Where's Neve Campbell when you need her?

First and foremost, I'd like to address this comment from yesterday's blog post:

"A white Patrice." I can honestly say that that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me in my entire 25 years of life. Like online, in person, or other wise. So thank you for that.

Next on the agenda: WHAT IN THE FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK?!?!!?!?!? Can I please share with you what is going on right now slash today as a whole? Because today has been the spookiest day of my entire life and shit's only getting spookier by the minute:

1.) I'm still housesitting the haunted old McBlogger place, by myself. (Except for Evie. And the pet/family cemetery across the hall.)

2.) I heard a strange noise coming from the garage this afternoon that sounded like someone dragging trash cans around. How did I choose to deal with this situation? By physically clinging to Evie's hindquarters for dear life and watching five episodes of Bridezillas in a row to distract myself. I don't think she appreciated it, but I sure as shit did.

2.) There was a bad storm this afternoon and the power went out for a substantial amount of time. I mean, for fuck's sake...

3.) Directly after the power went out, an unknown number called my cell phone. I answered thinking it might be my parents, BUT THE PERSON HUNG UP. (...'Eh. That doesn't sound nearly as terrifying as it actually was. Time to editorialize.) AND AFTER THE PERSON HUNG UP, I GOT A TEX MESSAGE SAYING THAT I WAS GOING TO DIE TONIGHT. (That's more like it.)

3.) Tulane Chris and I were chatting tonight about his visit this weekend and he for some reason brought up the urn with my grandfather's ashes in the room across from mine. I corrected Chris that my grandfather's ashes aren't actually in an urn at all—they're still in the FedEx box that the crematorium sent us. 15 years ago. This blew Chris' mind, which in turn blew my mind because I'm aware that this is kind of an unorthodox treatment of human remains, but it's not that weird, is it? I mean, what's the difference between an urn and a FedEx box? They're both perfectly fine containers. "Meg," Chris said sternly, "You know what my childhood was like. And even I think that's weird." Bold statement, sir. Bold statement, from a bold man. But more-so, it got me thinking, what if my grandfather is pissed off that we never scattered his ashes or put them in a proper receptacle and now he's going to haunt the living eff out of me this week and/or seek revenge?!

That's when Chris proposed that during his visit, we scatter my grandfather's ashes quote, "someplace really nice." "Yeah, we're not doing that Chris," I told him, "I don't think my parents would appreciate it if they came home and asked me what we did this weekend and I said, 'Oh nothing special. Went to the blog panel, hung out, saw a movie, scattered grandpa Bern's ashes on I-95, you know, the usual.'" "I didn't say on I-95; I said someplace really nice."

We eventually met eachother halfway and decided that while he's here, we'll haul out the old FedEx box and say a few kind words together. Apparently this will "genuinely make Chris feel better" and put any haunting concerns I have to ease. Too bad Chris doesn't get here until Thursday afternoon, which means I have tonight and tomorrow night to survive alone. Which should be interesting.

4.) Considering this is the current view from my bed:

5.) And you know what doesn't make it any better? The fact that Evie's been sitting next to me in bed, tensely staring at the door for the past half an hour.

I can't decide if she's trying to do me a solid by being on the look-out or if she's getting back at me for all the Bridezillas I made her watch today by making me think her heightened feline senses see a ghost. Knowing her, it's probably the latter. Bitch.

6.) My parents have this spooky-ass painting hanging in the front hall, facing the front door:

Every time I glance towards the front hall at night, I see that guy's reflection in the window and think there's a 200-year-old Flemish man on the porch ready to shove his fife up my ass.

Which is when I simultaneously have a stroke and soil myself. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

7.) As I started this writing this post (with old Quiet Paws McGee sitting next to me, staring at the door like it's on fire, mind you) I heard a loud bang outside that sounded like a straight-up gun shot. "Welp, I'm going to die tonight." I thought. I kissed Evie goodbye, regretted not wearing something more dignified to die in (...my "Big Peckers, Ocean City, MD" t-shirt and that's the ballgame) and prepared to meet my maker. And then I heard the bang again. Followed by a familiar fizzle sound. Which is when it clicked—they were fireworks going off.

Now, here's my question: WHAT SORT OF SICK FUCK SETS OFF FIREWORKS AT 12:47 ON A WEDNESDAY MORNING IN A QUIET SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD WHERE YOUNG, BIG-PECKERED GIRLS ARE HOME ALONE WITH THEIR NEMESIS CATS AND CLOSETS FILLED WITH FEDEX BOXES OF LOVED ONES, SCARED SHITLESS?!?!?!?! WHAT. IS. WRONG. WITH. YOU?!

And now my lips are chapped and the nearest chap stick is in my mom's room. Which I'm scared to walk to. So if I die tonight, I leave you with the following:

1.) I'm scared

2.) Hold me.

3.) I still haven't forgiven Suzy Soro.

4.) I want my gravestone to read, "Meghan Catherine McBlogger. 1985 - 2010. Daughter, Sister, friend, White Patrice."

That is if my parents don't cremate me and throw me in the closet with the rest of the family...

Oh and FYI...

We won The Blogger's Choice Awards for Best Humor Blog, Best Blog of All Time and got third place for Best Blog About Stuff! Now, I could take this time to tell Suzy Soro to go fuck herself in her fat fucking face, but I'd rather spend it thanking you all profusely for your overwhelming support. I know voting was a major pain in the ass and it genuinley means a lot to me that so many of you took the time to do it. And of course, thank you to past co-birds Eddie, Becca, Co-Blogger Chris and Tulane Chris for bringing their certain je ne sais qoi to the cage. Clearly the 2b1b community is a badass force to be reckon with and I'm honored to be a part of it!

Thanks^max!

Love,
Meg

I got in an Internet fight with the chick who took the last babka on Seinfeld.

I was truly having a wonderful Sunday evening last night. I was sitting on my couch writing letters to you fine people, sipping a glass of Shiraz and watching The 40-Year Old Virgin on TBS in peace. But my brief moment of bliss was interrupted by an email I received from a fellow blogger nominated for the Blogger's Choice Award: Best Humor Blog. It was from a woman named Suzy. It said this:

Subject: Humor Bloggers thingamajig
Message: Hey, a few of us have noticed that your blog just leapfrogged all the other humor bloggers in record time.

*ZACK MORRIS STYLE TIME OUT!* After reading that, I immediately thought to myself, "Wow. My readers are fucking badasses." I gave myself a pat on the back and you a standing ovation. I thought maybe Suzy was writing me from one humor blogger to another to give me kudos. After all, we humor bloggers have to stick together, right? *TIME IN!*

Usually that is a sign of cheating.

Ah. Wrong.

Upon further examination, most of your voters have only voted for 2 blogs, both of which are yours.

Just an FYI, if all your votes are coming from one or two IP's, they will not be counted, at least that's what former people have told us. It's taken me 3 months to get to 115 so how could you get to second place in 3 weeks?

I just thought it was only fair to give you a head's up.

Suzy

I was fuming you guys, fuming. Because of course I didn't cheat! Lord knows I got a lot of time on my hands (let's not pretend I don't,) but I don't have so much time that I'm able to create 288 fake email accounts to win an Internet award. I mean, maybe if I still lived at home, sure, but I do occasionally have a social life. Occasionally. So I sent Suzy back the following:

Dear Suzy:

Most of my readers do not read other blogs. Ergo, they only voted for my blog and the two categories I was voted for. I managed to get so many votes in so little time by asking my readers to vote for me. And they did. You should try it.

Best of luck and thank you for your concern,

Meg

And I was ready to let it go and move on with my life. I was still pissed and offended, of course, but I chalked it up to Internet shenanigans and felt better.

Later, as I sat at the bar of Tryst enjoying a lovely tuna melt, chatting with friends, my phone's email alert dinged and my relaxing Sunday evening was interrupted by Suzy, again:

In a message dated 8/2/2009 4:03:07 PM Pacific Daylight Time, meg@2birds1blog.com writes:

Most of my readers do not read other blogs.

One of your readers is one of my readers and Vodka Mom's readers as well. Kathy B!, and she also voted for me and Vodka. It's kind of ridiculous to think NONE of your readers read anyone but you two. You guys really are in your 20's aren't you? :)

Well, good luck anyway...s

And with that, Suzy ignited the fiery, cold-hearted, bitch within. Before she had only ignited the snarkess within, which of course isn't that hard to ignite, but with just two careless strokes of the keyboard she took it to a whole other level. Which strokes, you ask? I have three words for you: colon, end, parenthesis.

As I've discussed before, I have no time for passive-aggressive people. If you're going to be an asshole to me, just be an asshole. Don't try to LOLZ it off at the end and add a smiley face like you're just joshin' around. Because Suzy wasn't joshin' around. She was accusing me of being a liar and a cheat. And now, immature. Which of course I am, but frankly you're the one researching the statistics of who voted for me for an Internet award on your Sunday evening and emailing me to start shit. But either way, kudos to you for calling me out on being young and immature. However, why add the :) ? :) is on the same infuriating level as when Mark-the-Big-Gay-Co-Worker laughs after he says something rude to me. Busting out a :) and/or laughing after you say something rude does not negate the rude statement you just made. Same goes for when people say "No offense but..." or "With all do respect..." before they say something rude. It's like an insurance policy that if I understandably react with anger, you can always be like, "WOAH, WOAH, WOAH! I was just joking around!!! JEEZ, calm down! LAMAO HEHE :P " And that, my friends, is cowardly. Because if you're going to start shit with me, it's only fair that you be prepared to take the shit I'm going to give you back. Asshole is a two-way street. You give it; you get it.

I threw my delicious tuna melt down in anger. I felt sick. I had lost my appetite. (Just kidding, I obviously finished it later.) How dare this woman 1.) accuse me of being a liar and a cheat 2.) then accuse me of being immature and finish it off by 3.) adding the ever passive-aggressive :) ?? I raged. It was one of those situations where you're sitting there talking to your friends about it getting angrier and angrier and thinking about all of the passive-aggressive people in your life and all of the hypocrites who piss you off on a daily basis until your hands are shaking and you're finally like, "WHO THE FUCK DOES THIS PERSON THINK SHE IS?! NOW TASTE MY PAIN, BITCH!!!!!" So, I sent the following back:

"It's kind of ridiculous to think NONE of your readers read anyone but you two."

That's not what I said. I said:

"MOST of my readers do not read other blogs."

And just so you don't make this mistake again--per Websters Dictionary:
Most (Adj)
1.) Greatest in quantity, extent or degree.
2.) The majority of.
(i.e. not NONE)

'You really are lonely, jealous and in your 30's aren't you? :)' I'm
genuinely SHOCKED you don't have more votes.

Best of luck trying to prove my sinisterly evil master plan of rigging the Blogger's Choice Awards. ;)

- Meg

Before you email me all "WHATEVER BITCH, 30 IS THE NEW 20 AND 20 IS THE NEW 10 AND YOU'RE THE NEW ASSHOLE!!!!" I obviously don't think 30 is old. Given Suzy's dig at me my age, I assumed she was in her 30's. So I made the executive decision to exploit that fact. It's like when you're mad at a friend so you call her fat even though she's obviously thin. You don't mean it, you both know it's not true and you both know you're only saying it out of anger. Was it a cheap shot? Yes. Was it deserved? Of course! But if you didn't want me to take a cheap shot, you probably shouldn't have taken one at me. It's my You Started It Principle.

Her response:

In a message dated 8/2/2009 6:31:13 PM Pacific Daylight Time, meg@2birds1blog.com writes:

'You really are lonely, jealous and in your 30's aren't you? :)' I'm
genuinely SHOCKED you don't have more votes.

Spoken like a 20 year old. I've read your blog, why haven't you checked mine out?

To be fair, I had read her blog. I read the most recent post about how irritating the AT&T rollover minutes commercials are (which I disagree with. That kid is adorable) and then read the next post, which opened with:

"Bloggers have, over the years, asked me how I manage to be consistently funny (lie). Did I have any tips for them to bump up their funny? Being lazy, I ignored those emails completely."

After that I gave up. Because this chick kind of sounds like an asshole. And if I'm reading any asshole's blog, it's Meghan McCain's.

Besides, Suzy was getting off topic here. So I sharpened my knives and responded:

Spoken like a senile old grandma who's just makin' shit up. When did I say I never read your blog?

Her response:

Out of curiosity, why are you so angry in your emails? s

That statement was basically just a more eloquent version of a :). She was throwing her asshole-car into reverse and trying to get herself out of the situation she had started. I just will never understand people who start shit and then act so surprised when I get mad and act accordingly. It's just mind boggling. Steven Hawking should study it.

Alright Grams, lets recap what's happened in the last 4 hours: you went out of your way to accuse me of cheating and rigging a blog election, then passive-aggressively called me immature for God knows what reason. Don't start shit with me and act clueless when you can't keep up with your own accusations.

OH SHIT! OH SHIT! OH SHIT!

Her response:

I was trying to warn you, sorry you took it the way you did. You're on your own now.

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! SO. INFURIATING. Because Suzy wasn't trying to do me a solid and help me out. She was accusing me of cheating! That's rather different than offering heart-felt blogging advice (that I never asked for.) And how else was I suppose to take it? "You're a big liar and a cheat and I'm going to investigate all of the people who voted for you and stalk down their IP addresses and disqualify you from the competition, negating two years of hard work. But you can't get mad at me because I'm adding LOLZ ;)"

K. Thanks again for the selfless accusation. It totally wasn't offensive at all. Let me know if you want stickers.

And that was the end of that. Later that night, I tossed and turned as I struggled with the dirty feeling of having been in an Internet fight. I realize being a blogger I'm already skirting on Losertown and Nerdville, but a bona fide Internet fight/blog war? That's not really my style. But she just enraged me so much I couldn't take the higher road and not fight back. Ugh...unclean...unclean!

One thing stuck with me though: why was she so concerned that I hadn't read her blog? Was there something on there I missed? I went back and read it more carefully. And that's when I saw her bio:

My name is Suzy Soro and I'm a comedian. I'm the woman who got the last chocolate babka on Seinfeld. I'm also the person that Larry David called a very bad name on Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Hm. So I was completely incorrect in my thinking she was some random chick in her early 30's living in LA struggling to make it as a comedian. And then I immediately felt like a complete asshole. But I didn't feel like a complete asshole because I had pissed off someone established who could hurt my future career. I don't want to be a comedian or an actor or anything that Suzy's connections could blacklist me from. I felt pissed off because her being older and established made all of my age jokes completely un-ironic and just...mean. And I'm not mean. Snarky? Yes. Elitist? Of course! But mean? Not at all! Because being mean on the Internet is something I am in no way interested in. It takes the wit and intelligence of a glue gun. It makes me no better than this:


I feel horrible. I feel dirty. And I feel mad. Again. Because now I feel so guilty, I'm obviously going to apologize. But me apologizing takes away any and all of the excellent points I made about what a total asshole she was and kind of makes me look like a pussy.

God. I can never win.

Suzy Soro: I'm sorry I called you old. Because you're not old. Andy Rooney is old. I accidentaly stooped to an all-time low, and for that I apologize. Because I only wanted to stoop somewhat low. I mean, after all, you were rude and patronizing, which of course is your own fault. But I shouldn't have called you old. And for that I'm sorry.

Sincerely,
Meg

Sigh...Guess it's time to edit this list:

Meg's Enemies:
The bartender at Axis
Meghan McCain
Suzy Soro