There's quite a sociable day on your agenda, thanks to an affable astrological assembly, unanimously intent on making things as easy on you as possible. If you've missed out on any of the good gossip that's been going around lately (not that you ordinarily indulge in such things, of course), here's your chance to catch up. Do keep in mind, however, there's far more than chatting on the menu: Say, more than just a touch of intense romance, for example?
Oh ho ho shit. Well considering today I'm just sitting in my apartment gorging myself on fish tacos and pain killers because I got an obnoxious email, I'm going to assume that my horoscope is indeed on a one day delay. Which means tomorrow I'm going to get gossiped and romanced. COINCIDENCE THAT TULANE CHRIS COMES TO VISIT TOMORROW?!?! I think not. He's always good for some giggly, girly gossip and hardcore fuckin'. (I'm so sorry.)
Speaking of Tulane Chris, he just gchatted me the following:
Chris: I heard someone got Meghan-ed last nightme: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?!?!
And then he signed off! Asshole! Because really, what does getting Meghan-ed mean?? I know there's "Meg time" (30-45 minutes after agreed upon time) and I know "Meg-ing it" is synonymous with not recycling, but getting Meghan-ed? I can only assume it has to do with failure, body fluids or public embarrassment. Perhaps all three? In either case, I feel very badly for whomever got Meghan-ed.
Although speaking of, my last night was fucking rough. As I've discussed before, I have three recurring dreams:
1.) I've moved back to New York and work for Soap Opera Digest again
2.) I'm back in school and I can't remember my schedule, locker combination, am late for a test, et al
3.) I'm back in Rock 'n' Roll Revival and I can't remember the lyrics to my solo and/or don't have a costume
All three are stress and anxiety dreams, obviously, and because right now I'm dealing with the repercussions of having spent the last two years of my life making failed poop jokes and now can't get a job, I have one or all of these dreams every single night. So much so that it's gotten to the point where if I'm having one of them, I figure out that it's a dream pretty quickly and spend the rest of the dream just being incredibly weirded out. For example, I had an NYC dream the other night an this was my inner monologue: (Or inner-inner monologue, technically. SEE? TRIPPY...)
"Huh. Really? I moved back to New York? And I'm working here again? That was a unique decision on my part. Why would I do this? I hated it here. OH. WAIT. This is a dream. [Andrew of the Great Juno Debate walks in, is half pineapple, asks me to develop his film because he works upstairs at XXL magazine and walks out] Yep. That's not right. I'm dreaming. Well good for me for having so many details down! This is vivid. Look, I even thought to update the layout forms to make them more efficient. Well done. I wonder when I'll wake up? [Art Director hands me an assignment] HA HA! I don't actually have to do that. Awesome. I wonder if Andrew wants to get dream lunch with me?"
And then I wake up feeling all confused and anxious. Every time. Every night. Only now it's gotten to the point where not only am I aware that I'm dreaming, I dream that I'm blogging about how I'm aware that I'm dreaming. Basically, I Inception myself on a nightly basis and it's fucked up because not only is it weird, it's just honest-to-god draining. I haven't had a good night's sleep in over a month.
So, it happened again last night and when I finally woke up, I was all cracked out and feeling creepy and incredibly thirsty. That's also par for the course for me, by the way. It doesn't matter how much water I drink during the day, I get so fucking parched at night. (Side note: I woke up incredibly thirsty once when College Roommate Danielle and I were living in the Berks and all we had in our fridge was a bottle of cold duck Andre. I didn't trust DC water at that point in my life, so half asleep, I popped the cork and chugged the ever-loving fuck out of that fine malt champagne. Fifteen minutes later I was like, "Well, great. Now I'm thirsty and drunk and it's 4:30am on a Wednesday, so there's that." But, I digress.)
Quick backstory: Two nights ago I watched the most recent episode of House, which prominently featured Chinese food, specifically Moo Shu Pork. I was like, "Damn. I want that Asian delicacy in my mouth and I want it there now," and immediately placed an order for it and a large iced tea from Peking Garden on Grub Hub. It came 45 minutes later and frankly, I in no way wanted any of it. At that point I had moved on to "Glee" and if I could have ordered fishnets and a sense of high school togetherness from Grub Hub, I probably would have been all over that too. The Internet makes impulse buying far too accessible for people with ADD. Anyway, when my food arrived, I kind of awkwardly ushered it directly into the fridge without opening the bag and went back to "Glee", figuring I'd eat it some other night and all wasn't lost.
FLASH FORWARD TO LAST NIGHT WHEN I WOKE UP ALL CRACKED OUT AND THIRSTY. I was kind of just laying there in bed writhing around, feeling sorry for myself because a certain someone who's name rhymes with Shmalex didn't refill my Brita filter and put it back in the fridge after he was done with it, when a little voice inside of me said, "HEY! You have that giant iced tea you ordered the other night from Peking Garden! Go chug the shit out of that!" "Oh my god," I said back to the voice, "you're right. I will chug the shit out of that delicious, ice-cold, refreshing, iced tea. Thanks voice!" "No, Meg. Thank you."
I got up, stumbled over to the fridge and ripped open the bag. What I saw inside made complete sense for what I ordered: one take-out container; a large plastic container filled with liquid; a few fortune cookies; forks; knives and napkins. Did I think it was odd that my iced tea wasn't in a cup? No, not really. I mean, I ordered a beverage from a take-out Chinese place; I didn't think it would show up in crystal stemware with a straw made out of children's dreams. I figured they didn't have any travel-safe cups and put it in a to-go soup container. Right? Right.
Well, wrong. In my haste to swallow a liquid as soon as humanly possible, I ripped the top of the container off as I took it out of the brown bag and just fuckin' chugged. Which wasn't a good call, as it was not green tea at all—it was wonton soup. You know when you drink something that you expect to be water, and it turns out to be flat Sprite or some shit and you're like, "OH MY GOD GROSS! That was not what I was expecting at all!" Well, picture that, but instead of it being some other kind of delicious, transparent beverage like Sprite, it's greasy, cold, two-day old wonton soup. And the worst part is, because I was half-asleep and kind of discombobulated, I didn't really realize what was going on until like the third chug when a fucking wonton slapped me in the face and I was like, "That's...not...right?" and the full gravity of the situation sunk in and it was horrible. But like, horrible. Like, I simply turned my head to the left and 100% vomited into my kitchen sink, horrible. (Thank Christ for garbage disposals and Soft Scrub...) Then I brushed my teeth for 45 minutes, flung myself onto my bed, buried my head in Towel and just wept ever-so gently until I fell asleep. (I'm not kidding, by the way. I really did cry. And being able to say, "the last time I cried was when I chugged old wonton soup because I was half asleep and thought it was iced tea" doesn't make me feel smart, per se.)
Now, who's to blame for this debacle? Is it me for blindly grabbing liquids out of a Chinese take-out bag and drinking all willy-nilly? NO. NO, IT IS NOT. Because I clearly ordered iced tea, NOT wonton soup:
BOOM! Grub Hub receipt screen shot. Evidence. I realize I could just call and complain, but what asshole calls and is like, "Hi, you gave me a vat of soup instead of iced tea two nights ago and I chugged it last night when I was cracked out from a dream and it tasted like crab feet and I threw up in my sink. Sooooooo...you tryin' to give me some complimentary spring rolls or what?"
Answer: THIS GUY.
And I can only assume that that's what getting Meghan-ed means. You're welcome, Peking Garden. You're welcome.