI! online from VS. Somehow in my wine induced haze I forgot what a jet puffed marshmallow I looked like before. Well, the BIKINI! came in yesterday and I tried it on....AND I LOVE IT! Really! In fact I loved it so much I was thisclose to posting a pic. Then I put down the crack pipe. But really, I like it a lot. The only thing is, the top? Smells like pot...ooooor at least what I've heard pot smells like. It's strong. Like really. At first I brushed it off thinking I was crazy...but the more I wore it (yes, I wore it around the house and posed in the mirror multiple times....gotta problem with that?) it just wouldn't go away. Now I'm afraid I'll take it on a trip and the drug sniffing dogs will pick it out of my suitcase and I'll be arrested for having a bikini top made of pot AND the dogs will probably eat the only cute bikini I've ever found. Sigh...why does weird shit always happen to me?

Just for my court documentation later, this is the bikini in question:
http://www2.victoriassecret.com/commerce/application/prodDisplay/?namespace=productDisplay&origin=onlineProductDisplay.jsp&event=display&prnbr=9B-217908&page=1&cgname=OSSWMBIKZZZ&rfnbr=1232

in the brown scroll pattern...with different bottoms than the ones pictured. See, that pic is waaaay better than what I look like in it...enjoy.


Alright, that's all the procrastination I can do for now. My day seems to have slipped away from me. Dinner tonight with my sister and her friend at this place:http://www.tastefullyours.com/. Should be fun.

Hope you guys have a great weekend!!

questions answered!

Thank you for humoring me, people...what is it about questions that I love? Am I narcissistic as well as neurotic? Add another 'n' trait in there and I've staked a claim on the N's. Nasty? Narcoleptic? (I have sworn I was at one point in my life) I'll have to this about that one.

On to the answers:

Are you still doing eHarm?
No...no and no. Only because I want to retain the last fragments of self esteem I have managed to piece together after my latest venture with Dr. Neil 'Boy you make it sound easy you jackass' Warren.

What color are your eyes?
Brown...dark, dark brown. I always wanted them to be another color. I bought green contacts with my hard-earner realtor assistant money when I was in high school. They felt so think they could have been made out of condoms. No lie, they were that thick. (not that I've ever seen a condom mom...I've just heard about them on the tv) They bunched up in my head every time I blinked. And guess what, no refunds. So here I am stuck with the dark dark brown eyes. I tell myself they're sultry these days, but who am I kidding...I'd trade them for blue in a heartbeat.

Why don't people say "bless you" when I sneeze?
Because they don't want you to go to heaven. I'll let my stalker know...she'll bless you...and pray for you....for at least the next 13 years.

why don't grown-ups push their chairs back in after getting up from a table?
Because they realize it's futile...I mean, someone's going to come along and pull the chair back out in a few minutes. They're just making less work for the next person. It's like making your bed...WHY do it? You're just going to mess it up the next night.

What are you current favorite reality tv shows?
Ahhh Annie, you know me too well. I have graduated from the MTV/VH1 shows (okay, not from Rock of Love, but that's different) and I'm a total Bravo whore...Top Chef, Project Runway, Real Housewives of any city, Flipping Out, My Life on the D-List...really I don't need cable tv...I just need two channels. Bravo and Food Network. That's it. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) I don't watch much tv these days...

If you were an animal (a non-human animal if you want to get all technical), what animal would you be?
Wow, this is good...I think a cat of some sort...I like the thought of laying around all day in the sun and sauntering around.... imaginative, I know. My second choice was a kangaroo...mainly because I think it would be cool to have a pouch and be able to kick the shit out of things.


What was your worst fashion faux pas ever?
This comes pretty close..

but hello,I was a pre-teen in the 80's, there are so many things to choose from. I had an acid wash long 'flowy' denim skirt...that's gotta be up there on the list as well.

What word or phrase do you overuse?
'I'm going to punch you/him/her/all of you in the face.' It just has such pizazz and gets my point across so succinctly.

What is your first memory?
Ah, memories. I was in mother's day out. I must have been maybe 3? I had a 'blankie' back then (cough cough...but not now, of course) which was basically a cloth diaper (unused, thanks). I carried it everywhere. So it went with me to mother's day out. And we had naptime. I remember sleeping on a mat with my little blankie and waking up and not being able to find it. The next memory I have from that day is one of the adults giving my mom a brown paper bag at the end of the day. It appears some twit next to me at nap time got a bloody nose and someone decided my blankie would be wonderfully absorbent. So they gave it BACK TO US. Ew. Mom promptly threw it away, I'm sure. So I don't remember every piece of the story, but I remember a few blips. And I keep my shit away from people at naptime now...keep your bloody noses to yourself thankyouverymuch.

Ahhhh, that's it...thanks for the questions! If I can keep my eyes peeled open after class tomorrow night I'll tell you about my professor from tonight that continues to get all up in my personal space. fun times!

I'm apparently living a little too far North..

..and/or East for that matter. Can you tell I'm taking a break from schoolwork? More to come later. I was just looking for places to move in case my stalker gets out of control...

American Cities That Best Fit You:

65% Austin 65% Denver 65% San Diego 50% Miami 50% Portland

Which American Cities Best Fit You?

Stalker in the produce aisle...

I'm not even kidding. I just had the weirdest shit happen to me. So after some group school work tonight I went to Target to buy a bunch of crap that I don't need and go grocery shopping. (side note, does anyone else's cart get jacked when they try on clothes in Target?....it happens to me all the time...and there's stuff in the basket!). It's late and it's a Saturday (my social life sucks when school is in full swing). It's about 9:00 and I'm finishing up shopping in the produce aisle when all of a sudden this conversation starts:


stalker-girl: "I think I know you!"


Me: Ummm, I'm sorry, where do you know me from? (I'm HORRIBLE with people from the past).


SG: Did you go to X X High school?


Me: Yes, yes I did. (I'm smiling and nodding, hoping I recognize her)


SG: Oh! well, I'm Stalker Girl, you're Megan, right?


Me: Oh yeah! Hi S! (I'm only vaguely remembering her)


this is where it starts to get strange

SG: Oh, I totally remember lots of stories from back then! Like the time we had that sports medicine class together (I DID take that class) and you had just gotten your fake nails done and they were so gorgeous and you had to cut them off because you had to write a paper and you were so mad.


Me: Uh, I don't think I remember that...why would I have cut my nails? Were they too long to type? (I did occasionally get my nails done...so maybe this happened, I don't have a clue)


SG: And THEN there was the time we were supposed to go out one night and you never picked me up and I called your house and your mom said you were in bed with a migraine and I threw a complete hissy fit and....


Me: (I stopped her before she could go on, I was getting uncomfortable) I really don't remember that, I'm so sorry! (I have since called my mom, she has no recollection of this...plus, I don't get migraines)


SG: Well, I just always remember you because you were so kind to me back then. (huh? You were just telling me how I ditched you!)


Me: (I know this is nice, but I'm still feeling uncomfortable) Well, thank you, I'm glad you have good memories of me! ha ha!


So we continue to talk a bit about what we've been doing for the past 13 years (13 years!!!). Then...


SG: So, do you go to church?


::cue ominous music:: Ahhhh, it's going to be one of THOSE conversations.


Me: Nope, much to my mother's chagrin, I don't. (dang it, when will I just learn to say 'yes, I go'?!)


SG: Well, let me tell you all about my church (she goes on to tell me all about it, then proceeds to write down her info and the church info)


SG: Well, I think I'm about to cry!


Me: ........why? (I say nervously)


SG: Well, I've been praying for you and now I run into you!!


Me: (looking a bit dumbfounded) Well, I guess it's fate...thanks for the info, gotta run!


SG: Oh, I just have to give you a hug first!


Me: ok


I take off for the register at this point. Ummm, WTF was that all about? Either she was lying about praying about me or this girl is straight up weird and could be my stalker. I mean...it's been THIRTEEN YEARS since I last saw this girl and from what I can remember I hardly had any interaction with her at all. If she's thinking about me, that's bizarre. (even though I secretly hope that all the guys I had crushes on have thinking about me for these 13 years...but that's different).


I called my friend Ann who I've known since Jr. High to tell her the news. She doesn't remember who this girl is but proceeds to tell me that I better get a new car and move. WHAT? Should I be THAT freaked out? I mean, yes, this girl was very excited to see me and yes, she's apparently been thinking about me for the past 13 years, but I don't feel like I'm in danger!


Now I see the sympathy vote coming for Stalker-girl...but let me tell you, it's not like I was some popular chick at school...not at all. And it wasn't like me to ditch or be unkind to anyone....not with this amount Catholic guilt I have coursing through my veins. So it's not like this was some girl that was clamoring to be my friend and I dumped on her. So you can see where this is odd for me.....right? Everyone I've told so far has thought it was freaky....my mom suggested I set my house alarm tonight. WHAT? You people have obviously been infected with my neuroses...times 10! Here I was just thinking it was weird and now everyone has me convinced that this chick is going to show up at my door and kill me!


Ug....I was planning on answering your questions tonight, but it looks like it will have to wait until tomorrow. If I make it to tomorrow...ack!

I am sweaty...and other similarly fascinating tales

Alright, so life gets kinda hectic for most people. Be you single or married, parents or not, working or living in your parents basement....whatever. And given your hectic schedule you have to find a way to fit in the essentials.


For me, this essential is working out. Why must I fit it in? Well, my little burgeoning baby bump that is made entirely of pita chips and cheese is the answer, my friend. If I was a celeb I can almost assure you the paps would be on high-alert. 'is she pregnant?'. Hell, I myself would wonder the same thing if there wasn't a key ingredient missing (I'll let you guess which one).


Alright, it's not THAT bad...but I've been noticing a little more 'gush' lately and with my current schedule, working out after work has become difficult. And working out before work? Well, is just impossible because I'm lazy.


So, I had a revelation! I will join the gym at work! It's cheap ($12 a month), they have showers and they have treadmills, elliptical and bikes. Everything I could ever hope for. Not to mention that this! month! they are getting new treadmills with LCD TVs ON EACH AND EVERY ONE. Well slap me silly and call me Bertha, that is excellent news.


I joined last week and finally was able to go this week. Yesterday and today. I was a bit hesitant when I got there. I mean, it's all my co-workers, a lot of whom I know. This is not like my neighborhood gym (that I still belong to...ya know, for the weekend), which albeit huge and super-nice, is filled with tons of suburbanites. Suburbanites with squishy middles and who wear Big Dog t-shirts. I'm never worried about looking cute at that gym. But this gym? Ahem, there are more then a few tall drinks of water and even though I know most of them and wouldn't go out with them (because obviously they're just clamoring to go out with me) it's still a bit intimidating working out around them.


Why, you may ask? Well, when God was handing out characteristics and traits to people I imagine he was going down the assembly line (since that's how it's done, obviously) and was picking out different things for different people. "She's going to have silky brown hair, and I think this one will have big boobs, and this one over here, great legs" Then he got down to the not so great stuff. "Hmmm, he'll have the hairy back, and she'll have the chin hair, and this one, this one right here, we'll give her an overactive sweat gland...heck, I'm tired of passing these out, let's just give them all to her." And that's how I got my propensity to sweat. Like a guy. I'm not even joking.


This is a documented fact that goes back as long as I can remember. In preschool, in high school, skinny, fat, while working out, while sitting on the patio in anything about 90 degree heat. Texas has been a cruel place to grow up in that regard. While most girls run 3 miles outside in August here in Texas and produce one, tiny dainty drop of sweat, *I* look like I could star in the latest rendition of Swampthing...AS Swampthing.


So back to my story. I have gotten past this fact for the most part and embrace it. But old habits die hard when you're hanging with your coworkers in a gym that's smaller than your house. Comments I have gotten in the TWO days I've worked out:


"Oh, did you just run outside?" "No?" "Oh." (I just ran 2 miles on the treadmill....inside)
"You must be almost done working out" (nope, just got started)
"Wow, you really sweat a lot" (yes, and thank you for noticing)
"Gosh, are you hot?" (yes, what tipped you off?)
And I got a lot of wide-eyed looks. Geez Louise, people!


The best....the absolute best is when one of the guys from my area decided to 'assist' me. Let me paint the scene. I've already finished running. I want to do 20 minutes on the elliptical. So I jump on. Hot guy from another department gets on next to me. On the other side of him? A girl from my area that is Polly Perfect. Perfect body, hair, nary a drop of sweat. So I'm feeling a little uncomfortable, but putting my all into working out. Just when I didn't think I could get any more uncomfortable, my coworker silently walks up behind my machine, sticks his arm out and hands me a huge wad of paper towels and give me a look like 'here, you may need these'. Okay okay, it was a nice gesture. But I was taken straight back to Junior High. I felt like the dorky kid who's mom came up to school and say 'Here's your constipation medicine' in the hallway in front of the cool kids. (not that that's actually happened, but you get the picture). Ug. "Thanks Marvin" I said and smiled as I proceeded to mop off three quarts of sweat off my brow.


This didn't deter me and I went back again today. Oh well, my coworkers have seen me bitchy, they've seen me funny, they've seen me serious and now they've seen me sweaty. I'll add gassy in there next month and then they'll get a true picture of who I am.


Alright, I'll now start taking applications for all of you that want to date me after hearing that story. The line forms here. ::crickets chirping::


Fine....moving on. So a post wouldn't be complete without some form of doggie malady. We had the parasite of last week (still on medication, thanks) and now we have something new. Gracie is officially the world's most unlucky dog.


So yesterday after work we went out in the backyard....the newly! mowed! backyard. (they left the sunflower trunk by the way...but edged nicely around it) Gracie went to the fence line and starting barking at my neighbor's dogs. I Cesar Millaned her ass and tried to get her to stop. She ran down the fence line the other way. And then yelped. And then ran towards me. The rest of this story took place in about 10 seconds. I look at where she had just been and see at least 20 hornets/yellow jacket/some kind of winged insect of death. I look over at Gracie who has one on her back and is rubbing her face on the ground. I look back at the swarm. Holy hell, they're headed towards us! So I grab Gracie like a small child and run towards the house (this all felt very dramatic at the time). We get inside and I look for a stinger (I forgot, only bees leave stingers). I couldn't figure out where on her face she got stung. I then proceeded to watch her of the next 45 minutes in case she had a bad reaction...because THAT would be typical. Luckily, no worries. I get home from dinner and a late night jaunt to work and notice where she was stung. Right above the eye. She now looks like a pirate with one puffy squinty eye that appear to need a patch. Poor Gracie. She said to tell you 'Arrrrgg!' Oh and her parasites said to say hello too.

Told ya!

Not only did I NOT post something for my one year anniversary, but what I'm about to post probably should be tagged 'lame-o post by Megan'. Seriously. But really now, I've been workin all day and had class tonight. I can't be held responsible for coming up with something clever and witty as well.

To celebrate my one year blogaversary , I skipped 30 minutes of class tonight and ate dinner and had a margarita by myself. no, seriously. Well, it wasn't *really* to celebrate, I just felt like fajitas and a strong margarita and couldn't convince anyone to go with me. So I ate by myself. Like the mature adult that I am.

Ahem...alright. And what did I do to celebrate during the day? Well, I officially hired someone to do my lawn! Woo hoo! After almost 5 years I'm calling it quits. Because really? I suck at it and in Texas is requires that you get up at say, 4 o'clock in the morning in order to avoid any direct sunlight. Because once the sun is out, one stray ray and you're toast. Literally. So I'm paying someone to fry their fanny off for me. Or maybe that's instead of me. Whatever.

And you know what I did tonight after school to celebrate? That's right, I got out in my backyard at 10:30 at night with a hacksaw and cut down the ginormous sunflower plant in my backyard. No, I'm not exaggerating. the lawn is in need of a good trim, but Lord almighty, I let this sunflower get out of control. I'm not even joking when I say that the 'trunk' was as big as my forearm and that I needed a SAW to cut it. I couldn't even get it all. I was too afraid of a neighbor peeking over the fence and seeing a very sweaty single girl who owns lots of animals and who gave herself ankle tattoos in class with a blue pen, hacking at a sunflower plant in the backyard that rivals Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors. I actually felt like that thing was ALIVE. Well, I mean, it WAS alive, but I mean like it was going to come to life, wrap it's tentacles around me and choke me to death. Uh huh, that wasn't even the margarita talkin. Anyway, I got most of it, but not all of it, the hacksaw blade got DULL if you can believe it. I can't.

And this was all in an effort to save myself the embarrassment of these new lawn people coming over and making a note on how white trash I am. Problem is, when you cut down a redwood tree size sunflower plant....there isn't a lot you can do with the 'remains'. So there's sitting on my back porch. Nice.

Okay, I know what you're thinking. Sunflowers? seriously Megan? Big, bad *sunflowers*? I'm here to tell ya, those things are crazy. Please see below.

http://www.johnson-county.com/secondaryroads/WeedComm/WeedSpecies/wildSunflower.shtml

okay, I know that's Iowa, but I swear that's what it is.

These are Texas pics

the photographer noted that the hazy effect is not due to fancy photoshop, it's due to HUMIDITY affecting the camera. Nice.

okay, I did not let it get that bad, but see? Little dude's about to get swallowed by that thing! If I had given it another month...this is totally how it would have looked.

The lesson? pick you damn weeds, Megan.

Alright, now down to the real business of my blogoversary. I'd do something cool and neat, but I only have 5 readers and technically one of those is me, so if I ask for questions, as in, ask me anything! I'll answer! I'm afraid I'd pretty much get questions like 'hey, I stopped here and read about your bunchy eye, can you tell me more about that?' (can I tell you that that's one of the most frequent searches that gets people here) or 'Megan, are you coming to see me and your father this weekend?' (except my mother would use better grammar than that). So, how bout this. If you're so inclined, ask away (e-mail or comments). If not, don't. See? No pressure.

Alright, time for bed. Oh, and I need to take some benadryl for the rash that the sunflower plant gave me. I wish I was kidding. It is exacting it's revenge. If it learns how to use a hacksaw, I'm in trouble.

Oh wow...

...two posts in one night...how lucky are you?? Please don't answer that.

I just realized my one year blog anniversary is on Tuesday! One whole year!

Why does it feel like I need to throw some sort of party? Ya know, me and my 5 readers can celebrate by doing jaeger bombs and eating cake. Because I love me some cake.

Hmmmm, I'l have to think of something super-creative to do on Tuesday. And given my creativity as of late(12 dog diarrhea posts anyone?). I'm sure it will be a let down fabulous.