Showing posts with label i am a wily motherfucker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label i am a wily motherfucker. Show all posts

4.15.2011

I wanna FAQ you like an animal

Q: WELL, WELL, WELL...

A: I know.

Q: WELLITY, WELLITY, WELLITY...

A: I know.

Q: SIR WELLINGSTEIN, WELLINGSTEIN, WELLINGSTEIN...

A: That's bold of you to give a Jew a courtesy title.

Q: Oh-ho no you don't. You're not getting out of this one with a little lighthearted anti-Semitism. Where the hell have you been?

A: I've—

Q: NOPE. Don't care. Bigger fish to fry. First things first: is Larry Hagman alive?

A: Photobucket

As of 3:45am on April 15, 2011, Larry Hagman is...alive!

Q: Good, because if he was dead, you'd have a ten-gallon hat full of eco-friendly blood on your hands, madam.

A: I know.

Q: Now you you may explain yourself. Where have you been?

A: On hiatus.

Q: Well, thanks so much for letting us know!

A: I know. It's complicated. I was nervous to—

Q: Don't care. So why the hiatus? Abortion? Alien abduction? Mental breakdown? Each explanation is slightly more likely than the last.

A: No, Adams Media hired us to write another book.

Q: Wait, really?

A: Yeah!

Q: When's it due?

A: May 3rd.

Q: But aren't you still working on the first book?

A: Oooof, yes. Hence the hiatus.

Q: Well, again, you could have told us.

A: Yeah, but again, I was worried that—

Q: And again, I don't really care. So how's the second book coming?

A: ..................................................................................

Q: Oh, you simple country ham.

A: I have nothing but faith that it's going to be great when we're done, but getting there has been exponentially harder than last time. Like, if writing a book is like giving birth to a baby, we delivered the first one when we bent over to pick up a dinner mint and sneezed at the same time and it slid right out of us. This second book, however, has been hard labor and delivery. And we keep getting our room changed, and it's been 14 hours and we're only dilated to three, and the doctor wants to do a C-section but that wasn't part of our birth plan and we're really adamant about delivering it naturally and our husband is in the hall fighting with the doctor and we can hear everything and it's like, this isn't the environment we wanted to welcome our baby into the world in, you know? But I mean, either way we get a healthy baby in the end, so it's not a big deal.

Q: Bent over...and sneezed.

A: Right.

Q: And it "slid" right out of you.

A: Accurate.

Q: Well, I'm very sorry you have to work hard.

A: I'm not complaining, I'm just explaining.

Q: Oh yeah? Are you also straining? While doing some weight training? Careful, it looks like you're waning!

A: So you saw Happy Gilmore on ABC Family the other night too?

Q: ...Yes. Alright, so you're writing a second book and you'll be done in a few weeks, good for you.

A: Thank you.

Q: I still think you're just horrible.

A: Well, I thought you might.

Q: Just to keep you in your place, here's an alphabetized list of reasons why you and your blog suck:

A: Alienates readers

B: Blogs are lame

C: Complains too much

D: Depression isn't interesting

E: Embarrassing to our country when abroad

F: Font is irritatingly small

G: Grammatically retarded

H: Hard to get through

I: Inconvenient to my schedule

J: Just get a fucking job already

K: Keep trying to get sponsors, it looks like that's really working for you

L: Links don't open in a new window

M: Misuses idioms

N: Never posts anymore

O: Over (as in, this blog is)

P: PayPal button? Really?

Q: Queer Abby was good/horrible, why did you get rid of it?/I don't read humor blogs for advice

R: "Retarded" offends me

S: Self-involved

T: Trust Fund Kid

U: Ungrateful

V: Vocally supports CJ Fam

W: Wordy

X: XXX posts without the NSFW warning; thanks

Y: Because I hate you

Z: ZOOTECHNICS!

A: You kind of lost it at the end there, huh?

Q: Well, I couldn't think of anything else that started with a Z.

A: What about, "Zero talent"?

Q: 'Eh. It doesn't really pack the same punch as "Zootechnics", does it?

A: Yeah, but at least it's relevant.

Q: Look, are you aware that you suck?

A: Yes.

Q: Than my job is done here.

A: What does "Zootechnics" even mean?

Q: It's the art of managing domestic or captive animals.

A: Is it really?

Q: Swear to God.

A: Huh. Well. That's good to know.

Q: So will you go back to blogging regularly after you turn in the manuscript?

A: Of course.

Q: What about between now and then?

A: I'll try to be better about getting some stuff up, but you have to understand that Adams's got our balls in a vice (God bless them). (Adams Media, that is. Not our balls.) (Although bless them too.)

Q: Speaking of us, where's Tulane Chris in all of this?

A: He's finishing his last few weeks of grad school and has a part-time job and is writing the book with me.

Q: Is he going to come back after the manuscript is done?

A: Yes. After May 3rd, everything goes back to normal.

Q: I miss him. What's new with him?

A: WELL, he's really excited about writing the second book and texts me a lot to say as much. Which is awkward because my texts to him are primarily about how I keep waking up having panic attacks.

Q: God, you must be fun to work with.

A: Well, I also text him about my bowel movements.

Q: Speaking of working with you, I applied to be your intern and haven't heard back. What gives?

A: Yeah, we're getting back to people this weekend. I'm sorry about that.

Q: SPEAKING OF THIS WEEKEND, what's tomorrow little missy?!?!!??!!

A: Sigh. My birthday.

Q: And how old are you turning?

A: Sigh. 26.

Q: Why can't that be a good thing? Why does everything have to be so sad and hard and horrible for you, Meghan?

A: I don't know. 26 sounds so old. And not like "ahhh, my eggs have been in the back of the refrigerator for two months and now we can't make french toast!" old, but like, mature old. Like I should have my shit together by now but I don't. I mean, don't you think it's kind of pathetic that I'm a 26-year-old single blogger who sucks dick to pay her cable bill?

Q: Of course I think that's pathetic. That is pathetic. Everything you do is pathetic. That's why I read this blog.

A: Well, at least I have that. I guess.

Q: So what are you doing for your birthday?

A: Hopefully my granddaughter will take me to Stein Mart and I can get a new pair of slacks.

Q: Is she driving already??

A: Can you believe it? She also just got the lead in her school play.

Q: You don't say! What production is it?

A: Damn Yankees!

Q: Ohhhhh, so she's Lola? How fun!

A: No, actually she's The Devil.

Q: Isn't that a boy's part?

A: Well she's aggressive for her age.

Q: Do you think people will know that that last joke was a page from your real life?

A: Uh, I hope so. I was proud of that performance. Besides, Lola's overrated and if The Devil was good enough for Jerry Lewis, it's good enough for me.

Q: Yes, who needs the role of a sexy temptress when you can be Jerry Lewis for a night in a tweed suit and a pair of children's Spanx.

A: Look, I could have done Lola. I could done the hell out of Lola. But Monica Stein was a year older than me and had drama camp seniority, so she got to be Lola and I got the next lead which was The Devil. Besides, The Devil is a heavily nuanced character and requires the comedic timing and improv skills of someone like myself.

Q: Oh, really?? Well tell you what, why don't I just get on the horn with SNL and let them know that there's a soon-to-be published comedy writer who did a mean nuanced gender-neutral Devil at drama camp when she was 13, so they should probably get on that before "The Daily Show" snags her first.

A: I don't think that's the worst idea you've ever had.

Q: Oh, didn't you have some hippie announcement to make?

A: Yes! Freshman Roommate Rachel, who is one of my favorite human beings on the planet (and gave me a mood ring last night, so you know she's legit), needs your help. Rachel volunteers as a volunteer coordinator (META!) for Hands on DC. Hands on DC is an all volunteer non-profit that beautifies shitty, run-down DC schools so kids are motivated to actually go to school and get an education. (My words, not theirs.) HODC is holding their 17th annual Work-a-Thon Sunday Saturday April 30th, and they're in desperate need of volunteers and general donations. If you're looking for some good karma this Spring, you can join an existing team, register your own team, or make a general contribution on their website. For more information you can go to Hands on DC's website, Facebook page, or email me and I'll get you in touch with Rachel. I wish I could make a 2b1b team, but Chris and I will be hopped up on Adderall and meth at my parent's house trying to finish the manuscript on April 30th, and there's just no two ways about it. But just because I'm a horrible human being doesn't mean you have to be! Empower DC's youth! Make love not war! Kumbaya and such and such!

Q: Rachel is such a good person.

A: Oh my God, I know.

Q: It seems kind of odd that she likes you so much...

A: Alright, alright. Any more questions?

Q: Uh....none that I can think of. Oh! What do you want for your birthday?

A: Electrolysis.

Q: Electrolysis? That's...oddly specific. And...odd. Didn't your mom get you that Bliss at-home strip-free waxing kit from The Q a couple weeks ago?

A: Yes.

Q: Did you try it?

A: Yes.

Q: How'd it go?

A: HORRIBLY. It was so horribly horrible. I wrote an entire post about it but realized as I re-read it at 4 o'clock in the morning that people probably don't give a shit about my personal waxing debacle.

Q: What went so wrong?

A: Oh, God. It's such a long story.

Q: Well, give us the long and short of it.

A: I tried to multi-task and read the waxing directions, eat a club sandwich, and watch a documentary about the Mothman that Netflix keeps recommending to me at the same time, and ended up missing the directions stressing the importance of using the Pre-Waxing Oil. It was a show. I couldn't get any of the wax off and it was all over my face and left arm pit, so I tried taking a gently-used Chipotle napkin, sticking it on the wax and ripping it off, but that obviously didn't work, so I still had hunks of blue wax stuck on me everywhere, just with bits of guac-soaked napkin in it and finally I had to take a bath and soak it off in hot water and scrub my face but I was too scared to close my eyes from watching the fucking Mothman documentary, so I got acne scrub in my eyes and that made me have to close my eyes even more and I almost had a panic attack and there's still blue wax all over my person and my bathroom.

Q: ..............I mean, what am I supposed to say to that?

A: I don't know.

Q: I think we should end this here.

A: Are you sure? I have some thoughts on Eminem/Dr. Dre's 1999 hit "Guilty Conscious" that I'd like to explore, if I could.

Q: Have a great weekend, everyone.

11.02.2009

How I Got Out Of My Business Trip

Muahaha...it was so glorious. Although I would like to humbly apologize to my Twitter followers for the giant Business Trip Live-Tweet '09 cocktease. Sorry about it. Technically, I feel 30% sorry about it and a more overwhelming 70% really impressed with myself. Allow me to explain.

So, I really was planning on sucking it up and going to the convention. I'm trying to be a less of a...well...how do I say this?...a shitty person these days and was willing to accept the fact that part of being a mature adult is sometimes doing things you don't want to do. As of 4 o'clock the day before, all family members were alive and kickin' and I was swine flu/stomach flu/head cold/migraine/bad cramps/oops-I-just-tripped-on-an-extension-cord-and-twisted-my-ankle-which-now-needs-to-be-elevated-so-shucks!-guess-I-can't-go! free. But then old Boss #1 called to ask me a few "favors." And each "favor" drastically decreased the likelihood of me going and drastically increased the probability of someone close to me spontaneously combusting in the next hour.

First and foremost, B#1 asked me if I would come early the next morning (early being 7:00am) and bring two tables from the studio to the convention. What I wanted to say back to this request was, "Madam, I can barely duck and roll out of bed and make it two stops down the red line at 9 o'clock in the morning. What in the name of Christ's brown eyes makes you think I am physically capable of being in Baltimore at 7 am?!" Instead, ever the responsible adult, I said yes. I did, however, express some concern about whether or not I would be able to fit the tables in my convertible without ripping the top. "Well, obviously just drive up with the top down," B#1 said. Oh, right! Obviously. Because obviously the smart thing to do is to truck down I-95 at 6 o'clock in the morning in my Barbie Dream-Mobile with the top down in 40-degree October weather and two giant tables sticking out of the back. Obviously. But again, I sucked it up and said yes.

"I forgot to tell you," B#1 said, "We have a meeting at noon on Thursday and a cocktail party at 6, so we're going to need to leave the convention early." Hm. "Are these events things that I need to plan?" I asked. "Oh yea. Sorry, guess I probably should have told you earlier." Normally this would have pissed me off, but hearing this was music to my hears for the following reasons: 1.) This was the most advanced warning I've ever been given for an event, ever. 2.) Leaving early? Yes please and 3.) This would be a fantastic excuse to hide in a stairwell and make calls/play Bejeweled on my iphone for 8 hours.

"By the way," B#1 added, "the President of our parent company is coming, so it's really, really important that we're all on our best behavior. Please wear a pants suite, cover your tattoos and I'm going to need you to have a big old smile plastered on your face all day." And with that, I broke. That's when I knew I had to find a way to gracefully bow out. For I had been asked The Holy Trinity of things I would rather be reincarnated into a pair of jean shorts than do. It was official: I had to get out of this...but how?

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little stressed out about our meeting on Thursday," B#1 continued. "It would be a huge account to win and I just want to make sure everything is perfect." And there it was. My Out. Sitting on a silver platter, glistening in the sunlight, just waiting for me to grab it. And I lunged for that Out like it was the last box of Kashi on planet Earth.

"I gotta ask," I said in a somber tone, "Is it really the best idea for me to go to NeoCon this year? I mean, it just seems like we have two really important events on Thursday and if someone needs to stay back and prepare everything, I'm willing to suck it up and be that person." "Oh Meghan, I couldn't ask you to do that," Boss #1 said. "UH, YES YOU CAN!!1" I said, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "Look, we're a team and if you feel unprepared, then I feel unprepared. And you know me, I'm never unprepared." (If you look up "shit-eating grin" in the dictionary, you will see a picture of me, having just said that sentence.) "You're right," Boss #1 said, "But how are we going to get the tables up to Baltimore?" "I mean, we have a courier service for a reason. I'll call them right now and arrange everything," I said. "Fantastic idea!" B#1 said. "Well, it's why you pay me the big bucks, am I right? LOLZYHAHAHAHAH!" "Please, we should really be paying you more. I need to talk to Boss #2 about giving you a raise." (I would have pressed that point, but I didn't want to get greedy.) "Look, we've got bigger fish to fry right now. I'm going to call the couriers and get started on these events. You just concentrate on NeoCon and call me if you need anything." "I really appreciate all of your help, Meghan," B#1 said. "Hey. Don't thank me
I'm just doing my job. Now you have yourself a great evening." CLICK.

After hanging up, I exclaimed (out loud) (and to myself,) "I AM AWESOME!" and proceeded to call my mother to tell her what just happened. The next day I came into work an hour late in jeans and leisurely planned Thursday night's Super Sexy Sushi cocktail party. Which was a raging success and scored me a shit-ton of points in our regional VP! So basically I won like 16 times in a row. Which is oddly out of character and makes me incredibly nervous, as I am not the kind of gal who wins. At all. I'm the kind of gal who loses. Hardcore. And then trips over something and falls on her face. And somehow loses her pants in the equation. And after recovering gets hit in the pantsless groin. And then writes about it on an anonymous blog to make herself feel better. That's really more how I roll. But a girl could get used to this whole "winning" thing...
 
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