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

Excuse me

So. I was out shopping last night, and I've noticed something.

Go with me on this journey. You're standing in the aisle of a bookstore. You're looking for one particular book. Maybe it's Twilight, maybe it's Apocalypse for Dummies. Either way, you're on an epic quest. Then, in a flash of blinding white light, you see your book.

But, it's at the other end of the aisle of which you are in the middle of, and standing between you and your literary prize is a hoard of people all flipping through books and not paying any attention to you whatsoever. In your head, you weigh your options. You can turn and take the long way around that will hopefully be less populated, or you can "excuse me" your way through the pack.

And like the fearless person you are, you choose to split that group like the Red Sea.

"Let's dance, bitches," you say, but you say it in your head, because otherwise you'll look nuts. You lift one foot, and march towards the crowd.

Being fearless, but polite, you say aloud, "Excuse me". And then you realize you should have taken the long way around, because this little dance battle is not going to be won by you without some damage to either your dignity or your brain.

You see, the response to someone saying "excuse me" is never, "Let me get out of your way". It's, "Let me make this even more inconvenient and uncomfortable for you."

There's the Non-Mover. This one glances up at you, then looks back down at the book their reading and don't move.

There's the Snob, who moves, but begins to breathe like an angry horse at the fact that they had to move a little to allow you passage to the book you probably won't even buy after being so badly traumatized.

There's also the Underestimator. They laugh nervously and open up a nice little space of three inches in which they expect you to pass. While I'm flattered that they think I only take up three inches of space, I'm also horrified because they just opened the door to something dark and unpleasant. It's called the Shuffle, and your dignity and innocence is about to die a little when you take your next step.

To complete the shuffle, you'll have to arrange your body and whatever purse/bag/man bag/disco ball you're carrying, and contort yourself to fit into the 3 inch space to get to your damn book. Sidling up to the rows of books, you try and scoot by without incident. You aren't so lucky, because the universe doesn't work like that, bucko.

It's now that your innocence dies, and your dignity shuffles to a back corner in your brain to dress it's wounds, mostly because your butt just grazed the other person, and shit just got rough. You did the Shuffle, and you got burnt. Sorry, insert one token to play again.

There's the Bulky One. These lovely people move graciously out of your way, but their numerous shopping bags/body bag of a purse still has it's fists up. You smile and thank the person, and prepare to be punched in the face and beaten mercilessly by the forest of bags. At least they didn't make you do the Shuffle.

Bruised, bloodied and violated, you stumble your way over to your book. This victory is papery, but short lived. You still have to get to the cash registers.

When you do, you see that there is a line up. It's not an organized one though, so you're going to have to ask whose in line to find the magical pattern that makes up the line. Pulling your big boy pants up, you ask the person nearest to you, "Are you in line?"

And a whole new shitshow starts.

The person will do one of a few things. One, they'll look at you like you just punched a baby, and say nothing. Two, they'll shake their heads and continue standing there looking like they're in the line. These are the decoys, and they'll get you every damn time.

Finally, you find the end of the line. You think your ordeal is over, but fate is not that kind. You're stuck behind a Floater. They float out of line and to look at all the little trinkets and stuff by the registers. You never know if you should take their place in line, or wait for them to dance back over to the line. Still traumatized, you let the Floater continue and hold your tongue.

Then, a phenomenon happens that boggles the mind. If you're like me and on the short side, you become the doorway through the line. Every single person that needs to cut through the line will choose directly in front of you for their cutting place. You're going to walk back and forth so many times that by the end of it, the floor under your feet will be worn away. Finally, you get to the register. You pay, and run out of the store. Your battle is over, but only for now. You'll be back.

That last part was totally meant to be read in your best Arnold voice. Though it doesn't sound like "I'll be back" when it's in his accent. It sounds more like, "Ahhhhhl be baaahhhccckk". The last word should sound like you have a head cold and are trying to clear your throat. That's the official "talk like Arnold" tutorial.

On that note, does anyone else find it hilarious that Governor Arnold is doing his best to keep foreigners out of California? Last time I checked, the governor was from I'll-be-back-istan, not Cali. Just sayin.

Anyway. I have to go write an essay on the effectiveness of the British colonies. Yeah. I fell asleep just writing that sentence.

Adieu!

Love,
Megan

Perks

No, not that kind.

So. I've been 18 for almost a month now, and I'm learning some of the perks of my old age.

In the eyes of my younger sisters, I am now an even bigger badass then I was before. Now when someone is mean to them they can say that they can get their 18 year old sister to find someone to beat them up. Perk +1.

Now, when I talk about the many celebrity men I would become a polygamist for, no one can give me the old, "A little old for you, sweetie? Oh ho ho, I bet you've never heard that joke before." This is especially useful because I suddenly have a thing for men in their thirties, apparently.

I mean, really.

Jensen Ackles? 32.

Michael Buble? 35.

Ewan McGregor? 39.

Leonardo DiCaprio? 36.

Ian Somerhalder? 32.

Need I say more? Also, my spellcheck is going into an epileptic seizure with some of those last names. No, his last name isn't bauble, it's Buble. Or, bubbly, as I may have said in the past AKA yesterday.

Anyway. Now, when I get that response, I'm all, "I'M OF LEGAL AGE, BITCHES."

Oh, except Logan Lerman. He's 19, which is definitely not in the range of 30-39, but still okay with me. If I had a sleazy face gif, I'd put it here.

Oh, and six degrees of separation: Logan was in a movie with Jake Abel, who played Adam Milligan on Supernatural. Mmhmm. Jake is also adorable, and 23.

I had a point, I'm sure. I've forgotten entirely what I had intended to talk about, so let's have a rousing chat about how I have to do an online orientation course for the 90th time. Yeah, I have another teacher that is all, "Just do the course so we're sure you want to do the course". Uh... I need this credit, or I don't graduate. I think my wanting to do the course is kind of a done deal, genius.

On yet another note, I learned where the phrase "Jump the shark" came from yesterday. Y'know how most sayings aren't meant to be taken literally? Yeah. That one started out literally, when the Fonz jumped a shark while water skiing. For the record, don't youtube that. That is so much more of the Fonz than I ever wanted to see it's kind of scary. 

I have to go back to pretending like I'm being productive now.

Adieu.

Love,
Megan