Actual conversation of the universe mocking me...

Universe: I'm bored. I should totally stir things up. Hm.... what to do, what to do... OH! Wait! See that pretty girl down there! Let's make her marry the wrong man!

(I do it. And manage well. Ish.)

Universe: Huh. Tougher than I thought... well, hm.... let's make her get divorced! That'll rattle her!

(I get divorced. And I manage well. Ish.)

Universe: Wow. Tough cookie. Ok, well let's make her depressed and anxious and OH I KNOW make her nerve pinch and she has to take steroids!!!

(Sidebar: I am taking the stupid steroids because the doctor, the pharmacist and the psychiatrist all said it wouldn't interact with the meds I'm already on. But I lived with a man who took 'roids whenever he had an asthma attack and that is the first thing I said to the doctor after "OH HELL TO THE NO" because I know what Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde looks like after all that. All that to say if you see me in the next couple of weeks and I hulk out on you, give a girl some slack. I HAVE A PINCHED NERVE, YO.)

Me: Steroids, ok. Eleventy billion pills in the morning to make sure I have normal blood pressure, am not living in a panic attack, and feel like - oh, I don't know - getting out of bed and doing something, even if it's just brushing my hair - and OH NOW WAIT. Pill that maybe or maybe not will make me crazy: Hokay. WAIT. Lemme get this straight:

Pill to calm me down: swallowed.

Pill to make sure that even if I'm calm I have low blood pressure and not having a madly racing heart and blood pumping all over the place like a garden hose with water rushing through it and making it writhe on its own accord: swallowed. And PS the swallowing of it makes it feel like any activity I do is an Olympic event and I'm dying to catch my breath or force myself to keep moving - ok, yeah great, whatever....

Pill to make sure that I'm calm yet gives me the gumption to get out of bed in the morning and actually... I don't know do something; something ANY FUCKING THING be it watch TV or read a book or go outside or HEAVEN FORBID be a productive member of society for fuck's sake, I DON'T THE HELL KNOW BUT GET OUT OF BED pill: SWALLOWED.

NOW. THERE'S THIS. A fricking pill that may or may not spin the whole shebang into orbit. And I have had three authorities on the subject tell me it's ok. I'll be fine. And in fact, I may be better than fine because I may have an un-pinched nerve at the end of the day and that will me another incentive to actually get out of bed and actually move my body without knowing I will wince in pain with every step that I take.

Hokay. Done. SWALLOWED.

And none of it, NONE OF IT, not one ounce, not one iota, not one teensy eeensy itty bitty bit shook me to my core...

UNTIL.
I.
SAW.
THIS.

universe, you are a cruel, cruel mistress.

Me: I just hope those pills are working. I'mma need it in case of spiders.

Universe: Time will tell.

Then THAT happened...

As a dyed-in-the-wool daughter of the south, I am well prepared for births, deaths, sicknesses and everything that can be labeled "tragedy." We cook. Even when we don't have time to cook, you know someone's running into Kroger to get a rotisserie chicken because heaven forbid we darken a door at the home where something is afoot empty handed without a scrap of anything to eat. I even had a friend bring me a packet of dried Ramen once when The Ex-Mr. and I decided to divorce. We feed and eat.

So when Mr. RJ made his appearance into the world, I was all prepared and made two kinds of soup for the new mama and growing brood. And I did all the things a dyed-in-the-wool daughter of the south would do - I cuddled the baby, caught up with my friend, admired the new nursery, and complimented newly minted big sister Bunny on her prowess as a big sister. And here's what transpired:

Bunny: Here is RJ's raccoon. (Hands me a stuffed raccoon) Pretend he's RJ and you're Mama.

Me (in strangely falsetto voice): Ooooh look at my little bundle of joy! I'm so happy I have two beautiful children!!

Kristi: HEY, I don't sound like that.

Bunny: RJ's hungry.

Me: (still with the voice): Oooh, my little baby RJ is hungry!

Bunny: No. You have to nurse him.

Me: (stunned silence; mind frantically racing on how best to proceed. Because I'm pretty sure having a stuffed raccoon pretend to suck milk out of my boobies is one of those things that... I shouldn't do? Is this inappropriate? I really don't know.)

Bunny: WAH WAH WAH, he's crying, he's hungry. You have to feed him!

Me: (silently turns raccoon's head onto my boob and makes sucking sounds)

Kristi: And that's how rabies are spread.

i also got a killer case of mastitis

Allow me to tell you about the glee I feel when I find something of note on the stairs

So the Roomstress and I were carpooling the other day and tripping along to my car at a clip because we were late (as per usual) when suddenly I stopped short in breathless delight...

"Look!" I demanded to the Roomstress with my voice quaking in eager anticipation, "LOOK AT WHAT IS ON THE STAIRS."

there's a body in there i just know it

So naturally we had to stop so I could photograph it, but I insisted to the Roomstress that she actually not touch the bag in case there was, in fact, a body in the bag and then her prints would be all over it and I've watched movies and know how that shit all goes down FOR SURE. But after the pic, R was all ooooh ooooh get a close up of my new shoes! So I obliged.

shoes and a body bag, together at last.

As we continued along to the car we contemplated who actually may be in the body bag on the stairs, when R spied this and was all "MAYBE IT'S THAT GUY!"

perhaps?

In any event, the bag is still there but someone opened it up and all that's in it is a dumb ole sleeping bag. LAME.

In other news, the Roomstress had to talk me out of hijacking this sweet little ride:

they did, in fact, make more.

And in case you were all like OOOOOH life with Megan must be all fun and games! I want to assure it is NOT. The poor Roomstress has to put up with a lot from me. Including digging out a piece of glass in my foot that has been lodged for weeks now.

i'm wicked flexible. i should work for cirque du soleil.

Lastly, I give you two items of interest that fall in the category of "What the Hell?"

wasp nest. in the elevator. not growing there. just pulled off from somewhere and left in the elevator. why? WHY?

there are so many things wrong with this sign that i don't even know where to start. but - duly noted. i shall endeavor to stay out of the wet soft drainage area. 

And with that, I'm gone. Over and out.

Seriously, TVA and I fair. Some things should really just go ahead and stay the same.

So the fair just left town last night, and I'm kinda sad about it. The fair is just so much fun. It's like Disney World but way dirtier and more dangerous (and therefore more fun. It's as if dirt and danger are proportional to how much fun it can be. GASP. I think I just figured out a danger equation!!) I love those carnival rides, and the Fairest of the Fair is always a good place to spot the beauty queens from the ones who are frantically grinning toothily with a "I'mma KILL Mama for making me do this!!!" glint in their eyes, and I love wandering through the barns looking at livestock, and I always want to see what the 4-H kids have come up with this year, and I love marveling over the largest pumpkin and gourd and who all had the best berries, jams, runner beans and place setting, and you know post corndog and cotton candy I will be getting my ass on the Scrambler and see if my stomach is still cast in iron (it is).

But this year five things happened to me that have made me question the Fair. And when one questions the fair, it shakes one's foundation to the very bedrock of their being.

Number one! Arrived and ate copious amounts of junk. Saw children toting around candy apples and made a mental note to look into candy apple goodness after my pizza and corndog. What I didn't notice was the amount of candy apples that were being tossed into the trash - I really should pay more attention. In any event, when it came time to eat the candy apple, I got stumped. It was too big to fit IN my mouth, and when I tried to cut it, I broke a knife trying to get through the Teflon-like outer shell. Not to be defeated, I worked that thing until I finally got a slice off and ate a bite. And regretted it fucking immediately.

what the hell is on this apple? i think only a diamond can penetrate this shell. or me with a plastic knife. the dipper has said on more than one occasion that i could break an anvil with a rubber mallet. that's pretty much the truth.

So I threw it away. That's when I noticed all the other candy apples with barely a dent in them in the trash. Someone could seriously get hurt with one of those things. I considered carrying it with me for use later as a weapon if needed but it was pretty sticky.

Number two! I went to the petting zoo! I love the petting zoo! I petted the emu, a whole bunch of baby goats, a llama (no spitting - whew!), and looked at the cases of baby chicks hatching from their shells. Awww... so so so so cute! I walked further in and peered with great interest into the next cage expecting something else cuddly and sweet when SUDDENLY THERE WAS A BOA CONSTRICTOR.

Listen. Whoever set this petting zoo up, LISTEN TO ME NOW. No one wants an unexpected boa constrictor. No one. You can't put a boa constrictor between the emu and the chicks hatching out of shells and expect no one to scream "OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT IT'S A HUGE ASS SNAKE" in front of children. You really are just asking for trouble, so let's just learn our lesson and move on with the day. No more unexpected boa constrictors. Although it occurs to me that boa constrictors may just be very misunderstood animals. They're out there looking for love, just like the rest of us. And when they find you, there're all like "AW, GIMME A HUG!" and it's really  not their fault that they're just good huggers. I think boa constrictors could give bears a run for the money in the hug department because it's in their nature to be hugging. And when they hug, they hug with their whole bodies, not just arms! And probably they have less ticks and fleas. And when they accidentally scrunch you just a bit too hard, they're all like "Ooopsie! Darn the luck, this one's dead now too. Whelp, better not let this perfectly good carcass go to waste - down the hatch!" and eat you! Talk about efficiency!

the petting zoo also had the most adorable mosh pit on the face of the earth. it wasn't labeled that way, but i knew what they meant. 

Moving on to number three!

this is why i will always wear rubber soled footwear at the fair. i'm pretty sure this is unsafe.  

Number four!

a bee stung me while i was riding the swings, high up in the air. how the hell did this happen? why was a bee all the way up there? and how did it land on me while i was swinging through the air? i seriously don't understand how that happened. but i did get to ride on a golf cart and go to first aide! that's kind of like the scrambler. 

And lastly number five:

the boy scouts got no game at the fair this year.

This didn't make me question the TVA and I Fair, but it really made me laugh:

Look!!! It is a Princess Scarecrow Girl Scout!!! It says so and everything.

Lastly lastly, I give you this week's moment in what the hellity:

and they didn't even invite me. i almost went anyway. lieutenant dan iiiceee crreeeeaaaam! (points to whoever gets that and says it like it sounded in the movie) 

And this technically wasn't ON the stairs, but it was close by, so I'm taking it:

don't mind if i do.

And just because I'm funny (in my mind):

And with that, I'm gone. Over and out!

Everyone's in luck. You're welcome, Internet.

What the Hell Wednesday came early. It's like Christmas but better because you don't have to wrap anything which is good because I'm all out of everything but duct tape.

So today starts, and I'm very industrious and busily engaged and working like the devil for the lord when I hit a moment between projects and my mind wandered and I thought oh I should go to the bathroom OH I better record my period which started yesterday and I grabbed my phone and I opened my menstrual app (yep it's a thing - because if it's one question a woman gets asked every time she goes to the doctor and she never had a real answer for until the advent of the smart phone it's "what's the first day of your last period" and dammit sometimes I want to give a real answer and not some..... 'ummm... a few weeks ago?' bullshit) AND THEN THIS HAPPENED. IT DID.

evidently i'm mount saint megan

At first I was kind of like, oh yeah my period is DUE today but it came yest... it was yesterd.... um... is that a volcano? It is a volcano. Um... why is there a volcano? Is the volcano - HOSHIT AM I THE VOLCANO?

Because if so that means I'm in for a world of hurt. I need to get on the horn stat with a gyno and get like... um.... some CREAM or something to clear this up because it sounds at BEST very stingy and at worst very deadly. And exceedingly burn-ey and painful in between.

Although, think of the side effects.... BEST BIRTH CONTROL EVER. No sir! I warn you! Do NOT put your ding dong up there! There will be consequences and you WILL NOT like them! That could be a good thing but I usually start my period at night and I don't want to wake up to the smell of burning mattress and be like OH CRAP REALLY. Guess I gotta go by Bed Bath and Beyond AGAIN today. Where's that 20% off coupon when you need it?

And what do I use - a frick'ing FIRE EXTINGUISHER for a tampon? I AM SO CONFUSED. But then a benefit - I could be all like "Don't you make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry!!!" And then if whoever continues to piss me off and I get mad and bend over and be like "FEAR MY WRATH" and burn those mother fuckers to a crisp! Then I'd just straighten up, brush volcanic ash out of my hair and go on about my day.

Lord. The possibilities are endless..... What have we learned here today, kids?

DON'T LET MEN DESIGN ANYTHING WHEN IT COMES TO WOMEN'S HYGIENE.

I think we'll all be better off. But to whatever idiot who thought this was a good idea: thank you. You made my morning hysterically funny.

I understand the definition of "dichotomy" now.

Last night, the Roomstress was gone and I had the loft all to myself. I went to the grocery store to get food for the week, but also to get something to make for myself for supper for the evening. Then - the thought: I can make whatever IIIII want. And I'll be the only one to eat it. And having the palate of a nine-year-old, I went to my favorite standby meal that the Ex-Mr. hated and that to this day I still love so I never made often: buttered noodles. YES BUTTERED NOODLES. I make them grownup food by adding broccoli and tomatoes and garlic salt. But buttered noodles is where it is AT.

After the grocery store, I went home and made my buttered noodles and was somewhat giddily happy about having an evening to myself (psst. this is the important part to remember). I could watch whatever trash on TV I wanted. I was singing out loud terribly. I had big plans for a night with James Bond. It was certainly something to look forward to. In the course of the evening I slipped into my bathroom to powder my nose, and had my weekly HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE HELL moment.

good lord. this is ridiculous.

So naturally, I stopped for a photo op, called the office, (I now have to use the Roomstress's shower until they can rip mine out and put it back in properly LOVE YOU, R), texted everyone I knew within a one mile radius about the mushroom, and then continued about my evening, scripting this week's blog post. Ha. Little did I know.

As I finished making supper, I went to get a glass of water and went ouch. Was that glass? Foot up, see nothing, step down and OUCH. The glass I broke with a hoop weeks ago strikes again. And I just sank that sliver into my foot up to the hilt.

I stopped what I was doing and hobbled over to the windows where the best light comes in and began working on getting the glass out. After an ineffective ten minutes, I hobbled over and got a pair of tweezers I keep in the living room (don't ask). After another ineffective ten minutes, I hobbled into my bathroom and got the "good" tweezers, a bottle of alcohol and a cotton ball. And after another another ineffective ten minutes I realized all I was doing was hitting the piece of glass with the tweezers and jumping from the twinge before I could get a grip and pull it out. So I gave up. And decided to patiently wait for someone who lived within a one mile radius to text me back about my mushroom so I could beg them to come over and perform surgery.

I got my now-cold plate of buttered noodles, microwaved it, and hobbled to the couch and ate supper while watching James Bond with a throbbing foot. And I thought: Gee. I sure wish someone was here to dig this piece of glass out of my foot.

YES UNIVERSE YOU ARE A WICKED SORCERESS AND YOU KNOW ABOUT IRONY AND THAT STUPID STUFF. I GET IT AND I HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR.

Deciding to spend the night alone on the couch and being forced to sit still for an evening are two different animals. This happened. On more than one occasion.

that's my sash on my head. yup, i'm bored.

After a couple of hours, text from the Roomstress came in re: mushroom. And I was all hahahhahahaa mushroom so what time are you home? NO BIGS. And texts and emails starting coming in from folks - at meetings, across town, in another town, in another state - but finally, FINALLY, a neighbor showed up with beer, wine and wielded a needled like a mother fucker while I cowered with my face in my hands and my foot backwards up on top of the kitchen island. I need to clean that now, by the way.

In any event, there's What the Hell Wednesday. Sharon pointed out that maybe I shouldn't post today in recognition of 9/11 but I told her what my grandmother always told me when I asked her about WWII: that war took enough of my life and I'm not giving it one more minute. So, no. Those evil men don't get anymore of my tears, time or attention. But those tragic victims do. I knew no one in those towers or no one who died trying to save them. But to say my heart breaks for those left behind is a shadow compared to how heartsick those thoughts make me when I think them. Instead, I'mma leave you with words from the Dipper about how he chooses to remember those taken too soon.

Over and OUT!

The power of Flo compels you!

So, I'm working on creating a routine in this new life of mine, and the one thing that I do consistently every week is play trivia with friend Sharon. It's part of an on-going trivia group called Geeks Who Drink (website here) and has been the source of much mirth and merriment over the summer. Sharon and I started going in the late spring, and we dubbed ourselves with the team name of Bulldogs as a tip of the hat to our alma mater, Bearden High. We were quite the powerhouse as a duo, coming in second or third each time. One evening an audio question was asked about what wait person was speaking and Sharon and I looked at each other blankly until "WELL KISS MY GRITS" was uttered and we both jumped for pencils to scribble in Flo from Alice. Later in the round a question was asked about some young singer I have no idea who he was at the time and who could kick me in the knee as I walk down the street right now and I'd still have no clue who he was, but when the answers were revealed and Flo from Alice was announced we YESSSS'ed and high five'ed and when the other singer who I still can't think of was announced and another team YESSSSS'ed and high five'ed..... the math started clicking and we met the other duo after the round and....

A dream team was born. 

Please meet our new friends, the Darling Physicist Duo:

these two are adorable to the power of infinity. and yes that's me behind them.

Here's the last six weeks of us at trivia - all the while trying to establish a solid team name:

Last night's battle was no exception to the mirth and merriment rule. Much fun was had by all, and at the end of the evening Disney's Twerk Mountain prevailed once again.

Please enjoy a snapshot montage of last night's game regarding the reasons why we are such a great team: 

"Is the net worth of Mitt Romney greater or less than one million dollars?"

Sharon: His house in the Hamptons is worth $26 million and anyone with that kind of house is going to have a net worth or more than $100 million.

"What is the make and model of these cars...." (Sharon snatches pencil) "of these Transformers?" (Sharon shoves paper away as Andrew gasps and snatches pencil.)

Sharon: Wait a minute. James Garner played Optimus Prime?

"Is the core temperature of the sun greater or less than one million degrees Fahrenheit?" 

Andrew: *gasp!* But I only know the core temperature of the sun in Kelvin!!

Matthew: *grabbing paper and pencil* Never mind! We can do the math!

(It should also be noted that in the greater or less than round the physicists also did the math {correctly, I might add} in figuring out the density of the Hoover Dam and how many miles it is from Earth to the sun by using the speed of light.)

the intensity is overwhelming. math is hard.

Please note as well: I contributed nothing of value to the greater or less than round. I did, however, identify the song on the speakers as a ditty sung by Christina Aguliera and entertained everyone by singing loudly all the correct words to "Candyman."

And it didn't hurt that we sat under this new art installation last night:

grits officially kissed.

And that, friends, is winning.

Peace out, K-Town.

Gratitude is the new black

I owe all the best parts of me to my mother. She consistently had done right by me even when I'm a dumbass and deserve the short end of the stick.

If I could script my life she would be my creative consultant. My moral compass and my role model.

Instead ... She's my touchstone. I can never be like her. I don't have it in me to be Mary Ann. Mary Ann is magnificent. Kind. Generous. Grateful. Benevolent. Can drop a pun like a mo-fo. Doesn't shy away from f-bombs. Funny. So so funny.  She is everything I wish I could be.

If only stupid Megan wouldn't get in her way. I marvel at her but I can't and sincerely don't really understand why I'm not more like her. She is the one that surveys the pieces when I fall apart and challenges me to put them back together in an even better way.

My mother is the greatest part of who I am.

she's also a fan of fun. i get that from her.

What. The. Hell?

So it's Wednesday, and today's installment of What the Hell Wednesday has nothing to do with found objects on the stairs, or mushrooms or implausible situations I find myself in. Wait. Scratch that. It's the third one.

It has to do with work. And normally I don't talk about work on my blog because... well. It's WORK. I work so I can go home and have a life, ya'll. But my job today has me shaking my head and thinking, quite literally, thinking WHAT THE HELL, YA'LL?

I'm moving offices. Which is fine. But I'm moving in... with the Roomstress.

Now, I love the Roomstress. We get along fabulously. She's a doll baby and a friend and a great Roomstress. But ... I quite literally can't think of another human on the face of this earth that I'm going to be spending more time with. Wake up? She's there. Go to work? There. Back home? Bingo! THERE.

I'm just perplexed. Are they trying to get us to know each other better? Get along more famously? In any event - working on getting moved in today.

In other What the Hell Wednesday news, there's this hobbit hole on campus. I cannot for the life of me figure it out. Why is this here?

was it a bomb shelter? extra storage? i don't understand.

oddly enough, knowing this is here gives me peace of mind; in case i'm being chased or something i can just duck in.

And that's all for now. Over and out.

THIS IS SO NOT A REAL POST

But two things:

Do you remember the euphoria of going to Blockbuster in search of a certain movie and feeling angst walking in the store hoping hoping hoping that it was in stock and finding in a. on the shelf and b. copies of it available? What a great feeling. EUREKA. I have found tonight's entertainment!

Second, and in case I haven't whined enough about this, I pulled a hamstring AGAIN while making popcorn last night.

While. Making. Popcorn.

Yup, you heard it here. Popcorn is now evidently a contact sport.

Over and out.