On 'Dallas', on Cupid, on Donder, on Blitzen!

All of my emotions about the new Dallas can be summed up in one single noise: it's a mixture of a long, disappointed sigh; the grunt of a pregnant woman in the throes of her final push; and the Bill Lumbergh "Yyyyyyyyyyyeahhh....", all made with a facial expression that screams, "Oh, shit—I just locked my keys in my car, didn't I?" That is how I feel about the remake of Dallas.

I understand that if anyone should be happy about the new Dallas, it should be me. The original Dallas is one of my all-time favorite shows, Larry Hagman is my personal Lord and savior, and if anyone loves trashy night time TV more than me, I'd like to meet them. (So I can destroy and sex them.) (NOT IN THAT ORDER.) However, I would like to take this time to officially state that I am not on board with Dallas 2.0. I actually got drunk and wrote a really long post about why not when Larry Hagman agreed to join the cast, but it was uncomfortably serious and kind of embarrassing for us all, so I ended up scrapping it and going outside to breathe this "fresh air" that everyone speaks so highly of. Here is what I will say, briefly:

1.) So much of why I love 70's/80's soap operas is because of the fashion: big hair; nude pumps; spangly, spangly gowns; my beloved gold lamé; tight, high-waisted Gloria Vanderbilt jeans; pantyhose!; nylon and lycra and pearls—oh my! It's borderline pornographic. But squeeze a meh-list actress fresh off a run on Desperate Housewives into a Herver Leger bandage dress, give her a spray tan and I'm sorry, but I'm not poppin' wood. You feelin' me?

2.) I want to remember JR Ewing as a s-s-sex machine, not a s-s-stroke victim, thank you.

Nip/Tuck. You assholes.

3.) My concern is and always will be for Larry Hagman's health. I'm actually CEO of a non-profit called "Focus on the Hagman". We sponsor T.G.I. Hagman's across the country, run uncomfortable Super Bowl ads and make it rain with pairs of TOMS. It's all very exciting. But we, as an organization, are not comfortable with the attention Larry Hagman is inevitably going to get from Dallas 2.0. Because on some small level, I truly believe that the Grim Reaper got distracted the day he was supposed to collect LH because he had to pick up more mulch at Home Depot or some shit and oops—it's 2011 and Larry Hagman's still alive! I'm nervous he's going to curl up on the couch one night with a bowl of kettle corn and a Zima, turn on TNT and be like, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK..." and that will be the end of that. I didn't invent the rainy day; I just own a Hagman-shaped umbrella.

4.) My biggest argument is this: remember that scene in Practical Magic when Sandra Bullock freaks out and demands that Stockard Channing and Dianne Wiest bring back her dead husband, but they won't do it because "even if we did bring him back, it wouldn't be Michael. It would be something else. Something dark and unnatural,"? Well, that's exactly what this new Dallas is going to be—something dark and unnatural that just shouldn't be. Don't believe me? Knock, knock. Who's there? Melrose. Melrose who? MELROSE PLACE WITH SPECIAL GUEST STAR ASHLEE SIMPSON. That's fucking who. And 90210! I mean, why don't we just dig up the body of George Washington, throw him on a vibrating bed with Brittany Snow, smear a used menstrual pad down your TV screen and call it the new Love, American Style while we're at it? Christ.

Which is why up until now, I decided to adopt the same strategy my dad used when he got his draft lottery number and ignore the entire situation until it just kind of goes away on its own. It worked for him, so why shouldn't it work for me, right? (And yes, this is my 'Nam.) But then TNT gave the show the green light and now it's happening for realz for realz and I can't ignore it anymore. My inbox, Twitter, and Facebook were all bombarded last week with people linking me to the TNT story and asking if I was psyched. This made me start to doubt myself. Maybe I'm overreacting and should embrace the show? Gah, but it feels so wrong! I need answers. I need someone to guide me. I need the one who turned me into the Hagmanite I am today. My sire—Original Co-Blogger Eddie. Oh, wise one! Show me the ways of the Old World! (Or, this is some shit, right?)

"MY FEELINGS ON DALLAS", by Original Co-Blogger Eddie

1.) Holy shit. When I picked the Dallas as the topic for my senior history thesis I did it because I wanted to watch lots of TV. Like Pigman in PCU. I found out that watching TV is hard, and I ended up with lots of useless knowledge about a TV show very few people under the age of 27 knew about. Our age group knew that some dude named JR got shot and all the adults wanted to know WHO SHOT JR. BUT NOW I FEEL LIKE I WAS RELEVANT, I was saying and observing important things about America and pop culture. I want to thank the remake for allowing me to feel like the history degree I earned has some value. (Aside from talking to people's moms/the older ladies at work. People's moms and older ladies at work LOVE talking about Dallas.)

2.) I'm scared Larry Hagman will die now because this cursed him in some way. JOCK died during the show's run; who's to say that will not also happen to JR?

3.) Rumor has it Victoria Principal isn't coming back as Pam because she CHANGED HER FACE SO DRASTICALLY to look young that she now looks like a monster pretending to be Victoria Principal. So no Pam on the new show, which is sad because she made moments like this in a disco so awesome.

HELLO A WHITE TURTLENECK, WHITE PAINTS AND A FUR TO A DISCO, that will not happen in the new show. She is sexy and yet very covered up...

This leads me to my next feeling:

4.) I also worry that the world of the Ewing family on Southfork belongs at a time and place. Maybe, just maybe, those characters need to stay in 1978-1991. You can't go back to the past, but thanks to DVD's and books, you can revisit at your leisure. A TV show like Dallas is intimately bound to the time frame it was created and consumed. Sure, it was an over the top prime time soap, but it still was an important piece of TV trash. I'm scared that this remake will tarnish the memory of one of the most influential pieces of television ever created and exported outside of the United States. Dallas changed the look of the 1980's, and changed television, but it was also influenced by that era. Giving JR a computer, information about GREEN JOBS and putting him on Facebook will alter the TV show. I like that TV shows don't change, that I can re-watch them and they stay the same even if the time period is different. Like little time capsules where someone playing Miss Texas could have HORRID teeth and drink when she is knocked up and it's only "maybe bad for the child." This remake will not be the Dallas I love, it will be something very different with the same actors playing semi familiar parts. This remake has the possibility of being a hallow memory of what Dallas was and never will be again, and that makes me very sad.

Chances are I have many more feelings and thoughts and lucky for me I have a whole year to process them. It's been sometime since I watched Dallas, I needed a big break (for obvious reasons) and I have no doubt re-watching the DVD's will stir up emotions I didn't even know I had.

OK, so it's some shit. Good to know we're on the same page.

Well, here we are. I finally shared my Dallas emotions. I feel naked. I feel vulnerable. I feel exposed. I also feel like it goes without saying that none of this is going to stop me from watching it and recapping it for the blog. BUT I'M NOT GONNA LIKE IT.

The DILF Hunter 5000

OK, look. I’m going to be REAL honest with you: I’m fully aware that a heaping tablespoon of our readership is pissed at us right now because we took two weeks off to, you know, write a book. Because someone gave us money to. Versus this little venture. Which we do for free. Actually, that’s a lie; Lexie Briggs gave us a donation yesterday. So Lexie Briggs: I’m sorry I disappointed you…but mostly, I’m sorry I disappointed myself. You let me know when you’d like to get drinks and they’re on me. (And by drinks plural, I mean one for me and one for you. Reasonably priced. Preferably domestic. This isn’t prom.) ANYWAY, the point is I’m buckling under the pressure of winning your hearts back and now I have writer’s block and can’t think of an introduction for this post and Chris isn’t answering my text messages. To add insult to injury, there’s a crack in my Brita pitcher and I’ve been fucking parched all day but don’t trust unfiltered DC water, so I just chugged four random Stellas I found in the back of my fridge from Halloween in under five minutes and am surprisingly drunk right now.

So here I am, accidentally drunk, playing with “novelty borders” in Illustrator, and trying to think of a way to be non-offensive and charming when it’s like, fuck it—just like these novelty borders, someone’s always going to think I suck, so I might as well just be the best little novelty border I can be for the people who appreciate novelty borders. Which, I might add, certainly has never been me, but you know what? I can’t fly in the face of an 8.5 x 11 piece of computer paper flanked in picnic ants and paw prints. I would go to that block party and I’m not even trying to front like I wouldn’t. So what I’m trying to say is: I recently discovered is that I’m a total DILF hunter and I think we should talk about it. But first:

As of February 11, 2011, Larry Hagman is alive! And here’s a quick story about him before we move on (“We suuuuure did Blanche…”): I found out some disturbing health news Tuesday afternoon and was just generally really down, so I came home and cracked open the Larry Hagman autobiography, Hello Darlin’, which 2b1b super-readers Anna and Sarah were wonderful enough to send to me. Within 19 pages, I was hysterically laughing because a.) He dedicated the book to his liver donor, which I know isn’t “funny”, but also isn’t not funny; b.) The first time he did acid (or a “turn on”, if you will) it was a gift from David Crosby and he did it in a tiny little brown terry cloth robe that his wife, Maj, made for him; c.) He was raised by a “extremely loving” black woman who, if little Larry wouldn’t stop talking at bed time, would blow out the pilot light in the gas heater and let the gas fill the room until he got drowsy and passed out. His grandparents made her stop doing it though when they came home from a church barbecue once and found both of them passed out, “gas still flowing.” Instead she would let little Hagman suck on a bourbon-soaked sock until he got buzzed enough to fall asleep. The concluding sentence of the introductory chapter is, “Was this the start of my alcoholism? Who knows.” Larry Hagman, Lexie Briggs, Anna, and Sarah…you keep me hangin’ on.

So, Chris and I were watching an episode of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip last week, per his dad’s recommendation, and I got all oddly hot and bothered by Matthew Perry. It started innocently enough when I remarked that he looked good in a suite, and then somehow turned into me full-blown rapping the “spicier” portions of Ludacris’ Fantasy while grabbing my invisible dick with my left hand and uncomfortably caressing my breasts with the right.

Chris didn’t understand my attraction to Matthew Perry at first but eventually admitted that he could see the being attracted to him circa the “Friends” years. And I could NOT disagree more. I like post-rehab Matthew Perry. I like that he looks poofy and a little waterlogged. I like the worry lines across his forehead and the bags under his eyes. I like that you can tell he was once a pretty boy who’s now a little weathered and clearly has a story to tell. And that’s when I connected the dots that Studio 60 Matthew Perry looks disturbingly like a lot of guys I’ve hooked up with over the years. Up until that moment, I never really thought I had a “type” (or, I considered my type to be whoever wanted to have sex with me at that given moment, which I don’t think is really having a “type” more as it's having "low self-esteem”), but standing there in Chris’ apartment, clutching my left breast and pointing to the television screen with a shaking finger, I realized that I do have a type—I’m a total DILF Hunter.

Chris was quick to point out that this must mean I have some serious daddy issues, but the thing is; I don’t. I have an excellent relationship with my dad; we’re friends, but that’s where it ends. My dad could be Steve Martin’s doppelganger and every time I watch that scene in Shop Girl when he gets into bed with a naked, whorish Claire Danes, I want to run a cheese grater over my eyes and jump out a plate glass window. That and I don’t think there’s anything “daddy issues-y” about being into DILFS. Sure it stands for “Dad I’d Like to Fuck”, but since when does that mean it’s my dad? My father is a distinguished older gentleman, and a distinguished older gentleman does not a DILF make.

Let me paint you a picture of what I consider a DILF to be: a man in his mid to late 30’s; typically brunette; classically handsome; exquisite bone structure; maybe married right out of college and got saddled down with the wife and kids a little too early; works an unfulfilling, but decently paid corporate job; perhaps has a wee bit of a drinking problem as a result and has put on a few pounds; maybe he’s looking for a young blogger with dwindling popularity to escape with for a few hours and remind himself what it’s like to be alive, feel a little dangerous with, I don’t know?; but most importantly he’s wearing a crisp Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up three-quarters of the way, top button undone and just slightly exposing his undershirt, haphazardly loosened tie, and a-reeking of musky cologne and a decade of disappointment. BOOM. I’m into, you guys. I’m into a big, big way. The highlight of every single one of my Monday through Fridays is when the guy I’m currently into text messages me a detailed description of what he wore to work that day. Sound a little gay? Well there’s nothing gay about it when the end result is me wanting to jump your fucking bones. (Sorry. Four Stellas. Getting a little defensive. Throwing hard F’s around.) And while I’m fairly certain all of this says something unfortunate about me, I don’t think it’s that I have daddy issues.

That being said, I did bring it up with Laura to see what she thought when we were out getting drinks this past weekend. After I finished my little schpeal, her eyes widened and I could see the pieces fall into place. She stammered, “Like…like Timothy Dalton!” PLINKO. We then spent the remainder of our night sitting in the window at Big Hunt comprising a list of the DILFiest men we could think of—a list that has now become known as The DILF Hunter 5000. Which was awkward when it got crowded and we agreed to share our table with another group of people and frequently interrupted their conversation with things like: “MICHAEL VARTAN?!” “DILF. ME. UP. AND. DILF. ME. DOWN. YES.”

Official rules of the DILF Hunter 5000:

1.) Must be attainably attractive, not too pretty or too exotic. Because that really is the majesty of the DILF. I don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell with Ian Somerhalder, I realize that, but something deep inside of me truly believes that given the right amount of alcohol and a dimmer switch, I could probably get Ray Liotta to go home with me.

2.) Doesn’t necessarily have to have kids. Jude Law has three kids but is way too pretty to ever be considered a DILF. Conversely, George Clooney doesn’t have any but aesthetically fits the bill. DILF is a state of mind, not a lifestyle.

3.) Of a certain age, but not of another. Which is just another way to say—

4.) DILF ≠ Distinguished Older Gentleman

5.) We recognize that every rainbow has a spectrum. George Clooney, to me, is a DILF, but he’s also in that age range where he could just as easily be a Distinguished Older Gentleman. Likewise, Joseph Gordon Levitt is going to be a great DILF someday, but that day is not today. The age range can get a little ambiguous, but all we can do is try our best.

6.) He has to put the F in DILF. Laura was quick to put Steve Carell on the list, but does anyone really want to fuck Steve Carell? I’d shake hands with Steve Carell and buy him a beer, maybe even have a sweaty make out session with him in a sports bars commode; anything else just seems…overkill.

Over the course of this past week I challenged myself to pare down the DILF Hunter 5000 to what I consider to be the top 10 DILFs of all time. Screw writing the manuscript—that was a challenge. But thankfully after a lot of soul-searching, reordering, and revision, it’s done. I proudly present to you now, Meg McBlogger’s Top 10 All-Time DILFs:

#10: Alan Ruck

Or Alan “Ruck Me Harder”, if you will. Baha. I know what you’re thinking: “PSHHHH, seriously, Meg? He hasn’t been in anything since Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and he was like 25 in that.” Oh, really? Allow me to point you to a little slice of the human experience called Cheaper by the Dozen and episode four of “Stella” entitled “Coffee Shop”. He played an emasculated, down-on-his-luck DILF in both of those and need I mention those blue eyes?? (Plus in CBD he wore a tux. Netfix it immediately. Or just come over because I own it. It’s a genuinely funny movie. Don’t judge me.)

#9: Will Arnett 

Knock, knock? Who’s there? I’d lick that receding hairline. That’s my entire joke. ‘Sup?

#8: Timothy Dalton circa 1987's The Living Daylights 

Look, we can go tit-for-tat all day about whether or not he was a respectable Bond (Lord knows I’ve got the time) (and four years of 007 Days of Christmas marathons under my belt) but I think we can all agree that in his prime, Timothy Dalton was a DILF and he made no apologies for it. I mean, that noble mane of hair! Those suits! Eyebrows that could make Peter Gallagher blush! And my god—the cleft chin. I, personally think cleft chins are sexy, but I think that’s mostly just because I have one and spent the majority of my youth being told it was a butt chin and developed a self-deprecating sense of humor and semi-serious self-mutilating problem as a result, but DALTON! Dalton made it look good.

#7: That Correspondent From The Daily Show who Kind of Looks Like Timothy Dalton if you Cross Your Eyes and Squint

Which I do. Frequently. It gives me terrible headaches and I might be developing a lazy eye, but Timothy Dalton looks like a decrepit vampire these days and Jason Jones? I. SAID. GOD. DAMN.

#6: Justin Kirk

I dated a guy who looks like Justin Kirk once and we both know I was in no way the one who ended it.

#5: Jon Hamm

I mean, “Mad Men” and “30 Rock” reruns basically just serve as softcore pornography at this point. Reasons one and two to get my cable turned back on…

#4: Clive Owen

I just…he’s just so…and he makes me feel…and I could…and he…and I…I have to go.

#3: Jason Bateman

There’s no one else I’d rather make sweet Pop-Pop with.

#2: Paul Rudd

As I obnoxiously shouted over the head of a perfect stranger a mere six days ago: “LAURA!!! PAUL RUDD—THE ORIGIONAL DILF!!!! THE DILF THAT LAUNCHED A THOUSAND MINI-VANS!!!! FUCK. YES.”

#1: Jeremy Piven

First and foremost: I don’t have to explain anything to you people. Second and second most: Fine. Let’s just all acknowledge that Jeremy Piven is a douchebag, OK? Jeremy Piven is a giant douchebag and I, Meg McBlogger, recognize that. He’s a “Jewish Buddhist”, whatever the fuck that means; he pussied out of a play with an excuse only applicable to 19^th century hatters; he might actually think he’s Ari Gold after the cameras stop filming—I get it; he’s a douchebag. But that doesn’t mean when he shuts that pretty little goddamn mouth of his and stands perfectly still, he isn’t the sexiest man in the entire world. Yeah. I said it. I honestly think that Jeremy Piven is the sexiest man in the world. I pitted him against every single other member of the DILF Hunter 5000, and he came out on top every time. And am I embarrassed to admit that on a blog where I’m already on thin ice? No. No, I’m not. I’m proud of myself for being able to be that honest. Because originally I hid Piven at #6 and put Rudd at #1, but it was with Alex’s emotional support in the basement level of a Panera that I learned to be proud of my feelings for the Piven and not care what other people think. I’m sorry that I can actually look past people’s personalities and inner selves and judge them solely on their physical appearance and you can’t. I’m a

lso sorry I didn’t get tickets to Burning Man this year, hippie.

Also,you don’t think that Jeremy Piven has contributed anything to society or even to your life? Uh, let me remind you of a little motion picture called PCU, and a line that’s not only my personal mantra, but is what inspired Ex Co-Blogger Eddie to write her senior history thesis on "Dallas", thereby introducing her to Larry Hagman, thereby introducing me to TGI Hagman, thereby introducing you to TGI Hagman:

Tom: What is he doing?

Droz: He’s finishing his senior thesis. Pigman is trying to prove the Caine-Hackman theory. No matter what time it is, 24 hours a day, you can find a Michael Caine or Gene Hackman movie playing on TV.

Tom: That’s his thesis?

Droz: Yes! That’s the beauty of college these days, Tommy! You can major in Game Boy if you know how to bullshit.

And bullshit we did. And continue to! Well, not Eddie. She’s an upstanding member of society who counsels America’s youth about doin’ it with condoms. I…made this list. And got drunk alone tonight because I couldn’t afford Gatorade. Well. Remember to use a condom! There. Now we’re even. 

Welp, that’s going to do it for us! Good riddance to this god-awful week and here’s to shit getting better. If you find yourself sitting around this weekend coming up with some quality DILFs, shoot them my way. 

Remember, there’s no “I” in “DILF Hunter 5000”. Except for the one in “DILF”. That literally stands for I. Good. Glad we’re friends again. See you on Monday.

Drinking Game Friday Needs a Drink. Or Five.

Last spring, I went to visit a friend in San Francisco, and we took a day to go tour the wine country. We stayed with a friend-of-a-friend, who dropped us in town around noon and picked us up after she was done with work. “Hey, guys, did you get in a couple of wineries?” “Buh, tuh. EIGHT.” We then asked for a ride to the store to get beer. When we sobered up, we realized that we’d made her uncomfortable. She thought we had Gone Too Far, and that we were on the verge of Having A Problem. Bah. We’re just from the South. Drinking is like sex and ice-skating. Done well, you have an awe-inspiring result; done poorly, you’re sore and an object of scorn. So in the spirit of Ladies and gentlemen, Self-Referential Entertainment Presents: The Problem Drinking Drinking Game! Drink when/if: - You’ve made a conversion chart that shows, for each hour of the day, a world city in which it is already five o’clock. - If someone has ever confronted you about drinking in the day, and you’ve mumbled something about daylight savings time. - Your trash bags clank as you put them by the curb. - You’ve started tailgating for sports with a very limited local following, such as jai alai or women’s darts. - “I’m not drinking. This is just beer.” - At your house, every dessert has brandy poured over it. They are never lit. - “You call this a Seven and Seven? This is an eleven and three at best.” - You get drunk to make everyday tasks easier. I once paid my bills drunk, and when I got the canceled check back I found that on the memo line of my check to the gas company, I had written, “for Grace and Beauty.” - You’ve ever gotten drunk while sick with the reasoning “alcohol kills germs.” - Wine savers mystify you, because who doesn’t finish their wine? - You have a bottle in the trunk of your car “for emergencies” that is significantly more accessible than the spare tire. - “We could divide this into actual Jell-O shots, or we could just refrigerate the whole bowl and eat it with a spoon.” - “Pshh. He’s 21 in dog years.” - “No, it’s more efficient to put the Kool-Aid mix directly in the vodka. Then you can just stir it up.” - You beef up softer drinks, like mimosas, with a shot of vodka. (Ex Co-Blogger Eddie does this and it’s delicious and effective.) - Mosquitos bite you, take a few uncertain steps, and fall to the ground. - “I find that if I swallow the mouthwash I lay down a good base buzz for the morning." - This happens: Meg returns Monday! Have a great weekend everyone!

Who Shot Drinking Game Friday?

First and foremost, happy 25th birthday to Ex Co-Blogger Chris!!!!!!!!1 (Or as my phone called it when the reminder alarm went off five minutes ago, "Chris' 25th Sex Romp.") I hope you have a fabulous weekend, I love you a shit ton and I wish I could be here to celebrate with you this weekend! (Hugthatlingersslightlytoolongtobeplatonic!)

Second and second most, while setting up the auto-post schedule for next week, I came to the frightening realization that neither Tulane Chris or I will be here on Friday to do a live T.G.I. Hagman update. In light of the recent passing of Lady McClanahan, this scares the crap out of me. WHAT IF LARRY HAGMAN DIES AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT BECAUSE I WASN'T HERE TO CHECK IN ON HIM?!!?!?!?! I can't be responsible for that! I can't be responsible for killing one of the greatest genie-fetishist/cowboy/stroke victim actors in television history! I couldn't. Therefore, I expect you all to hold your own T.G.I. Hagman's next week and celebrate in whatever way you and your god feel appropriate. Perhaps down some bourbon while back-handing a sassy ex-beauty queen?

OH HOLY SHIT, speaking of Dallas references: I will physically be in Dallas next Friday. IS THAT A SIGN?!?! IS LARRY HAGMAN GOING TO DIE ON THE DAY THAT I'M IN DALLAS BUT DON'T HAVE THE MEANS TO UPDATE THE WORLD ON HIS HEALTH?!?!?!?! Are there cyber cafes in Dallas?! I wish I was freaking out for comedic value, but I'm just not. Damn you Ex Co-Blogger Eddie. Damn you for transferring your unhealthy fixation on Larry Hagman's health to me.

I'm getting anxious. Time to check in with the old cowboy.



As of June 11th, 2010 at 1:12am, Larry Hagman is...alive! And here's to him staying that way while I'm off prancing around Ireland with hottie Timtern from Kell on Earth.

...And Alex. And Becca. And Geoff. And my parents. And minus hottie Timtern from Kell on Earth. BUT PLUS THE INCOMPARABLE SPIRIT OF LARRY HAGMAN!

Welp! Unfortunately I have to cut this short because I need to get some sleep before our incredibly long day of traveling tomorrow, but Tulane Chris will be back Monday morning and here to entertain you all week long. I've read all of his posts for next week and I'll give you two teasers: Nazis and scat porn. YEP. It's gonna be a great week to be alive. (HAGMAN, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!) Plus, I'll be dropping in periodically from Ireland, so keep checking back! Have a great week everyone! Miss you already! Buh-bye!

A sobering Drinking Game Friday

Today I've got some good news and I've got bad news. Which would you like first? Bad news? Bad news first so we can end the week on a high note? Mmm hmm. Yep. I like the way you think. Let's do it.

Bad news: I'm pregnant.

Bahahahaha. Just kidding slash I wish. Maternity leave sounds awesome right about now.

The bad news is that I legally died of embarrassment last night. Yep. I'm dead. Dead as disco. And I will spend the rest of eternity haunting this blog and Co-Blogger Chris in a Ghost Dad style plot line. (PS: I like how I just chose not to haunt Chris in an erotic Ghost kind of way, but rather in a kooky, Bill Cosby-at-the-door-with-pudding kind of way. And you're welcome, Chris.)

Remember that whole my-ex-hook-up-was-my-nurse-when-I-had-explosive-infectious-diarrhea-in-the-hospital thing that was so traumatizing it gave me emotional hepatitis? You know, that old chestnut? No? Well get yourself acquainted here. Are we all on the same page now? We all up-to-date on bowel movements? "Good." So Ex-Hook-Up Nurse sent me a message on Facebook yesterday afternoon basically being like, "MEGGLES! Sort of a random way to see you a few weeks ago. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It's illegal. Blah blah blah. It was good to see you. We should hang out soon. Yada yada yada." First of all: fuck. That message made me relive the entire experience all over again and guhhhhhhhhhhh...it burned. After I finished reading, I literally just writhed around my office chair, scratching my face and audibly moaning for a solid three minutes straight. It was horrible. Because writing about that experience here on the blog was my way to exorcise the embarrassment, let go and move on. And I had successfully done so!...Until that message, that is. I decided the best way to move on (again) would be to pick myself up, put the pants I had just writhed out of back on, embrace the embarrassment and laugh it off. Because that's what I do best, right?

So, I wrote back:

"Ugh, of course when I see you again after all this time I'm in the hospital for fucking explosive diarrhea and look like shit warmed over. Jesus Christ....I was 16 distinct different kinds of embarrassed. But! Yes, I agree we should be friends again. Any time you want to hang when I've actually showered and aren't in the hospital dying, that would be cool. - M"

"Kudos to me!" I thought as I pat myself on the back for confronting the situation head on. Now we could both have a good laugh about it and move on with our lives. All was well in the world.

...Until a few hours later when I got this message back:

"Actually I had no idea what you were there for. I didnt look."

.................GOD DAMNIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WHY?! WHY DID I HAVE TO "EMBRACE THE EMBARRASSMENT"?! AND WHY DIDN'T THAT SON-OF-A-BITCH LOOK AT MY CHART?! I would have! But then again, I'm a piece of shit. Ugh. So I unnecessarily told him that I had infectious diarrhea. I guess that's what I get for underestimating people. So fuck me. But not really because I was hospitalized with diarrhea and who wants to fuck that girl? Not me. And I am her.

But! I have good news. The good news is that today is Friday, which means it's time for the most magical part of any week—T.G.I. Hagman!



As of 12:09pm on January 19, 2010, Larry Hagman is...alive! AND GOOD! Good. More Hagman for me and you!

Now normally this is where I'd give you your Friday drinking game, but in honor of Alex and I recently starting our month off from drinking, there will be no drinking game this week. Yep, that's right. An entire month with no alcohol...And I have no idea what we're thinking either. Well, I do actually. Both of our doctors explicitly told us we need to cut back on drinking and Becky and Andrew are always taking a detox month here and there and they seem to have their shit together. Plus Becca and her fiance did it in January! I mean, I feel like it might be good to give the old liver a break once in a while...right? Especially since Alex and I wake up 3/7 mornings like this:



God I'm going to miss that homeless woman...

So, I guess your drinking game this weekend is to just slam a few extra back for me and Alex. Pour one out for your fallen homies, if you will. Thanks. We appreciate it. And we appreciate you reading the blog! But if you really want to see us appreciative, you should totally follow us on Twitter, join our Facebook page and forward us to a friend or two! Man that would be nice. I mean, I don't get anything out of it, but you would. KARMA. Sexy, sexy karma. Welp! I'm gonna go join a prayer circle or something equally sobering. Have yourself a fantastic weekend and we'll see you right back here Monday morning. (Awkward sober) kisses!