It's so hard to say good bye to yesterday

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.

Goodbye, Tim

He's NOT My Dom

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

Is (S)he Into Me?

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. 

I Bought Crack Yesterday

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,

Meg

Am I Bacon You Horny, Baby?

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. 

And finally...

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,

Meg

Motherhood Makes Me a Crazy Person

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,

Meg

I Got Smacked by Hundreds of Balls and My Knees are Bruised

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,

Meg

Show me the money!

So I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about how I could spend more time with Meg since I rarely ever get to see her anymore and really miss her. Yes,  I just said that and meant it so go fuck yourself if you are laughing at me. As Forrest Gump would say, "we go together like peas and carrots" and things just feel normal for me when she's around. Well I think I have figured out the most perfect plan for this to work out for the both of us. First of all let me say a couple things about meg, one she loves money and two she loves sex, I would even dare say that I may have those out of order even. She makes no excuses or tries to hide the fact that she loves getting laid. I think she gets humped more than half the camels in Iraq but I couldn't say for sure. She also has let it be know that she is ok with just casual, don't know your name or where you're from, one night stand sexcapades. I'm talking no strings attached kind of shit.  Ok, now that we have the set up here is my plan. I think we should move to Vegas and Meg become an escort. It's win win for her. I mean think about it, she likes getting ram rodded quite often just to be getting it and she likes money!  Hell, if I were her I would have been charging long ago. Fuck giving it out that easy for free, and based on my prior blog we all know what kind of money those girls make!!  Now for the part where I come in. Every call girl needs a pimp. It's just how the game is played. Bitches got to be kept in check!  In all reality I'd be a nice pimp who is really a pussy and is just along to have my bestie for a room mate and could g play blackjack any time I wanted to. Plus the air is better there so it's win win for me too.  Better air and happy times.

I've yet to run this idea by Meg yet but I'm sure she is going to think I'm an absolute genius for thinking this up. Gosh I love it when a great plan works out!

What happens in Vegas........

Since I haven't wrote anything in a while I thought I would tell a story from my last trip to Vegas last April. This is what you are succumb to since all I do is sit at home half naked everyday eating Reece's  or little Debbie cakes watching reruns of cops just to feel better about my self. I'm sure you don't wanna read that over and over. Although I know your drooling over thoughts of me being naked!  Anyways, back to my Vegas story. We always hear the "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" and how people do things they would normally not do but rarely do you meet someone who has actually went and done those things you see on tv. Well I'm not normal as we all know so I jumped in head first. Our first night there set up the entire reason I was able to do what I did later on. After getting settled in for the night and having supper we sat down at a blackjack table to do a little playing before calling it a night. I started out with $200 in chips and was just betting the minimum $15 bet per play to start with. Suddenly I hat a hot streak after three hours walked away with $1,500 in my pocket.

Ok now to the main story. If you've never been to Vegas let me explain a little of what goes on. Out on the street corners are people mostly Hispanic with decks of cards probably thousands of them that they are handing out to anyone who takes them and on these cards are naked chicks with phone number to call. Now a lot of people think prostitution is legal in Vegas but this isn't true. So anyways after being here for 4 days and being harassed by my best friend everyday that I should call one because I've not been laid since dinasors roamed the earth I finally built up the courage to do it.  I went through a stack of cards that I had collected over the week and found the hottest girl I'd ever seen on it and called the number. Now I know how they get around not getting in trouble with the law. When you call the call goes to a call center and the person simply answers the phone "hello". I told them I had a card and was interested in the persons name on the card. They tell me that it would be $150 for the escort fee and anything else we work out is strictly between me and the "escort". She takes my hotel room number and calls my room phone to make sure it was actually me and then says the girl will be there in about 20 minutes. So now at this point I'm more nervous than a hooker in a monastery so I take some Xanax to calm my nerves. Big mistake for later on!  As time keeps going by I start freaking out more and more thinking no way is it gonna be this hot girl. Probably gonna be some crack whore or something. All I could think of was the worst and my best friend beard wasn't helping any. Finally thirty minutes later and we hear the door knock. Beard goes over and looks through peep hole and before he opens the door he looks at me with this OMG look on his face. We let the girl in and she is the hottest girl I've ever seen. Even better looking than the girl on the card. I'm talking this girl was HOT!  So she comes in and sits down and things are a Lille weird to start with but she jumps right into asking what I want. She tells me she only works in $500 increments!  I was like holy shit this better be some gold plated pussy for $500 dollars but noooooooo. $500 only is a massage with a happy ending hand job. Got to go up to a grand for a BJ and $1,500 and up for actual sex. Now normally no one in their right mind would pay that kind of money. Well I'm not normal and this is Vegas. Since I still had the grand from my first night winnings I though a BJ from the hottest girl I've ever been next to naked would be awesome. I mean she is a hooker for Pete's sake so I'm sure she is amazing at it. We agree on that and then it's on. She helps me get my shorts off and then puts on a condom. Now I don't know about y'all but getting a BJ through a condom is about like going to the fair and only riding the kiddie rides. You could have a little fun but its so much better on the big boy rides!!  Now not only does she put the condom on me but she does so before I'm even hard and then she just goes straight down on me. No foreplay, no helping me get it up, no foundling my balls, nothing. Now remember I took the Xanax earlier, well because of that and her lack of help I was having a hard time getting hard, but she just keeps going. I finally get the blood flowing down there and she proceeds to keep doing her thing. The problem was she SUCKED at it and not in a good way either. I've never had a BJ that was so bad. She apparently has no clue on how to suck a dick because it was baaaad. I basically had to help out just to finish the job and once done, nothing. She gets up gets dressed and says thanks and is gone just like that. As you can imagine I was devastated. Not because I just spent a grand on a BJ, but because this super hot hooker had no clue what she was doing.
So now you all know someone who has been there and done that in Vegas and can tell you it's not that good. Next time if I ever go back I'm gonna go for the $25 BJ from the street walker instead of a call girl!!

Warning! Level 5 Virgin Creeper! Stand Clear!

Tim, I know someone who is more scared of pussy than you. This guy met a lady on match dot com. They have been out like four or five times. This last time, she "jumped him." His words, not mine. 

Apparently they "made out for 30 minutes." Also his words. Now, I don't know about you guys, but for me, 30 minutes includes foreplay, *the act*, clean up, and sometimes a post-coital cigarette. If someone tried to make out with me for 30 minutes, either someone is getting naked, or I'm going home to B.O.B.  

Now, you may be thinking, "you can't get naked in public." Well, I don't make out in public so that would never be an issue. Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than PDA. Whether I'm a bystander or participating. Take that shit elsewhere. I'm trying to enjoy a non-romantic binge of this triple layered chocolate cake topped with chocolate ice cream and hot fudge and you're trying to ruin it with cheesy sexual innuendos. Just stop. 

Anyway, back to my point. Old people who behave like virgin high schoolers. I think that was my point...

I'm thinking about how this chick probably thought it was all sweet that he wasn't being aggressive. Little does she know that it's not because he's a gentleman. It's because he's fucking terrified. Any person that claims they were "jumped" and didn't get naked is a person who is terrified of going further. 

Thoughts running through his mind?

"I'm sorry, but I can't make out with you any more tonight."

"But imma change my match profile to private 'cause shit just got serious."

"Does this mean we're getting married?"

When Butch and I were laughing at this and saying totally inappropriate things like, "I bet he takes some type of anti-Viagra," we realized that this is some serious shit. This poor girl. She's got a clinger... We are hoping they are perfect for each other. Really. 

And just FYI, in the case you were curious or in need. That shit is real. 

Www dot antiviagra dot com

You're welcome. 

Your Favorite Virgin,

Meg

I Can't Visit Tim Because I'm a Whore

No, really. It's true. He texted me last night asking what I was doing this weekend. I was all, "I'm going out of town and getting laid." Which is only partially true. 

I'm prepping to be out of town for the week. I'm leaving Sunday and hope to meet up with my current fling. Plus I have tons of shit to do before I leave. Tim is all, "you're such a slut. I hate you." Which, again, is only partially true. He doesn't actually hate me. Then he asked, "which one is this?" and I was appalled. Any true friend of mine should never have to ask that. They should be able to keep up with this shit. It's not like there are *that* many. 

He's just upset that he isn't getting laid. Which sucks, but I've tried to help him over and over again. When we'd go out, I'd point out chicks by title. We would see: "Most Likely to Give Head," "Most Likely to Vomit on the Bed," and even "Most Likely to be Submissive." 

I would pump him up by saying things like, "you're a sexy beast" or "just stick your dick in her mouth." Then I'd give him explicit instructions on what to say or how to act. Short of doing this for him, it would have gotten any man laid a dozen times over; however, Tim isn't just any man. 

He'd go fucking pansy on me. He'd be all, "I can't just fuck someone and never talk to them again." WTF? Are you even a male? Then he'd say things like "I have to get to know her first." Seriously, dude, go have that vagina surgically removed. It is hindering your sex life. 

I totally get fear of rejection. We all have it. It hurts our ego when we get denied. And it's easier for chicks. I totally understand. However, if you never try, you will never learn the dos and don'ts. Throw yourself out there a little. Have a little vulnerability. Become humble. 

Now, I say these things as I myself struggle with them too. So, I think we should all practice together. Let's all go out on a limb. Life will be more exciting. Let's all endure humility. 

Your Whore in the Making,

Meg

Fucking Irony

After my last relationship ended, I decided that I should stop undervaluing myself. I should aim higher. I mean, not to brag, but I'm fucking awesome. Half of the people who know me would agree. 

Anyway, in this quest to aim higher, I still realize the bar is rather low. I have these ground rules which shouldn't ever have to be spoken. 

1. Must have a job

2. That job must not be a part-time stint mowing lawns for your friends. 

3. Must have a penis. 

See, really not hard to meet those standards, but those are set in stone. I have other suggested tips that I'm a little more flexible on, apparently. 

1. Knowing how to use said penis is a plus. 

2. A job with a 401k would be nice. 

3. Knowing what a 401k is would be even nicer. 

In the end, men can usually spot a single and in need of loving chick from a mile away. They are vulnerable. They are horny. And they are usually rather easy. That is the trifecta of a good time. Or bad. Depending on her level of inebriation. 

Since I have become single, meeting men hasn't been a problem. And they've all had jobs. So I'm on a fucking roll. Kinda. Sorta. Omg this has turned into a nightmare. 

I have been talking (or whatever the new slang for that is) to this guy that I met. I don't really have a title for him because, well let's just say that timing is an issue. I just call him my LC, living chocolate, I crave to talk to him and maybe bite him because I'm a bitch like that. And everyone that knows me knows how special chocolate is to me.  Anyway, he also has a job. So far so good. 

However, in this weird twist of irony, I also have what I would have originally called an admirer. On paper, this guy is great: well educated, certificates, career, etc. He is also very nice and seems to be genuine. But... And there is a huge fucking BUT...

He doesn't fucking get it. I'm not interested in him. I've said as much. A lot. At first I tried to let him down gently, then I had to become more direct, now I'm just pissed. I thought at first that he was sensitive and needed gentle. Now he is writing me letters and sending me incessant texts. 

He moved from like to love in a month. And he doesn't even know me. I'd crush his soul without even batting an eye. But now, with his stalkerish ways, I'm wanting to crush his face. 

Last night, I went out with friends to enjoy dinner before we watched a movie. He showed up right after we ordered. At a table directly in front of Butch's line of view. We couldn't hide. I tried. I've been practicing the art of invisibility, but I'm not far enough in training to pull that shit off. 

After he came over and spoke, we finished up and left. Then the texts started. And they have continued. I have ignored. I will keep ignoring. Until I have to go to work tomorrow. Because I'm HIS FUCKING SUPERVISOR. For now. 

Anyway, the point of this is what my friend, J, pointed out. The time when I decide to increase my standards, when I try to value myself more, is when a seemingly nice guy turns into a creeper. Just my fucking luck. 

For now, I will just confide in my friends, keep telling LC about the weird goings on, and I will hope that the creepiness ends soon. 

This town is too small...

Forever you Cat Lady, maybe,

Meg

Now Hiring: Chemist with a Sick Sense of Humor

When my two best friends and I were bored, we would always come up with ways to entertain ourselves. Usually it was in the form of Spades, but sometimes we stooped to doing stupid things. 

We were notorious for changing the words of songs into something inappropriate. My fave was to the tune of "American Pie" by Don McLean and went something like this...

My my, G looks like a guy

I drove my Chevy through her legs

She had some hairy thighs...

Others were more amusing and talked of dingleberries among other disgusting things. However, the most creative idea I had from those days is something I can't develop on my own. I will need someone that understands chemistry and is willing to get a niche in this huge market. 

I want to create some kind of medicine or something that will make a man's semen taste like chocolate. Women love chocolate. Semen, not so much. If it has the flavor of chocolate, it would be like sucking hot fudge trough a straw. And we would be more apt to go down on a man. 

It is ingenious. It would make the men and women of the world much happier. It wouldn't be just wasted calories. It wouldn't be so laborious anymore. We would get a reward at the end. A bonus. Fellatio would then be something we would be willing to do a little more often. 

This is where you come in. Find me a chemist. Find me someone willing to help create this. Also, come up with a name because I'm at a loss. 

No More Bad Head

Meg