Adventures In Public Transportation

Apparently, Port Authority is more strapped for cash than we actually thought. Not only are they eliminating half of our bus routes, but they can't even fix the computer announcement voice on the current buses we're so gosh darn lucky to have. A week ago, when the bus driver opened the door, the bus would say random things to you like "School, Seventh Street, St. Catherine, Wexford." Being the child that I am, I laughed everytime the door opened.

Today, the bus welcomed me by saying "EBA, Wonton (instead of Downtown)", and it instantly made me hungry.

Fight or Flight

I hate being alone when its dark out. I thought getting a dog would help the situation, but being that he is only about 6 lbs (of pure terror), that idea was soon put to rest. This morning, when I was in Boyfriend's apartment all by my lonesome besides the company of our two dogs, I almost gave myself a heart attack.

What you have to understand is that it is a chore for me to lock his front door. Why you ask? I'm really not too sure. I blame it solely on my stupidity and forgetfulness. Even though my safety and life may be at stake, I still choose to make it relatively easy for someone to bust through the door and murder me.

This morning while I was drying my hair, I heard a noise over the hairdryer which was followed by the sounds of both dogs barking and snarling. I stood there for a moment frozen in time. All I could think of was that holy shit there was a big huge man that came in through the front door because I didn't lock it and he is going to kick my dog and then shoot Boyfriend's dog and then rape me and get me pregnant and then I'll have a rape baby and then find out I have HIV and I'll also get some weird vaginal infection that won't be able to be cured and then he's going to come back and strangle me and leave me to die naked on the bathroom floor and Boyfriend will come home and say "I told you so"over my dead, beaten body.

Now, we all know how much I hate hearing "I told you so", so at that moment I decided I would have to fight off the rapist no matter how big and/or strong he may be. My choice of weapon? A can of aerosol hairspray and my bright red Steve Madden peep toe shoe. The attack method? To spray intruder with hairspray in both eyes with overpowering aerosol hairspray and then strike him forcefully in the head with bright red shoe so that if his blood were to get on the shoe, they would not be ruined from the stain (they were in fact very expensive). The next step would be to run out the front door and scream for help even though I was still in my underwear.

As my heart laid in my throat, I proceeded out to the living room ready to kill or be killed. When I got out there, Boyfriend's dog was on the sofa wagging his tail while he stared out the window. The said "intruder" was Boyfriend's neighbor who was leaving the building to go to work. I breathed a sigh of relief and then started laughing at the crazy hat she was wearing. Then, remembering she could see me, quickly darted inside the doorway before she noticed the crazy girl that stood in front of her, in her underwear, holding a shoe and hairspray, who looked like a cracked out version of J-Lo's character in Enough.

I later explained the situation to Boyfriend:

Me: Your stupid dog scared the shit out of me this morning. He made me think someone was breaking into the house!

Boyfriend: Was someone there?!

Me: No, it was just the neighbor girl leaving for work, but I grabbed my hairspray and shoe for protection, I was ready to fight!

Boyfriend: What were you going to do with that? Style their hair?

Me: Shut up.

Mr. Trump, You're Fired!

OK, is anyone else as annoyed by The Donald as I am? His hair has always irritated me, but thats besides the point. He is now bringing his DAUGHTER on the Apprentice (reason #4578 why I don't watch that show anymore) and his feud with Rosie is getting totally out to control.

Don't get me wrong here, I'm not the biggest Rosie fan either. In fact, I find her quite annoying. But seriously, we EXPECT this behavior out of Ms. O'Donnell. She's a comedian. Its her job to make people laugh, and she did a pretty good job of it when she made fun of Mr. I Need A Hairstylist Like, Real Bad. She made me laugh, and thats a feat in itself being that I'm pretty hard person to please. Donald Trump is supposed to be a business man, he is supposed to act like and demonstrate a professional image, because, well, being a professional is really the image I assume he has been trying to project. When I read this letter he recently wrote to Rosie, I couldn't help but laugh at his childish attitude as well as his poor understanding of the English language (not that I'm one to talk, but seriously people, I'm not Donald Trump). I mean really, it looks like I could have wrote that letter while drinking a few martinis, and that my friends is very, very sad.

Mr. Trump, if you can't take the heat, I suggest that you retreat into one of the 4 million homes you own around the world, and stop terrorizing us with more seasons of The Apprentice. I used to be a big fan of yours, but when your spawn made her way into the board room, I had to cut my loses. Also, maybe you could revamp The Apprentice and make the grand prize an opportunity for the winner to give you a grammar lesson or two, because lets face it, it really wouldn't hurt.

As for me, I'm going to keep myself amused until his next letter is published. Then I can laugh myself into stitches once again.

Merry Christmas, Love The IRS

About a couple months ago Boyfriend had suggested that I should get on some sort of medication. I figured that he was either a) being funny or b) would enjoy a more sedated Meghan so he could possibly have some quiet time, because lets face it, there is no such thing as quiet time when Meghan's around. I hate to say this, and I never will again, but Boyfriend has never been so right.

When I came home from work on Friday, I fished around in my mailbox and found an unusually large envelope from my friends at the IRS. Being my optimistic self (insert gut busting laughter here) I figured it was a bigger refund because I obviously deserve more money being that I work so hard (bust a gut once more). A late Christmas Card from Uncle Sam himself, how could I be so lucky?

But this wasn't your ordinary, everyday Christmas Card. My usual Christmas Cards have a funny cartoon on the front and a large sum of cash inside. Apparently Uncle Sam had got things confused because he was asking ME for money. And people, I'm not talking about $5-$10, he seriously wants everything but my blood and my first born child (OK not really, but its damn near close).

What happened next completely proves Boyfriend's point. I must warn you, there is a psychotic scene to follow where I act like a fat five year old that got its ginormous lollipop taken away.

OK, you've been warned.

I totally freaked. I called my mom and yelled at her. Next, I called Boyfriend and yelled at him, because apparently in Meghan Land its everyone elses fault. I threw things, I yelled at the cats, I yelled at the dog, I screamed obsenities at nothing at all, I threw a couple more things, and then cried. What got into me? I'm not too sure of that. A periodic possesion by the devil. Perhaps. A sudden explosion of the Terrets I've been trying to hide so well? Not so much. PMS? Definetely the culprit (remember in Meghan Land, its never Meghan's fault).

But I'm not psycho, just hormonal....I swear.

After I calmed down, I called everyone and apologized, profusely. Mom just laughed at me, which I'm not surprised at, and Boyfriend made the valiant (and heroic) effort to actually come to my house and calm me down. Thankfully by the time he arrived I had just reached the crying stage. He coddled me like the small child I was acting like and of course, laughed at me as well, which I couldn't blame him for. OK so maybe he wasn't right. I highly doubt I need to be on prescription meds, but a high dose of Midol wouldn't hurt. But then again, crazy people don't really know that they're crazy either, do they?


*UPDATE*

I just recently talked to a tax attorney and I don't have to pay the money. Take THAT Uncle Sam! Next year, you can keep your lousy Christmas Cards to yourself! Ha!

Why You Shouldnt' Watch Movies With Me

When I watch movies its really hard for me to suspend reality and just freakin' enjoy the movie. Everyone I watch movies with always ends up telling me to shut the fuck up. I watched John Tucker Must Die this weekend by my lonesome. These are the thoughts that were either in my head or came out of my mouth, because apparently talking to myself is cool too.

- WHAT kind of high school allows girls to dance around in trampy cheer leading outfits, surely none that I know!

- John Tucker definitely does not exist. If he was a REAL guy in a REAL high school, he would have gotten his ass kicked my now.

- Umm in what high school does the dress code permit belly shirts?!

- Jenny Garth is way too hot to be a mom, no mom is seriously THAT hot.

- There's no way that little blonde girl wouldn't have gotten knocked up by now.

- What spelling bee would ask an 8th grader to spell "loser"? Was that a spelling bee for retards?

- Where do they make bras that are 100% hemp? Do they even exist? And if so, wouldn't they be itchy?

- No one could move their child around that much without CYS coming and snatching them up.

- Men would never wear thong...NEVER. Unless they were getting paid ALOT of money, like all of them were to be in that movie.

- Seriously, where does it say in high school basketball regulations that you can hang off the hoop when you make a basket?

- Why are goth girls attending a school function? They look bored. Why don't they just leave?

Seriously, don't ever watch movies with me. You have been warned.

Quite the Reputation

This was sent by e-mail this morning. I'm not sure if I should be embarrassed or complimented by this:

Co-worker: How was New Year's Eve? I loved your pictures...lol

Me: Hey girl! it was fun...how was yours?

Co-worker: Mine was good, we went to see a band play. Last year I made a huge mess so this year we kept it quiet. Where did you guys go?

Me: We went to Roland's in the strip district. open bar......

Co-worker: Ohhh wow. That is pretty cool. Are you allowed back there?

Why I Love Roommate #1

Me: Didtheyjustsendmeanotherfuckingbillwhatthefuck??

Boyfriend of Roommate #1: I don't even know what to say about that.

Roommate #1: The said thing is is that I totally understood everything you just said.



This is what true friendship is all about.

Rock On

So my rock star status was officially confirmed yesterday when I threw my back out because I was vomiting so much.

With that being said, you can imagine how my night went. Let's just say that I took full advantage of the open bar and got more than my moneys worth.

And with that being said, I am really tired of hurting myself. What happened to the good ole' days when I could act a fool and not mangle myself in any way? Apparently those are long gone along with my waistline, which is another issue I'm having right now. Last week I went to stretch my legs and my stomach got in the way. What. the. fuck. I refuse to look like one of those huge fat ladies that has to walk like a bell because they have too much stuff hanging everywhere. Nuh-uh - not going to happen.

I officially started my diet yesterday, not because it was a resolution, but because the holidays were over, the cookies were eaten, and Roommate #1's McDonald's gift card was used up (Roommate #2 will be added to the mix very shortly). I want to join a gym, but it seems that every time one injury goes away another one keeps popping up. And if I join a gym, I wonder what injuries could come out of that, especially with heavy things and questionable machinery around me at all times. I'm bound to break something or somehow disfigure myself.

Well New Year, new injuries. Bring on the gym.