DCA-JFK-SNN-BOS-DFW-IAD-EVE

Well hello there, strangers! So, I have some good news and I have some bad news. And then I have some more good news! But then I have some more bad news. And then I keep going back and forth between even more good and bad news for a while, but I'm pretty sure I end on good news, so I'm going to chalk this up to a win for both of us.

Good news: I'm back!

Bad news: But I'm not pregnant and I'm still painfully STD-free. LAAAAAAAAME.

Good news: But I did fall in love. Twice.

Bad news: The first time was with a 40-year-old tour boat captain and the other was with a Trinity student who told time by looking at the sun. Seems about right.

Good news: What are you doing this Thursday night? Trying to hang out with me and Tulane Chris? Awesome. Because we're both panelists at ihatemy9to5.com's "Behind the Blog" event at Affinity Lab on U Street, 7 - 9pm. If you're in the area, you should totally swing by and watch us drink ourselves into being socially outgoing enough to participate in a "candid conversation" about what it's like to live your life online. That's right guys. SHIT'S GONNA GET RULL CANDID, RULL FAST. Be there.

Bad news: Chris keeps asking me if we're supposed to have anything prepared for the panel and I keep telling him no, but between you and me—shit if I know. So if for nothing else, you should come watch us hand a microphone back and forth between us as we awkwardly shift our eyes around the room and play a few live rounds of Trapped in a Box for 29 Hours. And then we can all get drunk(er) together. K SEE YOU THEN!

Good news: My parents are staying in Ireland for the rest of the month, so I'll be house/catsitting (or "taking care of my little sister," as they call it) for them, which should provide plenty of Evie-based hinjinx.

Bad news: STAYING HERE ALONE AT NIGHT IS TERRIFYING. Absolutely terrifying. I'm more than aware that this is the house that I grew up in and I slept here every night for roughly 18 years, but it is a ghost of a different color when you're here alone. Because its big and there's windows and mirrors everywhere and I keep expecting to look up and see someone's face and things creak and OH, YOU KNOW, the guest room across from mine contains the ashes of 1 human being, 3 cats and a poodle. Plus I'm going to have to put an entire symphony's worth of sleigh bells on that damn cat because she keeps creeping around the house like a silent little spooker, jumping up on me when I least expect it. Christ.

Example: One of my (many) little quirks is that I can't sleep in a bed that faces a door. Why? Because if I do, I stare at it all night expecting someone to dramatically bust in and kill me at any second. It makes no sense, it's kind of crazy, Go see a therapist, I already am, Well it's clearly not working, blah blah blah, whatever. A few months ago, my parents turned my room into another guest room and guess where they relocated my bed? Directly across from the door. Ah Jeez...I could always sleep next door in Becca's old room but there are two twin beds in there and there's no way in hell I'm closing my eyes only to open them and see a ghost laying in the bed next to mine. I could sleep in my parent's room but not only is their bed located across from the door; it's a glass door at the top of a staircase. And FUCK. THAT. WHITE. NOISE. I would stay up all night, scared to close my eyes because if I opened them I would obviously see someone creeping up the stairs with a knife ready to kill me. (I'm completely aware of how insane and paranoid I sound right now, by the way. Just go with it.) I could sleep in the basement. If I had a death wish. Or there's always the guest room. You know, GHOST OF GRANDPA PAST AND POODLES, guest room. So, clearly, the Ikea-ed shell of my old room is going to have to do.

I legitimately had to psych myself up to go to sleep last night. I kept the hall light on and my door opened a crack because that way if someone were to creep down the hall to kill me, I'd be able to hear them coming more than if the door were shut. (And don't even suggest I close and lock my door. Because if there's someone hiding in my closet, trying to unlock that thing to run out of my room would take precious seconds that I may or may not have.) (Bat shit crazy; I'm aware.)

As I laid on my stomach in bed with my head turned towards the wall, I reassured myself that everything was OK, that I was being ridiculous and I should just go to sleep. Now, what I didn't know at the time was that all .4 micropounds of Yevette McBlogger had just crept in, jumped up on the side of the bed that I wasn't facing and was patiently waiting for me to lift up the blankets so she could climb under and hunker down for the night, as she likes to do in my parents bed. I didn't hear her jump up because my fan was on and I didn't feel her because she weighs as much as a moderately sized ear of corn and thus doesn't even make a dent in the mattress. So imagine my surprise when Evie, tired of waiting for me to notice her, decided to firmly place a paw on the small of my back to get my attention.

...I'm not saying that I wet my childhood bed last night at the age of 25-years-old, but I'm also not not saying that I wet my childhood bed last night at the age of 25-years-old.

Good news: FREE LAUNDRY UP IN THIS PIECE!

Bad news: Now I'm going to make you look at my vacation photos from Ireland.

Worse news: And they're not the good ones I took on my digital camera either; they're the random shitty ones I took with my iphone. YOU'RE WELCOME!

The McBlogger Family Vacation in Ireland: Sheepies, Bunnies, Ebony & Ivory.

I saw this shirt at Urban Outfitters the day before we left, took a picture, texted it to Becca, Alex and Geoff and threatened to wear it everyday in Ireland, only to find that they were oddly supportive. Damn them for calling my bluff.

Alex and I had a later flight to JFK than everyone else, so Geoff sent me a text at 11am bragging about how they were already drinking at the airport with this attached:

So, I reminded him it was 11am, perhaps accused him of having a drinking problem and attached a photo of what I was drinking at the time:

Then when Alex and I got to the airport, we sent this, thinking we'd won the war:

But then our flight to JFK was delayed two hours and Geoff sent this picture of everyone already there, drinking and having a good time:

Damn him. Remember when I wrote that Queer Abby answer about not trying to break up your sibling's relationship...?

During our delay I read in US Weekly that Ian Ziering got remarried. Sucks for Helena.

Then I accidentally took a screenshot of my phone.

That's Jafari, who's pretty much the best flight attendant in the history of flight attendants. When we were stuck on the runway for 900 years, he got on the mic and was like, "WELP, IT'S FIVE O'CLOCK SOMEWHERE!" and threw booze and granola bars at us.

Alex was Ghost Train Excited at being able to drink during take-off.

I realize that this is the most country thing to get excited about, but Becca and Geoff's rental car had like, an obscenely large sunroof. So I took a picture of it. WHATEVER, Alex has his ghost trains and take-off drinks, I have my novelty-sized sunroofs. We get our kicks where we can.

A pub in Kenmare.

Back at our house, view of the water.

Hangin' out on the dock. We saw otters and swans and fish and crabs and NATUUUUURE, Goulet.

Low tide. Which I asked my dad to explain and everyone scoffed all, "OH MEG, she's so simple," but nobody could explain beyond, "it has something to do with the moon." Well, thank you. Thank you for your abstract answer.

An ice cream shop called "Bia Bia." Which was endlessly funny to me and my sister. Why? It has something to do with the moon. And Lil Jon.

CAPTAIN ROSS' SEAFARI!!!!!1 The main attraction was supposed to be the seals but it ended up being Captain Ross.

That's a picture of Captain Ross from 10 years ago when he was on top of his Seafari game. Now he mostly just chain smokes, zones out and sings "On the Good Ship Lollipop." I, obviously, fell in love.

Alex taking a rum-coffee break on the Seafari. Note the courtesy poncho that he grew oddly attached to.

In a pub watching The World Cup. That guy was absurdly attractive.

Motion blur is such a cockblock...

IT GETS DARKER LATER THERE BECAUSE WE'RE SO FAR NORTH! WEIRD! Quote my sister, "9:30 at night and it's broad-ass daylight." That and big 'ole sunroofs. EUROPE SHO IS WACKY!!!!

Earlier that day, I had read Tulane Chris' post about his middle school experience a

nd how he ate a lot of chicken hamburgers, and later when we were out a-pub-crawlin', I became obsessed with eating an old-school chicken hamburger. Like, I wouldn't shut up about it. Then at the last pub of the night, I was like, "OH MY GAWD, I WANT TO MAKE LOVE TO AN OLD-SCHOOL CHICKEN HAMBURGER! LIFE IS UNFAIR!" and Geoff was like, "Well it's on the menu, get it," and I lost my shit. Ordered it. Took a picture. And date raped it. (This is the most asinine story I've ever told. I apologize.)

Becca, Geoff, Alex and I spent a mini-cation in Dublin and that, my friends, is James, our student tour guide at Trinity.

By the end of the tour, we were all swooning over James. Geoff included, frankly. I mean, look at him. How could you not fall in love? What with his little Ray Ban Wayfarers and Harry Potter robe. Plus before the tour started, he sensibly put on a sun screen and when someone asked him how long it would be before the tour started, he looked up in the sky and said, "ummm, about six minutes." Which we all interpreted as him telling shockingly accurate time by the position of the sun until we realized he was looking at a clock on the building behind us. I'd like to think that he still tells time via sun position though. God bless him. God bless his charismatic heart.

View from the Gravity Bar at the Guinness factory.

Nom nom nom.

Alex wants you to mug him.

I caught my sister taking a picture of this sign and was like, "what's up?" "It's just too good," she said, "Balls. Beaver. Nutgrove." Touché, madam.

Proving that I took pictures of things besides dat dem der funny signs.

Facade of the church where Bram Stoker got married.

Victorian wing of former jail, Kilmainham Gaol.

Peeking inside at the mural in Grace Gifford Plunkett's cell.

Front balcony where a lot of public hangings took place. Maybe if I weren't such a morbid fuck I wouldn't stay up at night worried about murderers? Yes? No? Hangings? Yes.

In St. Stephen's Green.

This woman was 50. 50-years-old. And she likes to kick, stretch and wear absurdly short, red mini-skirts around the quaint village of Kenmare.

The boat that took us to Skelling Michael; a remote island an hour off of the coast of Kerry that's covered in puffins and has a monastery at the very top. This boat is my best friend because it didn't make me puke.

It was unseasonably dry, sunny and 65-degrees during our entire vacation. One might say it was the luck of the Irish. (SEE?! SEE WHAT I DID THERE?!?!?!)

Truckin' out to Skelling Michael.

Skelling Michael. Which my debilitating fear of heights cockblocked me from climbing to the top of. I opted to befriend the puffins and a landscaper named Patrick (who I understood 34% of what he was said and didn't smell "awesome") instead.

Yeah. No.

Puffins and other sea birds kickin' it on the ledges. Vomit.

PUFFIN!!!!

PUFFINS!!!!

I cropped myself out, but I took this picture of me holding Evie to email to my parents all, "Home from Dallas, gave Evie a hug for you," and I appreciate how after a week of only occasional visits from the neighbors she's like, "REGULAR HUMAN INTERACTION (even if it is with Meg...) YES AND PLEASE."

I miss traveling, but I'm glad to be back! Hope all is well with you guys!

Who Shot Drinking Game Friday?

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

State of the Meg — June, 2010

Yep. Feel that? Tender breasts. Abdominal cramping. Skin breaking out. Emotions running high. It must be that time of the month. State of the Meg time, that is!

State of the Meg — June

- I guess the most relevant thing in my life right now is that I'm incredibly sorry for that foul period introduction. It seemed like a good idea when I was in the shower a few minutes ago trying to think of an intro, but now that I'm seeing it in pixels it's just kind of crass and uncalled for. Sorry about that. At least I self-edited the polycistic ovarion syndrome follow-up I wrote while conditioning?

- I realized during my lunch break last Sunday that I had forgotten my cell phone in the hectic rush that is me trying to get to work on time at the completely reasonable hour of 11 o'clock in the morning. When I got home later that night and turned on my phone, I was like, "oh gawd how embarrassing! Eight hours away from my phone. I bet I'm going to have like, a babillion missed calls and a faffillion text messages. Everyone must be so worried about where I've been. I hope nobody put an amber alert out for me." My phone finally finished turning on. And nothing. No calls, no texts, no emails, no blog emails, nothing. I didn't even get spam mail. I mean, is it even mathematically possible for two email accounts to go eight hours without receiving a single Cyalis offer?! Apparently yes. When you're me. It was a humbling moment.

When I turned on my cell phone this afternoon during my lunch break, I was expecting the same cricket symphony but was instead greeted with an alarming number of text messages, voicemails and emails. "Yep," I thought, "Almost the weekend. [Scoffs] I'm not surprised. So in demand." But then I checked said text messages, voicemails and emails and discovered that it wasn't anyone trying to hang out with me, it was everyone calling to make sure I wasn't dangling from my shower rod in the wake of Rue McClanahan's death. Damnit. Humbling moment #2. WITH A SIDE OF TRAGEDY!!!!!!!!1

To answer everyone's question, no I'm not dangling from my shower rod, but I've certainly been better. I mean, Rue! Of Maude, Golden Girls and Golden Palace fame! The holy trinity of 70's/80's woman-of-a-certain-age sitcoms! I feel like Bea Arthur's died all over again and Lord knows that's a hurt I never wanted to feel twice. Oh and may god strike you down if you mention the B-W word to me. I refuse to even entertain the thought of that candle ever burning out.

Oh my fucking god. If it weren't currently 11:58 at night and I wasn't really dedicated to getting this blog post written, I would absolutely curl up on the couch with a bottle of wine, a box of dried pasta and the episode of Golden Girls where Big Daddy dies and just ball my fucking eyes out. But I can't! Must. Stay. Strong. For you. (Side note: why did I honestly just stop typing, look wistfully off in the distance, think to myself, "at least she's finally reunited with George," and feel a certain sense of closure? It's a television show, Meg. It's not real.) (IT WAS REAL TO ME!) (I refuse to have an inner monologue parenthesis fight with myself right now re: the impact of Golden Girls on my life.) (Yeah. Because you know it was heavy.) (...I know. Hold me?) (Done.)

- My first thought when I heard about the untimely passing of Madam McClanahan was "what the fuck?!" Which is exactly what I said. Out loud. Walking down M street. Alone. My second thought, obviously, was, "HAGMAN!" And man, if there were ever a time for a Larry Hagmandeadoralive.com app, that would have been it. Unfortunately one doesn't exist (...yet?) so this week's T.G.I. Hagman is going to have to suffice.

As of 4:53am on June 4, 2010, Larry Hagman is...alive! Tie a yellow ribbon Hagman. Tie a yellow ribbon...

- And speaking of June 4th, happy birthday Mom! You, madam, are the cat's pajamas.

- So sit down, we need to talk about something. I'm going on vacation this month and will thus be gone from the blog for a week. Come on. We all knew this day would come. I can't stay cooped up in this swampy hellhole of a city all summer like last year, too depressed to blog about anything besides emotions, food and boob sweat. (Although blogging about all three is still highly inevitable.)

I'll be in Ireland with my parents, sister, sister's fiance and Alex from June 11-June 19 and then in Dallas for College Roommate Danielle's wedding from June 19-21. That's 9 days, but only 6 of them are blogging days and I'll only not be blogging for 4, so it's really not that bad, I swear. Plus old Tulane Chris will be here holding down the fort with his southern charm and blatant lack of tolerance for the handicapable. And when isn't that enjoyable, you know? So there's that. We'll all live. Unless I die on one of the plane rides or get alcohol poisoning from drinking the entirety of the Jameson's factory tour, in which case I would like Larry Hagman to sing Ave Maria at my funeral. You are all invited. See you there!

- OK. Ooof. Sit down again. There's something else we need to talk about. [Say it quick Meg. Like a band-aid.] So-the-merch-will-be-arriving-from-the-printers-when-I'm-in-Ireland-so-you're-all-going-to-have-to-wait-until-I-get-back-to-get-your-shit-even-though-you-ordered-it-last-week-and-it's-kind-of-an-absurd-amount-of-time-to-wait-for-a-canvas-tote-bag-I-know-but-I-don't-know-what-to-tell-you-besides-I'm-sorry. Phew. Wow. I feel much better.

You have no idea the amount of anxiety and guilt I feel about this. In retrospect I should have waited until I was back from Ireland to put the store up, but I was an eager beaver to get it going (ha ha...beaver) and was all "wait three weeks to open the store? PSHHH, three weeks from now we'll all have flying cars and summer houses on the moon! Who'll need blog merchandise?" Damn you Meg. Damn you and your irrational thinking.

I will, however, share with you this depressingly true story from my own life: I went over to Dan and Andrew not of the Great Juno Debate Fame's new apartment in Columbia Heights last weekend, got slightly drunker than I meant to, got in a cab to go home and when the Jamaican cabbie asked, "so, how are you doing tonight?" I, by the truest definition of the word, UNLOADED on this poor, poor Rastafarian. I was like, "I OPENED THIS BLOG STORE AND I DID IT TOO SOON AND NOW PEOPLE ARE GOING TO HAVE TO WAIT FOR THEIR STUFF BECAUSE I'M GOING ON VACATION AND I THINK IT MAKES ME LOOK LIKE AN ASSHOLE AND I'M GOING TO LOSE MY READERSHIP AND THEN WHERE WILL I BE AND I'M KEEP GETTING HEART PALPITATIONS ABOUT IT!" To which, the Rastafarian sighed, shook his head and said, "What's gonna happen is gonna happen. So just let it happen. It's all you can do." In my drunken and over-emotional state, that was like, the most meaningful thing I had ever heard in my entire life. I was like, "You're right. Because what can I do?" [Rastafarian cabbie nodds.] "Can you please take me to Pizza Boli's instead of my apartment?" [Rastafarian cabbie nodds again.]

And then I went home, watched Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood on-demand, binge ate pizza, vomited and passed out. True. Fucking. Story.

So yes, I really am sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your patience with this first order. You all get meaningful hand-written notes. Yay!

- I learned three things this past weekend that blew my mind (when I wasn't bonding with cab drivers and vomiting over blog issues):

1.) IF YOU CUT AN EARTHWORM IN HALF, BOTH HALVES WILL LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!1 What in the fuckity fuck fuck?!!?!?!?!?!!1!!1foneone This still blows my mind. It's like the Narwhal Debacle all over again, however, because apparently this fact is also common knowledge. For a smart girl, I really am dumb as a box of hair. No offense. To myself. (None taken.)

2.) GERALD FORD IS DEAD. Crazy. Apparently he died on December 26, 2006. Where was I? (Answer: Probably listening to a lot of Gwen Stefani's "Luxurioius" and sleeping.)

3.) Gerald Ford—quite the college football stud, HUH?!

He can be the wide receiver to my tight end any day of the week. If he were alive, that is. (R.I.P.)

- Father's Day is coming up this month and I have an idea for a card that I want to make my dad but I can't decide if it's hilarious or grossly inappropriate. It's definitely one of them though.

So we have this Father's Day greeting card at work that says "Dear dad, thank you for..." and then there's a list of things to check off if applicable like, "teaching me how to ride a bike", "looking under my bed for monsters", "moving me to college" blah blah, emotional blah. Well, I thought, what if I made a card with an illustration of an ominous-looking door, cracked slightly open and underneath it in really nice script it says, "Dear Dad, thank you for not creeping into my bedroom at night when I was growing up."

THOUGHTS? COMMENTS? CONCERNS? OFFENSIVE? It's just that sometimes when I'm watching Intervention, I seriously think to myself, "thank Christ I wasn't molested as a kid, because that shit jacks you up for goods." I mean, god forbid we as a society get to the point where we need to go out of our way to thank our parents for not molesting us, but, you know, sometimes it's nice to acknowledge what people don't do as well as what they do, right? Plus if it's a hit I can make a line of spin-off cards for Uncles, babysitters and abstract friends of the family! EVERYBODY WINS! Unless you were molested as a kid. In which case pretend like I didn't write this entire last paragraph. Thnx.

- Speaking of work—shock!—something embarrassing happened the other day. I have a filthy mouth that's really not conducive to working in retail. I've been trying really hard to clean up my act at work and have successfully replaced "ah shit" with "woops", "fuck" with "fudge", "damnit" with "darn" etc. The one expletive I can't seem to purge from my vocabulary, however, is "Jesus Christ." Jesus Christ isn't really an expletive, I know, but I feel badly taking the Lord's name in vain around customers, even if he isn't my Lord. I don't want to ruin some wholesome bride's day by dropping a spool of ribbon and shouting, "CHRIST ON A WHOLE GRAIN CROISSANT!" So I'm trying, I really am.

The other day I was helping a bride and her mom put together some save the date cards when I accidentally flipped an entire tub of embossing powder over, spilling it all over the floor. Realizing what I had just done, I opened my mouth to exclaim, "JESUS" and got as far as "JE" before I realized I should stop because it's inappropriate. My brain then quickly scanned for, found and subsequently said the only other word starting with J-E that I could think of: Jews. I knocked over a tub of embossing powder and angrily shouted, "JEWS!"

Then realizing that what I had just said was far more offensive than taking the Lord's name in vain, I felt the need to justify that it was OK for me to angrily exclaim "Jews" because "my mom is Jewish. So I guess I'm technically Jewish. But I wouldn't really define myself as 'Jewish.' NOT LIKE THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH JEWS! Or Jewish people, rather. I guess I think of myself more as spiritual. I'm so sorry...ANYWAY, let's look at an A2 card, huh??"

How I'm allowed to talk to strangers all day is beyond me.

- I got a day planner in an effort to stop going to work on days I have off and missing days when I'm supposed to blog. ~*REsPoNsIbLe PuRcHaSe '10!*~

- I'm totally in a fight with Mei Wah. When I got home from work tonight, all I wanted to do was order in Chinese, drink some wine, watch my life-partner Cat Deeley on So You Think You Can Dance and assemble Becca's bachelorette invitations. Nothing in the world could be more relaxing or zen than that situation.

I called Mei Wah to place my order and the person who answered told me it was probably going to be an hour before my food would be delivered, which was fine with me. I told her what I wanted, gave her my phone number and confirmed my address. "That's where you live?" she asked, "That's like 5 blocks away. Why don't you just come in and pick it up instead of waiting an hour to have it delivered?" "Oh, it's fine," I replied, "I really don't mind waiting, thanks."

Now that should have been the end of it, right? NO! She totally pushed the point and was like, "that doesn't make any sense. It's 20 minutes instead of an hour. And I can't even promise you it'll be there in an hour." "Yeah, I know," I said. It's fine though." "No, no, no, you should just come in and pick it up. You live five minutes away!"

I'm aware that I live five minutes away, thank you very much. I'm also aware that I'm not wearing any pants and am watching Jeopardy. And I'd rather light my genitals on fire than have any part of that equation to change.

"Really, it's fine," I said. And it's at that point that the woman on the phone literally laughed-out-loud at me. Like a full-fledged LOL. So, feeling substantially like a lazy a-hole, I caved and said I'd come in. And then I put on pants and did. Sigh. I can't believe I compromised my lazy pantless values for a measly order of pork in plum sauce. Mei Wah: never again.

- That's a lie. They have really good steamed dumplings.

- I should probably mention that I plan on falling in love in Ireland and not returning to the states. I think his name is going to be Patrick. He's from just outside Galway. He has a pug named O'Hoolihan. I'm pretty excited about our future together. I'm also putting a lot of eggs in this happiness basket. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do if this doesn't happen...

I think that's pretty much all that's new with me. State of the Meg: EXCITED FOR IRELAND/DALLAS, sorr about the (delayed) bag and psyched that I was never molested. BOOM.

But enough about me, how are you?

Dear Queer Abby: (I like that rhyme sequence)

So. I am a red-blooded female, and like most on earth I have needs that must be tended to...sexual needs. I do have sex in real life sometimes, not a lot, but occasionally. Usually when drunk. Don't judge me. I also have a friend that lives far away with whom I partake in what the kids are calling "sexting" these days. Well, does it count as sexting if it's not via cell phone? is it just gchatexting? Oops. Either way. It happens from time to time, and it's always excellent. The most fun being in that A) I am not getting any diseases and B) I can say stuff I would never actually do in reality. So let's say things get kind of explicit sometimes. Things I would never EVER want anyone else to read.

Anyway, my problem is this: I used to have a Blackberry Pearl, it was a huge piece of shit so I got an iPhone instead (booyeah) and ended up giving the Blackberry to my biffly biffly^max (thanks for that one, Meg) when her phone broke. Aren't I a nice person? Damn. (This is going somewhere, I swear) She doesn't ever use the email feature but I guess she opened it by accident today and my email has been attached to the phone since it belonged to me. Apparently she stumbled upon last night's questionable gchat when trying to log out (I don't think she was snooping...even if she was, I don't care, I didn't think I had anything to hide.......shit). She texted me to awkwardly let me know about reading what she did, and I died about 10 thousand times, the things that were said are MUCH too filthy to be repeated. I don't even like thinking about it. Oh my god. I am turning into a big ball of cringe as we speak. Ahhhhhhh fuckity shit fucker. OK, anyway, she is not going to disown me as a friend, in fact she has mostly just made fun of me like any good friend would ("call me later you dirty little slut"..ugh) and I know I am being a total loser about this BUT I JUST WANT TO KNOW HOW I CAN LOOK HER IN THE EYE EVER AGAIN?!?!?! What the fuck do I do now?????? Help please. Thank you.

S.W.

Awww man, this might be the ONLY time I would EVER advocate lying (unless it’s to your parents, the police or your boss/teacher). I’m guessing it’s too late for this now, but I totally would’ve just said something like, “oh, that was just this inside joke between me and ____ to see who could be raunchiest without…” and then make up some ridiculous rules that would make your friend be like “that’s funny as all get out… wish I had thought of it,” and maybe even “I wanna play too” so then you could’ve been getting some virtual action from coast to coast. Oh well, an opportunity missed…C’est la vie.

At this point though, I think you just have to deal. I mean, you gave her a fucking blackberry; if she can’t get past this (and by ‘get past’ I mean laugh hardily, mercilessly make jokes at your expense, and never let you live it down, BUT still love you anyway) then she’s lame and you need to find funnier friends. So yea, you just have to bite the bullet and make hanging out happen sooner rather than later (otherwise it just gets weirder) and crack some jokes at your own expense so it’s not this Big, Kinky Elephant in the room forever. In the meantime, try to chill out and force yourself to laugh about it every time you start to wince, because ultimately, while it feels horrible now, it will make for a great story later. And beside that, I’m sure Meg has some horrifically awkward and embarrassing story along the same lines that would make you feel 50%-75% better about your situation…

I don't, but mostly because I'm confused. I don't really get why this is so embarrassing. (Which is saying something, considering how I get embarrassed like middle school boys get boners.) I mean, you said this girl is your biffly-biffly^maxpower, right? Well, what are biffly-biffly^maxpowers for if not knowing about your sex life? (And I include sexting in that.) Talking about sex with your friends is a national pastime. It's why Brunch is holy. So you sext. So what? Who doesn't? That's not embarrassing. I sext all the time. I sext at dinner parties and everyone knows it. It's gotten to the point where I pull out my phone and everyone's like, "Ooo, who ya sextin'?" Sometimes when I get tired I tell Alex to take over. I'm not kidding, it's happened on multiple occasions. Plus he's just better at it than I am. I go back and read what he wrote and am like, "WOW. That's going to be interesting to deliver in person."

My point being, we live in the future, go-go boots, rocket ships, meals in pill form, Soilent Green is people, blah blah blah and sexting is part of the cultural/sexual landscape now. Embrace it, don't be embarrassed of it. Treat it like any other part of your sex life that you'd share with your friends. If Laura or Helena or Anna saw an X-rated convo that I was having, yeah I'd be embarrassed to a certain extent, but I'd probably move on quickly and be like, "OH YEA. Dude. That was a steamy convo. That boy is a minx." And then we'd giggle and knowing my friends, they'd want all the dirty details. Because that's what friends are for. Unless they're giant prudes, in which case, why be friends with them in the first place? Trust me, there are many, many, many things to be embarrassed about; your friends knowing about your sex life is not one of them.

Dear Queer Abby,



A little over a year ago my friend, let's call her J, started dating a girl, L. A lot of people were totally against this new relationship because L was quite a bit older than J and in a position of authority over her. However, I decided to be supportive. I believed that L made my friend happy and I thought she was nice enough.

Fast forward a year and a half. They are still together and all of J's friends have gone from slightly disapproving to down right hating L. She is unbelievably rude to all of J's friends, guilts her into staying home all the time and won't let her do anything by herself. When we invite both of them to do something L simply refuses. When she does grace us with her presence, she ignores everyone in the room and sulks in the corner. I tried to kill her with kindness and she was having none of it, so I eventually gave up.

About 6 months ago my girlfriend and I moved away. Figuring that we were 3000 miles away, didn't have to deal with L any more, and couldn't do anything about the problem anyway, we were ready to let our of all negative feelings go and keep in touch with J as best as possible. Unfortunately, the issue has recently reared it's ugly head. My girlfriend and I are planning a trip back to our former stomping grounds for late this summer. We want to spend as much time with J as possible, but we'd prefer to spend as little time as possible (if none at all) around her girlfriend. We recognize that J is not blameless in this situation, by we still don't know what to do with them.

So, our questions are these: how do we 
 a. breach the subject of seeing J alone 
 b. deal with her girlfriend if we do have to see her and 
 c. in the long term, how do we keep their relationship from destroying our friendship with J?



Thank you!



Sincerely,

We Miss Our Friend

a) I would be subtle, at most, about seeing J alone. I’m guessing she knows her friends (including you two) aren’t big fans of L, so you needn’t tell her again. If she plans to include L despite how you guys feel about her, that’s her decision. Now, whether or not you guys still want to participate if L is going to be around is your decision. That’s the only thing you have control over. Sometimes you may decide it’s worth putting up with L so you can spend time with J, and sometimes you may opt to forgo hanging out because you don’t want to have to deal with L. Neither decision is wrong. You’re just working with what you’ve been given and balancing your needs with those of your friend, and J should be doing the same... That said, if you can improve your odds a little bit by scheduling things when L probably can’t make it (like lunch dates during the week or something), well there’s nothing wrong with that.

b) If you decide to hang out with them both, do so with an open mind and try to be friendly. However, that doesn’t mean you have to let L treat you guys like shit. If she starts to be rude or disrespectful toward you, call her on it. Don’t be overly abrasive or public about it; be firm and mature. You want L to know you won’t tolerate being treated poorly, but you don’t want to come out looking lake the asshole in the situation. And if she keeps on being a dick, then leave. Again, you’re working with what you’ve been given. There’s no fault in that.

c) Piggy-backing on a) and b), if J knows how you feel about L but still insists on including her, AND all the while L is consistently being a dick even though you’ve made it clear you won’t stand for that, then you won’t be letting their relationship destroy your friendship with J—they will. All you can do is know your limits and be the best friend you can, given the situation. If you and your GF have to take a step back because it does you more harm than good to be as close with J as you (and she) would like, maybe that will serve as a wake up call for her. If not, wait it out as best you can and make sure she knows you’re there if/when her situation changes.

Jesus Jews Jews for Jesus, not liking a friend's significant other is the fucking worst. It's awkward for all parties involved and nobody wins. You know what I never get? Why does the significant other always want to come? I don't like you, you don't like me, why ruin both of our nights? Just take one for the team and stay home, asshole.

Anywhoo, I think taking Amy's advice is the mature decision and I bet your friend won't invite her girlfriend since you guys are only in town for a little bit. But if she does end up coming, if it were me? I'd go to my dock.

"Going to my dock" is a coping method I've developed over the years to deal with all of the a-hole significant others, mutual friends, professors, classmates, bosses, co-workers, family members etc. that I've had to deal with in order to keep the peace. And the thing is, at least for me, it really works. One day College Roommate Danielle sat me down and asked how I was able to tolerate a certain horrible satellite friend we had. I told her I just go to my dock.

Steps for Going to Your Dock:

1.) Mentally check out 100%. I mean, really, just peace the fuck out. Like almost to the point of mediation. Pick a point on the face of the person you're supposedly talking to and just stare while you empty your mind.

2.) Put yourself on auto-pilot. This step takes some time to master. You need to seem interested in what the other person/people is/are saying, but not just in terms of having an interested look on your face. You need to acknowledge what they're saying via a loop of well placed stock phrases like, "uh huh", "oh yea?", "hahaha!", "good lord", "please" and "I know."

3.) Once you're on autopilot, play Ottis Redding's 1968 hit "(Sittin' on the) Dock of the Bay" in your head.


4.) Enjoy the mental vacation you've just created for yourself.

After that conversation, Danielle always liked to try to guess when I was at my dock. We'd be at a party talking to someone we didn't like and when they left she'd be like, "WERE YOU JUST AT YOUR DOCK?! You were so at your dock. Were you??" But the thing is, if done properly, one should never be able to tell if you're at your dock or not. Mostly because if they can tell, you kind of seem like a giant asshole. So, you know, be careful of that.

Got a question for Queer Abby? Shoot an email to QueerAbby@2birds1blog.com!

Welp! That's going to do it for us here at 2b1b. Thank you so much for reading, forwarding to your friends, buying super sexy merch from the store, following us on Twitter, joining our Facebook page, commenting, emailing and just supporting us in general. Have a great weekend and we'll see you right back here Monday morning! Later.

(For a damn good Rue cry, go to 7:20. Sniff, sniff!)