Fyodor Dostoevsky? Not so much.

I know most everyone who reads my blog is either in Minnesota or Illinois, but I know there are a few of you in NYC. My friends and I are starting up a book club or a cooking club (more likely book since we all know the status of most of our kitchens). Since some of those attending do not have a reading comprehension level above a 4th grader (cough, cough, Patty!), we probably won't be reading Crime and Punishment anytime soon. Think more Yurtle the Turtle and Judy Bloom. I kid, I kid.

Don't worry about being a complete stranger, as long as you like to drink and you know the difference between your and you're, you will be welcomed. Penises, vaginas, both, we'll take whatever so email me!

I won't be using that machine anytime soon.

Last night was the first time I ventured back into the world of exercise since my marathon. My hip is still really bothering me, but I figured if I would run, it may go away. I'm a smart one, you know. I managed to get a little less than a mile before I had to dismount (huh huh, I said "mount") the treadmill so I wouldn't have to have a hip replacement tomorrow. Real good Megan. You go from running 26.2 miles to barely being able to run 1 mile in a week.

During that brief 10 minute mile I was running, there was a gentleman on one of the machines that I've seen working out before. Or should I say heard working out before. He's a grunter. Look, normally I don't mind if people let out a few grunts while they are wailing on their pecs or whatever, but this guy was so loud I saw people from across the gym trying to figure out where it was coming from. Each time the guy grunted, it was like he was letting out this mind blowing orgasm. No one touched the machine for the remainder of my run probably for the same reason that I was thinking: this guy probably busted a nut all over the weights or something. No, really. They were that close to sex grunts!! The best part was everyone was pretending like they didn't notice.

But I on the otherhand nearly fell off my treadmill from laughing so hard. Not kidding. I had to actually grab the handles to prevent myself from doing a face plant, getting shot off the belt, and get my hair ripped out as it gets caught in the belt. People would ask me, "Megan, how did you lose your hair?". To which I would reply, "I fell of the treadmill laughing at the sex grunter in my gym." So thanks sex grunter. I was almost bald because of you.

I don't think they sell THAT at KMart

I went to KMart during lunch to go get the base of my microphone for my Halloween costume. I approached a sales associate to help me with me search.

Megan: Do you have anything long and black for a microphone that I am making for Halloween?

Sales Associate (who happens to be African American): ...

It's Gay Christmas! It's Gay Christmas!

Halloween is the startup to most everyone's favorite time of year. I personally think it kicks Christmas (Hanukkah and Kwanzaa too for my non-Christian readers) and Thanksgiving ass. I only wish I was still old enough to go house to house and ask for candy. Anyways, the holiday has evolved into a time where girls dress up as sexy "kitties" or "devils" or "angels" or "insert random costume here + cleavage/tightness"and guys try and fuck them. Everyone gets wasted, and it's a good time for all. Especially me this year. Why's that you ask? Well, it's only cause I have the best fucking costume ever. I had the idea last year, but since my friends here in NY were all vaginas and wanted to dress up as "something cute", I ended up going as static cling last year, and she ended up borrowing my idea. Did I mention that she also won best costume of the night? I am amazed at my brilliance sometimes. Ladies and Gentlemen....I present to you.....

THE PUBLISHER'S CLEARING HOUSE PRIZE PATROL

Attention: My blog is sexy!

This morning I came to work and did my usual reading personal email, eat breakfast, read a few gossip sites, and then check my sitemeter to see who has been giving me the attention I so desparately want (and deserve!). What I found is a little scary (these are all from this morning for the most part):
1. London, Lambath wants to see "me topless".
2. San Francisco thinks "my blog sexy"!
3. Hopkins Michigan was looking for some "sexy pictures blogspot" and naturally found me.
4. Someone from Chahar Mahall va Bakhtiari, Iran wants me to tell him or her a "sexy story"!
5. My personal fav, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia likes "sexy arby". Yes Riyadh, I couldn't agree with you more. Arby's really is sexy.

Now most people would be a little concerened that someone from Iran found my blog from googling "sexy story", but not me. I'm convinced that reading my blog will bring about peace in the Middle East. I mean, if hearing about me riding with a garbage man at 5am doesn't make you want to rise up against your government to stop nuclear proliferation, I don't know what will.

The people who read my blog are a bunch of horny bastards

Can someone tell me why this picture has more views on my flickr (again, so pervy!) than any other photo in just 3 days? Shouldn't everyone be looking at pictures of me?mememememememe!

My greatest NYC moment so far

A lot of people ask me what has been the greatest moment I have experienced since moving to Manhattan. Well, actually no one has asked me that, but I want to tell the story anyways. A few months ago, when I quit my old job Meghan and I went out to celebrate my unemployment (and hers as well) on a Wednesday with some ice cold brewskies. Make that about 100 ice cold brewskies. We stumble out of the Spring St. Lounge and head for our normal activity after imbibing waaaayyyy to much alcohol......getting pizza (no not lesbian sex. shutup). We go to our normal spot on 6th Avenue where they point us to the VIP table next to the parmesan cheese and the fridge with 50 year old Snapple in it. After the pizza, we decided to walk home, but being as drunk as we were, we weren't exactly walking in a straight line. This was taking longer than expected.

That's when I spotted them. The most handsome public servants around. The NYPD? oh no. FDNY? not so much. I'm talking about the Sanitation workers of NYC. I ran up to one of the guys who was throwing garbage in the back of the truck. It is 5am at this point, mind you. Our conversation went something like this:

Megan: Can I ride on the back of your truck? (probably sounded more like "chtyan iiii rtide oun thye hbbbbacyylk fo ruoury ckrftruwwwck?")

Big black sanitation worker: No honey, I'll get fired for that.

Megan: So. I don't care. I'm an overprivelaged brat.

Small white sanitiation worker: You could ride up front with me (as he gives me creepy rapist stare)

Megan and Meghan: OK!!!!

Most people don't believe this story--that Meghan and I actually took a ride on an NYC sanitation truck at 5am for from 6th ave to 8th ave....but I documented this bizarre event. The proof is in the pictures below.

This guy liked me

This guy liked Meghan. (figures)

Meghan and I in the truck. Badass.

Riding in the truck.

This is why I love Halloween

Before.

After.

My heart seriously skipped a beat when I saw these.

This is it.

Ok so there probably won't be a lot of posts from me until about Tuesday. I'm still flipping out, and now my stomach is getting involved. Not pretty. I'm sure there will be plenty of stories of this coming weekend to share, so I'll stay quiet until then. One more thing though....

Go Hawks!

Fffuuuuuccccckkkkkk

Not sure if any of you know this, but optimal weather for running 26.2 miles is NOT a high of 45 (think more 55 degree range) and rain. I kind of feel like I am back in high school and have a test in 1 hour that I just didn't study for. Completely unprepared.

I popped my country music concert cherry. No really!

Anyone who knows me knows that my love of country music probably does not go very far beyond singing Garth Brook's Shameless in the shower. Saturday night however, I found myself at a...get this....Rascal Flatts concert. My friend got box seats at the Garden from her boyfriend, and considering I'm trying this whole abstaining from alcohol until the marathon, I agreed to go. I learned a few things in the process:

• People actually own cowboy hats north of the Mason-Dixon line and east of the Mississippi.


• Rascal Flatts is not one person, but an entire band.


• I do not know what a Rascal Flatt actually is.


• I am still not sure who exactly is the lead singer is. I think the band was actually reproducing right there on stage--there were that many people singing.
  
• They use so much gel in their hair I think I would impail myself if I actually touched it.


• They bedazzle everything. Their shirts, jeans, shoes, pianos, guitars....hell, i bet they even bedazzle their dicks before they fuck their groupies.


• Rascal Flatts ballads=panty creamers. I can't tell you how many people we saw dry humping when a slower paced song was played. Damn I was jealous. It's been a while since I've dry humped.


• I actually know a Rascal Flatts song--but I can't sing anything beyond the main line of the chorus, "God bless the broken road that led me straight to you". So much for being called "the Human Jukebox".


• Only pussy guys would go with their girlfriend to a Rascal Flatts concert when the NY Mets are in the NLCS.


• I am a pussy guy (girl, whatever) for going to a Rascal Flatts concert when the NY Mets are in the NLCS.


• I need to go to a Rangers game this season. I miss hockey/being a puckbunny.


• The Rascal Flatts cover of Hotel California sucks. Well, actually the Eagles version of Hotel California sucks too. While we are at it, the only time Hotel California is easy on the ears is when the Jesus is dancing to the Spanish verison. "You said it, man. Nobody fucks with the Jesus."


• Turning up the volume on my IPod while listening to the Flaming Lips actually does not drown out the painful noise of drunk 18 year olds with weird faded jeans on screaming how much they love being drunk, their faded jeans, screaming, and of course, Rascal Flatts.


• It's fucking cold out now. I probably should suck it up and wear my winter coat.


• When you attempt to take a picture through plexi-glass, you end up just getting a reflection of your knees and Chuck Taylors.


• The Rascal Flatts version of Life is a Highway is not nearly as cool or as good as the Tom Cochran version, but it was still the only time throughout the concert I got out of my seat to throw a few fist pumps into the air and rock the finger horns.


• Nachos are tasty. (I didn't actually learn that, but thought I would add that in there to show that there were some good things about the night)


• It's quite difficult to spell Rascal Flatts.


• I hate Rascal Flatts.

Thanks for taking me Mon! :)

The aftermath of Hurricane Brian

I love my roommate's boyfriend. My friends can tell you from experience he is one of those guys who can just stand there and make you laugh. He has this habit of coming home at 5am and eating really weird shit (also the habit of harassing my friend sleeping on the couch at 4am on which movie they should watch together-Anchorman or Zoolander. And they hadn't even met yet.). The below picture is what I encountered this morning.

Usually when my friend's and I get drunk, we get pizza. Not this cat though. See that $4.95 container? That is what remains of a turkey panini he bought at the bodega below our apt. The same bodega that sells a whole ham within about 2 feet of condoms and AA batteries. Where the hell did he find those potato chips? Don't they make fucking Ruffles anymore? Last week it was even better-he managed to bring home one of those burritos that I swear these bodegas inject with formeldahyde since they never look like they will decompose. You know, the Mexican equivalent of the convenient store hotdog. Stay tuned for future posts regarding this subject. I have a feeling this could be an ongoing series. Now, back to the Giants game.

It's official.

I'm flipping the fuck out about this.

Sometimes when you are freaking the fuck out about the marathon you have to run in a week...

It helps to have your friend take pictures of you on the Williamsburg bridge sticking your ass out onto oncoming traffic. I do feel better.

I heart you, Carlos.

I heart you BAD.

Not so much with the funny today.

I'm really feeling quite shitty today due to the exorbitant amount of red wine I consumed at dinner last night. And don't ask me why when someone types "hungover" into google images, William Hung appears. And why when I type "I want to make love to a Chipotle burrito", I get nothing? Well, hopefully after this post, every time someone types "I want to make love to a Chipotle burrito" into google images my face will appear. Cause I really do want to make love to a Chipotle burrito.

Eyes Wide Shut

So last week I went on a date with a guy. I'll spare you the details of the date since it was your typical date and nothing too funny happened. I was talking to him over IM last night, and we were talking about our weekend plans. This is how the conversation went:




Me: "Well Saturday I might go watch the Iowa football game again, and get completely annhilated." (note to self: join AA) "What are you doing?"

Him: "Oh I'm going to a party on Saturday."

Me: "Oooo a party! Where at? I'll come!"

Him: "A sex party."

Me: "No, really. Where are you going?"

Him: "Really. A sex party. Would you like to come?"

Yes, I got invited to a swinger's party. Let me type that out again in case you missed it. I got invited to a swinger's party. Cheap puns aside regarding his "would you like to come?" comment, I was speechless. Shit like this really happens?

It took me a while to collect my thoughts. The limited exposure I have to "the lifestyle" is primarily guests on Dr. Phil and Eyes Wide Shut. Now the former is a little creepy to me. I imagine lots of fat, midwestern women wearing moomoos on all fours trying to blow their fat, balding husband while he awkwardly grabs the other fat woman in the party's breast. Good thing this is New York.

I explained my stereotype to the guy, and he said it was more like the latter only much less formal and homogenous. Considering I think Eyes Wide Shut is one of the most erotic (yeah, i did just type out "erotic") movies ever made, dare I say I am thoroughly intrigued?

Me: "Well, who were the last people you were with?"

Him: "Last time there was a Russian and an Asian girl."

Great! So my first experience at group sex would be with Mikhail Gorbachev and Kristy Yamaguchi. We can all discuss the difficulty of the triple Axel and how the perestroika led to the collapse of the Soviet Union. I was thinking more Tom Cruise (he was normal back when Eyes Wide Shut came out) and beauty queens. Whoaaaa stop right there.

Me: "Wait, would I be the ugly fat girl there?"

Him: "Haha, no. Not by a long shot. And you're not fat and ugly."

Me: "Wait, so I would be the hot girl? That's even worse!"

Him: "No you would fit in nicely."

So here I am, actually considering this thought. A nice, midwestern girl with somewhat limited sexual experience (and I say somewhat because although I've been stabbed thousands of time, it was all through a very limited amount of partners) going to a sex party? How was I ever going to see my parents again without self combusting into a million little pieces of Catholic guilt.

Me: "Ok, well I'll think about it."

Whhhaaaatttttt??? There I was staring at my words. I like porn as much as the next girl, but this was seriously taking it to another level. This would be like starring in a fucking porno! Wait, that doesn't sound.....no, this would be like starring in a fucking porno! Come to think of it, I was invited last October by a girl (yes, I was invited by the girl. Badass!) into a 3-some with her and her boyfriend. Perhaps I have I like group sex written across my forehead? And no, I didn't follow through.

I text message Megan. She immediately replies back "don't do it. You don't want the hiv." Oh shit! I forgot that everyone at this party's respective dicks and vaginas have seen more action than than a Jackie Chan movie.

So there you have it. I'm pretty sure my decision is a big N-O. I think before I go jump into the majors, I need to play a little AAA ball--or perhaps even AA. right?

UPDATE: to all of my friends sending me concerned emails like this one:

You're totally going to show up at that party with a weird harlequin mask with feathers on it, aren't you? And then the record is going to scratch and everyone will look up from their respective balls or boobs to stare at you.

And to that I answer--only if Huey Lewis and the News was the music that they were playing.

Thanks Craig, for your list and everything.

I finally had a missed connection in this city. After many drunken encounters with men I find attractive based ultimately by my varying degrees of beer goggles that I wear, I found someone sober. Let's marinate on that a little. The post pretty much speaks for itself-and my state of hungover refers to this day. Anyways, he was rather cute, and I was quite impressed I was attractive enough to evoke such a reaction from him. Either that, or he was a Santana fan, but I chose to believe the former.

I'm really kind of embarassed to be posting this, but you made me laugh, so here goes. I was running in central park yesterday wearing the t-shirt of my favorite baseball team. (not typing it out to avoid freaks contacting me). you raised your hands at me, I think in reference to the team on my t-shirt, and I laughed. You were also running with another dude. Anyways, I was on about mile 13 (training for chicago marathon in 2 weeks) when I saw you, plus a combination of drinking all day Saturday, I was looking a little worse for wear. This is a long shot, but whatever. email me! also, to any of the hot dudes I saw running as well yesterday, you guys can email me too.
thanks

So far only a handful of guys have actually contacted me, none of which are the guy I had a missed connection with. Although I have yet to receive a "dude without a shirt" picture--so not a total loss.

I think my hell has just frozen over

Most people know my opinions of John Mayer have pretty much summed up as a cheap knockoff of Dave Matthews. Not anymore. I just downloaded John Mayer's Continuum. Yes, the entire album. I haven't heard an album this good since Coldplay's X&Y, and we all know how that turned out.

UPDATE: Occasionally I'll find a song out there that fits my mood perfectly right down to the letter and note. Go download I'm Gonna Find Another You. That's me. Right now.

Seen any Oscar winners outside your apartment lately?

Well I have. And he's eating outside Le Singe Vert right now!!!!

God I fucking love this city.

You want to date this guy? Seriously?

Last night I was doing my usual activity of stalking on myspace, when I came across the myspace profile of this guy. I remember a few years back seeing a Dateline profile a while back about him, and being totally intrigued. You see, this guy gets ass from basically being a dick. I mean a lot of ass. Read his website and you'll find a plethora of stories about women basically throwing themselves at him without getting a hint of respect from him in return. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not chastising Tucker here by any means. If these girls are stupid enough to fall for this BS he puts them through, well the more power too him. I would probably do the same thing. What gets to me is how these girls can be so fucking stupid. This guy is smart enough to realize that by in fact, the more he is a dick, the more women will throw themselves at him. And it's as clear as night and day.

This got me thinking as to why women actually do this. From an evolutionary perspective (physical anthropology major, work with me here), I'm not sure if I understand this "this guy's a dick, hence making him more fit to sire my children" viewpoint. But it's been years since I have studied that stuff, not to mention I am a horrible writer, so we'll just focus on my conslusion as to why women are attracted to assholes. They want to be the one that changes them. To change a guy from an asshole to a guy who loves puppies and unicorns, respects women, and romance for the sake of romance (romance for the sake of pussy does not count) is like the Holy Grail for women. I blame the entertainment industry. Women are bombarded with chick lit and flicks about how the ugly duckling gets Prince Charming in the end based only on her charming personality. Look at Snow White. Do you really think any self respecting guy would sit their and pine away at a girl that is very clearly dead? No, he'd be on to the next piece of ass using the "so I'm a prince..." line hoping she is just dumb enough to fall for it.

This is not a condescending post to all women by any means since I am just as guilty of this phenomenon as the next girl. My ex's nickname in college was the "Assman", (being that he pulled a shitload amount of ass, not that he had a big ass) and I was actually proud of that fact. Here was this somewhat promiscuous dick of a guy, and he fell in love with me based off my amazing rack and charming personality. He gave up a lifetime (so to speak) of easy pussy for me. I changed him. I win! The ironic thing is, I turned out being the ass towards the end who got bored. He just wasn't the dick I fell in love with and he actually had (gulp) feelings.

So point being, am I dumb enough to fall for an asshole again? Hopefully not, but it's a game that seems to repeat itself time and again, and I am batting a thousand.But if by some chance Tucker calls me after reading this glorious blog post, I'm definitely hanging up. Yes, for sure. Definitely.

Things not to do the day before you're supposed to run 18 miles

1) Drink pitchers and pitchers of Coors Light. I like tapping the Rockies as much as the next guy or girl, but alcohol leads to dehydration

2) Not eat anything all day until dinner time where you have McDonalds-carbo loading is essential for proper marathon training, but Im not sure a large fry from Micky D's counts.

3) Having donuts for desert-see above.

4) Go out (although now sober) and stay out until midnight.

5) Stalk people on myspace for a good hour before falling asleep at 1:30am.

6) Skipping the actual race at 9am.

7) Running in the afternoon in the blaring sun.

8) End up at a Florida bar (WTF?), and talk shit to all those around me. (Note: I only look like I'm sporting a mustache, thankyouverymuch. My upper lip is actually 'stache free.)

I did it though....so for all you taking bets Saturday on whether I was going to make it or not, never ever bet against me.

I don't think he'll be celebrating Columbus Day anytime soon

Meghan and I were walking back to my apartment Friday night with our piles of pizza and Chinese food. Our conversation went something like this (we say "dude" a lot):

Me: Dude, I know why I can't find a guy. I'm in love with you. I just know in my heart of hearts that I'm just never going to do better.

Meghan: I know!

Me: I wish we were lesbians.

Meghan: sigh. Dude, the Empire State Building is red, white and green. What's that for?

Me (suddenly filled with tears at the thought of my hetero life partner changing the subject so quickly): uh.....Christmas?

Meghan: No, I think it's for Columbus Day.

Me: How the fuck do those colors relate to Columbus?

Meghan: Wasn't he Italian?

Me: No, I think Portuguese.

Meghan: Portugal's flag has the same colors as Italy.

Angry short bald man walking past us: Columbus was a murderer!

Me: That could have been the strangest moment of my life.

Meghan: I know! I'm quite frightened.

Megan, you want to fuck HIM?

Hell yeah I do! I present to you, Rudy Colloredo-Mansfield. Rudy was my senior year social anthropology professor. Rudy likes Peruvians, wearing glasses, wearing layers, taking black and white photos, hyphenated last names, long walks on the beach, and bow-ties. Come on ladies, (or possibly some gentlemen) admit it. You dig the Rudy-meister as well.

But he is not the true purpose of this post. My friends and I have an on-going list on men (and some women) we are strangely attracted to. You know, guys you want to bang, but no one else in their right mind would agree. Rudy was and always will be my #1 since he singled me out in class in did me right on the lecture hall stage. Errrr, yeah. Other men on our list include John Goodmann ("Donny, you're out of your element!"), Bobby Flay (he isn't so strangely attractive anymore. now just attractive), Matt LeBlanc, the lead singer from Nickelback (this I so don't see, but whatever. I'm not the one who put him on the list), the guitar player from No Doubt, Dan Gladden (all me, baby), Adrian Brody (it's the loooonnnnggg nose i think), Turtle and Drama from Entourage, Steve Perry (again, all me).

Note: this post made me realize I really need to get laid. This is just sad.

UPDATE: I'm adding as I think of more. Paul Newman, Not when he was young. I'm talking old balls and loose skin Newman.

The origin of "dmbmeg".

Before this blog goes off the heezy for sheezy in terms of hits, please let me explain the origin of "dmbmeg". I've had quite a few people ask me over the years, "what, like 'dumb meg'?". No fucktwat. I used to be somewhat obsessed with the Dave Matthews Band. My name is Megan. Get it?

I'm fully aware that I should have changed my screen name about 10,000 years ago since I have about 8000 other nicknames that people actually call me, but I've had it since I was 15, and I'm kind of attached. Plus it's always nice to get random IMs from people I haven't spoken to in about 8 years because I am still on their buddy list. There was a brief period of time in college where you could have found me at "Fredo4Eva", but my love for Michael Fredo and the song This Time Around (remember the Tommy Hilfiger commercial?) faded almost immediately after I created the screen name.

I'm over my obsession with DMB (anything made after Before These Crowded Streets just sucks my ass), but DMBMeg will live on forever. One love. Word.

Minnesota nice.

I like to brag to my friends in other parts of the country (ie-hoes in different area codes) about how badass I have become since moving to NYC. Since my parents and all preceding generations of my family grew up in New York, I always felt like I was the meanest motherfucker in all of Minnesota. Well ok, maybe not. But I definitely thought about being mean.

The other day I was running around Central Park. I was hanging out at my favorite water fountain (yeah, I have a favorite. who doesn't?) around 110th St on that bitch of a hill on the west side. A crazy dude approached me and proceeded to have this conversation with me:

Him (reeking of urine and cigarette smoke, mind you) : "You shouldn't smoke. I just quit last week, and it was the best thing I have ever done for myself"

Me: "I'm running, dude. The last thing I want to do is smoke."

Him: "Well you shouldn't. It's a very difficult habit to break."

Me: "Yeah, I can imagine."

Him: "I love to smoke."

Me: "But I thought you just quit?"

Him: "I did"

Me: "..."

Him: "Have you ever had a cigarette?"

Me: "Yes."

Him: "But you don't smoke?"
(his preoccupation with me smoking is starting to get a little creepy)

Me: "No"

Him: "You're too nice to be from New York."

Me: "No, I live here."

Him: "But are you from here?"

Me: "Oh no. I am from the midwest."

Him: "Thank you for talking to me."

Me: "You're welcome. Have a nice day"

Him: "You're the most beautiful girl in all the land."

OK so he never really said that, but I thought it about myself right then. Turns out being nice to the homeless won't give you ebola.

Bisexuality: not just for drunk girls looking for attention anymore.

If you ask a true Mets fan about the Yankees, you'll probably be greeted with anger and resentment. If you ask a "true Yankees fan" (such an oxymoron. snap!) about the Mets, you'll probably be greeted with indifference as they go about cheering for a team that sucks the soul of all that in is good in this world. Then there is the small group of people who know nothing about baseball who when asked about either team in the playoffs, will respond with the standard answer, "I just want New York to win!" Oh hell no.

With the impending possibility of another subway series--something only people in New York could possibly want to see, I'm sure I'll be hearing this shit until one team is eliminated--I'm talking to you "Gaykees." See what I just did there? I'm already starting to hear conversations of ,"Who is cuter? David Wright or Derek Jeter???" but mostly from guys I think.

To me, this is the equivalent of someone living in the era of the Civil War and saying, "I just hope someone in the US wins!"Or like the religious equivalent of bisexuality-- "Jews for Jesus." You get one fucking religion. Pick a side, d-bag. It's black and white.

This is fucking war. And you better believe none of this shit would EVER be seen in New York if I have anything to say about it.

Sea lion + Megan = crazy mad love, y'all.

This weekend was a little rough for me. I gotta be honest, I had more fun on my "date" with Meghan roasting marshmellows than I did at the party on Saturday where I had to try and vie with what could be I think the most entire moronic female population in NYC concentrated in a small area. I just didn't have the energy. I'm a little out of practice on this whole dating thing, so I have forgotten how to flirt (don't worry, this is far from one of those generic I-wish-I-was-Carrie-Bradshaw-in-Manhattan blog posts--keep reading) or show my tits off. whatever.

Apparently I left all my game at the New York Aqaurium on Coney Island a few years ago. My ex-boyfriend and I were walking around the acquarium waiting for the Cyclones game to start--he had a weird fascination with sea otters which I completely understand. Sea otters are the coolest. Anyways, I digress. We approached the underground portion of the sea lion tank. I had to push a few small children aside and scream "O'Doyle rules!" to get a good view. After standing there a few minutes, the biggest fucking sea lion in the tank (he was a good deuce, deuce and a half. ok well no, not really) slides down the glass and looks at me (his back is against the glass along with his eyes and head). The thing stares at me for a good 3 minutes, and I couldn't be happier. I had just moved to New York, and have already made a new friend. I yell at boyfriend "Hey N____! He likes me!" only to what I can describe as complete and utter horror on his face. I then start hearing growns of fathers saying "oh....my.....god....." and begin to shield their small children's eyes. I turn around, reluctantly. What I saw is what can only be described AS THE BIGGEST FUCKING BONER I HAVE EVER SEEN (not to discredit the previous men I have been with, but come on). This thing was about 3 feet long and had the girth of a fire hydrant. No joke. After standing there like a deer in headlights, N___ managed to grab me (with his eyes closed of course) and yank me out of the viewing area.

Moral of this story? Well, there is none really, except for the fact that I seem to attract fat sea lions better than men nowadays. And that's just a little sad.

What the hell is this world coming to?

Yesterday was a very sad day for me. Not only did the Hawkeyes AND the Twins lose, but my 3 year old nephew cheered to me on the phone "go Yankees!". Seriously?

Now, back to nursing my hangover. 0-2 in Beirut last night. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.

pictures on Flickr.

UPDATE: the day did get supremely better with the TWINS WINNING THE DIVISION!