LOLOLZZzo NO POST MONDAY SORR ABOUT THE BAG

Christ on a croissant. Allow me to share with you a text I got from Allison this afternoon while I was at work:

No Post Monday. Your father and I aren't mad. We're disappointed.

Sigh. Now allow me to share with you a gchat conversation two readers from Texas had and sent me:

Kate: it drives me nuts that meg never posts on mondays anymore
and EVERY tuesday is like LOLOLZZzo NO POST MONDAY SORR ABOUT THE BAG
and im like
.... that doesn't make up for it, meg.
that. doesnt. make. up. for. it.
Sent at 3:24 PM on Monday
Sarah: I KNOW
its annoying
its like I NEED THIS
it's not a game at this desk
Kate: hahaha
Sarah: what is she doing mondays if shes unemployed?
Kate: she works retail
and she drinks sunday nights
so she barely has time to put on pants mondays when she wakes up at 10am for her 11am shift
ugh, meg.
i feel like i know you
and yet, i dont.
Sarah: its so creepy yet so necessary
maybe we should send her this convo

And then they did. And I'M SORRY, YOU GUYS! I'm sorry. I can't even tell you how much No Post Mondays stress me out. I kept remembering that I didn't post anything this morning at work today and feeling all guilty and stressed out like I forgot my kid at daycare or something. Which is absurd because this is just a blog. But, you know, it's more to me and I feel guilty.

I don't even have a good excuse for not blogging yesterday. I got home from work Sunday night and like the responsible young blogger I am (or strive to be), I curled up on the couch with a glass of wine, a very much alive and somewhat kickin' Cella and Dr. Reuben's Everything You Always Wanted to Know... with every intention of writing a Q&A post for Monday morning. And then I passed out AN single page in. I woke up five hours later at 2:30 in the morning curled up in a ball on the couch, pantsless, TV still on, spooning my laptop with mascara all over my face. It was pretty much the closest I've come to having sex since I made consensual love to a box of Thin Mints last Thursday.

Despite being half asleep and in the midst of nap afterglow (nafterglow, if you will,) I vowed that I would get something—anything—up on the blog to avoid yet another No Post Monday. So I made a list of everything that's going on in my life at the moment. And the list went as such:

- I had a really satisfying salad for dinner last night.

And that concluded the list. I'm not kidding. I very seriously wrote that sentence, blanked on anything else to write and thought, "Welp! That's the ballgame. This is my life. Aaaaaaaand hells bell's it's depressing. Good night and god speed."

But I refuse to believe that that's the only noteworthy thing in my life right now. That I had a satisfying salad for dinner. (Although it's worth noting that it really was a satisfying salad. So much so that I had again for dinner tonight. And some soup. Because it was a rainy, lazy, cozy soup kind of a day. OH MY FUCKING GOD, DO YOU SEE?! DO YOU SEE WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!) No! I'm not letting this happen. I will not talk about depression, or soup, or salad, or soup and salad combo meals, or anything else that will make me sound like a living, breathing Cathy comic. Today I'm going to talk about other things. This, my friends, IS WHAT'S GOING ON.


- UM. Reagan, a 2b1b reader from Houston sent me this tank top the other day:


Oh I'm sorry, Reagan. Did I just go gay for you? Yep. Sure did. So, what are you doing this weekend? ME!? Hehehehe, oh MY! You bring the flannel; I'll bring the power tools.

(Side note: I really want to add a merch store to the blog, specifically because I want to create an official "sorr about the bag" tote bag and proudly sport it around town on a daily basis. If anyone knows anything about how to set up a merch store on a blog, hit a bitch up: meg@2birds1blog.com. Especially because if I get a store up and running, it might solve my next problem...)

- I need $500 and Adderall. Fast. I realize this couldn't sound sketchier if a one-armed Russian drug dealing sailor was involved, but I swear both are for legit purposes. I think I may have solved my laptop problem! Lara's going off to grad school in the fall (THAT'S RIGHT! My design protégé got accepted into Parson's web design masters program, DID YOURS?! Oh. He did? Well. Good for him. He should talk to Lara because she's talented and easy on the eyes. Oh, and he's newly single? Welp. I'm mighty glad we had this conversation.) and needs to get a new computer before she goes. She dropped by the store tonight and informed me that she's going to sell her old (sexy) laptop (which just got a new battery and comes with CS3!) for $500 and I shotgunned that thing so fast my name tag spun. Unfortunately Lara wasn't quite as excited. She kind of awkwardly looked at the ground, shifted her eyes back and forth and asked, "Uhhh...Meg...no offense, but do you have $500?" Well, no, not in the technical sense, but I sure as shit can find a way to get it!

So, what am I good at? Drinking, making charmingly awkward conversation and occasionally baking things. Thus, for a nominal fee, I will come to your apartment with a bottle of wine and bake you something. Perhaps a poon cake. It's kind of my specialty. What's the nominal fee? In the words of the church, "give what you can." And then a few bucks more because things are touch and go. Come on! It's like a bake sale that comes to you! It's a lazy man's wet dream! Invite some friends over! We'll make it a night! (PS: those friends should also give what they can. God bless.)

Oh, and the Adderall is just because I have ADD and need it, but can't afford to go see a psychiatrist anymore. Poverty is mighty inconveniencing. I'm rationing out my remaining anit-depressants like meat in wartime.

Now, I don't know how "legal" this is, but I have a request. Is the request to mail me any spare Adderall you may have lying around your house? No. No, it's not. But it's also not not to mail me any spare Adderall you may have lying around your house, if you catch my drift. And if say a spare painkiller found it's way in there too? Well, I certainly wouldn't be mad. THAAAANX!

- Becca recently asked me to start thinking about what kind of bridesmaid dress I would want to wear in her wedding. She's pretty sure she wants her bridal party to be in gray, but since I'm the Maid of Honor, mine gets to be a little bit different. When she told me this, I obviously heard, "you can wear whatever you want," and immediately knew the perfect dress—the dress that Alexis Carrington/Colby/Dexter/Rowan wears to Steven and Sammy Jo's engagement party in the season 2 episode appropriately titled, "The Party."

when Becca was over the other week, I decided it was a good time to inform her that I had found the perfect Maid of Honor dress for her wedding. "Awesome! Let's see it!" she said. So I juiced up the old DVD player, popped in "The Party" and paused it on the following still:


She seemed to not think it was an option. Although, to be fair, I failed to mention that the mink stole and gold seashell clutch are optional. That might make a difference.

Flash forward to yesterday when Ex Co-Blogger Eddie sent me a link to a dress that she said I should buy because a.) it looks like Dynasty threw up all over it and b.) it would make my boobs look good:


Oh, I'M sorry. Is that not just a modest version of my dream Dynasty dress?! IT'S PERFECT! I mean, gray is sophisticated and elegant and all, but gold lamé? Gold lamé is like surviving a heinous car crash, plunging into a vat of ice-cold water or getting kicked in the groin—it reminds you that you're alive. If there's any fabric more appropriate for a wedding, I'd like to know what it is. Soooo...fingers crossed she goes for that.

- What does it say about me that I legitimately almost peed my pants laughing the first time I saw this video?

And keep in mind that a large part of the near urination factor was due to the kid's blood-curdling screams. Not to mention the fact that right it can get any funnier, a rogue donkey scampers across the shot. I mean, this is pretty much what dreams are made of. I've very seriously had this video open in it's own tab for like, four days straight now and I can't imagine living in a world where I close it. Hell should be nice...

- I was having dinner with my parents last weekend and we somehow started talking about Project Runway. During this conversation, my dad informed me that it is his ultimate dream for me to go on Project Runway and make it to the final 3. Not because I want, or have ever wanted to be a fashion designer, mind you, but because that means my dad would get to meet and subsequently hug Tim Gunn during the home visit episode. "I don't know," my dad explained, "A hug from Tim Gunn seems like it would be so cathartic. Like everything would be OK. He just seems like such a nice guy!"

...From now on, whenever people get weirded out by the fact that I have tattoos dedicated to my parents, this is the moment I'm going to refer them to. I just feel like it might clear things up a bit.

- In case you didn't know, I'm on the Twitter. Fellow Twitter user and 2b1b reader @toastedzen tweeted me the following this past Friday night:

toastedzen @2birds1blog I would give just about anything to hang out with you. Hell, to DATE you. I am in love!

"Well that's awfully nice of you, sir," I thought to myself, before tweeting "done and DONE!" back for good measure.

The next morning, he tweeted this:

toastedzen @2birds1blog FYI I have no idea how much sake I had put back before I wrote that. Just in case, you know if it doesn't work out between us.

To which I joked, "what?? so we're NOT dating?!" And this is what I got back:

toastedzen @2birds1blog its not you, its me. really. umm... I just think we should be free to see other people. but we can still be friends.

OK, let me just get this straight: I'm getting dumped by fake boyfriends, these days? Before even meeting me? Is this really how far I've fallen? I'm not mad, mind you. I'm just asking. Clarifying, really. Because when you discover my lifeless body hanging from a shower rod, I don't want there to be any confusion as to what happened. I don't want any lingering theories out there that perhaps old Meg McBlogger David Carradine-ed herself. It was intentional. So we're all on the same page here? Good. Moving on.

- AH! WEIRD! So after writing that last thought, I went to the bathroom to wash my face and on my way back, grabbed the most recent issue of Cosmopolitan Becky has and brought it back to bed. I opened to the horoscope section and read mine:

Aries
The forecast: As Uranus makes its agitating debut in your sign, you're bound to unleash your grumpiness on all the wrong people. Sign up for a bad-mood-busting kickboxing class, pronto.

Work mode: Cashing in. Moneymaking Mercury settles past-due payments, and you'll enjoy a post-tax windfall.

Love life: A three-way planetary lineup could send hot prospects to singles. Meanwhile, the coupled-up Ram will finally start showing off her man at company events.

Power Day: 27th

First and foremost: HAHAHAHAHAHA! Uranus.

Secondly: HAHAHAHAHAHA! Three-way.

But come on! As much of a giant pile of horse shit that Cosmo is, that's a pretty creepy horoscope, right?? I'm grumpy and taking it out on the wrong people (you, via No Post Mondays) but my money problems will soon be solved (thanks to my new poon cake chef on-the-go business!) Thanks Cosmo! I never thought I'd say this, but you made me feel better about life. And don't worry, I won't forget to play with his balls.

MISTY WATER-COLORED MEMORIES!

[Sorry for the delay in today's post. I had extreme technical difficulties. Which makes item #4 in this post that much more infuriating. HA HA, oh...tears. Tears of a clown.]

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am feeling ultra nostalgic for college this morning, you guys. Ultra nostalgic. I blame this on the following:

1.) John Forsythe aka Blake Carrington from my beloved Dynasty died over the weekend at the age of 92 years young. And it's always in the end that we look back at the beginning...


2.) The other day AU sent free holographic luggage tags in the mail to their alums trying to hit them up for money and the accompanying letter had the ominous reminder: "wherever you go, remember AU is always with you." Kind of like Christ. But holographic!


3.) I'm working at my college job again. And let me tell you; shifts are far more manageable when you don't show up all hung over and banged out six ways to the weekend. I guess this is growing up...

4.) I've officially given up on the dream of buying myself a new laptop because I desperately need the money I saved to buy sandwiches and pants and pay bills and blah blah responsible blah. I'm so unbelievably depressed about it. I certainly don't miss my old job, but I do miss my computer. I still have Alex's old laptop, yes, but it doesn't have Microsoft Word or any of the design programs I need on it and is just generally one megabyte away from biting the dust. Bless it's heart. Now that getting a new laptop is officially out of the question, I decided to gank the computer I used in college last night from my parent's house and whooo! This bitch be a throwback! I literally haven't turned it on since 2008 and browsing through the files is like stepping into a time machine. (Side note: I can't bring myself to delete a single one of the papers I wrote in college. Christ only knows when I'll ever need a Gender in Society term paper on Herland again, but should the day come, I am more than prepared.)

Looking through my photo library was a total blast from the past. I forgot that I used to be That Girl in college who always had a camera with her and took pictures of everything. Which is weird because I don't think I've taken a picture of anything since 2007. I spent a solid hour last night browsing through the 6000+ pictures and I'd completely forgotten half of this shit. Not that I blocked it out or anything; I just straight up forgot. Here are some of my favorite discoveries:

- Valentine's Day 2003. Ah, memories. My friend from high school, Billy, came to stay for the night and got so drunk that he vomited all over god's green earth. And by god's green earth, I mean Helena's bed, pillow, rug, notebooks and photo albums before promptly passing out on her floor. Talia was also visiting for the night, so we did to Billy what any good friends would do—we shaved his legs, defaced his t-shirt and invited people from other floors to come over and gawk and take pictures:





The best part is that while shaving his legs, we cleaned out the razor in Helena's Brita filter so when Billy woke up a few hours later and poured himself a drink, he got a nice tall glass of leg hair water. Well, technically this was funny until we informed Billy (mid-gulp) that he was drinking leg hair water and he vomited all over again—except this time on Ashleigh's side of the room. OH BILLY. I miss that kid. He called me Friday night and left a voicemail that I haven't listened to yet. I should do that. I'm writing my inner monologue again, aren't I?

- FORK POPE!

God I miss the Fork Pope. I created Fork Pope when I was out to dinner with my friends from high school one night and got rull ADD while waiting for the check. I started fiddling with my fork, napkin and ring and suddenly the Fork Pope was born. I should mention this was really, really funny to me and only me. I made him strut regally around the table and bless people. Again, I'm continually shocked that I have any friends.



- I have an oddly high number of pictures of me flicking off paper assignments:


- I also have an oddly high number of pictures of when attractive people poked me on Facebook:


- And I made Alex put Ziplock bags on his feet (or "feet condoms," as I called them) when he did homework on my bed to keep his grubby little feet away from my clean pillows. Again, reason #2352341243 I'm shocked Alex still wants to hang.


- I HAD CATS!

I don't want to say I always "forget" about Graydon and Kirikou because that sounds so heartless...yet, I kind of always do. It's a defense mechanism, really. College Roommate Danielle and I got Graydon and Kou when we moved into our apartment Junior year and she got custody of them after graduation. It made sense. She was going back to her animal-friendly parent's house in Texas whereas I was traveling abroad for a while and then moving to New York and Christ knows they were not welcomed at my parent's house in the interim. I'm apt to make it a race issue, but mostly I think it was just because Graydon would have eaten Evie. Let's not lie.



- Remember when Alex had long, luxurious, shaggy hair?? And remember when I got bored and Coolio-d that long, luxurious, shaggy hair up good? Now I do!




- There is an honest-to-god photo shoot of myself, taken by myself, from the day I got my Jack Daniel's pajama pants a.k.a. second skin:




And I'm making it look like I have a boner in one of them:


...I would like it to be known that I want to be married and buried in those pants. Kthnx.

- Ex-Co-Blogger Eddie and I once created a "Sports Bar & Key West Style Grille" called The American Shocker out of boxes from L.L. Bean.




...That's never not the funniest sentence I've ever read.

- Helena's Poon Cake!

Helena despises the word poon and is an all around class act. So, naturally, at the stroke of midnight on her 21st birthday, we made her watch Portuguese porn (a film entitled Butt Fuckin' Bi's) and eat the section of her cake with POON on it. You're welcome Helena. You're welcome.

- THE ONLY SURVIVING PICTURE FROM MATTHEW LILLARD NIGHT!

Holy crap. This is the one surviving photo from the night we met Matthew Lillard's Doppelganger. Apparently someone shoved multi-colored straws in a colander and set it out on display. This is Danielle being like "WTF is wrong with this night?! What is going on?! Who did this? Who was just as bored as us??" And then five minutes later the cops came.

God. I am so happy I found this picture. I want it tattooed on my person.


- This is Alex doing an impression of me. And apparently to do an impression of me, all you need to do is put on a robe or other piece of loungewear, stuff your shirt with a towel (not socks, not a shirt, a towel) to replicate my boobs, grab a t-square and a bottle of tequila, put on jewelry and talk on your cell phone. Hmm.......I shall consider this payback from the Ziplock bags and/or Coolio hair and/or multiple phone pranks and move on.




- Ok, so one night Senior year Alex came over and we got drunk. This is pretty par for the course, except on this particular night I decided to haze him. Really that just means I stuck obnoxious post-it notes all over him and shouted "DRINK, FRESHMAN!" at him a few times for good measure. (I don't really know what to tell you about that. Boredom makes you do unique things. Back in the day a hoop and a stick was a party. In '07, posts-it notes and belligerent shouting got the job done.)

I bring this up because I remember making the post-it note that said "Class of 2010" and being like "HA HA, the freshman class is class of 2010! That's insane. We'll all have flying cars by then and robot butlers will do our homework for us!"

...The class of 2010 graduates next month and I turn 25 next week. Man I feel old. Old and nostalgic. Old, nostalgic and pissed off at Ava Cutrone.

Will the real Steven Carrington please stand up?

FIRST THINGS FIRST! T.G.I. Hagman, bitchezzz!!!!1 T.G.I. Hagman.


As of 12:55pm on January 29, 2010, Larry Hagman is...alive! SCORE ONE FOR PLANET EARTH!

Moving on.

I think we can safely file the subject of today's post in the "Only Funny To Me" category, but it's gonna happen anyway. So just go with it. (Which seems to be the theme of this week's blog. First my...unpleasantness, then I introduce you to Aspie's Clip and Weekend Hair. God bless all of your tolerant hearts.)

So, Alex gchatted me this morning in a bit of a tizzy:

Alex: MEG

MEG

MEG

me: alex

Alex: I need you to hold me

me: OK!!!!

what's going on?

Alex: Meg

the actor who played Steven Carrington on Dynasty
me: don't

don't

don't you dare say it

Alex: plays Noah Bennet on Heroes

me: OH.

Alex: no he's not dead
I'm completely blown away

me: the original steven carrington? or post-oil-accident steven carrington?

Alex: original
how did I not know this?

I just

can't

ugh

how did this get by me?

So I did some research.



Considering my job is essentially to sit here alone (god willing) for eight hours, watching reruns of Dynasty while I fantasize about my Jack Daniel's pajama pants, I pointed out that that's actually post-oil-accident-baby-stealing Steven Carrington, played by Jack Coleman and not pre-oil-accident-flagrant-homosexual Steven Carrington, played by the great Al Corley.



(NOT)




This sent Alex further into an emotional tailspin, but it also got me doing some heavy Al Corley research. And let me just say: time well spent. Here's what I found:

1.) Al Corley isn't gay; he's married with three kids. That's shocking.
2.) His wife's name is Jessika Cardinahl, which is the most unnecessarily complicated spelling of Jessica Cardinal on the planet.
3.) Father Time was not good to Al Corley:

4.) Al Corley released a 1984 electro-pop single called "Square Rooms," which hit #1 in France, #6 in Switzerland, #12 in Italy, #13 in Germany and #15 in Italy (so you know it's good.)
5.) This was the cover:

...I would like to go back in time and instead of doing my favorite designer paper for Graphic Design History on Fred Woodward, do it on whoever the fuck designed that. Because oh my guh. It's such a simple image, and yet I can't pick which part is my favorite. I think it's a tie between the queer little pennant with AL CORLEY on it (ps: my only weekend plans are the following: go to Michael's; purchase felt; purchase rod; purchase puffy paint; make an AL CORLEY pennant; go to a sporting event; and wave that pennant with pride) or the god awful expression on Mr. Corley's face. Seriously? Of all the shots taken at the photo shoot, that's the one they went with? It looks like a still from a slightly homoerotic eye exam.
6.) THERE'S A MUSIC VIDEO. AND THAT MUSIC VIDEO IS ONLINE AND AVAILABLE FOR FOR YOU TO VIEW. And it is good. I've seriously been watching it on repeat for the past two hours and I honestly think I'm a better person for it. I'm praying to the sweet gods above that Square Rooms is available on iTunes because it would make a mean strut to work jam.

Fully aware that this is probably only funny to me (and Alex) (maybe. His interest seems to be dwindling,) I present to you the return of Drinking Game Friday: Al Corley Square Rooms Music Video Edition!

Al Corley - Square Rooms (80's)
Uploaded by bebepanda. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

Rules:
Drink When:
- There's a shot of the eiffel tower
- Someone slides a modest taupe shoe on
- A shot is recycled to save money
- Paris is gay
- Al Corley sings while disinterestedly squinting into the sun
- Al Corley wears lip gloss (DRUNK.)
- Al Corley violently beats two drums while forcefully swaying his genitals back and forth
- DANCE SEQUENCE! DANCE SEQUENCE! DANCE SEQUENCE!
- Al old woman gets a patted on the bottom to the beat of said violent drum beating
- Al Corley robotically kisses a woman on the mouth because he knows in his heart of hearts Meg's right and he's gay
- You don't understand what the three disappearing bushes are supposed to symbolize
- Somebody looks like they're having a baby and/or an abortion while sitting in a chair. A chabortiony, if you will.
- A square room doesn't listen or care, if a man is in despair

Ok. Well that was fun. For me. As per usual, thanks for reading, following us on Twitter, joining our facebook page and such and such. Have yourself a great weekend and remember—for every friend that you recommend this blog to, Al Corley shoots up one more spot on the Italian pop charts. Buh-bye.

(PS: I leave you with a bonus video! Al Corley's follow up hit—Cold Dresses! And you're welcome.)

Al Corley - Cold Dresses
Uploaded by val6210. - Watch more music videos, in HD!

This used to be my playground.

EMOTIONS, YOU GUYS. Emotions. I got a lot of them. Which is a completely new and foreign concept to me. Normally I'm so hopped up on anti-depressants and mood stabilizers you could break up with me on the JumboTron at Madison Square Garden and I'd be like "Meh, that's fair" and go back my crossword puzzle without batting an eye, but this week everything is making me emotional. For so many reasons:

1.) Oh, you know, I got the fear of Christ put in me when I thought I was getting fired. My bosses never had that TALK with me yesterday, by the way. It was so anti-climactic. They were in meetings all day and every time they'd come out, I'd tense up and prepare for the Dynasty-style cat fight that never came. (And this has nothing to do with anything, but remember last August when I said I wanted to bring back Dynasty inspired nude pumps? Well according to Piperlime they're the hottest thing since sliced J-Woww. And WTF? This is like the time in 10th grade when I wore a long, powder blue sweater coat to the homecoming football game and everyone shamelessly made fun of me because it "looked like I was wearing a bath robe" and then six months later you couldn't swing a dead cat without hittin' a bitch wearing one. Looking back, they might have been making fun of me because it was powder blue, but still! If stick pins and narwhals blow up, Imma be rull pissed. But in the mean time, sexy can I?:

August's mission: accomplished. Crystal Carrington would be proud. Those puppies are just neutral and bland enough to match any flashy pattered shirt dress appropriate for lunch at the St. Dennis club.)

Anyways, what was I talking about before that obnoxiously cocky little fashion rant? Oh, yes my obnoxiously dramatic little emotions. (God you want to have sex with me.) So I'm not fired, but this entire ordeal has sent me into this huge tailspin about the direction of my life and what I should be doing with it right now. Which I completely don't appreciate. I feel like last summer (when I wasn't busy predicting Spring '10 shoe trends) I was having the same freak out but managed to cool my jets for a while. Now after this week, I'm feeling all Antwerpy again and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing and I just want to run away, learn Dutch and not have to make a decision ever again ever. But not in that order. Logistically speaking, it would probably make more sense to learn Dutch first. Unless it's hard. Which I hear it is. In which case I plan on getting by with my big boobs and American Canadian sass.

2.) The Jersey Shore ended last night. And it was the WORST. EPISODE. EVER. I honestly don't even know if it's worth recapping. It felt like one of those Golden Girls midnight clip shows where the girls pour into the kitchen one by one (—"Sophia! You can't sleep either?"—), break out the cheesecake and reminisce about all of the shitty men they've dated. Except last night's episode was 90% less interesting and 100% more redundant. I expected more from you, Jersey Shore, I really did. I'm not mad at you, I'm just dissapointed. Now go to your room without dinner or a recap and think about what you did. (Lolz. Just kidding. I'll half ass a recap later.)

3.) I am slightly weirded out by my own emotions regarding tonight being Conan O'Brien's last Tonight Show. I'm just taking the situation entirely too hard for someone not related to Conan or one of his staff. I don't really know what else to say besides I just really love him. He's a bit of a hero of mine and I've been watching his show since the (somewhat turbulent) beginning of Late Night. Teresa and I used to have sleepovers every Friday night and get hopped up on Pepsi and pixie sticks so we could stay up until 12:30 and watch. Because even at the somewhat innapropriate age of eight years old, we still knew that man was the tits. I have also spent many a restless and anxious night in middle and high school falling asleep to Late Night and I took extreme comfort knowing that Conan, my little self-deprecating electric blanket, was always there to comfort me. In 2003, the Late Night tickets we requested finally arrived and Teresa and I were fully prepared to skip the first day of our senior year of high school to drive to New York and see a taping. We even had the bright idea of making t-shirts that said "Bonin' 4 Conan" to wear in the audience. Unfortunately, not only were our tickets for the first day of school, they also overlapped with some Republican convention that had recieved numerous bomb threats, and in a very post 9/11 New York, this hadn't become old hat yet. In the end we (and by we, I mean our parents) decided that two 17 year-old girls probably shouldn't drive into New York City alone with t-shirts ensinuating we hooked our way there when terrorists and Republicans are running around wild. Looking back, I just have this to say: pussies. We should have gone. T-shirts and all. Because now we'll never get the chance again and it fucking breaks my heart. Seriously, everytime I think about tonight being the last show my throat closes and my eyes well up with tears; a fact so disturbingly embarassing, I'm not quite sure what to do about it. My plan for tonight is this: meet Helena and Alex at Little Miss Whiskey's after work -> drink to the point of being good and emotionally drunk, but not sloppy. "Wedding Toast Drunk," if you will. -> Go to Andrew's apartment with eye makeup remover and a box of tissues -> Watch the show and cry. And cry and cry. Overall, pretty par for the course for a Friday night in the world of Meghan McBlogger.

But even on sad, sad days like this, there's always something to be grateful for. And today, I'm grateful for our last Jersey Shore recap. But, of course, mostly...I'm grateful it's T.G.I. Hagman.


As of 1:38pm on January 22, Larry Hagman is...alive! Thank god for small favors.

And now, our final Jersey Shore recap— Episode 9: That's How The Shore Goes. (Sticking to last week's resolution, Laura and Andrew joined me as my spotters this week and I felt 100% better having them there. Also, per my notes, Andrew looked "amazing" last night and I need to apologize to Laura for physically assaulting her when I got overly emotional at the thought of Snooki and The Situation falling in love. We seriously had to put a pillow on her thigh because I couldn't stop slapping it when I got emotional. Completely normal things that happen in a friendship.)

So! As we recall from last week, Ronnie got arrested for punching some schmo in the face with his mighty crab claw and scuttling away and back into the sea. (How many hits does it take to the get to the center of a Guido Pop? JUST ONE HIT BRO, JUST ONE HIT!) Unfortunately for Ronnie, he can't get bailed out of jail until 6:30 the next morning, which means he has to spend a brutal three hours in Ocean County jail, which I imagine to be something like Beach Blanket Bingo except gayer. Which is neither here nor there. The next morning the Sammi begrudgingly hauls her ass out of bed and goes to pick up Ronnie from the clink. They have an emotional reunion because, you know, this is the first time she's had to sleep alone without Ronnie by her side since getting there. 27 days ago. And Haiti thought they had it rough...Overall I'm impressed with Ronnie's post-jail look. His faux-hawk is still perfectly in place, he looks well-rested and doesn't even need to take a shower. Whereas I come home from sitting on my ass watching Hulu at work all day and look like I've just pulled a truck eight miles with my teeth in the hot sun. So, well played Ronald. Well played.

It being Labor Day weekend, the gang wants to go out with a big bang. Which is a great idea, except they all stink like AIDS and nobody will touch 'em with a 10-foot pole. Sucks. I'd say the only interesting part of this episode was when Snooki has a very B. Spears-esque emotional breakdown after being blown off by Cowboy O'Hoolihan and her ex-boyfriend, whom she's still in love with, in the same day. The ex-boyfriend thing was rough, I'm not going to lie. She sees him on a balcony, blows him a kiss and he flat-out looks down and says, "No." Snookers can not catch a break. At a certain point, you just gotta assume that god must just really hate that girl. (Am I right or am I right??) Snooki then does what I think we'd all do in that situation and freak-dances by herself on the boardwalk, attracting the likes of old men, skeptical grandmas, hobos and drifters. It was like Intervention: The Dance Remix and I was in no way mad. Shockingly, when this doesn't make her feel any better, she goes home to cry on the roof like some kind of emo blogger, where The Situation gives her a nice little pep talk.

That night the boys go to the boardwalk to play arcade games, which I mention only because Andrew, feeling inspired, decided that his new pick up line from now on is going to be "Wanna play with my skee balls?" and I feel like that's worth mentioning. After that, the boys go home and decide to stay in for the night and cheer up old Snooks. (A gesture that is so touching I punch Laura in the face and stab her in the kidney. At this point I also drunkenly shouted, "I LOVE YOU GUYS!" to which Andrew asked, "Are you talking to us or the TV show?" and I genuinely didn't know the answer.)

The gang then reminisces about the past "summer" (read: past 27 days) for the next 30 minutes and it's boring as fuck all because they each just repeat the same thing over and over again in 90 different ways. It was the most bizarre thing. Thank god The Situation and Snooki make out in the hot tub for a few minutes and break up the RemFest. Which can be summarized as:

- I can't believe this is our last night.
- It was a crazy summer.
- I don't regret anything.
- I didn't expect to fall in love at the Jersey Shore.
- I hope we stay friends.
- We are like a family.
- I can't believe we made it.
- We did it.
- We made it through it.
- We did it without not not making it through it.
- Man, I got so much pussy.
- Remember when part of the plot was we had to work at the boardwalk?
- No.
- Me neither.
- I like summer.
- We should do this next year.
- Ok, see you then. And at promo work. And paid appearances. And in the real world.
- Ok, bye.
- Bye.

Our season ends with The Situation standing on the roof, wistfully looking out across the boardwalk as he dramatically raises his arms in the air like a prize fighter and proclaims, "I DID IT!"

...Did what, asshole? You just got paid to party at the beach for a few weeks; you didn't survive 'Nam. Maybe be a little less dramatic next time, [scoff] am I right? Aaaaaaaaand with that, I'm going to go watch Late Night clips on youtube and cry hysterically into an Italian flag because good television as we know it is over and thus life is not worth living. I leave you with one of my favorite Late Night sketches of all time. It's been a pleasure to recap the J.S. for you, thanks for dealing with my drama this week, have a great weekend and we'll see you back here on the blog Monday morning. Buh-bye.

Where I Will Be This Week

I am so incredibly tense right now. My stomach hurts, I'm anxious, I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't drink. (Baha! Just kidding on those last two.) I'm a wreck. And there is one concrete cause of all of this anxiety. Sigh...it's hard to say out loud and/or type. Ok. I can do this. Here we go. I, Meghan C. McBlogger........................am going on another business trip this week.

If you haven't read about the first business trip I went on a few months ago, I'm going to need you to go ahead and close and lock your door, draw the shades, light some candles, unzip your pants and read this. And when you're done, you can send your thank you/sympathy e-cards to meg@2birds1blog.com. Thanks.

The level of how anxious I am for this stupid business trip is unparalleled. Unparalleled and embarrassing. Nothing in the entire world makes me feel as Autistic as a work function. I revert back to lame 6th grade Meg, sittin' all alone at the lunch table with nary a friend to her name and a whole lot of Joe Boxer going on. I'm praying to the good Lord above that this trip won't be as completely traumatic as the last one was, and I think it might not be for the following reasons:

1.) It's in Baltimore. Which is just inconveniently far away enough to classify as a "business trip" and not a "jaunty overnight."

2.) I have been promised my own hotel room. Although I'll believe it when I see it because that's what they said last time and I ended up visually scissoring with Boss #1 all night long. I didn't even want to stay in a hotel in the first place. The second I heard we would be in Baltimore, I threw myself onto Boss #2's laptop and was like, "DON'T BOOK ME A ROOM!!!!1 MY BIFFLES^MAX LIVES IN HAMPDEN!!!!11 I'LL STAY WITH HER!!! SHE WEARS PANTS!!!1 AND DOESN'T CARE IF I DON'T WEAR MINE!!!!1 THAT'S THE DICHOTOMY I PREFER!!!!!1111!" Boss #2 said OK and then immediately turned around and booked me a hotel room. Which is annoying because now not only am I at high-risk of having a reunion with Boss #1's C-section scar, I also feel locked into going in general. Every time I start toying with the idea of "getting" swine flu tonight or killing off a family member, I remember they already booked me a hotel room and that would kind of be a dick move on my part. Ugh. Being an amazingly considerate person...it's my cross to bear.

3.) The trip is only for two days; not three. Which is still two days too many, but I'll take what I can get.

4.) I made cocksure I'll be traveling alone. Because there's no way in hell I'm going to be trapped backwards on a train again at 8 o'clock in the morning listening to Russell the Homophobic Co-Worker talk about various spreads and chutneys he boycotts because they "taste like sperm." No. Fucking. Way. I will drive myself, thank you.

5.) It's a convention, not a 500-hour long sales meeting. And conventions are big...people get lost easily. Perhaps they'll get lost for two days at a time, finding their way back only when a free meal is involved...? What I'm trying to say is that I am in no way above hiding in my car either reading a book and/or cat-napping like a homeless person all day. There it is. The truth. I just don't see what's stopping me from being like, "Oh hey, I'm gonna go check out some other booths" and just leaving? Trust me, nobody would miss me. There is absolutely no reason for me to go to this convention besides familiarizing myself with our new product. You know, the new product I already learned about in the aforementioned 500-hour long sales meeting. All just in case the ghosts I babysit on a daily basis get curious and start to ask questions or someone in Dynasty needs their office re-designed. (Season 3: Adam Carrington re-designs recently deceased Cecil Colby's office with toxic paint in an effort to kill Jeff Colby and secure his position as Blake's #2. AND WHAT?!)

The thing is, I really am genuinely interested in interior design and the actual convention itself seems cool enough. Not to mention I'm going to have promotional pens and complimentary mints coming out the ying-yang by the time it's over. That's not what I'm getting bent out of shape about. It's the mingling with my co-workers and the pleasantries and the asking of how the kids are and forcing myself to appear interested in the answer and the being so completely surrounded by Sales People. And that's Sales People with a capital S, capital P. Because yowzahs. That is a tall order. I realize how incredibly curmudgeon-y I'm coming off right now, but as Helena pointed out last night on the phone (and yes, at approximately 11 o'clock last night I was indeed curled up in my bed with the lights off on the phone with Helena whining that my tummy hurt because I'm nervous for my business trip.) (And bless her heart for listening.) there's a difference between Work Socializing and Social Socializing. And Lord knows I can Social Socialize your fucking face off. I can walk into a room of 150 Neo-Nazis with a beer in my head and a song in my heart and leave with each one of those motherfuckers my new and slightly less anti-Semitic best friends. However, I go to one work happy hour and it's like a regional dinner theater production of Rain Man. My undeniable charm and charisma just does not translate in work-related situations. However, if I can inject a bit of Social Socializing into Work Socializing, I might be able to make it out of this business trip alive. Thus, if there are any readers out there who will be attending NeoCon East this week and want someone to walk around and mingle with—I'm your girl.

...Or if there are any readers who want to come and spoon with me in my car and tell ghost stories for 8 hours—I'm also your girl. (Teresa, I'm looking at you.)

Obviously, blogwise, I'll be out of commission tomorrow and Thursday, but Co-Blogger Chris is finally back from Mexico and will have a post for you bright and early tomorrow morning! I'm also trying to "gently" coerse Tulane Chris into writing a post for Thursday. I gave him two subject options: Diarrhea or blouses. Because that's what kind of girl I am and that's what kind of a blog I run.

Also! As with last time, I'll be live-tweeting the entire business trip, so I highly recommend you follow me on Twitter (@2birds1blog). If you don't have a Twitter account, you should obviously get one for the sole purpose of keeping up-to-date with the business trip's inevitable kooky shenanigans. (I figure if I hype this up enough, nothing will happen and it'll be an incredibly boring business trip which means I won't go through the emotional trauma of last time. Unless it backfires and it's just as entertaining as I promised, in which case you win and I lose. Either way, follow me on twitter.)

Recrap Wednesday: Dawn Schweitzer is a fat virgin. Still half-true.

(It's really vital to me that you play the provided musical accompaniment while reading this recap. I promise it'll enrich the experience exponentially. Kthnx.)

Last night's episode of More to Love wasn't just any old waffle-lovin' episode of More to Love. Nope. It was...

OHHHHHH YEEEEAHHHH!!!!11

Actually, the location change didn't really affect the episode that much. It was still your standard munchie-filled, PolyBlend, bottle-groin-popping, yacht-cruising, cry-fest. Everyone was just slightly more sweaty than usual.

Our ladies arrive on the Big Island (BHAHAHA, GET IT?! BIG ISLAND?) and meet Luke at a luau where they each get leid. For what I can only assume is the first time. Luke informs the girls that this will be their last group date and each girl will then get to go on a nice, long juicy date with him. It's at this point that that I have an epiphany. This entire season, I've been trying to put my finger on who Mandy looks like. Originally I thought I'd nailed it down with Huckleberry Hound, but I was wrong. Well, no, I was right, she does have the same sad, down-turned eyes and ric-rac skimmer, but more specifically, she also looks like a poor man's Maggie Gyllenhaall:

And thus, I shall call her Mandy Gyllenhog.

Luke goes on his first one-on-one date with with ex-skinny-girl Malissa. Their date was what I call a "boomerang date." Every time it got boring and I started to zone out, Malissa would say something ridiculous and my attention would boomerang right back to the show. Luke takes Malissa to a Sea Life Park where they hold hands and coo at penguins and blah blah blah my interest starts to dwindle until Malissa says, "You trying to make out or what?" Upon hearing this, my head (which had begun to doze off) snapped right back up just in time to see them kiss. Huh? Did she really say you trying to make out or what? If so, that's fucking ballsy of her and frankly, I respect the hell out of her. Romance is all good and fun, but sometimes a bro can take a little too long to bust a move and you have to expedite the process a bit. I didn't come over at 11 o'clock at night to watch an entire disc of Entourage with you for the pithy dialogue, a-thank-you-very-much.

Anyho, Luke and Malissa make out a little, get in the water and ride some dolphins around. Again, I zoned out a bit until I heard Malissa tell Luke, "I'm surprised the dolphins can support us!" Aaaaaaand I zoned right back in. Excuse me, what was that? I guess this isn't a completely ridiculous statement considering this is the couple who's weight broke a tandem bicycle. God, what I wouldn't have given to see their fat asses break a dolphin into two equal pieces...

After their jaunty little day at the Sea Life Park, Luke and Malissa have themselves a picnic lunch and discuss the issue of marriage. Because as we've established, Luke needs two things in life—a sportive, yet masculine, sports bra and a wife. Malissa, however, is "still trying to figure it all out" which makes Luke scared that she's going to "mislead his intent," whatever the shit that means.

Now, I'm not going to lie to you. At this point in the show I got really antsy and bored, so I went into my closet to pick out an outfit to wear to work today. When I came back, More to Love was no longer on TV. Instead, Representative Steny Hoyer was on talking about God knows what. Because I'm not the crispiest fritter in the fryer, I thought More to Love had been interrupted by a national address or something and was totally bummed out. About a minute later, I realized I must have been sitting on the remote earlier and when I got up my ass accidentally changed the channel to C-SPAN. Sooooo...there's that.

Although I missed a chunk of this scene due to the unruliness of my own ass, here's what I caught: 1.) They go to a sushi restaurant and holy god do I want to go-Saki bombing. 2.) Luke tells Malissa that he feels like he could propose to her and Malissa says they're "on the same page." 3.) They go back to Luke's room and totally DO IT, prompting me to amend my earlier statement: holy god do I want to go Saki-bombing holy god do I want to go Saki-bombing and have sex and go Saki-bombing again.

The next day, Luke goes on a one-on-one date with The Tranny. The producers Luke plans an aquatic dream-date on an outrigger complete with snorkeling! And that's when the Tranny loses it. Why? Because water is her biggest fear. "I haven't been in the ocean since I was 12," she cries to Luke, "I just don't put myself in that kind of situation." And I call SHENANIGANS! SHENANIGANS A-PLENTY! Because The Tranny used to be in the god damn Navy. How can you say you don't put yourself in aquatic situations when you joined and served in the Navy?! That's like me saying I don't put myself in athletic situations and then I join a soccer team. (I can't decide which is more unlikely: me joining the Navy, or me joining a soccer team.)

But if there's anything Sarah Jessica Parker taught me in Failure to Launch, it's that the key to getting a guy to bond with you is to have him teach you something. And apparently The Tranny wasted an hour and a half of her life on this movie too. As Luke holds Tranny's hand and coaches her through the trauma of snorkeling, it's clear the two have bonded like Na to Cl. (...Did I just make a science joke? Who am I, Co-Blogger Chris?) Our gentleman head back to the outrigger for lunch and Luke tells The Tranny that he thinks this date was "life changing" and he can tell Tranny must really trust him to conquer her fears like that. And then they make out. Point to Sarah Jessica Parker.

AND THINGS WITH THE TRANNY ONLY GET BETTER! Later that night, Tranny shows up to dinner looking Dynasty-tastic! Everything about her look (from the ruffle-neck silk number to the gaudy crystal earrings to the dramatic makeup and high bun) screams Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan gone seducin' at the St. Dennis club. And Lord knows that's the quickest way to my heart!

Even the dialogue was pure Dynasty:
Tranny: "I'm falling for you...but you never said you were falling for me..." [Tranny looks down as her eyes well with tears]
Luke: [Dramatic pause] Look at me. [Tranny slowly looks back up and deep into Luke's eyes] I am falling for you. [Tranny gives a playful smile and the two lean in for a passionate kiss]

AND SCENE.

And like Malissa, The Tranny ends up getting the invitation to stay the night with Luke. Damn. You, madam, are good.

The next day, Luke goes on his last one-on-one date with Mandy Gyllenhog. Luke confesses he thinks Mandy is "still the most guarded," so it's important that she be herself and he figure out what's really going on in her head. Thus, they go ATV riding. Their entire date was like watching paint dry until they climb a case of wooden stairs and Luke says, "I hope we don't exceed the weight limit on these stairs." Um. Hi there. If my date ever verbally expresses concern that we, as a team, might exceed the weight limit of something, it better be a rickity-ass Indiana Jones style rope bridge that's one second away from snapping in half, not a solid set of wooden stairs. Don't make me bust out my salad fork again...

I'm not going to lie, the rest of the ATV date was pretty standard and boring, so I'll skip ahead to dinner. As per any other More to Love date, dinner took place on a twinkle-lit party boat called the Vida Mia. Luke and Mandy talked about their emotions (again) and it was terribly boring (again). Then, they move the party upstairs where there's basically a mattress thrown on the roof with a few candles lit around it. Apparently Vida Mia means Date Rape in Italian. Luke dusts off the used condoms and hypodermic needles and lays Mandy down on the mattress. "Do you see yourself getting married to me?" he asks Mandy. "Yes," she says confidentially. "Do you wanna stay out here with me tonight and enjoy the stars?" "Yes," she replies. Then Luke leans in, whispers "no regrets" and the camera fades out. Which is terribly confusing to me. Of all of the things to creepily whisper to the girl you got on the mattress atop your party boat, why "no regrets"? Not only are you implying this might not go so well, you're taking way the option of regretting it later. Next time I have sex with someone, I'm gonna climb on top and be like, "NO TAKE-BACKS!!!!!" and go to town.

But like all good things, our Hawaiian episode must come to an end. Luke has to eliminate one girl and MAN he's having a hard time deciding. This leads to lots of hilarious shots of Luke wistfully staring into the ocean, skipping stones and just generally doing a lot of soul searching. The Soul Searching Montage might be my second favorite montage behind the Dress Montage.

Given that the eliminations on this show never make any fuckin' sense, I predicted Luke would give Mandy the heave-ho, seeing how Mandy seems to be the most psyched about marriage. AND GOD DAMN I'M GOOD! Tali gets picked first, Malissa second and Mandy is outta there. Which, of course, is sad. The camera also spends way too much time in the limo with her afterwards filming her ramble and cry. I felt horribly uncomfortable and my ass starting to wonder what's on C-SPAN...

Cry Count: 4

Next Week: THE GRAND FINALE! Tranny and Malissa meet Luke's parents and Luke pops the question—BUT TO WHO?!