Reason #3,871,552 I am still single

My friends tell me I am picky when it comes to guys, and I am starting to agree with them.

Example #1)
I was at a friend's party a couple weeks ago, when this guy is eyeing me up and down. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to tell that daddy liked as he went out of his way to talk to me when I went for some chips. Eventually we found our way to the couch together where the following (summarized) conversation took place:
Him: I went to Illinois.
Me: I went to Iowa [fist pump]. Rock on Big Ten!
Him: So you are a fan of Kutcher?
Me: No, I was thinking more like Vonnegut.
Him: Who?

At that very moment I knew I was done. I walked over to my friends and immediately told them what happened. Most of them kind of understood where I was coming from (and one didn't know who he was either. GASP!), but only one nodded in agreement that my abruptness was warranted.

Example #2)
I'm on my way home from work to get ready to go out for the night. My friend Mike texts me that there is a guy he is out with that is from Minnesota, and he is single. With great reluctance, and a few drunken angry texts from him to the effect of, "YOU TOLD ME TO HOOK YOU UP WITH ANY SINGLE PEOPLE!!!$$$###!#!@!$," I agreed to "one drink". [note: I told asked him if he worked with any hot dudes and to hook a sister up. Remember...HOT dudes.] I walk into the bar, see my friend Mike, and then meet my Minnesota soul mate. Mike tells him I am from Minnesota, and he just kind of drunkenly nods. I think he may have been narcoleptic. I didn't even take off my coat. I just put my ear buds to my iPod back in my ears, thanked Mike, gave him a look that said "absolutely not", turned on my heals, and then left. [again note: I am sure the guy was very nice, but just...no.]

You guys may remember that I went on a date recently. It went really well. He was tall, attractive, witty, and intelligent (despite being a Yankees/Giants fan). A few days ago, I went on date #2. We went to a restaurant in Chelsea that my roommate recommended.

Now, before I go on, let me explain what living in Chelsea is like. There are gay men. LOTS of gay men. I can walk home at 4am wearing nothing but boobie tassels and nothing will happen to me except the occasional, "Honey, you got FANTASTIC breasts," which is uttered only more out of envy than anything else. Men, on the other hand, have it a little different. On several occasions my ex-boyfriend was hit on along with a few other of my guy friends. It's harmless. No different than me getting hit on at a bar when I go out. You take it as a compliment, and move on (and even perhaps do what us girls do and get a free drink out of the deal).

Now back to date #2. We're at a restaurant in Chelsea eating crab cakes when he mentioned he got the once over at the bar while waiting for me to arrive. He is clearly uncomfortable that he got checked out by a guy, so I ask him what he does when he goes to gay bars. He then gets clearly agitated and says, "I DON'T GO TO GAY BARS. I'M STRAIGHT." Whoa there, fella. There is nothing more unattractive than a guy who tries overcompensates his heterosexuality. Basically it means two things: you are an asshole, or you are gay.

So this was strike 1. We continue on the date (back to his apartment to play Wii), and then things take a sexy turn. I will spare you with the details, but let's just say dude did NOT come to play. I have found in my experience (cough cough) that height directly correlates with dick size. Not so, apparently. At one point I checked my back pocket for a magnifying glass.

So I'm doing my thing, and the thing would just not get...hard. We weren't drunk, so I'm thinking that was his normal state of erectness [pours one for the homies and for him]. I'm used to guys being able to cut glass with their boners [brushes dirt off shoulder], not this. I was able to flop this thing back and forth. I figure at this point it would be easier to have sex with a wet noodle. He says he is nervous, I say he is undeniably gay.

My roommate thinks I should go on a 3rd date with him as I seemingly liked him a lot after date #1. I don't know. I have a pretty remarkable libido for a girl. I don't cuddle or like candles so I need sex for romantic validation. I was having a conversation with my friend Luke a couple months back about how he will always be single as he takes away the best qualities from his exes, and expects any future girlfriends to fulfill all of them. I think I do that too, except I add my friends in there as well. I expect every guy to have the intelligence of my ex-boyfriend, the loveability of Flop, the wit, sarcasm, and ability to make me laugh as CrimeNotes, etc, etc. etc. I also need any future prospect the clitoral stimulation ability of my vibrator.

And that, my friends, is why I am still single.

The post where I defend Tom Cruise.

I have received a lot of flack lately by the choice of my avatar. No, it is not Tom Cruise. It's TJ Mackey. Tom Cruise is crazy. TJ Mackey is one of my favorite characters in recent cinema history, and is the owner of the name of this blog. And by "favorite", I mean like top 50.

Anyways, I bring this up, because one of my bloggy friends, Oops Pow Surprise co-proprieter of my favorite Hawkeye blog Black Heart Gold Pants (along with a guy I don't know and the renowned JHC--wait, does that make me a "Jeebsian"? Possibly.) started his own blog Halfway Up the Staircase (go check it out--it's bizarrely good).

OK back to OPS. I noticed my link on his blog had some choice words within the parenthetical. So, I called him on it:


OPS: TJ MACKEY'S ABOUT TO GET BUSTED IN HIS FUCKING GRILL
Megan: bah!
would you rather i had some obscure picture of me on there?
or a picture from Taxi Driver? Oh wait.
OPS: You watch it.
Taxi Driver is a great movie and Bobby Deniro is 10 times the man Tom Cruise is.
Megan: Tom Cruise has been in better movies (preparing for the smackdown)
OPS: That is awesome.
NO HE HAS NOT
NO
NO
NO
Megan: just cause he's crazy, you can't deny tom cruise makes good movie choices
OPS: Fuck Top Gun.
Megan: i'm not even talking about Top Gun
Born on the 4th of July
Magnolia
OPS: lame.
lamer.
Megan: Vanilla Sky
OPS: horrible.
Megan: no
brilliant
OPS: V-Sky had a complete and total bullshit copout
Megan: eyes wide shut?
brilliant
cocktail??????
OPS: tell me how "you were dead and we made you imagine all this" is any better than "it was all a dream" and waking up to patrick duffy in the shower.
which Tom cruise does all the time.
Megan: you don't get it. the point was a real life with pain et. al was better than a fake one
cause you still know you're living then
OPS: Whatever. Terrible movie.
Megan: you know the quote? it's one of my favorite quotes from any movie
"the sweet isn't as sweet without the sour"
that is what the movie is about. that line.

To compare Vanilla Sky to Dallas is utter bullshit.

Let me make a list of all movies that I absolutely loved, loved, loved from Tom Cruise: Taps, The Outsiders, Legend, Top Gun, Cocktail, The Color of Money (bonus points for being in my top 10 favorite movies of all time), Rain Man, Born on the 4th of July (he was robbed of an Oscar), Days of Thunder (totally serious), The Firm (I bit my nails down to nubs after watching this), Interview with a Vampire (he made me forget Brad Pitt was on the screen. You know how hard that is to do?), Eyes Wide Shut, Magnolia (obvs), Vanilla Sky, Minority Report, War of the Worlds (HG Wells is one of my favorite authors, so I feared this movie would let me down like The Time Machine did--surprisingly it did not).

Movies he was in that I was so-so about: All Mission Impossibles, Jerry Maguire, The Last Samurai, A Few Good Men, Risky Business, All the Right Moves.

Movies I hated that he was in: Collateral, Far and Away.

Now, Bobby DeNiro.

Favorite movies: The Godfather (part 2 IS the best), Taxi Driver (yes OPS you are right on this), Deer Hunter, Raging Bull, the Mission, The Untouchables, Cape Fear, Awakenings, A Bronx Tale, Goodfellas, Heat, Wag the Dog, Meet the Parents.

So-so movies: Casino, Jackie Brown, New York, New York

Movies I hated: Once Upon a Time in America, Meet the Fockers, Analyze This (and That), Cop Land, 15 Minutes, Great Expectations, Men of Honor, City by the Sea (zzzzzzzzzzzzz), Hide and Seek, The Good Shepherd (you should have NEVER turned down The Departed), Showtime (I mean COME ON), Ronin.

I mean, How can you compare this? Tom was in more movies I likes AND less movies I did not like. Not to mention most of the movies I like from Bobby D is when he plays some kind of mafia roll unlike Cruise who has a very well-rounded resume. I'm prepared to take some heat (ha!) for this post, but I will defend every one of my favorite and least favorite movies.

My worst Christmas on record

I had my worst Christmas on record.

Let me back track. I had a 7pm flight out of LaGuardia tonight on US Air changing planes in Philadelphia. I left my house at around 5 pm to hail a cab which took me about 20 minutes. I had two cabbies stop for me, but when they realized I wanted to go to LGA, they promptly kicked me out on to the street.

Fine, whatever. I get to the airport, get to the gate, board the plane, etc. etc. etc.

We are taxi-ing on the runway when the plane comes to a halt. The pilot gets on the loud speaker and announces that the Philly airport is experiencing delays due to weather. We are delayed 15 minutes. 20 minutes later the pilot gets back on the loud speaker and says we have to wait another 30 minutes on top of that. At this point I'm starting to get worried about my connection which is at 8:50 pm (my flight was scheduled to land at 8:00 pm). I immediately call my dad.

He looks up my flight info from Philly to Mpls. He says the plane is delayed coming in fro Albany, and I should be ok. I take everything my dad says as the truth, so I feel relieved and go back to my US Weekly.

It's a short flight--about 37 minutes. So I was a little surprised when 35 minutes into the flight they said they were just cleared for landing. We circled Philadelphia for about 15 minutes which immediately makes me air sick. Finally, we land. I check my watch--8:45 pm. I call my dad again, and he says the plane is scheduled to depart at 9:10. I get off the plane, go to check what gate I am at, and realize I have to take a fucking shuttle bus to another terminal. Luckily I catch the shuttle, and sprint through the terminal to my gate. Let me remind you I am carrying about 100 pounds of Christmas gifts so it is rather tiresome.

I get to the gate along with another gentleman that was running. The door is locked, but the plane is still at the gate. We start banging on the door to let us on the plane, but no one responds. I'm sweating profusely. Finally, the guy I was with exited on another door. I followed him and was greeted by 6 other people looking to get on the flight. There was a US Air worker at the gate now, and when I opened the door she replied in the coldest voice I have ever heard, "Ma'am. You CANNOT use that door."

I give her an equally cold look back then motioned to my 800 bags and said, "You've got to be kidding me." She shuts up.

Then she calls one of her airline buddies and he comes to the podium and says there is room for 3 people on the plane. Since there are 8 of us waiting, they apparently overbooked the plane. So rather than let the first 3 people WHO RAN THROUGH THE FUCKING AIRPORT, the last 3 people did not even ask and literally RAN on to the plane. Merry Christmas, fuckers.

When I call the airline, they tell me the only flight they had available was on United from Philly to Chicago at 11am, then Chicago to Minneapolis at 4:30pm which would get me into Minneapolis around 6pm.

I then go to customer service which has a line like 80 people long. I go sit down deciding to wait til the line goes down. I go back about 2 hours later, and the line is still ridiculously long, but I decide I might be able to get a hotel room out of the deal.

I'm waiting in the line for about 20 minutes when two of the agents decide it's a good time for them to go home. Here I am saddled with Christmas gifts and still mildly hungover from the night before, and they decide THEN is a good time for me to go home. Thanks ladies, must be nice.

Finally I'm next in line. There are 2 agents left. The time is approximately 11:30. Then once one was done helping someone, he decides THEN is a good time to go home. Thanks, buddy! Give the wife and kids a kiss for me!

I eventually get to speak to someone. Upon asking if they will give me a hotel voucher, the US Airways representative tersely states, "Ma'am. We don't offer vouchers for weather and traffic related delays."

I'm sorry...WHAT? What other kind of delays are there? I mean, does the fucking shoe bomber have to be on my plane for you to help me out here? At this point I am exhausted and hungry. I resign myself to the fact I have to sleep in the airport for the night. Thankfully, I had *one* friend online who managed to keep me entertained until about 2am (thank you again friend--for that and the would be pizza you almost had delivered).

You know what I hate? The fact airlines keep those immobile armrests between the seats to prevent people from lying down. At 3am I would have donated my body to science to get someone to remove those armrests. Not to mention the people in the airport at 3am are fucking crrrraaaaaaazzzzzzyyyyyy. Literally, they scream. One lady screamed down the terminal, "HEY WE GOT 3 PEOPLE SLEEPING OVER HERE!"

...

Then at 4am they decide to buff the floor. I do remember thinking, "Wow, the Minneapolis airport has carpet."

At 5am I decide to get me a bacon egg and cheese sandwich and walk over to my gate to wait the next 6 HOURS OUT. At 5:30, they begin boarding for a 6am flight to Chicago, and then I have the brilliant idea to fly standby. Miraculously, the clouds part and God decides he may not hate me as much as he originally thought, and I get on the flight. I land at 7:30 (which was probably the worst landing I have ever experienced. I hate flying, but I honestly thought we might crash. It was one of those landings where people clap at the end) and notice there is a flight to Minneapolis at 8:15am. It's snowing pretty badly now, and I figure the flight is full, but I walk over to the far terminal (of course) and wait in another ridiculously long line to talk to the ticket agent.

One of my favorite scenes in Meet the Parents is when he is at the airport with the ticketing agent and she is furiously typing away, refusing to acknowledge his presence. Why is that funny? CAUSE IT IS FUCKING TRUE.

I was waiting 15 minutes and no one acknowledged the 25 people standing in line. Not once. They were busy chatting away on the phone about lord knows what (maybe the shoe bomber) not realizing it is Christmas time and people might be a little anxious.

Eventually the lady decides now might be a good time to do her job, and starts helping people. Then the woman behind me, an airline employee, decides it would be a good idea to cut ahead of me, go behind the counter, and see if she can fly standby. Now, at this point, flames are shooting out of my ears. If THAT bitch gets the one available seat over me for cutting ahead in me in line, I will fucking lose it. I'm on about an hour sleep and borderline hallucinating.

The bitch got lucky, cause I got on the flight.

I arrived in Minneapolis at 9:30 am quite beaten and battered from everything. When my dad saw me, he gave me a hug and said they canceled the next two flights from Chicago to Minneapolis due to weather. If I didn't get on both of those standby flights, I would not have made it home for Christmas.

Also, later in the day I checked the delays at the airports. 6 airports were experiencing delays of 2-4 hours. JFK and Newark--2 hours. LaGuardia and Minneapolis-3 hours. Chicago and Philly-4 hours. That's right. 4 out of the 6 airports I flew out/in to were experiencing delays of 3+ hours.

I'm never flying again.

Today is my mom's birthday

Today is my mom's birthday. Yesterday was my parent's 40th wedding anniversary. Tomorrow is my mom's favorite holiday. I use present tense cause she still doesn't feel gone.

I walked into her bedroom tonight, the same sheets still cover her bed that she died in. My dad hasn't had the heart to wash them, and I don't think I would either. I used her brush this afternoon, and there were still some hairs in there from when she had hair. I sprayed the Chanel perfume I bought her two years on my wrist this morning, then put the bottle into my purse. I sat in her closet surrounded by her clothes--some I remember her wearing, some I did not recognize.

The worst was the present. My mom went shopping for Christmas presents 3 weeks before she died. My dad signed the presents that she bought that day "love Nana" or "love Mom". But it wasn't the same. It wasn't her handwriting. I looked up at the chair she sat in last year wishing she was back. But she wasn't, and she never will be. All I have left is the memories of her--the Christmas where she bought me my Movado watch inscribed with the date, the time I got my NES (my favorite present of all time--Power Pad included), the time I gave her my first present ever--a pair of cheap "diamond" earrings I bought for $3 when I was 8 along with the coffee cup I gave my dad that leaked.

My mom used to wrap presents from Santa in her own handwriting wrapped in the same paper as the rest of the gifts. Let's just say I found out about Santa not being real pretty early on in life.

It's hard being here. I want to go back. Christmas isn't the same without her. She made our Christmas. She inundated me with presents every year--so many that sometimes I would have to buy extra luggage at Target to take it back to New York with me. This year, I go back with everything I received in two small boxes that I can carry in my purse. I don't want more presents. I never did. It just makes me sad it will never again be what it was.

It will never be like that again, but I'm thankful for what I did have.

I'm going to go watch It's a Wonderful Life.

I miss you, Mom. Happy Birthday.

Update on the date

It went well. That's all I will say--for now.

I did tell him I have a blog, and he responded with a smile and said, "I have one too."

Oh. Brother.

The Dating Game/Open Thread

I got big news AGAIN for all you lovely people out there. I have a date tonight. YES! You heard me! So far all we have done is exchange a few tersely worded emails, but I'm feeling good. He is good looking, tall, brown hair, bright blue eyes, and most importantly seems to think I am funny. He is a Giants fan, but we all can't be perfect though, right? Right.

I haven't had a real date since the Carter administration so I'm mildly nervous. He also smartly added on a buy out clause to our date (i.e. he may have to meet friends at 9 on the Upper East Side. I have no problem with this. He is clever. I like that. It may be true, but who knows really?). Let's just hope it doesn't go so well I end up at blacking out at Scores for the night*.

So I have little to do at work today, so I'm asking you my fair readers to entertain me. Give me dating advice, tell me an assface like me has no chance in hell with a respectable guy, tell me I have a sweet ass**, tell me your own terrible dating stories, tell me what I should wear. I don't care what it is as I will probably ignore all advice given regardless. But hey, at least it will give me something to do today, right?

OK peeps, comment away!

*-Nevermind.
**-I do. Not as pert as Oksana's but I do ok.

Dear friends.

I have some big news.

I got a tattoo.

My first, and last tattoo.

I've never been a tattoo girl, but they never really bothered me on other people. I'm putting this post up cause I need to not have my friends freak out about this. I know some of you will be like, "What the fuck were you thinking?" And you would be right. This tattoo isn't of a dragon down my back or a tribal tattoo around my arm.

It's a claddagh on the underside of my wrist (strategically placed to hide under my watch).

Back in 2002 when my mom was originally diagnosed with breast cancer, my dad bought me a claddagh necklace as an "it'll be ok kiddo" present knowing my love for the symbol. I never really wore it cause it was gold and I'm more of a silver kinda gal.

Two days before my mom died I decided for no particular reason to wear it along with a diamond pendant necklace my mom gave me a couple months before she died. They shouldn't be worn together. The two chains get so intertwined it is difficult to separate them. Kind of like my parents.

I haven't taken either necklace off since. I don't know if I can. I suppose if I do, it'll feel like she is just that much more gone from my life.

I don't know why, but the claddagh has extra special meaning to me now because of all this. I thought about getting this tattoo before she died, but was just never given the opportunity. Then today a few co-workers were going to get tattoos so I thought now was my chance.

When the artist asked me which way I wanted it, I decided to have it pointed inwards. In case you aren't familiar, the position of the heart on a ring dictates the wearer's availability. Inwards, your heart is taken. Out, you are free to give it.

It's funny how someone you hated so much in life can break your heart in death.

My heart is taken now. Forever, by her.

So please, I'm asking my friends to not give me shit when they see it ok? I will get visibly upset. And I don't want anyone to feel like a jackass when I explain this away.

I attract the freaks

Last night, two friends unexpectedly lured me (holla!) to the Upper East Side with the promise of free beer (doesn't take much) and a free taxi ride (that didn't happen, did it fellas?). Upon my arrival, they ushered me to a chair next to a gentleman who wreaked of Marlboro Reds and was apparently drinking a Seabreeze.

Friend 1 said that he angered him in the early part of the night, and it was my job to get him to like us again. I mean, the guy was practically sitting on my lap. The conversation eventually turned into my love/hate relationship with the Minnesota Vikings and he probably heard me mutter, "Don't kick to Hester. Don't kick to Hester. Don't kick to Hester."--a few times.

He turns to me eventually with a thick Irish brogue dripping with alcoholism and says, "You gaht nuttin' to worry about dahlin'." Yes, dude, I know. But you seriously underestimate my team's ability to choke in important games (Dear 1999 NFC Championship/Gary Anderson, I have forgiven, but not forgotten. Never forget).

The guy keeps talking to me like I'm a fucking idiot and know nothing about football, which pisses me off to no end. He is too drunk to realize he is arguing with me the same point I am trying to make. Whatever. He keeps on interrupting the conversation with my friends and I, and my Smithwick's to talk about nonsense. Each time he does it, I smile and give him some bullshit answer, then turn back to my friends.

Then shit gets weird.

He touches my arm again, and proceeds to have the following conversation with me:

Him [looks down at dmbmeg's bosom]: Do ya have a bahyfriend?
Me: No.
Him [looks down at dmbmeg's bosom]: a gahlfriend?
Me [laughing]: No. I like boys.
Him [look of horror combines with another look at dmbmeg's bosom]: I dan't balieve it!
Me: Dude, I'm picky. There is nothing wrong with it.
Him [looks down at dmbmeg's bosom]: Ahveryone needs to get laid!
Me: Yes.
Him [looks down at dmbmeg's bosom]: Have ya gottin laid ma dahling?
Me: Uh yes, but not for some time.
Him [looks down at dmbmeg's bosom]: Everywun needs to git foocked.
Me [helplessly looking for friends]: Uh.

Eventually a chair opened up next to me and my friend Mike sat on the other side so I kept my back turned to the guy. My other friend goes home. Again, a tap on my arm.

Him [looks down at dmbmeg's bosom]: Can I buy you a drink ma dahling?
Me: Sure! Jameson?
Him [finally doesn't look at my bosom. Eyes widen]: Wha? No.
Friend: She is like a guy. Don't worry.
Me: You are a disappointment to our people.

Again, I turned back to my friend. He tries to interrupt the conversation a few times to proclaim that he is 42 and then tells my friend he is 38 (he is 33 and looks maybe 29). He eventually puts on his coat (without buying me a drink, mind you):

Him [looks at dmbmeg's chest]: Dahlin' I'm goin' to go home an' chooke the mahnkey.

Yes, that is right. He told me he was going to go home and "choke the monkey". Not "choke the chicken" or "spank the monkey". Perhaps he had a thing against poultry? Although his last longing look at my bosom led me to believe otherwise.

And in case you didn't believe me, here is a picture of the "42" year old.
I sure know how to pick 'em, huh? Now excuse me. I gotta go throw up.

I'm going to do the NYC Triathlon

For reals, yo!

A few of my friends are doing it, so I thought why the hell not?

[dmbmeg gaze drifts down to her ever growing beer gut]

A few setbacks:

• I gotta swim in the Hudson. At first I was thinking more Westchester Hudson which is farther upstate and would have less pollutants in the water, but nooooooo. Bitch starts at 98th street so now I'm going to have to avoid the dead bodies along with those splashing around me. (Note: when I asked a friend who swam in it in previous years, her reply was, "It isn't that bad. It only smells like gasoline towards the end." WONDERFUL.
• I have to wear a wet suit. I repeat, I have to wear a wet suit.
• I have to raise $2500. Sure, it is for charity, but that number is a little daunting. I mean, I could buy one YSL bag with that! One whole bag!
• I have to be on a bicycle. Yes, I do know how to ride a bike, but those assholes cruise around Central Park at warp speed. I've almost been hit about 8.6 times. I also know nothing about bikes. Nothing. Except some sometimes when you put cards in the spokes it makes cool sounds.
• I have to swim. I need music when I run. The various beats motivate me. Obviously I can't bring my iPod underwater while I am swimming. So, I WANT.
• I also realize I need a helmet. Upon this realization, I IMed my friend Jenny who is going to be training with me (that's right! another IM conversation!):

3:26 PM me: i need a bike too

3:29 PM Jenny: umm me too

me: we need helmets too! ha

Jenny: ahhh no we dont

3:30 PM i can MAKE us helmets

me: yes we do!

what?! how?

Jenny: out of beer cans and glue

me: we should bike with those beer helmets with the straws

3:31 PM Jenny: yes indeed

me: we should do the race drunk. it would fly by

Jenny: umm yes. i ran a half-marathon drunk once.

3:32 PM that was actually painful

me: NO YOU DIDN'T

Jenny: yes i did!! walt disney

me: i ran 18 miles hungover once

Jenny: it was hilarious

hahaha

me: i just laughed out loud

Jenny: we are stellar!

me: supreme athletes

Jenny: indeed

i like to treat my body like a temple!

3:33 PM me: i'll treat your body as a temple, alright.

Yep, people, we (Jenny and I) are screwed.

What I am getting my dad for Christmas

The Back-up.

From the FAQ section:
What is The Back-Up©?
The Back-Up is a rack that allows you to keep your shotgun within easy reach. Many people keep their guns on a bed stand, under a bed, in a closet or standing in a corner. However, none of these locations are safe because they do not give you easy access to your defensive tool when you really need it. Protection is effective only when it is readily available and easily used. Our unique patented design gives you quick and easy access to your protective device, while conveniently staying out of the way.
dmbmeg's response: You know, sometimes when I have sexy guests over, my shotgun gets in the way. I can't tell you how long I have waited for a product like this to hit the market. YOU ARE A LIFE SAVER BACK-UP! See what I did there? Life saver? Get it? GET IT?

Why would I use The Back-Up© with a shotgun rather than a handgun?
While it is always best to use a weapon that you can handle and you are trained to use, there are several reasons why a shotgun is better than a handgun:
--A shotgun is visible and intimidating. You may be able to scare off an intruder without firing a shot.
--While a handgun uses merely single bullet, a shotgun has a spread pattern, which makes it easier to hit your target when you are under the stress of a home intrusion.
--Shotguns are safer for people in adjoining rooms. If you miss an intruder with a handgun, the bullet will go though the wall. A shotgun, using #4 shot, will stop any intruder but will not penetrate completely through many types of walls.
dmbmeg's response: I comlpetely agree. Sometimes when a person points a handgun in my face I giggle at him, then shout, "THAT'S THE BEST YOU GOT?!"

I already have a shotgun handy. Why not keep it where I have it?
Because you would have to get up and find it, losing valuable time.
dmbmeg's response: I object! If it is technically "handy" as you say, then you wouldn't have to find it, no?

Will The Back-Up© scratch or mark my shotgun?
The special Polymer material will not scratch the stock or the barrel of your shotgun. Also, both sides of the gun abut the padding and box spring on one side and the bedding on the other. Therefore there should be no occasion for The Back-Up© to scratch you shotgun.
dmbmeg's: Thank god. Sometimes I lie awake at night worried that the thing I use to fire bullets into other humans is scratched.

How do I know The Back-Up© will fit my shotgun?
Our unique patented design is adjustable to any legal size shotgun. The adjustments are easy to make and The Back-Up© brackets can be adjusted from 15 inches to 24 inches to provide a custom fit to your device.
dmbmeg's response: "...to provide a custom fit to your device." I'd like you to custom fit my device, alright.

I sleep on the right side of the bed. Can I use it there?
Because of our unique patented design, you can adjust to fit The Back-Up© on either side of the bed, placing it where it is most convenient for you. In fact, we suggest you have The Back-Up© on both sides of the bed.
dmbmeg's response: I would agree. You can grab your shotgun on one side, and then roll over your significant other and grab the other. We can all re-enact Natural Born Killers. It will be awe-SOME!

I travel a lot for business or hunting. Is The Back-Up© portable?
Yes The Back-Up© is very light and portable. The unique patented design and construction gives you the ability to collapse it easily for travel, and place it wherever you need it.
dmbmeg's response: This happens to be a lot when I travel for business. A couple times I have been in meetings and realized I didn't have my shotgun with me. It was terribly embarrassing.

Children visit regularly. What should I do?
It is never wise to keep a loaded weapon close to children. Unload your shotgun, put it away and lock it up.
dmbmeg's response: Yes, unload your shotgun into the children. Fuckin' brats.

Will I have trouble getting in and out of bed?
The unique patented design of The Back-Up© keeps your shotgun close enough to the mattress and box springs so that it is well out of your way when entering and exiting your bed at night. During the day The Back-Up© is covered by your bedding, keeping it conveniently out of sight and out of the way.
dmbmeg's response. Phew I think the cold hard steel of my shotgun really clashes with the overall decorum of my room.

Do you have a guarantee?
Yes. Our product is 100% guaranteed from manufacturing defects. If your product is faulty in any way, return it to the factory so we can provide a replacement. If you are not satisfied with your product, return within 2 weeks of delivery and we will issue a refund. We will pay shipping for replacement units. You are responsible for the shipping on all returned products.
dmbmeg's response: I don't understand how anyone could NOT be satisfied with an invention that lets you hold a shotgun next to your bed. I mean, what is wrong with this country where someone would think there is something wrong with that?

How do I report a problem?
Contact us at support@the-backup.com or call at 1-888-780-0188. We will send you the information needed to get your problem resolved.
dmbmeg's response: Can you help solve the problem that I am a total and utter asshat?

When can I expect delivery?
We will ship your unit 4 to 6 weeks from the date of order. Maybe sooner!
dmbmeg's response: OMG! SOONER?!

GOD BLESS AMERICA

Links

I don't read that many personal blogs anymore. Frankly, most of them are not that good and make me want to gouge out my eyes with a spoon.

However, 2 blogs that I do read, both written by friends of mine, have posted two really really good posts deserved to be read by as many people as possible. They almost make me feel slightly embarrassed about my last post about Michael Fredo. Almost.

1) CrimeNotes on Les Miles Will Never Be My Coach - Probably my favorite thing he has ever written. It's about college football, but even if you aren't a fan like us, you'll still understand.

2) Jebus on Please, sir, I Want Some More - This one actually involves you, and a way you can be an unselfish twat for once. I'm disappointed in myself for not having done something sooner.

Go there (both links have very different subject matter, but I want you to read both). Now. Don't make me hurt you.

Another one bites the dust.

Have you ever met someone once, or in my case not at all, and they remind you of something really random?

I'm bringing this up, because Megan's friend Nick got married this weekend. And I am really fucking sad. I know! I never have met him, but he is so ridiculously good looking and all that shit. I actually thought one day we would meet, and we would fall in love. I'm not even kidding. Oh, and one time he got drunk, put on a sweater vest to try and emulate this:



So now whenever Megan mentions Nick, I have visions of Tommy Hilfiger and screaming teenage fans (that look like they were paid to scream).

Sorry for the shitty post. I really am in mourning.

[pours one for the homies, but not really cause I'm jamming to Michael Fucking Fredo]

More like Housewives of my Asshole.

Last night was another night when I was having difficulty sleeping, so I thought I'd flip to Bravo which is thanks to Project Runway and Top Chef one of my favorite "there is nothing better on the tellie stations" (note: this title formerly went to TLC before the station decided to suck. It almost had a brief comeback with the show I Eat 33,000 Calories a Day, but sadly this was not a recurring show).

Anyways.

I turn on The Real Housewives of Orange County and decide to watch. Why would I do this? The reason is simple. Shows like this made me feel infinitely better about myself. I am not a jackhole like these women, therefore my awesome is only re-affirmed. Plus, my tits are real.

So one of these bitches is getting married. Instead of going to David's Bridal for a dress she will wear one day, or doing what I am doing Pam Anderson style and eloping in a white bikini, she decides to is going to be all fancy and go to former Project Runway contestant Austin Scarlett for one of his designs (who upon observation really looks like the long lost member of Duran Duran).

Bitch starts trying on the dresses, and they are casually flashing the prices at the bottom of the tv. One is $12,000. Then they show one that is $18,000. Yes, $18,000. For a dress. She will wear ONE day. I didn't make that much even in a year until I was 25, and that was mostly because I decided to aide my income by cutting my hair and taping up my boobs to give blowjobs in Chelsea.

New Yorkers have this wedding disease where they think the size of their wedding (and ring) is directly correlated with the size of the couple's love for one another, and I fear it is spreading across the country. Is it just me or are these priorities fucked up? A guy's love for you should more accurately be correlated by the amount of oral sex he gives you, not the fact you had a $500,000 wedding. And, of course, how long he will sit and watch shows like The Real Housewives of Orange County before he throws me you into a trebuchet and launches you towards the Hudson.

To all the girls out there who encourage this excess, shame on you.

To all the men out there, on behalf of my gender, I am so so so sorry you have to put up with this shit. All I gotta say is the blowjobs better be damn good. And frequent.

Ice Storm

in response to dmbmeg's status message which says: You stay away from me Ice Storm. You STAY AWAY.

Amish: is there an ice storm coming our way/
Megan: yeah!
well it's ice now
http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5jv320qXrVAVFqDYU3nglqZySw6YgD8TF91480
Amish: wait
where are you
Megan: new york
Amish: this is about the midwest
Megan: it's coming though
here
Amish: oh
when?
Megan: probably next couple days
Amish: son of a
Megan: http://www.weather.com/newscenter/stormwatch/?from=wxcenter_news
thursday
Sent at 10:23 AM on Tuesday
Megan: WE ARE DOOMED
Amish: DOOMED
Megan: RUN FOR YOUR LIVES
Amish: haha
SAVE THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN
Megan: FUCK THEM
SAVE ME
we are going to need intelligent, beautiful women to re-populate the Earth
We are living The Day After Tomorrow
Amish: hahah
we are going to need my sperm
Sent at 10:30 AM on Tuesday
Megan: um, why?
Amish: to repopulate
Megan: er
well, apparently standards are lower for men
Amish, you do realize this is your chance to have sex with as many women as possible
Amish: YES
Megan: You go get 'em, cowboy!
Amish Shah [new status message]: HURRY UP ICE STORM
Megan: HA.

PBR me ASAP, Oksana

Saturday night I'm sitting around a table at Tom and Jerry's, when the doors open. A cold breeze blows into the bar. I look up, and see her.

Oksana Baiul.

I whisper shout to my fellow patrons, "That's Oksana Baiul!"

They don't believe me.

"You want me to ask if it is her?"

They agree.

I approach her with gusto while she is thumbing away on her Trio and ask, "I'm so sorry, but are you Oksana Baiul?" She nods. I am awesome.

Later in the night people are still not convinced that it is her, so then I ask, "You want me to ask her to do a triple axel? Jesus, it is her. She said it was." I then spent the rest of the night attempting to take pictures of myself, but really trying to take pictures of Oksana. The problem was she refused to turn around. She was too involved with her douchey men fawning over her to turn around and let some crazy bitch take a picture of her. So I gave up.

It was my turn to buy a round, and I noticed the bar sold PBR's, so I ordered 5 thinking I could get everyone to shotgun one with me. Classy lady, I know. Of course I ordered them right next to Oksana, praying that she would notice me. She didn't. Sniff.

I went back to my table, defeated and rejected once again by Oksana. And the worst part was, only one guy I was with conceded to the shotgun. Someone asked if I wanted a picture, and I said yes. Ladies and gentlemen...Exhibit A:
And that is how it is done.

A post about nothing.

Often my favorite part of this blog is the comments. I know it's Friday, and everyone is either drunk or sleeping at their desk, but I thought I'd try something here.

I'm giving everyone free range of my comments. Pimp out your own blog, tell me how much I suck, ask me on a date (which I will probably say no to, unless you're hot), talk about how much you enjoy the sport of free-style walking, eviscerate a fellow reader...I don't care.

What's important is that you comment. I need to be entertained. ("ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?")

Show me what you got, peeps! (and by that, I mean comments. Not pictures of your glistening torsos.)

I need your help.

Tonight is my company's holiday party. Yes, that's right. The fetish one.

I've been talking it over with my friends about what I should dress up as being that I don't have latex or patent leather readily available in my closet (I know, surprise, right?). One friend suggest that I carry around diapers and a pacifier, but thinking about it more, I kind of think that idea makes me look like I am attracted to babies or diapers than anything else.

Another friend suggested I carry around a big dildo (Chomsky's too small, fellas), which I can do, but I feel like this has already been done. You know, Spring Break 2002.

My friend is married now. I hope she never finds out about these pictures.

Upon my arrival at work, I asked some of my co-workers if they had any idea. They suggested just going down to American Apparel to get something that looks like this:

Anyone who knows me knows this isn't exactly my...style. Fuck, I wear turtlenecks and Chuck Taylors to the bar. So no.

But what I really want to dress up as is something to this effect:

So now I'm calling on you, freaks of the internets, to help me out. Remember I want something freaky, but nothing that requires me to expose my buttocks and/or wear boobie tassels.

ok, GO.

Cheating

I was having a conversation with my internet besty Garrett today, when the subject of cheating came up. I have never physically cheated on anyone, unless you count the time I made out with that guy in the bar two weeks before I broke up with my boyfriend last year, but at least I had the common sense to break up with him 2 weeks later, right? Right.

Basically he asked me if I would ever cheat, and my first inclination was to say no as I had no real desire to cheat on my ex-boyfriend til the end, even when he was fucking driving me batshit crazy the last year of our relationship (note: He is actually a great guy, and I still consider him one, if not the best friend I have ever had. We just didn't click "romantically" [gag] anymore). But then I thought more about it, and said that I would cheat, but only if I found someone better. I'd like to think that if I ever saddled up for marriage, I would be smart enough to choose the best guy for me, but people make mistakes. Yes, even I admit to making mistakes at times.

It's easier for me to just paste the conversation than to summarize:
me: cause people don't cheat unless there is something wrong

11:59 AM Garrett: that is not true at all

me: why do people cheat then? i never cheated on [ex's name redacted]

12:00 PM Garrett: that is like saying people climb mountains because there is something wrong with sea level

me: i don't even get that analogy

Garrett: there is nothing wrong with sea level - but there a big ass mountain there waiting to be climbed

me: you just do it cause you can?

Garrett: yes

12:01 PM Garrett: there are three types of cheaters
strike that

me: so you can cheat with anyone

Garrett: there are three types of men

12:02 PM 1)those that want to cheat but they are scared of getting caught 2)those that want to cheat - but can't find a woman to cheat with 3) those that cheat regardless of the consequences

me: and which are you? #2?

Garrett: number 1

12:03 PM me: why do you want to cheat though

Garrett: i don't get it

me: i guess this is a fundamental difference between men and women

Garrett: that's like saying - you have enough money to cover your expenses - why do you want more

12:04 PM me: i would cheat cause i found someone better

Garrett: so you would only cheat to try and find a replacement?

me: i would cheat because in some way the guy i was with isn't satisfying me
yep

Garrett: to leave your boyfriend or husband

me: someone better

Garrett: so if you found someone better you would leave your husband

12:05 PM me: i would hope to be smart enough that i marry the best

Garrett: girls are so weird

me: i know!

What do you guys think?

Goodbye My Lover.

Did I disappoint you or let you down?

Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?

'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,

Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.

So I took what's mine by eternal right.

Took your soul out into the night.

It may be over but it won't stop there,

I am here for you if you'd only care.

You touched my heart you touched my soul.

You changed my life and all my goals.

And love is blind and that I knew when,

My heart was blinded by you.

I've kissed your lips and held your hand.

Shared your dreams and shared your bed.

I know you well, I know your smell.

I've been addicted to you.

Goodbye my lover.

Goodbye my friend.

You have been the one.

You have been the one for me.

I am a dreamer and when I wake,

You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.

And as you move on, remember me,

Remember us and all we used to be

I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.

I've watched you sleeping for a while.

I'd be the father of your child.

I'd spend a lifetime with you.

I know your fears and you know mine.

We've had our doubts but now we're fine,

And I love you, I swear that's true.

I cannot live without you.

Goodbye my lover.

Goodbye my friend.

You have been the one.

You have been the one for me.

And I still hold your hand in mine.

In mine when I'm asleep.

And I will bare my soul in time,

When I'm kneeling at your feet.

Goodbye my lover.

Goodbye my friend.

You have been the one.

You have been the one for me.

I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.

I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.

I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.

I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.

Someone very close to me is about to leave my life again. It's hard enough that my mom died, but now, NOW those working against me have decided to take away someone who means a lot to me. More than any of you fools, that's for sure. He has had my heart for quite some time now, and I will always, always, cherish the time we had together.

[single tear]

In case you have been living under a rock or just [gasp!] don't watch baseball, one of my favorite players of all time, second maybe only to Dan Gladden (forget Kirby, I'm a sucker for mullets) is about to be traded. I've followed him for years now from the minors to Cy Young. He is a part of me, and now, he is going to be gone soon. The Red Sox and the Yankees are now fighting over my man, and I have to sit back and watch it. True, we'll get amazing players in return (along with some much needed $), and we desperately need to fill the hole in center field from Torii, but it doesn't make it feel any better, ok?

I know it's best for both of us. He's outgrown me. He is on to better stadiums, more money, and although I hate to admit it, sometimes better fans (I'm talking to Red Sox fans, not Yankee fans).

You mean a lot to me Johan. I hope wherever you go, you are truly happy. I'll never forget you.

(Oh and to all of Boston-fuck you. Seriously, get off my junk. David Ortiz, Randy Moss, Kevin Garnett, and now Johan.)

Disney World: The Nexus of Evil

dmbmeg: Have you both bought your Mickey ears yet in anticipation?

crimenotes: I bought tickets. Not sure if I'll end up going but want to reserve the option.

dmbmeg: you should go! Disney World!!

flop: If I go, I will most definitely not be going to Disney World.

crimenotes: Ditto.

dmbmeg: I went to Disney World a couple years ago with my parents. It isn't the same wondrous place I remembered as a child. It was just downright bad.

flop: I've never been, although I've been to Disney Land a dozen or so times.
The difference to me is that Disney Land is a monument to 1950s America, whereas Disney World is a massive device meant to Hoover money from parental pockets and keep kids from ever seeing anything worthwhile on vacation.

dmbmeg: It's not THAT bad. What is more interesting? A trip to Mount Rushmore? I hear South Dakota is beautiful this time of year.

flop: Every family vacation to Disney World is one that doesn't get taken somewhere that kids can learn something about the world outside of TV. I know I sound like some pious private-school administrator or something, but seriously -- wouldn't you rather your kids got to see New York or Washington or Toronto or even fucking Boston and maybe learn something about the world than get to take pictures with an underpaid actor in a furry suit? If I'm trashing a beloved Megan family tradition, I'm sorry -- you are clearly evidence that the harm is not as great as I feared. Still, if I marry someone and she is for taking the kids to Disney World, I will be consulting with a divorce attorney.

dmbmeg: when my nieces came to NYC, the only thing they wanted to see were the Macy's Christmas windows and the M&M store. While I agree Disney World is very commercial, I just don't see kids being that interested in where the Battle of Gettysburg took place. I don't necessarily agree with the commercialism of Disney World, but I think overall it encourages imagination at a young age. I see more of a problem with video games than anything else. My kids are going to go out and fucking run around and break stuff like they should be doing.

crimenotes: Sweet Jesus, you're melodramatic.
I went to Disney World about three times before age 10. It was cute and fun. I managed to survive unscathed. Maybe I'll escort [friend redacted] and [friend redacted] to Disney World while [friend redacted] covers a press conference, although I doubt that's their thing, either.
Also, I would rather have my kids exposed to Disney World than to Boston.

dmbmeg: Just wait until Flop has a daughter and all she wants to do is play pretty pretty princess, and he is trying to get her to watch Roots or something.

crimenotes: Yeah, I'm occasionally reminded that Flop is even weirder than I think.

flop: I will allow them to visit Disney Land, in Orange County, Calif. The sprawling nature-sink in Orange County, Fla., is out.

I managed to survive unscathed.

This is dubious.

dmbmeg: Anaheim is just as bad (although it does have the Matahorn)! At least Disney World has Epcot so you can teach your kids about black people and Asians. And I was waiting for some snarky remark to this effect. Well done, Flop.

flop: No, Anaheim is OK because it's just the theme park, which is a monument to 1950s-era postwar American optimism. (And, when I visited, hot Californian teenagers a couple years older than I). The resort in Orlando, from what I can gather, involves a sprawling, hellish campus designed so that families and their money need never leave the Disney manor. It's vacationing serfdom -- I wouldn't be surprised if familes were given change in scrip after all purchases. It's also a pilgrimage based on branding. Ugh. Should I have one, my family's only Haj will be to Pasadena.

crimenotes: If I ever had to live with you, I'd kill you in your sleep.

dmbmeg: you two remind me of those old crotchety muppets. I forget their names.

flop: If I took my kids to Boston, it would be solely for the purposes of seeing some shit about history, getting to Cape Cod or going to Fenway Park to cheer on the Indians against the dumbass Red Sox. I was beyond lucky growing up -- my school's class trips were to Toronto, Williamsburg and Washington. My parents took me to London, Ireland and Wales, New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle, Portland (Ore.), as well as beach vacations that involved nature (Sanibel Island, Fla., and Kiawah Island, S.C.). And an actually kind of crappy trip to Frankfort, Mich., that nevertheless was kind of cool because we got to see the sand dunes.

Waldorf and Statler.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7h15xIoVwWw

Crimenote's the one on the right. I think that's Waldorf.

I identify more with this guy, though: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbs64GvGgPU

dmbmeg: I visited different places too as a child. Never went to Europe, but I had been to the majority of the aforementioned family vacation hot spots, and one of my most vivid memories as a kid is my dad taking me on Space Mountain. I think it's less Disney World, and more the quality of parents that contribute to whether or not your kids are fucked up.

flop: Well, yes, but this doesn't help my theory that Disney World sucks. If we go, I think we should take [friend redacted] and [friend redacted] to a gator-wrestling farm or something. Fuck Disney World.

crimenotes: Yeah, because [friend redacted] would love gator wrestling and would trust you at a gator-wrestling farm while in the presence of her young child. Brilliant, Steve Irwin.

dmbmeg: Can you just wrestle actual Gator fans? It's probably equally as satisfying, if not more so.

flop: I bet [friend redacted] would clap her hands and squeal with delight as Uncle Flop tried not to get death-rolled by Fritz, the farm's tamest and least-dangerous gator.

dmbmeg: I'm sure Fritz is a fucking peach.

I am the LSU of Beirut

Last night my boss and I decided to head down to my favorite NYU drinking establishment, Down the Hatch, for some ice cold brewskies. Those of you who have been there know that the bar is known for its underage patrons, and of course, the mother of all drinking games, Beirut. And no, all you Dartmouth grads, it isn't "beer pong", so cut that shit out.

Imagine my dismay when my boss and I walk up to the table, which is normally surrounded by blood thirsty drunks eager to knock of the winning pair, covered with....coats. I immediately out my beer down and push the coats off the table with such a dramatic flare, I had women around me trembling with the fear of my wrath. Ok, no not really. I actually politely asked those around me if the coats were theirs, and to clear off the table so we can play a polite game of Beirut.

Much like the best Beirut players I know, I only get better the more I drink. My partner can be holding up my head while I border on consciousness, and I'll nail that ball in the cup when needed. So you can probably assume that I royally sucked our first game. A first game against some meat stick dude from Staten Island wearing cuff links and a yellow tie. Just...no.

We lost. First game. To a meatstick and a guy who has never played Beirut before, and get this, doesn't drink beer. [dmbmeg pauses to hang her head in shame]

I now know how Michigan felt losing to Appalachian State.

But then, a rematch, and let me tell you it was mother-fucking ON. We killed them on the second game, and I was getting a nice little buzz going. A small crowd was gathering and people were lining up to take us on.

At one point two brothers step up to the plate. I wasn't scared though. We won 3 straight in a row. So I go, and miss. My boss goes, and misses. Then it's the guys turns, and they get both shots in, nothing but net. Their form is impeccable and they have a swagger about them that tells me I should be scared. And I was.

At one point it was like our 7 cups to their 3 cups remaining. It was horrible. Then the clouds parted, and God decided to give me a fucking break, and we came back. It was down one cup to one cup. My boss throws, and makes the shot. Then they have a chance to stay in the game. First guy goes, and misses. Second guy goes....and makes it. So now we're in OT. We bring back two more cups each and start over. I was beginning to sweat I was so nervous, mainly cause the rest of the bar was crowded and I didn't want to lose the table. So I took some drastic measures, and I positioned my breasts behind the cups to attempt to distract them. Sure, I was wearing a shirt that showed little cleavage (I'm sorry), but my girls are big enough that you can still see that they are there. And it worked.

And we won, bitches. They choked at the site of my lady parts. In a good way.

We went like 8-2 for the rest of the night. I was thoroughly drunk since even though we were winning, we were only winning by a cup or two so we were still drinking all the beer. After our second loss, I suggest to my boss we do celebratory shots. Anything brown, of course. Let's just say I've felt better than I do today.