What do you think you're doing?!

I am one of those crazies who talk in their sleep and have real conversations with people. For the most part Chuckles finds this amusing…except of course when I yell at him, which is what happens, oh, I don’t know, maybe 99% of the time.

Usually what happens is after I have fallen into a deep sleep, which takes me all of five seconds, Chuckles will move slightly and I will respond by doing one of two things. I will either shout at him, “What do you think you’re doing?!” to which he responds, “NOTHING!” You know it really isn’t nice of me to yell at him for nothing and yet I continue to yell at him – usually some lecture about how lying is bad and how don’t think for a second I believe him and his “nothing” excuse…oh yeah, he’s up to something.

Or I’ll see something that isn’t there. Sometimes it’s a bug, which I will insist is there, and I either have to get up and get a closer look or Chuckles needs to get up and KILL IT NOW. Don’t ever question me when this happens because it will just get me unnecessarily upset. Just let me look at it. Chuckles doesn’t understand this. He has to insist that I’m dreaming. If he would just let me turn the light on I would figure it out for myself. Instead it always ends in an argument because apparently people who are trying to sleep don’t like having the light on. Losers.

Or I’ll see somebody else in the room and will scream bloody murder and hurry to use Chuckles as a barrier for the knife stabbing that is imminent. Instead of comforting me he just pushes me away telling me to keep quiet, but to his credit I do do this a lot. Then there was the time I thought there was another girl in bed with us. That was NOT PRETTY. That started with my usual question: “What do you think you’re doing?” Chuckles insisted I was sleeping which just pissed me off more. Unfortunately, it didn’t help that Chuckles was laughing the whole time saying things like, “There’s another girl in the bed? Where? How could I be unaware of this? Is she hot?” So I forced to yell at him, “This is NOT a laughing matter do you WANT to get kicked in the balls?” I think he was laughing too hard to hear me though.

It’s always an adventure going to bed with me – not in that way you dirty dirty birdies – I mean you never know what I will do in the middle of the night. Sometimes we’ll get into long conversations which leave me extremely frustrated because Chuckles always has no idea what I’m talking about and those conversations always end with my yelling at him to stop pretending he doesn’t know what I’m talking about and to stop acting so stupid, you stupid dummy.

But, if you ask me, none of this compares to my little brother who has been known to get up in the middle of the night and take down all the pictures and put them all in the bathroom. Yeah, I know. He’s a real Crazy.

Game time!!

I know I have talked a lot of shit about my job in the past year or so, but there are some very good aspects of it. Sure there are a couple people here who make me cringe on a daily basis with their crazy antics, but there are also a couple people who are genuinely nice and sweet and I really couldn’t say anything bad about them if I tried.

I called in sick yesterday because my stomach hates me and I also called in sick last Tuesday because stress had gotten the better of me and I pretty much lost my mind. So that’s two Tuesdays in a row that I called in sick.

At my last job that would have warranted a call to the President’s office and a good talking to and maybe a warning that if it happened again to pack up my desk.

Because of this I was 100% ready to be called into the CFO’s office to be told that that was unacceptable and I had my reasoning all ready to go. But, surprises of surprises, that didn’t happen! Instead, people are actually asking me if I’m feeling better and nobody is telling me I need to work overtime to make up for my time away. It’s so amazing to work with people who actually believe you when you call in to say your stomach is attacking itself in a horrible form of self destruction.

Anyways, enough about that now it’s time for a little game I call “Fuck, Marry, or Throw off a cliff”. For the boys I present a Dancing with the Stars edition:

And for the girls we have a vampire themed edition:

I know Sam isn’t a vampire, but I have such a crush on him and I wish Sookie would be with him instead because she has no future with a vampire. Hello?! Bill has to do whatever the sheriff of Area 5 tells him and she will never be able to eat breakfast with him and he can’t eat pizza. Need I go on? So tell me – who would you fuck, marry, and throw off a cliff?

I would marry Sam as I said earlier - you can't have a future with a vampire! I would fuck Bill because who doesn't love hot vampire sex? Theoretically of course. And I would throw Edward off a cliff, but that's only because I haven't had time to read Twilight yet. I'm probably the only one left who hasn't read it...

Gimme! Gimme!

So I know that the economy is in the crapper and blah blah blah, but I still want STUFF! I can’t stop buying shtuff either. Last week when I was in my funk I bought at least five cd’s – I just couldn’t stop myself. Once again, I have no self control. None. Nada. Zilch. Also why I haven’t worked out in a week and why I ate a bag of popcorn the other night and have had too many donuts to count. They’re my weakness! Don’t judge. I am trying to control my constant urge to shop though due to the fact that who knows where we'll be in a year or so. Given that I work for a company that isn’t exactly recession proof I have decided to just drool over the following items as opposed to buying them. However, considering my lack of control I might just own them by next week. Who knows?!

This green Priorities jacket - I luurrvve the Peter Pan collar:

These gray booties from DSW - I've been dying for a good pair of booties:

This scarf from PrettyRaccoons shop at Etsy - you can never have too many scarves:

And, finally, I want this picture from Matteart at Etsy - I don't know where I'd hang it, but I'd find a place, don't you worry:

Nobody steals from me. Nobody.

I have an enemy in my marketing class that is much more serious than the enemy I dealt with in my accounting classes. The ex-enemy was simply annoying with her non-stop chattering and her “I’m better than you” attitude.

The new and improved enemy is an actual asshole. Remember that guy who doesn’t speak English all that well, but still likes to argue with the prof over the correct usage of words? Of course you do. Well now he likes to sit next to me. Mother Effer.

At the end of each class the prof makes us do a group project and you automatically have to work with the person next to you. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, but he is quite the know-it-all. It was an extremely frustrating experience. He talks non-stop and every time somebody would try to get a word in edgewise he would just talk louder to drown them out. I really do not take kindly to people trying to shut me up so I was truly near tears. Finally, I gave up and completely stopped contributing. Instead I started digging in my purse for stray Starbursts and shared them with the nice guy next to me who had also given up. Then we sat back and watched the one guy left attempt to argue with Jackass who appeared to not notice that anybody else was talking.

This really isn’t all that big of a deal until you consider the fact that I will probably be in a group with him for the huge project that we spend six weeks of class time working on. I have finally faced the facts that if I am in a group with this guy in order to survive I will have to stop caring about my grade…which is virtually impossible for me.

I have this completely illogical attitude that if I don’t get an A on every single project, homework assignment, and test I will inevitably end up homeless living in some parking lot in Seattle next to an onramp to I-5. I pass these people every day on my way home from school and, while occasionally I’ll get tata’s flashed at me, it only serves as a reminder of what my future will be like if I don’t get straight A’s. Please don’t point out how irrational this is - my poor brain can’t process it it’s got too many other things going on.

Anyway, either I have to stop caring about my grade because I won’t be allowed to talk and therefore will have zero control over it or I have to confront him. I’ve been giving myself a pep talk about confronting him so hopefully I’ll have the ovaries to bitch him out in the next month or so.

Oh, and did I mention he stole my pencil? Well, he did. Jackass. On a positive note I’m liking the prof more than I did at the beginning of class. The new enemy isn’t the only idiot in the class – there are quite a few and what I like about the prof is he has no patience for them. I always said I could never be a teacher because when people are stupid I wouldn’t be shy about telling them. This prof just looks at them like they’re crazy and says, “No! That’s not it at all. NEXT!” I love it.

However, I hate how it doesn’t faze these people. They just keep on keeping on. In all seriousness though at one point he asked a question and then point blank said, “The answer is not blah blah blah” and then three people raised their hand and said, “Is the answer blah blah blah?” NO, IT ISN’T. If you’re not listening than stop talking! I’d be worried about losing my cool and yelling at people to shut their stupid mouths, but I figure I’ve made it this far without going completely nutso so surely I can make it another month and a half.

Correction

I have to be honest with you…I lied last week. Only a little. Just a teensy eensy baby lie. Here’s some context so you are not completely lost…first there was a comment from rs27:

Captain America and that outfit is perfect for a USA party. Or just dress as
Betsy ross. She was a hip hip lady.

Then there is my reply:

Strangely enough I have a friend who has a Betsy Ross costume so that would be
perfect.

This comment really pissed somebody off and that somebody would be Tits McGee. When I got to the “America Rocks!” party Saturday night I was accosted by her yelling, “I do NOT have a Betsy Ross costume. It is amish. AMISH!”

She then insisted I make a big announcement to make sure that everybody knows that it is an Amish costume. After that I ventured into Mike’s bathroom where I found some valium, which I crushed in her drink. That way we could make fun of the black eye she received playing dodgeball (I’m telling you sports are dangerous) and continually ask her if she was a victim of domestic violence without her telling us to shut up or worse throwing a beer bottle at us in exasperation. Nobody wastes a drop of booze on my watch.

Soooo…just to be clear…Tits owns an Amish costume (that she made herself – hand sewn and with no zippers so it is authentic) and, despite past confusion, it is not a Betsy Ross costume. Honestly, she wore it to a Halloween party a couple years ago and everyone thought she was Besty Ross. I’m not completely crazazy.

Also, I have to say I was quite disappointed in people’s costumes at the party or maybe I should say lack of costumes. Some people weren’t even wearing red, white, or blue! I mean COME ON! By far Chuckles and I had the best costumes, except Mike of course who was wearing a shirt with a flag and an eagle and around the flag it said, “Freedom is not free.” So eloquent.

Also, talk about my disappointment at seeing Tits wasn’t sporting her Amish costume especially after we quizzed Mike and one of the questions dealt with how people came to America for religious freedom – Hello?! The Amish?! So disappointed.

I'm tired of douchebags flipping me the bird constantly

Lately there have been several incidents of other drivers getting very angry with me while I’m driving. It was happening so often that I was really starting to believe that I was a bad driver, which I’m NOT despite what other people might tell you. Don’t listen to them they’re lying!

For sure the past couple times that people have gotten all pissy at me it has not been my fault and I became absolutely positive of it last night.

The first incident of road rage was when I was almost home from work and went to change lanes (with my blinker ON) and some guy three cars back changed lanes at the same time and stepped on his gas pedal despite the fact that there was a red light not that far ahead and he came so close to hitting me he had to go up on the curb to avoid it. Of course his response was to tailgate me until he could get next to me and then drive along next to me whilst giving me the stink eye, the bird, and some other very inappropriate gestures for, oh, I don’t know, ten minutes. I was a bit worried that he was going to follow me home. Not my fault he stepped on his gas without looking if anyone was in front of him!

The second time somebody completely lost their temper with me was on 100th in Kirkland when it goes from two lanes down to one. I let one person in as road etiquette requires. Hello?! People are supposed to alternate – every car lets one car in. Well, some douchebag SUV thought he could squeeze in in front of me and I was having none of it. Of course, he had plenty of room to merge behind me and then decided to follow me all the way to Edmonds while, I shit you not, giving me the bird the entire way.

Now some of you probably have no idea what I’m talking about when I say he followed me all the way to Edmonds so let’s just say I was, once again, scared that some crazy was following me home to get his revenge.

So what happened last night to convince me that I’m not the crazy one other than the fact that I was able to refrain from hitting the asswipe in front of me at Starbucks with my umbrella? I saw the same douchebaggie SUV do it to somebody else! That’s right, some other poor victim made the poor decision to only let one car in, but stopped at letting the SUV merge so he tailgated them while giving them the bird and I was lucky enough to have been the one who let him in so I saw it all unfold.

I used to feel sorry for people that had road rage because I figured they must be really unhappy people to flip the fuck out just because somebody cut them off or wouldn’t let them merge, but I’m not such a nice person any more. Now I just get angry right back. What’s your worst road rage story? Have you ever pulled a gun on anyone? You can admit it – I probably would have by now, it’s just that I don’t keep my gun in the car.

What to wear?

As I have mentioned earlier my friend who is now an American Citizen is having a party to celebrate and the theme is, of course, U. S. A! Chuckles and I took a trip to Value Village earlier to try and find some good ole patriotic shirts, but we weren’t very lucky. Although, I did find some amazing stripper shoes…but those will be saved for another sort of party. Chuckles has several very cool red, white, and blue shirts we can wear, but before I settled on that I decided to do some searching on ebay to see what I could find and I found plenty. There were two items that would be perfect – here are pictures for your viewing pleasure:

While this would be the most perfectest patriotic costume ever I’m afraid it is quite expensive. I tried to bargain with Chuckles and use my rent money for it, but that was shot down. So, dear readers, do you have any suggestions for the coolest patriotic “I am a stoopid American” costume?

This is a long one. My apologies.

A while ago Ben at No Ordinary Rollercoaster presented a challenge to post a story behind our best hangover ever. It’s taken me a week or so to post mine because I had a really hard time identifying my worst hangover ever. Let’s just say that when I reached the age of twenty one (yes, I waited til I was of legal age) I kinda went crazy. I kept rifling through all those college hangovers, but none of them really stood out as special.

Then the other day as I was driving the song “Dancing Nancies” came on the radio and triggered a memory that I had completely blocked for reasons you will soon understand – memories of a drunken night that I am going to share with you.

Soooo…here’s my story so other’s can learn from my mistakes…or really my series of bad decisions. At the last minute one weekend two summers ago a couple friends and I decided to get tickets off craigslist and head over to the Dave Matthews Band at the Gorge.

I woke up early the day of the concert, packed my stuff, and we headed out for the three hour drive to the Gorge. The second we got there the three of us immediately started downing forties we had bought at the gas station down the street. We were what you might call “Classy” with a capital C.

We quickly made friends with the cute guys at the campsite next to us who offered convinced Kathleen and I to do tequila shots with them. Me doing tequila shots = worst idea EVAH. I repeat: Worst Idea Ever. It’s safe to say that Kathleen and I were drunk before we even got to the concert and as Ross drove us there we played “Dancing Nancies” on repeat and sang at the top of our lungs. It blows me away to this day that the cops routinely pulling cars over outside the concert didn’t pull us over, but that’s where my luck ended.

Take a wild guess as to the first thing we did when we got in to the concert? You guessed it! We bought ourselves some beer and since we are s-m-a-r-t we each bought two forties of Coors light. Have I told you yet that I am as classy as they come?

Once we found our seat I immediately had to go to the bathroom so I grabbed my purse and stumbled down to the port-a-potties, which already had a ridiculously long line. So long, in fact, that by the time I finally relieved myself and struggled to button my pants it was dark out and I could not find Ross or Kathleen anywhere.

Drunk Megan started panicking. I whipped out my cell phone and started calling Ross (Kathleen didn’t bring her cell) approximately every minute and leaving crazy messages that ranged from yelling, “Pick up your GD phone you Douchebag! Why the fuck did you ditch me?!” to me whimpering, “I don’t know what to do. This is horrible. Please please please pick up your phone and tell me where you are.”

I also called people in other states to ask them what I should do. Unfortunately, I was completely unintelligible and they would eventually hang up out of frustration. Finally I gave up, sat down by myself, and went to put my phone in my purse…which had mysteriously disappeared. Oh yeah, oopsies, I left my purse in the port-a-potty.

Of course at this point I decided a safe place to set my phone while I dejectedly tried to come up with a game plan was on the ground next to me, which of course resulted in somebody stepping on it, successfully smashing it into a hundred little pieces.

At this point I started crying, which I’m sure was quite awkward for those sitting around me. I really don’t remember the rest of the night very well, but I think some people attempted to comfort me. Towards the end of the night as I was asking a security guard for help, amazingly, another security guard walked up saying somebody had turned in a lost purse and it was MINE! Not only was it mine, but nothing had been taken out of it. HOLY SHIT!

With my luck looking up I thought I would definitely be able to spot Ross because he’s really tall and ridiculously skinny, but….I didn’t. The only thing left to do was to start wandering the huge field that is a parking lot looking for a car that when we had parked while I had been waaaayyy too drunk to remember where and, shocker, I didn’t find it.

But I did find a group of people going to the same campsite who said they would drive me, but only if I got in a drinking contest with the big guy in the group. Seemed like a good deal to me so I chugged two forties and they deemed me worthy of giving a ride.

So miracle of miracles I made it back to the tent only to find Ross and Kathleen passed out inside and decided the right thing to do was to wake up the campsite by screaming, “Good news! I’m ALIVE! Didn’t you wonder where I was? But, WOOHOO, I wasn’t GANGRAPED. Jesus, I can’t believe you ditched me you fuckers.” Really, one of my classier moments.

I quickly climbed into my sleeping bag cursing the whole time and then quickly climbed out to go outside and vomit everywhere. Repeated that about five more times and the next morning when we went to breakfast I don’t think I left the bathroom once.

So I learned my lesson. Hopefully, you can learn from me: when going to a concert it’s probably not a good idea to overdo it on the forties and tequila shots, don’t wander off without leaving a trail of bread crumbs, and don’t hitchhike in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strangers who “force” you into a drinking contest with a guy approximately the size of Warren Sapp.

Oh, and about a week later, an ex, also named Ross, who happened to be part of Seattle’s improv comedy club called to make sure I was ok because I had left some crazy messages on his phone and he hoped I didn’t mind, but he had played them for his cast mates and they had thought it was so funny they had provided some inspiration for a skit that they performed that same night that was a big hit. So something good came out of it.

Don't be a Jonze

It's a whole new me!

Do you like it? Do you?! How cute is my new little bloggie blog? I have to say I think Delicious Design Studio did an awesome job and I likey.

Anyway, work is really crazy today so that’s all I have to say. (And by “work is really crazy” I mean the Nordstrom website is moving very slowly.) But I don’t have to write anything anymore because you can just look at my pretty design now. It’s like a weight is lifted off my shoulders – I no longer have to strain to be witty. Jesus, what a relief.

I am a horrible person.

I realized something about myself last night and I am somewhat ashamed of it. I had my marketing class last night and I made a point of sitting in a different spot because I didn’t want to be in a group for the final project with the people sitting around me from the first week. I told myself it was because the guy sitting next to me was quite arrogant. (He kept going on and on about this cool job he had in Taiwan and all the people under him and blah blah blah something about wearing gold-plated diapers).

But I was forced to come to terms with the other underlying reason for my not wanting to be in their group…they were foreign. I know I’m a horrible person, I get it, but before you get all judgey on me I have to tell you that there is a really big group paper due at the end of the quarter. So what if I want to be in a group with the white people who can probably write well? I am so going to hell.

What happened last night to cause this epiphany is the prof (still with the popped collar) was talking about fidelity in terms of movies means how “faithful” they are to reality. At this point some kid in the back of the classroom raised his hand and said in a very strong accent that he thought the teacher didn’t know what the word faithful really meant and was using it in the wrong context and he continued to harp on it until the teacher used “accurate” instead.

All I could think was if I were a student at a school in France I wouldn’t be arguing with the teacher about the correct meaning of French words. But that’s just me, crazy “where are my pills” me! Later another international student got in a friendly debate with the teacher about the difference between convenience and flexibility.

So sue me that I don’t want to be in a group with them and instead want to be in a group with the nice girl who is just happens to be from the U.S. of A. and happens to work in Marketing and, yes, I talked to her on the way to our cars and I think I’m golden if I get in a group with her. Let me tell you I breathed a huge sigh of relief on the way home knowing that I would have a group that spoke fluent English.

Although, that didn’t last long because I quickly realized I needed to head to a gas station or risk running out of gas on the freeway. Oopsies! Don’t want to do that again!

I want a new liver for Christmas

I am in a total funk today for some reason. It could be that it’s Monday with no days off in the near future. But while Mondays normally aren’t the greatest they don’t usually bug me this much. I think it might be the fact that I did not have any coffee this morning. None. Zilch.

As a result of this it is probably a good idea that people avoid talking to me at all costs. I’m going to put a sign up on my office door that says, “Enter at your own risk. There is a 95% chance you’ll get your head bitten off.”

Even little things like my highlighter running out of ink is making me pissy. I might have just chucked it out of my office and it might have hit somebody in the head. I’m sure my coworkers enjoy working with me. But really I should be ecstatic because my fantasy football team is winning and I’m playing the number one player in the league. And, yet, if one more person runs by my office like their ass is on fire I’m afraid I will end up pulling my hair out, which could only make my day worse because I really don’t want the whole patchy hair look.

So because I know people don’t want to hear about what a funk I’m in and really I could go on and on about it, but instead of doing that I took a Sparks test. Remember those? I used to take them over and over again in college. I was such a good student.

Anyways, since I am convinced I am dying I thought the death test would be appropriate to see if I really am…because I believe everything the internets tell me. Annnyyywaaayy, it appears that I am going to die at the ripe old age of 44 on October 28th. Also, I will die from alcoholism. Shocking! No, really, it is shocking because I did answer yes when they asked me if I have the black plague. I figured it was apt enough since I have something and I really don’t know what it is and tapeworm wasn’t an option. Soooo….I’ve got 18 years to live. Now I’m in even more of a funk since I’ve already reached the halfway point.

I will miss all of you

I think I’m dying. There is something very wrong with me. I am always hungry. ALWAYS. I swear I’ve heard of a disease where the person never feels full and it gets to the point where the refrigerator and pantry has to be locked and the key hidden so they don’t overeat themselves to death. In fact, now that I think about it, the one and only CSI show I ever saw was about a guy who had to be chained to his chair or he would overeat.

I would have appreciated it if somebody had tied me to my chair yesterday. The problem stems from the fact that I am trying really hard to be healthy. This is very difficult for me because in the past I have been extremely unhealthy – we’re talking a donut for breakfast every day, multiple mochas a day, multiple sodas a day, a bag of pretzels, pasta drowned in butter and cheese for dinner.

I was on a fast track to becoming the mom in the movie What’s Eating Gilbert Grape and I really don’t want my kids to be embarrassed by my weight – I want them to be embarrassed by my inappropriate comments and the fact that I’m always drunk when their friends come over.

Obviously, it was time for me to make some changes to my diet, but you can see how big of a change this would be for me. I started by cutting down on the mochas and soda. Now I am trying to cut down on the amount of snacks I eat.

The problem is that every day an hour before my lunch break I get sooo hungry. So normally I break out the snackie snacks and start chowing down, but yesterday I brought yogurt to work or as my nephew likes to call it GOGURT! GOGURT! GOGURT! The kid likes his yogurt. I wish I could be as passionate about something that wasn’t butter or bacon.

The point is I tried having a pre lunch snack of yogurt yesterday and it made me more hungry. Then all I could think about was the sandwich waiting for me in my purse. That delicious wonderful sandwich that I wasn’t supposed to eat for another hour. Of course I ate it. Like you had to ask. BUT I only ate half of it and left the remainder on my desk to taunt me. And yet I was still hungry.

At this point I started to panic because the slimfast shake I had brought as dinner on the go for class was sounding awfully tempting, but then what would I have to eat for dinner! Nothing. That’s what. I couldn’t spend another three hours in a boring class on the verge of passing out for lack of food. My solution to this quandary? A lunch of pasta drowned in butter and cheese after which I was still hungry. This is why I believe I am dying. It was really nice knowing all of you.