Megan's Top Vids of 2013

alice learns about hos. she needs to get out more.

i love the look on max's face when he realizes that he's recording himself in church.

me and lucy and our special fireworks fist bump.

i am very proud that i am teaching our youth of today about vocabulary. ek learns the words "trollop" and "floozy."

actual transcript from lucy: "grandmother and dipsey's hoooouuussse. dipsey. pretty flowers. AUUUNTTIEE-HEEE-HEEE-HEEE!!!!"

and i ain't ashamed to admit that this one is coming out when lucy gets married.

Happy 2014 everyone!

Happy New Year. No, seriously. Big fat Happy New Year!

Last New Year's Eve I sat at home alone after being promised company for the evening by the Ex-Mr. Smith. He's not a villain; I understood why he left. What I don't understand is why he agreed to spend the evening with me in the first place. I cried for four hours straight and made a new bed skirt for the guest room as a distraction. All I could think, the only mantra that ran through my head for those four hours while I alternately sewed and cried, was "This never happens again. I will not be in this position next year, or ever again. It never happens again."

I was right. Fancy that.

Tomorrow night after work on New Year's Eve, I have a date with the Roomstress and DJ Smith. We have a ton of places to go over the course of the evening, and I plan to dress up, wear a face full of makeup and be the life of the party. And that's just the one night!

In the new year, I get to take on a freelance dream job that I hope and pray springboards me into something wonderful. I have a wonderful circle of supportive friends. I got a fabulous boyfriend (ahead of schedule but DETAILS, so what?), I have a great place to live, and most importantly, I can without a doubt believe that whole parental unit "love you no matter what!" thing. I love that despite a year of hell, I came out on the other 365 days happier, healthier and with stronger relationships with my parents, my brother and sister, and my darling darling darling niece and nephew.

A few days ago my mother asked if I remembered telling her repeatedly that I was afraid I would be damaged goods if I got divorced. Of course I remember, I told her. Do you feel like damaged goods? she asked.

Nope. I feel like I'm growing. And I'm determined to keep going. As the great Adam Corolla famously says: "You never want to look around the room and realize you're the King of the Dipshits. You need to surround yourself with people who are constantly improving who you are."

Best wishes for a Happy New Year,
Megan (former King of the Dipshits)

is there something behind me?

Merry Christmas from the Roomstress, Megan, and 200 + Santas....

Merry Christmas from the Roomstress, Megan, and 200 + Santas....

Use your best judgement if you decide to read this whole post....

Ok, so anyone who is under the impression that it's all blonde curls and chipper peals of laughter all the time in my universe, let me assure you: it is not. I have a mouse that lives in my brain that chooses to run on the wheel when it's sleepy time. I have anxiety to the point that at times I chew my nails down to the quick and pick at my lip until it bleeds. I'm scared of spiders and terrified of flying.

And I am lactose intolerant.

The Ex-Mr. Smith and I used to have this routine where I'd text an hour after lunch and say "well, there went lunch." To which he would reply "YOU ARE LACTOSE INTOLERANT. What about this do you not understand?"

Cue to today, and friend Chrissy's birthday lunch. (HBD CHRISSY!) We enjoyed a nice pizza, and I agreed to go over to the courthouse for her to renew and update her driver's license. As it expired today, it seemed like excellent timing.

Until that pizza came calling.

I skittered around the courthouse rapidly until I stumbled upon the bathroom door. Given my state, I was a little unprepared to find the door open with a custodian's cart for all the world to see (and hear). Being close to desperation, I sallied forth to find a the cleaning lady cheerfully occupied inside. Singing.

Cleaning lady: (stopping singing) Oh hello! Come on in, don't mind me. Just trying to get caught up here.

Me: (mentally measuring the distance between the open bathroom door to the farthest stall and calculating the physics of sound reverberating over the marble floor - and deciding that it was a risk I was willing to accept) Hi there! (Tiptoes rapidly to the farthest stall)

CL: I like to sing while I work. Most people think I'm crazy.

Me: (trying desperately to shimmy out of skinny jeans and proceed as quietly as possible) Mmmm... ok.

CL: People say, what's that crazy lady doing in there? I'm just singing.

Me: (still working on that quiet thing. Not working out so well.) Mmm.... ok.

CL: It's just that with the holidays - (cuts off as what should have been painfully obvious is now rising like the sun from her subconscious to her conscious and.... singing goes off in the distance...)

Holy shit. LITERALLY. I pooped her out of the bathroom and she had the gall to leave with the goddamn door open for all of the courthouse to hear. And smell. PEOPLE. It is not for no reason that the Dipper avows that any man I marry needs to be deaf and have no sense of smell. I AM LACTOSE INTOLERANT. AND I HAVE AN UNHOLY LOVE OF PIZZA.

In the end, I decided that I'd far rather lose a friend than an intestine. So sorry courthouse. You deserve better.

So, there's my day. Props to me for voluntarily going to the DMV for no reason, but not for pooping out the whole courthouse. While Chrissy and I were leaving I was trying to quietly relay what had just happened and gain consensus from her on whether or not the lobby smelled like someone just blew it up in the rotunda when yet another (different) courthouse employee suddenly burst into song.

WHAT THE HELL WITH THE SINGING, COURTHOUSE?

Sigh. Over and out.

I really am not condoning grafftti

So I really do hate graffiti. I think it's tacky and trashy and I don't like people besmirching public property. That said... sometimes graffiti really makes me laugh. To wit:

my thoughts exactly

this says "knoxville is the milwaukee of the south." yeah. i'm not sure what that means. BUT I LIKE IT. and kind of agree with it - although i've never actually been to milwaukee.

there's so many funny things about this picture, but i especially like the "well obviously not" part.

Recently, I spent some time up in Gatlinburg at a retreat. I wandered through the hotel gift shop and was rifling through the card selection when I came across this:

what the hell is going on here?

So... what is going on here? There's a ghost buffalo, and a baby buffalo nursing from his mom (I think. I showed this to a student worker the other day and he made the comment that he wasn't sure that's where the udder goes. So this card just got either way creepier, or way funnier... I vote for option two.) And what occasion should this ghost buffalo card be sent for? In recognition of? In honor of? I cannot with this greeting card....

That's about all the news fit to print these days. I've had a cold for a week now, and my office mate has caught it too so we sound like a TB ward up here. But the cold has made me feel somewhat less funny than usual. BUT! Christmas is a week away and that makes me happy! Yippee!!! Over and OUT!

Time for a guest post!

I originally had planned this blog post to be another apology letter to the Roomstress due to my.... somewhat over-zealousness in regards to Christmas decorating. And after a long day of me joyfully decking the halls with a somewhat luke-warm Roomstress she looked at me very seriously and said "I think it's time we talked about -" (Megan here; my mind racing - talk about WHAT? Moving out? Taking down all the holiday decorations? Not living together next year? WHAT WHAT WHAT do we have to talk about?) " - me doing a guest post on your blog." (Megan here; WHEW. Ok. Fair enough.)

So here you go. Below is the Roomstress's account of our holiday decorating day. Enjoy!

It was last Saturday, a day we had set aside for Christmas decorating, when I  realized the time had finally come…for a guest post. Because people need to know about this. (Yeah. I'm not sure they do. But I digress.)

Now, since we've had 200+ Santa Clauses adorning our loft since the day after Halloween, I might be forgiven for assuming that “Christmas decorating” would consist of going to Lowe’s to purchase a modest and appropriately sized tree and putting a few lights and ornaments on it (pfffft.) and then relaxing with a festive adult beverage in honor of the season. (oh, yesplease!) In retrospect, this assumption was clearly a case of pathological denial on my part.

So last Saturday, not being a morning person, I stumbled out of bed and wandered blindly to the kitchen to get a glass of water, only to find that the cupboards were completely empty of glassware. “That’s odd,” I thought. “I’m sure we just unloaded the dishwasher yesterday.” So I looked in the dishwasher and found it full…of Christmas glassware.

That’s about the time I became aware of the lightning fast skittering of bunny-slippered feet (they are CATS, Roomstress!) racing back and forth behind me. I turned to catch a glimpse of my roommate, Christmas pajamas flapping, blond curls streaming behind her, as she zipped about bedecking everything in sight. Zip! Nativity set on the shelf. Zip! Christmas quilt and pillows on the chairs. Zip! Garland wrapped around my head.

Etc.

I retreated from the line of flight to the kitchen table and began to sip my water and get used to being conscious again, which always takes me awhile. Megan came to perch on a kitchen stool facing me. With a feverish gleam in her eyes that I can only assume was Christmas spirit, she spoke:

“So I told you about the Santas,” she began and paused with a sheepish look on her face. Then in a rush: “But I didn’t mention the snowman collection. Or the nutcracker collection. Or the angel collection. Ok bye.” Then she was off again in a whirl of golden locks and festive jammies.

But still, somehow, I had foolish hopes that the tree, at least, would be a modest affair. So at Lowes, when we made our way out to the trees (after a suitable time spent being made to admire all the Christmas decorations) I sought out the 5 footers and turned to point out to Megan their cute and manageable smallness, but she was not there. She stood down the aisle with her hands clasped to her heart gazing in rapture at a (I believe the technical term is) ginormous tree. She turned to me with wide glittering eyes and an entranced smile and said breathlessly, “This one!” pointing to an alpine monster.

Let me gloss over here the wrestling match to fit an approximately 800 foot tree into the trunk of a Jetta (told you it would fit), or the 20 mph hour drive down Washington Pike leading a parade of angry drivers (they need to work on patience), or the trek to drag it up to the loft (yea for elevators!), or the somewhat alarming way she enthusiastically hacked off some quite thick limbs with needle-nosed pliers. (hey, whatever works, amiright?)

Cut to the next day at brunch, as I shared the story with our guests. Megan took a brief break from gazing lovingly at our bedecked and dazzling tree to glower at us over her shoulder and say, “So sorry for the joy in my heart, y’all.”

And, well, that’s the thing. As her mother pointed out, she does come by it honestly. She is, after all, the granddaughter of a man who spent several days every year dressed as Santa, sitting in a sleigh in his front yard, welcoming all comers just for sheer enjoyment of it. So, as a roommate, I accept the 200+ Santas as a family heritage of joy, generosity, and celebration. I will carry the two crates of Christmas Spode dinnerware upstairs by myself while she makes potato soup for Santa parade revelers as my contribution to Christmas cheer. I will master the (to my mind, superfluous) use of a knife for eating bread. At this time of year, when there is a tendency to look back and reflect, I must admit, one thing about Megan, life is never dull. And it’s chocked full of more joy and laughter than you can shake a stick at, all year long. (I think it's also referred to as Stockholm Syndrome.)

So, this morning, after a week of more Christmas coming out of the woodwork every day (I promise, this is it!), I sipped my tea out of a Spode teacup and I remarked that it was actually quite pleasant to watch the mistletoe appear on the side of the cup as the tea disappeared. I felt vaguely cheery for a Monday (or, let’s face it, any day).

“The brainwashing is working!” Megan joked.

Well, being brainwashed to have joy in your heart, it could be worse, I thought.

Unless…this is just step one to getting me on board with her plan to kidnap Santa and keep him in the bathtub. It would make sense, as I AM the one with the tub.

Oh crap….

More lessons...

Never ask a doctor "Is that blood?" Because chances are yes. It's blood. And number two? It's likely your blood. Best just keep your trap shut.

My sweet  mama has learned that if she ever has to text  me from my father's phone she has learned to start each message with "ALL IS WELL" because otherwise I will freak out and think something is wrong. Because daddy never texts. And so from now on all texts I get from mama a la daddy go like this: ALL IS WELL. Can you come to lunch on Sunday?

I been listening to Christmas carols ad nauseam lately. Because of the Christmas spirit etc. And this one? The "I ain't been nuttin' but bad" one? That kid is AWFUL. He doesn't deserve anything from Santa Claus! I stand with his parents. And PS when you put ants in the sugar bowl WE ALL LOSE.

Off to a retreat this week. Back on the flop side. 

Microsoft Word Diva vs. Microsoft Word Acolyte

Actual conversation between me and my retired-extremely-capable-software-teaching-diva Mama working on my holiday envelope addresses on my envelopes:

Me: just give me your list in excel. I'll pull the addresses I need and print the envelopes.

Mama: ok. Let's make a database for a quick mail merge. What size are your envelopes?

Me: um.... Hm. The size isn't listed on the box. Where's your ruler?

Mama: ruler? Let me see it. I can get the address on by eye.

Me: (horrified silence) ... You don't.... MEASURE your envelopes?

Mama: NO. Lemme look... That looks like.... 5 by 7. (Opens envelope options and starts trying to find this match)

Me: DO YOU HAVE A RULER? (Mama casually opens drawer and tosses me a ruler while she continues to find  rough envelope sizes online)

Me: AH-HA!!! This envelope is 5.75 by NINE inches! Find that envelope!

Mama: (bored, now scrolling looking for a new size match)

Me: YOU DON'T USE CUSTOM ENVELOPE??!!!

Mama: (casually) Yeah, I do...

Me: click options. Custom envelope is on the bottom. Scroll down.

Mama now morphing into Microsoft Word Diva: *cuts me with a glare I have never witnessed from my saintly mother*

Lesson learned: never attempt to school the Microsoft Diva in any things Word. Acolyte chastely resumes her reverence.

I may or may not have eaten a worm.

Actual conversation with the Roomstress while walking around campus:

Me: Hey look at that sign! They're serving pizza for Thanksgiving dinner. What is the world coming to?

Roomstress: It's being served by a turkey, see? That's where the Thanksgiving part comes in.

Me: No way I'd eat something made by a turkey. Have you not heard of the avian flu?

Roomstress: Well... what if the turkey didn't really MAKE make the pizza. What if it just like.... I dunno, got a frozen pizza and put it in the oven? Would you eat it then?

Me: Hell, no! Turkeys don't have thumbs. It would have to really get in there with his... what do you call turkey feet? Talons? Claws?

Roomstress: Wait.... would it use its turkey feet or wings? Because wings are more like where arms and hands would go.

Me: EVEN WORSE. I bet feathers would have like.... nits in it or something. They sleep in trees for Pete's sake. If it washed its turkey feet and THEN wrestled the pizza into the oven, then I'd consider eating it. MAYBE.

And don't get me wrong. I'm not totally squeamish. In fact, just today, I accidentally ate a worm. Maybe. LIKELY. And didn't throw up or anything. In fact, upon discovering the worm, I very calmly and quietly showed the worm to my neighbor then dumped the contents of the trail/worm mix into the trash.

extra protein in trail mix

In other news, I really have been super disappointed lately about the items on the stairs. It's mostly just more Hurricane bottles and poop, and well... once you see one Hurricane bottle and pile of poop, you pretty much have seen them all. Not a lot of variation. A lot of poop, though. I wonder who the hell is pooping on the stairs? I am trying to tell myself it's a dog, but... frankly I'm just not convinced.

However, this was on the ground near the stairs yesterday and I thought it was fascinating:

a squished mouse

How did that mouse get that squished? That is seriously perplexing.

Let's refer to this as "genealogy."

So recently my cousin Sam and his wife Jenna came into town for a pre-Thanksgiving visit with the family. They stayed at the cabin with Mama and the Dipper and the rest of the family popped in for a brunch get together last weekend. And, as Sam and Jenna hadn't been to the cabin before, naturally some of my grandmother's quilts were taken out and admired, and many pieces of Grandpa Steinie's woodwork were brought out for viewing.

And we got into the photo albums. Oh... we got INTO the photo albums. And one photo in particular caught my eye.

And buddy. Now I've got some questions.

aloha.

Dear Random Polynesian Man,

Hi there. I'm Megan. That's my grandmother you have your left hand on. WHERE IS YOUR RIGHT HAND? Sorry. That was rude. Let me start with another question: WHERE THE HELL IS YOUR SHIRT? And are you wearing the Brady Bunch's kitchen wallpaper as a skirt? And I think you missed a spot shaving. But your necklace(s) are totes awesome. And will you please tell my grandmother that I think she got into too much poi and lost all sense of judgement because that outfit is loud. And rather tablecloth-esque.

Sincerely,

Megan

P.S. I know it's balmy on the Big Island, but seriously - in the continental states we typically wear shirts. No, really. Look into upper body wear.

P. P. S. I'd also like to point out that this pic serves as a record of the first photo bomb. Well played random lady.

Eating at the grownup table

Being a grownup is a funny thing. Because I can't really pinpoint when it happened. I think back to a few years ago when I was president of a board and in the middle of a production thinking who's in charge here? WHERE ARE THE ADULTS? Then, shockingly.... I'm in charge. I'm the adult.

Ever since I split up from the Ex Mr. Smith, I go through this ritual once a month. I get my pay check and I set out all the bills, and I very nervously start paying them, one by one. And every month, when I pay my bills and there's enough money to pay them - and sometimes for heaven's sake a little left over! - I am surprised at how relieved I feel. I'm a grownup for Pete's sake. I'm a grown-ass woman with a J-O-B. Why does this surprise me?

The other day I was invited to, and attended a party. And while I was there a friend of my parents' came up to me and asked in a very kind but very surprised tone what I was doing there. No one was more surprised than me when I told her that I'd been invited - and it hit me like a bolt of lightening. I'm eating at the grownup table now. When did this happen?

I joke about this often when someone relays an anecdote about something my father has done or said about me - I respond to the tale very seriously with "He doesn't know I'm a grownup yet. Please don't be the one to tell him." But now I feel like someone hasn't let me in on the secret - when did I get put in charge? Did I agree to do this? I listen to NPR. I read the news. I vote. I eat healthy and I exercise. All grownup things to do.... but I'm not sure how I feel about being a grownup.

Until I figure this out, I'm going to need to find some immature activities to romp around in. This outta help.

Beer pong, anyone? Over and out.

And that's why I'll never be a Sherpa

Actual e-conversation I had the other day:

Anonymous Friend (names have been changed to protect the innocent): You haven't posted a blog in over a week. What the hell?

Me: You sir, are INCORRECT. I posted last week! Oh wait... on like a Monday or something.... I'm working on it - I had a work lunch today and couldn't write during lunch!

AF: All is forgiven. Just don't go all J.D. Salinger on me!

Me: Hmm.... OK. I know who J.D. Salinger is, but why don't I want to do that to you?

AF: After J.D. Salinger wrote Catcher in the Rye, and it went all super ginormous biggest book ever, he stopped publishing and started locking up everything up in a vault he would share with no one. Except a Yale co-ed he started banging for a few years.

ME: AWESOME. Actually I already pretty much already lock up everything I own and carry it with me all the time - and I call it my PURSE. It's practically made of anti-matter it's so heavy.

AF: You're one of those woman that rocks the Sherpa look 365 then?

Me: I practically AM a Sherpa! Well... except that whole "afraid of heights" thing. I once climbed on a roof to clean the gutters and got so freaked out all I could do was cry for 30 minutes before getting up the courage to climb back down. And the Ex-Mr. Smith wouldn't call the fire department for a ladder truck to get me off. THEY ARE RIGHT DOWN THE STREET, YO. They get cats all the time, why not me?

AF: I had another question I was going to ask, but then it occurred to me, what the fuck was his ass doing on the ground while his scared of heights wife was cleaning gutters?

Me: Well, in his defense, he had tried to get up there and said it was too high and the roof was too steep. So, naturally, I called him a pussy and said it wasn't too high or too steep and to move and I'd do it myself. Then I climbed up... and well.... you know the rest of the story.

AF: As long as you called the ex a pussy at some point in the story, that's what really matters.

Serious concerns about things for sale these days....

Actually conversation between DJ Smith and myself:

Me: (casually eyeing the various and sundry items on his dining room hutch) Whoa. WHOA. What the hell is that?

DJBS: What?

Me: THAT. And why have I not noticed this before now?

DJBS: WHAT?

Me: That bottle on the hutch that's shaped like a woman's foot in a high heel?

DJBS: Oh, that. It was a Christmas gift some time ago. I think it has moonshine in it.

Me: (unscrewing lid) WHOA. Yup, that's moonshine. HOLY CRAP. Seriously, how have I missed this? OH MY GOD. The foot has an anklet around it. Why is there a foot with an anklet in a high heel bottle of moonshine in your house?

DJBS: I told you, it was a gift.

Me: But, but... but - WHY? Did he buy the bottle and put the moonshine in it? Where do you think he got this bottle? BECAUSE IT IS AWESOME.

DJBS: These are questions I cannot answer.

Me: YOU SHOULD CALL A MUSEUM ABOUT THIS BOTTLE.

i know what i want for christmas! the anklet really brings the whole piece together, n'est pas?

I still have no idea where this came from. All I know is that I need this foot wearing an anklet in a high heel bottle of moonshine in my life.

Speaking of items I covet, I met a man wearing quiet possibly the boss-est letter jacket in the history of letter jackets the other day:

featuring none other than the king of the wild frontier himself, one mr. davy crockett.

Lastly, a few years ago I was walking downtown just before Christmas, and this little beauty in the window caught my eye:

ms. kristina canan! i had no idea she was for sale.

So please imagine my surprise when I was walking downtown today and THIS little beauty caught my eye:

mrs. monty howard! dammit kristina! quit monkeying around in store windows!!!

And that's all I got for today. Over and OUT.

Oh dear... I've done it again...

Dear Roomstress,

I'm sorry. I'm so so so so sorry. I realize that in the past I've been a bit of a... how you say? A... trial, let's say, but I completely understand your justly earned wrath this time.

Remember how when we first talked about moving in together? And I very seriously and candidly told you that I had a Santa collection that I was terribly fond of? And that I put it out around Halloween and keep it up for two months? And how you were like "Pfffft, that's not a deal breaker." Well... I think now you understand.

I'm very sorry about all the Santas. I really am. If I didn't love them so much I'd just as soon leave them in the boxes all year long.

Additionally... I'm very sorry about the whole "injury" thing. And making you load all the Santa boxes from my car up to the loft. I really hate it for you. But I hurt my leg and couldn't lift anything! How was I supposed to move all those very many very heavy boxes on my own? It just wasn't possible. I'm so sorry you were the one who had to tote them all upstairs. Then tote the empty boxes down to storage. It's a shame. But couldn't be helped.

While we're on the subject of injuries, let me please apologize to you again for making you steal from a church. I needed that rosemary! And I couldn't walk down to the church to cut it myself! Just think of it as "pruning" their rosemary. They'll never miss it! Besides, it really is overgrown so honestly you were really doing them a favor. And didn't that meatloaf taste delicious with the nice addition of some lovely rosemary? Hmmm? But again... sorry to ask you to sneak down with scissors and surreptitiously cut some rosemary.

And while we're on the subject of apologies, let me also apologize about No Pants Nights in the loft. So sorry. But how am I supposed to heat, exercise and ice my hamstring wearing dumb pants? YOU CAN'T, that's how. I guess me shrieking "No pants night!!" every night when I come home doesn't help much either.... sorry. I'll really work harder on that.

In conclusion, let me sum up with: I'm very sorry about all the Santas. But aren't they festive? And if you'd like I can give you a walking tour of each one of them - where it came from, who gave it, etc. No? Ok... well, when you're ready, we'll talk.

In the meantime, allow me to wish you a very Happy Holidays. I don't think this is the best time to discuss renewing our lease? No? Ok... I'll come back later.

Very truly yours,

Megan

P.S. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

P.P.S. Here is a very funny picture that will probably make no sense to anyone but me and Sharon:

Over and out.

The Last Temptation of Megan and Halloween hijinks

Lot of ground to cover this week. Holiday season is ramping up! (For those of you that don't know - Halloween is a holiday too. Followed by Thanksgiving then Christmas. As far as I'm concerned you can start talking about Christmas anytime after Halloween and yes, I've already been listening to Christmas carols).

First things first. As a newly-minted divorcee, I can tell you that the dating scene sure has changed a lot in the last 20 years. Someone should invent things like band parties for grown-ups. But - texting has sure helped a lot - never will I again underestimate the power of a well-worded text! Although... I think the first text I sent one guy after our first date was along the lines of "Was that a date? Did we just go on a date? PLEASE SAY IT WAS A DATE OR I MAY CRY." so obviously I'm doing the whole "back on the market" thing well. I'm learning. But nothing in the wheelhouse in my past dating life or crash course I've had this summer could have prepared me for what one gentleman caller shared with me.... Dipsey Doodle! Look away now!

I mean it, Dipsey!

You can't un-see this!

(OK I think he's gone now)

dj smith's tonsils. adenoids included. haha look at that pumpkin in the background - he's happy 'cause he's not the scariest thing in the room.

Oh and yes, please don't think I don't get the irony in taking time out of my busy busy life and spending money on things like changing my last name only start dating a man with the same last name as I just got rid of. HA HA HA. Actually it's for the best that I changed my name because we've know each other for years and we both got in the habit of calling each other "Cousin Smith" and this is East Tennessee after all and besides the first man I want to marry as a little girl was my cousin Greg and SHUT UP. IT'S FINE; he ended up marrying instead:

dorothy gayle. can't say as that i blame him.

I have to say, campus has really been testing my inner strength recently. The other day I came across this little baby:

i'm tempted to caption this "why the hell is this here?" but honestly a surprise merry-go-round is an awesome thing so i'm not complaining. dj smith offered to trailer it to my loft behind his minivan but all he had to hook it up with was a coat hanger to his bumper and even IIIII know that's ridiculous so said  thanks but no thanks. besides, even though i'm pretty sure it'd fit in the living room i'm quite confident that it wouldn't go through the doorway and whoever heard of a hallway carousel? NO ONE, that's who.

That didn't stop me from riding it while it was here though.

merry go megan!

and i even brought a friend along for the ride!

Furthering the Last Temptation of Megan was this rather large baby:

it took all my will power not to run over there and jerk off that sheet.

it was hiding a dinosaur. they're calling it the largest and newest volunteer on campus but frankly i saw jurassic park and i know dinosaurs aren't that tiny. and at first i thought it was real bones and was like 'why are they putting that outside? has no one heard of acid rain?' and was disappointed to learn it was a bronze statue. way to psyche me out, ut. friend kristi and i marvel at the tiny pretend dinosaur.

but i did run into friend lola and we are dressed as twinkies, down to our orange pants and leather jackets!

Oh, and just because it's fun:

so so so so SO many things i want to caption this, but i think i'll settle with "what's your name?" "puddintain."

Now! To Halloween fun! Friend and neighbor Sharon and I threw and epic Halloween party! She even tore her ACL whilst dropping da bootie and is currently on crutches (this is distinctly a bad thing. Although if one HAD to tear an ACL, while cutting a mad rug is the way to make it go down.)

Doctor examining Sharon: Let's take a look at this, shall we, Ms. Deaver? Hmmm... Interesting, interesting.... Can you tell me how this happened?

Sharon: I was grinding with Mary Poppins and fell.

Anyway - Sharon and I have been planning this Halloween party for months. We both discovered over the summer that our favorite Disney princess is Alice (she had named her dog Alice as a matter of fact) and I am realizing that my affinity to Alice has been heightened tremendously over the last year because most of the time I really have felt like I've taken a tumble down the rabbit hole. I even have recently read a book called "What Alice Forgot" about a grown up Alice in Wonderland who wakes up with amnesia to find out that she is 40 years old and divorcing the love of her life and can't remember why. That book resounded pretty hard. Sharon was the Queen of Hearts a few years ago for Halloween and still had the costume she made, so we recruited the Roomstress and one Mad Hatter later we had:

a match made in wonderland

So many people went all out with their costumes! I was thrilled with the party and danced myself ragged until the early morning. So much fun!

a lot of disney represented in the hizzy

matthew as buffalo bill with precious in his skin suit offers mama as hello kitty some lotion out of his basket

speaking of mama, she was truly disturbed when i described these two characters to her and the scenes which they were representing. buffalo bill and mrs. mia wallace.

cathy a la lichtenstein and me

nun maria and scary circuit preacher rob

jen and me - aptly captioning this: girl. you wouldn't believe the shit i've seen in my days.

sharon's folks, ty and bebo

me and philippa as philippa's familiar

sharon was all 'off with her head!!!!' to me all night long

but then we made up and played some croquet

fore!

But the best costume I saw was the next morning at breakfast:

john as a cruz dairy farm girl. well played, sir. how very knoxville of you.

Fun night and great time with family and friends.

A few days ago, I attended a beer dinner. And yes, I saw the menu beforehand. And yes. I know I have the palate of a nine year old. And YES. I knew it was going to be a challenge. I took friend Cathy along with me not knowing:

she has a similar palate. we went to mcdonald's after.

The best part of the evening was the two of us sneakily eyeing each other as each dish was served to see if they other would take a bite first and what their reaction would be. All I'll say is this: foie gras PB and J with foie gras ice cream was the dessert. I ate duck ice cream, ya'll. 

But Cathy and I both got corsages out of the deal so all was well.

Well, that's all I got for this week! Happy Halloween Eve, everyone!

Over and OUT!

Lines from the loft...

Upon returning Scottie Dog Alice back to friend and neighbor Sharon after a day of dog sitting:

R: I miss Alice. I really really miss her.

Me: We should get a cat. They're much easier to take care of.

R:  We can't even keep the cuckoo clock going, Megan.

Ouch. Truth is painful.

I'm so lost in Wonderland that it isn't even funny. Well. Ok. It's a little bit funny.

So I had to work over the weekend which I don't usually have to do, but I got done earlier than I expected and went back home to an open afternoon all free to do whatever I wanted to do. So what did I chose to do?

Chores. I finished sewing my Halloween costume.

It's a great costume, and I love to sew. I had a nice afternoon all alone to myself, as the Roomstress had departed on a date to the football game. And, as I am wont to do when I'm alone and finish a sewing project, I shucked off my jeans and tank top in the living room and wiggled into the costume. I hadn't had in on for a minute when the Roomstress and her date make it back home.

Here's the funny part: I hid.

Roomstress: Hello! We're home!

Me: OH!!! (hiding. Peering around corner...)

Roomstress: Are... are you decent?

Me: Um... well, sort of. Define decent? You know what.... what the Hell.....

And I walked out so they could both see me. In my Alice in Wonderland costume. And it's pretty damn dead on. I also was watching Pollyanna at the time too.

After they stopped laughing, they both congratulated me on a job well done. Pictures to come after this weekend's Halloween party!

In other news, I really have hit a new low when it comes to my diet. After working over the weekend and sewing all afternoon, I was so exhausted I couldn't bring myself to leave my apartment and go in search of real food. I wanted buttered noodles, but was all out of noodles. I found a half a box of lasagna noodles in the back of the cabinet and ....

made invention noodles. turns out, it worked for the best!

Additionally, I need to check out this page turner:

and as deaver pointed out - what a well placed sticker! also, two books to the left? coyote ugly - i just noticed that. who knew a leeann rimes special actually stemmed from literature. 

And lastly - look what I found on the stairs today:

milk! at least whomever is doing this will not suffer from osteoporosis.

That's all I got for today. Over and OUT.

I'm so Jimmy Buffet that I should drink a Margarita now. Don't mind if I do.

YA'LL.  I totally blew out a flip flop and had to walk home barefooted.

rocks, no salt.

I went walking with the brother and the sister-in-law the other day, and came across the happiest morbid scene I think I've ever seen.

they're dead for some reason

So I joined them.

me taking a dirt nap

I went out the other day and came home to the Roomstress watching Henry and June - the first NC-17 movie. There's a reason for that distinction:

there was a whole lot of making out involved - i remember nothing but that.

I joined a band.

gonna go prima donna on all you fools any second now.

And lastly, on this morning's run, I noticed the gate barring the Henley Street bridge was unlocked and wide open, so....

i'm the first pedestrian on the new bridge!

And that's all the news I got for today. Over and out.

Downtime is a good thing.

So it's Wednesday and I started thinking about what I should write about today and it occurred to me - that nothing's going on. Nothing to write about. Nothing of import, nothing funny, nothing ironic or weird, just not a lot going on. Nothing.

And that's OK. In fact, it's fucking awesome. I really could use some sleep.

Instead, I'm going to share with you something that hangs on my wall beside my desk. It's a note from First Lady Michelle Obama.

thanks, shelly. you look awesome too.

Because when the First Lady tells you that you look good, by golly you pay attention.

I also think the prednisone Hulk has finally come home - I'm bloated, cranky, hungry and chatty as all hell. And yesterday I cried for about two hours straight. I feel like I brush the sides of the door when I enter a room. If something sits still long enough in front of me I'll end up trying to eat it eventually. Two more days of this horse shit and I'm DONE. At least I feel like moving again - and honestly, stopping movement for six weeks has ultimately been a GOOD thing. It's forced me to start over and move my legs for short distances and go WOW THAT HURT BUT STILL FEELS GOOD.

Oh but this happened and it did coincide with the prednisone experience so this was a good thing too:

i totally sledgehammered a car.it was for a good cause. and helped me with the prednisone hulk.

And there's a tree on campus that is just BEGGING for an Anne Geddes photo shoot, but since I didn't have any babies handy to dress up as peas or bees or flowers or whatever such nonsense I pitch hit and made do:

i'm an adult anne geddes.

Oh and this -

someone was playing barbies on the stairs

THIS JUST IN - had to call in the second garbage disposal repair request yesterday. Just got a voice mail from the office advising me that I need to have a discussion with them about the "future use" of the garbage disposal. I am pretty sure a lecture about garbage disposal maintenance and care is in my future.

Sorry not sorry, dammit.