State of the Meg — May, 2010

So, not to be that guy in your office who talks about the weather and says asinine things like, "woahhhh, can you believe it's May already?!", but, woahhhh, can you believe it's May already?! That's crazy. I feel like just yesterday it was Snowpocalypse and I was stuck in my apartment binge eating packages of pre-cooked sausage and drinking straight from a bottle of Manischewtiz wine I found hidden behind my DVD collection, covered in an inch of dust. Now it's 90-degrees outside and May. That's nuts. Time flies when you're not stuck in a cubicle. And it's May 4th. That means we're 4 days overdue for May's State of the Meg. BLASPHEMY! Thus, I present that State of the Meg to you now.

State of the Meg — May, 2010

- Sweet & Sour Chicken. Why do I do this to myself? I always see Sweet & Sour Chicken on the menu at Mei Wah and think to myself, "Well I like chicken. And I appreciate the east-meets-west juxtaposition of sweet and sour flavors in my mouth at the same time. I should order Sweet & Sour Chicken!" And then I do and it gets here and I see what it looks like and remember that I don't like at all and it ruins my night. Much like this night. It's all fried and you have to add the queer sauce with the peppers and the cherries yourself and feh...if I wanted to cook, I wouldn't have ordered in, now would I? I should have gotten Sliced Pork in Plum Sauce. I regret this decision. So, I guess that's the first order of business.

- FYI: A 2b1b merchandise store is absolutely going to happen in the near-future, so get excited for that! I've already designed the sorr about the bag-bag and two different logos for shirts, hoodies, mugs, et al. Now I just need to find out which online store situation will yield me the most money because that's kind of where my head's at these days. I actually told someone yesterday that I was quote, "hurting for a fiscal squirting." I've never wanted to hop into a Delorean and gun it to 88 so badly in my entire life.

- I had drinks with Billy after work tonight. His leg hair seems to have grown back nicely.

- I made an important life decision that might shock you: I don't want a pug anymore. BEFORE YOU FREAK OUT, HEAR MY REASONING. I still love pugs and would kill a hooker to stare at one in person for five seconds, it's just that they have so many health problems and I really am hurting for a fiscal squirting broke these days. Perhaps getting a dog that's going to have 9 billion health problems over the course of it's life isn't the best decision in the world? Plus, puggies hate the heat. And have you been outside recently? It's like walking around in Joy Behar's bra all day. As much as I want to stab my mom and Ex Co-Blogger Eddie in the eye with a tuning fork every time they lecture me on why getting a pug is a horrible idea, I'm starting to think that perhaps they have a point. I don't want to get a puggy and have him die prematurely due to a heat related illness because I can only afford to take him to the free pug clinic on New York Ave. (Side note: new life goal—open a free pug clinic on New York Ave.)

- Instead, I'm all about getting a Shiba Inu! I actually wanted to get a Shiba Inu way before I ever wanted to get a pug. When I was 14, I had an after school job at a bookstore near my high school and one day a woman came in with a dog that looked like a straight-up fox. Now, as we all know from the embarrassing (yet not embarrassing at all because I dare you to hug him and not fall in love) fact that I sleep curled up with a giant stuffed fox named Jason, I love foxes. So I obviously freaked out about how ungodly adorable this little dog was and the owner told me that he was a Shiba Inu. Years later when Ex Co-Blogger Chris and I lived in Brooklyn, we discovered that one of our neighbors had a Shiba Inu and I was pretty much physically incapable of not peeing my pants and shrieking "AWWW, FOX DOG!!!!!!!!" every time I saw him walking around the 'hood. It then became my dream to get a little Shiba Inu and name him Steve The Fox Dog. This dream was put on hold, however, when I decided that I wanted to get Ichabod the Rasta Pug instead. But when you think about it, Steve The Fox Dog would probably be much more conducive to living in a warm city with a broke-ass ho for an owner than a pug, right? So, new goal: July 2010. Steve The Fox Dog and Meghan McBlogger. Ghetto Superstars. Coming to a district near you.


- Something embarrassing happened to me Saturday night. Well, that's obviously a lie—many embarrassing things happened to me Saturday night, but three things happened that are specifically worth noting:

1.) Before going to Anna & Talia's party, I cut my shin shaving in the shower (alliterations!) and it would not clot for the life of me. Seriously. Like, I've gotten little nicks on my legs that have taken a while to clot before, but this was on a whole other level. This was some Romanov shit right there. It bled when I was in the shower, through doing my make-up, through doing my hair, through getting dressed, through pregaming, through the metro ride from Dupont to Grosvenor, through the cab ride to Anna and Talia's house and probably like five minutes into the party. I mean, what the fuck is that? It was a tiny-ass cut. But it was bleeding profusely. And because it was bleeding profusely, I had to carry my quote, "blood rag" on the metro to occasionally dab with so blood wouldn't trickle down my leg and make me look like a 12-year-old girl getting her period for the first time.

As I was standing on the metro chatting with Ex Co-Blogger Chris and Alex and trying not to lose consciousness, an attractive guy wearing an ironic neon 90's hat got on with his bike and stood in front of me. A few minutes into the ride, I glanced down and noticed that a significant amount of blood had accumulated on my shin and it was time to give it a good old-fashioned dab with my blood rag. However, I didn't really want Irono-90's Guy to see this going down, so I did an oh-so-suave little, DOO-BEE-DOO-BEE-DOO, don't mind me! whistle and kicked my right leg over my left so I could discreetly bend down and dab it. Unfortunately, not being an oh-so-suave person to begin with, I blatantly kicked the guy's bike and drew way more attention to myself than I would have had I just bent down and dabbed it like a normal person. It also didn't help that after this happened, I loudly moaned, "GOD DAMNIT! I HATE BEING ME! ALL DAY. EVERY DAY." Sigh.

2.) This isn't really so much an embarrassing moment as it is an embarrassing observation. The drink of choice at Saturday night's party was gin bucket. A gin bucket is pretty much exactly what it sounds like—a giant bucket full of gin, various fruits and ice that you shoot into your mouth (or have shot into your mouth) via turkey baster.

...My jaw muscles still honest-to-god hurt from holding my mouth open to have gin bucket squirted down my throat. I don't know if that's a reflection of how much I drank or how out of shape my jaw muscles are, but I do know that I'm embarrassed for myself. This embarrassment is second only to when you give head for the first time after not hooking up for a while and your entire neck and jaw muscles kill for like a week afterward. Yes? No? Just me? Blokay, sitting back down. And then getting right back up to go to the gym. Or give more head. Probably neither, if I'm being honest.

3.) When Chris, Alex and I got back to the metro to head home, we were hot, sweaty, tired and covered in gin bucket. When we boarded the train, however, Alex realized that we were on a ghost car (meaning we were the only ones in the compartment) and proceeded to shoot awake, freak out in excitement, race up and down the aisle, provocatively swing from pole to pole and shout, "GHOST CAR!!!!!" at the top of his lungs. I've never seen someone go from near pass-out to 5-year-old-realizing-there's-a-pony-at-his-party-style excited that fast in my entire life. Alex later said of the ghost car, "I don't think I've been that happy in months." And his excitement was contagious! From Grosvenor to Bethesda, the three of us just ran around that car like jackasses, swinging from poles, taking lewd pictures, and shouting, "GHOST CAR!!!!" over and over again. Unfortunately this only lasted a few stops, as a bunch of people got on at Bethesda and we had to sit down in our seats and act like normal human beings again.

However, a bunch of people got off a few stops later at Van Ness and for a second there, I thought we were back in the Ghost Car. I was so excited that I audibly gasped at the thought. Giggling, with eyes as big as saucers and the cheesiest fucking grin on my face, I whipped my head around to see if we were the only people on the train and was instead met eye-to-eye with a drunk girl sitting behind me, tears streaming down her face. No two people have ever looked more directly into each other's eyes in the history of the world. And if you paused that moment, it would seem like I had whipped my head around to look and laugh at this poor girl crying her face off on the metro at 2 o'clock in the morning. But I wasn't! I just thought we were in the Ghost Car again, but how could I explain that to her?

Our eyes still locked, the smile on my face vanished and I awkwardly was like, "GHO—G-G-GHOST...NOPE, NOT A GHOST CAR. SORRY!" turned back around and slumped down into my seat. I started talking to Alex to take the embarrassment edge off and while I was talking to him, he reached down and grabbed my knee like, "dude, check out the girl behind you," which in turn made me laugh, because of the absurdity of what just happened. Which made him laugh. Which made me laugh even more. BUT WE COULDN'T LAUGH because that poor thing was like, curled up in a little ball hysterically crying and it was like the 9/11 mini-flag situation all over again. Because who am I to laugh at her? Crying in public, much like vomiting in public or losing your cell phone, is the great equalizer: we've all done it drunk and have been retrospectively embarrassed by it the next morning. Like I haven't been escorted out of a bar crying to the point where I can't catch my breath about something that the next morning, if not about poached eggs, is of little-to-no importance to me. It happens. And I honestly wasn't laughing at her or her misfortune. I was just SO DAMN EXCITED ABOUT THE GHOST TRAIN! GHOST TRAIN!!!!!!11

- I grossly have to clean my apartment and do laundry. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.

- I really like my job, which although not funny, I feel is worth mentioning.

- Speaking of jobs, I have a phone date with Helena's maybe future employer tomorrow because she put me down as a reference. I recently decided that I'm going to tell them that she founded her own white supremacy group and has a nasty little meth habit. Why? Just as a goof.

- And speaking of Helena! I know this is old news by now, but we watched Precious: Based on the Novel "Push" by Sapphire together the other day before work and that shit is FUCKED UP. Like fucked up in the way that we couldn't hug each other goodbye afterward because it was too much physical contact too soon, fucked up. Shudder, shudder. Never again.

- I need summer clothes. And shoes. And Steve The Fox Dog. Hurting 4 Fiscal Squirting '10. Here we are again.

- The guy in my building who's always an asshole made polite small-talk with me the other day in the elevator and even made a joke! BAHAHA! BOOM! It only took 14 months, but I knew I'd break him down like a racial barrier. Meghan McBlogger: like a drug that's not immediately addictive.

- Hmmm...yeah. That's all I got for you. Slow month.

State of the Meg: sore and sour. Zing!

Recrap Wednesday: Homely, Unfortunate People in a Dating Situation

Ever since More to Love debuted, I've incorporated into my weekly schedule what I call "Toot Your Own Horn Tuesdays." On Toot Your Own Horn Tuesdays, I go to the gym, come home, do my nails, give myself a facial, pluck my eyebrows, watch More to Love, and for one night and one night only, allow myself to feel really, really good about myself. Last night I broke tradition. When I got home from work, I didn't go to the gym. Instead, I took a home pregnancy test because I'm a psychopath and the I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant marathon scared the ever-living shit out of me:

(FYI: generic brand pregnancy tests are 50% off at the CVS downtown on 14th street. I'm just sayin'...)

As it turns out, I am not carrying the son of God. However, any feelings of relief derived from finding out that I'm not pregnant were immediately canceled out by the realization that this just means I've gained weight. Beer bellies aren't as easy to abort as babies. Or at least they're more expensive.

And speaking of gaining weight! Last night's third episode of More to Love was rich. Rich like the chocolate fountains from which our ladies guzzle. Laura joined me in watching this week's episode and I must say, it was great watching the show with a friend. It was like sharing a really good, juicy, dirty secret with someone that you've been dying to get off your chest and then you do and you have someone to be like, "I KNOW, CRAZY RIGHT?!!??!!" with. It was cathartic.

The beginning of episode three established two things: 1.) Kristian is in love with Luke in a Psychopants McGee kind of way and 2.) I'm 99.9% sure there's a tranny in the house. Moving on...

This week was Fatty Prom 2009! HUZZAH! Luke arrives at the house and tells the girls he understands they were left out of things in high school because of their weight and he wants to be the man to make that up to them. "I think prom is a very special event that most of us missed out on," he says, "So...WILL YOU ALL GO TO THE PROM WITH ME?" BLOKAY, let's stop right there before this crazy train gets any further down the tracks. First of all, hey Luke―you're a bit of a Presumptuous Patrick for assuming that just because these gals are overweight, they must have missed out things in high school like prom, aren't ya? Because prom isn't like a pair of hot pants; you don't have to be super skinny to get in. I would venture that at least five of these ladies had the time of their lives at prom. I mean, shit! Malissa used to be a skinny, bitchy, blond chick! You know she was suckin' dick for coke all night and having the time of her life doing it!

After promposing, Luke gives each girl a box containing a gown for them to wear. And let me tell you: spangly, spangly two-by-four, can't get through the ballroom door. Although to be fair my prom dress was mildly to moderately spangly as well, so I guess I shouldn't hate. But then again I was 17, and what's being 17 for if not wearing spangles and spray tanning the outline of a Playboy bunny sticker onto your pelvis? (However, those spangles dim a bit when they're on a 24-year-old woman hurling herself at a Harland Williams sound-alike on nationally televised reality dating competition.)

So our gals get glammed up and head off to Fatty Prom 2009! Of course because absolutely none of them have an ounce of game, they all cry on Luke's shoulder and tell him the heartbreaking tale of why they never made it to prom. Some weren't asked. Some just went with friends. Some managed to bribe a date. Some went to the Waffle House on I-95 and drown their sorrows in a bottomless order of Chicken-Fried Steak washed down with a boat of gravy. Either way, Luke promises to give each girl the Prom of her dreams. Which doesn't sit right with me. Because who at the age of 20-something is still dreaming about the Prom of their dreams? As you get older, don't you realize that there's something better waiting for you than Prom? Let it go, boo. Let it go.

Back at Fatty Prom 2009, each girl gets some face-time with Luke in the form of a slow dance. Luke has to teach each girl how to slow dance, because, you know, obviously fat people have never danced in their entire life. They exist on a plane parallel to the movie Footloose where if they try to dance, John Lithgow suddenly appears and hits them about the head with a Bible and shoves a chicken wing in their mouth. I swear to god at one point Luke is shuffling a a chick back and forth and she looks down and shrieks, "Look at me! I'M DANCING!!!" What in the fuckity fuck is wrong with you?? You're fat, not paralyzed! It was at this point in the show that Laura slowly looked over at me with wide eyes and said, "I don't think these people have been rejected because of their weight. I mean, if you can shop at Macy's, it might be your personality." No truer words have ever been spoken.

Later, Emme saunters in and throws a curve ball into the evening: Luke's two best friends from college (Chase and Sam) are there! And Chase and Sam are tasked with picking a Prom Queen, who will then go on an individual date with Luke. Ah, Chase and Sam. One is the only black person in a seven-mile radius and the other has a beard and fo-hawk as big as his heart. God bless them.

After some awkward chit-chat and slow dancing, Chase and Sam pick Danielle as Prom Queen. Everyone is shocked and horrified. Specifically Luke, who as he so kindly puts it, "wouldn't ever put Danielle at the top of his list." I couldn't help but wonder if Chase and Sam chose Danielle as Prom Queen just to fuck around with their bro. But I can't let myself think that. Because it's too depressing to think that even on the show designed to make fat girls feel wanted and sexy, Danielle is still asked out as a joke.

However, Danielle isn't exactly doing herself any favors. Her one-on-one date with Luke can be nutshelled using only three words: a, fucking & catastrophe. But because I'm a sick individual, allow me to elaborate. First D-meister wouldn't shut her trap in the limo. She talked about everything and anything and nothing interesting. At one point, the following sentence actually came out of her mouth: "one time my dad dressed in drag at Sea World and that was like, AWESOME memories." (God I'm so jealous I can't say that.)

And speaking of Sea World, Luke takes Danielle to a seafood restaurant. Which is awkward because she doesn't eat seafood. WAMP, WAMP! However she does drink and, of course, eat dessert. So she proceeds to get drunk and deep throat a chocolate covered banana rolled in nuts. No, but really:

After performing sexual acts on a banana that are illegal in six states, Danielle and Luke take a romantic gondola ride. And by romantic, I mean informative and awkward. Curled up in Luke's manly man arms, she confesses that she's never been asked on a second date and is (drum roll please,) a virgin. Danielle. HELP ME HELP YOU HELP YOURSELF! For you see, a date is like a job interview. I wouldn't go into a job interview and say, "HI! My name is Meg McBlogger and I like to do as little work as humanly possible while still getting paid! Oh and I'm never on-time, steal office supplies, order personal things on the company's Peapod account and will talk shit about you on my blog! KBYE!" Because on a job interview, as on a date, you're trying to make yourself look as appealing as possible. I'm not saying to lie about yourself, I'm just saying maybe don't let your Unfortunate Flag fly quite so high. This miiiight increase your chances of getting a second date slightly.

The next day, Luke decides that he still feels so badly about Heather getting sick on their first group date, he invites her on an individual date. And let me tell you, we could all learn a thing or two from Heather about how to act on a date. Because I say god DAMN, she knocked that shit outta the park! I am now the proud captain of Team Heather, because that girl has got some GAME. Not only is she just adorable, but on the date she was breezy, engaging, funny, intelligent, didn't tell him that she can't touch a man without soiling herself, was genuine and SHE initiated the kiss. Madam...hats off to you. That is how you date.

The next night at the pre-elimination mixer, Kristian gets rull, rull creepy. She corners Luke and tells him that she's never experienced anything like this in her entire life and that he's the most amazing man she can think of "since she's been dreaming of princes and princesses and...I think I'm falling in love with you." Krazyface continues in her confessional to say that this is her "one chance at true love." To which I just want to grab her by the shoulders, shake her and say: 1.) You've never experienced anything like this? You just met him. Just because someone is nice to you for once does not true love make. 2.) You are just a baby child. Of course you haven't experienced love yet. Calm down and stop trying to rush it. 3.) You sound fucking crazy right now 4.) This is not your one shot at love. I cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die that your vagina will not fall off after the show ends. Christ.

In the end, Luke has to eliminate four (count 'em!) four girls. His last pick comes down to Bonnie, Danielle or Kristian. Of course Luke should choose Bonnie because she loves skewered meats, compared bitch-face Christina to the smelly kid next to you in elementary school, and most importantly, hid a doddle of Luke in her cleavage and made him pick it out during the pre-elimination mixer. But, life isn't fair and he picks Krazyface Kristian. But Bonnie has the best attitude about being eliminated ever! She kind of shurgs, looks into the camera and says, "Oh wellz, I would have scared the crap out of his mom," and goes on her way. Oh Bonnie. Laura and I decided you can sit at our lunch table any day of the week. Welcome.

Final Cry Count: 10

Next week: Lauren calls out Kristian for being emotionally unstable in front of Luke! We have our first possible below the belt hookup! Luke dramatically tells Heather he needs to tell her something he's been holding back! GASP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can you put sunscreen on Drinking Game Friday's back?

I don't know about where you are at, dear reader, but it is going to be brootiful here in NYC this weekend. Mid-80's, sunny, perfect. I couldn't be more excited, as I've recently purchased some gold lamé hot pants that I've been dying to wear. I'm kidding, that's not why I'm excited (besides I've already worn the hot pants several times to various functions). I'm excited because nice weather means being outside. Everything is better when it's outside.

Remember in college the first time your professor said "Alright everyone, we're going to have class outside today."? I nearly peed my pants with excitement, because that never happens to me. (I was a bio major in college, so this happened in the one English elective I took. It's hard to have chemistry lab outside. Beakers and whatnot.)
Also, what could be better than eating a nice meal at a sidewalk cafe? (Maybe if you ate that nice meal outside with some marble columns). And don't even get me started on outdoors drinking, because I would never stop.

But my primary reason for thoroughly enjoying the nice weather/being outdoors is that everyone and their mother is doing the exact same thing. Which is a recipe for some prime people watching. I'm not shy about admitting I generally dislike most strangers, but that doesn't mean I can't watch and judge them from afar. And while people watching is a year round treat, warm weather brings out all kinds. So grab a flask, slap on the sunscreen, head to the nearest green space or beach and play the People Watching Drinking Game!


For every shirtless guy you see:
- drink once if he should not be shirtless
- drink twice if he should be shirtless
- drink thrice if he should probably also be pantsless

For every girl in a bathing suit top:
- drink once if she unclasps the back
- drink twice if she removes it altogether (our European readers are going to be wasteddddddd)

For every couple you see:
- drink once for appropriate levels of PDA (hand holding, peck on the cheek)
- drink twice for inappropriate levels (slobbering over each other, dry humping)

Sports:
- drink once for every bro playing frisbee or catch or hackeysack
- drink twice when a catch or throw is totally botched
- drink three times for an unusual sport being played (who brings croquet to the park? is this 1860?)

Thanks for reading, enjoy the weather and we'll see you back here Monday morning! Also, you should totally follow us on twitter and join our Facebook page. That way when your friends like, "oh you should read this blog I found, it's called 2birds1blog," you can be like, "Uh, I knew about that months ago. Didn't you see it on my Facebook? Are you just discovering hoola-hoops and Dan Fogleberg too? Pfff, loser."