Friday, March 31, 2006



Mel sent me the link to a comic page... Married To The Sea

I'm resisting the urge to post five or six of them.

In honor of the Times:

Perfect for me:

Thursday, March 30, 2006



Setting: tiny work lunchroom in the basement, 15 or so people are gathered to have birthday cake. Your heroine is standing in the corner, by the water cooler. Several people are sitting at the table, others are standing up. Multiple conversations are going on at once.

guy: birthday is July 16th.

me: oh, is that Bastille Day?

*cricket, cricket* followed by -


female coworker: no...that's the 14th.


I hate/love the fact that I was humiliated for not knowing Bastille Day.

hate because: harsh crowd! I was two days off. So sue me. Surely everyone didn't know it, right? It's not like we're French. Or that we had stormed the Bastille ourselves.

love because: we're such dorks. :-)


"fun" drunks...or taken advantage of?

C-note sent this article to me and E this morning:

The Myth About Girls Going Wild

my response (via email):

I do believe that WE are the: "definition of feminity expansive enough to include shaking one's thing without raising one's top."

Prime example: E and I last night at the times, completely sober and laughing it up. Prime example # 2 (an oxy-moron): Sunday at the kickball bar. Me drunk, C-note sober, both of us rejecting strip flip.

This "definition of feminity" is a total cop-out. I don't "need a definition" to tell me that I can be drunk, have a good time, and keep my shirt (and pants!) on.

I totally agree with this article, and I can't believe that it's not common sense. Generally, girls who get drunk and have wild sex on spring break are like that without spring break. Only it's not warm, and there aren't cameras.

We've all done things we wouldn't have done when sober - like, me...wailing on a street corner by the Times on New Year's Eve, to name one. But take me on spring break, give me a few drinks...and you'll likely find me on the beach, trying to read, and giving loud people glares of disgust.

And hey. Maybe we'll get with a guy when drunk. I'm not going to rule that out. But that's because we can be impulsive, and have lacks of judgment...even when sober. No one's perfect.

But for the most part, drunks will be drunks, sluts will be matter where they are, and what they're drinking. Alcohol helps, but for most people, they still have the same personality. I'm sick of the "women are angels except when led astray by men" myth.

*steps off her soapbox, contemplates making this into a blog post*

C-note's thoughts on the matter (via gchat):

I thoroughly agree that girls who are going to enter wet t-shirt contests and get nailed by the hot guy in the back of the bar have that part of their personality in them to begin with - sober OR dunk - unfortunately when you add a splash of alcohol to this potential for exhibitionist behavior you have a disaster.

I think that it, again, places the blame on something that it shouldn't - the media. Since when did the popularity of "Girls Gone Wild" fit into the equation of "when girls get drunk they might do stupid things." It seems a little to "looking back on the good ol' days" for me.

I think that part of her article is a total cop out. It's like saying when women back in the day drank they stripped down bc of playboy. Granted it wasn't as accepted and praised as it is today (which I think is part of the problem) but there's no way they can say that people in our parents' generation weren't doing the same damn things.

And that's what bothers me.

Granted now a-days there's A LOT more to worry about, you can't trust people (ie - date rape drugs, combinations of drugs and alcohol) - but it's not like the concept of snap shots of half-naked girls in a bar were just invented 10 years ago - take a look at studio 54 or any other club - they all had the same thing. The reason why it is or the reason why it seems more prevalent now is not because of g.g wild, it's because of the accessibility of technology. Anyone can buy a camera. Anyone can have a camera cell phone. And anyone can distribute whatever they want to the world via the internet, DVDs, etc. So it's not that it didn't exist before in the same fashion, it's just that it wasn't documented in the same way.

That being said - I still think that drunks are drunks whether you're in 1972 or 2006. And jezabells (spelling?) will be skanks whether you're back in the 20s or next year's spring break. It's not that alcohol changes personalities and I do feel that it's the MOST overused excuse (and hey I've used it, haha) but that's all it is - an excuse.


What do You think?

Tuesday, March 28, 2006


bedside manner

I went to the doctor today, she gave me medicine that works both to kill a possible infection in my foot (yummy) and battle my cold.

Symptoms? Kinda red toe. Dry cough. Occasional runny nose. Some soreness in one half of the throat.

Possible Side Effect of medicine: headache. dry nose. throat irritation. sneezing. nose bleeds.

I'm not too sure about the doctor. I'm supposed to sign her up as my PCP, and I have a physical set for late May, but I wasn't feeling any sparks. She came in, asked what the problem was, ordered my sock off. Kind of bossed me around, told me that I was probably wrong on what's been going on. Prescribed the antibiotic. I mentioned my cold, she was like "Well, this will help that too." I sort of felt as brushed off as a day-old crumb on a table.

Clacking away at the computer, she kind of just turned at me, and was looking at me, and said "You can put your sock back on." Awkward pause. I then asked if we were done, and she said "Yes, we're done."

It was then that I understand the PR propaganda littering her waiting room. Dr. R cares about you! Dr. R will do the best she can to help you as soon as possible. Dr. R is your friend! I thought the smile in her little picture appeared a bit forced.

The thing is...I haven't lost hope that there's a House-like figure lingering inside of her. This is all based on the fact that she was sporting a hot pink plastic watch on her wrist. Cold-hearted beings don't wear pink. Right?

And, if she were a bad doctor, wouldn't she have an open appointment before May 30th?

And, do I really want a best friend as a doctor? My thinking for doctors runs along the same lines as hair stylists and manicurists. You do your job, I sit there staring into space, I tip you well when it's all done. Maybe we'll talk, maybe we won't. Let's see where our professional relationship runs. You don't want my conversation and mundane insights forced upon you...and I'm on the same page in terms of your thoughts.

Wow, I'm a curmudgeon. Is that a side effect as well?

PS I'm catching the American Idol recap right now (HAUS is on!)...and they all stink.

so there!


amelia bedelia

I almost fell twice on the train. ** The first time I blushed, because some random guy had to reach out and grab my arm. I called him "my hero" and I think he took it a bit too heavily, because then he kept giving me glances.

The second time I was within reach of a pole.

I also forgot to sign my credit card slip where I got breakfast, and they had to shout to me to come back.


Must have been the "slow love songs" playlist on my ipod shooting me out to space!

** One of my coworkers asked me "fell on the train?!" and I realized that I should be more clear. "I almost fell twice while riding the train."

Saturday, March 25, 2006


inspired by rem's question

I have this picture of a group of people from my sophomore year of college. I'm not in the picture...while "doing homework" one night I found it on my college website and promptly saved it, because my crush at the time was in the group. So basically, I was a 19-year-old stalker.

So the people are all smiling in the posed shot, they're having a wonderful time. And the guy, he's giving the camera this look that I had never seen before on his face. It was so "I'm the man." It absolutely blew me away. Still does. In fact, if I were on my computer right now, I'd look at it. He just looks so confident, so secure in his skin. He wasn't trying to seduce the camera - I doubt he could replicate that look if he tried - but he totally is.

Confidence is key. Not just for dating, but for life. I look back on my mental gallery of crushes, and all of those guys are smart, dedicated, and have their stuff together. They don't fit in one box - some have smiles that light up the room, others have an intelligence that they keep under wraps, but then display with insightful comments, observations or questions. Others have a fun way on the dance floor, or a quirky sense of humor.

When they captured my heart or attention, none of these guys were intending to, or looking to see my reaction. They probably didn't even notice me, they were so absorbed in what they were doing. They weren't "out to get a girl." They were living their lives.

E and I were out dancing about a month ago, and we decided that we wouldn't dance with anyone. It became an unofficial contest, some guy would come up and try to dance with us, and we'd ignore him. (don't get too impressed, we were the only ones on the dance floor...the place was empty.) This random guy came up, busting out all these ridiculous moves, trying to impress. He had confidence, but not the right kind. It was showy, loud, all wrong.

Nothing is hotter than when a guy is doing something well, and concentrating. And when I say "something," I mean anything. I know someone (cough*me*cough) who loves it when a guy uses shortcuts on a computer. It doesn't have to be a complicated combination, but really simple, like the ones for "cut" and "paste." Yeah, pretty easily impressed, I know. And I don't know why I like it. Maybe it's just the way the person is efficiently doing work, and it shows they're thinking about what they're doing.

So work hard to be a person that you're proud of being. Become happy with yourself. Do things that you enjoy doing, wear only things that make you feel good. Face your insecurities, work on conquering your demons. Some humility is good, but be sure to have faith that you're a valuable addition to your environment. No one wants to fall in love with a person who doesn't recognize their own radiance.

We all have down days, the ones where we wonder how we could have friends, when we think we're super-ugly and feel that we have nothing to offer society, especially when compared to the model/Nobel Peace Prize winner Carl/Carlene in the next cubicle.

But then the next day, be sure to work it. Not with the hottie down the hall, but with yourself. Wear clothes that you think you look irresistible in, smile at strangers, walk with a strut in your step and a secret in your heart. Incorporate little good deeds into your daily life, like holding the door open for someone, and giving some money to the homeless people you see on your way to work. Lifting up others will serve to lift you up.

(and yes, I know that's a selfish reason to do good deeds, but it gets the job done nevertheless.)

Fake it 'til you make it. Because with enough attention and respect for yourself and your contributions to this world, you will get there.

Friday, March 24, 2006



As most of you know (due to me either a) infecting you or b)forcing you to listen to my coughs, blowings and complaints), I've been sick for the past three weeks.

Three weeks! Luckily it's come in stages -

week 1: congestion. blowing nose so much that it cut me.

week 2: scratchy voice, then dry choking coughing

week 3: dry coughing, intermixed with gross coughing, a bit of a sore throat.

I just got called down to the front desk, because I had a package that was labeled "Refrigerate Upon Arrival"

I was puzzled as to what it could be. No one is sending me any organs, that I know of...

I open it up.

My mom sent me a giant tub of chicken soup, a bowl and cookies from

Sometimes she's so nice that it just makes me want to cry. I'm so lucky to have her as a mom, and my family as my family.

Thursday, March 23, 2006


do I look fat in this?

waiter: can I get you something to drink?

me: A coke, please.

waiter: diet?

Wednesday, March 22, 2006


random thing on the way to work that raises my hackles

A Sprint ad in a bus shelter:

"Can you watch TV at a Book Club?"


"Yes you can."

Apparently "Yes you can" is Sprint's little motto. And you can watch TV on your super fantastic Sprint phone wherever you go.

Guess what?! I don't want a stupid TV at a book club! I want to talk about books! I don't want some arguing head, or some melodramatic hospital/terrorism/beautiful people show, or some ridiculous reality nonsense going on in the background. And why would you want to watch tv at a book club? If you're there, I would venture to assume that you're there because you want to be, and you want to discuss a book.

You know, a book. One of those things. And I think I'm quadrupley annoyed by this because it's at a book club, something that I hold to be almost sacred. I doubt I would have given the advertisement a third or fourth thought if it had said "Can you watch TV at a hair salon?" or "Can you watch TV during your commute?" or even "Can you watch TV at a ballgame?" (which is probably just as horrifying to others...)

But At A Book Club!

I'm SO SICK of tvs being everywhere in our world. In elevators, at restaurants, in bars, at the airport. Well, I can see some being at the airport, and some at a bar, but they are everywhere. For the most part, I can't stand TV. I watch a couple of shows occasionally, but I'm tired of a tv-free atmosphere becoming less and less of an option.

Hi, my name is Meghan, and I get bent out of shape by little things. I should open my own bar, and in it you can’t smoke, act disrespectfully, watch TV, or invade people’s personal space. Oh, or play songs with crude lyrics, like “put in my mouth…”

I can be so intolerant sometimes. But honestly? It seems to be an intolerance of an assault on the senses.

And that’s when I stay in and act like a hermit, eat junk food, read magazines, do my nails, write, and have a great time by myself.

Friday, March 17, 2006



Did you know...

That D.J.'s full name is Donna Jo?

That Jennifer Aniston was in the movie leprechaun?

The things you learn when home sick. I was a little concerned about calling in, due to the suspicious nature of it all. Hi, I have an Irish name, the Irish skin, hail from the land of the Irish Catholics. But for the past two weeks, I've also been blowing my nose non-stop, started with a cough yesterday, and have been speaking in an alluring (scratch that - more like "annoying") scratchy voice since Sunday.

Last night E and I went to the 24 hour Dupont Circle CVS for the express purpose of buying cold medicine. E bought some too, seeing as how I made her sick. And C-note. And my co-workers.

So we float through the electronic doors, balk slightly at the long line, and our inner compasses bring us to the candy aisle. I walk around, filling up my arms. I went in for cold medicine, I left with
- NyQuil
- tissues
- carmex
- lip balm
- toothpaste
- toothbrush (why not?)
- shampoo, conditioner. Says on bottle, under directions (and I kid you not) "Give every strand of hair a massage and a juicy kiss."
- cadbury mini-eggs (the big bag)
- campbell's soup
- a bottle of Arizona Iced Pomegranate Green Tea
- Sour Cream and Onion Pringles

And that is why CVS is evil.

Waiting in line, noticing the guys in front of me who were mirror images, only one was 100+ lbs than the other, and the guy behind me in a suit buying a small bag of mini-eggs and something else that I forget - I was primarily focused on the fact that he was crowding me and interfering with my personal space, and I could hear the harsh staccato of "NEXT" coming from one of the cashiers...and I thought back to my most recent blog entry. (because I had written that post before we went to CVS.)

Luckily, the guy who helped me was friendly, and had a familiar hack. I asked him how he was, he coughed, and he said "that's how I am!" I commiserated, and gestured to my cold paraphernalia cluttering the counter. He finished ringing me up, I once again demonstrated my uncanny knack for estimating the overall cost of my goods, and I thought we were done. Until, he said:

"Listen...I have a favor to ask. Can you stay here for a little bit more? There's this weird guy who is up next in line, and I don't want to have to help him. I can't deal with that tonight, you know?"

Just call me a CB - a cashierblocker.


Where is the love?

I don't know about you...but lately I've felt as though the world is lacking decency.

The mind started churning a couple of weeks ago, I was walking past Borders on my way to work. They always blow up book covers to poster-size and put them in the window, and I enjoy looking at them as I stroll by. I sometimes daydream that I'll walk smack right into the love of my life because I wasn't paying attention - but that's another blog entry.

I saw one prominently displayed in the window, and was horrified by what I read. In huge letters, it says "The Dictionary of Corporate BULLSHIT"

I'm sorry, what?

I looked again, and it was still there. And it's still there, as of today. When did "bullshit" become an acceptable street display? I know there aren't an awful lot of kids running around downtown, but still. It's an assault on the eyes. And I know this is America, and we're all about free speech, but I don't think that means the freedom to offend. And yes, I know that "bullshit" is only a bad word because that is what society has determined, and it only has the meaning that we give it...but still.

It's not appropriate.

And there are articles by Peggy Noonan (article 1 and article 2) about how we're losing the concept of ladies and gentlemen - or that society is forgetting to treat women like ladies. Part of me rails against that - I don't want NO special treatment! I'm not a delicate flower! - but the other part of me agrees, to the extent that I'm sick of our society's tendency to be harsh and brash and rude. Peggy talks about the airport - the way she's callously searched, and the way that a security guard at the metal detector barks out orders to a mom, struggling to handle her young child and a stroller.

Let me say here that I generally get the extra pat down...because apparently I look very suspicious...and I don't mind it. Call in an invasion of privacy, but if that's what they have to do to make sure nothing sketchy is going on, go for it. Wave that wand. No one has crossed the line (yet) in terms of me and invasive searching.

But the yelling? It's not necessary. I have my ID and boarding pass out. I have my shoes off. I didn't realize that I have to take off my paper-thin cardigan, but I do not mind disrobing and putting it on the belt. No prob. But no need to speak as if you're putting a disobedient dog in line. I understand that it's a hard job, and there's always one that will give you problems, but you shouldn't treat everyone like a troublemaker. Same as when I go to the CVS near my work, I don't want "NEXT!" yelled at me when a stupid register is open. When someone calls me at work, I'm super pleasant. Sure, I talk fast, and I mumble, but you won't hear bitchiness in my voice. Because I know that that's not polite.

I don't necessarily want to be treated like a lady, I want to be treated courteously. And being treated like a lady happens to fall under that definition.

And then last week we were at Happy Hour, on a patio, and the guy at the next table started talking about some "bitch with large tits." And he didn't just say it once...but kept talking about her and describing her in detail. And it wasn't as though I had my ear turned towards the table, he was sitting back, and speaking loudly and clearly.

And then tonight at the bar, other guys were speaking along the same lines. And all I could think was "these are the options out there!?"

This topic leaves me conflicted, because we all know that I'm not always the classiest act. But I'd like to think that I don't go around offending people, and that when I say stupid things, it's not in the presence of random company. And I do do stupid things, or un-lady-like things. I don't think I deserve the term "lady" - one game of smack ass can attest to that (I doubt ladies play that). And I think it's cute when a guy I don't really know swears, realizes I'm (or any girl) is around, and quickly says sorry. Cute, because I swear on a frequent basis.

But gosh.

And the worst happened Monday night. E and C-note, and I were watching the news (WUSA9?), they had shown a teaser about a hostage crisis in "the DC area". Of course, we remained glued to the TV. They finally got to the piece, and showed a man holding a woman around the neck at a gas station. With the anchor saying "and then with a single shot to the head, they killed the man" the man jerked, and fell to the ground. We all peered closer - the footage was pretty grainy, and it was hard to see what was going on -

It was only when it did a replay a second later, I realized that I had just seen someone die. On TV. No, there wasn't any blood, and it was from pretty far away...I've seen a lot worse deaths in shows, and the movies...and it wasn't violent, per se. But it was the last second of someone's life. Regardless of the circumstances, a living, breathing person got shot in the head. And it was replayed, repackaged, and shown on the nightly news, for the ratings and, yes, for the entertainment value.

When did it become okay to show someone's death on TV?

When does "how far?" become "too far"?

Saturday, March 11, 2006


"dare to dream"

I used to have a lot of bad dreams, especially concentrated during sophomore and junior years. They ran the gamut, including gems such as Osama BL shooting my mom (after I accused him of being a coward...whoops), witnessing a helicopter piloted by a guy I knew crashing on campus, and hordes of ants swarming my bed.

I'd wake up disturbed and distraught, then go to bed the next night dreading what may come - after describing for friends in endless detail what had "happened." One week, after four nights of terror in a row, I laid there in the dark, dreading what was to come. I remember I woke up in the morning and thanked God for a non-bad dream.

It got so bad at one point that I decided to see the on-campus therapist, at the urging of friends and loved ones. I went to the therapist, and it was immediately apparent that I was low on their "important to see" totem pole - after ascertaining that my bad dreams weren't rooted in an angst-ridden childhood, I went from being a "must-see" to a "we'll see her next week."

Which was fine, because after two visits, the bad dreams went away. Or did not go away, but at least died down. I've noticed that they come about in times of stress...sophomore and junior year were very stressful times due to extracurricular activities. I also tend to walk in my sleep more when I'm stressed, waking up embarrassed, realizing that I'm halfway to the living room.

Or like last week, when I yelled E's name, because I thought was trapped under my bed. C-note came running in, and apparently I told her that everything would be all right, and gave her a hug. I remember seeing her, but I don't remember what I said, or hugging her. That same night I had shut my sliding doors in my bedroom, and moved tissues from the top of my nightstand to the cabinet.

I don't remember any of that, and only know it happened because a) my tissues were clumsily sticking out of the door and b) the sliding doors were closed, and no one else closed them.

Whoever marries me is going to have to love me very much, to put up with the nightly freakshow that is my sleep cycle. My aunt is just as bizarre, only she doesn't leave her bed. My uncle has said his heart almost stopped the first couple of times he woke up to find her standing over him.

I just took a 2.5 hour nap, and had a bad dream. It's so weird, because I feel so unstressed. Or felt so, rather. I had a lovely day, getting lunch with someone and going for a walk in Rock Creek Park. Then I came back here, sat on the balcony in the setting sun and read April's Glamour. Then I just kinda collapsed on top of my covers for a bit.

And the dreams, they were just so bizarre. In one, I was dating, or on a date, with this guy who could change into things - like a badger, or some other really weird animal that I don't even really know what looks like in real life. I asked him to stop, and he changed my outfit, against my will. And we were at this strange virtual reality place, that made you fly across the floor at high speeds. Kind of similar to the zoom feature on video games. You step on the floor, and fly forward uncontrollably for 35 feet.

In another, my coworkers on the magazine and I lived at our boss's house, and an emotional fight was going on over internet usage, and us being expected to work when we were "home." It's just so is not like that at all in real life.

And in another, my mom was driving, and she 1) had a new car, but said she wanted to trade it in because it was too minivan-like (it was a coupe?!) and 2) I made her pull over, because she was driving drunk.

Let me just state here that my mom WOULD NOT DO THAT. In fact, I've never even see her drunk. She's a stable, reliable, and responsible person.

In a continuation of that dream, I think, I was pulling out of a driveway with my mom. Three cars were parked haphazardly, and I thought that I couldn't make it past, but the car had other ideas. I tried to go through them (?), and the car spun and spun, hitting all three cars like in a pinball machine. And later, I was driving, and we saw this old homeless guy and his young granddaughter - their names were Gabriel and Gabriella - on the side of the road. We told him that we could take her with us to North Quincy (?) to a hospital but that he wouldn't be able to come. He said okay, then got in the driver's seat (I magically had moved to the middle) and I yelled at him to get out, and took the keys from the ignition.

Oh, and I met Madonna, and spent some time trying to convince her just because she's 53, her life isn't over, and she has a whole other 50 years or so to live. (BTW, I have no idea if she's 53 in real life. I don't think so, though.)

So I know dream posts are boring, but it's extremely helpful, because when I started writing about this, I had only remembered kissing the badger-man. When I took a break in the middle to fetch Ramen in the kitchen (yuck), a lot of it came back to me. I feel as though there are more memories and details sitting beneath the surface, but right now my mind can't penetrate the wall between me and my dreamworld.

I wish that I could have some unequivocally pleasant dreams once in a while, instead of always lingering on the edge of a "Ripley's Believe It or Not" episode.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
- Mary Oliver
American poet (b. 1935)

He who hesitates is sometimes saved.
- James Thurber
American writer (1894-1961)

Monday, March 06, 2006



If there's one thing that I hate about this world, or this country, or this city - I don't know what it is - is the constant fear that envelopes a girl walking alone. Or not even a girl alone, but just a person walking alone. Guys get jumped too - a friend of mine is recent proof of that.

It seems as though it's impossible to go somewhere without constantly checking your back. Being painfully aware of every scrape, noticing the shadows, giving passersby the "I see you" look. Not just during the night time, though especially then. I live so close to many beautiful locales, and I fervently wish that I could walk to those places at night, for a stroll. Take some time to think, get some exercise, and some fresh air. Just to be.

And yes, the chances are with me that it's going to be safe, the majority of the time. But I don't want to be the fool splashed all over the nightly news, who thought she was invincible.

My parents worry about me a lot...I think that's the nature of being a parent. During the summer, when I was still home, I decided to walk to Z's house to say hello. My mom suggested that my younger bro walk with me, to make sure I arrived safely. Z's house is down one street, up another. The shortest walk in the world. And as far as I know, there haven't been any recent (if ever) random violent crimes in my neighborhood, or in the neighboring blocks. (*knock on wood!!*)

I cannot imagine how worried they must be about me down here, then. When they found that I sometimes took the Metro back from the bar at night, by myself, because my friends were still partying and I wanted to peace out, they made me promise to take a cab every time. And I have, since then. What's $15, in terms of my relative safety, and my parents' relative peace of mind?

There was an article a couple of months ago, somewhere, on this very topic. I'm drawing a blank on all identifying details. In the article, the woman, an American, wrote of her experiences in another country. She said that she took walks at night, and it took her a while to realize that she did not have to be afraid. The feeling had become so embedded that she did not realize that she had been carrying it around in her heart, and on her shoulders.

Will we ever be able to lift off that coat of fear, the armor of distrust? Or, when here, is it fastened on for good?

Saturday, March 04, 2006


ALL over the place. Sorry.

*thanks to C-note for letting me use her computer*

Monday night, when E, C-note and I were at a neighbor's apt for dinner (not THE neighbors, but a different one. we get around) I made the statement that we were not very well-rounded girls. I instantly regretted my statement...not the meaning, per se, but the wording that I had chosen.

They argued that, If anything, we are well-rounded. Among the three of us, we've worked in food service, retail, with computers, at a scan place, as a member of a moving crew, in event planning...etc. And now one is in radio, the other TV, and I in publishing. I made the argument that I don't sew, or cook, or have much talent in practical matters. I've never even changed a tire! They said that sure, I can't sew, but if I had to, I could stitch some things together.

And here, I'm going to be talking solely about me. People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, especially on blogs.

Personally, I feel like such a wasteland sometimes. Let me tell you what I did Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday of last week. I went to the bar. Sure, three different bars (so one could point out that there is variety there), but they were bars nonetheless. I did not have any alcohol on Thursday and Friday, had one beer on Wednesday and Saturday, and imbibed a bit freely on Sunday. So it's not like I'm an alcoholic...I don't go to bars for the beer.

And come to think of it, I don't even know why I go sometimes. Well, I know why - for the good times with my friends, but I generally hate the atmosphere. Wednesday was nice, because I was catching up with friends that I hadn't seen for a week, due to going to Md, Nh, and Mass, and the place was nicely pretty quiet and empty. Thursday, I left early, before my friends. Friday night was super fun, because E and I played "don't let anyone dance with us."

We'd be dancing, sketchy guys would come up to us, we'd do a twirl and move away. It was absolutely fantastic. Just because we're on the floor, it doesn't give some sketchy/obnoxious person the right to grind against us. In fact, I HATE that about dancing. Generally I sway a bit, then peace out. I like dancing with my friends. I don't want to dance with strangers.

Saturday - we went to a birthday party at one bar, and that was fun to talk and see people we hadn't seen for a while, but the place after was alright. I could have done without that part. Sunday we went after kickball....and that...was super fun. I have no shame in saying that I played flip cup for the first time, and I (almost) held my own.

At any rate. My point, even though it may be hard to see that I have a point, is that I don't even like going to bars that much. It's loud, smoky, generally crowded. Mix in drunk people, and my natural inclination to run and hide in a crowd; it's a blast. This is not to say that I don't have fun, but I feel as though it's a 50/50 experience.

Combined with the fact that I don't feel as though I'm growing that much - contrary to the title of this blog - life right now is a total blah experience. I think I've reached the point where I'm ready to do other things. Afterall, if I think that I'm not well-rounded, it's no one's fault but my own.

So how does one become well-rounded? To quote (heavily) from an email from a friend:

I think being well-rounded has more to do with progress towards a goal than about only going to the bar a certain number of times per week or about not caring much about boys. In other words, what progress are you making towards being a more well-read, better-educated person? What progress are you making towards being less interested in finding the perfect boy in the next week? What progress are you making towards having both pleasure and happiness in your life?

So it's not the going to the bar in itself that makes me unwell-rounded, it's that I'm not using my spare time to pursue goals, expand my mind, etc. Obviously you can't expand your mind 24/7, but it's important to have a balance.

I passed the "finding the perfect boy" point a couple of weeks ago, after a friend disappointed me, and helped me to see that sometimes guys can put on an act, but they're not the considerate people that you thought they were. Combined with the one-two punch of some stupid boy that I had had a 25 minute conversation before he offered to let me come home with him "if i was too tired" to make it back to my place, I was just like "UGH!" (And let me note here that if he were a true gentleman, he would have offered to pay for a cab, if he were so concerned about my tiredness.) Also, a lot of my friends have been boy-stressed lately, and I just feel so much happier not worrying about what a guy is thinking.

And as I told my co-workers, and some random new guy who happened to walk in the lunchroom at the "right" moment, I'm not throwing out a net anymore or looking for a boyfriend. I realized that with guys, you make the effort, and there is no guaranteed return. That's not cynical, it's life. Sometimes you click, sometimes you don't. I'd rather spend the majority of my efforts on things from which I know I'll get a return, like work, reading good books, and writing.

(But with that said, I'm just as susceptible to daydreaming as everyone else when I meet what I think is "the perfect guy." only to uh...realize that I've been daydreaming and left the reality plane far behind. So a lot of this is talk. But no more MC on Craig's List, at least.)

Okay, so the questions of well-roundedness. In my first entry, back in June, I posted a list of things that I wanted to achieve. Let's go back to those.

- take scuba diving lessons
- take ballroom dancing lessons
- get re-certified in CPR and first aid
- write one short story a month
- brush up on my french

Let's talk here. I have not done ONE of these things. Not one! And the pathetic thing is that I still want to do them, it's not as though my interests have changed. To be realistic, I will not be able to afford scuba diving lessons for quite some time, but I can at least start saving for it. And to be fair, I did take a couple of line dancing lessons, so that goes along with the "learn dances other than shaking my ass" goal.

No excuse for not getting re-certified in CPR and first aid. And absolutely zero excuse for not writing one short story a month. Or even if I had written one or two stories, I'd let it slide. But I haven't. And french...well...I'm horrible at it. But that doesn't mean that I shouldn't start it up again. I'm not so good that the occasional foreign film is enough to remind me of my verb tenses and vocabulary.

Tuesday, the day after my "not well-rounded" declaration, I bought an official "short story" notebook, and some cute pens. They're still in the bag on my floor, but I made the important first step. In my creative writing class last year, my teacher would have us do these exercises: a classmate would describe part of a scene, and we'd write for about 3 minutes, describing the circumstances behind the scene. For example, the student would say something like:

"There is a man, underneath a street light, on a deserted street. He is standing, with one hand up, and he is looking at his watch."

Some people would say he was waiting for a bus, others would call him a terrorist, someone else might make up a second person, and describe that person as they walk by the man. I found these extremely helpful for firing up those creative juices. If anyone wants to send sentences like that to me...I would really appreciate it.

Okay. E and I volunteered this morning. We're playing kickball tomorrow. (speaking of kickball, the Kb powers-that-be told me that four people went from my blog to the playnaked website. I LOVE YOU GUYS!!) I'm not a total one dimensional person. But I promise to do some self-improvement.

And I don't think that's too much to ask of myself.

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