Soapbox Moment

I don’t write these things often, mostly because I don't often find myself this appalled. There are times that I have to jump up on my soapbox though, and this is absolutely one of them. 

The #uglygirlsarenotallowed tag on Twitter is utterly disgusting. I’m not going to insult or swear at the people using the tag either, because where would that get me?

Honestly, with the type of visually focused society that we spend millions of dollars following, this doesn’t surprise me at all. We buy magazines that wear headlines about who has the most cellulite, and articles that demean or even pity the poor soul with a BMI higher than 3. The same magazines then turn around and write articles about who is too skinny, just to narrow the pool of acceptable body types to only the most impossibly perfect varieties. Worse, even the pretty ones are subject to being photoshopped beyond recognition, because even perfect isn’t perfect enough. 

This hashtag is so inflammatory not just because it’s spawning the kind of misogynistic drivel that has reduced people, not just women, to surgically altering their bodies and injecting toxins into their skin. It’s so infuriating because it says that this kind of defamation and negativity is a commodity for public consumption. You just have to log into a website to publicly humiliate and demean those that society don’t label “pretty”, and you’ll get a pat on the back because you’re just following what is trendy. We have now literally made public humiliation and defamation trendy. 

You know what I think? I think that:

#uglygirlsarenotallowed to be subject to this kind of drivel.

#uglygirlsarenotallowed to be called ugly, because “ugly” is not skin deep. Ugly is the kind of person who starts a hashtag like this. 

#uglygirlsarenotallowed to be told what they can and can’t do based on the fact that someone else had deemed them “ugly”. 

#uglygirlsarenotallowed to consider themselves part of this tag. They should look for the #youarebeautiful tag.

Better yet, we can outlaw the words “pretty” and “ugly”. We can deem them no longer applicable to someone, because worth is not decided by what you look like. And if someone ever asks me if they are pretty, I will look them in the face and say no. 

I’ll say that they are not pretty. I’ll say that they are pretty intelligent. They are pretty amazing. They are pretty capable. But they are not just pretty.

It's Easy To Say "No Hard Feelings" When You're Talking To A Robot.

Yeah, I know. I've posted at least three times saying about how I took a blogging break and didn't accomplish anything amazing, and that I'm back to stay.

I didn't want to admit this and hurt anyone's feelings, but I LIED. I lied like a liar on lie-o-ween.

Well, I didn't actually lie. That insinuates that I wrote the words while giggling to myself and knowing full well that I can get to sleep before 3 AM about as effectively as I can keep a steady blogging schedule. Which I wasn't.

It just sort of happened. I got so busy while I was sitting here doing nothing that I logged onto Tumblr and never looked back once.

Here I am though. I make no promises about future posting frequency because apparently I'm no good at keeping such promises. Unless we all pinky swore, in which case I'd be here every day. Everyone knows that breaking a pinky swear is such a catastrophic breach of trust that I still haven't recovered from that time in third grade when Tanya said she'd share her cookies with me the next day and DIDN'T.

I need a moment. 

MOVING ON.

So. I have something very serious to talk about today. It's a deeply scientific phenomena that I am kind of an expert on, so I'll try to treat the less educated gently and tenderly while I explain it.

Basically, it's that weird phenomena where you know you probably shouldn't like something, but holy blonde cheerleader batman you're like a fourteen year old boy with the magazines he found under his dad's side of the bed.

And the whole time you're about to start watching/reading/thinking about/looking at/smelling/poking/cooking/chugging whatever it is you know the rest of society would frown on you for, you're just like:

"ANYONE HOME? HELLO? NO?"

And then, like the badass you are, you go on YouTube and you blast that Selena Gomez song like the only thing keeping you brain in your head is the sound waves flying in your ears. You may even dance, because holy mother of pearl, you effing love this song.

And yet you know that if someone walked in at that moment, you would prove that denial ain't only in Egypt. You weren't listening to Selena Gomez. You were watching a video of people falling over and just so happened to youtube surf all the way to "Love You Like A Love Song", duh.

Or you'll be listening to your iPod and someone'll be all, "LOL what cha listening to?"

And you'll quickly change the song and be all, "This hard core Rolling Stones song. Not Selena Gomez, don't be stupid."

And it's all because of that part of your brain that looks at you like:

And you're reduced to a simpering wad of denial.

Also, don't look at me and be all, "OMG MEGAN I'M NOT A VICTIM OF PEER PRESSURE LIKE THAT." That is a neon sign saying, "HOLY PADALECKI I'M REPRESSING SOMETHING."

Whatever it is, just know that you're not alone. Everyone in the world in embarrassed to say that they've watched A Walk To Remember during a bad break up. Embrace it, and remember to lock your door.

The other phenomena that I have to talk to you about is one that just happened to me in very rapid succession . It involves involuntary emotional reactions to songs when they unexpectedly crop up while you have your iPod/iTunes on shuffle. You'll be walking down the street one day and jamming to a bit of Ke$ha (which you'd never admit to doing), when all of a sudden the song flips.

And depending on the song, it can have a few reactions. I've called upon my expansive library of Supernatural gifs to help illustrate me point, so I hope you don't mind the sudden influx of beauty. You may take a moment to grab some sunglasses before we proceed.

Good? Okay.

So, I have an MP3 of Jensen Ackles singing Crazy Love on my iPod, and whenever it comes on I immediately do this:

Followed by this:

And I think you know why. If you don't, youtube the song and then tell me you didn't do the same thing. Safe room, folks. Safe room.

Unspeakable lust is not the only reaction these songs can have though.

For instance, play Carry On My Wayward Son for a Supernatural fan, and you'll watch this happen:

Or play Into The West for a Lord Of The Rings fan, and you'll see something similar.

For me, play All Of The Lights (yeah, the Kanye song) and it's all systems:

But we all have at least one song that incites some unspeakable emotion in us. Just like we have problems with admitting we totally love that Judas song by Lady Gaga, even after we've been singing "Juda Juda-a-a" for three days straight.

Basically, we're all repressing something.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go listen to Selena Gomez.

I mean... here, stare at this and forget what I just said:

Adieu!

Love,
Megan

Lady Gaga Is My Spirit Animal

Oh hey there internet, didn't see you there. Step into my office, which is adorned with tasteful yet inexpensive knick knacks, and some diplomas I bought off the internet to make me seem smarter. There's also one that says I'm licensed to operate heavy machinery, which is pretty cool if I even need to use a bulldozer in my office.

On that note, did I mention that I'm legally able to conduct a wedding?

No, srsly. I'm an ordained minister. I can wed people now. Classy, I know, and I don't even need to wear that uncomfortable plastic priest collar thing. I'd google what the hell that thing is called, but I don't think either of us care enough.

Anyway. I took extended an extended blogging vacation for my health AKA I was too busy drowning in grade 12 work and was too busy talking about confederation. Which naturally left me in a constant state of

And it's hard to be funny when you've found yourself wishing that the rapture would come a few days early just so you can stop reading about confederation and how the rail road was a symbol of Canada's identity and sovereignty.

Yeah. I KNOW. I get weepy just thinking about it. So let's move on, shall we?

I wish I could say something about being more worldly, or better looking, but really, not much has changed. I'm still two fries short of a happy meal and I still have a thing for Jensen Ackles, so everything is essentially the same. Next time I take an extended blogging break, I'll be sure to accomplish something awesome. Like learning how to juggle, or an equally as marketable skill.

Actually, that'll never happen. I'm so thoroughly a righty that I basically don't have a left hand. Juggling requires some coordination with the non-dominant hand, so I think I'm out.

And just like that, my life long dream of becoming a clown will never come true. Excuse me while I express my intense sadness.

Annnnnd I'm over it. 

Okay, so. Obligatory catch up is done, so let's keep moving shall we? 

So, I was walking down the street the other day. I know that sounds like a song lyric, but go with me. 

Okay? Okay. So I'm grooving, listening to my iPod ( and a song by Porceline and the Tramps, just so you know), and walking along like the boss that I am. I don't need to public transit or personal vehicles for transportation. I walk like all the cool kids do. 

As I'm walking, I see two things. One, for some reason there is a police officer on a horse walking a ways ahead of me. Already, I'm all, 

Because, really? You're trotting around in the middle of traffic on a HORSE? You're not the old spice dude, so let's all just put our big kid panties on and leave the ponies alone. 

But then I see a police officer on a bike, and I'm quickly moving towards being all, 

Disclaimer: I'm not making fun of police officers. I respect them, and I've even watched a T.V show about them once of twice (AKA Police Women of Broward County. Don't judge me). You're all very badass. Even the one in the back with one hand on his coffee and the other resting on his giant beer gut. You're badass too, Mr. Police Officer. My love of police officers has been a solid thing since a police officer gave me a coupon for a free happy meal just for wearing my helmet when I rode my scooter quite a few years ago. Really, I love and respect you all, and I regularly seek you out when I'm walking home by myself. 

I just happen to find police officers on bike to be exorbitantly amusing. I can't help it, it's just something that's written into my genetic code. It exists right along with a a strange tendency to stay up until 3 AM even when I know I need to get up early the next day, and an intense fondness for the way guys loosen their ties. Y'know, the little tug on the top of their tie and the neck wiggle? Makes me all, 

Oh shuttup, you know you think it's adorable too.

Anyway, I digress. So, cops on bikes.

Can I just throw it out there right now that they are less intimidating than most babies? No disrespect or anything, there's just something about the idea that makes me want to pat them on the helmet and give them some candy.

What do cops do when they arrest people while on a bike?

Are they like, "FREEZE, SUCKA. Now, I'm gonna handcuff you to my handlebars and you can run alongside me while I take your sorry ass to the police station!" It just doesn't seem very economical to me.

And then there's the issue of the police chase. What happens if a fugitive hops a fence? Mr. Police Officer is screwed, unless he wants to backtrack and find a bike rack to safely store his police issued bike while he tracks down a bank robber.

And if they catch wind of a crime, what do they do? "TEN FOUR. I'm on it. Let me ring my bell as I go down the street to inform everyone I'm on SUPER IMPORTANT POLICE BUSINESS AND YOU BETTER MOVE YO' ASSES OUT THE WAY BEFORE YOU GET RUN OVER WITH MY BIG SCARY TEN SPEED."

I'm just not getting the scary of the whole situation, frankly. All of this applies to the horse thing too, except most horses don't come with bells or handlebars. Well, none that I've seen anyway. If I've offended any police officers, or horses that indeed come with handlebars, then I am genuine sorry.

But I'm still going to do this:

When and if I see you ride past me on the street. I don't mean any offence. I just think you're painfully adorable, and I will totally help you put a playing card in your bike spokes so you sound more intimidating. 

On that note, I need to begin a project on the long term effects that a divorce might have on children. 

Adieu!

Love,

Megan

BLAM

I don't know why I'm typing all my titles in all caps lately. Maybe I just like making you yell in your head when you're reading. LIKE THIS. You just yelled in your head. And. When. I. Type. Like. This. You. Pause. Between. Each. Word.

Basically, I control your mind. No worries. I won't use you to rob any banks or anything. At worst, you'll have to be the one to get up and get me a drink. It's not so bad, promise. I take my water with ice cubes imported from the Swedish Alps and blessed by a left handed Irish priest though. Hope you don't mind.

Did I really just go on a full tangent about mind control and how I like my water?

I did, didn't I? Well, that's pretty much my week in a nutshell, and this week HASN'T EVEN STARTED YET.

Made you yell.

LOL. Anyway.

Now that I've made it a little louder in your head, I must say farewell. I'm buried under a mountain of school work so daunting that for the past twenty minutes it's looked a lot like this in my head,

I'm all out of firearms though, so I'm doomed to slog through the mountain. Somebody remind me why I'm going to pay thousands of dollars to put myself through an unnecessary 4 more years of this, because I frankly can't remember why I thought it was such a good idea.

Go ahead. Tell me I'm luckier than half the planet. Don't be surprised when I punch you in the face, and then do this,

Adieu!

Love,
Megan

CROSSDRESSSING.

Well, not quite.

It's been a while, I know, I know. Come, lay your head gently on my shoulder. We'll slow dance a little and the pain will fade, I promise.

Anyway. I took some time off of blogging because I'm lazy and had nothing witty to say to concentrate on my schooling. You understand I hope. If not, then feel free to slow dance a little more.

So, since it's March Break, I've been doing a whole pile of nothing. Like, really nothing. Like, bump on a log nothing. It's been awesome. I like being able to laze around and pretend like I'm a hermit. It's pretty pro, especially since iTunes is such a whore.

That last thing needs a little back story, I know.

So, I'm going to university. And in university, a laptop is kind of a key part of not getting carpal tunnel from writing so much. Instead, you get it from typing so much, with the added bonus of also getting the worst neck cramps known to man. Higher education RULES.

My laptop, affectionately named Elvis, was getting a little... worn down. He was slow, and really, really disliked loading things quickly. So, seeing that it wasn't going to work for university, we AKA my mother decided to get me a new laptop, and she'd then own my old laptop. It's a pretty sweet deal, I know.

So, I've got my new laptop, and I'm undergoing the painful process of moving things from one computer to the next. All is well until I start on iTunes. Yeah. That little shitshow ended with me on the floor screaming, "FINE DON'T LOAD ALL MY CONTENT I DON'T EVEN LIKE MUSIC ANYWAY."

Maybe not that dramatic, but iTunes has been effing with me royally for three days now. Don't email me any iTunes support links. I've read them all in English, Spanish, and my new favourite language Severe Hysteria. Needless to say, though I will continue to stick with iTunes, I harbour a deep hatred for it that I suspect is mutual.

That's not even what I came here to talk about. Are you excited? I AM.

So, I'm cruising the dark side of the internet. It's called Tumblr, and legit, don't even go near the site if you don't want to spend 16 hours straight going from one blog to the next. Seriously. It's like a free supply of never ending lines of cocaine.

So, I'm on tumblr, and I'm looking at random stuff. Then I come across the blog that's all about Supernatural. Thinking that I may have met my soulmate, I'm cruising. Then I come across this thing called Destiel. I'm like, the hell is that, now I wanna click it. So, I did.

And then this happened,

And I was all DEAN SHOULD NOT BE WITH CASTIEL HE SHOULD BE WITH JO. NOT LISA, NOT PAMELA, AND ESPECIALLY NOT AN ANGEL OF THE LORD.

But then I got curious. So I started looking for all the odd parirings, naturally. I stopped when my eyes beheld something called Wincest. Or Dean paired romantically with his BROTHER Sam. Now, I'm not positive, but I think that's illegal.

There were images though. Ones that I may never be able to unsee. So, then I was all,

So my point today is not to go on Tumblr, because you will find something that you will never be able to scrub from your brain. Oh, and that iTunes is a dirty, toothless whore.

Once March Break is over, I'll have things to procrastinate over, so back to our regularly scheduled programming then.

Adieu!

Love,
Megan

FLASHBACK

Are you having one?

Perhaps you're in one.

Are you angsting over a lost moment in time that you desperately wish you could change/take back/redo?

Are you reminiscing about an old flame that you never really got over?

Are you thinking about an old friend who've you've lost contact with?

Are you thinking about an event in your past that would explain why you're a vampire?

If you answered yes to any of the above questions, you're probably having a flashback.

So, I'm having a flashback or twelve today. Now, I'm going to tell you something internet, and you have to promise not to laugh at me. Actually, come to think of it, I've mentioned Jensen Ackles and polygamy in the same sentence at least thirty eight times. You've probably laughed at me quite a bit already.

Alright, laugh. Do your worst internet. COME AT ME, BRO.

Anyway. So, that thing I was going to mention. Now, when I was a young warthog (when he was a young warrrrthoooggg), I was into this thing called anime. And when I say "into", I really mean "obsessed with". I went the whole nine yards. Cosplay, conventions, studying Japan. I went there.

My first cosplay was Rukia from Bleach, by the way. I went the awesome way and made her white kimono from when she was gonna get executed. Just sayin.

So, anyway. That obsession trickled off, and I haven't watched anime in probably two years now.

Flashforward to me sitting on the couch watching Supernatural. All of a sudden, I get this brilliant idea and I'm all,

And I turn excitedly to my poor mother who graciously puts up with all of my insanity, and I'm all, "OMG LOL I'm gonna watch anime!" 

And she's all,

But I get that reaction from her a lot, so I trucker on anyway. I'm like, "OHKAY. Let's finish watching Dean torture Alistair and be ridiculously gorgeous and then turn the anime dial up to ten shall we?"

And she's all, "Okay, daughter. Don't hurt yourself."

And I'm all, "LOL Dean is pouring salt down his throat, what a badass."

And then it's over and I'm like, "Anime timeee!"

So I throw in Inuyasha, a show I loved back in the good old days. It starts and I'm all,

But then as I'm watching, I start to remember just how cheesy anime is. Like, Keanu Reeves cheesy. Cheese Barn cheesy. So then I get all, 

And that, kids, is why flashbacks suck.

Moral of the story: say no to drugs, but yes to puppies. Especially if it's a stranger that offers you the puppies. Nothing can go wrong when puppies are involved, remember that.

I have to go pretend like I care about pre-contact Canada now. 

Adieu!

Love,
Megan

Shit just got real.

"Megan", I can hear you say already. "Shouldn't you be composing a 1000 word essay on the effectiveness of the British colonies?" 

"Yes," I say to you gently. "But I'd rather stab myself in the eye with my own orbital bone than do that right now." 

"Gory imagery there. Shouldn't you have put a rating or some forewarning that today's imagery would be so grotesque? I mean, what if a kid read that? They'd surely be traumatized." you say back. 

"No." I answer. "Kids can handle it. I mean, have you SEEN Ke$has new video? A little stabbing with an orbital bone is nothing compared to that." 

"Touche," I hear you say. 

"Did you know that spellcheck says that the spelling of touche is incorrect?" I mention. "It suggests that maybe I meant to type douche, and in retrospect, that would probably been a funnier word to use there." 

Are you uncomfortable? I am. Enough talking for today. 

So. I've noticed another strange phenomena that has occurred in my life recently. I call it the "Calender Blindness", or C.B for short. This sad condition has a few symptoms. 

First, you may lose track of the day. You may even find yourself turning to a trusted companion and asking, "What day is it good sir/madam?" This is stage one of C.B.

Stage two is the denial phase. This usually occurs after the question in stage one has been answered, and you reply, "No way. It was January first like... four days ago." You will usually encounter the "concerned shoulder pat" here. 

Stage three is the most dangerous. Because you have completely lost track of time's subtle passage, you will begin to pretend you know what day it is. This brings me to the stage I'm at right now, and I blame the government for my case of C.B, and all other maladies that I am currently stricken with right now. It's easier to blame everything on the government because Harper is one silly looking biznitch, and it makes me feel better. 

Anyway. Story time. So, I'm discussing my school due dates with my mother last night. I know, a teenager who actually talks to her mother. Take a moment to still your thundering heart. 

Stilled? Good. So, we're discussing one of my projects. I tell her it's due on March 1st, so I'll start working on it this coming Tuesday or Thursday. My stage three case of C.B has decided it's still February 18th, so I'm thinking that March 1st is still a ways away. That's when my mother politely informs me that March 1st is this coming Tuesday. And then I'm all,

And she's all, "You didn't know what today was, did you?" 

And of course I'm all,

And I say, "LOL, no seriously, is the 1st really next week?" 

And she looks at me all,

And she's all, "OMG you really didn't know what today was."

So, I'm all, "Could you help me break my orbital bone and stab myself in the eye?" Because now I realize how bad my case of C.B is, and I need to start on all those projects that I had wrongly assumed I could put off for another day. 

Then, like the good little student I am, I shuffle off to the computer to start my essay, among many other projects. But reading turns quickly to this,

And my future quickly turns from me graduating university to living in a cardboard box in a smelly alleyway with my dog named Russ. 

On another note, I wear glasses. That information will be important in a moment, don't fret.

So, I'm typing away a few minutes ago, and I notice my neck has begun to hurt. I work on my laptop, so it's not uncommon for me to sit improperly and wind up with a sore neck. Naturally, I ignore it. 

Then, as I'm typing, I realize why my neck has begun to hurt. I realize that my glasses are so dirty that I've begun to try and look AROUND all the specks. Funny enough, my neck stopped hurting after I cleaned my glasses. 

Not funny? 

Guess you had to be there. 

On another note, no Katy Perry, I've never felt like a plastic bag floating through the wind, because I'm not on drugs. 

Adieu.

Love,
Megan