I've never been good at tests. I have a quick wit, but it doesn't translate well through the question bubbles. I can read a text book 14 times and not remember a thing, but that snarky FB blog? I'll remember it forever. I'd like to think I won't make the same mistake twice, but if I look back on past relationships...well, obviously not true.
I've done a couple good things in life. I had a cool kid. I eat all my vegetables.
Tests. It sort of feels like life is all about tests. My life GPA must suck because I keep having to retake the same tests. I believe in God. I don't understand God, but I believe in Him. I think he likes my family members a lot because He keeps taking them. I'd like to believe we will all be together again one day...drinking our beer of choice out of sparkling mugs made by the hands of angels and running amok; our hearts and tummies full of pure joy.
But what about now. What about real life?
Remember when happiness was a Klondike Bar? Fun Dip? Getting to lick the spoon after mom made cookies? It was all so innocent. The Life Happiness Seeker Bar (LHSB) gets a great deal more difficult as we grow older. Fun Dip turns to healthy things like alcohol and random flesh conquests; sleepless nights and medication; the constant desire for love and acceptance from others when you really only need it from yourself. It's like one big LHSB clusterfuck...and then all of a sudden, you can't remember the last time you actually were happy.
Then, if you're lucky, you have kids. Your life is all about another life now. All those tests you failed? Now you have to prepare your kid for the same tests. Every now and then you wonder why God felt you worthy of growing this little life and being completely in charge of it when you never even did a good job with your own. Maybe this is a second (or 45th) chance. Maybe, because everything you do is right and perfect in the eyes of this little one, you'll do better this time around. Remember how you stopped caring about your life such a long time ago? You know you'll never stop caring about this kids life...and that makes you feel kind of good...even kind of happy.
I guess this is another test. Shit.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Does Anyone Have the Answer?
Life is just strange. So many things do not make sense. Here are some things I don't get:
Why do all the channels you don't have on your current cable plan play totally awesome stuff until you order the extra channels and then all that's played are old Chuck Norris and Suzanne Somers infomercials?
Why do dogs eat their own shit?
Why do people wear their pajamas and slippers out in public?
Why do the guys who have their ass showing in their baggy pants actually think they look cool?
What's with face tattoos? Actually, I see this as a save in life..."wow Megan, that is a HUGE pimple." "No, it's just a tattoo."
How is it that fashion flubs like fanny packs and spandex still exist...and that people still wear them?
What's with YouTube? I mean seriously, is it super ultra hip and cool that you can type in absolutely anything...like a pen and a pencil mating...and there will actually be a video on that very thing?
I know you all have questions too...let's ponder the oddities of life together...
Why do all the channels you don't have on your current cable plan play totally awesome stuff until you order the extra channels and then all that's played are old Chuck Norris and Suzanne Somers infomercials?
Why do dogs eat their own shit?
Why do people wear their pajamas and slippers out in public?
Why do the guys who have their ass showing in their baggy pants actually think they look cool?
What's with face tattoos? Actually, I see this as a save in life..."wow Megan, that is a HUGE pimple." "No, it's just a tattoo."
How is it that fashion flubs like fanny packs and spandex still exist...and that people still wear them?
What's with YouTube? I mean seriously, is it super ultra hip and cool that you can type in absolutely anything...like a pen and a pencil mating...and there will actually be a video on that very thing?
I know you all have questions too...let's ponder the oddities of life together...
Thursday, March 3, 2011
I Might Have Some Issues
Sometimes I wonder if I'm insane. I hear voices in my head. Not like "take the pen and jab it into her jugular to make her shut up" type voices...just annoying argumentative voices. They kind of second guess me...like when I replace a roll of toilet paper - there's this little voice that says "do you really want it starting over instead of under Megan?" It repeats this over and over and over and over and over again, so I turn it under to shut up crazy Megan, but then usually turn it back over just to annoy Megan...or myself...yeah...that *is* kind of insane.
I think I'm slightly OCD as well. My version is not like Jack Nicholson's chararcter in As Good As It Gets; I don't have to wash my hands every three minutes with a new bar of soap. Come to think of it, I do wash my hands a LOT, though...hmmm.
Focus.
See, my OCD is really only about public restrooms. They repulse me, yes. I don't like to poop in them, no. These are pretty typical across the board feelings, though, right? My deal is that I cannot leave my stall until it is clean. This can present a problem. And before you start wondering how the heck I clean old granny's poo explosion off the toilet and the walls - let me reassure you that I do have my limits. So, yes, if you piss all over the seat, I will wipe that up for you. If you've dropped tp all over the floor like some teething gerbil, I will pick that up for you. If granny's poo explosion is present, I will simply not leave my stall until the line waiting for one has diminished. This can take a while. It's weird, yes, but I just can't handle someone thinking that the poo explosion, or the piss sprinkles, or the tp confetti is mine. I will clean it up, so you will have an enjoyable public restroom experience. If it's the stuff I don't touch, I will wait until the line is empty and then run like hell before someone comes in and sees what stall I exited from...after washing my hands for at least 30 seconds in HOT water thank you.
I guess it could be worse...wait til I tell you about my issue with spoons.
I think I'm slightly OCD as well. My version is not like Jack Nicholson's chararcter in As Good As It Gets; I don't have to wash my hands every three minutes with a new bar of soap. Come to think of it, I do wash my hands a LOT, though...hmmm.
Focus.
See, my OCD is really only about public restrooms. They repulse me, yes. I don't like to poop in them, no. These are pretty typical across the board feelings, though, right? My deal is that I cannot leave my stall until it is clean. This can present a problem. And before you start wondering how the heck I clean old granny's poo explosion off the toilet and the walls - let me reassure you that I do have my limits. So, yes, if you piss all over the seat, I will wipe that up for you. If you've dropped tp all over the floor like some teething gerbil, I will pick that up for you. If granny's poo explosion is present, I will simply not leave my stall until the line waiting for one has diminished. This can take a while. It's weird, yes, but I just can't handle someone thinking that the poo explosion, or the piss sprinkles, or the tp confetti is mine. I will clean it up, so you will have an enjoyable public restroom experience. If it's the stuff I don't touch, I will wait until the line is empty and then run like hell before someone comes in and sees what stall I exited from...after washing my hands for at least 30 seconds in HOT water thank you.
I guess it could be worse...wait til I tell you about my issue with spoons.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
I am an Equal Opportunity Eater
I am the perfect weight...for a 6 foot tall person. I blame food. If food wasn't so good, I wouldn't be fat. I'm not prejudiced; I love broccoli just as much as I love cake. There isn't much I won't eat and I eat super human sized portions. I tell myself I have a tapeworm. And Mr. Tapey has an appetite like Donkey Kong.
We have 'Health Screenings' each year at work. This is supposed to promote good health and a proactive approach to potential medical problems like high blood pressure, cholesterol, and all that funtastic stuff. I recognize this 'Screening' for what it truly is; an opportunity to accept the reality that I am a fat ass and feel like crap for the rest of the day. This year, I had a little victory to tuck away in my good-things-that-sometimes-happen closet; I graduated from obese to overweight. I left the health counselor (who apparently also had a tapeworm issue, but somehow was hired to offer advice to us "large boned" folks) and felt kind of happy. Then I saw the plate of cookies someone had brought in and wondered how many I could consume before hitting the obese category again.
I never had a problem with weight until I got pregnant. In fact, I just recently stopped using the excuse of "I just had a baby" because...well...he is almost ten. It's a vicious little cycle really because I also never had boobs growing up. I'd like to keep the boobs...they present a certain level of entertainment and as long as they stick out further than my stomach, I tell myself things are alright. Unfortunately, I was not blessed with much of a backside...I have deep envy for J Lo and Kim Kardashian's posteriors. Why that area didn't grow with the weight gain, I don't know, but I keep praying that all the extra will just eventually decide it would be happier living on my island of butt. It's warm...unpopulated...quiet...kind of like Brookings.
Being fat is weird. I don't really feel fat. In my mind, I still look like I did when I was 16. Then I see a photo and wonder who brought the double-chinned girl to the party before finally realizing that she is in fact, me.
I do exercise. Unfortunately, once a month doesn't constitute much of a fitness program. I think about exercising a LOT, though. One day, I think the people who invented Wii and Kinect will come out with a fat burning thought game...like...you can dream about exercising and you'll actually burn calories. You wake up skinnier each day (probably sweaty too and that needs to be reconsidered in the next edition).
That is my ramble for today. Stay tuned. And remember, fat people are more fun to hug.
We have 'Health Screenings' each year at work. This is supposed to promote good health and a proactive approach to potential medical problems like high blood pressure, cholesterol, and all that funtastic stuff. I recognize this 'Screening' for what it truly is; an opportunity to accept the reality that I am a fat ass and feel like crap for the rest of the day. This year, I had a little victory to tuck away in my good-things-that-sometimes-happen closet; I graduated from obese to overweight. I left the health counselor (who apparently also had a tapeworm issue, but somehow was hired to offer advice to us "large boned" folks) and felt kind of happy. Then I saw the plate of cookies someone had brought in and wondered how many I could consume before hitting the obese category again.
I never had a problem with weight until I got pregnant. In fact, I just recently stopped using the excuse of "I just had a baby" because...well...he is almost ten. It's a vicious little cycle really because I also never had boobs growing up. I'd like to keep the boobs...they present a certain level of entertainment and as long as they stick out further than my stomach, I tell myself things are alright. Unfortunately, I was not blessed with much of a backside...I have deep envy for J Lo and Kim Kardashian's posteriors. Why that area didn't grow with the weight gain, I don't know, but I keep praying that all the extra will just eventually decide it would be happier living on my island of butt. It's warm...unpopulated...quiet...kind of like Brookings.
Being fat is weird. I don't really feel fat. In my mind, I still look like I did when I was 16. Then I see a photo and wonder who brought the double-chinned girl to the party before finally realizing that she is in fact, me.
I do exercise. Unfortunately, once a month doesn't constitute much of a fitness program. I think about exercising a LOT, though. One day, I think the people who invented Wii and Kinect will come out with a fat burning thought game...like...you can dream about exercising and you'll actually burn calories. You wake up skinnier each day (probably sweaty too and that needs to be reconsidered in the next edition).
That is my ramble for today. Stay tuned. And remember, fat people are more fun to hug.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Spiders & Toilets
I have an insane fear of spiders. And by insane, I mean that I turn into a frozen, sweaty, shaking, wide-eyed, chicken shit mess whenever I see one. Even baby spiders...staring at me with their innocent little 'I haven't even sunk my vampire teeth into a fly yet' spidery eyes; they turn me into a semi-stroke state.
I will never forget going into our bathroom (I think I was about 12) at my childhood home and sitting on the toilet to do my business. I feel a light little feathery sensation on my right butt cheek and automatically reach back to brush the whatever-the-hell-it-is away. IT WAS A FREAKING SPIDER...ON MY ASS!!!! MY ASS PEOPLE!!!!!! It dropped into the toilet and started the spastic drowning spider performance and I just stood there screaming, crying, and choking on my own snot. For the next 20+ years, I NEVER sat on a toilet seat again. I squatted...even at home. I figured the little bastards couldn't pole vault onto my ass...and I kept it a good distance from the seat (just in case).
Squatting creates some difficulty. Not only does your urine stream hitting the water sound like Niagra Falls, you get a little splash at plop down. I could get graphic, but I'm sure you can figure out the obvious. The positive side is you have thighs/butt of steel without the help of Suzanne Somers OR Chuck Norris. Maybe I could market this as the newest fitness regime! I can see the marketing slogan on the infomercial now: "Save Your Ass From Spider Bites AND Cellulite!"
To be continued...
I will never forget going into our bathroom (I think I was about 12) at my childhood home and sitting on the toilet to do my business. I feel a light little feathery sensation on my right butt cheek and automatically reach back to brush the whatever-the-hell-it-is away. IT WAS A FREAKING SPIDER...ON MY ASS!!!! MY ASS PEOPLE!!!!!! It dropped into the toilet and started the spastic drowning spider performance and I just stood there screaming, crying, and choking on my own snot. For the next 20+ years, I NEVER sat on a toilet seat again. I squatted...even at home. I figured the little bastards couldn't pole vault onto my ass...and I kept it a good distance from the seat (just in case).
Squatting creates some difficulty. Not only does your urine stream hitting the water sound like Niagra Falls, you get a little splash at plop down. I could get graphic, but I'm sure you can figure out the obvious. The positive side is you have thighs/butt of steel without the help of Suzanne Somers OR Chuck Norris. Maybe I could market this as the newest fitness regime! I can see the marketing slogan on the infomercial now: "Save Your Ass From Spider Bites AND Cellulite!"
To be continued...
Thursday, February 10, 2011
My Very First Blog Ever
One of my Facebook friends posted this on my wall: "You should be a writer. I want to read a book with your thoughts in it. I know I will be laughing to no end."
"BLOG MEGAN..." my mind screamed at me, "YOU MUST BLOG (the capital letters are my mind screaming...I'm not angry...the letters would be bold if I was angry, ok? Besides, I'm screaming at myself - don't be so sensitive)."
Erin, I dedicate my first blog that no one will ever read to you!
I woke up at 6 am this morning. I have to be to work by 7 am. I keep waiting for the day I become a morning person. I stumbled into my bathroom thinking of all the things I could skip to make up time and not be late for work. Do I really have to brush my teeth? No one smells my breath but me - it's one of the joys of being single. I showered yesterday...I can totally skip it today (sniffing armpit...freshness permeates my nasal passages...awesome!). The bedhead look is in, right; or am I a decade off...ah hell, I'll bring it back! My clothes are clean and even hanging in the closet which means NO WRINKLES! Score!
Peanut butter cookie for breakfast - check.
Pets wrangled - check.
Child looking (and acting) relatively civilized for the day - check.
Out the door...on time...hit my head on my car door (DAMMIT).
I'm at work. Let the excitement unfold. I am office warrior. Hear me roar.
This blog can only get better, I swear. Really. Ease up on me, I'm new at this and truth be told; I am not that interesting.
"BLOG MEGAN..." my mind screamed at me, "YOU MUST BLOG (the capital letters are my mind screaming...I'm not angry...the letters would be bold if I was angry, ok? Besides, I'm screaming at myself - don't be so sensitive)."
Erin, I dedicate my first blog that no one will ever read to you!
I woke up at 6 am this morning. I have to be to work by 7 am. I keep waiting for the day I become a morning person. I stumbled into my bathroom thinking of all the things I could skip to make up time and not be late for work. Do I really have to brush my teeth? No one smells my breath but me - it's one of the joys of being single. I showered yesterday...I can totally skip it today (sniffing armpit...freshness permeates my nasal passages...awesome!). The bedhead look is in, right; or am I a decade off...ah hell, I'll bring it back! My clothes are clean and even hanging in the closet which means NO WRINKLES! Score!
Peanut butter cookie for breakfast - check.
Pets wrangled - check.
Child looking (and acting) relatively civilized for the day - check.
Out the door...on time...hit my head on my car door (DAMMIT).
I'm at work. Let the excitement unfold. I am office warrior. Hear me roar.
This blog can only get better, I swear. Really. Ease up on me, I'm new at this and truth be told; I am not that interesting.
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