Cappie from Greek. Huhmuna huhmuna…yowza.
Runner up: Baze from Life Unexpected.
Third place: Sid from Skins.
(I think I have a type. Is it that obvious?)
By the way, Trent installed a TV in our bedroom. Betcha couldn’t tell, huh? Until the temperature rises above 20 degrees, I think I’ll be spending most of my time there. So if you need me, you know where to find me.
I have had a hard week.
It seems like everything that could go wrong, did.
1. Workload exploded.
2. Family member got really, really, scarily sick.
3. My medical condition got worse.
4. I pulled my shoulder muscle during yoga.
5. There was no wine in the house, so I had to have a glass of nasty honey-flavored whiskey that someone left over Christmas.
6. I gained five pounds.
7. Lucy wants to move to her friend Haven’s house ’cause “They are way more fun.”
8. I opened a can of concentrated grape juice and spilled it all over the kitchen floor. And I can’t get it clean. It’s impossible. It will be sticky for all eternity.
9. I literally left a bag with three items on top of my car and drove out of the Target parking lot. With people laughing and pointing. One of the items was a jumbo box of tampons. It was awesome.
10. My dog somehow got into Lu’s Valentine’s candy and is now acting like she’s on crack.
Yesterday Trent was all, “What is up with you?” And I responded, “What?! You want me to go eat a f***ing rainbow or something!” He’s so lucky to be married to me.
So I’m trying to perk up a bit today. Well, after this morning with the grape juice and the floor. That included some sobbing, but now, NOW, I’m ready to bring some sunshine into my life and stop listening to The Rosebuds on repeat. And The XX. And Bon Iver. And Fleet Foxes. Because that depressing crap is making me want to sacrifice myself to the wolves, and not the good kind that turn into hot, young Native American vampire killers.
Instead, I’m dancing in my car. Flailing around to some funky beats. And I think it’s catching.
(Music is Odessa by Caribou)
I feel better already…
A few weeks back, my friend and fellow watcher of awful television, Lane, sent me a quick email. It seems Miss Lane often attends book signings at a certain bookstore in Kansas City, especially for gifts for her young nieces. And this certain bookstore now sends her emails about upcoming writers that will be doing book signings in the city. And who was coming to our frozen tundra, you ask?
Ummmm…..yeah. Right?
LC. Lauren Conrad. From The Hills. Lovers of crappy TV unite! And begin to geek out!
So Lane and I decided to attend this very special event, where our sure to be BFF Lauren would be signing her new novel, “Sweet Little Lies,” which is basically The Hills written down on paper and bound in a hardcover. Whatever, it’s LC! Squeeee!!!!!
As the event got closer, Lane and I started trading emails about how we were going to charm Miss Conrad into being our new best friend so she would eventually ask us to join in her new reality show and we’d become rich and famous. Obviously. One particular email from Lane pointed me to the site Go Fug Yourself dot com, where they had featured LC and a fabulous yellow coat.
I immediately replied:
To: Lane
From: Megan
Sub: Re: A Little SomethingDUDE! I totally have a coat that is almost, just like that! I’m gonna wear it on Monday, and she’ll be all, “Wow, girl, that coat is amazing!†And I’ll be all, “I know, right? Let’s be best friends forever!†And then I’ll fly off to Paris and have lunch with famous designers and she’ll probably write a character for me in her new book.
That, or she’ll call security. It could go either way.
Then Lane sent back to me:
To: Megan
From: Lane
Sub: Re: Re: A Little SomethingOMG! You have a coat like that??? Why have I never seen it? I swear I will not steal it from you. (maybe not)
Which is when the backtracking started. See, my coat is not exactly like LC’s. It’s shorter, and a different color yellow, but hell, it’s close enough and you bet your collection of Star Trek memorabilia I was gonna wear it.
When we arrived at the event venue (a church….weird) I noticed that Miss Lane had gone home to change into some stylish outfit, while I was wearing my classic work attire (black pants, random top, salt/sand from the snow splashed all over my backside) with my famous yellow coat. Which, I may add, is totally a Fall coat and I was freaking freezing. But I knew my friendship with LC was in jeopardy, so I sucked it up.
The two of us acted like complete psychos while waiting for LC to arrive. We giggled. We tweeted. We made fun of all the other attendees. We discussed what the heck we were going to say to LC. We laughed hysterically. We shot dirty looks at the girls sitting next to us with their YSL bags and LV coats.
And Lane made fun of my coat. She tweeted about my coat. Laughed at my assertion that it looked anything like the coat we’d seen LC wearing on that fashion website.
Our ticket numbers were finally called and we got in line to get our books signed. All the while nervously trying to figure out what we were going to say to LC (who, I might add, looks exactly like she does on TV, exactly). We got up to the front, where some lady brought her kid and totally charmed LC and her entourage, and I silently cursed my decision not to bring Lulu. Lane (that creep) snuck behind me so I’d have to go first. Crap! Now what? I walked up to the table, and handed my book to one of LC’s assistants, who passed it on to LC to sign. She looked up at me, and very nicely said hello. Here is an abridged version of our conversation:
LC – Hello!
Me – Um, hi…(looks down like a freak show)
LC – How are you?
Me – Fine, um, thanks.
LC – I love your coat!
Me – (blink, blink, blink)
LC’s Assistant – Yeah, it looks a lot like yours (to LC). The one from the other day.
Me – (Look at Lane….blink, blink, blink)
Lane – (Hands her book over to be signed) Great, now I’ll never hear the end of this.
Me – I told you!!!
Lane – She wore it because she said it looked like yours and I told her it didn’t.
Me – (Dances off the stage)
LC – Well, it is a little darker.
Me – (Dies. Boom. The End.)
Back in the audience, Lane and I couldn’t freaking believe what had just happened. I quickly tweeted my version of events so I wouldn’t forget…and Lane replied with the following:
So unfair. I will never hear the end of this. Ever. Seriously.
And then this….
Also, I hope everyone likes the coat, because I think she’ll be wearing it until she’s 80.
I mean, I guess I didn’t get invited to Paris or New York or L.A. But still. I think the night turned out better than anticipated.
My response:
@laneodle, suck it!!! I win at life!!!
I am nothing, if not classy.
A few weeks ago, Trent and I were sitting in our kitchen, having a nice Sunday brunch after a VERY rare instance of the whole family sleeping in. Lucy was running around in a tutu or something, and we sat at the table reading newspapers, checking Twitter, discussing the world issues of the day. Until, all of a sudden, this happened:
And yes, I tweeted it. Because, SERIOUSLY?! A zombie action plan?! And then:
Now this is where things get a little hairy. I had a couple of responses via Twitter on the hilarity of the zombie action plan (ZAP?), including one from a sorta-web-famous blogger. When I told Trent about the response, he immediately went to Twitter to see what I’d posted…and then sorta got mad. Ish. Not like, I-wanna-divorce-you-mad, but more like gah-what-the-hell-is-your-problem-woman-mad. Because, let’s face it, I’m an exaggerator. I strech the truth a teeny bit. Or a lot. Depends on what’s funnier. And everyone who knows me knows that it’s just a fact of life. If you do something funny around me, the story will be retold and I will probably make you sound ten feet tall. It’s what I do. I do it here on this website, I do it on Twitter, I do it in real life (have I ever told you how a friend of mine really thought my mom was the CEO of QVC because I used to kiddingly call her that…yeah). So, in order to appease the gods of marital bliss, I posted this:
And that is TOTALLY true.
P.S. In the days following this heated exchange, we received two books on how to survive the zombie apocolypse from Amazon. I swear.
P.P.S. In the spirit of honestly I must tell you something. I have not, nor have I ever had the chance to go to outer space. And my dad never worked for NASA. Wow, that felt good.
P.P.P.S. Technically my dad worked for a state-run program that had a NASA grant. And he was in zero gravity doing experiments. Just not outer space. I never was, because I am lame. He is, in fact, a rock star.
P.P.P.P.S. The plane my dad took to zero gravity is called the “Vomit Comit.” I just think that’s an interesting fact.
The End.
Fin.
Goodbye.
Ciao.
Adios.
A few weeks ago my adorable friend Abbie asked me to do her a favor. She wanted me to make her a few CDs of my favorite music. Now, I’m not sure if you heard me “squeeeeee”-ing from wherever you may be, but trust, the pitch could’ve broken a glass. Now my dear, lovely Abbie and I have very, very different taste. She’s conservative, I’m liberal. She loves (LOVES) her K-State Wildcats, I’m a Jayhawk through and through. She thinks that jumpsuits are appropriate to wear out and about, I think they would make it very difficult to go to the bathroom. Et cetera. But one place where were differ more than most is in our music taste.
In short, I’m kind of a snob. I like indie rock, indie rap, indie hip hop….do you see a trend. I am the definition of an a-hole hipster when it comes to music (although, most of my friends who like the same type of music know WAY more than I do and make me feel like I’m listening to Nickelback or something), and Abbie? Well, Abbie’s more mainstream. Now, we do cross paths here and there. Let me demonstrate with a simple Venn Diagram:
So, well, you can see my dilemna. But now. NOW! Miss Abbie now has, in her possession, TWO CDs filled with nothing but indie rock. And one CD of songs from Glee. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, at this very moment, Abbie may be listening to The XX, and her mind may be completely blown.
Or….she just switched back to some song by a band that rhymes the word love with the word….love. I choose to believe the former, for my own personal sanity.
See, I told you I’m a snob.
