Mail Bag

Dear Meg,

I am a huge fan of yours, [Oh, stop!] and many a time have found myself giggling hysterically in my cubicle, the classroom, my room by myself, on the phone as I attempt to read your blog posts aloud to my friends, family, and whoever else will listen. My all time favorite: My New Pink Button. Funniest thing I've ever read. My second favorite: Sorr bout the bag. This has been incorporated into my everyday speech, and I have as much as possible to tried to infiltrate everyone else's speech with this phrase as well, including my new boyfriend (we'll call him DJ)

SO, last night, my boyfriend and I decided to attempt to use a female condom. I don't know if you've ever used one, but they're REALLY REALLY AWKWARD. (you should do a 2b1b investigates, and maybe you can get pot-smoking fish tranquilizer guy to participate). Basically, once you insert it, the end hangs out like a floppy vacuum attachment, which, we decided, should have INSERT HERE written on it in (flashing) letters. Having recently converted DJ into a 2b1b fan, he took one look, goes "sorr bout the bag!!" and starts giggling hysterically. At which point i also started giggling hysterically, he lost his erection, and we ended up just laying there and quoting you and NOT having sex.

So, thanks for ruining our sex life!
-GJ

You, my new friend, are more than welcome. Because if I'm not gettin' any, nobody's gettin' any. Except the exact opposite of that is true. Meaning everyone's gettin' some and I'm not. Which I suppose isn't the "exact opposite" as much as it's just depressing.

I've never used a female condom before, but that's only because I didn't know they existed until about, oh, an hour ago. Now that I do know, I will never look at a Ziploc bag or my vagina the same way again. Which is unfortunate because I make a lot of to-go sandwiches and bathe with my eyes open. So, thank you.

As far as taking one out for a test spin (vomit), the last time I saw 'ole Fish Dick was when I was running away from his parent's house/numbed phallus, so that's out. I used to have an "eff buddy", but things got complicated at Ren Fest, which is a Statement with a capital S. Chris would probably have sex with me, but he'd probably also spend the entire time making obscure historical references and talking about how much he loves my mom, which is exhausting when he's next to me, nevertheless inside of me. If you're reading this and think you're up for having sex with me while I wear a female condom—that sounds extremely uncomfortable. So, let's not do that.

OK, time out. I obviously just googled "How to insert a female condom" because in my mind the answer was: WITCHCRAFT!, but instead found this highly educational and entertaining student video from Binghamton University. 

I love it for the following reasons:

1.) DOROTHY. You sassy, salty old broad, you.

2.) Dorothy's extremely soothing voice and/or the fact that I genuinely can't tell if she's foreign or just has extremely poor diction

3.) Dorothy's no-nonsense belted sweater

4.) The comical cricket noises at 00:50

5.) "Soft tubular sheath"

6.) Dorothy's makeshift female condom made out of an empty water bottle and coffee stirrers

7.) Every time they mention "the lips", I gag and want to die a little. That's not really a reason why I love this, but I thought it was worth noting.

8.) The quick cut to Dorothy at 3:10 where she talks about the benefits of female condoms while tossing condoms into a basket like she just don't give a fuck

9.) Heather's vajayjay caught on fire from using both a male and female condom

10.) Dorothy's deadpanned salty nut joke at 4:00

11.) It has a pre-planned blooper, and it involves a stunt!

12.) Special Guest Matt is pretty goddamn attractive

Christ. I just typed "Binghamton University Matt R.E.A.C.H." into Google because I'm insanely creepy like that AND/OR I'M A ROMANTIC, and everything that comes up is about Matthew Potel, a Binghamton senior who fell to his death last October while reaching to help fellow students cross a dangerous ravine in the Adirondacks. 'Eh.............. Soooooo, to recap, in the span of one blog post I've managed to: ruin a happy couple's sex life, overinform you about the goings-on (or lack of goings-on) of my vagina, offend Chris (probably), fall in love with a college student, bring you all down with a tragedy, and use the phrase "'ole Fish Dick". 

I believe my work is here is done.

A sobering Drinking Game Friday

Today I've got some good news and I've got bad news. Which would you like first? Bad news? Bad news first so we can end the week on a high note? Mmm hmm. Yep. I like the way you think. Let's do it.

Bad news: I'm pregnant.

Bahahahaha. Just kidding slash I wish. Maternity leave sounds awesome right about now.

The bad news is that I legally died of embarrassment last night. Yep. I'm dead. Dead as disco. And I will spend the rest of eternity haunting this blog and Co-Blogger Chris in a Ghost Dad style plot line. (PS: I like how I just chose not to haunt Chris in an erotic Ghost kind of way, but rather in a kooky, Bill Cosby-at-the-door-with-pudding kind of way. And you're welcome, Chris.)

Remember that whole my-ex-hook-up-was-my-nurse-when-I-had-explosive-infectious-diarrhea-in-the-hospital thing that was so traumatizing it gave me emotional hepatitis? You know, that old chestnut? No? Well get yourself acquainted here. Are we all on the same page now? We all up-to-date on bowel movements? "Good." So Ex-Hook-Up Nurse sent me a message on Facebook yesterday afternoon basically being like, "MEGGLES! Sort of a random way to see you a few weeks ago. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It's illegal. Blah blah blah. It was good to see you. We should hang out soon. Yada yada yada." First of all: fuck. That message made me relive the entire experience all over again and guhhhhhhhhhhh...it burned. After I finished reading, I literally just writhed around my office chair, scratching my face and audibly moaning for a solid three minutes straight. It was horrible. Because writing about that experience here on the blog was my way to exorcise the embarrassment, let go and move on. And I had successfully done so!...Until that message, that is. I decided the best way to move on (again) would be to pick myself up, put the pants I had just writhed out of back on, embrace the embarrassment and laugh it off. Because that's what I do best, right?

So, I wrote back:

"Ugh, of course when I see you again after all this time I'm in the hospital for fucking explosive diarrhea and look like shit warmed over. Jesus Christ....I was 16 distinct different kinds of embarrassed. But! Yes, I agree we should be friends again. Any time you want to hang when I've actually showered and aren't in the hospital dying, that would be cool. - M"

"Kudos to me!" I thought as I pat myself on the back for confronting the situation head on. Now we could both have a good laugh about it and move on with our lives. All was well in the world.

...Until a few hours later when I got this message back:

"Actually I had no idea what you were there for. I didnt look."

.................GOD DAMNIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WHY?! WHY DID I HAVE TO "EMBRACE THE EMBARRASSMENT"?! AND WHY DIDN'T THAT SON-OF-A-BITCH LOOK AT MY CHART?! I would have! But then again, I'm a piece of shit. Ugh. So I unnecessarily told him that I had infectious diarrhea. I guess that's what I get for underestimating people. So fuck me. But not really because I was hospitalized with diarrhea and who wants to fuck that girl? Not me. And I am her.

But! I have good news. The good news is that today is Friday, which means it's time for the most magical part of any week—T.G.I. Hagman!



As of 12:09pm on January 19, 2010, Larry Hagman is...alive! AND GOOD! Good. More Hagman for me and you!

Now normally this is where I'd give you your Friday drinking game, but in honor of Alex and I recently starting our month off from drinking, there will be no drinking game this week. Yep, that's right. An entire month with no alcohol...And I have no idea what we're thinking either. Well, I do actually. Both of our doctors explicitly told us we need to cut back on drinking and Becky and Andrew are always taking a detox month here and there and they seem to have their shit together. Plus Becca and her fiance did it in January! I mean, I feel like it might be good to give the old liver a break once in a while...right? Especially since Alex and I wake up 3/7 mornings like this:



God I'm going to miss that homeless woman...

So, I guess your drinking game this weekend is to just slam a few extra back for me and Alex. Pour one out for your fallen homies, if you will. Thanks. We appreciate it. And we appreciate you reading the blog! But if you really want to see us appreciative, you should totally follow us on Twitter, join our Facebook page and forward us to a friend or two! Man that would be nice. I mean, I don't get anything out of it, but you would. KARMA. Sexy, sexy karma. Welp! I'm gonna go join a prayer circle or something equally sobering. Have yourself a fantastic weekend and we'll see you right back here Monday morning. (Awkward sober) kisses!

Ooo. That was a little Don Imus of me.

OH GOD. I accidentally said something racist yesterday to Boss #1. My bad.

I got my hair cut Monday night. It was much needed. My hair was getting a little too "Horse Lover" for my liking. It was long and scraggly and every time it brushed against my back I'd shutter and be like "oh god my name should be Misty."

So, after work Monday night, I jogged over to Bang and hacked it all off. Madeline Kahn a la Mrs. White in Clue was my inspiration:


Russell-the-Co-Worker was the first at work to see my new do. "You...cut your hair." Yep! "...Did you ask them to cut it like that?" Uh, yes. "Oh. Well. It looks...nice." Thanks. I think?

Boss #1 came in later that afternoon and was much more receptive to the change. But then this highly unfortunate conversation happened:
Boss #1: So has Russell seen your hair yet?
Me: Yeah, he was in earlier.
B1: Did he like it?
M: Honestly, I don't think so. I don't think he meant to hurt my feelings or anything but he was all, "did you ask them to cut your hair like that on purpose?" LOL! Ohhhh Russell!
B1: Pshh! Don't let that bother you.
M: Oh, I'm not.
B1: I just think that men don't like change. That and I think they like long hair. Like, my husband won't let me cut my hair shorter than my shoulders, you know? But he'll get used to it.
M: Yeah, well, I'm not really that stressed about it. Russell isn't exactly the demographic of man I'm going for, if you know what I mean.
*ZACK MORRIS STYLE TIME OUT!* Now of course, the demographic of man that I was referring to was older, married men. Why would I go for Russell? Look at him; he's happily married, has a giant flock of kids and is old as fuck. The fact that he's black has nothing to do with anything, I swear! *TIME IN!*
B1: [Nods understandably] Gotcha. Have you ever tried dating a black guy? Had a bad experience or something?
M: No, although I did have a big crush on my morning Caribou barista who's bla—wait a minute...Oh! Oh, god! You thought I meant Russell isn't my demographic because he's black! *ZACK MORRIS STYLE TIME OUT!* Oh Meg. Why couldn't you have just let Boss #1 just think you're a giant racist? She's kind of a hillbilly, you know it didn't bother her. Why did you have to start digging a giant hole for yourself and then awkwardly try to climb out of it? Bless your heart...*TIME IN!* Because that's not what I meant. When I said "demographic." I meant he's married. And old. Not that he's old, old. Because you're probably the same age. [Boss glares at me] I just meant older. Than me. And married. And Russell. So he's not who I'm going for. I don't care that he's black. Because I like black people. A lot, actually! Haha...hah...I think I'm black on the inside. What's that called? An inside-out-oreo? Inside-out-twinkie? Oh no, that's as Asian thing. NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH ASIANS. Although I've never dated an Asian either. Mostly I date white Jewish guys. But not on purpose! I don't like, profile or anything.
B1: Ok... [shifts eyes around and walks away]

BAHAHAHAHA! I out-overshared the Queen Oversharer! Yes, with accidental racism and then an embarrassing amount of effort spent trying to prove that I'm not racist, but still! I made her uncomfortable. Hats off to this girl.

Next step: talking about my snatch.