- A lot of truly God-awful things have happened over the last few months and I don’t want to talk about it. Which is obnoxious, I realize, because then why did I bring it up in the first place? I don’t know. I’m like that asshole who casually drops it into conversation that they were molested but that's where the story stops, so you spend the rest of your friendship not knowing which family member to resent on their behalf. Not that I’m saying people who have been molested are assholes. People who are withholding are assholes. It just so happens that some of them have been molested. Really, what I’m trying to say here is that I’m an asshole who—TO MY KNOWLEDGE—has never been sexually molested. Good. I’m glad we're off to a good start.
- In other good, non-molestery news, I got into grad schools! Yay for me. YAY FOR SCHOOL! I got a creative writing scholarship to The New School, so that’s where I’ll be going. For a while I was bummed out because this means I have to turn down my spot at Columbia. I couldn’t figure out why that prospect upset me so much until I realized that in my mind, I’ve always equated Columbia with Hogwarts. I don’t really know why, considering I’ve physically been to Columbia and seen firsthand that it is in no way a school of witchcraft and wizardry. Yet on some subconscious level, I think I’ve been imagining myself spending the next two years flying around the Upper West Side with Evie on my broomstick—just writin’, playin’ Quidditch, havin’ the occasional gab session with Professor McGonagall. That said, I did the math and worked out that a round trip ticket to Orlando, two nights at the Econo Lodge, and a day pass to the The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios is $100,583 less than getting a creative writing MFA from Columbia. Soooo, that is the route I will be taking.
- HA HA! I’m just kidding, I can’t afford a trip to Orlando. If I could, I’d already be knee-deep in Kevin Yang and Gatorland by now.
- So, yes, I’m moving back to New York in July, probably. I feel the following about it: excited, scared, nervous, anxious, hopeful, loose bowels, scared. If you live in New York and would like to be my friend, that would be awesome. I sleep a lot and have a generally poor outlook on life, but I also love road trips and give good hugs. I feel like it balances out in the end.
- What does this news mean for the blog? Nothing. If anything I hope it’s going to get the blog back on track because now I totally feel motivated to write more. Chris is actually here right now to help me pick the blog up off its face and make it a part of your life again. He’s currently lying on my couch, just a tippy-tappying away. He just looked off into the distance thoughtfully, ruffled his hair, looked like he got an idea, and went back to typing. You know what? Good for him. I’m glad he worked through that. Oh, nope, he’s back to looking in the air worriedly. Now he’s fixing his sleeves and staring at my bookshelf. Back to typing. He’s got it. What a pro. I mean, I could live-blog Chris writing a blog post indefinitely, so I’m going to stop myself now before this gets any worse. (Although it’s worth noting that the only thing I can make out on his word document is “A Very Special Episode of Roseanne”. I don’t know what he’s got up his sleeve, but I am excited.)
- You know what’s a really big part of my life right now? Being livid that this exists/was recently featured on Gizmodo:
What you’re looking at is Grand Trunk’s hammock compatible sleeping bag, or as you may know it better, a SLAMMOCK, the invention I came up with in the summer of 2005 when I boldly asked myself, “Meg, what is the most comfortable sleeping scenario you can think of?” and stared back at my truth: a sleeping back in a hammock. You may also remember that everyone (including my parents) mocked me when I tried to make it a reality in my sophomore year dorm, and the inventor of The Tinge further mocked me via email because I made the extremely legitimate point that most ladies don't want to rub their junk on razor blades. And now my invention—NAY, dream!—is being sold for $180 by someone who is not me. Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssucks.
- Yesterday was my birthday. I’m 27. Helena got me a bag of weed and Laura got me a subscription to the large-print version of Reader’s Digest, and every time I think about it I want to burst into tears because when you find two people who just get you like that, you probably shouldn’t move 230 miles away from them.
- I have two camping trips planned for the near future and I’m so excited. Slash I need to get new batteries for Hat.
- Speaking of Hat! I forgot to tell you about my new phone cover. Check it out:
I know what you’re thinking: “Is that a Real Tree phone cover?” No. It’s one step better: it’s a knock-off Real Tree phone cover. I got it for $6.99 on Amazon and it’s a major part of why I’m alive right now. I like it because it makes me feel American. I changed my ringtone to Toby Keith's “Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue (Angry American)” and renamed my phone Rickywayne after my favorite contestant on Heavy. Every time I plug it into iTunes it says, “Rickywayne_LEAVE ME ALONE! is synching”, and I just laugh and laugh and laugh…
- Speaking of the depressing ways I choose to entertain myself, my newest hobby is teaching myself bass lines to 311 songs, playing them, and then laughing out loud. The end.
- Chris update: Now he’s sitting upright on the couch, slumped down slightly, playing with his facial, and looking concerned.
- Chris update II: Ah, it’s because he’s hungry and wants to know if I’m cooking dinner tonight. No. No, I’m not.
- Chris update III: Chris is making a frozen burrito.
- My allergies are killing me. WHICH REMINDS ME! The Blogologues are performing my blog post A Humble Apology in the run of their current show, Blogologues: Younger Than Springtime! I’m so honored, I can’t even tell you. The show runs Thursdays-Saturdays, April 13-May 5th at The Players Theater in the West Village. Tickets are available for purchase here, so if you’re in New York, go see it! Becca and I are going this weekend and I can’t wait! Slash, I can wait because the reason I’m going to New York this weekend is to attend an accepted student’s reception at The New School, which sounds like a lot of forced mingling/networking. ‘Ehhhhhhhh… It’s on 4/20 (~!LOL!~), so I can’t decide if I should get high before to make said mingling easier, or wait and get high after as a reward for being able to interact with people like a normal fucking human being. Or both…?
- I got an upper endoscopy done a few weeks ago (more on that in a later blog post), and one of the questions the nurse asked before the procedure was if there’s any possible chance that I could be pregnant. I answered no, because obviously the closest I’ve come to having sex recently was sleeping through a rerun of Silk Stalkings on the TV Guide Network last month, and I swear to God, the nurse stopped writing, looked up from her clipboard, raised a suspicious eyebrow and asked, “Are you sure?” I can’t tell if she asked that because I look fat and pregnant, or because I look so slutty that I obviously lost the Trapper Keeper detailing all the dicks I've fucked lately and a baby??!!—YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE!!!!!1! Either way, I’m offended. Just slightly less by the chorus of dicks/your guess, my guess option.
- I don’t understand the appeal of LMFAO. Their songs just sound like technology and foolishness
- Also, I don’t care for DayGlo.
- I have to pee, but I don’t want to get up.
- OK. I feel like I can’t think of anything else going on in my life right now that isn’t part of a future blog post and/or horribly depressing, so this is going to have to suffice for now.
State of the Meg: Like a polyamorous relationship or trying to go blond: it’s complicated.