Mail Bag

Wow, hi Meggles!

I started this email a LONNNNNG time ago and got stuck so it has been sitting in my draft box.

Soooo...I figured I should just send it. I had made it originally for you to answer on days you had writers block, because I love when you just answer people's questions.

Sooo...yeah. There ya go.

Hope all is well! Still reading strong!

<3 jen

Let's do this, Sanchez.

1. Marry Fuck Kill:

Dr. Reuben

Larry Hagman

John McCain

Ooo, GOOD ONE. I've been thinking about this all weekend, and here's my final answer: I'd marry Larry Hagman and we'd live a long, happy life together, thank you; fuck Dr. Reuben because I've always wondered what making love to a Jiffy Bag-covered penis would feel like; and I'd kill John McCain because that son of a bitch never hugged me and/or his daughter is society's longest active queef.

2. When do you actually sleep, Meg?

5-11:00am. Ish.

3. Have you tried wiping standing up yet?

Yes. Everyday for the past 23 years.

4. Would you be upset if Tulane Chris began dating Bobby Flay?

I would feel hurt, betrayed, confused, tickled, aroused, livid, and hurt. In that order.

5. What Would Meg Do?

Oh, God. Meg would take a nap and avoid the situation entirely, then regret it later when it's too late. WWMD? is not a lifestyle I recommend.

6. If your life were a movie, who would play you?

I mean, that's really nice and all, but truthfully, it would probably be a cross between Gabourey Sidibe and Charles Grodin.

7. Have you ever been in a threesome? Do you have plans to be?

I was once an active, and some say uncomfortably competitive, participant in a threeway hookup, but I've never taken it to the next level. (<--- Please know I just re-wrote that sentence so it didn't include the word "penetration".) I don't have any threesomes planned at the moment, but if Hunter's Dean of Admissions and Anthony Bourdain are up for it, I wouldn't say no. (<--- Please know, I just took out an "I'd have no reservations!" joke.) (Or "joke", if you will.)

8. What would you do with $1,000,000?

#1: Buy a membership to Sports Club/LA

#2: Pay off my student loans

#3: Pay back my parents all the money I've borrowed from them over the years

#4: Pay back Chris the $57 I owe him

#5: Pay my bills

#6: PAY COMCAST TO PUBLICLY SUCK MY DICK

#7: Buy Chris and I matching red velor track suits with our initials embroidered on the left breast, so we can wear them: a.) all the time and b.) in a picture where we're standing back-to-back with our arms crossed, glass of whiskey in one hand and mischievous grins on our faces, which will from there on out be used as our official headshot. (This has been an actual goal of ours for almost a year now.)

#8: Buy a new laptop because this one is almost dead and the S, L, F8, and Control buttons are broken. It's exhausting.

#9: Adopt a pug

#10: Buy a couch

#11: Buy an office chair

#12: Bribe the recruiters at my temp agency to actually find me some work

#13: Buy equipment for the podcast Chris and I want to do

#14: Get a tattoo of Homer's bifocals on my ass

#15: Buy a night of hot, passionate lovemaking with Nick Hawk from Showtime's Gigolos (whose rates are surprisingly reasonable, by the way...)

#16: Buy myself a bike, because Lord knows that infuriating situation hasn't been resolved yet

#17: Visit my friends on the west coast and in the middle east

#18: Buy a really, really nice knife set

#19: Buy Evie a...Nope. That cat has literally anything she could ever want and/or need. And I'm jealous of her.

#20: Donate the rest to Howard University, so Becca and I can finally go to Howard homecoming

9. Would you ever go on Fear Factor?

Absolutely not, because if there's anything I hate more than confronting my fears, it's Joe Rogen.

10. Diane invites you over for dinner. When you walk in the house, Jeremy Piven is sitting at the table, helping himself to some potatoes. Describe what happens next.

First, I'd take a moment to pause and let it all just wash over me. Then, like a horny C-level magician, I'd haphazardly yank the table cloth off the table, sending plates, artisan bread, and salad forks flying everywhere. Then, I'd hop up on the table, make the international "suck it" motion across my crotch, rip open my shirt, and crawl towards The Piv while whipping my hair around and eating the odd biscuit, like a hungry hungry Tawny Kitaen. Now in front of Piven, I'd choke him with his own necktie, slap him in the face, slap myself in the face, and lick gravy off his receding hairline until neither of us can take it anymore, and I climb into his lap and make dirty, forceful love to him, right there in front of God, my parents, and everyone.

That's the short answer. The long one involves a few erotic venn diagrams and a lot more swears.

11. Good looking or rich?

Neither; personality. HA HA! Just kidding. Rich. I really want a membership to Sports Club/LA. Do you know how happy access to a lap pool would make me? Also, sometimes I pleasure myself to their group exercise schedule. Like most of my porn, it's sad and extremely effective.

12. Would you rather have invisibility powers or read minds?

Invisibility. That way I could work out at Sports Club/LA without a membership and NO ONE WOULD EVER KNOW!

13. Did Sophie make the right choice?

You mean the choice to whore out herself and her blog for a membership to Sports Club/LA? Yes. Yes, I do. And speaking of whoring myself out (which, again, I would absolutely do), the following is an exchange I had with my mom last night while discussing my current financial situation:

Me: You know what? Fuck it. I'm just going to whore myself out in the streets for top dollar.

Mom, in the most heartfelt tone I have ever heard her speak in: Oh, sweetheart. Nickles and pennies aren't going to help us now.

...You know what? Well played, Diane Rowland. Well played.

The Troubles

I just want to thank everyone for the incredible flood of support I got via blog comments, emails, and tweets after last Friday's post. And by last Friday's post, I'm of course referring to the news of Larry Hagman's cancer diagnosis. How do I feel? It's odd. At first I didn't feel anything. A wave of calm washed over me and it was like I was seeing clearly for the first time in years. There I was: actually staring face to face with my worst nightmare. I took its hand and we danced. It wrapped its massive hands around my waist and I pressed my chest against his and was confused by how I could hate something so much, yet yearn for it to hold me closer. To take me in its arms. To press its cheek against mine. To breathe in my scent and whisper, "It's going to be okay. I won't take him. I can't take him," before kissing me hard and deep.

Plus, I really wanted to tweet my support to Larry Hagman but he's not on Twitter, so that's some shit.

The sad truth of the matter is that I feel completely responsible for Mr. Hagman's diagnosis. I wrote last Friday's post early Thursday afternoon and sent it to my sister to get her feedback, but instead of writing "And this is where T.G.I. Hagman will go"...I actually wrote it. I wrote the T.G.I. Hagman. I filled out the date and said that he was alive. From Becca's feedback:

[...] Also, isn’t bad luck to assume that Larry Hagman is alive on Oct. 14? It’s still the 13th, anything could happen.

My response:

[...] And it was TOTALLY presumptuous of me to assume LH would be alive tomorrow and now I'm going to go vomit. I'm not posting it until tomorrow, so that's not jinxing it, right?!!?

I don’t know man, he is 90 or something old like that …

STOP TALKING THAT WAY ABOUT LARRY HAGMAN!!!!! HE'S 80, NOT 90!!!!

Sorry sorry, 80. He’ll be fine.

BUT HE'S NOT!!! He has cancer of the Hagman and it's all my fault because I wrote the 14th's T.G.I. Hagman on the 13th and said that we was fine!!! I don't know how I can live with myself. At least I have Towel to comfort me. OH, WAIT MINUTE—I DON'T.

If you don't know the back-story of Towel, you can find it here. I'll pause and give you a moment to catch up.

Are we all on the same page? Good. So, yes, Towel. Towel has been living with me for almost exactly one year and it's been magical. And then Saturday happened—this year's Meg's Fall Fun Day. Meg's Fall Fun Day is a yearly autumnal tradition dating back to 2006 where everyone gathers at my apartment, we go get breakfast, and then I drive us all out to the orchard in Woodbine, Maryland where my family went when I was a kid. We pick apples, eat hot dogs and fritters, and buy pumpkins and cider. Then we go back to my apartment, bake a pie, eat delicious foods, drink cider and wine, and watch scary movies. It is, without a doubt, the best day of the year. This year's MFFD, however, was raped. RAPED by my supposed "best friend" Alex, who stole Towel from me. ON MEG'S FALL FUN DAY, of all days. Blasphemy! 

After everyone left on Saturday night, I did a few dishes and then went to the bathroom. As I stood at the sink washing my hands, the towel rack on the back of the door caught my eye in the reflection of the mirror and I suddenly realized what had happened. I ran to my phone and saw that I had a text waiting for me:

What transpired next was the most intense, two-day text message conversation I have ever had with anyone. I present that conversation to you now, unedited and in its fully glory.

Alex: Almost one year later, I declare victory

Meg: I am literally speechless.

Alex: I play a long game

Meg: If you think I won't release your email on the blog and bombard you with reader harassment, you are DEAD wrong.

I expect Towel to be on the back of my bathroom door by 5pm tomorrow, or you've got a WORLD of hurt coming your way.

I dunno, I have a lot of hot yoga to do tomorrow...

If you touch a single hair on Towel's head with even ONE of your balls, I will make you pay.

You have 17 hours. Enjoy them.

We made it home safely.

16.5 hours.

Why don't I keep Towel until next MFFD, then we'll switch?

I don't negotiate with fiber terrorists.

If anyone is the fiber terrorist in this situation, it's you

16.5 and I leak your email.

Bring it on

Those are bold words, sir.

(slash don't actually do that)

—October 16, 2011 7:48 PM—

It's past 5 o'lock and Towel hasn't been returned. Interesting decision on your part.

Oh sorry. I've just been showering all day.

Over, and over again.

alex*******@gmail.com

Please don't. You may admonish me on twitter but I don't want my email out there since it's my full name.

Well, return Towel and that will be a non-issue.

People do crazy things when they lose the one they love. Craaaazy things.

You do understand that you do not own and have no legal right to Towel, right?

There is a power greater than your law—ANGER.

You know what's a really great smell early on a Sunday morning? Fresh laundry

You've made your choice. Time to suffer the consequences.

You had good times with Towel. Time to move on. I'll give him back next MFFD.

Fuck that noise! This isn't the Parent Trap! Towel and I have an emotional connection that you two never had and you don't deserve him!

He's mine!

Not anymore!

Since when? Since you took him unlawfully last year?

You know who you are? You're the biological mother who had him when you were 16 and gave him up because you were addicted to meth and couldn't raise him and I'm the adopted mother who gave him a good home and raised him like he was one of my own and put him through college and walked him down the aisle, and now that you've kicked your habit and found Jesus, you suddenly want a relationship with him. Well fuck that, hillbilly.

You'll still get to see him on holidays.

He doesn't even know who you are anymore! He's scared and alone and I won't let this happen.

Would it make you feel better that all the way home last night I kept looking behind me, half expecting to see you charging down 19th street with a pick axe?

No! That makes me feel like a failure because I didn't notice immediately and don't have a pick axe!

Don't sweat it. I actually did need another towel

OK, what if we do a trade: that pool towel you left here eons ago for Towel towel.

Do you not have any towels of your own?

(Speaking of the pool towel, I didn't even bring up that you have a history of reckless towel abandonment...)

Jesus...

Yeah, but none that I love like Towel! We have a history! We're both F-list internet celebrities! We understand each other!

You're putting up a remarkable fight for something that isn't yours.

Wow, that's what Hitler said to the Jews...

Re: the right to exist.

I'm not going to kill Towel. I'm just going to have him dry me off after showers.

I know Towel. That WILL kill him.

He was doing it long before you knew him.

We don't talk about those days.

Look, you left your gallon of cider here and bag of mini pumpkins. If I don't get him back, I'll drink the entire gallon and do Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred with the pumpkins down my pants.

(Not in that order)

So you're going to steal more from me if you don't get the first thing back you stole from me?

I didn't steal, I fulfilled my destiny.

And yes.

So you'd say you're holding those things hostage?

No. I'm just saying I'm thirsty and like to work out with gourds down my pants. So act fast.

Holding hostages and making demands. Now who's the terrorist?

Semantics.

Don't be dramatic.

Don't make me be dramatic.

I'm not doing anything to you!

I'm eating salty, salty chips and feeling kind of fat...I can't think of a few ways to fix this...

Simmer down

That's suggestive.

I know. Especially when you think about doing it with a bag of pumpkins down your pants and a belly full of free cider.

If you would like to have a rational, adult conversation about whether or not you'll ever see this towel again, you'll remove my pumpkins from your pants and keep the cap on that gallon of cider.

The time for talk is over. It's time for action.

Fuck that feels good...

You can perform the action of taking pumpkins out of your pants and not drinking cider.

And I will. If, and only if, Towel is returned to me.

We'll see

Think fast. You're down a pumpkin.

I'm pretty sure you can get it back if I jump up and down and cough, though...

This is by far the most absurd conversation I've ever had.

Well, you know how to end it
---------------------------------------

And that was our last communiqué. You know the worst part of it all? Hat's batteries are dead. Sigh.

My Hagman's Keeper

EFF! Eff for two solid reasons:

1.) Tonight is the release party. Which is a good thing. But still, eff. Here are the answers to some frequently asked release party-related questions!

Q: Where is the party?

A: The Big Hunt. 1345 Connecticut Avenue, NW. It's next to Cafe Citron and...something else that I can't remember. Which is odd, considering how much I'm there. Is it next to something else? I feel like it's next to that random non-profit that's always playing a PSA outside the building and never doesn't scare the shit out of me when I walk by it late at night. Seriously, I don't know who you people are or what you do, but get a Twitter account. It does the exact same thing but doesn't make me think I'm about to get raped.

Q: So I just walk in the bar and you'll be right there?

A: No, I will be in the bathroom snorting a line of Xanax off of Chris's tittays. Slash our party isn't in the main bar area. Go in through the main door, walk past the bar, and take an immediate left. If you hit the kitchen, you've gone too far. If you're upstairs, you've gone too vertical. If you're on the roof deck, you're not listening to me at all, so maybe you deserve to stay up there and think about what you did.

Q: Will you be selling books at the party?

A: No.

Q: Why not?

A: Because we'd have to front the money to buy them from the warehouse and that's not an option right now. I'm currently drinking seltzer for dinner and not because I'm watching my girlish figure, if you know what I mean.

Q: Tell me more about the free shit you've promised.

A: Our publisher, Adams Media, was kind enough to send like, 15ish awesome books to give away to the first 15ish people who show up. I'd give you a concrete number, but the books are on the table across from my bed and I'd have to do a slight crunch to see over my chair and count them.

Q: Meg...I want to be on your side, but it's just genuinely difficult when you say things like that.

A: FINE. Nineteen. Nineteen books for the first nineteen people who show up and are not related to me and/or in my immediate circle of friends. Also, there are four copies of our book in that count, so if you didn't have time to buy a copy, come early and you might get one for ~fReE~! I'll throw in another one from my personal collection to make it five. Alex will be waiting for you when you walk in with a few Trader Joe's bags full of books. First-come, first-serve. 

Q: Can I take one of the bags when you run out of books?

A: No. I use them to do my grocery shopping.

Q: You don't buy groceries.

A: Well, I use them to buy wine and hummus when I'm feeling sassy.

Q: Can I take Alex?

A: As long as I get my bags back...

Q: So the party starts at 7:30?

A: Yes.

Q: When does the reading start?

A: The hilarious Tim Miller is going to "get the party started" (<--- God I hate myself) at 8:15, and then we'll hop on the mic, say thank you, do a quick reading, and then sign books.

Q: What will you be reading?

A: BONUS MATERIAL!!!1! We'll be reading a scenario from the original manuscript that got cut because it was too risqué.

Q: Risqué?

A: Well, less risqué and more flat-out offensive, but risqué sounds sexier.

Q: What's the dress code?

A: Super casual.

Q: What will you be wearing?

A: Fuck if I know.

Q: How's your unibrow zit?

A: HORRIBLE, obviously. And I went to Sephora yesterday to buy like, burn victim grade cover-up and got it one shade too light, which is un-fucking-fathomable.

Q: Is the book available on Kindle yet?

A: No, but it will be.

Q: When?

A: I'm not sure. I keep emailing our editor about it, but he doesn't know either and I get the impression that he's irritated by the entire situation too. So I'm sure me emailing him five times a day to be like "MATT!!! WHEN'S THE KINDLE COMING OUT?! MATT!!! CAN I HAVE MORE MONEY?! MATT!!! WHY WON'T YOU LET ME USE THIS ABORTION JOKE?!" isn't helping. But, you know, that's just my way of saying "I like you".

Q: So who's coming to the party?

A: EVERYONE.

Q: Really?

A: Well, everyone I know.

Q: So I should go?

A: Totally. Take Friday off. Get blackout drunk. Make out with one of my friends. Say hi to me and watch me ramble at you for fifteen minutes because when I get nervous I ramble.

Q: I'm excited!

A: I'm a cunt hair away from a bleeding ulcer, but I'm also excited.

Q: Welp, see you tonight.

A: Yay!

2.) I would like to apologize to everyone for being too far up my own asshole buying cover-up and researching today's weather forecast to realize that yesterday was Larry Hagman's birthday, a.k.a. the holy holiday of HAGMAS. I'm mortified. Just mortified. Thanks to readers Charles and John for reminding me. God. I'm seriously pissed at myself because I could have done a really good birthday post Tuesday night. Instead, I wrote this:

OK, OK, OK, wait a minute...Instagram shares your photos? With random people?? Is the world aware of this?! Because I sure as shit wasn't. Thank God I didn't take a bunch of MySpace photos of myself from extremely flattering angles with my breasts tumbling out of my blouse because Lord knows it was tempting. REAL tempting.

Then fell asleep, woke up at 3:45am having a panic attack, watched season one of Breaking Bad to calm down, subsequently convinced myself I had lung cancer, fell back asleep at 8, woke up at 1 and was late to meet Alex for lunch. So, at least I achieved that. I'm sorry, Larry. I'm sorry I let you down, I'm sorry I let my readers down, I'm sorry I let Patrick Duffy down, but most of all, I'm sorry I let myself down. I hope you had an excellent 80th birthday. (80!!!!!!!!! Please just let me hold you in my arms...)

In conclusion: Merry Hagmas to all, and to all a good night!

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

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

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

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

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

Nip/Tuck. You assholes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This leads me to my next feeling:

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

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

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

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

T.G.I. Hagman!

As of 1:00pm on July 16, 2010, Larry Hagman is...alive! And SAVING THE EARTH, ONE SOLAR PANEL AT A TIME! That's right, Larry Hagman is the (majestic) face of a new ad campaign for Solar World. THOUGHTS/COMMENTS/CONCERNS:

1.) I want to set up shop in those eyebrows:

2.) I appreciate that I wasn't the only one who had a small heart attack when "Larry Hagman" started unexpectedly trending on the Internet this week. Sir, at 78-years-young, your name can't just pop up in the news out of nowhere and not cause the world to assume that which we do not talk about. Next time, let a sister know. It's all I ask.

3.) In an interview he gave about solar power, Hagman said, "When affordable oil gives out, we're in real trouble — I mean the collapse of civilization, within 15 to 20 years." In 15 to 20 years I see myself owning a pug, so that's not going to work for me.

4.) ...Do you think there's a chance that Larry Hagman might be the human manifestation of Ra, the Egyptian sun-god? Yep. Me too.

Enjoy today's Tulane Chris post and have a great weekend! We'll see you right back here bright and early on Monday morning. If you miss us in the mean time, you can follow us on Twitter or join our Facebook page hurr. Laterz!

Get ready to puke—it's EMOTIONS FRIDAY!!!!!!1

T.G.I. Hagman, babies! And man is this one needed. I've had a wee bit of "a week", if you will, but I'm fine. It happens every now and then. I'm overly-emotional. And by "overly-emotional", I mean I have "clinical depression." BAHAHAHA. But before we get into all of that mishegoss, let's check in on the one true son of God—Larry Hagman.

As of 1:27am on July 2, 2010, Larry Hagman is...alive! May Hagman be with you. (And also with you.) Good evening. (Good evening.) [...Yes? No? Catholic mass anyone? No? Heathens.]

I don't really know how to describe what's been up with me this week without sounding like a giant, whiny downer (although that's never stopped me before...) so I'm going to try to make it brief: shit sucks right now. There it is. As is the exhausting theme of my life, everything that could possibly go wrong recently has gone wrong. In a very big way. And you'd think I'd be used to that by now, but I'm not. And as I always do, I keep it all bottled up inside of me until one day I'm rolling around on the floor hysterically crying because it's too humid to properly wrap a gift with double-sided tape.

And you know what the queerest thing is? That blog panel Tulane Chris and I did last week really fucked with my head. I don't know what's happening to me. I had such thick skin after design school and now I'm all, "THAT FLOWER'S LOOKING AT ME FUNNY! BOO HOO HOO HOO I'M ON MY PERIOD!" I don't know how to describe what happened last Thursday without sounding like a total fucking asshole because 1.) we were honored to even be invited to participate at all; 2.) Glory from ihatemy9to5 was so incredibly sweet and cute and I don't want to disrespect her; 3.) A bunch of fun-as-shit readers went out to dinner with us afterwards and that was totally worth it in and of itself.

But honestly? It was kind of a downer. What I took from our candid discussion with four other bloggers on the craft of blogging was this: we will never make money; EVER; The Apocalypse is probably more probable than a book deal; we're not trying hard enough; Tulane Chris and I might be alcoholics and Dan from Prince of Petworth is kind of a dick. I mean. Really. He was the moderator and the first thing he said was, "I'm actually not familiar with any of the blogs on this panel, so I guess we'll learn about them together!" What? You sit at a computer all day. You couldn't hop on The Google and learn a few things about the blogs you're in charge of discussing later? And then there was always our less than warm introduction. He was like, "And this next blog I only know because they beat me for City Paper's Best Blog this year. [Scoffs] Say hello to 2birds1blog." We were like, "...........Oh...Hi." Not to mention the awkward and insulting questions he asked Tulane Chris ranging from "where's your vagina?" to "does it get cold living in Meg's shadow?" Christ. If we were going to participate in a panel dashing all of my dreams, it would have been cool to at least have a moderator who gave a fuck.

So then I went into this tailspin all week being like, "why do we even do this? Nothing is ever going to come of this. But like, ever. I'm going to work at Paper Source for the rest of my life just barely making rent and end up in a creepy polyamorous relationship with a box of Kashi Go-Lean and a bottle of Paxil." All of which I kept inside, naturally. Healthy decisions. Actual conversation from Saturday:

Chris: Something's wrong with you.

Me: Yeah. I'm kind of...meh.

Chris: What's going on?

Me: 'Eh. I don't really want to talk about it.

Chris: OK. Well. Would you rather talk it out with me, your friend and business partner, now, or would you rather keep it inside until it you're crying in bed at midnight watching Bridezillas sometime next week?

Me: Ooo! I'll take the latter!

And then we got ice cream, went to a party, never talked about it again, yada yada yada, crying over adhesives.

But you know what I realized during my Emo Week of Wah? It's fine. Not making any money is fine. Never getting our "break" is fine. I am fine. Because writing this blog is fun. Infinitely more fun than any "real" job I've ever had, so who cares if I eat tin cans for the rest of my life like a goat and friends of friends think I'm a trust fund kid who doesn't do anything "real" all day. [Cough...No but seriously. Someone actually said that to my face. The theme of this past week has been "Say something extremely offensive to Meg McBlogger and watch her squirm!" And I wouldn't "hate" it if it stopped.]

So basically what I'm trying to say is: I'm sorry I've been a giant emotional loser this past week, I'm sorry the blog suffered because of it, I have sufficiently given myself a wedgie and told myself to get over it and I expect next week to have 30% more posts with 90% less emotions. I'll be re-posting last year's 4th of July Drinking Game on Sunday, so make sure you and your liver check back for that doozy. Also, Queer Abby will be back in full force Monday morning, so get excited for the return of the ying and (Kevin) Yang of advice columns.

I leave you now with Tulane Chris' Blog Panel/Weekend at Evie's Drinking Game!

Drink when:

Someone uses the word “monetize.”

Meg and Chris drink too much and/or talk too much.

Someone comments on Meg and Chris drinking too much.

The Prince of Petworth asks Tulane Chris if he feels “emasculated” by the name 2 Birds 1 Blog, “because when he hears ‘bird’ he thinks of a woman.”

The Prince of Petworth asks Tulane Chris if he feels emasculated:

- during his menstrual period

- during his twice-yearly visits to the gynecologist

- when his father gave him away at the altar

- when he’s cast as Maria in his high school’s production of “The Sound of Music”

- because of his clear, sweet soprano

- during his mammogram

- by the fact that his full name is Tulane Chris Gladys Victoria Imogen Adelaide Blogger-Blog

- by his two X chromosomes

- by his clitoris

- because of his striking resemblance to the late Jayne Mansfield

- by the “F” on his driver’s license

- by his through-the-roof estrogen levels

- by his flawless portrayal of Sally Bowles in a local dinner theatre production of Cabaret

- by his wide, childbearing hips

- by his long struggle with ovarian cancer

- during his several pregnancies

- because people are always checking out his "gams"

- because he always the lucky girl picked to play the Virgin Mary in his Chruch's nativity scene

- because when he lost his virginity, a hymen was torn. And that hymen was his.

- when he won “Miss Congeniality” at the 2006 Miss Texas pageant

- by his membership in the League of Women Voters

- during his two years as a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader

- when passersby say of him, “There goes a real lady.”

When a woman in the audience rises to ask a question, but instead of asking a question talks about how she’s a real writer who went to school to be a writer. At St. John’s College. In Annapolis.

When you decide, “Fuck it! I’m moving to Annapolis to be a writer!”

When, once in Annapolis, it all comes together, and you write several novels described in the New York Times Book Review as “luminous, with a depth and sincerity seldom seen, especially so consistently and in one so young.”

Evie refuses.

Meg makes you wait an extra half-hour for lunch because “Evie and I were having kind of an intense cuddle. She may or may not have drooled on me."

I'm sorry, but that last one is a point of pride. And she did drool on me. Have a great weekend everyone and wave a mini flag for me on the 4th! L8rs.