1) When your two male movers lift up a large chair and reveal hordes and hordes of unused tampons that your cats have apparently stolen and then rolled away, DO NOT shrug, say 'woo, cats, huh?' and then go in for a high five. Shit gets awkward.
2) If you bruise like a peach load up on iron beforehand. If not you will be so covered in bruises that your pedicurist, days later, will look up at you with sad eyes and ask if you have a boyfriend, and if so, if things are ok at home.
3) Do not buy under the bed storage containers before measuring the height of said bed. If you do this, do not, I repeat do not attempt to lift the bed by yourself to just shove them under. If you insist on doing this, watch your head.
4) Have lots of pain killers handy.
5) Have lots of alcohol handy.
6) If your cats are freaked out by their sudden change in location, do not soothe them for a minute, then decide to be productive and turn on the power drill.
7) Pack something that can conveniently and efficiently remove cat urine.
8) Do not go into new building elevator looking like a homeless person and smelling of garlic. This is when you will run into attractive next door neighbor, Antonio, with the sexy accent.
9) Do not schedule a bikini wax and dental surgery during the move time frame. Yeah.
10) Unpack painkillers, wash down with alcohol.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Thanks, LA
I quit my online dating account about two weeks ago. Before I did however, I struck up one last conversation with a dude. According to his pictures he was adorable and according to his emails funny and charming. Oh internet, ye giver of amazing deals on shoes and hours of amusement, why do you lie about dudes?
Our date was set for 7:30 on Saturday, per his request. I got to the bar a few minutes early as let's face it, I'm always early. I grabbed a glass of wine, made friends with some of the patrons and waited. And waited. Twenty minutes later the fabulous gay boy at the bar and I were discussing leaving to go dancing as clearly I'd been stood up. Five minutes later my phone rings, dude is stuck in traffic he says, be there in five. Sure. If by five you mean twenty, then five it is. He arrived and well... let's just say the effort he put into getting ready was about the same effort I put into going to the gym on a weekly basis, ergo, non existent. I mean, nothing says I care what you think about me like high tops, rolled jeans and a button down straining at the buttons. Also his picture was clearly taken five years ago or involved heavy amounts of photoshop.
He was unapologetic about arriving almost an hour late. He then went and got himself a glass of wine. After he returned to the table I got up and refilled my glass. He then kind of shrugged at me and then started talking about himself. Finally thirty minutes later I was able to break in and say that I had to leave to get to a party. I paid, left and went home to start my new hobby: xanax taking and collecting cat art.
And officially, I'm on a break from dating again.
Our date was set for 7:30 on Saturday, per his request. I got to the bar a few minutes early as let's face it, I'm always early. I grabbed a glass of wine, made friends with some of the patrons and waited. And waited. Twenty minutes later the fabulous gay boy at the bar and I were discussing leaving to go dancing as clearly I'd been stood up. Five minutes later my phone rings, dude is stuck in traffic he says, be there in five. Sure. If by five you mean twenty, then five it is. He arrived and well... let's just say the effort he put into getting ready was about the same effort I put into going to the gym on a weekly basis, ergo, non existent. I mean, nothing says I care what you think about me like high tops, rolled jeans and a button down straining at the buttons. Also his picture was clearly taken five years ago or involved heavy amounts of photoshop.
He was unapologetic about arriving almost an hour late. He then went and got himself a glass of wine. After he returned to the table I got up and refilled my glass. He then kind of shrugged at me and then started talking about himself. Finally thirty minutes later I was able to break in and say that I had to leave to get to a party. I paid, left and went home to start my new hobby: xanax taking and collecting cat art.
And officially, I'm on a break from dating again.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Yeah...
So, when I'm stressed out I tend to agree to do really stupid things. Like fling my body out of a perfectly working plane. You see Ava is having a birthday soon and to celebrate the bursting out of the womb that she did years ago she has decided that skydiving is the only appropriate thing to do.
Internet, my friends are insane.
However, they are not more insane than me as I have agreed to go with her. This is stupid for oh so many reasons. The first and really only reason being the fact I am a giant chicken. I am afraid of the following things: heights, planes, death and snakes. A LOT OF THOSE I WILL HAVE TO FACE WHEN FLINGING MY BODY OUT OF A PLANE. The only way I would willingly do that on my own is if there was in fact a snake on that motherfucking plane. But, I doubt there will be. Instead, it will be me and another scared blonde who is equally afraid of heights. We may have some kind of mental illness, I'm aware of this.
However in about 3 or 4 weeks I will strap myself to another human and be airborne. I will also weep and wear Depends. Seriously. I figure I probably shouldn't urinate on the person holding the parachute. I call this my master plan. Swift, huh? I will also unleah a stream of expletives that would make your momma's hair turn white. I'm already planning ahead you see and working on some alliterative patterns. I figure I should be creative with it.
So, yeah. If in a few weeks you see a girl strapped to a parachute, shaking and clutching a bottle of Jack, I suggest steering clear. Unless of course you want to hear an 18 word sentence made up of variations of the word fuck. Then by all means, say hello.
Internet, my friends are insane.
However, they are not more insane than me as I have agreed to go with her. This is stupid for oh so many reasons. The first and really only reason being the fact I am a giant chicken. I am afraid of the following things: heights, planes, death and snakes. A LOT OF THOSE I WILL HAVE TO FACE WHEN FLINGING MY BODY OUT OF A PLANE. The only way I would willingly do that on my own is if there was in fact a snake on that motherfucking plane. But, I doubt there will be. Instead, it will be me and another scared blonde who is equally afraid of heights. We may have some kind of mental illness, I'm aware of this.
However in about 3 or 4 weeks I will strap myself to another human and be airborne. I will also weep and wear Depends. Seriously. I figure I probably shouldn't urinate on the person holding the parachute. I call this my master plan. Swift, huh? I will also unleah a stream of expletives that would make your momma's hair turn white. I'm already planning ahead you see and working on some alliterative patterns. I figure I should be creative with it.
So, yeah. If in a few weeks you see a girl strapped to a parachute, shaking and clutching a bottle of Jack, I suggest steering clear. Unless of course you want to hear an 18 word sentence made up of variations of the word fuck. Then by all means, say hello.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
My Life, Currently
You know what's fun? ANYTHING BUT PACKING.
Dudes, in putting all of your life in small boxes you realize just how much useless shit you own. Phone bills from 2002? Don't mind if I do! A wallet I was given when I was 19? Yeah, it makes logical sense to keep that in a drawer.
And this is my life. I go to work, I go home, I pack. I then fall into bed, exhausted and covered in dust. Hence my silence, because yeah, packing? Not that exciting. It doesn't compel the words and the writing on the internet. It does however make me want to drink straight out of the bottle and wonder what the fuck I'm doing with my life. But then I chant my new calming mantra of 'central air' and it soothes my soul. That could also be the wine, but whatever.
Thus, until I move expect profanity laden posts that may solely be the word fuck repeated over and over again. They may also be drunken ramblings. So... you know, pretty much status quo around here.
Dudes, in putting all of your life in small boxes you realize just how much useless shit you own. Phone bills from 2002? Don't mind if I do! A wallet I was given when I was 19? Yeah, it makes logical sense to keep that in a drawer.
And this is my life. I go to work, I go home, I pack. I then fall into bed, exhausted and covered in dust. Hence my silence, because yeah, packing? Not that exciting. It doesn't compel the words and the writing on the internet. It does however make me want to drink straight out of the bottle and wonder what the fuck I'm doing with my life. But then I chant my new calming mantra of 'central air' and it soothes my soul. That could also be the wine, but whatever.
Thus, until I move expect profanity laden posts that may solely be the word fuck repeated over and over again. They may also be drunken ramblings. So... you know, pretty much status quo around here.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Things I Do With My Money
So, you'd think that because I'm moving and that's generally a costly endeavor I'd be saving my money like a good little girl. If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time you know that's not likely.
Ergo, I just booked this: a hot air balloon flight. Because nothing says calm, peaceful morning like a blonde girl weeping in the air, urinating on those below.
You see, I'm terrified of heights. Like paralyzingly scared. And yet, I keep doing super idiotic things like strapping myself in a motherfucking basket to take a 'calm' and 'fun' flight over wine country. Yeah. Why do I do these things? Oh, Lord, how I wish I knew. All I can say is I have this friend let's call her Ava and she suggests things like this and before I can stop myself I'm signed up. For example parasailing, which we did in Hawaii. It went like this:
me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh
her: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
me: You ok?
her: yeah, you ok?
me: Yeah.... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh
For 10 minutes. The people in the boat laughed so hard at us they almost capsized.
So, really, this is just me giving back to the community/amusing those around me. Or, I was dropped on my head as a child. One of the two really.
Ergo, I just booked this: a hot air balloon flight. Because nothing says calm, peaceful morning like a blonde girl weeping in the air, urinating on those below.
You see, I'm terrified of heights. Like paralyzingly scared. And yet, I keep doing super idiotic things like strapping myself in a motherfucking basket to take a 'calm' and 'fun' flight over wine country. Yeah. Why do I do these things? Oh, Lord, how I wish I knew. All I can say is I have this friend let's call her Ava and she suggests things like this and before I can stop myself I'm signed up. For example parasailing, which we did in Hawaii. It went like this:
me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh
her: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
me: You ok?
her: yeah, you ok?
me: Yeah.... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh
For 10 minutes. The people in the boat laughed so hard at us they almost capsized.
So, really, this is just me giving back to the community/amusing those around me. Or, I was dropped on my head as a child. One of the two really.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Ah, Change
Here's the deal y'all, I fucking hate change. I dread it and drag my feet. When faced with it I stamp my feet and pout. It's super attractive, I assure you. Thus everyone in my life is kind of shocked right now as I essentially took my life, turned it upside down and shook it like a baby. (Side note, apparently some people don't like it when I use that phrase as it's 'offensive'. To those people I say, well then, don't let me hold your baby, jackass)
Anyway. This week I got a new job and decided that wasn't enough upheaval so I went and found a new apartment. That I move into in 2 weeks. Approximately 4 whole days before I start my new awesomely exciting job.
Yeah.
So... apparently I'm insane. I mean, we kind of knew that already, right? But this isn't an insane that makes me think I'm an awesome karaoke singer and can totally handle doing 5 straight shots of whiskey. You know, the fun regular kind of Meghan insane. No, it's the insane that makes me want to sit in the corner, gently rocking back and forth. But I can't. Because the corner will be filled with boxes full of all of my belongings.
Swan diving into change. Fun for the whole family. (please send vodka, I'm scared)
Anyway. This week I got a new job and decided that wasn't enough upheaval so I went and found a new apartment. That I move into in 2 weeks. Approximately 4 whole days before I start my new awesomely exciting job.
Yeah.
So... apparently I'm insane. I mean, we kind of knew that already, right? But this isn't an insane that makes me think I'm an awesome karaoke singer and can totally handle doing 5 straight shots of whiskey. You know, the fun regular kind of Meghan insane. No, it's the insane that makes me want to sit in the corner, gently rocking back and forth. But I can't. Because the corner will be filled with boxes full of all of my belongings.
Swan diving into change. Fun for the whole family. (please send vodka, I'm scared)
Monday, February 08, 2010
Best Laid Plans
Yeah... so remember how I was going to be responsible this weekend? Totally didn't happen. I did however watch two, yes two, America's Next Top Model marathons and perform Baby Got Back, drunkenly, at karaoke. Oops?
You see Saturday a friend of mine who is always traveling for work was actually in town. So we went for dinner. A very, very expensive dinner in the most LA restaurant of them all: Mr. Chows. It was freaking delicious and let me just say, their martinis were very strong. I had two and that's when I decided that I needed to go sing on a stage. Loudly. And dance. Awkwardly.
So, my apartment is still a gigantic mess. But, I now have video showing me just how wonderfully off key I rap. So I call that a win/win situation. Rationalization is my number one skill.
You see Saturday a friend of mine who is always traveling for work was actually in town. So we went for dinner. A very, very expensive dinner in the most LA restaurant of them all: Mr. Chows. It was freaking delicious and let me just say, their martinis were very strong. I had two and that's when I decided that I needed to go sing on a stage. Loudly. And dance. Awkwardly.
So, my apartment is still a gigantic mess. But, I now have video showing me just how wonderfully off key I rap. So I call that a win/win situation. Rationalization is my number one skill.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Boom
Dudes, the only logical explanation for the current state of my apartment is that wild beavers broke in, took all of my stuff out of the closets and attempted to build a dam and when that didn't work blew it up. Yeah. So, it's a bit messy. But clearly not my fault, goddamn wild beavers.
Seriously though I legitimately can't find half of the stuff I own. Why? Because it's all in one massive pile in the middle of the floor. Remember the trip I took to San Francisco about two weeks ago? The suitcase is still packed at the bottom of the pile. In fact I'm thinking of just taking said suitcase to a hotel, with a cat tucked under each arm, while a team clad in safety suits cleans for me.
Generally speaking I'm not the tidiest person to ever walk the planet. However in the last few years I've gotten much, much better. I'd say 3 weeks out of 4 you can see the floor! (that totally rhymed) Apparently all of that 'better' went straight out the door with the dawn of 2010. I blame the fact that I have spent approximately 15 minutes in my apartment in the last 5 weeks. Those were a wonderful 15 minutes wherein I sat on my couch and spoke to it in a loving voice, explaining that I missed it and would be with it again soon. It was a touching moment, I assure you.
Thus this weekend I will pretend to be an adult. I will stay in and not go out day drinking. I will clean, dammit. And I will wear a tiara while doing it. Because I'm mature and a pretty, pretty princess.
Seriously though I legitimately can't find half of the stuff I own. Why? Because it's all in one massive pile in the middle of the floor. Remember the trip I took to San Francisco about two weeks ago? The suitcase is still packed at the bottom of the pile. In fact I'm thinking of just taking said suitcase to a hotel, with a cat tucked under each arm, while a team clad in safety suits cleans for me.
Generally speaking I'm not the tidiest person to ever walk the planet. However in the last few years I've gotten much, much better. I'd say 3 weeks out of 4 you can see the floor! (that totally rhymed) Apparently all of that 'better' went straight out the door with the dawn of 2010. I blame the fact that I have spent approximately 15 minutes in my apartment in the last 5 weeks. Those were a wonderful 15 minutes wherein I sat on my couch and spoke to it in a loving voice, explaining that I missed it and would be with it again soon. It was a touching moment, I assure you.
Thus this weekend I will pretend to be an adult. I will stay in and not go out day drinking. I will clean, dammit. And I will wear a tiara while doing it. Because I'm mature and a pretty, pretty princess.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Another One Bites the Dust
Apparently when I'm single a memo is sent out to the males in the greater Los Angeles area. This memo states: 'if you are single and have a non functioning penis, Meghan is currently accepting applicants'. Oh how I wish I were kidding.
I was dating a wonderful, amazing guy. He made me laugh, he was attentive and smart. We read the same books and have amazing amounts in common. He and I have essentially only held hands. Because that's all he can do. SERIOUSLY. Ergo, I am now single again. Also, I am planning a trip to New Orleans to seek out a voodoo doctor who can lift whatever crazy Gypsy curse that has been placed upon me. With the exception of New Years Boy (oh, how I miss him) the last 3 boys I've dated, count 'em, 3, have had ahem... issues. So while if just looking at the numbers of men I've dated in the past year you'd think I was a woman of loose morals. AND DAMMIT I'M TRYING TO BE ONE. However, in actuality I am closer to being a nun than the vast majority of single humans. Well a nun who curses, drinks and occasionally has flings with marines. So you know, the good kind of nun.
Now excuse me while I go weep bitterly and pour one out for my hommies. You know, the ones with the broken penises.
I was dating a wonderful, amazing guy. He made me laugh, he was attentive and smart. We read the same books and have amazing amounts in common. He and I have essentially only held hands. Because that's all he can do. SERIOUSLY. Ergo, I am now single again. Also, I am planning a trip to New Orleans to seek out a voodoo doctor who can lift whatever crazy Gypsy curse that has been placed upon me. With the exception of New Years Boy (oh, how I miss him) the last 3 boys I've dated, count 'em, 3, have had ahem... issues. So while if just looking at the numbers of men I've dated in the past year you'd think I was a woman of loose morals. AND DAMMIT I'M TRYING TO BE ONE. However, in actuality I am closer to being a nun than the vast majority of single humans. Well a nun who curses, drinks and occasionally has flings with marines. So you know, the good kind of nun.
Now excuse me while I go weep bitterly and pour one out for my hommies. You know, the ones with the broken penises.
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