Thursday, December 29, 2005

Tonight C-note, E and I did some interior decorating. We put magazine racks on the wall, I put up a decorative tapestry thing in the hall, C-note adorned the bathroom wth scarves and beads, so it looks like a tropical haven.

We're 22, we're capable, but at the same time, we take such pride in being able to nail things to a wall successfully. For example, when C-note was hammering away and I was holding the rack straight, E took our picture.

I think when I'm old I'll be weary of nailing things to walls (and putting together nightstands and fixing toilets and cooking dinners). But for now I'm appreciating the fact that there are still little things out there that we haven't experienced, and when we do them, we feel a tiny glow of satisfaction and child-like enthusiasm.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005


Legitimizing a love affair

Ever since I heard "I Want To Break Free" a couple of years ago, on those Coke commercials, I've been in love with Queen. Like all attractions, it was based a lot on circumstance. I don't know if the tune would have turned my head if it hadn't been paired with an infectious advertising campaign.

Something about dancing with abandon in the streets, the grocery store, the office, just caught me. I wish that I could just do that sometimes, totally have a lack of control, and look amazingly cool all the while. When I dance, it's a flailing of arms and legs. The dancing in those commercials - not to be all post-modern and Hirshhorn - was like art. And the joy on the faces!

I illegally attained "I Want to Break Free" and listened to it on repeat. It psyched me up for a long night of Towering, it put me in a good mood when I was glum. It was the perfect cure-all. Even today when I hear it, it puts a skip in my step...somehow this song is immune to my "play it until its dead" MO.

Then I saw Shaun of the Dead (GREAT movie! see it!) and in it there was "You're My Best Friend" and "Don't Stop Me Now." If anyone has seen the movie, they'll know the scene with the latter. I never thought I'd say this, but the choreography while bashing a zombie on the head with cricket bats and whatnot was just fantastic. It's one of those things that when you're going to work, and you're bored, your mind starts wandering. It arrives at that scene, and you laugh at loud, breaking the stony silence of all the other commuters. And it's mildly embarrassing, but you can't help it, and you don't even mind, because it has put a smile on your face.

I know next to nothing about the actual members of Queen - I'm not some super stalking fan. But the music? Really appeals to me. Everything is just so enthusiastic, they put their hearts into the work.

So, tonight I decided to give the good old boys some of my money. I know technically they're not getting any profits (what, like, .30 in royalties? and some of them are dead?), but I've been keeping my love affair on the downlow, getting songs from friends and Ares. As far as the records were concerned, Queen hadn't gained a place in my heart, even though they've been ensconced there for almost two years.

Seeing as how my Queen collection was rather paltry before tonight, I have a lot of catching up to do. 30 new (to me) songs. Is it just me, or is sometimes music a lot like a friend?

Monday, December 26, 2005


Bah, Humbug!

In the past, I've been accused of being "wound too tight." That kind of gets me annoyed, because I'm like "JUST because I have an opinion on something and it doesn't correspond with your idea of what is cool or fun DOES not mean that I'm uptight!" (which to some, may be proof of their accusation...but I digress.)

Anyhow. So tonight I watched The Polar Express and I realized that I may - just may - be wound too tight. There were so many things in that film that just totally disturbed me.

For example, I always pictured The Polar Express (here upon to be referred to as "PE") to be calm, fun, relaxed. Plain old good times, with warm blankets and tasty hot chocolate. I didn't picture a little impoverished kid falling down in the snow, dejected. Or scary gaps in between the cars. Or, you know, a crazy ghost hobo pitching fires on top of the PE. Or INSANE roller coaster rides on the tracks leading to an iced over rail, and splitting frozen lakes and the train SINKING!

And that's only the beginning. I also found Santa's village to be eerily reminiscent of Hitler and his crowd, whipped up into a frenzy. They also worshipped the big guy, when, to be truthful, it seems as though they're doing all the work. (not to hate on Santa or anything...) At the very least, it was Oz-like. And oompa loompa-like. Both things have cast a sense of unease over me since childhood. Scary! (so you can tell that this "taking movies too seriously" issue has been with me since the beginning.)

The whole omnipresent Tom Hanks thing? Whose idea was that? Ever since I read an article in the Onion a couple of years ago about how he's transforming into plastic, finalizing with the part of Woody, I see him and I laugh. In fact, I hear his voice, and think "Woody." That is his character to me. He can be no one else.

Don't get me wrong, I like him. I'm actually surprised by that, because I kind of lump of him in with Robin Williams...and something about that guy is a little alarming. But Tom as the conductor? The crazy ghost? Santa? Does anyone else see a stretch here?

And is The PE an allegory? Or is it a plain and simple Santa story? Because in the movie, there was this odd God-like Oz-like moment when Santa stands in front of the main kids and is like "You are a leader..." "You, son, would be good to have a little humility," etc, etc.

Come to think of it, it more recalls the scene where the Wizard gives the heart and whatnot to the Dorothy crew. Or in Narnia, when they get the weapons with which to wage that insane war. I don't know. But is Santa supposed to be like God? He certainly is the God of the crazy little elves. I used to see him as this cool gift giver, but now he seems a bit more sinister...

Santa, as a sinister character? I definitely think it's time for bed.

Friday, December 23, 2005


Endless amounts of money

This morning while strolling to the metro on my morning commute, rolling a very large suitcase behind me, I got to thinking.

Someday, when I am rich and wonderful and influential I will either a) get rides to the airport by my husband b) get driven in a town car or c) beg a ride from my younger brother, who is certain to become rich and successful and drive a Z39409 or whatever they are by then.

And then I won't have to take all modes of public transportation to get where I'm going, it will be as easy as pie.

Please don't get me wrong, I don't mind it. Generally I find it to be a fun little challenge, getting it up and down the escalators and whatnot. People smile when they see the silly situation I've gotten myself in, I love a scene. And not to be all momish, but it certainly is character building.

I've persevered through 135 pounds of luggage, balancing a fish bowl and two suitcases, lugging a surfboard message board and a huge thing of Johnny Walker in my carry-on, going through rain, snow, ridiculous heat (on separate occasions). I think I've learned a lot about responsibility, planning, and getting my butt to where I need to be going, usually on my own.

But on that note...when I'm rich, I will not only take town cars and whatnot, but I will also charter four nice shuttle buses from CUA to BWI around the holiday season. Maybe one trip Tuesday-Friday during finals week. Or two a day. And I'll have fun food on there, like good hot chocolate and tasty pretzels dipped in chocolate, and Grandma's coffee cake.

We all need a little character-building. But it's nice to be pampered once in a while when heading to BWI.

Thursday, December 22, 2005


Yes, I know I'm no fun.

I'm so annoyed with facebook and their new "how do you know this person?" business. Whyyyy whhyyy does it matter? I enjoy a little mystery. Okay. That's a lie. I hate mystery. But I hate stupid information even more.

And this is just stupid. I know how I know someone, and I may know that - let's pick a random person on facebook... - Zach M. knows someone, but honestly. I do not care how he knows his friends. If it comes up in conversation, it comes up! But why do I need to know?

But on that note, I got two funny friend details today. They made me laugh at loud...and ruined my ongoing rant in my head over this stupid new feature.

And I'm going to post them here as examples of how to be, in case you insist on using this feature:

From C-note:
You and C-note lived in CPT in 2005.
You lived in Various Locations at CUA from 2003 to 2004.
You took Math (among many more enjoyable ones...).
You met randomly.

and from DV:
You and DV met randomly in 2005: I decorated her Christmas tree at 3 in the morning. Again, only literal meanings intended.

So, basically. Here it is. I'm not going to friend detail you. Call me a party pooper, whatever. But if you friend detail me, please make it funny. Or try to be funny. It's okay if you fall flat, it's all about the effort. I don't want any "We had a class together."

Instead make it "We had a class together but I only noticed you when you told McKenna that you didn't see the sexual imagery in an advertisement. In front of the whole class (consisting of 45+ people), he said 'God bless you Meghan, you're so naive' and then you turned a brilliant shade of red."

Wednesday, December 21, 2005


Pony Express

So at least T's moment of truth in my comment section gave a bit of suspense to the blog...right? I just hope that the woman used the money for good. And not for crack, as some people seem to think.

And enough of that.

I'm a pretty responsible person, except when it comes to putting stuff in the mail. For some reason, that mailbox is the hardest, most impossible step. And let me assure you, there's a mailbox right on my way to work. So it's not because of insurmountable adversity that I stink at mailing things. It's just the final step.

So, today when I went into Verizon to change my address and talk about my little thing called "the bill that is three days late," I turned around, and the solution to my problems glowed, providing a glimmer of light to the otherwise dark night of irresponsibility. It is...a Verizon Bill Paying Machine!

All I had to do was stick my card into the machine, give them my number, etc etc, and the bill was paid. Ta - da! No mailing, no .37 cents. No opening the little door, closing it, then opening it again to make sure the bill didn't get stuck on the little door.

No going somewhere to buy a stamp, and cramming them in my wallet. No affixing the little square onto the right hand corner of the envelope. No licking the envelope, and thinking "aaarrgh it's grosss!" and momentarily wondering if I'll get poisoned, like Susan on Seinfeld.

And all this is super easy. And one would think that I would have just given up and invested in a carrier pigeon (why am I so obsessed with carrier pigeons?) if I lived back in the Pony Express days. But part of me has always daydreamed about being a Pony Express girl. Riding across the desert, with stacks of mail, full of messages to and from loved ones. Staying at random cabins, meeting all sorts of neat characters. Sitting by a fire, under the stars. Getting a tan face, wearing a cool hat and hot boots. I know that I am romanticizing it, but it seems like it would have been worth the effort.

Today there's no effort, it's too easy for me. I've always claimed that I hate a challenge (especially in the game of love), but apparently it's me not knowing myself. I don't appreciate the (generally) well-oiled machine that is postal system.

So some of you may think that this is illogical, to go to the Verizon store every month to pay my bill at the machine. Afterall, the mailbox is just across the street on my way to work, and the Verizon store is a whole block out of the way.

But I know what I need to get stuff done. And, if in my illogical mind, going to a store to pay something is what it takes to be on time every month, as opposed to slipping a letter in the mail, sign me up.

Mailing a bill is just so little effort...that it's just too much effort.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005


So um...what the hell just happened?

I was walking back from the metro, coming back from work late. (don't worry, wasn't working too hard, just making up for a lengthy lunch.) I walked through the dark parking lot, almost apt. safe apt. I saw someone else walking through the parking lot, but it was the silhouette of a non-threatening looking woman, so I didn't do the lightning fast reach for the pepper spray.

She then called for me, and I started a bit, and she began walking towards me, and I drew back. She put up her hands and said "oh no no I'm not a scary woman."

Then she came over to me and told me that a car had just run a red light. And hit her car. And she's pregnant. And had tears in her eyes. My first instinct was to offer her a hug, so I asked her if she wanted a hug, and she was the one who looked a little taken aback, and said yes, and we hugged in the dark parking lot.

Then we got down to business. She said that she worked at a nearby hotel, lived way out on Leesburg Pike, and she didn't have a way to get back to her house, since her car was totalled. She had gone to the police station, and they offered to keep her car for her until she got it taken care of the next day, but they couldn't help her get home. She didn't have any money. There was a shuttle that left from a hotel that went out to another hotel, and from there she could take another shuttle, but she didn't have money for it.

Part of me was trying to figure out a way out of this, but then another part of me played a little slideshow in my head. Of, oh...the random woman at the UPS store giving me a ride back to D.C. The lady at the Metro trying to console my pretty much inconsolable tears in the Spring. Rob the MC, from three years ago, giving me and two of my friends a ride from the Bowie Bay Sox Stadium. And countless others who have given me a hand and a smile along the way.

So, I said that I would go to the ATM and get money, but that I wanted to verify her story with the police officer. So we started walking - in the opposite direction of the police station, I may add - to find the police officer down the street who helped her. Things were looking shady, my favorite guards were long gone for the day.

She saw a woman getting into her car, so she said she was going to walk over and ask her for help. I was like " do that..." hoping that I could shovel this responsibilty onto someone else, and I stood on the sidewalk and called E, just in case I was going to be on the evening news. Figured they could play my voice mail as a poignant goodbye. While the phone was ringing, I saw a gray car at the sidewalk that was, well, totally in bad shape. The hood was smushed and raised off the ground.

I left a detailed message for E, speaking low. But all she really heard was "It's accident... woman...$30...important - WHAT? I'LL BE RIGHT OVER! you lat-"

Pregnant Car Accident Woman called me over, and said the lady in the car had given her $20. I told her I could go to the ATM, and we walked along into the darkness of the metro plaza. Here was where I was thinking "Hmm. Does she have a gun? Is she really pregnant, or is that a stash of money gained from other people walking home?"

I asked her if it was her car on the side of the street, and she said no, it was in the police station parking lot, but then asked what color it was. I said it was gray, and she said that was hers. It looked really bad, and I told her that she should go to the hospital to get the baby checked. She said that she felt fine. This was when E called, and I picked up and told her I'd call her back in about 5 minutes. I was like "um yeah...I'm okay...I think."

While walking, Angela told me over and over how grateful she was, and how she was appreciative and could pay me back the next day. I told her that it wasn't necessary, and I told her my little UPS story, in the hopes that she'd realize that she wasn't the only one who has needed help before and the kindness of strangers.

We finally get to the ATM, a little hole in the wall that I've never noticed before, probably installed in 1985, and the damn thing WOULDN'T WORK. I inserted my card and removed it many a time, flipping the card every which way. Putting it in quickly, pulling it out slowly. Fast, slow. Slow, fast. Fast, fast. Slow, Slow. Thought "Well, on the bright side, if she's robbing me, she's not going to get any money!"

Then we decided to give it another shot at another ATM, at the Holiday Inn. As we walked, we talked. She told me that she had just moved here because her dad had died of lung cancer, and she was with her mom. The father of her baby is an alcoholic, and she told him that she didn't need someone who wouldn't be a good role model. We commiserated, and I was like "oh, finding a good man is such a hard thing." (Cue in rosy lighting and the sisterhood scene.) And she suggested that I move to North Carolina, because apparently there are a lot of good looking guys down there.

Then I had my Bridget Jones's Diary II moment. We were walking under the dark bridge (yet another brilliant opportunity for my tragic disappearance) and I waxed poetic about how hard it is to find someone. Said that I had been with someone (sorry, L, for repeatedly bringing you up in here...) and that we just weren't right for each other.

And she goes,

"oh I know! What is he like? Obsessive? Possessive? Really mean?"

And stammered "'s a really great guy...we're just not right for each other."

So we finally made it to Holiday Inn, and we went to the ATM and it actually worked. E called again (you good friend you!!) and I told her I'd call her in 15 minutes, at the latest. I gave Angela some cash, and she thanked me and said that if I ever need a favor, if my family is ever in town, I should tell her and she'll get them a room. (hmm.) I told her I'd take her up on it, but I didn't get her last name, so I wasn't serious.

She said she was a Christian, and she believes in helping out people when they need it. I told her that I'm one too, and I feel the same way. She promised to help someone out, next time someone needs it.

Then we parted ways, her to get the shuttle, and me to the apt, cell phone in my hand, calling E, who was anxiously awaiting my call.

So guys. What do you think? Was I duped? Or is a pregnant lady now safe and sound at home? And if I was duped, was it worth it, just in case she was telling the truth?

Monday, December 19, 2005


Clearly Confused

Did anyone else used to think that the phrase was "wind shield" and not "wind chill"? As in "The temperature is 20, but with the wind shield, it feels like 11."

Yeah, I'll admit it. I thought that up until oh...possibly high school. And it kinda makes sense, as if a giant shield of wind was flying through town, making it all colder. It's a good visual.

Intents and purposes? Yeah, totally used to think that was "intensive purposes." "Used to" as in up to a couple of years ago. It sounds better, but regardless, it's wrong.

And I just realized last Friday (not this Friday, Gosh! but the week before) that that giant neon thing hanging on the wall in the Chinatown metro is, in actuality, a Chinese fan. Not a homage to Las Vegas, as I previously thought. And speaking of Chinatown, I remember the good old days back in freshman year when we thought that Chinatown Gallery Place was actually... Chinatown Gallery P.I. Blame the Metro signs, blame the fact that lowercase "l" looks a lot like uppercase "I", blame the fact that I'm not a directions type of girl.

I used to think that the lyrics "like the deserts miss the rain" was "the devil's masquerade." and is Carly Simon seeing clouds in her coffee? ...or clowns? Who the hell knows...either makes just as much sense. (But I have it on good authority that it's "clouds.")

Thank God for dumb mistakes. They make life amusing.

Sunday, December 18, 2005


looking for the quick fix

(and here's where I spill what was bothering me last night, but didn't want to share.)

A lot of us are looking for the quick fix in terms of relationships. We go to the bar for the purpose of dancing, but you know in the backs of our minds (or you know, the front) we look at the guy we're dancing with and think "Is there going to be something more than this?"

Or on craig's list, in the "men seeking women" section. I don't go on with the intention of finding anyone - it's more to cheer me up and have a quick laugh - but still, I think I'm thinking "hmm...I wonder who is on here." There's more driving me when I click on profiles than the search for amusement.

And I'm sure my little bro is reading this and thinking "God Meghan, all you want is a relationship." And you guys might be thinking that I'm desperate or pathetic or something. Or thinking that I already wrote about this a couple of months ago, haha.

But I don't think I'm overly pathetic - I think everyone wants to be in a healthy relationship. I mean, I'd certainly rather be alone than with some dud, and I'm known for being picky. But who doesn't want someone who loves them, who understands them with a glance, who adds to your quality of life (and not in monetary way, but in ways that are undefinable). Someone whose voice rises when they say hello, because they're pleased to hear from you. Someone whose faults you know, and understand, but still think they're the greatest anyhow.

And all that takes time. I was talking about this with Lewis, told him that it's so hard and discouraging, because he really understands me, and I understand him, and it took us a lot of time to get there...hours and hours of talking, getting to know each other, sharing thoughts. That when he says something, sometimes he can look at me and discern from a glance what I'm thinking. And it's frightening to worry that there might not be someone else out there who wants to get to know me so well. I want someone who is interested in more than just dancing at "Club Swerve."

Someone who is like "Who is this girl? I want to get to know her."

I don't know. I know I need to focus on other things, which is why I'm volunteering with something for my church. It's one tiny step in the right direction. Maybe I should get a part time job...because it seems like I have too much time on my hands to be worrying about this crap.

I want to travel, see the world. Tough to do when I haven't saved up any money, but hopefully by the spring I'll have some. I want to write a famous short story. I want to learn how to sew (I don't know where that one came from, I just thought of it). I want to start taking pictures again.

Maybe if I'm busy I'll have a little less time for self-pity.

Saturday, December 17, 2005


"I want to go out to the night and taste it" - low millions

So...after that, it's hard to go back to "So then my laundry DIDN'T DRYYY!" Not to be all Sept 11th on all of you, but it definitely doesn't seem that important anymore.

(not that I ever thought that the status of my laundry was thaat important in the first place, but oh well.)

But I guess I'll do my best. Blog must go on.

I'm suffering from an utter lack of creativity and inspiration. In fact, I just wrote a really boring post, but I deleted it because I couldn't bear to publish it. So, out of a lack of any other ideas, here's my list of favorite things/current activities.

Book that I'm reading: The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova. I'm not too far into it, but I'm really enjoying it so far. It's an adventure/scary novel, about a girl and her quest to find the connection between her dad and Dracula. Or something. Like I said, I'm still in the beginning.

Songs that I've been playing over...and over...and over: "Like We Never Loved" by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, "Wichita Falls" and "Kerosene" by Miranda Lambert, "Lately" by David Gray.

Clothes to wear: my brown boots from Victoria's Secret. A combo of practical and attractive. Very versatile. My pink long sleeved t-shirt from Gap (a pretty color, and comfortable), my red corset and gold bangles that I bought last night.

Food: Chicken. Chicken. I couldn't live without chicken. It's probably 13 of my meals a week. Chicken salad (like today at Zaytinya, in Chinatown. You guys in DC should go, it's tasty and reasonably priced), general tsao's, Tyson's breaded frozen chicken (of course).

Day of the week: Friday. It's a great day because you went to work, so you feel productive, but you also go out. E and I usually dance around until 3 am, so we get the most out of the day. We live every hour, and usually it's really fun. And sometimes, if I'm really cool, I sneak in a nap after work. Sunday comes in a close second to Friday, though.

Color: deep purple, like plum or eggplant or kinda burgundy. I find that it has a very relaxing effect on me. (affect? honestly, I didn't learn that when I was six, so it never sticks with me. I can never remember!)

Month: October. It's crisp, sweater + boots weather, and kind of spooky in this exciting way. October is beautiful in Massachusetts.

Celebrity I want to marry: Keith Urban.

Celebrity I want to be friends with: Angelina Jolie

Favorite Dessert: Chocolate chip cookies, or oatmeal chocolate chip, if I'm super lucky.

(and this has deteriorated into a 10th grade chain email...I'm trying to think of something deep and insightful to have as the next "favorite.")

what I'm doing now, what I'm wearing, what's up: I'm wearing gray fleece pants from Old Navy, my aforementioned pink tee shirt, red socks with pink hearts and dogs or something on them. Eating double stuff oreos, licking the frosting off first. Looking for itunes songs that fit my mood, settling on "Wreck of the Day" by Anna Nalick. Sitting on the flannel couch, with my laptop on my lap. Feeling tired, and going to bed in about 10 minutes. Stretching my legs, and realizing that they're sore from dancing last night. Feeling a bit of inner turmoil...which I feel is reflected in my crappy writing.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005


Facundo Montenegro

Please remember in your prayers ...

+ Mr. Facundo Montenegro, Assistant Professor for Clinical Studies in
the English Department, Program in Media Studies, in the School of Arts
and Sciences, died on Dec. 12, 2005. There will be a Memorial Mass
celebrated at 9am in Caldwell Chapel on Thursday, December 15th, 2005.
Condolences may be sent to the Montenegro family in care of the Program in Media Studies, 105 Marist Hall.

Fr. Robert Schlageter, OFM Conv

University Chaplain and Director of Campus Ministry

Facundo. key phrase was "don't force it." told us to not jam our movies with music. Thought of doing service projects to get us to give back. Called out my name and said hello when I was in Eastern Market with Lewis. Said that Elle, Court and I were an inspiration. Gave me an awesome recommendation for my current job, and for the jobs that I wasn't hired for. Cared about his students, even to the point of letting their whining change his mind. Knew my and elle's tricks, like accidentally erasing movies and then trying to recreate them, and then play off the shitty version as inspiration. Got us to go to artsy movies in the National Gallery of Art. Wore a homemade sweater that said "IOWA." Ate peanut m&ms one day in class.

Wasn't afraid to tell us how much we meant to him.

Oh Facundo. I can't believe you're gone.

And even though it breaks our hearts to see needs to be here.

Monday, December 12, 2005


laundry, part II

Half of the clothes are completely dry. The other half is partially dry. Good enough.

(re-reading this, I'm caught in a singular/plural battle over "are" and "is" for halves of clothes. but anyhow.)

The thing about me is that my rage is never sustained. It's like a fender bender. Seems serious at first, but then the person whose car you hit gets out, looks at his bumper, you look into his eyes, and you know you're saved as he says "oh, don't worry about it. No dents."

(not that happens to me on a frequent basis or anything...)

So at any rate. Point there is that I get pissed off, start spewing "stupids" (the ultimate indication of how helpless one is feeling), then get over it.

And the positive part of this whole thing is that the heat is still out of control, so my clothes are resting on every vent in the place. They'll be dry in no time!

lemons and lemonade!



Big things generally don't bother me. Or maybe they do, but not in a huge way. I generally try to keep big stuff in stride. For me, it's the little things that make me explode.


It probably wouldn't bother me so much, if it weren't for the fact that I had paid for each dryer. $1.50. So...$4.50. Down the drain. And I know, that's not very much. I know it's less than $5.

But like...I had put the last $10 that was in my wallet into that stupid laundry card machine. I put my stupid clothes in the stupid dryer, stupidly assuming that they would dry.

And I was feeling pretty damn smug, thinking that I had finished my laundry by the hour of 8 pm. Usually I sit around, wasting time until 10 pm rolls around. Or midnight.

So I waltzed down to the laundry room, opened the dryer, and was stunned, saddened and furious at what I found. I dropped an f-bomb, surprising the young teenage girl behind me. All three loads! Still wet!

Since I had $2 left on the laundry card, one dollar of which was e's (thanks girl!), I could only do one more load of drying. So I decided to go for all or nothing, and shoved all three loads into one of the huge utility dryers, pressed "High Heat" and hoped for the best.

Okay. The half hour is up.

Let's see if the dryer has pulled through for me.

Saturday, December 10, 2005


what's in an outfit?

I hit a bit of a realization this week.

Tuesday and Wednesday I wore cute skirts and boots. I love boots, and currently have three pairs. I see them as an investment, so when I see more that I like, I snatch them up. One can never have enough.

At any rate, on those two days I looked presentable, feminine. I got hellos, smiles, etc. Normal, right? I mean, I'm a friendly person. I talk to strangers.

Thursday I wore pants and my glasses and I was total chopped liver. I may as well been invisible, or a hideous leperous blob rolling down the street, for all of the acknowledgment that I got. I felt like shaking the security guard, saying "But you said hi yesterday! It's ME!"

And so, I realized that 1) I like attention. and 2) It's going to suck when attention stops.

I suppose no one can blame me for those two things...I think a lot of us are like that. But I had never realized how important it actually is, though. I just think it's so unfair that it all depends on what you're wearing, and what you look like. Why must one look order to feel good?

It reminds me of this poem by Randall Jarrell that I stumbled upon in early October, about a housewife who feels invisible. It's called "Next Day" and can be found here. This is the part that stops me in my tracks every time I read it:

When I was young and miserable and pretty
And poor, I'd wish
What all girls wish: to have a husband,
A house and children. Now that I'm old, my wish
Is womanish:
That the boy putting groceries in my car

See me. It bewilders me he doesn't see me.
For so many years
I was good enough to eat: the world looked at me
And its mouth watered. How often they have undressed me,
The eyes of strangers!

The poem in its entirety frightens me. I hope my mom doesn't feel that way, that I'm not her lovely daughter, away, that she doesn't look at herself with eyes that she hates. I hope that this poem isn't me, in 25 years.

Is this how legions of women feel? I think I tend to forget that inside every person is someone with their own insecurities. I forget that everyone wants to feel beautiful, regardless of age.

Thursday, December 08, 2005



I don't know why it has taken me so long to write about happened back in October.

Setting: A saturday evening, around 6:30, in the apartment. I had some plans, but...if something better had come along, I would have traded up without hesitation. Phone rings, unknown number. I get a tingle of excitement as I answer. Not much more exciting in this world than an unknown number (although I've realized by now that it's usually a wrong number, thereby bitterly disappointing).

Me: hello?
woman: Hi Meghan? This is CK, from The Nonprofit That Didn't Hire You.
Me: oh hey! how are you?
CK: oh, pretty good, how are you doing?
Me: oh, I'm great! I got a job, I've been working there for about two weeks now. I love it so far. And I'm in DC again, so that's cool.
CK: Oh, that's wonderful! Listen, I know it's really late and extremely last minute...but I have a favor to ask you.
Me: (thinking. hmm. wonder if there's a Nonprofit That Didn't Hire Me fair going on tomorrow and she needs help with a table or something? I could use the extra cash...)
CK: I'm having a dinner party tonight, and the person who was supposed to help me is unable to do it. Are you able to come and help out?

*pregnant pause*

Me: Um. I'm sorry, I've already made plans for tonight...
CK: What about your friends?
Me: They're busy.
CK: All of them? Can you check?
Me: I only know my roommates. They've made plans.
CK: Oh well. Well, by the way, we actually hired someone afterall, and she has a law degree.
Me: That's fantastic! Have a nice night!

Wednesday, December 07, 2005


Honey lately, I've been way down

Since I complained about it so excessively in my last post, I feel it's necessary to state that, for the moment, the heat is A-OK. I think it's actually off, which is fine with me. I own entire wardrobes of fleece.

Management left fliers in every door late last night, sort of telling/casually mentioning a meeting scheduled for Thursday. Doesn't say on it what it's for, but the bigwigs will be there (as bigwig as a semi-slum lord in DC is) and the maintenance folks. Those sneaky people planned the meeting for 5 pm, hoping that the old people would forget about it by that time, and that us rabble rousers would still be hard at work at the government offices and non profits across our fine capital.

Well, they forgot to factor in the hero of my life, FLEX HOURS! Aka, I can come in when I want, as long as I work for eight hours. This morning, my boss gave me the go ahead to come in 45 minutes early tomorrow, and leave by 4:30, so CPT can bet that I'll be there, whining about the heat.

And for those of you who are fooled, I talk a good game, but I'm going to end up simpering and being like "oh yes...oh yes...I understand. Of course, it's very hard to heat a building evenly. I always have issues even trying to heat my car! *awkward laugh* I'm sorry for bothering you..." Maybe at a key moment, just when the voiceless residents will feel let down, I'll feel the cut in my lip, and then stand up for my rights. It will be like a movie. (maybe C-note can bring a boombox, for emotional instrumental accompaniment?)

On an entirely different note, I've been listening to a lot of David Gray lately. When I was a sophomore, I found a DG CD left by the news editor from the previous year. I was kinda disgusted because I couldn't stand him ("Babylon" still raises my cackles), and saw little use for the CD other than as a coaster.

But lately I've been wondering if it's an age thing. She loved him when she was 21-22ish, and I started to listen to him more late last spring. Since I downloaded his stuff, I don't actually know any of his new songs...

But the old ones are so. So...romantic. Sad. Hopeless and hopeful at the same time. I think I listened to "This Year's Love" about 10 times in a row last night.

"who's to worry if our hearts get torn, when that hurt gets thrown. don't you notice life goes on? won't you kiss me on that midnight street, sweep me off my feet..."

Per usual, in my version of Manifest Destiny and White Girl's Burden, e-mail me or IM me if you want me to send you some songs.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005



It's 3:40 am, and I'm writing in my blog.

My apartment is so hot. Not just like "oooh, this is a tad bit warm" but a "clothes are optional" type of hot. E bought a thermometer over the weekend, and put it over the heat. The thing read 110 degrees (F). Granted, that's over the heat, so it can be expected to be a little steamy. But 110?

So I took the thing into my bedroom, and put it on my bed. I puttered around for a bit, then came back. The thermometer had dropped to a measly 95 degrees. 95 DEGREES!!!! In the middle of winter!!!!

Luckily, we have sliding doors, so we keep those open for the majority of the time. When I went to bed tonight, mine was only open a sliver. I was optimistic, the heat seemed to be going down. It seems as though it goes in cycles, from horribly hot to kinda bearable. I was hoping we were on the upswing of bearable.

Since then, I had woken up twice. Once to open the door a tiny bit more, then to pull it open all the way. I think it's finally an okay temperature in there. Keep in mind that it's snowing outside (and absolutely beautiful, by the way), and I need to have a sliding door completely open in order to have a bearable temperature.

The third time I awoke, I came out to talk to E, who was still awake. I'm up partially because it's my normal wake up time, about 6 hours after going to bed. I went to sleep obscenely early tonight (9:45 or so) because I was tired and feeling kinda bummed. For no reason, but just kind of in a funk.

I was also motivated to get up because blogger was down earlier in the night, and I'm totally addicted and hadn't gotten my fix. And yes, I know how pathetic that is. See how I admitted it in kind of a run-on sentence?

So I come out here, and C-note hears us talking, so she comes out too. She asks if I'm okay, which is pretty normal, since I'm up in the middle of the night and generally once I'm in bed, I'm in bed. I'm like "yeah...just a bit hot."

So she replies by saying that I've been restless, which is her kind way of saying that I've been a total weirdo in my sleep. Apparently I've been practically yelling about how hot I am, and she came in to check on me, and I threw off my covers.

(brief flashback to me waking up, to find that I had pulled my shirt up, and I'm wondering if I had flashed her. Sorry!!)

E then chimes in with saying that she's been hearing me talking/yelling too.

Now, besides the immediate issue of how hot this apartment is, this (re)opens a whole other can of worms. Who the hell will want to marry me when on a nightly basis I shout and talk and gesticulate in my sleep?

There's something for me to focus on, other than my cracked lips from the oppressive blasts of hot air.

Sunday, December 04, 2005


Jacob finally gets his shout out!

You may be wondering (although, you're probably not) which blogs I read. For a while, I was fairly indiscriminate in my blog reading, settling for a feeling of "Blah" when I finished their posts. But then I realized that life is too short to waste on a bad blog.

(as all of my readers realize the same thing and never come back...)

Here are my tops, the ones I've been reading for a good six months. Except for the last one.

Afraid of the Dark

Jacob has been with me since almost the beginning. He ridiculed me for saying that my life had been saved by a turtle, and since then he's been a regular commenter. We even used to be IM buddies, until I got a job. Which is a shame, because I miss talking to him. Back in the day, Jacob had a slightly-larger-than-normal readership. But after being featured on College Humor, he is now enormously famous.

While he's very funny, I like his blog best when he lets down his guard and says what he's really thinking. It only happens once in a while...but when it does, it's deep.

Waiter Rant

Let me just say this now. I love this man. Love him. If blogs were children, and I were a meddling mom, I would try my hardest to get an arranged marriage for Goo and Waiter Rant. He's a waiter, in NY. Used to be in the corporate world, in the field of mental health (I think), but then realized that he hated his life.

Never crass, never cruel. Each post has some sort of lesson, some key insight. He's absolutely fantastic.


Ever wonder what it's like to be a lawyer at a huge firm?

Well, I never really did, until I stumbled upon O's blog. I started reading her back in June, and each post is a written masterpiece. Her language is flowery, and a bit overdone at times, but she never fails to get her point across. She is filled with rage at the system that provides her a fat paycheck, and it's only a matter of time until she's discovered by her evil bosses.

(especially since a piece featuring her was published in the New York Times about a month ago)

One of the best sections of O's blog is the commenters. There are cheerleaders (that's my category, usually), the "why don't you just QUIT?" group, there are the people who think that she's actually a male posting as a woman, and the hate mail, mostly consisting of people who say "I know who you are, and you're going to get fired."

Kiss n Blog

My guilty semi-pleasure. Written by a woman called Midwest, and a man called Wombat, this details their (individual) sexual forays and observations. I don't know why I read it, other than that it's amusing and it reminds me that I do have some sensibilities, and that that's not exactly a bad thing.

Always obscene, always cheap, but with a beautiful veneer. They are a lady and a gentleman in the most superficial sense of the word.

Moonchad'z Bumper

I'm a new reader of Mona's. She had been lurking on my blog, and finally commented when I called people out. I'm glad she did, because she's really interesting. In a way, I see her life as an alternate version of mine - what I'd be like if I had moved 24 times in 24 years, as opposed to twice in 22 years. She's lived all over the world: Egypt, Dubai, France, etc.

Mona is smart, genuine, open. I'm very much looking forward to reading more of her posts.

Friday, December 02, 2005


random people in my day

Just wanted to let all of you know...that chivalry isn't dead! I never thought it was, but I was reminded today that it most certainly isn't.

Since I'm a bozo, I didn't wear a coat yet again today. I wore a big sweater, and I foolishly thought that would be enough, but I should have also adorned (at the least) a hat, scarf and gloves.

At any rate, I ran out to the hot dog vendor lady today around noon, and was standing in line for what seemed like forever because apparently the woman in front of me was ordering a ton of stuff. The wind started to pick up, and it was FREEZING. I felt as though either a) a poltergeist had settled around the cart or b) I was in ghostbusters, in a really windy, cold scene. So, in order to minimize rostbite, I turned my back to the wind.

There was this tall old guy waiting in line as well, and he saw me shivering...

No, he didn't offer his jacket. He did better.

He told me that I could stand in front of him, and he would block the wind for me. So I did. And it was nice.

And since I'm lazy, I'm going to post an (edited) e-mail that I sent to C-note and E the other day. E said I should write about it, but um...nah. So here goes!

From: Meghan Joyce
To: "C-note" , E
Date: Dec 1, 2005 9:54 AM
Subject: it's all subjective...haha

So I was just in the elevator, eating a fresh bag of Animal Crackers, and this woman who works on my floor got in (she's currently getting over being sick) and goes "ohh, snacking already?"

and I said "Snacking? This is my breakfast!"

And then she launches into how I'll regret eating so much junk food when I get older, because she said she's always like "oh, if I hadn't eaten that, I probably wouldn't be having this pain now..."

So I agreed, to be agreeable, and said that I'll probably end up in a wheelchair by the time I'm 25. But on the inside I was thinking "junk food? I bought these to be healthy!"

I mean, here's my "planned meal" for the day

breakfast: animal crackers + water
lunch: chicken teriyaki, pepsi, possibly onion rings
mid-day snack: reeses' + tea
dinner: frozen chicken fingers in our freezer + apple juice

is that so bad?

(and why am I not 300 pounds already?!)

write back!



PS - Y'all are not privy to the PS. Sorry.

Thursday, December 01, 2005


The Road to Hell...

is paved with good intentions. During the work day, while doing some menial tasks (now, take note, not all of my tasks are menial, but some certainly are) I think of blog entries to write. Because I'm that cool. But then I never write them.

One such entry is about how I've been having amazing dreams lately. (Most of) You guys know me and my alarming nightlife. I generally have dreams about death, destruction and disorder. Falling off a rollercoaster, me dying at the hands of Nazis in 1940s Massachusetts, Bin Laden shooting my mom, random guys breaking into my apartment via the heater, etc. Usually the thought of entering dreamland is not a promising idea. Combined with my occasional yellings, along with the rare sleepwalk, it's downright dreadful.

Well. This past week, I've awoken feeling optimistic, ready to meet the world. In two individual dreams, I've met these awesome guys. One was 28, a do-gooder lawyer. The other was a "tough police officer with a heart of gold" who was also Catholic. These guys gave me hope for mankind.

And then. The other night. I met Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. I was kind of manipulative, though, because I was babysitting Maddoxx (he was lying on the ground staring into space and I started talking to him?) and that's how I met Angelina. I'd like to think that I was conversing with the kid out of the goodness of my heart, but I gotta wonder if I had an ulterior motive. And if my memory serves me right, they paid me $700 for about 2 hours of babysitting. was the perfect dream. Lots of money, AND meeting my semi-idol. And yes, I think Angelina Jolie is wonderful. She may slightly ilicit, but she has done so much good. In addition to being a UN ambassador, she has adopted two kids who otherwise would not have had much of a chance at life. She's daring, and has her pilot's license. She made a bamboo home in Cambodia so that her son would be in touch with his roots. She's drop dead gorgeous as well.

And she's only 30 or 31! (Hey, I can't remember, and I'm not a complete stalker.)

I gotta finish up some work. My first foray into freelancing, and I'm led astray by two nights of happy hour (can't you tell by my writing?). Possibly up for tomorrow's post? Either "Leading Celebrities That I'm in Love With" (hey, it's high time for a girly post) or "Blogs that I Read All The Time (Besides my Own)".

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