7 Things You Didn't Know About Me: 1-4

From an email I received last week:

Hi Meg! Longtime reader, first time emailer.

[…]

There’s this “7 Things You Didn’t Know About Me” thing going around on some of my favorite tumblr accounts and although you don’t have a tumblr (to my knowledge), I totally think you should do one! Maybe as a blog post? It’s pretty much exactly what it sounds like. I feel like yours would be especially interesting because of how incredibly open and candid you are with your readers. I can’t imagine what we don’t know!

[…]

- Sara

Well bless your heart for thinking seven random facts about me would be interesting. And no, I do not have a Tumblr account. I made one over the summer when I was bored, posted five pictures, and immediately deleted my account because I felt really self-conscious and wasn’t sure if I was doing it right. That being said, I will list seven facts that you may not know about me. I can’t promise they’ll be interesting, but here you go:

[OK, I’m going to stop myself right there. So, I wrote this post on Saturday night because I didn’t feel well enough to go out and wanted to get some work done. I took an Adderall and it…complicated things. Because apparently I either don’t take my Adderall and never finish a blog post because I write a little, get distracted by something shiny, write a little, PLASTIC BAG! PLASTIC BAG! PLASTIC BAG!, write a little, I NEED TO KNOW WHAT EVERY MEMBER OF THE WU TANG CLAN IS DOING RIGHT NOW! and end up with this huge archive of half-finished blog posts I hate, OR I take my Adderall and write a fucking college thesis about something inane like my favorite soup. This post ended up being the latter, so I’ve decided to break it up into three days. I’m going to post facts 1-4 today, 5 tomorrow, and 6-7 on Wednesday. The exciting thing is it’s already written (and 30 pages…What? I don’t know. I can’t stop grinding my teeth.), so you know I’m good for it.

The other thing I want to mention is that for this week and this week only, as part of an Adams Media holiday promotion, our first book, The Misanthrope’s Guide to Life, is available as a free Kindle download! Pretty sweet, right? If you lucked out because you already planned on buying it, you should totally use the money you would have spent on it to download our second book, Brainwashing for Beginners. Two books for the price of one! HO HO (w)HO (loves you? Adams Media. Not me. This makes me extremely nervous because I’m afraid we’re going to take massive royalty hits and even though our royalties are only like 85 cents between us, that’s almost an apple pie on the Dollar Menu. We’re losing pies upon pies upon pies here, people. But then again, as of Saturday night we were #25 in free downloads and A Tale of Two Cities was #26. I feel like it’s a genuine accomplishment to be able to say that you’ve fragged Charles Dickens' ass. Especially in December.)

7 Things You Didn’t Know About Me (1-4):

1.) Dan and I got tattoos together while he was here visiting last month! It was kind of crazy and spontaneous, as most things I end up doing with Dan are. (Getting tattoos, walking around New York Avenue at 2 o’clock in the morning asking hookers if they know where we can get ecstasy, LaTe NigHt PizZa PaRtieS!!1…) A few nights before Dan had to go back to Dubai, we were chitchatting and/or watching Sister Wives (obviously) before bed and out of nowhere he was like, “I want to get a tattoo.” I’d been trying to find someone to go get a tattoo with me for over a year so I was like, “YES. TOMORROW. LET’S DO IT.” and it was decided. The next morning, I completely expected him to be like, “Remember when we decided we were going to get tattoos last night? LOL!!!1!” because one night while he was living with me last Fall, we decided (under the influence of about a baker’s dozen La Playas) that we were going to wake up, rent a Zip Car, drive to a mall two hours away in eastern Maryland and buy a pug. Because LIKE, LET’S JUST DO IT, YOU KNOW?! LET’S JUST FUCKING DO IT. WHAT’S STOPPING US? YOU KNOW? NOTHING. OURSELVES! THAT’S WHAT’S STOPPING US. SO LET’S JUST FUCKING DO IT. LET’S JUST BUY A PUG. OMG—WE’RE TOTALLY GOING TO BUY A PUG TOMORROW!!! …….We didn’t. If I remember correctly, we woke up, ordered wings at 10 o’clock in the morning, watched a documentary on Mt. Everest, and catnapped.

This time, however, Dan and I were true to our word. We ended up going to Embassy Tattoo in Adams Morgan, which I cannot recommend highly enough. I’ve gotten other tattoos in DC at Jinx Proof and Fatty’s, and my best experience hands-down was at Embassy. Fairly priced, friendly, accommodating, and incredibly well done. I just sent College Roommate Rachel there last night. My artist’s name was Fernando Gonzalez and I can’t remember the name of Dan’s guy, but he was really hot, just moved here, and has shoulder length blonde hair. I kept trying to make small talk and flirt with him, but it was hard because I was also concentrating on keeping my leg muscles from involuntarily twitching and/or not vomiting everywhere. It was a delicate dance.Dan ended up getting a tattoo of a tree on his right shoulder blade because he’s a hip kid from Portland and I got this little ditty on my right foot in honor of the fightingest squad in the fightingest company in the third-fightingest battalion in the army—The Flying Hellfish.

(Such a shitty picture. And yes, this is my second Simpsons tattoo. And no, despite Chris’ constant mocking, I am not embarrassed.)
If you’re reading this and are my mom’s friend, hair colorist, or a neighbor (and I know you all are), please don’t tell her. If you’re reading this and are my aunt’s assistant (Kaitlin…), please don’t tell my aunt, who will obviously tell my mom. And if you’re reading this and are my sister, please don’t tell your husband who will yell at me and/or make fun of me (probably and) in front of mom at Hanukkah dinner, thereby ruining this year’s Festival of Lights. Because do you really want that on your shoulders? It burned for eight days and eight nights, Rebecca. It was a miracle.

2.) I’m applying to grad school. But I’m only applying to three. And all three are in the top 10 non-fiction writing MFA programs in the country. So I’m applying to grad school, but will probably not be going to grad school.

3.) I want red hair again so badly, but I can’t afford the upkeep. (Pot, yogurt, eyebrow threading. Tattoos. Replacement phones. Diamonds are a Meg’s best friend.)

Sidenote: While searching through my Facebook photos for pictures of me with red hair, I stumbled upon this vintage ’06 picture of Talia and me at a party at Anna’s house over summer break. We both had (and very much have) a crush on Anna’s dad, so we snuck up to her parent’s bedroom and…well, I’ll let it to you:

I’m still not sorry.

I also found a picture from that party where I’m rapping and using a box of Franzia as my beatbox. I’d like to say I’ve moved on from that phase of my life, but then I remember that less than two months ago, I pulled a stomach muscle vomiting old school Four Loko and broke my hand drunkenly stumbling around Ren Fest within a week of each other. I haven’t really “grown as a person” in the past five years, per se.

4.) In 2003, I accidentally and successfully rushed a sorority at a school I didn’t go to.  Even though I went to college essentially five feet away from my hometown, it was still a really hard transition for me. Being the wacky MiSaNtHrOpE!~ that I am, I was really anxious about having to make all new friends, and I chose to deal with that anxiety by driving up to Frostburg (a small state school in Western Maryland where Talia and Teresa went) every weekend instead of staying and trying to make it work at AU. As an older and wiser Meggles with slightly more social skills, I acknowledge what a poor decision that was. Thankfully I had friends at AU like Helena, Ex-Co Blogger Eddie and Ashleigh who sat me down one night in November and were like, “HEY ASPIES—MAYBE STAY A WEEKEND?” and I was like, “Ooo. Yes. Good call.” My college experience obviously improved significantly after I started staying there on weekends, but I still wouldn’t trade my honorary semester (or other weekend visits) at Frostburg for anything in the world. Because that shit was fun. Frostburg State knows how to party in a way that makes me wonder how anyone graduates from there at all. I’d arrive on Friday nights and leave Sunday morning with a hoarse voice, sore throat, bloodshot eyes, and a new absurd story. My favorite being when I rushed a sorority.

I got into Frostburg pretty late on the Friday night in question and went straight to Talia’s dorm to pregame. She gave me the rundown for the night’s plans and said that at some point, she had promised that we’d make a courtesy stop at a friend’s sorority’s rush party. “Uh, can I get in even though I don’t go here?” I asked. “Meh. Just put down my dorm number when you sign it. It won’t matter.” (I also said my major was mathematics with a minor in geography, because if you’re going to go for a lie, I say go hard.) We got to the party an hour later and as I started to pour myself a tall glass of trashcan jungle juice (because that’s how a Frostburg rush party rolls. As the owner of Hat, does it really surprise that I felt at home there?), Talia had to run out and tend to some drama that I can’t remember the details of, perhaps because I was drinking alcohol out of a trash receptacle by the ladleful at the time.

“Are you going to be OK here alone?” she asked. Knowing me well.

“PSH. I’ll be fine. You do what you have to do,” I responded, Zelko, Sunny Delight, and Rubbermaid particles filling my veins with the kind of courage you only wished you had in the light of day.

Now, truth be told, I’m actually pretty OK at parties where I don’t know anybody. I’m pretty OK at parties in general. Breaking the ice and being charming in a large crowd scenario isn’t my problem; it’s one-on-one conversations that get me. I have absolutely no problem going up to a huge group of people I don’t know and being like, “Hey, I’m Meg! What’s up?”, but put me on a first date in an intimate setting and suddenly I’m talking too much about my uncomfortably thought out “Theory on Ex-Fatties” or how I’m starting a letter writing campaign to have sex with Steve Buscemi and two weeks later I wonder why nobody ever fucking calls me back. But…yes. I’m normally pretty good at parties where I don’t know anybody, but on this particular night? I was on fucking fire.

 Knowing that I didn’t actually go to school there, would never see any of these people again, and in no way cared about getting into their sorority gave me a freedom to be myself that I have yet to experience again, frankly. After Talia left, I walked up to a blond “sister” standing nearby and struck up a conversation.

“I gotta say,” I said as I held up and tapped my solo cup, “good call going with the Sunny D. I feel like most sororities would put on airs and go with something like a Fruitopia or frozen Minute Maid, but not you. And you know what? I like it.”

“Thanks!” she said. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Meghan, nice to meet you.”

 “I’m Brittney. So, what dorm do you live in, Meghan?”

“Ugh, Frost.” [Frost was the community service dorm that both Talia and Teresa were placed in, I’m fairly sure because they turned their housing forms in late.]

 “Oh my gawd, seriously?? How can you stand it?”

“Dude, you’re telling me. Everyone pretty much just stays in on the weekend to play with their Bunsen burners and beakers, but then again it’s also close to the dining hall and I’m borderline sexually attracted to waffles, so I can’t complain.” [I don't even know if that's true.] [The dorm's proximity to the dining hall, that is. I am absolutely borderline sexually attracted to waffles.]“Have you met anyone in your dorm you like?”

“Oh, totally. I feel really lucky that I found a small group of girls on my floor that I instantly clicked with. But I guess that’s why I also want to join a sorority—I want to to make that small group grow, you know?” [I may have been, and frankly might be, a sociopath.]

“Absolutely! That’s what being in a sorority is all about! Kristen!” she shouted at another sister, “Come over here, I want you to meet someone!” Kristen came over and we were introduced.

“Oh my gawd, I love your jacket,” she said to me. “Where did you get it?”

“Thanks! It’s from North Face,” I responded.

“Oh my gawd, I’m obsessed with my North Face!” she said. “My boyfriend got it for me as an early Christmas present, but we just broke up.”

“Yeah…BUT YOU GOTTA KEEP THAT JACKET, GURL—Y’ALL KNOW WHAT I’M SAYIN’?!?!”

High fives. High fives all around. And it went on like that for quite some time. It was startling. Finally, Talia came back to retrieve me, I said goodbye to my new friends, and we went on our way.

 Later that night as Talia, Teresa and I hunt out in Talia’s room recapping the night, her friend from the sorority walked in looking extremely tired and pointed at me.

“Well done, Meg,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, I just came back from a two-hour long post-rush party meeting, and at least a half an hour of that was spent with girls arguing over who would get to be your Big.”

“WOW! Seriously??” I asked, genuinely flattered.

“Yes. Seriously. It seriously took a half an hour of arguing over ‘Meg with the black hair from Frost Hall’ before I realized that that was you and had to tell them you don’t go to school here.”

“Aw, man. Brittney’s gonna be so disappointed in me…” And I meant it.

So, while I felt kind of shitty because I blatantly wasted those peoples’ time, the experience also ended up being a really good life lesson for me about what happens you stop giving a shit about what other people think of you. I wish I were joking when I say that one of my social mantras is still: “Dance like no one is watching. Sing like no one is listening. Love like you've never been hurt and rush like you don’t go to school there.”

You’re welcome.

More tales from the Meglet Crypt

Yeah I do. I completely forgot about that promise. But I'm good for it!

Let me tell you why this picture will forever be one of my favorite pictures of all time, despite the fact that it was taken the summer after fifth grade, a.k.a. the start of the darkest time of my life. Besides right now, I guess.

This picture was taken during my Girl Scout troop's trip to Savannah, Georgia, birthplace of Girl Scouts founder Juliette Gordon Low. That was a unique trip. And not because we stayed in a HoJo by the airport and I had my first panic attack during an intense game of sharks and minnows, which was misdiagnosed as dehydration and I had to chug Gatorade until I pissed myself. Well actually, yes, because of that, but also because our troop went to Juliette Gordon Low's house/Girl Scouts Museum for an all-day learning jamboree type thing about technology, and it was there that this picture was taken.

Before I get to the root of this story, you should know a few things about my involvement in Girl Scouts: like most activities I've taken part in, it was motivated mostly by the outfit. I really wanted a Girl Scout's uniform and I wanted patches—glorious, glorious patches!—so I joined Girl Scouts in fourth grade with my friends Meagan, Melissa, Markita and Teresa.

We were kind of the, oh how do I say this politely?, the assholes of our troop. We didn't take part in any of the activities (SAVE FOR ROLLERBLADING AT LONGWOOD REC CENTER DAY!!!1) and had a penchant for wandering off at meetings and hiding out in the teacher's lounge to get hopped up on Sprite and talk shit. Which, I should mention, we thought we were so badass for doing. In retrospect, there's actually nothing less badass than taking a break from your community service group to drink caffeine-free soda in a room surrounded by teamwork posters and abandoned tupperware. But, I digress.

My friends and I were in typical "badass" form at the Girl Scouts and Technology...thing. There was some long presentation (which we obviously didn't pay attention to) and after it ended, we were supposed to break up into small groups and write a 30 second skit to perform in front of the entire jamboree about the importance of technology in society or some shit, using the costume chest to enhance our performances. All we heard, however, was "blah blah blah blah COSTUME CHEST!!!!! blah blah." Meagan, Markita, Teresa and I quickly formed a group, threw elbows to get to the costume chest first and shotgunned three matching princess dresses, which Meagan, Teresa and I wore while Markita settled on this bizarre Friar's costume she found at the bottom of the chest that kind of went along with the princess theme. If you squinted.

During the allotted time to write our skits and while the other groups performed theirs, our group did one thing and one thing only: SPUN AROUND IN PRETTY PRINCESS DRESSES!!! Who can think about writing when you're wearing a princess dress?!?! Guess what I'm wearing right now? A Jäger thong that someone hit me up on Twitter to send me (if you thought I was too good to get my underpants from fans via Twitter, you are sorely mistaken), a t-shirt that says "I'd Rather Be Fishing" and that's the ballgame. Why? Because you can't write well when you feel attractive; everyone knows that.

Before we knew it, we were the only group who hadn't performed and were being called up on stage. I can not impress upon you enough how mortifying this situation was. We didn't have anything prepared—we were in medieval princess costumes to do a presentation on modern technology, for Christ's sake. We kind of stood there on stage staring at each other and exchanging awkward, "uhhh.........uhhhhh's", when out of nowhere Markita, who suddenly had a novelty oversized brass key from the costume chest in her hand, threw on a pair of Oakley sunglasses, took center stage and yelled, "DROP A BEAT!" Meagan, Teresa and I looked at each other with the fear of God in our eyes and rigidly shuffled back and forth while we did a little, "boom-boom, kschhh, boom-boom kschhh". Markita began to rap:

Yo, yo what's up?

I'm Friar Tuck

And I've got the key to technology

So if you want to see my key

You've GOT. TO. BELIEVE.

You've GOT. TO. BELIEVE.

PEACE.

And then she walked off the stage. A hush fell upon the crowd as Meagan, Teresa and I shifted our eyes back and forth and slowly stretched our arms out towards the audience all, "TA-DAH?" More silence. And then the crowd burst into applause. We were the hit of the fucking jamboree, despite the fact that our stance on technology was that for it to be effective, you had to believe in it, like it was Tinkerbell or some shit. I will never forget the lyrics or the tune to that rap for the rest of my life. It's etched in my memory. Like...I would record that now and release it for sale on iTunes if I could. It was just that groundbreaking. The picture above was taken just moments after we got off stage and that is why, despite being from circa middle school, it will always be one of my favorites.

Little did I know that something similar would happen eight years later, only with less successful results. I took some hippie dippie sociology class my sophomore year of college with my friends Ashleigh and Christie to fulfill a Gen-Ed. I completely forget what the class was officially called, mostly because we exclusively referred to it as "Hot Kianda's Class." (RIP) (Side note: I appreciate that even The Washington Post article about his death makes a point to mention that he was "handsome and scholarly." Because I said god damn; yes he was.)

One day Hot Kianda made our class go to a symposium about I-don't-remember-what-but-it-probably-involved-race-class-and-gender-because-I'm-sure-at-least-two-of-those-were-in-the-class-title-because-it's-AU at Howard University. Now, I'm going to be honest with you—sociology doesn't interest me at all. I appreciate that it interests other people, I applaud those people, but to me, sociology is about as interesting as a box of hair. Truthfully, probably less interesting. Thus during said symposium, I kind of just sat in the back, zoned out and listened to the Howard gospel choir rehearse in the auditorium next door. I figured when all of the (many) speakers were done, that would be that and the symposium would be over. Incorrect.

After that we were placed into groups for a group dialogue about...race, class, gender-y...things. To make matters even worse, I was the only person from AU in my group. I was the AU representative in a group of Howard and GW sociology majors and grad students, which should have frightened the shit out of the AU Sociology Department. To make matters even worse still, we had to go around the group and share what constitutional amendment we thought had the most social impact on race, class gender, race, class, gender, jargon, jargon blah.

I was fucked. I couldn't even name a (non-Prohibition related) constitutional amendment, nevertheless one that had to do with whatever the fuck we were talking about. As we went around the circle, my heart started pounding, I began sweating profusely and I couldn't breathe. I had no idea what to say. As the person next to me began speaking, all I could think to say when it was my turn was, "I'M SO SORRY, I'M AN ART MAJOR AND I'M TAKING THIS CLASS AS A GEN-ED AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK ANY OF YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT BECAUSE I DON'T DO ANY OF THE READING AND I JUST STARE AT KIANDA'S ASS DURING CLASS AND WONDER IF YOU COULD BOUNCE A QUARTER OFF IT AND THE IRRITATING THING IS I'LL STILL END UP GETTING AN A IN THIS CLASS BECAUSE IN DESPERATION I'M GOING TO GOOGLE THE TAKE-HOME FINAL EXAM QUESTIONS AND THE ANSWERS WILL ALL BE ON LINE AND IT'S NOT MY FAULT FOR DISCOVERING THAT. IT'S NOT. MY. FAULT!!!!"

But I couldn't say that. So in the micro-seconds between someone telling me it was my turn and me opening my mouth to speak, my options boiled down to:

1.) Go the "WWMD (What Would Markita Do?)" route and rap my way out of it. Which, given my audience, seemed like a grossly inappropriate thing to do at the time.

or 2.) Slaves. Just say, "Slaves." Slavery was legal, then it wasn't, a constitutional amendment made that happen, race was involved, just say "Slaves," hope they think you're high and move on.

By the time I opened my mouth and got "S—" out, the proctor interrupted and announced that time had run out and we had to move on. Everyone in my group apologized that I didn't get a chance to share, I vomited in my mouth slightly, shook like a leaf the entire metro ride home and that was that. Fucking Gen-Eds...

Although, I should say, that class was completely worth taking and not just because of Hot Kianda. You know that token dick in your class who always has something to say about everything and is a pompous asshole and spells "color" as "colour" and you just want to set them on fire? Well, that person in Hot Kianda's class was this god awful girl who I obviously couldn't stand. As she got ready to give her final presentation towards the end of the semester, she plugged her laptop into the projector and gave the class a bit of a warning:

"I just want to say before I turn on my computer that a friend pulled a prank on me and made a gross picture pop up on the screen every time I start my computer or wake it from sleep mode and I don't know the password to change it. I apologize and thank you." Click.

And that's when a giant picture of a naked girl sucking off a very well endowed donkey popped up on the 10-foot wall of one of the giant lecture halls in the basement of Ward and stayed there for about eight seconds, while Bitchface had to stand next to it in shame and Kianda got so flustered that he walked out of the classroom all together. And it was the most magical moment of my life up until that point.

It was trumped, however, two years later when through a series of technological fails, my meeky Costume Design professor was forced to ditch his work computer and plug in his personal laptop into the projector. As he searched the folders on his desktop for whatever it was he wanted to show us, some kid raised their hand and pointed out (and I swear to Christ this is all true) that one of the folders on his desktop was named "Hot Cunts". Incredibly flustered, our professor clicked the name of the file and mashed the keyboard with his fist to rename it anything. PER CHANCE, in doing so, he had renamed the file "JIHAD".

"Sir, now it says, JIHAD!"

...Projector mishaps are amazing. Thank god I believe in technology.

Queer Abby: mean, heartfelt AND shiny!

Hey-o, Queer Abby time! If you're a new reader, Queer Abby is our weekly advice column where you write in with your deepest, most personal questions and our resident advice guru, Amy, gives you good advice and Meg rambles on for a while nonsensically and more times than not, inappropriately hits on you. It grows on you like scabies.

Queer Abby,

At the beginning of the summer I started "seeing" a guy. Since then he has become my summer fling. We hangout. Go to movies. Go to the pool. Go to baseball games. Kick it with friends. Sleep over at each others houses. And of course have AMAZING sex. So as the summer is about to come to an end I have something I need you to weigh in on. Do I stay or do I go? Or really does he?

The whole reason he is summer fling is that hes not really dating material or should I say he doesnt have dating potential. Were just in two very different places in our lives. Hes 28, just starting undergrad and has all those collegy habits (smoking, drinking profusely, sleeping weird hours etc), and only has a part time job, which overall I commend him on (minus the collegey habits but I get it I was there once too) because hes getting his shit together. But I already have my shit together Im 25, have a very successful career, my own apartment and a masters degree.

On the flip side he treats me AMAZINGLY, better than most if not all of my ex-boyfriends. I mean how many guys do you know who just show up at your door step with a bagful of godiva chocolates because he knows its lady time. We really enjoy each others company. When we first began we had a talk about all this and how we’re in different places in our lives and well just roll with it and have fun together and not really define things and just go with how we feel. I mean the whole point of dating is to be with someone who has potential, and were not really sure if thats what we have, beyond having fun and amazing chemistry.

So now to the advice part: Becuase of the pluses do I over look the minuses and just stick with it? Perhaps it will develop into potential? Or do I just cut my losses, keep the chocolate and say sianarah?

Thanks for the help!!

To Summer Fling or Not to Summer Fling

Personally, it sounds like the pluses outweigh the minuses here, but that’s based on what’s important to me…. You need to figure out what’s most important to you.

Most people have a long, long list of ideal qualities they’d like to see in a partner, but at some point it’s better for everyone involved if you narrow that list down to the things that are most important to you. Otherwise, you run the risk of a) being forever unsatisfied (or fucking things up) with someone who’s awesome for you just because of a few short-falls that are relatively harmless in the grand scheme; or b) wasting a lot of time with someone who covers a lot of the list but falls short in ways that are total deal-breakers.

So think about the short list: the top 3-5 characteristics you need to see in a person you date. If this guy hits nearly all of them then you should definitely keep dating him—but you’ll need to also keep those qualities in mind, appreciate him for possessing them and stop looking for his faults… And, if you don’t think he hits most of them, then yea, maybe you should think about ending it…you deserve to be with someone you respect and view as an equal and he deserves someone that doesn’t think they’re better than him.

Are you kidding me? Is this even a real question? The answer is so obvious I'm almost embarrassed for you—tell him it's over. You need to sit him down and say the following, word for word:

"Look, you and I both know that this relationship is a giant waste of my time and yours. So you can keep your Academy Award winning wiener, and your positive attitude, and your menstrual chocolates, and your thoughtfulness, and your general concern for my well-being, and your free lobster buffets and our amazing chemistry and never call me again. Because I don't know if you've taken a break from doing my laundry and slipping cute notes into my lunch to go outside, but it is Autumn; the season of commitment. And I'd be crazy to want to commit to someone like you. Because you sleep in on weekends and pay for things in Camel Bucks. You like drinking games and think it's a quote, "buzzkill" to talk about Darfur at Trivia Night. You haven't even seen a single episode of PBS' Mystery!. Well, I'm sorry but I am 25-years-old. 25-fucking-years old. I mean, yeah, sure, maybe back when I was 24 I had all the time in the world to hang out with a "fun guy" who "legitimately cares about me" and has a tongue like a car wash, but I'm not 24 anymore. I'm 25. I have a Masters degree, a Ford Focus, and a FICO score of 770. Don't you get that? Does that even mean anything to you? Or are you too busy drinking a non-IPA beer and jamming with your friend on the harmonica to get that? (And by the way, I'm sorry, but that instrument is questionable at best. It's associated with hobos and Alanis Morissette; get a guitar.)

I'm sorry if this seems rough, but I just don't think you're dating material. Trust me, I wish you were. I wish we lived in an idealistic society where it's enough to date someone who you have chemistry with; someone who just wants to spend time with you and make you happy, but we don't. To make a relationship work, you need more than that. (And I'm not referring to a deeper connection. We have that; it's not helping) I'm talking about the holy trinity of love: maturity, fiscal responsibility, and at least eight hours of sleep a night. Because how am I supposed to trust you when you haven't even taken college-level biology yet? How are we supposed to have a serious conversation when you don't know the difference between a genotype and a phenotype? I mean, Christ, have you even built a terrarium out of an old Pepsi bottle before? Would you even know where to start??

This isn't going anywhere and we both know it. Yeah, maybe we could keep this charade going, but for what? Another two or so more years of fun and good sex until possibly getting married? What's the point of that? It's a joke. A sick, sick joke and I'm not laughing any more. So this is over. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Which is a 'Family Guy' DVD, no doubt."

So say that, and then give him my number: 301-936-1212. Just kidding, that's the weather, but it could easily become my number when you dump him. Kthnx.

Dear Queer Abby,

This may not seem like a big question compared to the others that are probably asked but I need advice and I immediately thought of you and Meg (Hi!). Last friday I moved to college. I'm a freshmen in a college majoring in Graphic Design (I totally just added that because I know Meg was the same major and i secretly just want to be her. Well it's not so secret anymore.) The college is in PA and only about an hour and a half from my house back in MD. I thought everything would be fine. I'm not the one to get particularly homesick so I didn't think it would affect me this much. But boy was I wrong. I can't even explain how awful and homesick I feel! I miss my routine and my mom and dad and the familiarity of everything. I'm meeting the girls who live in my building and what not and when I'm with them I have tons of fun, but once I'm by myself or have a second to just think I freak out. I'm joining clubs but some of them don't start for awhile. It feels like I'm having panic attacks. My stomach hurts all the time and I'm full of anxiety and nerves.I can tell this whole thing is making my anxiety much much worse than it was before. Every morning when I wake up I just want to cry, and occasionally when my roommate is gone I do. I can't get through a phone call or email from my parents with out sobbing. Every evening before I go to bed I lay there and just think about how terrible I feel and home much miss my parents. I want to enjoy college, I really do! But I'm not sure I can until this awful helpless sinking feeling goes away. I feel like such a baby that I can't suck it up. Granted I've only been here about four or five days, but I feel like the feeling should be subsiding by now. I can't even begin to think what I'll do if it doesn't go away soon. I want to go home this weekend so bad but I think if I do I won't be able to push through these feelings. But at the same time I'm not sure if I can push through the terrible homesickness I have. So I ask you, what do I do?! When do you think I'll feel better and stop being such a ball of anxiety and emotional instability? HELP HELP HELP PLEASE.

-I have no witty name because I feel like I'm going to stop breathing/throw up every five seconds.

It’s perfectly normal to feel this way; it’s a major transition in your life in so many ways and you’re adjusting—which isn’t always easy. Nonetheless, you just have to trust it’ll get better and wait it out. It’s definitely going to take more than 5 days, but probably nearly as long as you think.

In the meantime, it’s totally ok to visit home every few weekends to ease into it if you need to, just don’t get in the habit of doing it all the time. For example, set a weekend to visit home within the first month and every time you start to freak out just remind yourself that you’re going back soon, take some deep breaths and start doing something that makes you happy/distracts you (i.e.- don’t just lay there spinning in circles about how unhappy you are)… Also, remember that your old friends and family are just a phone call away and there are TONS of other people at your school who are going through this exact same thing, so you’re not alone unless you want to be. And finally, when you’re laying down before bed, don’t think about what you’re missing from home; think about what you want your life to be like for the next four years and how you can make that happen…. Seriously, that’s way easier to do in college than at almost any other point in your life—take advantage.

I realize these things seem trite and will only work to some degree right now, but you’ll slip into a new routine, make better friends and want to stay there as many weekends as possible before you know it… If you’re still having a hard time mid-way through your second semester then write back, and if you’re still having MAJOR problems with anxiety in 45 days then go see a campus counselor. Still though, I’d wager you’ll start feeling a lot better within the next month or two.

BLESS YOUR HEART! I hate to repeat advice, especially when it is kind of trite, but, it gets easier. You can trust me because I've been pretty much exactly where you are right now. So, I guess my advice is to listen to my story, feel less alone and hopefully learn something. TENDER SHARING MOMENT!

I was Miserable with a capital M for the better part of my first semester at college. Miserable. I called my parents on the second day of school and was like, "COMMUTER STUDENT?! YES? NO? COMMUTABLE?" I came this close to transferring 9,000 times. I cried in the shower, I cried when I came home, I cried when I went back, I cried when I called home, I cried myself to sleep, my stomach hurt all the time, I was always anxious—I can not reiterate how miserable I was. But guess what? I thank Christ every day that my parents didn't let me come home. Because while I generally didn't love AU, I loved college. Me and Asher Roth. Just lovin' on college. Who would have thought?

But in those dark early days, I really didn't do myself any favors. Although I went to college like, .4 seconds away from where I grew up, it was an incredibly hard adjustment for me. Before going to college, I had lived in the same town, in the same house and gone to school with the same people since I was born. I had never had to move, I had never had to start over, and the thought of having to do so scared the shit out of me. Also, I was one of those freaks of nature who enjoyed high school and I didn't want a single thing to change, so I fought the college transition tooth and nail.

I had been convinced since freshman orientation earlier in the summer that coming to AU was a giant mistake. I can not express how horrible my freshman orientation experience was. All the guys I met were male Meeks and all the girls were mean and only wanted to talk about handbags and congressmen. My roommate for the night answered the door completely topless and called me a loser when I declined her offer to go watch "guys play frisbee on the quad." After she left the room, I called my mom and was like, "I. IMMEDIATELY. REGRET. THIS. DECISION." and made her stay on the phone with me until I feel asleep. (Oh, Diane McBlogger...the things you do for me.)

When I came back in the Fall, I obviously had a bad attitude. I mean, I kind of always have a bad attitude, but in this case, I had a really, really bad attitude. I hated everyone in my classes and was convinced I'd never be happy there. Because of this, I got my car from home and would leave pretty much every weekend to go to Frostburg, where Talia and Teresa went to school. While I had an ungodly amount of fun there and consider myself an honorary Bobcat, that was probably not the best decision. Because I didn't even give myself a chance to like school; I made up my mind that I was going to be miserable and that was that.

I really don't remember what the catalyst was, but one day I just kind of manned up and realized that I needed an attitude adjustment. I forced myself to stay and be happy. And luckily for me (because Christ knows how lazy I am), I didn't have to go too far to find friends. I lived on an all-female floor my freshman year, and while most of the girls could be described as "stereotypically AU," there was a small group of girls (who one of the "stereotypically AU" girls would later refer to me as, "The Misfits") who were right up my alley. They were weird, had dark and off-kilter senses of humor, and cared more about staging elaborate (and slightly racially insensitive?) faux bat mitzvahs than finding internships. They were Ex Co-Blogger Eddie, Helena, Ashleigh, and College Roommate Danielle. I don't really know what happened, but one day I was just like, "Hm. I think I'll stay this weekend and allow myself to be happy with these people." And I did. And I was. And I continue to be.

From there, making more friends and figuring out where I "fit in" was considerably easier. Because I didn't fit in, but I had this group of people who didn't fit in either so who really gave a shit? I'd bet dollars-to-donuts that these people are at your school too; you just have to be open to meeting them. And it might take a while to find them, but that's OK. You need to remind yourself of that.

I felt like such a freak of nature because all of my friends from high school (save for Jen, who had it significantly worse than me, bless her heart) loved college from day one and I didn't. I seriously thought there was something wrong with me. But when I opened up and allowed myself to be happy there, I totally got it. Yeah, it took me until late November/early December to feel comfortable, but in retrospect, that wasn't that long in the grand scheme of four years. So while right now I'm sure you're flipping out because you feel uncomfortable and haven't met anyone who you can see being friends with, remember that you haven't really been there for that long and it takes time. But it'll happen! I swear! I feel like if someone as socially retarded as I obviously am can go to the red-headed stepchild of Washington, DC schools and leave with amazing friends and four years of shenanigans, you'll be fine wherever you are. Just hang in there for a little longer.

And more practically speaking, I promise at the very least you'll become better friends with the kids in your design program as more time goes by. You can't go through something that emotionally and physically draining without bonding. It's like warfare and you're all in the trenches together. When I started AU's design program, I think there were two or three, full intro classes (with about 12 students per class) and by the time I graduated, there were nine of us. NINE. And those people were like family to me. Why? Because you stay up together all night, every night, working your ass off, just to go to class the next morning, get your shit torn apart (literally and figuratively) and do it all over again. At a certain point, you stop being competitive and just want a hug. It's a really nice point. You'll get there.

Hey QA (and Meg!) -

So after I read the recent letter about the bride who got totally burned by her MOH, I felt the need to ask for some similar (yet totally opposite) advice. You see, I just recently WAS the MOH for my best friend. BFF and I were inseperable during college and even after, despite moving the different cities, having different jobs, developing different interests...what-have-you! We would talk on the phone at least once a week to check in, catch up, giggle-fest and all that general LOLBFF4LYFE stuff. So of course I was over the moon PUMPED when she got engaged to her man and asked me to be her MOH. I instantly went into planning mode and for over a year devoted more time and money to her wedding (and corresponding shindigs) than I've honestly spent on anything for myself or anyone else that I know - EVER. Living four hours away from where all of her bridal-goodness was taking place, I took at least 4 vacation days from work, drove up and down the interstate like it was my job and was initially happy to do so. I went with her to shop for wedding dresses, to shop for bridesmaids dresses, to fittings, threw her a shower (which wasn't some rag-tag get together either...I ordered PRINTED invitations and in my book that deserves some respect!), threw her an out of town, weekend-long bachelorette party and fronted all of the money for hotel/transportation (which you KNOW some of those biatches who attended never paid me back in full for...) in addition to, you know, buying her shower gifts, wedding gifts AND purchasing the bridesmaids dress. I came into town days in advance of the wedding to help her with all of those last minute details. I wrote out a full fledged, from the heart, "she's the sister I never had" speech to give at the reception! And after it was all said and done, the rice was thrown, the honeymoon was over...I have barely received ONE iota of acknowledgement for the ways in which I completely and utterly devoted myself to her day for OVER A YEAR and I am fuming, boiling, about to explode angry.

Sure I got a "thanks, girl! You're totes the best!" a bridesmaid's gift (which the whole bridal party got) and a hug at the wedding. But I really don't think she understands the extent to which her expectations of what a MOH should be, really put me out. I didn't go to these lengths only because I thought it would be a good idea, but because SHE made it very clear that she wanted me to be highly involved. And, thinking that she'd do the same for me if the tables were turned, I happily obliged. But now that it is over, I am so burnt out on her and so mad, that I don't even want to answer the phone if she calls...which has only been once since the wedding. QA, I just feel so used! BFF doesn't have a job, and does have a hubby who just bought her a freakin' house...which is nice for her. But it makes me even angrier because I don't think she gets that I spent my OWN dollars and my OWN time on her...while she sat at home jobless (not because she can't find work, but because she doesn't want to) calling me during work hours to chat about all of the things she expected me to be taking care of. I don't need to be re-paid, I just need to hear "Woman, you treated this like it was your own wedding and I can't even tell you how much it meant to me. You juggled it all during a time when you were out-of-control busy with your own life and I LURVE you for it."

So the question is...do I say anything? If so, what? How do I keep from screaming, "HEY, UNGRATEFUL STEPFORD WIFE! YOU SUCK!" ?? I really don't want to lose the friendship but I'm questioning whether this was a one-time wedding crazed thing or if she is just going to be a leech-like friend forever, sucking me dry and never giving back in return. And if so, do I even want to continue that relationship?

Thanks QA!

- Totally planning to elope one day

Most advice columnists (well, at least Miss Manners) say that when you do something nice for someone, you shouldn’t be expecting anything in return; you should just do it out of the goodness of your heart because you want to see them happy... Ultimately, I agree with them on a lot of levels. You can only be so mad at her for the sacrifices you chose to make for her wedding. For example, if during-work-hours was a bad time for taking calls, you should’ve told her when a better time was and stuck to it; if you were concerned about money, you should have made the bridal party pay upfront, etc….

That said, however, I totally understand why you’re aggravated and I think your disappointment is warranted. The lack of recognition for the work you put in and how much it helped her out is bad on her entirely. Of course, maybe that means she sucks as a friend or maybe she just sucks at expressing gratitude, I have no way of knowing, but it does sounds like this was an isolated incident so I wouldn’t write her off just yet because of it.

Usually I’d advocate bringing it up with her but, unfortunately, I’m not sure saying something will do all that much good at this point. She’ll likely get defensive which will just piss you off more, and I doubt any expression of gratitude you have to ask for is going to make you feel much better. But obviously you know both of you better than I do though, so if you think I’m wrong on either of those points then go for it… Otherwise, I’d suggest just trying to think of this as paying it forward—pat yourself on the back, trust it will come back around and try to put the frustration behind you as best you can. (Of course, you may need to distance yourself from her a little while you’re trying to get to that point.) And if she ends up coming through in a big way when you need her, then bygones… if not, then yea, you may want to start reconsidering whether you want continuing the relationship again.

I swear to god, I was watching "Bridezillas" today and decided that when I get married, I want to go to Vegas with my dude, stay in a swanky luxury suite, spend a week being pampered, getting wasted and gambling, and then get married in a poofy gold lamé party dress by an Elvis impersonator. I genuinely think that's what would make me happy. And then, of course, we'll have a big party back home so everyone can share in our love (read: give us gifts. Expensive, expensive gifts.) Good. I'm glad that's settled. Labor Pains' Chris Parnell should hurry up and...meet me.

OH! And speaking of weddings and gold lamé, I have huge news! So while my sister never quite warmed up to the idea of me wearing Joan Collin's plunging gold lamé dress from "Dynasty" in her wedding, she and her fiance have agreed to let me wear vintage GOLD LAME EVENING GLOVES! I JUST BOUGHT THEM FROM ETSY! I don't want to say, "now I'm excited for their wedding" because that sounds selfish and horrible, but, NOW I'M SO EXCITED FOR THEIR WEDDING!!!!!!1 Look at them:

I'm wearing this dress:

PICTURE IT: SICILY! HAIR IN A FRENCH TWIST, 60'S CAT EYE EYE-MAKEUP, CHUNKY GOLD EARRINGS, BLACK STILETTOS, GOLD LAME EVENING GLOVES. I don't want to seem "cocky" or whatever...but I might masturbate to the vision of myself wearing that later tonight. A lot.

Me and my unbearable attractiveness aside, I have advice. I feel like you should let her know that you're peeved now, because if not, you're just going to stew and stew about it until you randomly blow up at her one day and there goes your friendship. At least if you tell her what's up now, you can say it thoughtfully and not so like, "I DID NICE THINGS FOR YOU AND YOU NEVER THANKED ME, YOU FUCKING CUNT!!!!" Because truthfully, she doesn't really owe you anything. The more I research what goes into being someone's MOH and what's expected of you, the more I understand that when you accept the MOH offer, you do so understanding how much work it involves. And you're cool with that, because it's an honor and it's nice to do nice things for the people you love.

But that being said, you don't come off like an asshole to me. If you think you deserved more kudos, you probably did. I just think there's a more diplomatic way of letting her know that you're pissed. EXAMPLE! I went balls out on my sister's bachelorette party invitations, because a.) It's my biz, b.) I love invitation design (FREELANCE HOLLER!!!1) and c.) I wanted my sister to feel special. I was really proud of the final product, but before I sent it, I made and sent her a really shitty fake one on an 8.5 x 11 piece of paper with clip art and a god awful rhyming poem. Why? Because I'm an asshole who plays graphic design pranks on people. We had a good laugh about it, but I felt like it kind of stole the thunder from the real one I designed. So when we were together one day, I straight-up said, "I feel like the fake invitation upstaged the real one I made you. I hope you liked it, because I worked really hard making it for you." Of course, Becca was like, "Oh my god, I loved it! It was so good, blah blah blah" and all that shit I needed to hear because we're human and it feels good to be acknowledged.

So, what if you shoot her a casual email being like, "Hey, now that everything is said and done, I really hope your wedding and all of the events leading up to it were special, because I worked hard on everything and I want to make sure you're happy."? I'm sure she'll respond positively. It seems unlikely to me that your friend would purposely not acknowledge you and your hard work. She was probably just busy and stressed and up her own ass from the wedding. And if not, then, hey, at least you tried. Sometimes you just gotta call a spade a spade and a cunt a cunt. (T-SHIRT POSSIBILITY?!)

Got a question for Queer Abby? Shoot Amy and Meg a question at QueerAbby@2birds1blog.com ASAP!