Looking for love at Subway

It occurred me in last night in a flash of intuition that looking for my ideal match is kind of like ordering a sandwich at Subway. Before anyone gets all offended because I am comparing the male sex to sandwiches, remember that I am female and thus an expert on sandwich artistry and so it should be unsurprising that I am using my superior sandwich knowledge to understand something I know nothing about (dating).

In a brief facebook comment conversation, a pal and I decided that it would be so much easier if people just wore t-shirts that had what they were looking for written on it. My t-shirt would be really long or the print would be very small. I acknowledge that I have completely ridiculous expectations in regards to the male sex (cripplingly attractive AND intelligent AND fashionable AND nice AND not arrogant). You can blame this on Jane Austen novels, too much fanfiction, and Severus Snape.

But back to my original epiphany; looking for your match is like making a sandwich.

I like to think of the bread as being the very basic foundation of what you're looking for, like gender, sexual preference and relationship status (Straight Single Male would be my bread of choice). The meat is really important, all sexual innuendos aside, because I think of that as the personality type of my match. I'm going to use the Jung Typology personality types because I'm the commander of this steamship. So for me, I'm an ENTJ (Extroverted iNtuitive Thinking Judging) and I get along well with other ENTJs, so I would think dating an ENTJ would be great, or really any E_T_ types. Cheese to me is kind of self explanatory, because cheese totally has personality. You don't want boring american cheese (unless you like boring), my cheese would have to be pepper jack; because pepper jack is sassy. But you could also get stinky crazy cheese if you're really into foreign boys. Cheese is an integral part of any sandwich, so really the cheese part of anyone's match would be something they place incredible importance on. My cheese would be Intelligence Cheese. All the toppings that you can pick from at Subway were really the guiding light of this analogy. There are so many things that people find attractive that they want on their sandwich. But then there are unattractive things that would be deal breakers. For instance, I don't like onions on my sandwich, so for me onions would be a man who looks like he's from the cast of Jersey Shore...or a serial killer. I would be instantly turned off if I found onions in my sandwich, just like I would be if I saw my date wearing a Tapout t-shirt with a fake tan and big guido hair (or if they looked like a serial killer). But you can have toppings you really like. I really love banana peppers, so I would want someone who has that banana pepper characteristic (kindness? likes dancing? whatever you feel like assigning to it).

I spent a lot of time at work today wondering what my ideal sandwich would be. If I could go somewhere and order a man like a sandwich, what would I say? "Hi! I'd like a Single Straight Male, ENTJ, Intelligent, kind and funny. Must like coffee, video games, reading, socialism/feminism, and dancing. No serial killers or members of Jersey Shore. Must have good grammar." But that's the ham and cheese sandwich version of my ideal match. If I actually made a sandwich representing my ideal match it would be more like one of the giant chocolate ice cream and pickle sandwiches that Shaggy and Scooby eat.

My analogy has fallen apart, but you get the idea. I can hardly say I'm jaded about dating, as I've only ever been on a few dates. I am stupidly monogamous; meaning that I can't even think about going on a date with one person on Monday and then on another date with someone else on Tuesday without assuming I'm hurting someone's feelings. Being on an online dating website is kind of like being at a subway buffet, so that's kind of fun. I just wish I could find my Shaggy and Scooby sandwich.

I think I'm just going to end this by saying that if anyone's looking for an Italiam BMT...well...I'm right here :)

<3

MeggyB

ps: If anyone feels like commenting with their ideal sandwich...please do! I think it would be fun :)

psx2: I somehow forgot the most important part of this whole thing. Not only do you want to find your ideal sandwich...you want to be their ideal sandwich too :3

Rural Hipster

It was with great excitement that I woke up at the rather early hour of 5:45 on this Thursday past. I was to adventure with my beloved sister into Town, and take in an exhibit, the sights, and whatever fare we desired. The drive to New Haven was pleasant, as the roads were dry and well maintained. Upon arrival at the railroad station, Mrs. Winslow and I got our tickets from a rather surly gentleman, and boarded our train. Our sense of timing was most apt, for as we were taking our seats, several large parties boarded the train as well. The two hour ride was quite pleasant for my first train experience, and was filled with many opportunities to observe those around me.

Upon arrival in New York City, my excitement grew threefold. Here I was, in a place so full of people and life! As someone who enjoys being surrounded by people, noise, and bustle, this seemed a perfect place for me. Mrs. Winslow was kind enough to point out the beauty of the ceiling of Grand Central Station, which led me to forget my place and stare open mouthed at the signs of the zodiac painted on the ceiling. After convincing all around me that I was indeed from the country, Mrs. Winslow and I found our way out of the building. As we exited we happened upon a man who smiled and offered to assist us. He was dressed like an employee of Grand Central Station, so we graciously accepted his offer to point us in the correct direction towards the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Setting off in the direction pointed, Mrs. Winslow and I took in the sights and sounds of the city for several blocks, until it was clear that we had been had. We consulted the map we had gotten in the station, and came to the sorry conclusion that we had walked five blocks in the wrong direction and that the gentleman who had helped us had given us the wrong directions. We got ourselves some refreshment and determined the proper route towards the Met. As we were discussing this, a gentlewoman in front of us offered her help, but was taken by surprise by our insistence upon walking. She assured us that the Met 'wasn't worth it'. It, I suppose, is the trouble we took to walk there. We managed to find the proper route, after another five or so blocks of walking, only to realize we had circled the station! Imagine our surprise when we crossed a street only to see the back side of the station! But we persevered and with the aid of strawberry popsicles, we arrived at the Met.

Upon arriving at our destination, we were quite famished. Mrs. Winslow and I planned first to find sustenance and then enjoy the exhibit we had come expressly to see. However, upon entering the museum it was clear we were not the only ones excited to see Savage Beauty. Although it would have been wiser to eat first, we made our way to the exhibit to join the many others in line. It was a peculiar experience walking along the line to reach the end. As I walked, I could feel many eyes on my person, taking in and analyzing my dress. I was doing the very same, all while resenting their actions that so mirrored my own. Truly, it was an uncomfortable experience, for as I looked it was clear that I was certainly not as fabulously dressed as these other visitors. As Miss Dashwood and Maryann experience in Sense and Sensibility at the looks of Miss Grey, so too did I feel quite out of place here in my "country fashions". The weather forbade any of my more interesting outfits, and sense kept my shoes flat and comfortable. But I am getting away from the point.

Upon entering the Savage Beauty exhibit, Mrs. Winslow and I were transported into a fantasy land in which all is fabulous. There was no photography allowed, most likely to keep the flow of the rooms moving. I could have stayed there for the day, absorbing every detail and committing it to memory. Hunger was forgotten in the overwhelming experience of seeing masterpieces of fashion so close I could touch them, had I the inclination to do so. The exhibit itself flowed in a stylistic manner, rather than a chronological one. If my meaning is vague, I will specify. The very first room housed his most simple items from various collections throughout Mr. McQueen's career. Each room also had its own sound and temperature. Truly, all senses were stimulated and the imagination engaged with each item. The most remarkable piece of technology was implemented as well. In the middle of the exhibit, housed against the side of the wall in a black cage and displayed as to seem trivial, was a hologram display. I am quite sure it was a hologram, but I cannot be entirely sure. The image was as nothing I had ever seen, for there was a pyramid of glass, and in a cylinder in the middle of this pyramid was the image of a woman in one of Mr. McQueen's dresses, and she was twirling about so that the flow of the fabric of the dress could be displayed. But it was this image alone, there was no background. There was a look of transparency to the image itself that reminded me strongly of Zordon.

As moving as the exhibit was, hunger overtook Mrs. Winslow and myself and we exited to find the cafe and wine bar. After a few missteps and some lallygagging we managed to locate the cafe. The wait for a table was short, but the menu was quite limited. Assuming that the item I ordered was a pasta dish, I originally contested what the waiter brought once we had ordered. I did not realize that "fritatta" was not a kind of sauce that went over a pasta dish. Mrs. Winslow insists that I was quite surprised when my plate was placed before me containing what looked to me like a piece of quiche, when I was expecting a bowl of pasta! I had once again demonstrated my lack of worldly culture. Happily, the couple seated to our left was quite a handful for our waiter and my faux pas was overlooked. Once my beloved sister and I had finished, we went to explore the Egyptian exhibit until my cousin, Miss Gauthier, joined us at 4. When in the Egyptian exhibit, I happened upon a darling blue hippo, and was quite smitten with him. Mrs. Winslow and I ventured into the gift shop and much to our surprise discovered that the Blue Hippo was popular enough to be made into a back pack.

Upon quitting the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Mrs. Winslow and I met with Miss Gauthier and made our way to find a tavern. After some indecision, we found a lovely spot named Cilantro which had the most delightful calamari I have ever had the pleasure of eating. Visiting with Miss Gauthier was quite enjoyable, and it was a shame when our time had run short, as she had a previous engagement. Miss Gauthier led Mrs. Winslow and myself to the subway station and my first experience with the New York Subway was quick and enjoyable. Upon our arrival at Columbus Circle, the rain that had been threatening for several hours finally fell. Miss Gauthier bid us adieu and made her way to her next appointment. Mrs. Winslow and I, quite at our leisure, entered the Time Warner mall to wait out what we hoped would be the worst of the storm. A desire to shop at the local H&M and the impatience of youth led us back out into the open air, and we chose to walk the five or so blocks to our goal. The rain held until we got to the store, which was most lucky for us. The store was lovely and the displays were compelling, but being voluptuous in size and shape, it was proved impossible to find anything to try on, let alone purchase. Disheartened, Mrs. Winslow and I exited onto the street, only to be caught unawares in a downpour. Determined to enjoy the rest of the day, we soldiered on, walking back to Grand Central Station.

Once in the dry safety of the train station, Mrs. Winslow and I celebrated our day with cheesecake. Once done, we boarded the train and set off back to New Haven and eventually Mystic. The small pauses in conversation allowed for introspection, and I came to the conclusion that New York City, although exciting in all its diversity and activity, is not the place for me. Mrs. Winslow, Miss Gauthier and I spoke of another visit in the fall, which would be most agreeable to me, but I find it difficult to imagine myself residing there for any period of time. In a place so full of people, it seems particularly void of manners and a feeling of pleasure in life. Perhaps that is due to the lack of trees.

<3
MeggyB

p.s: I hope this isn't a tl;dr type post. I had a fun time writing in a sort of Jane Austen style, although obviously the language and style isn't quite right. I hope it's at least fun for whoever reads it :)

Raaaageeee

Okay,
So tonight was a big TV night for me after a long day of relaxing. As part of my TV night, I decided to watch The Real World Las Vegas. I thought it would be all chuckles, but I can't say I've found it funny at all, mostly because of the blatant hypocrisy and judgement that exists amongst the house members.

One of the characters, Dustin, participated in some softcore gay porn. He kept this a secret from the other members of the house. Somehow it got out and the members of the house found out and instead of being compassionate individuals they choose to tell him that what he did is disgusting and that they wish he would leave. The house members claim they don't want him there because he'd been lying to all of the room mates, and especially to the girl he was hooking up with. What they're actually saying is "you're gay and we don't want you here because you make use uncomfortable". Watching that episode made me so angry. This man's business was shared with everyone and the girl he was seeing decided that she can't be with him because "I can't be with a guy who I know has been kissed another guy". Excuse me, what? Dustin explained to his roomies that he was in a very vulnerable place after high school which was when he was approached to live in a house with other dudes and just be naked a bunch. Eventually he moved into more homoerotic situations. Okay, so what?

So fast forward to the next episode, where Heather (the girl dustin was hooking up with) ends up making out with/having sexytimes with a female room mate, Nany. All of the housemembers saw what was happening and all they could say was "THIS IS SO HOT OH MY GOD" and yet the idea of Dustin with a man disgusted them. I personally am disgusted by the hypocrisy and sexism. Somehow this is all supposed to be glamorous and desirable. How could I find this group of people redeeming in any way? Chicks making out with one another is totally acceptable and it's just them being drunk and horny and in no way means they are lesbians, yet a man who has a JOB doing some soft core homoerotic porn MUST BE GAY. Even though he had very few options and chose the least of all evils. What the fuck. Seriously. I wish I could go on the Real World and shake this shit up.

Oh! and happy Rapture! :3
<3
MeggyB

Just In Case

So according to a very reliable news source (facebook and phil) the world is ending on saturday. I, for one, think this is a lot of nonsense and rather than do what some survivalists will do, I'm going to mock the coming apocalypse instead of build a bomb shelter and stockpile water. Which, by the way, won't help if the Rapture (which is supposedly what's going to happen) occurs since I'm pretty sure everyone just up and dies and the souls either go to heaven or hell or whatever. Right? Let me consult my handy dandy bible...*opens side table draw*

You know, there should really be an index in the back so you can just look for "rapture" and then find the page number...I think I will write King James a letter suggesting just that.
I cheated and googled the rapture and found the passage. I'm gonna type it out here...1 Thessalonians "The Hope of the Resurrection"..."And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope. For since we believe that jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him the believers who haev died. We tell you this directly from the Lord. We who are still living when the Lord returns will not meet him ahead of those who have died For the Lord himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God. First, the Christians who have died will rise from their graves Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Then we will be with the Lord forever. So encourage each other with these words"

So what I got from that is "First, Zombies, then party in the sky". Awesome. They better have harry potter and honey barbeque chicken super melts in the sky, otherwise I'm going to hell because you KNOW they have that shit there.

Anyway, I've decided to compile a short list of things I will be doing on saturday should the world end at midnight that night.
1) Drink heavily with available family members/friends. (this means I might drunk text some people to say we should meet up when we're in the sky. if you get one of these texts, I apologize in advance)
2) I believe I will be spending most of the day with Amanda, so I will make it a personal goal to be the most fabulous I've ever been. I have to look really good if I'm going to meet some important people
3) Leave room in this post for a "HA. I told you so!" type comment when this shit doesn't happen.
4) Tweet like everyone else will be
5) Eat some pizza, or maybe go to friendlys and eat just ice cream the WHOLE DAY
6) Not exercise
7) Smoke. A lot. You KNOW there are no cigarettes in heaven. (I'm banking on all that good karma I've racked up to get me in instead of, you know, actual belief)

that's all I can come up with. I think this is an excellent plan. I will be prepared to feel like absolute shit on sunday when I go fishing :)

<3
MeggyB

ps: I'm a little sorry if I've offended anyone who is religious. I hope you can forgive that I don't subscribe to this particular set of beliefs.

Party Train!

I had a dream last night in which I had a tiny black and white dragon as a pet. his name was Oscar and he clung to my chest with his little dragon claws and took naps there. I was really sad when I woke up and knew that Oscar was not real. A lot of other things were going on in the dream, but most of my focus was on making sure I didn't lose Oscar while I was jumping from log to log in a forest. Apparently there was a high school reunion going on as well because a lot of the people in my dream are people who I graduated with and whose facebook stuff I see on a relatively regular basis. I really wish Oscar was a real pet, because as much as I love cuddling with scoobert, he doesn't return all that love and affection that I give him.

I think I will add "wishing your inanimate stuffed animal/pillow would hug you back" to my list of things that I shouldn't admit to. Good thing only 3 or 4 people read this!

Part of the reason I feel this way is because, once again, I've got a job that makes it difficult to see my family and friends. We don't sit around hugging one another and talking about our feelings or anything, but the company of people I love and trust is beneficial to my sanity. I'm an ENTJ, for those of you who know what that is. I need social interaction with people I enjoy interacting with. As much as I like a handful of the people I work with, it is difficult to carry on a conversation with any of them when you can't even see them due to the cubicle situation.

When I'm at work I'm thinking about 3 possible things. The first is "should I say something?" which applies when there is some kind of conversation going on. Most of the time I opt to either chuckle and contribute a sentence or two, or to remain silent. These responses depend heavily on who is having the conversation. I am a threat at my new work place because I learn quickly and am willing to do the mindless monkey work that no one wants to do. There is a group of people who like this about me and who want to teach me more advanced things, and then there is the group that feels threatened by my being there and who probably talk a lot of shit about me when I'm not there and who pretend to like me when I'm there. If group a is speaking, I contribute. if group b is around/are the only ones speaking I say nothing. I cannot trust that what I say will be kept in context at a later date. MIND GAMES AND INTRIGUE. I don't like it. 2) The second thing I think about is "i wonder what everyone else is doing" which is often followed by 3) "what will I do on my day off?" which takes up a lot of time because I can daydream.

All of this internal monologue is great, if you're into 8+ hours of talking mostly to yourself. I' m getting really tired of talking to myself, because I tend to have the same responses all the time. I think I'm going to have to get some audiobooks or something so I won't have so much time to think about all the mundane details of what I'm wearing tomorrow, when I'm getting up, when I'm getting a haircut and other nonsense.

I did have a lovely time on my days off this past friday and yesterday, though. Friday I got to see my friends Bonnie and Sam. They recently got married, and I hadn't seen them in months, so I was most excited to get to see them. They've redone their apartment so it looks a lot more like a multi-room apartment rather than the studio apartment that it actually is. Once I was done visiting those two loverly ladies I went and indulged in some shopping, and managed to get some great summer/spring clothes. So phase 1 of 10 for summer clothes shopping is complete, I suppose. I also got a dress from Torrid (i ordered it online) and it came to the house on saturday. It is adorable and I am excited to be able to wear it when it's sunny, since it's a strapless right above the knees number. (Kelly, it's navy blue with big white polka dots and large red and yellow flowers. it isn't nearly as hideous as i just made it sound). Yesterday, my GPS (Spongebob is my navigator and he sings songs to you while you drive. it's only a little annoying), managed to get me to Simsbury, although it was the scenic route. This is a vast improvement over the last attempt, which was catastrophic. I had a great time visiting Phil, especially since I finally saw Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. I'm torn over who I would want in my life more, Wallace or Kim. The drive home wasn't bad at all, and I had a good sing along with the B-52s and The Gap Band.

I'm going to go and read now. <3 (can you tell I got bored and figured you were too?)
MeggyB

p.s: Watch This and try not to shake your booty.

Finally!

;~; I had a wonderful idea for a blog post and when I decided it was time to write said blog post, blogger was having technical issues for...4 days?! Thank goodness I decided to just write the blog post in a word document so I wouldn't forget. I'm going to post what I wrote, but now I'm not so sure that everything I said was thought out fully...

Before you read this post, hop on over to this link here and skim the article. Or read it in full.

Today (5/12), I am going to politely disagree with some of this article. I saw it on a friend’s facebook and thought to myself, “cracked.com is funny most of the time…let’s read it!” As I read, I wondered if this was supposed to be funny, since I didn’t think it was that great. Since I read the article I’ve been thinking about one of the topics specifically, and will most likely devote the majority of this post disagreeing with that topic. I hope you’re ready for some flabbergasted word vomit! Do you have your beverage in hand and some sweet tunes to read by? (I would suggest this, it is soothing)

"We are more racist than we think” Sure, people are secretly more racist than they seem. But it’s hard NOT to be considered a racist. If I say “I’m not a racist” it sounds disingenuous. (note: I am really glad that I decided to re-read and edit because originally this said rapist not racist) Anything that I could possibly say to try to convince my audience that I like people who aren’t white sounds racist in itself. Why? Well, probably because I would use “us” and “them” or “they” instead of “us”. Confused? Here’s an example “I like black people, they shouldn’t be racially profiled by police officers”. Now, this is probably something I would say, and would feel bad for a) using the word black, because I’m afraid it’s offensive but at the same time think saying African American is bad too b) “they” since it implies “they” are separate (but equal! But not really, that was an awful piece of litigation/legislation…) So in reality, I like everybody and do my very best not to judge based on appearance but no matter how I say it, it seems like I’m being an asshole. Maybe I am hypersensitive and that in itself is racist. Eh, moving on.

“We think we are nicer than we are” I think this is definitely true. I know that I’m not as nice as I would like to be. All that smack talking and hobo ignoring that I do while drinking my $5 coffee and smoking my $8 cigarettes probably isn’t too nice to homeless people and people who can’t afford frappacinos. I guess it’s also mean to the people who I shit talk, butI doubt they’ll find out since mostly I rant at my sisters/friends/passersby about people at work and since people at work don’t know my sisters/friends I think I’m covered. ANYWAY, I think the point here is that people want to feel good about doing something nice, so they hype up this act of kindness. Remember the ARK (Act of Random Kindness. Thanks Morgan Freeman). I gave money to a homeless dude and spent the rest of my day patting myself on the back, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels some sense of accomplishment/happiness from doing something nice. Is it as significant in the grand scheme of things as I tell myself it is? Probably not, but to me it’s important and meaningful.

We have no idea how attractive we are (or aren’t)” Now this is the part where if I haven’t lost any readers already, you should buckle your seatbelts because the ranting is about to begin. This article claims that people think they are more attractive than they actually are (which is sometimes true) but then tries to argue this is a bad thing. I find self confidence very attractive, and do my best to be confident as well. Just because I don’t have flawless skin and a constant (and sexy) pout doesn’t mean I am not attractive, it just means that I am not an airbrushed makeup ad. But I do look in the mirror and go “damn look at how good I look! Everyone! Come see how good I look!”, and then when photos are taken I wonder what the fuck happened in between looking in the mirror and taking a picture. I actually really like the article’s use of “scientific studies” (cite your sources please, cracked.com) to explain that people trick themselves into thinking they’re more attractive than they are. So if that’s the case, doesn’t that mean that my perception of other people is altered as well? If I like someone for reasons besides their physical appearance, doesn’t that enhance their fleshy packaging? (that wasn’t meant to sound as naughty as it does but I will leave it). I guess I just fail to see how thinking that you are attractive is a bad thing. Sure, there are a lot of those myspace angle photos taken in bathroom mirrors with the girls making the duck face and wearing tank tops where their nipples are about to burst out, and that is probably a result of them thinking they are hot shit. But let them think they are hot, because it makes them happy. (the ultimate point of this post is to basically argue that if it makes you happy, then do it. Except being a racist which is sort of the outlier here).

We think our problems are the worst” I would actually like to switch gears from polite disagreement to agreement. Fuck those people who think that because their boyfriend of 1 week broke up with them that their world is ending and then post their angst on facebook. Or people who post on facebook about their problems in a cryptic way so as to get people to go “oh no, what happened?” and thus start the cycle of bitching and moaning. The “my problems are worse than yours” way of thinking isn’t surprising since people don’t often think “other people are experiencing worse things than me”. I can understand that someone would be upset that the person they really liked ended up not liking them back and how it would make them sad. The posting on facebook for all to see is the part I don’t get. I know that I whine. I do not whine on facebook. I do not complain about the ridiculous bureaucratic nonsense that I put up with, or the way that I am spoken to like I am an idiot, or the way that people who have something to say about what I’m doing tell someone else who then tells me. I don’t write “OH MY GOD WORK IS SO STUPID ARGH” and then sit back and wait for people to ask me why. I like all the happy and fun things people share on their pages, and if something really sad does happen and someone feels the need to share, I can appreciate that they want to reach out and not feel alone. But seriously. Stop and think before you post that cryptic status about feeling nauseous or posting shitty nickelback songs. I think I’m done ranting here…

"We think we have more free will than other people” I didn’t read this part because I was too busy thinking about the attractive part. Feel free to educate me on what it says :3

So there you have it, a numbered list style response to a cracked.com article that was probably meant to be funny but failed. I tried to be kind of funny as well, but I’m not sure it worked. I’m trying this new stream of consciousness style writing, which means most of those little parenthetical asides were thoughts that I had as I was typing the first thought.Oh! I forgot to basically make my closing statement before Judge Judy tells me I win. As much fun as this article might be because it is telling it like it is, I think it’s a real downer. There are a whole lot of people on this earth, so we have to be responsible for our own happiness. I can’t rely on my family/friends/pets/scoobert to make me happy, I have to make myself happy. If I want to feel attractive, I have to convince myself that that is the case, and if that means that I think I’m prettier than I am, then fine. That’s called healthy self-esteem. If giving a homeless person a frappacino makes my day, then that’s wonderful and I should be able to equate myself with Mother Theresa in my head if I want to. Stop raining on my parade, cracked.com!

The point that I want to make and that I’ve probably already made is that cracked.com sucks at writing articles about sort of serious topics and I suck at making a cohesive argument.

<3

MeggyB

p.s: comment with thoughts? Please? I’m excited to try this new “type whatever it is you’re thinking” style but I don’t want to keep at it if it's irritating/bad.

I'm looking forward to posting an entry about the past few days and all the wonderful stuff that's been going on since my last post :3

I get up in the morning, oftentimes around 10am and immediately count the hours until I have to be at work. Then I decide when I will shower, which most of the time is around 1 so that any kind of outdoor chores that I may need to do can be done. If there has been no mention of chores by my dad or mom, I go upstairs and get myself a bowl of honey nut cheerios, which I bring back downstairs so I can enjoy them while checking the 9 or 10 websites that I check daily which are QC, SMBC, Khaos comic, Garfield Minus Garfield (y u no update?), The Oatmeal, Poorly Dressed, The Superficial, Regretsy, Gmail, and Facebook. Sometimes I even go on tumblr but I tend to draw a blank when searching.

So right now it's 10:22 and I've been up since 9:41. So far I have checked my e-mail and those other sites, filled out my online time card for my job, checked my bank account and spent a good 15 minutes trying to figure out what one of the payments was, which ended up being my health insurance. I checked blogger to see if anyone had posted anything, which Kelly had so I read her post. So far, I feel like I've accomplished some things but at the same time I wonder why I didn't get out of bed and do something. You see, dear readers (if there are any of you), I am now so accustomed to getting up and going to work/doing chores that I cannot sit still for long. The internet is now officially boring. Yeah, I am disappointed too. I think I might have to go back to 4chan just to keep the spark alive.

Last night after work I went over to The Oasis (local hipster bar in New London) and got to visit with my sister, her husband, and two of her friends. I walked in and sat down next to Amanda and proceeded to get the look over from these two very gay men sitting to my left. They asked Mike who I was, and I was like "uh, hi, I'm megan..." and I shook each of their hands. They shook my hand like their hands were fish. I don't think I have many pet peeves, but a weak hand shake is one of them. So I find out they're visiting New London from California. I didn't get the story of why, but that's besides the point I guess. They decide that Amanda and I are so fashionable they must have a picture of us with them, and it turns into a large group picture with the rest of our compadres. Long story short, they get kicked out for some confusion over a shot and it was probably for the best because they were getting really riled up. It was a monday night and there were maybe 20 people in the bar so they were in the wrong place if they wanted to get too crazy. But as I was visiting with my beloved sibling and her husband, I was told they were coming over today to do some kind of gardening/something. So far they are not here, but it's only 10:29. I'm trying to figure out what I feel like wearing to work and if I want to wear tights. It looks bleak enough outside where I could get away with tights.

I've been battling a very uncomfortable sore throat for the past three days. I mowed the lawn on saturday morning and I am allergic to grass. All those great teen movie scenes where the girls all lie on the grass and talk while looking at the clouds? yeah, I would need a blanket and a bottle of calamine lotion. But I am a good daughter and I mowed the lawn for my parents since I am very good at mowing the lawn. But breathing in all of that grass pollen does a number on my ability to breathe properly so there were a lot of water breaks. My dad tried to convince me to do the sensible thing and wear a respirator but it was so hot I knew I wouldn't be able to breathe either way. I wish I had worn the respirator. Since then, I've had a wicked sore throat that unless I am drinking water/tea/coffee constantly, it only gets worse. Waking up after being asleep for 8 hours is especially painful since I, like all nerds, am a mouth breather. I had an irrational fear that if I breathe only through my nose I will suffocate, so I breathe through my mouth when I sleep. This is great, except I wake up and my sore throat went from being tolerable to feeling like I have the sahara in my esophagus. Needless to say I've been drinking a lot of tea. Smoking doesn't help either, I suppose, so today I'm going to see if not smoking helps it.

This past sunday was mother's day and I played outside in the garden with my parents, amanda, michael and lara. This is probably a little known fact about me, but I really enjoy being dirty. I don't feel like I've accomplished anything outside unless my clothes and hands and feet are filthy. So basically I'm like a small child. But I know how to use those hand held snippers. I got good and dirty on sunday, but am paying for my enthusiasm. The violets invaded my mom's flower garden like it was Poland in 1939, so Amanda, Michael, Midnight and I did a lot of violet extermination. Midnight isn't much of a digger, but she tried (this is my sister's dog...). Anyway, I used my bare hands because at the time it seemed like the thing to do, especially if I was going to accomplish my level of filth goal. I now know how it feels to have carpal tunnel, I think. I didn't realize hands could get sore and stay that way for more than a day. Lesson learned!

This has basically been a stream of consciousness entry in the hopes to fill the empty space that has accumulated. I was wondering to myself "do I have anything to say in my blog if it's not some kind of challenge?" and I guess the answer is "kind of". I'm not going to re-read or edit, but I imagine there's a lot of whining. I was actually voted "class whiner" in the senior year superlatives. Part of me still resents that, since I don't recall ever voting for that superlative...CONSPIRACY THEORY. I'm sure at my 5 year reunion I'll ask. Or just whine even more to show them how much I've grown.

Toodles,
Meggy