Purging my soul of sin before ashes!

Blog, you are an instigator of procrastination. But if Sunday nights are not for procrastination, what are they for? Mass? What? Haven't been in weeks? Shhh.

Hey! I went to the casino this weekend! That's right. High roller playin' Blackjack. I now know how to play one card game, and won money in the learning process. Then I went to the slot machines and decided that pulling that lever is just as fun as I always imagined, but more expensive. It is likely that throwing money from my pocket onto the carpet at Mystic where cheap beer and cigarette must mask the tackiness of the pattern, would have been a slower way to lose cash money*.

I also went to a Timberwolves game on Friday night. Swanky, delicious raviolis were consumed beforehand, shortly followed by the realization that basketball players are a lot bigger when they're only a few feet away. And not feet from the TV to the couch. Although we didn't make it on the KissCam, apparently sitting behind the only Pacers fan in the stadium gets you some screen time in Indiana. It took the first half of the first quarter for Drunk Pacer Dude Fan to convince us to cease our Timberwolves "support" and put ourselves behind the Pacers. Which obviously worked when they won.

Abrupt ending! Homework time! It's like Tool Time but with less Tim Allen and more Google searches of Johnathan Taylor Thomas!

*Totally enamored with Lil' Wayne right now. Google that man and learn about his cough-syrup consumption, the time he shot himself at age 9, and his prolific rap career. Lil' Wayne says "cash money", so I say "cash money". It's a street cred thing. You might not understand.

Working hard to avoid unnecessary abbreviations.

Hiya.
Realizations for 17 February 2009:

• Today is not Monday.
  
• Why are things with fewer things more expensive? Fluoride-free toothpaste, for example. Who am I paying to remove things from my things?
• The level of aloofness in my apartment may have allowed for a boy to move in. That is the only excuse for the level of disgusting the kitchen has risen to.
  
• Birthdays go on as long as the streamers are kept up.
  
• Stone Butch Blues: too sad to read before bedtime.
• Honey Nut Cheerios: giving me dreams about family members dying.
  
• Perhaps have discovered a way to bottle post-Honey Nut Cheerios milk for resale.
  
• Twitter: it's a good time. You may have noticed how the previous seven bullet points could have been seven separate Tweets. At first, I didn't know if I could channel thoughts to 140 characters, now I feel as though they have a 140 character limit. Working on drawing the line between Twitter and Blog.
  

"Welcome to your twenties"

Hey Blog! Sorry I promise I didn't forget about you, I was just very busy turning one year older. As birthdays go, this one rocked. Although if you're a public surprise-hater like myself, you know that quiet birthdays are never a good sign. You know they haven't forgotten...they've made casual, obligatory, awkward references to the day:

• "Oh. Yeah, your birthday is next week...that's right..."
• "Do you have plans with your family on your birthday? I mean, I was just....wondering."
• "Don't make plans the day after your birthday."
• "Hold on. I have to take this call in the hallway. Away from you."
  

I've decided I should start telling people I love surprises because the second you tell people how much you hate surprises, they start planning. I'll admit, there is no joy like totally exploiting someones hate for surprises, but I think there's extra time in purgatory for getting joy out of such angst.
I woke up to Isle Bun & Coffee from Wit-Knee! because she knows me well and knows that you should need a special license to indulge in something as delicious as these cinnamon rolls. The next night was a roommate fest of piñatas, streamers, Turkish food and toxic amounts of fun.

All in all, it was a lovely birthday, yes, maybe even with the surprises.
Although next year, I promise that if you just tell me where to be and what's going down, I will act surprised and will forfeit less sleep. Deal? Deal.

Known to Drag Feet

This is Pokey. You may remember Pokey as Gumby's best friend. You also may remember Pokey if you have ever met me, because, as it turns out, we are the same being. I have many Gumbys in my life, according to this description, and the little, bendy Pokey pictured above was a Christmas gift from Kelsey Roommate after I made her watch a few episodes of Gumby with me on YouTube (all of that emotional investment happened in a matter of minutes, because apparently all Gumby episodes were only five minutes long).

However, I scored a new job a few weeks ago walking two dogs for a lady in the neighborhood, because apparently working at a hardware store isn't the only place that will hire me with a complete lack of qualification. And these dogs? These big dogs called Franklin and Bogey (!!!)? They are muffins. And they make me think that, probably, at some, soonish point in my life, I would like to have an animal to keep this bendy Pokey company. A breathing, eating, bag-on-walks-needing, four-legged animal to be friends with bendy Pokey without eating him.

Esophageal. Only a funny word until you have cancer of it.

I am having quite the time separating dream life from reality life. But not in the way that causes me to spend $50 on a CBS TV show. The kind where I wake up unsure of my surroundings, whether or not I've had important, relationship-defining conversations, what and where my pets are, whether or not I have taken street drugs and what kind of cancer I have. This is a problem that has plagued me for several years now, and I'm thinking it's time for some pro-activity about it.

Perhaps I will try and alter my day-time habits to settle my dream life a bit. Which food is it that makes me dream that I am in Cuba learning how to cook outside in the warm sun? What time should I stop drinking tea and eating cookies? Perhaps I should pick up yoga again?

I can't say for sure that my first Planet Earth experience* last night helped. I watched "Prairies" on the big screen in our building and it was a seriously traumatic, emotional experience. Beauty? Yes! Plants growing before your eyes? Yes! Baby animals? Yes! Animal attacks? Yes! Animal attacks on baby animals? I don't know because I closed my eyes. But judging by the sounds my roommates made, the ominous orchestral music, and the somber tone in David Attenborough's voice, all signs point to dead pika babies.

*That makes it sound like I came to planet earth for the first time last night. And it was a total mind$@*#. Wouldn't it be, though?

Winter affects us all in different ways.

I'm knocking on wood while I'm still at home and there is still real wood in my life when I tell you that I don't have mono yet. Or, at least I don't think so. There were those twelve hours of sleep I slept a few nights ago, and the nap I took earlier that day. But those could totally be written off as non-mono by the following things:

• Being tired
• Winter
• Darkness
• Horizontal surfaces
• Being myself
• Cuddly dog who hates winter also
• Food intake: sleep helps with the digestion
• Absence of friends who teased me with a visit home for "break". Which my brain mistakenly translates as "home permanently".
  

Speaking of that cuddly dog, I found her chewing on a tiny glass shard today. And that's the second time I've found her doing this in a week. There was no evidence of blood or mouth-cutage, but riddle me this: Which is more concerning: Finding glass shards frequently in the house, or that I have a canine who enjoys glass shards as snacks?

IV of the C, please.

• Communal cookie dough bucket
• King-sized memory foam bed (I typed 'phone' at first. Memory phone bed?! COOL!) This leads to each individual having their own, personal "valley" in the mattress which your anxious bed mate will sometimes invade for a laugh at 2 am.
• Communal tooth paste
• Microwave bacon, fingers necessary for preparation.
• "Can I have a drink of your water?"
• "I'm driving, will you please feed the Cinnastix to me?"

What do these things all have in common? Things that shouldn't happen when one of you unknowingly has mono. It will be an epiphany miracle if Sandwich Lady kept her mono to herself during the weekend at this beautiful cabin. Stay tuned!

ArgStyle

Hey Blog! Sorry, I know I complained about how lovely and freeing finals week was, only to be followed by almost a month and a half of vacation play time. But I find that vacation play time is sometimes commandeered for family time, sheet rocking the basement ceiling time, horizontal surface time, and wasting time. But. Now I am here to show you Brother with all of his argyle and all of his style. We played dress up for Christmas Eve and the theme was "Gap Christmas Ad".
Our 22nd Christmas and last Christmas at the house was lovely and celebrated as usual with Bloody Marys, cinnamon rolls, lots of socks, and merciless teasing. Style will clearly not be compromised as we get ready to move out.
So. Happy New Year, interwebs. Celebrate with Dick Clark and try to laugh at his jokes and not at his post-stroke self and sporadic camera cuts.

'08 Resolution re-cap:
Use fewer commas and less vomit. Check and check!
'09 Resolution:
Like spicy food.

A week without classes?! Underrated!

It is finals week. A week that every room that every college student walks into must have a giant sign over it that says, "Complaint Department". They are consistent emitters of whine about how nobody could possibly understand just how much they have been studying, or studying they have to do. Nobody has as many projects due, or papers to write, or hundreds of thousands of full notebooks to memorize. There is no possible way that you, fellow college student, could understand.

So, Kelsey Roommate and I look at the outside of our door, make sure there is no sign other than "Keep Off The Grass" and slam it in every whiny, over-stressed, under-slept, ugly-print-polyester-pajama-pants-wearing girl that knocks on our door. Then we open it again and offer them a cup of hot chocolate and a spot on the amoeba couch to watch the blizzard outside. No thinking about homework and tests is allowed during blizzard and hot chocolate time so we can all just take twenty freaking minutes and appreciate that we're in college.
And that that's awesome.

It's about grieving. Ham.

Insert sadface emoticon here.
Because Santa did not come soon enough with the fish doctor. Ham died yesterday, hopefully peacefully while I was learning Spanish. He was a good fish, and likely the best roommate I will have in my lifetime. Ham was a great listener, kept clean digs, and up until his last days, was an enthusiastic eater. And what more could a girl ask for in a roommate/best friend/desk resident?
Excuse me, it appears that Santa did not make it with those tissues just yet either.

It's about giving. To me.

Christmas List:

1. Four cases of Stonyfield Farm vanilla yogurt. (If you cut me open, the only things you would find inside me would be this yogurt and earl grey tea. And phlegm. Phlegm was maybe not the best way to start the first blog post in two weeks. Apologies.)
2. A fish doctor. Ham is struggling with the whole “eating his food” thing. He’s all, “Oh! The food! SCORE. (swimswimswim toward the food) I’m ready! Ima eat it! I’ve never been more hungry and totally can’t wait to get this foooooodNEVERMIND. (swimswimswim away from the food).”
3. Tissues. The kind with lotion which, contrary to some beliefs, do not “already feel used”. I will show you what an already used tissue feels like, pick one off my desk or bed or nightstand or floor.
4. A pocket-sized Kelsey Roommate. She’s too cute for anything ever, especially during times of new love. She leaves a wake of puppies and rainbows and sunshine wherever her little frame and cute glasses take her.
5. This. Because once you’ve read the non-graphic novel version, you should be able to reward yourself with pictures.
   

Small people are cuter

Via video chat: much less creepy when you embrace it with both arms and use it daily.

Sandwich Lady: Aw...she was the cutest little girl ever.
Me: I know. Norah. So cute.
Nora? What? Her name was Lily.
Um...no? It was Nora. I remember.
Yeah, so do I. I remember that it was Lily.
It was Nora!
Lily!
That's stupid. Her name was Nora.
You're stupid. It was Lily. I'm calling my sister. She'll know.
Fine.
(riing..) Hi. What was that little girl named? The really cute one? What? Are you serious?
HA. I was right! It was Nora!
Okay, bye sister.
Nora! I told you!
Her name is Joy.

Although that tiny person could compete in cuteness for the little one who came into work yesterday with his southern-accent mom. They were standing in the electric aisle, mother trying to pick out new outlet covers. Little one, on the other hand would run up the aisle toward me shouting "RUN TO THE LADY!" and then, too close for comfort, "RUN BACK TO MOMMY!" and back and forth and back and forth until he was ready to proclaim that he would carry the bag to the car.

Melatonin Increase

I saw this BoingBoing post a few days ago.
And then last night dreamt that I had a baby pygmy hippo as a pet.

That is all.

Pride, of sorts.

After three months of unemployment, (okay I got those three writers "compensation" checks that are still waiting to be picked up because eventually, if I wait long enough, all together they will pay for part of my cell phone bill) I am officially back on a payroll. The lovely S&S Hardware has hired me on as their newest jeans-wearing, tool-selling, receipt-printing, person who knows nothing about tools or plumbing or nails.
One of my first customers what a disgruntled, middle-aged woman who was in a huff from the moment she walked through the door. She walked up to the counter, put a plunger on the counter, and proclaimed that it did not work. Yes, she had tried. Yes, she had speculations as to why it did not work. Yes she wanted a refund for the used, broken plunger that was now sitting on our checkout counter. Employment! I forgot how fun you were!

Also, Oldest Brother is officially moved out and moved in to his new house. He threw a party Friday night for friends, family and keg-beer fans over at the new digs. I came with my parents and left with my roommates because my parents were not done having fun at 3 am.
My brother, the homeowner. Yes, why yes, I am proud.

On Patriotism. Sort of.

This is Sema and Ali. They own Black Sea on Snelling kind of by Hamline. Hamline freaks me out, but for undiscovered reasons. But you should venture to Black Sea because it is the first Turkish restaurant in Minnesota and most of their meals are under $5. I read in a review somewhere that Ali said they wanted the restaurant to just be "an extension of their living room" and what kind of hospitality is more delicious than that? The kind that comes with falafel.

Also, I helped elect the next president this week. And that's cool.
I've clearly been very productive and now deserve an episode of Gossip Girl.

Five Things, Five Songs. This post sponsored by Colin Meloy and his constituents.

Things that might be nice:

1. If someone would explain "No Shave November" to me.
   
2. If we could bottle today's weather up in a city-sized jar for me to spend time in after Friday when it snows.
   
3. If Thanksgiving dinner could happen during Spanish Lab on Mondays.
   
4. Making the school week one day long. I would also settle for two if the remaining days could alter between Christmas, Thanksgiving and weather days like today.
   
5. If in six months, day light savings time would please make sense.

Nooo!

I've been hacked! Just kidding.
I got up to go to the bathroom and made the mistake of leaving the blog open and logged in. Actually, I always leave it open and logged in because I'm lazy like that, this was just the inevitable and first time that my security was breached.
The beauty of the Interwebz is that you can take back anything you want to say (Except for emails and text messages, as discussed this weekend. Someone invent an undo key for these things, please.) and I instinctively was going to delete Kate's exposure of my guiltiest pleasure, Gossip Girl. Until she asked if she could be a "sometimes blogger or whatever that's called".
Look forward to YKTSTSM's first guest blogger ever!
See how grown up?!

this is not megan.


i like blogging.

so here we are...waiting for gossip girl to download...on my itunes.

yep.

this means I bought it. for 1.99.

and it will be soooooo worth it.

Still relatively undignified

This weekend was spent in the beauty that is Northern Minnesota in October. Brisk, orange, leafy and delicious. An encompassing picture to come later this week after my mother has finished exploiting my camera with boring house pictures. Lameface!
Although she asked for it in a moment of weakness; exhausted from only a handful of hours of sleep each night since last Wednesday. I woke up this morning in the same position I fell into bed last night after writing a haphazard rough draft on dead zones. There was a person-shaped hole in my bed because I slept so hard.
The not-sleeping hours of the weekend were fueled by bad coffee (see: brown water). The kind where you pull a lever from a big box where there is no evidence of any actual "beans". Concerning, but not enough to not drink a few dozen cups each day. I am, however, now back at school drinking a for-real cup of coffee (the bottom of the cup is no where in sight!) and am having a hard time getting my keys on the right fingers without sporadically pushing surrounding keys. backspacebackspacebackspace.