Get Yo Freak On

After my Thanksgiving travel cluster-eff I figured I had built up enough good travel karma to make it back to the Mitten without any hitches this Holiday season.  I should've slapped myself for ever thinking this. I have the WORST travel jinx in all the lands.  After I got into the whore land that is O'Hare about an hour and half late I turned my phone on to a voicemail that my flight to Michigan had been cancelled. Effffffff.  After mall walking to the customer service line I quickly discovered that a flight outta chi-city just wasn't going to happen. Soooo I hauled ass out of the airport and hopped on the "L" to get downtown to Union station and catch an Amtrak home. Enter FreakShow Friday. I saw some things on this public transit ride that no one should see. NO ONE. 

First and foremost it should be known that homeless people who are mentally ill really freak me out. Call me ignorant, call me an asshole, but the unpredictability terrifies me.  So, with that knowledge in mind, imagine my horror when I get on that rickety ass train and find that I am ALONE in the car with a homeless woman who is having a full blown conversation with a man named Dennis. I want to reiterate that I was ALONE with this woman. No Dennis to be found. But don't worry, we were just gonna chat with him anyways. I was petrified. Well, eventually the train filled up with other travelers and that was when the real party started. I ended up sitting next to a 20-something girl who had a pimp cane and was wearing her pink sparkly aviators despite the fact that it was not only already dark outside, but we were, in fact, underground. Not gonna lie, I totally thought she was someone famous at first. *insert eyeroll*

Now if we skim over the hipster who stood FACING me with his fly down for 20 minutes, the girl who was having a full-fledge screaming match with her boyfriend on a cell phone complete with ugly crying, and the woman who spent at least 10 minutes trying out different apparatuses she could find in her purse to assist her in scratching her weave...

...the real FreakShow finally for me was homeboy who thought he was going to get discovered by P.Diddy on this godforesaken train. I kid you not, for a full half hour this dude stood facing the doors of the train rapping nonsense into the glass while using a single knuckle to create a "beat". Now, I like rap music. I have full appreciation for a good beat, clever rhymes, and a ridiculous diamond chain, but this. THIS. Made my ears bleed. Basically all he did was say "bitchass hoes and bad muthaf@#!ers, making this paper" with A LOT of n-bombs sprinkled in between.  He was incessant. I don't even think homie came up for air. It was a nonstop accost on my eardrums.  What in that name of all that is pleasant did this man think was going to come of this performance? That someone was going to video it on their phones and he was going to become a World Star Hip Hope phenom? Um. No. All he was doing was making a lot of people in a small space angry. Now that just sounds dangerous to me.  The worst part was that he had a friend who just stood there with him bobbing his head to the ridiculousness acting like his buddy was the next Jay-Z.

I will not be listening to rap for many moons. Not until I can forget that monstrosity.  Public transit for the FreakShow Friday win. 

Delirious

2 minutes off of the plane and I was freezing my balls off. So I'm just gonna give a big EFF YOU Thank You to my city for that lovely welcome home.
Christmas with my family made my heart sing, my jeans tight, and my head ache.  I ate my weight in my mom's delicious cooking. I drank my weight in my dad's fancy wine (turns out real adults spend more than $10 on bottles of wine. Who knew!) And basically had the greatest time loving the shit out of my family.
I'll tell you guys all about it tomorrow when I'm not so tired that I need an IV drip of caffeine and want to go all Dexter meets Texas Chainsaw Massacre on the next person who talks to me. 
A quick photo recap as you wait on baited breath until tomorrow. 

 

By All Means, Please, MOVE SLOWER

I was taunted by an old woman last night.  No seriously. My friends and I were trying to leave a restaurant after a FABulous girls night and a flock of elderly people were blocking the entire doorway.  They were saying their goodbyes, so we waited patiently behind them thinking it'd all be over soon. OH NO. It was not over soon. This woman was saying goodbye to every.single.friend. at the speed of smell. Once again, while blocking the ONLY exit.  AND she knew what she was doing. With every hug she gave us a taunting look over the shoulders of her embraced companion.  She was essentially saying "Eff off" to us with her eyes.

You can only mean-mug me so many times before I have enough. I have respect for my elders, but at that point it was time to crowd walk our asses through them. You know the crowd walk - the one where you find even the smallest opening and shove yourself through it while saying excuse me so you feel like you're not a total asshole.  Yeah. I'll admit it. I crowd-walked through a mob of geriatrics. Sue me. Someone had to take matters into their own hands or that sassy blue-hair would've had us standing at that exit for 45 minutes and I had had 2 glasses of wine which is the equivalent to a hefty dose of NyQuil to me on a Tuesday night.  It was time to go. To my credit you could've driven a mack truck the opening I found, so not a single senior citizen was even touched let alone shoved. Even I have limits.
There is a BIG difference between being elderly and just being rude.  Besides, it was like, totally a fire hazard. I was simply acting on survival instincts. :)

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I'll Be Home For Christmas

I'm not gonna lie to you guys, my brain is already in Michigan. I'm already laying on the floor of my parents' living room as my nephew throws balls at me while my mom asks my baby brother what he did last night from the other side of the kitchen and Kay sits with her coffee in the big chair tweeting about the madness and Bro Dos sneaks outside to putt on the golf course for a moment of silence, even if there is 2 feet of snow out there. My dad is chicken pecking at his iPad and running a hilarious commentary about the morning happenings as E and The Doctah bust in the door, E ho-ho-ho'ing upon her entrance and the Skizzle smiling brightly behind her just trying to make sure she doesn't eat it in our foyer and crush the presents she has in hand.

Its safe to say I'm ready to be home with my family. Three. More. Days.

SupaFreak

Finallllllllyyyy!!!

Its the first FreakShow Friday in a while! *Insert the parade of excitement you all are feeling here*

Today I want to talk about how I become the World Champion of awkward when I'm put in uncomfortable/nerve wracking/anxiety provoking situations. I say horrifying things that would make you want to stand in a corner hugging yourself from second-hand embarrassment. 

I am not proud of this. Its just the way it is. 

Whats that?  You want examples? Ask and you shall receive. 

First, lets discuss me meeting the creep-show new employee the other day. Let me preface this by saying homeboy was straight To Catch A Predator creepy. So much so that he's already been deemed "not the right fit for our team". 

Anyways.

So he comes walking past my cube the other day and I say, "Hi! Welcome! I'm Megan" *shakes hand*

His response?

Ohhhhkay. 

So now starts the part when I feel uncomfortable and turn into a socially inept being. 

My response? "(uncomfortable laugh) Big Gulps, eh? Welp. See ya later (uncomfortable laugh) (rolls office chair away)" 

WHAT MEGAN?! WHAT? 

Tell me why, in that situation, the ONLY thing I could think to say was a Dumb and Dumber quote. I couldn't just be normal and say "well, welcome to the team. Nice to meet you." No I had to out-weird him.

Next, lets talk about why I cannot be trusted on a blind date. 

Let me break this down for you.

I'm going on a blind date with a tall, handsome, successful guy. 

I talk this guy up so much in my head I feel like I'm going to vomit all over my steering wheel en route to the restaurant. 

We sit at the bar for drinks and start chatting.

Enter the "silent pause between conversation topics"

Enter Megan panicking.

Enter Awkward Megan.

I start off safe, "so do you have any siblings?"

"no."

More panic.

"So you're an only child! Wow. So does that mean you like to be alone?"

??

"um. no, not always."

I'm scrambling now

"Oh, so do you want to have kids?"

Stop Megan. STOP.

"Uhhh, yeah I want to have kids."

Megan, just admit that you panicked and you realize how psycho that sounded.

"Oh yeah? So like, just one or more?"

-look of horror on his face -

"No, probably not just one."

-He runs screaming for the door-

-I proceed to slowly place my head on the bar and try to hide from shame-

I swear I didn't even care about his hopes for procreating. It wasn't me talking, it was the awkward demon that takes hold of me every time I get nervous. 

I know. I now drink a cocktail (or 2, or 4) before any date. I clearly cannot be trusted without being "medicated".

All I Didn't Want For Christmas

I don't understand how its not Friday. Its literally causing rage to bubble up inside of me. This week feels like a cruel joke and every morning when I wake up with that quick fleeting hope that I can throw on some jeans for work the Universe is like, "SIKE". 

"I keep thinking today is Tuesday" = me.

So I made a quick mention to Batman Forever the other day and that, coupled with my recent shopping excursion to find my nephew a Christmas gift, got me thinking about inappropriate gifts you can give to people. 
First of all - you have to be wondering what dafuq Batman Forever has to do with inappropriate gift giving. Well, its inappropriate when your NANA gives it to you and your 2 sisters when every single one of us was under the age of 12. First of all, we're all girls - did she really think we would be doing cartwheels in the living room over a Batman movie? I mean c'mon! We were still making up dances to the Chipettes' version of "Leader of the Pack"! AND that part where Nicole Kidman is basically whoring herself out to Val Kilmer on a roof? She's all, "I love rubber and I'm an open book you can read." Umm...really Nana? I feel uncomfortable.

Now lets move over to what I wanted to get my nephew for Christmas...

Yeop. I was ready to have this dude picking up chicks all over the 'hood. Too bad he's 15 months old. Turns out you can't stick a one year old in a self-operated motorized vehicle without someone calling Child Protective Services. I was gonna get him a helmet too for pete's sake! I'm not completely irresponsible. I had to settle for this pimp mobile instead. He'll be getting his cruise on Flinstone style.

Last but not least lets discuss the time I pulled my boss's boss in the office Secret Santa. Why? Whyyyyyy??? What the hell do you get  ridiculously wealthy man who has entirely too much power over not only the trajectory of your career, but that of your boss's as well. Efffffff. So what was the only logical thing that came to my mind? Two words. Motorized. Helicopter. 

Can I please tell you the look on this man's face when he opened up a toy from one of his employees? It was mix of confusion, discomfort, and hidden jubilation. The awkward silence at the lunch table was palpable.  I think I might just take on the role of the most inappropriate gift giver in my family/social circle. Make it my thing. What do you guys think? 

Its Just a Break NOT a Breakup

This is a letter I never wanted to have to write. Its got me ugly crying like Kim K. into my morning coffee. I know once I write it all down its going to be real, but it has to be done... Dear My Sweet-Sweet Booze,

It pains me to write this. It hurts my heart more than that time I found out Channing Tatum was married. I just...think we need to go on a break. Listen, I don't like this any more than you do, but that 6 weeks of separation we had with each other last year really worked out for the best and I think, after the Holidays, it is time for us to take some time apart.

We have until the New Year at least! No, no this is not a New Year's resolution. If I had the choice between not hanging out with you for a year or standing butt-naked in the mall on Black Friday, I would start stripping now. It just that....you're making me puffy and swollen and full of Taco Bell. I'm trying to rejoin the Bad Bitches Club and you are just starting to hold me back. I know you don't mean to, but when you put on those sexy bleu cheese stuffed olives you know I like, I start retaining more water than the Titanic. Do you even know what its like for your fingers to be so swollen your rings give you a phalanges version of muffin-top?!

I know we'll find each other again. We always do. I can already picture our glorious reunion. I'll be base tanned and wearing strappy sandals as I wait in the airport headed to the Virgin Islands. I'll have my Bad Bitch Posse (*cough* E & Kay *cough*) in toe and you? You will be there at some trashy airport Chili's beckoning me across the terminal, whispering sweet nothings as I request your cold, refreshing touch from an airport bartender who undoubtedly hates his life. Then upon first sip, I will be wasted. 

Until then Booze, I give you permission to see other people. Go ahead and get college girls falling down drunk until they're making friends in a filthy dance club bathroom and making out with whoever grinds on them next. Go ahead and be the shoulder to cry on for that vulnerable girl who just got dumped by some dude she had already inserted into her fully planned imaginary wedding. Enjoy watching P.S. I Love You 47 times and telling her she looks beautiful as she munches on a brick of cheese. Do what you have to do while I'm gone. I understand. But please know - no matter how many hook-ups you facilitate or how many texts you send to inappropriate people at 3AM - no one and I do mean NO ONE will love you like I do. 

I can't wait until May.  Love, M.

This is Boring. Don't Say I Didn't Warn You.

I've never felt closer to being an Eskimo in my entire life. I just managed to dig myself out of the 16 INCHES of snow we got over the weekend.

I've never missed covered parking so much in my life! It was like the Snow Miser sharted all over Hans. (yes, my car is named Hans. Judge if you must.) 

If only you all could have had a front row seat to me scraping my car for the first time in probably 4-5 years. It was some hood rat shit.
First, you can only be so fly with your dress pants fully tucked into snow boots. Second, I could only find one glove and let me tell you, it wasn't the right one. In both senses of the word. So there I am, in single digit weather straight Michael Jackson style with one glove on, trying to scrape my car left handed.  I am right handed.  I am not ambidextrous.  This was a friggin' nightmare.  This is a boring story, so I don't want to be long winded - lets just say the story ends with a sweatshirt I found in my trunk MacGyvered around my right hand and I may or may not have frostbite in my thumb.  Snow is bullshit.
In more important news, as of late I cannot think of a single thing to post about, hence why my first post in ages is about scraping a car.  I feel like I just sucked out all your brain waves like Jim Carey in Batman Forever.

Ultimate.Blogger. Fail. 

I Was Kidnapped By Netflix

Oh Hey!
Sorry, but I'm just now able to pull myself away from the wet dream that is Tim Riggins. 

oh gawd.

I've literally been glued to my Netflix and completely blame my sister/cousins for getting me sucked into this damn Friday Night Lights show. What is it about having an entire series at your finger tips that makes you irrational about watching it. I'm like a strung out Lohan. Every time I finish an episode I'm all "just one more. I'll go to sleep/clean my apt/grocery shop/ be a real life human, after just one more episode." Its gross. I need Netflix rehab.
I'm sorry I've been cheating on you all with 30 year old actors playing 17 year old high school football players. My bad. I apologize.
I spent my weekend at very grown-up Christmas parties. Like, there were children in the basement grown-up parties. I drank wine sensibly, mingled about triathalons, traveling, and babies, was home by 11pm each night and not once did I feel hungover. I even tied a bow around a bottle of champagne as a hostess gift and it didn't look like a 7 year old boy did it. I don't even know who I am any more. 
Let me tell you something about grown-up parties. They are the shit. Holy delicious food and endless supply of alcohol batman! And I'm not just talking some pizza rolls on a serving platter and a handle of Burnetts. I'm talking full on buffets of shit that I'm not even sure I knew what it was, but it tasted like a dream and quality booze that didn't feel like I couldn't be within 3 feet of a match while drinking. This coupled by the fact that I did not have to worry about a.) holding my friend's hair back b.) stumbling in my 4-inch platform booties c.)being cornered by an undesirable drunk male while my GFs are too drunk to save me. 

Adult par-tays = refreshing change of pace. 

'Tis The Season

Now that the turk has had his day in the sun - well more like oven, fryer, overstuffed stomachs and the like, its the glorious time of year when chestnuts roast on fires and shit.  Eggnog abounds. I freeze my tits off. I know, I know, I was warned of this before I moved to this frozen tundra - yet here I am - sitting in my office wearing my winter jacket backwards like its a snuggie. 

This is real life. 
As I made my morning rounds around the bloggerverse, I basically drooled over every single one of your Christmas decorations.
I'm gonna level with you here - I'm not a scrooge. I love me some of Jesus' Bday and all the spirit that goes with this time of year, BUT I just cannot bring myself to decorate my apartment for the holidays. 
Is this some sort of adult gene I missed out on in my DNA code?!
I'm going to chalk this up to one of two things:

1. No one is ever in my apartment but me and the demon critter. Well - even he doesn't come around any more since I tried to kill him (weird), so yeah, just me. Perhaps the lack of superawesomefunandglamorous cocktail parties thrown in my residence makes me feel like decorating is pointless.
2. My feelings of Christmas spirit are in direct correlation with spending time with my family. Don't get me wrong I will cry in my car listening to "Christmas Shoes" like any other sobby betch out there and I will throw every penny, paperclip, and lint ball I can pull out of the depths of my purse for those bell ringers, but I don't honestly feel the warmth and joy of Christmas until I'm surrounded by the people I love most in the world. I don't think decking my own halls will change that. I could be wrong. Maybe filling my vases with ornaments and decorating a tree would get me to that place of Holiday bliss long before I arrive at my parents'. I just can't imagine it. 

Does the cheese stand alone on this one? Am I the only chick up in dis bitch who doesn't have a single thing of glitter or tinsel in her bachelorette pad?

I do have a snowman cookie jar my brother's ex-girlfriend gave my mom that I managed to steal in my move. I'd put him out, but I'm afraid all my Christmas spirit will make him come alive and start marching up and down my street with all my neighbors singing in toe. I don't have enough Xanax to handle that shit. 

She's Baaaack

Are blogging hiatuses allowed when you first start off? I'm guessing probably not.  Hopefully all of you didn't forget about me. I'm still here. Just unplugged for a few days.
I know you're all SUPER disappointed to you didn't get to hear about what I'm thankful for. I assure you it would be along the lines of the same ole stuff you hear everyday from me. Alcohol, trashy television, 4-inch platform heels, men in football pants. The norm. Thanksgiving was a dream. My family makes me happier than R. Kelly at the urologist.  I think I just managed to get the red wine stains off my lips. 
My flight was delayed 20348203840284028340284 hours trying to get to Chi-town. I may or may not have cried out of frustration. I was so delirious once I got to my family I cried again. Then took fug selfies with my cousins.

Then I suffocated my sweet Bubba with Auntie love. And cried some more. 

My cousins who are younger and MUCH cooler than I made us take a "Power Point" photo. I don't get it. I just do what I'm told. Looks like we're recruiting folks into the OCclan. Not many survive that family induction. 

We. Saw. Twilight. And I cried some more.  I also drank a liter of diet coke. Straight Super Troopers style. 

 AND I got to watch my Irish get a win to GO TO THE....
NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!  Like this...

Not mad at it. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday with your family. Only 24 more days for this girl until I get to see mine again! Weeee!!