Well, this is surprising

The Wild Rose Random Brutal Love Dreamer (RBLD) Colorful, but unpicked. You are The Wild Rose. Prone to bouts of cynicism, sarcasm, and thorns, you excite a certain kind of man. Hoping to gather you up, he flirts and winks and asks you out, ultimately professing his love. Then you make him bleed. Why? Because you're the rare, independent, self-sufficient kind of woman who does want love, but not from a weakling. You don't seem to take yourself too seriously, and that's refreshing. You aren't uptight; you don't over-plan. Romance-wise, sex isn't a top priority--a true relationship would be preferable. For your age, you haven't had a lot of bonafide love experience, though, and this kind of gets to core of the issue. You're very selective. The problem is them, not you, right? You have lofty standards that few measure up to. You're out there all right, but not to be picked up by just anyone. Your exact female opposite: The Dirty Little Secret Deliberate Gentle Sex Master Always avoid: The Bachelor (DGSM) Consider: The Vapor Trail (RBLM)

Link: The Online Dating Persona Test @ OkCupid - free online dating.

Note: After taking this, I went ahead and looked at all the other female profiles. None of them insinuated that I was the best, which I had a problem with. I also found qualities in myself in most other profiles. Something tells me I need not take this quiz to heart.

Hmmmmmm

Let's try this again

Everyone loves Craigslist

When one isn't looking for a anonymous threesome on Craiglist, it's a great site to get stuff at a great value locally or even sell that old wine rack of yours to a guy down the block. With such convenience always comes the people who make your life so difficult.

Case in point:

I received an email email from my friend Prestonovich (note: NOT her real name so let's not look her up on Facebook, k?) referring me to this and I got quite a chuckle.

Enjoy:

Dear Crazy-As-Bat-Shit-Lady:

I am honored that you chose my ad for a mini fridge out of all the ads you could have chosen. It makes me feel good that my mini fridge will be supplying you with the ice cold beverages you've obviously become accustomed to.

Next time you answer one of my ads, please note the following:

1. I am not Home Depot. If you travel thirty minutes to pick up a bulky 40-pound object, please come prepared with the necessary items you'll need to secure it to your vehicle. Yes, I have rope. I have a lot of rope. I have many different colors and sizes of rope. No, you can not have my rope. The ad said I was giving away a fridge, not a fridge with rope. Nor was I offering a fridge with padding so that the pleather seats on your piece of crap 89 ford pinto with no hub caps car don't get marked up.

2. What part of ' must pick up' in the ad was confusing to you? Yes, I have a vehicle. No, I don't want to haul your fridge all the way to East BumbleFuck on the coldest day of the year. No, I'm really really sure I don't want to do that. No, really. I'm sure.

3. Please call me only once with ALL your questions. I left for the day, and had 5 messages on my answering machine, the last one was at 11:30 pm. Frankly lady, you were sounding a bit too crazy by the end of the day. It's a fridge. A small metal box that keeps shit cold. I don't have the fridge's family tree. For all I know the fridge's was conceived by a slutty young Maytag that graced some hillbilly's side porch. I don't know the exact age of the fridge. I bought it a few years ago, I used it for a couple of months, ok, I lied, I used it a whole year. The fact is, you're not buying a race horse, you're buying a used fridge.

4. No, I will not throw in a couple bucks of gas money to pick it up because your anal retentive eyes picked up the ittiest, bittiest hairline scratch with a microscope so it wasnt completly described. I'm not making judgements on you, but I'm pretty damn sure Donald Trump didn't send you across the state to pick up a used fridge for Trump Towers. Though I'd wager the whole concept of the mini-fridge bar is a familar one to you.

5. Yes, you can unplug a fridge without any harm to the fridge. Believe me, the fridge is fine. The manufacturers have figured out a way to extend the life of a fridge that has been unplugged. Yes, I'm absolutely sure of that. No, you did not have to leave 2 messages about your concerns with the fridge being unplugged, and frankly it was a little embarrassing having the same conversation with you in my driveway where my neighbors could hear.

6. No, I don't have the operating instructions. I can write them down for you though: Plug fridge in. Open door. Put crap inside. Take crap out when it's cold. Eat or drink crap.

7. I am not a fridge pimp. I don't have any more fridges at that price.No i dont have one in a diffrent color to match your other appliances, No, I don't know where you can get another fridge just like this one for your friend. Yes, I know it's in great condition, and I'm sure you'd like your other crazy-as-bat-shit-mini-fridge-finding-friends to have one just like it, but this is all I have. Here's a thought, there's this online classified ads website. Yeah, you may have heard of it, it's called CRAIGSLIST. I dunno, maybe, just maybe, in this great land of ours, there's another mini-fridge being advertised there.

8. Please remove my phone number from your address book. I think our relationship is over. Oh, and if you've added me to your AIM Buddy List, please delete me. Please. I beg you.

Yours truly,
the guy that gave you the fridge

Fight!

There have been many times I have ridden the subway only to be confronted with a crowded subway platform and the words every rider of public transportation fears, "Due to an earlier incident..."

The problem is no one I know every witnesses these "earlier instances" so I suspected that it was all just an excuse because the subway conductor decided to take a nap during the middle of rush hour. That all changed for me one fateful rush hour.

On my way home from work Friday, I boarded an empty Brooklyn bound N train at the Lexington Avenue stop. For some strange reason, the doors did not open for a good 20 seconds while the train was in the station. When they finally did open, I boarded a car and looked left. There were 3 gentlemen pinning down a guy in camouflage cargo pants on the ground and he was shaking violently trying to break their grip while two men, obviously intoxicated with red eyes and ripped clothes looked on patiently. I looked around the car and noticed blood all over the seats.

I asked a fellow passenger what happened, and he said the 2 men who were drunk and were being loud and antagonizing everyone on the train. At the last stop in Queens, a guy who appeared to be homeless got on the train and began provoking the drunk men. When the train went through the tunnel under the East River, that's when the fight broke out. I'm not talking just a few shoves here. The way the woman was describing it was full out fists and kicks all over the fucking train. They fought all over the entire length of the car which cause the other distressed passengers to run to the exit door to another car locked. Can you imagine? Jesus. What if they had knives?

When the train pulled into the station, the passengers pulled the emergency brake (that's when I boarded the Crazy Train (get it?!)), and waited for motherfucking backup or something. Once the cops arrived, it took 3 of them to handcuff the hobo as he was flailing violently shouting, "YOU'RE ALL FUCKING MONKEYS!" It was great. I had front row seats to crazy. I think I counted a total of 3 teeth in his mouth.

Dude kept going though despite having 3 strapping cops take him away. "FUCKING MEXICAN MONKEEEYYYYYYS!!!!!!!!!!!"

The drunks only reply was, "Dude, we're Puerto Rican."

Ha.

The "Mexicans" left a lot more peacefully, but also in handcuffs. I think they were just too fucked up to know what was going on. All they could do was kick ass and drink beer--and looks like they were all out of beer.

The best part of the whole thing was one of the MTA conductors who was pinning Monkey Man down shouted at everyone involved in the fight, "If I wasn't in fucking uniform, I'd kick all your asses."

It took me 50 minutes to get home from a normal 20 minute commute. I didn't even care. It was fucking awesome.

Or maybe you just had to be there.

Cheer me up

I had something to post that happened to me on Friday, and due to the fact I try not to blog at work and the fact my heart isn't in it today, I'm going to try something new/something I have done before. It's a good one though.

Instead of ME cheering YOU up (whether you are laughing at me or with me is irrelevant), why don't you guys try and cheer me up? Please? I've done the open thread thing before and it was a RAGING success (not really).

We can discuss anything you want. The Oscars, fashion, boys, girls, my bra size....I don't really care. Just talk. K, bye.

dmbmeg is drunk!

And had a bad day, but just learned a half hour ago that her best girl and girl are coming to visit her in April. Awesomefest 9000, bitches! That makes her feel better.

Some of your presence(s) have already been requested.

Be there.

Death to Meggie.

My sister tried to kill me once.

I have two sisters, both significantly older than me. While this saved me from being relentless teased as a child, I was on occasion subject to their abuse.

The story:
My mom was not a domestic goddess by any means. Her idea of a good time was oiling up by the pool rather than being a domestic goddess. Because of this, it was rare to find real plants in the house (they never lasted very long). Somehow I wonder how I actually made it out alive considering I'm not, you know, a fake human.

I digress.

There was one plant in particular that my mom loved. Why she kept this particular plant around and not others is most likely more for the reasons of it being low maintenance then any aesthetic value it held to her. It is a weird looking plant with these tentacles that had these weird cob seeds at the end surrounded by white leaves. As a child, I was fascinated by this plant and was always touching it. It appeared my fascination with this plant amused my sister, and it was then she decided to have some fun with me. I was 4, she was 13 (and old enough to know better).

One day, my sister was playing with me when she pointed to the little cob things on the plant. Gleefully, I went over to the plant to play some more.

Then she says, "Meg, those taste like chocolate milk. Did you know that?"

Now, one thing you have to know about me is chocolate milk is one of my favorite things in the whole world. In fact, just writing about this is making me salivate. You can see where this is going.

Without hesitation, I ripped off the cobby thing off the plant and popped it into my mouth. I don't remember the exact taste of the plant, but I've seen my sister re-create the face I made many times. I can only assume it was the worst thing I have ever put in my mouth (oh, shut it).

But if you think about it, what if that plant was poisonous? I mean, that shit could have killed me! And my sister was 13! If I died, where would you all be? Crying in your cubes looking for a good blog to read, no doubt. Since my near death experience, I see the world differently. The sun shines brighter, the grass in greener, and the birds sing sweeter. I just feel lucky to be alive.

(Maybe if you are good one day, I'll tell you about the time the same sister told me the hazard light on our Volvo was a 20 second timer to the car blowing up. She then waited until 19 seconds to tell me she was just kidding. I've never been more scared in my whole life. OK...I guess that was the whole story).

Reach out and...touch someone?

Last night I was out with some peeps recounting how only crazies seem to be attracted to me when I remembered a story that I have yet to tell you guys. It involves the two cousins (NOTE: NOT MY COUSINS. They were cousins...to each other. Not me. Yep) I made out with in one night (that post has since been deleted when mom found my blog. I suppose I could write it again as it resulted in a broken 5th metatarsal for me, but right now you got the gist of it: I made out with cousins on the same night).

I went out with cousin #1 once to play trivia with a few friends of mine. They immediately dismissed him when 1) he walked in with his cell phone on his hip, and 2) became immediately argumentative and refused to talk to anyone but me. DING DING DING! We got a winner!

Despite all this, I agreed to go out with him again. I'm not sure why. It might have been the fact he was really good looking and seemed to have a body THAT JUST WON'T QUIT. Yes, it might have been that.

We went to a local Irish pub in Murray Hill near my old apartment. We were drinking Guinness's, and he was buying (quickest way to my heart). The mood quickly changed when he started to get all touchy feely and tried to make out with me in the bar AND try to reach 2nd base. Now, my friends know I hate PDA, but even I have been known to commit a few PDA transgressions in my day (ahem...). The difference is those times I am black out drunk, or borderline black out drunk and can't even sit up without falling down. This time with cousin #1? Buzzed and happy, but no where near black out drunk (although I can't blame a guy for trying to touch the girls. They're nice ladies).

Mama wasn't having it, and I had to literally push him off of me. At this point I knew I was done. NEXT! He was a good kisser though, so I might have thought I would kiss him a few more times (somewhere private-like outside my apt building) before cutting the strings (with a broken foot remember. I'm a soulja!). I AM ONLY HUMAN!

Then out of the blue he handed me his cell phone saying, "Look at this. I have something to show you."

I opened up the phone to a very erect penis. Yes, it was a nice size penis, but the fact this twathead took a picture of his dick on his camera phone and sent it to me thinking, "Oh, my lady will desire this greatly," was too much. I wasn't sure where or when he took said photo, but I did not care. I let out a very audible yelp and dropped the phone on the floor. He reached down to the floor to pick up the phone thinking I was being cute.

By the time he sat up, I already had my crutches and was hobbling out the door.

The Story of Fiddles

A few months back right after Thanksgiving, I agreed to meet my friend Flop at a bar for a day of watching football. A couple of his friends showed up, including Fiddles. I sat at one end of the bar, and Fiddles sat on the other with everyone else in between us. I think he sensed then he needed to stay away from me. Intuitive, that Fiddles.

Beer after beer was ordered, and I got to watch Tarvaris Jackson actually look good against Fiddles beloved New York Giants. Of course I taunted him, which probably wasn't that nice of me as the game was a slaughter and Fiddles was pretty upset. Once all of our teams' games finished, we really got to drankin'. By dark, I was thoroughly sloshed, as it appeared was everyone else I was with.

I suddenly get a text message from Flop, who when I look over has his hand lovingly on his girlfriend's back talking to someone else. "Weird," I think. Then I read it. I don't remember the exact phrasing (I was drunk! HELLO?!), but it went something like this:

"I know this isn't the right time to tell you, or the place, but I've been in love with you for quite some time."

I look up puzzled at Flop, who still has his FUCKING GIRLFRIEND by his side, wondering 1) what the fuck he was smoking and 2) what happened to his taste in women? Clearly it was declining.

Then I saw Fiddles giggling like a school girl right next to Flop. A few curse words left my mouth, and I probably broke every glass in the bar with how loud I was yelling, but Fiddles continued to laugh.

"Give me your phone," I requested. "Let's see if you like it."

He shrugged his shoulders and proclaimed that there was no one in his phone that I couldn't send "any text message I wanted to."

"Even this one that says 'Dad'?" I asked.

"OK, everyone but that one," said Fiddles.

I then proceeded to close my eyes, raise the cell phone above my head as to ensure everyone in my party I wasn't looking, and the text recipient was completely random. I don't recall the name I landed on, but it was something like "Gary" or "Gil" or "Maury". What I mean is the name is irrelevant to the story. I then think of what to say, and begin to slowly key out my text. I'm drunk, remember? It took a while since I was trying to make this serious and not add extra letters to the text like how I normally send them when drunk. The text is as follows (or something close to it):

"Sometimes I pull the skin around my balls in such a way that it resembles a flying squirrel. I think of you every time I do this."

Satisfied with my text, I smugly slide his phone back over to him. I take a sip of beer, and look over to the look of death on Fiddles face.

"That was my boss." he mumbled.

Oh.Fuck.

This goes on for about 30 minutes of me apologizing profusely, and him saying it wasn't really my fault. You see, it gets worse. This wasn't just his boss. I mean, I could say that shit to my boss and he'd probably laugh. This was his fucking VP. I don't know how many bosses were between Fiddles and this man I texted, but it was a lot. And apparently the guy is a stiff.

Fiddles keeps on looking at his phone thinking of what he should do next. We start brainstorming ideas on what he should do. Apparently the boss-man is a Luddite and not of fan of texting, so there is a chance he would have no idea what he received and ignore it. Or it could have been that he was in the process of throwing Fiddles' computer out the window as we were sitting there in the bar. It was almost like Fiddles was trapped in his own little Prisoner's Dilemma, and I of course was the one who sent him to jail. He had 3 choices: 1) admit fault to his boss the following morning thereby ensuring that his boss WOULD in fact read the text even if he didn't know what it was the first time around, 2) ignore it and pretend like nothing happened hoping the boss-man didn't see the text, 3) leave the country. Option 2 was clearly best case scenario, but I reminded (guiltily) that if you do something wrong that may involve HR, it's best to take ownership and just say you fucked up and move on.

Fiddles girlfriend, a lawyer of some type, arrived and gave him legal advice while I begged on my knees for her to forgive me for possibly getting her boyfriend sacked. The best part about this story was the person above the boss-man in his contact list was CrimeNotes, the person below him was his brother. Fiddles had to remind me that either of those possible recipients would have been actually funny, not life-threatening like his current situation. In fact, Fiddles then went on that if he remembered his boss-man was in his contacts, he would have reminded me that out of the 100+ people in his phone, the boss-man and his dad were the ONLY TWO I could not text.

Fiddles never said anything to his boss, and so far his boss hasn't said anything to him so this story has a happy ending. But it took a few apologetic smiles and a couple of shots of Jameson for him not to look at me without grinding his teeth in anger. Oh yeah, he also got his revenge that his fucking Giants won the Super Bowl and my Vikings collapsed just enough to miss the play-offs. Karma....it's a bitch. And I'm an asshole.

The End.

That.Just.Happened.

meg: who sent you flowers???
Megan: no one!
[cuts wrist]
meg: oh
nevermind
megan gates got flowers
i misread facebook

Happy Valentine's Day y'all! Enjoy the cuteness (yes, I know it's a few years old, but it never gets old to me. Wait for around 2:15 to see the kid really kick it)

Jeebsians Unite!

One of the weird things about having a blog is not only the fact that I invite complete strangers into my sometimes personal thoughts, but also the friends you make while doing it (dirrrty!). Not only have I made friends here in New York, but I've developed friendships across the country. I talk with them as much as my "regular" friends, and sometimes even more so (mostly due to most bloggers I encounter loving gmail).

Let me back up a bit. Last summer, while reading my muses' blog, I clicked on a link my friend CrimeNotes posted. What I would then go on to read would change my life forEVER (ok, I may be exaggerating for dramatic effect).

Anyways, the author had a knack for story-telling which I instantly fell in love with. It soon became one of my favoritest blogs on the internets. Despite several poorly worded and inappropriate comments on my part (to get his attention - but not like the crazy stalker/commenters over there - I was drunk probably 80% of the time leaving these said comments), I still managed to become friends with this blogger.

Through a series of unfortunate events (mostly because of the crazy possessive female commenters), he stopped posting regularly. This made me sad. It is so rare that I find a blog that makes me smile, let alone one that makes me howl in laughter at my own computer while I am at work.

What does all of this have to do with anything? Well, folks, this blogger has now become a "professional" writer. We don't know what that is exactly but I'm sure he'll remind us 50 times a day. That being said, I couldn't think of someone more suited for a career in writing than this guy. I won't say anymore as I want you all to decide for yourself what your thoughts are as he's (finally) posting regularly again.

I'm not going to just send you a link to his blog (since he hasn't written much in the past few months, some of you might be disappointed), but I'm gonna link my favorite posts written since I started reading. (Note: this is a blatant attempt to give him some much deserved traffic. The fact that my blog is more popular proves there is no accounting for taste in America)

• Get Off Me - sometimes even man's best friend is difficult.


• Are you...crying? - A date with disastrous consequences! Awkwardness for the hero means entertainment for the reader!


• Are you there Cyclone fan? It's me...Jebus - This post had special meaning for this Hawkeye fan.


• When animals attack - see a 6'4" man get taken down single handedly by....a squirrel. Hilarity ensues!


• I'm On Fire: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 - singing Springsteen on an answering maching (WTF?) leads to disastrous consequences!


• My 4th Worst Ex of All Time - Part of his (formally) on-going series about his crazy exes, this one is my personal favorite (it's the post that CrimeNotes linked originally). I would link all the ex stories, but I don't want to overwhelm you. But they're all good - Honest! Also note - this post single-handedly almost led to his downfall. There was intrigue Poorly hand-written notes intended to blackmail! An attempt at reconciliation! And a readers poll that let US decide what Jebus should do! Weeeee!
  

Now get to reading you hear? Times a wastin'!

Yep

Too much guacamole.

Nostalgia

I know one's not supposed to dwell on the past but focus on the present or the future or something like that, but there are a few things from my childhood/young adulthood that I desperately wish would return. Call it nostalgia, call it getting older, call it my own version of I Love the 80's and/or 90's or just call it pathetic, I don't care.

1. Hypercolor t-shirts - Whomever thought of clothes that change color is a genius. True, you couldn't put them in the dryer for running the risk of having your shirt stay in a permanent hyper-color state, but they were interactive. Is it just me or is shit more fun when it changes colors? I swear I can play with my nieces and nephews changing color sippy cups for hours.
2. Breaker High - this show is where I first met Ryan Gosling. It's about a high school....on a cruise ship! It had all of the characteristics of a super fabulous teen dramedy, but, you know, with WAVES.
3. Rick Astley - he can sing the panties off of me any day. And also, fact: sometimes I watch Conan O'Brien and wish it was Rick Astley.
4. The Disney Afternoon - I'm not even ashamed to admit this, but I'm a grown woman and I am proud to admit I would Tivo The Disney Afternoon to this day if it was still on.
5. Saved by the Bell: The College Years - It's Zack Morris! But with long hair! And a bunch of other chicks I don't recognize!
6. Slap bracelets - Dude, how much did these fucking things hurt? Eventually the fabric started wearing off exposing the rather sharp metal insides. I also believe I had no less than 3 of my own slap bracelets taken away from me in class.
7. Garbage Pail Kids - Seriously, people let kids have these? I mean, they're awesome, but they make me queezy now and I'm 27. Kids today couldn't handle GPK. That's how we rolled.
8. Quantum Leap - All I need to say: "Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator and vanished .... He awoke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not his own and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al, an observer from his own time, who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And so Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong and hoping each time that his next leap will be the leap home." Best.Show.Ever. Oh Boy!
9. Pogo Balls - It took me my entire lower elementary school career to learn how to use one of those damn things. I still have scars on my knees from mine Pogo ball, but I refer to them sometimes as my "war wounds".
10. Jell-o Pudding Pops - These were just straight up crazy delicious. I can't find them anywhere in NYC. Can I get a little help up in this bitch, please Bill Cosby?
11. The Mighty Ducks - Only the greatest thing to come out of Minnesota since me and Soul Asylum.
12. L.A. Gear kicks - Yeah, I rocked the shit out of mine.
13. The Pump - Nothing makes you feel like a supreme athlete by inflating your shoes so much it restricts to blood supply to your toes. This shoe didn't make you a better athlete, but by god, you looked good trying. All for a whopping $80!! The nerve!
14. Make It and Bake It - it's a toy that let wee youngin's like me melt glass or something. It's to this day the one toy I desperately wanted, but never got (hello, spoiled!). Something about it being "dangerous" or something. I dunno.
15. Jelly shoes - Yeah, I'd still fucking wear these. Step off! They can't be good for the environment though, right? I mean, do they ever decompose?
16. Color Me Badd - more like Color Me Sexxxay! GRRRRRRRRR!
17. Bubble Gum cigarettes - So what if they encouraged smoking at a young age? We sure looked cool doing it!!

Wow, I'm totally impressed by all the awesome in this list! And this is all what I thought of in an hour. Let's see what you got, people.

Happy early birthday, Floppy!

LOOK! I made you guacamole! Ok no, not really. I made it for me, but you're more than welcome to some. Once I'm done eating it (I make good guacamole).

Chick flicks!

I'm going to let you guys in on a little secret. I'm a girl. Shhhhhh. Don't tell anyone.

With having a vulva comes certain attachments: I like shopping, enjoy expensive purses (but not shoes--Chuck Taylors and flip flops for this girl), menstruate every 28 days, cry at inappropriate times (meh), watch American Idol and Project Runway, and celebrity gossip. I'm not embarrassed of any of that. I can't help the menstruation and expensive purses just look nicer. I have two closets packed full of everything from Marc Jacobs to Old Navy. The more clothes, the better. American Idol and Project Runway are the two best reality shows on tv, and celebrity gossip makes me feel better about the fact that I'll never be as rich or pretty as most of them (except for you, Kiki).

However, there is one thing to which I am ashamed. Being that my favorite movies range from Boogie Nights to Lord of the Rings to Blow to The Royal Tenenbaums to Wall Street, you might say my taste in movies is more on the masculine side.

When I was home sick yesterday , I noticed that Notting Hill was on. I LOVE Notting Hill. It was then when I started to mentally create a list of chick flicks in my head that I realized I like more chick flicks than I originally thought. My list (in no particular order):

1. Notting Hill - I love Hugh Grant. I feel like he is one of the few actors that men can watch in a chick flick and don't feel emasculated. Not only does this story have a happy ending that makes me all mushy inside ("She" by Elvis Costello gets me every time), but I kind of like the cliche that he was supposed to be lucky to have her rather than the obvious other way around.
2. Beaches - You try not to cry at this movie. FUCKING TRY IT! I mean, at the end [sob], when CC is on stage [sob], and she [sobs] waves to Hillary [sob], who is dead [hic].
3. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days - wait, don't discredit me yet! I dare you to find me a girl who while watching this laughs openly saying, "OHMYGOD! I CAN'T BELIEVE GIRLS DO THAT!" but then really think, "OHMYGOSH I TOTALLY DO THAT!" And no, I'm not telling you what I've done. [cough cough PERFUME ON PILLOW] STOP JUDGING ME OK? HE SAID HE LIKED IT!!!!!
4. Titanic - I don't know what it is about this movie, but I can never get enough. I'm pretty sure I masturbated to Leo like every other girl after this movie, but that isn't why I liked it. It's actually....good! No really! I think it is! I mean, every single time I watch it I hope the boat doesn't sink and Jack and Rose buy a house on Long Island together. It never happens and I am forced to watch Leo sink to the bottom of the ocean every time. Sigh. (PS James Cameron--ICE FLOATS)
5. Bridget Jones Diary - Again with the Hugh Grant. Anyone who doesn't awkwardly shift in there chair and laugh out loud (LOLzy) at this movie has no sense of humor. Renee was perfectly cast (for once)
6. Love Actually - AGAIN WITH THE HUGH GRANT!!! But really, how can you not turn all soft when you see this movie? Just thinking about the ending at the airport gives me goosebumps. NO! FOR REALS!!!! I am not 100% cynical now, ok?
7. 10 Things I Hate About You - RIP Heath. If you haven't seen this movie, his solo rendition of "I Need You Baby" makes the whole movie worth it.
8. The Princess Diaries - Yes, I own this movie, and NO you cannot borrow it. Julie Andrews eyes still twinkle in this. She can do no wrong.
9. The Notebook - The ONLY movie I ever cried in the theater watching. Shutup, YOU DON'T KNOW ME.
10. I can't think of a 10th, but it seemed like the appropriate number to end on.
    

Anyone else have any movies they want to share? I won't judge...much!

Quarantined

Yep, apparently I'm not impregnable to disease. Half of Manhattan is sick right now, and so am I. So, while my T-cells do away with whatever evil invaders are in my body, go check out some of the blogs on my blog roll or somethin' will ya?

[cough cough]

[wipes phlegm off computer]

On a brighter note, my voice is all husky and raspy. I think it sounds sexy. Yes, I sound like a sexy chipmunk.

You will now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

First off, I'd like to say congratulations to the New York Football Giants for an absolutely amazing game. I started out at a bar for the night, but the free Jim Beam and mini corn dogs did not sit well in my already temperamental stomach. I was forced to go home at half-time to lie on my couch with a bottle of Pepto. Not fun.

Now, this is one of the few, if not only times I will cheer for the Giants. I hate them. I dated a Giants fan during the 2001 NFC Championship debacle, and I never heard the end of it. I took a lot of pleasure watching the Vikings destroy the Giants this year. However, the short-sleeved force of evil known as Bill Belichick needed to be stopped. I swallowed my pride, and attempted to muffle my laughter when Eli got another delay of game penalty. THAT'S how badly I wanted the Pats to lose.

I found myself jumping up and down in my apt alone when Stems Plexiglass caught the game winning touchdown. Then I stood there in awe when something occurred to me. Something I never thought would ever happen in a million years. I was impressed...by Eli Manning.

I'll just let you guys marinate on that one a little bit.

Done? OK good.

At that very moment, I was almost proud to be residing in the same state as this great team. The ultimate underdogs. It was like the 1980 Olympic Hockey Semi-Finals and the Giants were the Americans, and the Patriots, ironically, were the Russians. That's how good it felt. Seeing that fucking smug, cheating bastard in his red hoodie (NOT the game to change it up, yo) abandon his entire team on the field with 1 second left made me almost throw my tv out the window.

Then, it all changed.

I changed the channel to avoid listening to Jimmy Johnson wax philosophical about his undefeated seasons at U of Miami and began watching the end of The Biggest Losers: Couples Edition (totally AWESOME!).

At first I thought it was my television, but the same persistent noise kept up. I walked into my bedroom which is on the street, and I heard them. Every collective douchebag Giant fan honking and yelling on the street.

Their cheers were generic, and their accents repugnant.

This lasted for 3 hours. On a school night. Don't you fuckers know it's night night time?

So I'm cranky, and I got no sleep. Now it just occurred to me that a lot of Giants fans are Yankee fans too, and I'm going to have to listen to this shit for another fucking year.

Plug it up!

This morning I was riding on the subway minding my own business, when I looked to my left to see a lady reading a book. Occasionally I'll be surprised about what someone is reading if they are reading something I enjoy, but more often then not I see Nora Roberts or James Patterson.

So I look to my left, and try and focus on the name of the book which her thumb is covering up. I then move my eyes over to the name of the chapter. It reads Chapter 4: Understanding Your Mentrual Cycle.

Now, my first thought is, "Huh? Who needs help understanding that?" I raise my eyes to her face fully expecting to see like a 12 year old girl or at the minimum a horny dude in his 20's. No such luck. This woman I would guess would be around 35 or so and looked like she liked the sex (read: a cock hungry whore!).

I sat there for a good minute staring at her and thinking abuot how a woman of 35 doesn't already understand her mentrual cycle. I bet I could ask any of my male readers about it and they could give us a lesson, let alone a woman. Every 28 days we're reminded about our curse on the world (tampons and birth control are expensive, yo).

The train stops and the lady gets up from her seat. I manage to get a quick glance at the title of her book which ends with the word Fertility. Huh? I might classify anything regarding fertility issues, porn, and Cosmopolitan as shit you should NOT read on the subway. And here this lady was advertising about how all her lady parts have shriveled up.

People have no shame.