It all started with Jonathan Brandis in Ladybugs. Occasionally I will see a movie, and become obsessed with a guy in the movie almost to the point of stalking. Usually after about 2 weeks or so, my obsession dies down, and I'm back to reality. There are, however, a few actors though who seem to reoccur a lot in my dreams: Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, Casey Affleck, George Clooney, Ryan Gosling, Eric Bana... Then there is my ultimate. I saw Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End this weekend. Despite a semi-convoluted plot that required me to do research on the internet to figure out what the fuck was going on (mostly because you need subtitles when that rasta lady speaks), I couldn't stop staring at Orlando Bloom. I know, he is a horrible actor, but he was all wet and stuff throughout the entire movie. His performance in most movies is vapid. The only movie that I thought his acting was semi-decent was Kingdom of Heaven, but I attribute that to me liking to storyline more so than any stellar acting ability Orlando possessed at the time of filming.
That being said, Orlando's role as Legolas in Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Ring single handedly sent me into a feverish search on the internet for Elvish porn for hours. What can I say? I have a thing for blonds. Especially those who point falic arrows at me, and kill lots of Urukai (nerd alert!).
So back to the movie. It's actually pretty good, and I recommend checking it out. Mostly because of Orlando, and I can't get that vision of him towards the end of the movie out of my head. Sigh (times infinity!).
Also, another note: make sure you stay to watch the scene AFTER the credits. If you are a chick like me and love a happy ending regardless if it ruins the movie or not, you will want to see it. I'm not sure what kind of trend this is going to start. Like what if they did this in the Usual Suspects? Or like Memento? Or Just My Luck? I mean, I would never know if Lindsay Lohan got her luck back! What a travesty!
Life in New York is comprised of weeks. There is Spa Week, Restaurant Week, Fashion Week, and my personal favorite Fleet Week. Ok so only 4 out of the 52 weeks of the year have names, but I now hereby declare the rest of the weeks 'MEGAN GETS DRUNK AND MAKES AN ASS OUT OF HERSELF WEEK(S)!'
So back to Fleet Week. All my lady friends are excited, including some of my male friends (I DO work in fashion, you know)
Thousands of Sailors, Marines and Coast Guardsmen from U.S. Navy and U.S. Coast Guard ships are in town for the 20th anniversary of Fleet Week New York.
Hosted nearly every year since 1984, Fleet Week New York is the City's celebration of the sea services. This annual event also provides an opportunity for the citizens of New York City and the surrounding Tri-State area to meet Sailors, Marines and Coast Guardsmen, as well as witness first hand the latest capabilities of today's Navy, Marine Corps and Coast Guard Team.
Fleet Week includes dozens of military demonstrations and displays throughout the week, as well as public visitation of many of the participating ships.
I call it the time when a bunch of NYC cougars go on the prowl for an 18 year old from Idaho. You may remember that stupid Sex and the City episode where Carrie turns down a hot sailor dude because he insults New York during Fleet Week. Fuck that shit. A dude in the Navy could furiously jerk off on my leg saying, 'I hate this fucking city' repeatedly, and I would still find him sexy.
I doubt any sailors are reading this right now, but if by chance you are and resting your laptop on your aircraft carrier gun, email me. Perhaps I can take you to get your driver's license, or maybe go rent High School Musical.
Last week I had a meeting of my book club. I've been slacking lately--mainly because the last session was the night I got fired, and I spent the evening with Oreos, and the session before that was a night I missed it in favor of dinner at my favorite restaurant. Clearly I don't believe in the 'chicks before dicks' philosophy when free dinner and booze is involved. I know any friend of mine would stand me up for a night of free dinner and booze as well. That is why I love them all.
So there is this chick in my book club. She is all about it, which is fine. I'm a little more lax in aspects of my everyday life than her. She likes to talk a lot about everything. I know I talk a lot, but it's usually about how much I love Drama on Entourage rather than relevant issues to, well, anything that doesn't involve Drama on Entourage. I can usually adjust my personality so that a person with the more dominant personality (i.e. 'louder than fuck') wants attention, I'm more than willing to have a dialogue with my glass of wine and let them be the center of attention. I just don't like to make waves, and deep down just want to be loved. Excuse me while I shed a tear.
So the next meeting I invited everyone to meet at my apartment. Usually the girl who hosts picks out a book selection for the other members of the book club to choose from. We decided that since it was summer, this was the perfect time to put down Edith Wharton, and pick something up a little more 'beachy'. After I volunteer my apartment, the girl then takes the opportunity to say, "Oh pick something fluffy. You're good at fluff."
[blink, blink]...WHAT?!!?
I don't get offended by much. I don't mind being called dumb if I deserve it, and have even been known to take a few Danza slaps for the team. Sure, I do own the Shopaholic and will probably read the 7th Harry Potter in a day series, but the last 3 books I read in the last 2 months were 1776, the Caged Virgin, and A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier. I may watch a lot of shit television, but books I take pretty seriously. Some day I hope to open up a center--you know, for kids who don't read so good.
So fluff this. The only book I'm putting on MY list is Finnegans Wake--which I will not read in favor of Entourage reruns, of course.
First off, I would like to apologize for not posting every two seconds as I once did when I hated my job. I don't want any of you to cry. I'm happy. You want me to be happy don't you?
After sorting through the millionsthousandshundredstens -2 peoples' email (yes Jason, you are the -2 I suppose--even though everyone thinks you are that douchey anonymous commenter), I realized I have been neglecting you. My legions of fans. Um, right. I'm here. I'm just scared to write back to your comments at work. I hope you can understand why. Maybe someday I will return to asking you to pull my finger in the comment section, but not yet. I'm just not ready yet. I'm still reading all of your blogs as well, but I have surprisingly found myself busy lately. In between American Idol, destroying my liver, 'studying' (i.e. repeating secant, tangeant, cosine, sine....3.14159!!!! in my head. I realize this has nothing to do with the GMAT, but it's pretty catchy, isn't it?), braiding my pubic hair (we're talking like 70's porn star here. Oh I love being single.), and wailing on my pecs, I have no time. Ok sure, I spent all day Sunday watching America's Next Top Model while simultaneously wiping excess drool on my sweatshirt, but that doesn't count. I was hungover.
If you want to continue to have stupid dialogue with me at work, please email me at dmbmeg@gmail.com. You'll see I still have nothing to say in real IM time as well, but you'll see a lot of 'haha's'.
I was going to write something to post tonight, but that will have to be delayed as my very drunk friend showed up at my apartment tonight and attempted to get me to drink flat Coke Zero with Jose Cuervo. Delicious.
Now that the weather is nice, my apartment has been inundated with trendy Chelsea-ites looking to drunk brunch outside every Saturday and Sunday afternoon. This weekend I was thinking how weird it was how people were eating maybe 5 feet from oncoming traffic. If you think about it, there is a garbage truck within throwing distance of your Chicken Francese. Kind of gross, right?
I just got back from my GMAT class tonight. Basically my Tuesday schedule is this: 1) leave work at 5:15pm, 2) arrive at 1 train stop at 6:00pm, 3) Rush down to Whole Foods to get some of the most delicious Caesar salad ever (Thank you, Brutus. Without you, Caesar may never have been immortalized into my Tuesday night dinner), 4) go learn about combinatorics and rate problems for three hours. By the time I am done with my class at 9:30, I am starving once again. I walk by some very awesome restaurants where people are eating on the sidewalk.
Let's say that is you eating there on the sidewalk enjoying your $30 steak. What is to stop me, a hungry GMAT student, from grabbing your plate and running as fast as I could? Would you shout at me? Chances are by the time you process what has happened, I'm a block away. Do you chase after me? By the time you jump over the gates 'protecting' you from a taxi hurling itself out of control on the sidewalk at 30 mph, I could be 2 blocks away. And now I'm probably halfway done with your steak anticipating throwing the remains at the next unsuspecting person walking by.
Let's say you don't run after me. Do you tell your server what happened? I mean, what do you say? "It was a run-by forking!" As a former waitress, I can say that I would never believe you. I would think you ate your t-bone and simply were cheap and wanted more food for free.
So there you are. Steakless and out $30. Not to mention that garbage truck is picking up trash that you just saw some dog pee all over.
This city is so weird--which is probably why I love it so.
I don't understand my body. Why is it that I did not lose a single pound while running 20 miles, yet as soon as I began running 4 miles 3 times a week, I lost 10 pounds? Granted, I was miserable, and you know, didn't eat, but I haven't eaten before and never lost weight that fast.
I consume about 7 beers on average when I go out at night. That's not including shots bought for me. I suppose that has something to do with it.
I'm far from overweight. I realize a lot of girls would kill to look like I do, but I guess I'm just never satisfied unless I have a goal to achieve of some sort.
So I'm (re)joining weight watchers. I suppose a combination of going to the gym 4-5 times a week, plus possibly training for the NYC Half/Marathon, plus watching what I eat should do the trick, no? The beer will be the hardest for me to give up. Not sure if I want to. I consider my drinking problem habit a nice contribution to my healthy mental state. I have a good time when I drink. I guess it's all about finding a balance. What this means for all of you out there is that I will be drinking a lot more vodka sodas, and that means most of the time my fists will be hurling towards someone's face. So look out!
Now...excuse me while I go eat a bag of chips and finish watching Heroes.
I've been traveling to New Jersey a lot lately, you know just looking for a place to stash some bodies....er, to go to Great Adventure. I can say with all sureness that I was 100% right about the evil nature of the Lincoln Tunnel. You hear me Lincoln Tunnel? I'm coming after you!
I'm pretty much stress free at the moment. I have an awesome job, summer is coming, and the Twins are leading the division. OK so the last one isn't true, but I'm really excited for summer. The only thorn in my side right now is the fact I have to travel through the Lincoln Tunnel on a daily basis. Usually going out of the city is fine. Apparently not a lot of people want to stage a mass exodus to New Jersey at 7:45am. However, around 5:15 pm, I attempt to go back into the city.
A bunch of 'friends' and I pile into a van, and head back to our lovely home. OK let me explain I am from Minnesota, and went to school in Iowa. I.Don't.Do.Traffic. In fact, it makes me nauseous most of the time. Upon entering said van, I immediately begin to fall asleep. What is it about buses, vans, and airplanes that knock me out as soon as they move an inch? Does it simulate the feeling of being in the womb or something? So, after 15 minutes, I finally wake back up, and I probably have moved about 10 feet. No joke. Isn't this supposed to be the reverse commuting time?
Let's discuss the actual Tunnel. To describe it as a bottleneck would be the understatement of the year. Then there are the cones. Oh the orange cones. You know those cones that are placed arbitrarily in the most inconvenient spot possible most likely due to a surplus of orange cones at The Orange Cone Making Factory. I am pretty sure this picture is a paint by numbers of some sort. There is no way on earth the Lincoln Tunnel doesn't have any traffic in it....EVER. Notice the errant orange cone too. See? I'm sure Princess Diana sympathizes with my plight. I'm sorry, was that tasteless?
Did I mention I get claustrophobic really easily? Well I do.
The best part is the Port Authority has the nerve to charge $6 to use the tunnel. I guess it's like a form of punishment. Like, "well, that's what you get for leaving the land of high taxes!" Keep in mind I've gone through the Midtown Tunnel about a gazillion times, and even the Holland Tunnel, and neither come close to the shit show that is the Lincoln Tunnel.
So I'm going to do the Port Authority a favor. I'm going to dig a new tunnel. Just for me. And my friends. So you better be nice to me. I bought my shovel at Home Depot, and I am ready to go. My tunnel will be FREE too. That is, it will cost no money to use (since it will probably be about 3 ft. wide. I mean, come on I have drinking to do. I don't have time to dig a ginormous tunnel.) and it will be ORANGE CONE FREE. And only hot people can use it. Not temperature hot, but you know, hot hot. My tunnel will be so free the terrorists are going to hate it. Everyone will want to take a ride in my tunnel.
I'm in pain. You know that scene in the Last of the Mohicans where Duncan, the English officer, is being burned alive, then Hawkeye shoots him in the heart to put him out of his misery? I need someone to show me that compassion right about now.
I got home from work (yes, I have a job, but I am not blogging about it. If you are inquiring about this, please email me) yesterday and didn't move off of my bed for a good 2 hours. That's a good two hours of just staring at the ceiling since I could no longer move my legs.
I hired a trainer.
I rejoined me gym last week, and they called me to let me know I get to receive an introductory training session again. Well those suckers didn't realize I was actually REJOINING, and it somehow slipped through the cracks that I was on a corporate membership before and not a new member. The last training session I participated in required me to haul around a sled type contraption behind me while the trainer yelled obscenities at my fat ass. This time around though I figured it would be different since I'm a 'marathoner'. I'm part of that elite club that um, hundreds of thousands or millions of people participate in across the globe. Whatever. OK so it was a few months ago, but I can still manage to run. Granted, it is only for like 3 or 4 miles, and only like 3 times a week now cause most of the time I am either 1) too engorged on pizza to partake in any activity besides watching the Inferno 3 on MTV or 2) participating in the conspicuous consumption of alcohol. There are the rare occasions that I do both simultaneously, but I wouldn't encourage any of you at home to try that. Best leave that up to us professionals.
So I gained about 3 pounds back. I'm a chick. Leave me alone. We whine about weight. Feel free to drop the compliments I am apparently in search for in the comment section. Along with the 3 pound weight gain, I came to the conclusion that while I can still run forwards, I really can't do much of anything else. The trainer had me throwing punches, and jumping on chairs--think like Xanadu but with medicine balls. There was a woman being trained next to me who either had the physical fitness level of Jackie Joyner-Kersey, or she wasn't being trained as hard as I was. I was dripping with sweat. I mean seriously, I looked like I got watered down with a fire hose.
My coordination and athletic ability were laughable. I'm usually not that bad, so I don't know what happened. I mean, the dude was saying very encouraging words to me, but I could tell the look in his eye that I would be lucky if I came in second to last in the Special Olympics. Garth Brooks would never sing about me Standing Outside the Fire.
Finally after 5 minutes of me lying face down on the mat begging for him to end it all, he realized that I needed some serious work. No shit, Sherlock.
I promise the folks down at Webjunk.TV are all up on my junk. They've been incessantly emailing me trying to get me to link their site on mine. Somehow someone got a hold of my phone number and has been heavy breathing over the receiver all day. I believe there were tears involved too. Apparently word has gotten out how awesome I am, and everyone and their mother is dying to be a part of the DMBMEG phenomenon. So please, thank them for me by going to vote for the 40 Greatest Animal Stars. I promise, you will not regret it. I voted for the panda, cause you know nothing is cuter than a sneezing animal that will eventually grow up and rip your face off.
I just got back from Spiderman 3. Let me tell you, I think the writers/directors have been watching a little too much Lifetime lately. It was all, like, sensitive and shit. I am pretty sure at one point Tobey Maguire wears eyeliner, and has the screen presence of a tree. Don't even get me started on Snaggletooth (Kirsten Dunst).
So this Spiderman trilogy only validates me theory that the 2nd movie in a trilogy is the best. Let's review
Star Wars
Back to the Future (the future looks SO cool!)
Lord of the Rings
the Godfather
the Terminator
Die Hard (although they're making a 4th)
Alien(s) (I'm disregarding the film with Winona. As far as I'm concerned, no Ripley, no love.)
Two exceptions the the rule:
the Matrix (the 3rd film was by far the best. Riiiight)
This goes out to my ladies who are celebrating their 27th birthday today. Wow, you guys are old. Let me know how being in your late 20's feels, cool? I still have 4 more months of 26. Let me tell you how magnificent these two ladies are. And yes, they are twins, and no, they will not make out with each other. Stop being so generic.
I first met Kate my freshman year of college. I noticed her from a far in my calculus class and immediately developed a girl crush on her. Eventually I realized she lived across the hall from me in my dorm. One day she brought me back to her place (hey oh!), and I got to meet her sister, Megan. In case you're a little slow, Megan is the girl that I link every other day from www.xanga.com/hellafied. Kate is apparently not cool enough to have a blog.
What then ensued after this meeting is the stuff of legends. I think we're banned from quite a few bars in Iowa City, and possibly all of the University of Illinois. Both of them reside in the great city of Chicago, where I will soon be traveling for Awesomefest 7000 June 21st-24th (Meg, did you get tickets to the Cubs/Sox game?). So please, let's all take a moment to wish two of my best friends in the world a happy, and hopefully blackout drunk, birthday! Don't do anything I wouldn't do
Every year American Idol comes on, I find myself strangely attracted to one of the male contestants. It all began with John Stevens (I didn't really watch Season 1). There was no reasoning behind this crush. Maybe it was his striking resemblance to Rick Astley, but he could easily put me in jail. How old was he? like 11? 12? But there I was cheering him on every week attempting to sing Crocodile Rock in his best Frank Sinatra impersonation.
John Stevens
Rick Astley
Then came my personal hell. The next season we have Diana Digarmo who I believe was a fetus while competing (I mean, does anyone know if she was actually fertilized during filming yet?), against Fantasia Burrino, the two-bit crack whore. Now maybe it's just me, but I like my American Idols tall and skinny, preferably with coke dripping out of their noses. How on earth did this busted chick win? It's your fault America that her ugly mug is now plastered across MY subway posters enticing me to come see her in the Color Purple. Hellllzzzzz no! Then came the season of Bo Bice and Constantine Maroulis. Oh sweet, sweet lovers of all things rock. I remember one night having a dream about both of them fighting over me. Constantine with his soft lips and creepy rapist stare, and Bo with his poetic voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear....it was a tough call. I eventually chose Bo because I felt like Constantine's advances towards me were not legitimate as he seems to just want some easy tail. That was the beginning of my love affair with Bo Bice. I remember watching the t.v. and his flowing locks. The way he swayed with the microphone and danced around the stage like a child running through a field turned me on more than you will ever know. He excited me. He excited me hard. While I was disappointed when Constantine got kicked off, I was still amped that my #1 rocker was still there. He was there until the finales when that bitch Carrie Underwood won. Granted, Carrie is very pretty, and a huge step up from the crack fiend, but still I was heartbroken over Bo's loss.I quickly got over it when I saw Elliot Yamin the next season. His soothing voice, his all around midgetness (hey, size doesn't matter when you are lying down), and those crooked teeth. He was my love for that season. Forget Chris Daughtry as he sounds like the most generic form of rock music there is (CREED). Katharine McPhee looked like a cum-guzzling whore trying woo my Bo through the t.v. set. Who do you think you are, bitch? And Taylor. Taylor. Taylor. Taylor. I know the 'salt and pepper' thing is cool, but do you really think groaning around on the stage like you've been constipated for 4 weeks is a way for you to get my vote (well, if I did actually vote)? Elliot, you had my heart. That brings me to this season. Everyone is all about Melinda. My friend Mel (hi Mel!) and I were discussing how she looks like she has been hanging out in Chernobyl way too long. I mean her head is huge in proportion to her body. She looks like a watermelon on a toothpick! I know her and Latoya, Lakisha, Latinda whatever her name is are supposed to be the best singers of the group, but like I mentioned before, I like my American Idols like I like my men. Superficially beautiful. Whatever that means. I swear America, if you make me listen to the giant head singing about how, "some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this," I will probably not do anything but complain. But still, I complain a lot. My friends don't want to hear it.That brings me to Blake. Oh, sweet, sweet Blake. I think I about creamed my pants when he pointed at someone in the audience and sang, "Who's your daddy?" while singing "Time of the Season" by the Zombies. Last night I thought maybe our love affair was over after I heard he was singing, "You Give Love a Bad Name." He killed it though. KILLED IT. So please, dear reader, excuse me while I carve B-L-A-K-E 4 E-V-A into my chest.
I was coming back from a run today, minding my own business listening to my iPod, when some dude rudely interrupts me by asking me to take my headphones off. I hate when people try and talk to me with my headphones on. Ask someone else for directions, sucka!
Well, this guy wasn't looking for directions. Our 'conversation' went something like this:
Dude: 'Hey, can you hear me?' Megan [anticipating pointing the guy to 8th Avenue]: 'Yes.' Dude: 'I gotta say yo' ass is fine' Megan: [laughs] Dude: 'No, I'm serious girl. That gym been treatin' you real nice, Keep it up!" Megan:[more laughter] Thanks.
I never get tired of having men, with or without teeth, telling me I look good. Truth is, I run a lot, so it's nice to know all my hard work is paying off. I know some girls would have scoffed at this guy considering he was missing his thumb, but hey, a man is a man...well, unless you are Rupaul. Then you're entering the gray area. But oh no, our conversation continues:
Dude [handing me his card]: 'Baby, take this and if you need me for anything, you let me know.'
So I look down and read it. I know it's hard to see (my digital camera is broken, so I'm limited to my cell phone camera), but my good friend Eddie seems to be a man of many hobbies. That is, he is a writer, filmmaker, and photographer.
This may come as a surprise to you, but I wasn't exactly Homecoming Queen in high school. No, but all my friends were. It is true. Every single one of my close friends was on a 'court' of some sort--be that Homecoming or Snow Court (the Valentine's Day dance equivalent of Homecoming). Despite this act of cruelty from my peers, I wasn't exactly the type to cry herself in the corner, plotting ways to blow up the school. I knew pretty much everyone. It wasn't that hard. There were only 450 people in my graduating class. So why, WHY, is it that when I go on myspace to look for 'friends' that graduated with me, I only recognize about 25% of them? It's not like I have forgotten all these people. My memory is pretty good. I'm a plethora of useless information if you will.
Let's discuss. Here we have mystery student #1. She likes to makeout apparently. This does not jog my memory at all. I don't recall many people blatantly making out in the hallway, but then again, I spent most of my high school years in a whip-it induced haze. But how grody is it she likes Miller Lite? Ew! I also love the interaction going on the background. These guys are completely oblivious to the dry humping that is going on in front of their faces.
This is Melissa. This is what her 'about me' section states:
Hey everyone, I'm 27 years old and I love parties! I'm mean I'm not like a crazy ditz who gets drunk. I just love being around people and just having a good time. Life is too short. Well, I'm a model and I just started doing some Ad modeling for some different magazines that even included Cosmo. I enjoy the night life. During college, I thought I was going to be a teacher, but my life changed when this really random guy called me in for a photo shoot. I was kinda leary at first but of course, I couldn't say no, and that's where it all began. It's so weird, you hear about those stories and you really don't think that happens, but it really does! I grew up in a small house in Brainerd and I learned that you have to work hard im life to provide and get the things you want. I always admired my hardworking parents and I've been so blessed and lucky to have my life change. My life has changed really quick and I have already been to a bunch of L.A. parties because I travel a lot now for this job. I currently live in Minnesota, but travel back and forth to L.A. for some modeling. I date a lot of guys but I haven't had much luck... but lets be honest.. I am really into the older guys, but that doesn't mean I don't like to hook up with younger guys because I do! Anyway, if you would like to know more about me, feel free to message me anytime! I'd love to get to know you!
Wow Meliss-that's deep. Really fucking deep. You know when any girl writes she likes to, "have a good time," it means she likes to suck the d. That reminds me, I need to add that to my 'interests' in my blogger profile. I have to point out that she said she grew up in Brainerd (for you geographically challenged people out there, that's a few hours away from the suburb of Minneapolis I grew up in), but graduated from my high school when I did. That's a hell of a fucking commute, honey.
This is Sophia. Funny, I don't recall any Porsche's in my Calculus class, but did I mention I did a lot of whip-its? Maybe I just missed the sound of a turbo engine kicking into gear while I was practicing my integrals. Oh yes, and Sophia is a 'model' as well.This is one of her friends. Wow, she seems smart.
Perhaps myspace needs to check references before we are allowed to sign up. This is blasphemy, and I intend to put a stop to it. I will not have my alma mater's name tarnished by the likes of some myspace hussies! I mean, I'm more than enough of a hussy to bring down the whole school district.
I saw Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End this weekend. Despite a semi-convoluted plot that required me to do research on the internet to figure out what the fuck was going on (mostly because you need subtitles when that rasta lady speaks), I couldn't stop staring at Orlando Bloom. I know, he is a horrible actor, but he was all wet and stuff throughout the entire movie. His performance in most movies is vapid. The only movie that I thought his acting was semi-decent was Kingdom of Heaven, but I attribute that to me liking to storyline more so than any stellar acting ability Orlando possessed at the time of filming.
