Well, it's been a while since I've posted anything on here but I just haven't had anything happen to me or in my life to write about. You see, because of fucking MD my health has gone down the shitter faster than a babyruth turd in a industrial strength toilet! So because of my poor health I've not been able to do much of anything. My life consist of sitting in a recliner 24/7 only to get up for a shower when I actually have the energy to do so. It's so bad now that I can't even go shit on my own. I am so weak that I just have to shit in a bed pan. Talk about taking any bit of self pride that I may have had, that all has been stripped away now! Everything is just FUBAR in my life now. I have a vehicle that hasn't been drove in so long that the battery is dead just from sitting.
I actually tried to do something fun over this past weekend and had bought VIP tickets to a concert festival in my hometown. Well I went Friday night and was only out for about 7 hours and it messed me up so bad that I couldn't even wake up until almost 7pm the next day. Talk about being pissed and upset all at once.
Anyways, because of how shitty my life has become I'm just not sure I want to keep fighting and trying to be happy because I'm not. I'm miserably depressed. On top of just physically hurting constantly and not having and energy, I still hurt emotionally. I've wanted to have a significant other in my life for years now. Someone to actually love me, be here with me through everything and heck someone to just have amazing crazy sex with. Believe it or not my dick still gets hard and I like sex as much as any man so it sucks that I can't find anyone. Especially now since I'm basically a prisoner in my own home. On top of all of this my best friend is moving several hours away and I will never get to see her much. It's hard for her to come see me now and she is only an hour away so I'm really bummed.
With saying all of this I'm sorry for the depressing post. I figure this will be my last post I ever make since I doubt anything amazing funny will happen to me just sitting here and sleeping 15-18 hours a day. I've decided that I'm giving up and so I'm just going to keep myself highly medicated and hopefully I will just fall asleep soon and just not wake back up.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
Well, you know, we suck. Tim's been sick. Again. And I. Well, there's no excuse for me. I've been busy. And I've been doing the same shit I was doing before. Except it hasn't been as funny.
Everyone around me is ailing or is afflicted with some life threatening illness. Frankly, I'm tired of hearing stories about this relative in ICU, this one that is leaving the hospital under the care of hospice, etc. and then Tim gets sick on top of it?!? It's too much. Way too much.
Soooo, I decided to take a trip. Visit a friend in Michigan. The usual "Meg needs to get away" type thing. The only difference is that this time, it was full of firsts.
The first time I ever visited Michigan. The first time I went north and the weather was better than if I'd stayed home. The first time I made some awesome pork and actually ate some of it. The first time I ever flew to stay with someone I hadn't been sleeping with for a while. Firsts. It was a virgin voyage.
It was a trip much needed. It was a trip that allowed me to forget my stress for like 36 hours. That may not sound like much, but let me tell you, for someone like me, to get 36 hours of absolutely zero responsibility, I feel like a new woman. I feel like I spent a week at the spa, shopping for Manolo Blahniks, drinking cosmos, and driving a Bentley while recording my debut sex tape just for my fans around the world.
To top it all off, the airline bumped me to first class so I had the whole side of my aisle to myself. I used the undersized pillow, reclined back, and started drooling. The last time I drooled in public, I was in a chair in the hallway of the hospital in plain sight of any passers-by. This time, my drool was a little more private. It was fantastic.
This is a shout out to the Michigan version of Christian Grey (yeah, his idea for a nickname. Not mine. I would have called him fucktard or something endearing like that.) This is me thanking you for letting me have a weekend of peace and ultimate relaxation. It was nice to get away.
Your Ever Stressin' Meg
Your Ever Stressin' Meg
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Well, I dunno, but I think I might have some insight into some clues that will help you figure this out on your own. I've learned through experience. Situations that varied from long term casual to long term "oh my fucking god, my escape plan failed" to second dates that were never gonna happen.
1. Has (s)he made the first move? Like did this person ask for your digits from a manhole while you were walking to Starbucks? Or was there a phone number request after pointless conversation about the insane amount of ugly people in the bar and how you two are the ONLY hot ones there?
2. So the phone number has been provided. And at this point, I'm assuming it wasn't a fake one to the local crisis hotline. (Yeah, I've done that. Quit judging me.) Has (s)he called? Texted? If this is a yes, at this point it should be apparent. They're in to something. Whether it is the need to taste your skin or to get to know your beauty on the inside is still up in the air. Don't rush. Sometimes letting them taste you and move on is the best for you. Don't be upset, thank your Freudian angel for saving your ass.
3. After the first date or five, has communication continued? Or did (s)he commit a total hump and dump? If you fell victim to an H&D, and you're still wondering if they're into you, stop. Please. For the love of god. Your friends are tired of listening to you make excuses for why another meet-up hasn't happened, and frankly, your time is better served practicing the art of underwater basket weaving.
4. Does the communication include random texts about mushy shit? Or is it strictly limited to "I wanna jump your bones?" This is the point where you start to decide where shit is going. All that sentimental crap out of nowhere? Yeah, they want you for more than your O face.
5. Do they pay attention to you by watching what you do, how you socialize, how you interact with others? Or are they spending time in public checking out their reflection in the window or checking out the ass on that über hot bartender? If they're watching you, in tune with you, this is where you start to have fun. Start picking your nose. Lean over like you let out a massive fart. Do something totally unattractive. If they smile and move closer to smell your brand, you've got this shit on lockdown. Take them home right then and ravage them.
Now, this list is nowhere near all inclusive. In fact, I doubt it is even helpful at all. But, for what it's worth, this is what I do. Not that I've had much success at anything lasting more than a few years. But whatever.
Friday, March 22, 2013
And I think I got a contact buzz. Which totally explains my bullshit post about bacon. Anyone that knows me knows that I don't cook ever. Much less in the mornings because I never would wake up on time to be productive before ten a.m.
So yesterday and my crack purchase... We went to Taco Hell and there was a homeless guy there. He was sitting at a table with change laid out. A bunch of pennies. My heart broke. So, I asked him if he had eaten any lunch yet and he said, "no." In retrospect, I don't think he understood my question.
My best guess is that he thought I asked, "do you have enough for a rock yet?" Which the answer would probably still be a "no." Either way, I gave him seven dollars thinking that was sufficient for a hearty lunch at my fave fake mexican fast food restaurant. But! That fucker didn't get any lunch. He just sat there, staring off into space and mumbling to himself.
So like fifteen minutes later, another guy that is nicer than me came in. He spotted homeless dude a twenty, shook his hand, and said some really nice things I could barely hear. I expected homeless dude to at least get some lunch then, but nooooo.
Homeless dude waited until nice guy left and then walked toward the liquor store. I didn't see him go in the liquor store, so I'm not accusing him of buying alcohol. However, I'm pretty sure that my "donation" was used to purchase crack.
Now, I'm not up on current stock prices, much less crack, but I'm guessing my seven bucks wouldn't go very far. So thank you, super nice dude, for helping me buy crack. I couldn't have done it without you.
Your Eternally Stoned,
Thursday, March 21, 2013
That was lame. I know. Forgive me.
I found out that Yankee Candle now has a bacon scent and it inspired me. I don't know why all of a sudden bacon has joined the ranks of Angry Cat and a Tardis as far as popularity in pop culture because bacon has been around for like ever. However, I will accept that men appreciate all things bacon.
And that, my friends, has led me to my new personal man getting tactics. This morning, after I cooked bacon, I let the grease cool down and then I dabbed a little all over me. Fuck pheromones and expensive perfume; I'm going the barbaric, au naturale route.
It has been amazing. I suggest anyone to try it. Note my success stories:
1) I was standing in the hall, talking to a friend when a gentleman walks by and says, "pardon me ladies."
2) In the elevator, a totally different man said "good morning."
3) This shit is seriously potent because when I was in my car and at a 4 way stop, a man in a big truck let me go before him. I might have had my window cracked a little, but that was still a significant distance of travel for an aroma.
4) At lunch, some men sat two tables from us.
The day isn't even over yet and I've had men all over me. This stuff is amazing. By the end of the day, if someone smiles at me, I will know this shit was golden and I'll be one bacon grease day away from my third, fourth, and fifth husbands.
Your Favorite Porker,
Saturday, March 9, 2013
There's just something about it that drains you. It is exhausting. It keeps you on your toes. It definitely causes you to leave some selfish behaviors behind.
I never pictured myself with a kid and I seriously doubt I'll ever have another one. However, I have enjoyed almost every minute of motherhood. Almost. This post is homage to the times I didn't enjoy.
There have been times when my child embarrassed me to the point that I became dumbfounded. Those times? Yeah, they suck. And it always happens in public. She can't keep her oddities at home. No fucking way.
Her emotional breakdowns? They always have impeccable timing too. Like in the middle of the volleyball court or at a friend's house when I'm trying out something new. Like the application of fake eyelashes. Right when I have tweezers and superglue held up to my precious eye, that's when it hits. The crying over nothing. Like oxygen or lint.
These things are the reasons that when you see me and I'm laughing so hard out of embarrassment and I have one supermodel eye and another with tears streaming out, those are the times when you have to forgive me. I'm a mother. Shit happens. My child has made me hideous. I blame her.
The times when she is afflicted by a stomach virus and vomits cheezits all over my bed, those moments? I wish I could forget them. My daughter has the uncanny ability to come down with a disease that affects her for a few hours and then she's fine. Then! I get it and I'm out for a week. It's like the intensity of the virus or the efficacy of the germs increase to the nth degree when they leave her and move on to another host.
When she's all "I'm sleepy and hungry! That wasn't fun!" I'm all "be quiet kid and never mention food again! In fact, go eat outside or Ima throw up on you!" She turns me into a monster.
The times when she dresses so inappropriately for the weather and we can't go out in public because people will judge me? Those times leave me coatless in 25 degree weather and wishing that my car was near because surely I've got something in there to warm me up. I never learn. I always see her leave without a jacket. Or shoes. And I'm always either giving up an article of my own clothing or running into the nearest dollar store to buy a new, cheap pair of shoes because for fuck's sake, she's got Toms, Jordans, and Chucks at home. The kid has a better shoe collection than I but she only actually fully dresses when her friends will be around.
My friends and the general population look at my child and think that I never buy her clothes. Her friends? They think she's a spoiled little fashion diva. And you know what? I don't even give a shit. The fact that she's at least wearing something and is still breathing is a major accomplishment at this point. I really don't know how we make it every day.
With all of these atrocities considered, I wouldn't trade this shit for the world. I love my daughter. She is a direct extension of me. She acts just like me. She is humbling and politely insults my inability to sing or the fact that I should consider getting that plastic surgery that gets rid of excess skin under your chin. She is fucking hilarious. She keeps me aware and in tune to my surroundings. I'm constantly looking for anything in public that she would spot and could lead to embarrassment. So I detour her away from people. Like midgets. Or obese women with mustaches who wear tube tops that show their back boobs.
I'm constantly alert. I have circles under my eyes. I rarely have time to put make up on. My hair? It's a mess. I yell in public because her attitude grates at my nerves. I've become a crazy person. And homely. All in the name of motherhood. I deserve a trophy. And by trophy? I mean a CTS V.
Your Favorite MILF,
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm the assistant coach for my daughter's volleyball team and I was apparently the target for abuse.
Last year, we had a team of not just beginners, but children who weren't exactly athletic. This year, still mostly beginners, but most are pretty good athletes. We have won more than double the games we have lost.
It has been a fun season. And by fun, I mean that we haven't had too many emotional breakdowns on the court. These girls are pre-pubescent. They are hormonal. And one wrong move can send the whole team into tears. Crying is apparently a contagious as the bird flu if you're a ten year old female.
I like to think of these coaching escapades as another notch in my "life skills" belt. It's a fine art and it takes fucking practice. If I can make it through the rest of the season with zero team dramedies*, I'm pretty sure I'm set to handle anything thrown my way. Wish me luck.
*comedy-drama. I can't take credit for making this one up.
Your Coach with Finesse,