Superhero Status

That is my goal, right there. I recently started Thai Kickboxing (also known as Muay Thai). I tend to get really excited about something when it's new, and then sort of lose interest after a while (typical). I'm hoping that doesn't end up being the case here. I went to two classes before actually signing up, and then went to two classes this past week. I already plan on going to the ass kicking 2 hour special open house this coming Sunday. The reason for starting these classes was to improve my chances of surviving the Zombie Apocalypse. I'm not even fibbing. Really. Exercising for the sake of being skinny doesn't seem to work on me, as I'm pretty happy with being chubby. Exercising so that I can outrun some zombies is much more motivating. I really enjoyed Zumba, but I was never sore after it. After my first kickboxing class I couldn't walk right for two days (and that's not because I didn't stretch). There's something about feeling like you've been hit by a truck that makes me really want to go back and do more crazy push ups, drills and combos. Working through my nausea makes me proud of myself! Maybe it's weird, but I actually want to have muscles that glisten with sweat and shine in the sun like romance novels would lead you to believe. Screw being dainty, I want to be a super hero.

The moral of this story is that everyone should try this, because for all of the sweat and the pain and the nausea you feel fantastic afterwards.


UPDATE: (as of january 16th 2012) I have now moved up a belt rank and am sparring! Not really at super hero status yet, but I feel like a million bucks.

Something Zazzy.

"Fashion is what one wears oneself. What is unfashionable is what other people wear." - Oscar Wilde

I re-read an old post from the 50 day challenge in which I address my reflection. I think that if I had read that quote before writing my note to myself, I probably would have spent less time telling myself how great I am and more time telling myself that it really doesn't matter what people think (because they don't have to like what they see).

My new years resolution for this year wasn't to lose weight, quit smoking, find a boyfriend, go back to school or to eat healthier (although I did quit smoking). It was to be fabulous every day of the year. When the ball fell and I cheered with the rest of the people in the bar, I vowed I would spend every day of the rest of the year (and my life) being fabulous in some capacity. The wonderful part about this is that I make the rules for this resolution. Only I can determine if I am fabulous, and I fucking am. Every day. Too much time has been spent wishing I was 10, or 20, or 30 pounds lighter. Years of nit picking in the mirror over what my outfit and hair says about who I am and what I like resulted in nothing but self loathing and an entire wardrobe full of nothing but band and threadless t-shirts.  Shying away from the Goodwill because they "wouldn't have what I like" is probably one of my greatest regrets; the Goodwill is a magical land of neglected textile treasures. Whatever. What I'm trying to say is everyone should all join me on the crazy train to self-help-book-title land. The name of my compartment is "Love yourself, bitches". That's the point. Some people might interpret this post/my point of view as narcissistic. Johnathan Swift would say that "vanity is a mark of humility rather than pride" But Johnathan Swift was a satirist. Be proud of who you are and be vain if it makes you happy. I know that picking out my outfit and doing my makeup makes me happy.

Oh, and everyone should try shaving their head. It's liberating.
<3
Me

p.s: power animal? Honey badger.

Not cut out for online dating sites.

As most of the people who read this blog know, I had a profile on OkCupid. Yes, you heard me right, HAD. I just disabled it. Perhaps some time down the road I will enable it again and see what awaits me there but for now I've come to the conclusion I need to spend time with the people I have in my life now rather than bringing more people in.

The reason I joined OkC was to make new friends/maybe find a boyfriend/to work on being a professional creep. I also joined because a few of my friends had profiles and it seemed they were having a good time. So, with Griswoldian imaginings of what OkC would be like, I made a profile.

Rather than go into a detailed timeline of my short experience, I'll sum it up with the trite "it was alright". I made some promising connections with people who I found interesting. I even exchanged thesis papers with someone. But I had my share of people who didn't take the time to read my profile, who only looked at my pictures and then sent me poorly veiled requests to video chat. So it was a mix of great and not so great. I never went on any dates with any of these people. At the time it seemed like scheduling conflicts or forgetfulness, but I've decided things didn't work out because subconsciously I didn't want them to. When Irene knocked out the power (and internet for those of us without smart phones) for 5 days...I was happy without the internet. I was enjoying my time with my family and focused on work. Life was simpler without the added burden of responding to numerous messages and the pressure of thinking of interesting things to say. Not to mention all of the things I projected onto these poor people. I assumed that I would hurt someone's feelings if I didn't respond to their message. Then I felt bad if I wasn't super nice to someone (that doesn't mean I was always nice) and THEN I felt bad if I didn't continue the "conversation". All that bullshit just kept piling up until I was blissfully free for those 5 days. I came to the conclusion it was time to get rid of it.

Originally this was supposed to be an interesting post full of wit and humor and whatnot. But now I've forgotten the punch line. Perhaps the joke is that I wasn't even cut out for a dating site.
<3
MeggyB

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.