I should just live in Costco

The other day I was in Costco (again, because everything happens to me in Costco, for some reason) (I think Costco should really pay me for all the times I've mentioned them on this blog) (well, I'm not materialistic.  I'll settle for their support in my bid for Supreme Dictator of the State of Utah) (or they could give me a gift card.  I'd like that too.)

What?

Anyway, I was in Costco.  I had to go to the pharmacy because my body suffers from a little thing I like to call "complete inability to function and be not-dumb" and I was pretty sure this was the correct Costco, the one where I fill all my prescriptions.  Except no it was not and being me, the only person in the history of the world to forget where her house is after living there for five years, I turned up at the wrong Costco.  BUT NEVER FEAR, said the pharmacy woman after I had waited a mere 30 minutes behind an old lady who kept hacking loudly and apologetically muttering, "Sorry, must be a tickle...I'm not sick...it's a...tickle" to no one in particular, as if all of us in line were keeping our distance based on her coughing and as soon as she explained the reasons behind it we would be like well that's a relief and hug her forever.

So the pharmacy woman was like KAY WE'RE JUST GONNA TRANSFER YOUR MEDICINE and I was like...um...kay.  Because in my mind she was saying that she was going to physically transfer my medicine from the other pharmacy to this one and I was trying to figure out the logistics but as it turns out I was, in fact, at another pharmacy where they also have medication on hand. I had to wait 20 minutes and in that time I basically ran around Costco like a woman possessed because why not, that's why.  I was like, "You can't throw me out, Costco!  I have my mother's membership card with me!  And I've written about you like FOUR TIMES.  And that's just so far!"

25 minutes later I was standing in an aisle seriously considering purchasing a collection of John Wayne movies even though I don't like westerns.  Such is the power of Costco.  Then I remembered that oh!  Yeah!  Prescription.  And I ran over to the pharmacy just in time to watch my pharmacy woman walk out with her lunch and I was like "HI WHAT ABOUT MY MEDS, LADY.  THIS BLOODSTREAM AIN'T GONNA MEDICATE ITSELF" but she just ignored me and went on her break.  So I stood awkwardly, trying very hard to both make eye contact with the other pharmacists and NOT make eye contact with the other pharmacists because I don't know how to handle myself in adult situations.  And so I waited for another 10 minutes.  And that's when I met a man.

He was walking around, muttering with a smile on his face, and every once in a while he would walk up to someone waiting in line and start a loud, apparently hilarious conversation with them.  Then he would walk away, shaking his head and laughing, and resume his muttering and pacing.  Then came the time when he decided to talk to me.  I didn't mind.  I like people.  Years of being socially inept have taught me to just embrace the awkwardness and I'm very good at it.

The man walked up to me.  His hair was sticking up at odd angles.  He was old enough to be my father.  One of his shoes was untied and his shirt was only half tucked in.

Man:  Well hey there!  How ya doin'?
Me:  I'm great, thanks!
Man:  You sure do look great, I'll tell ya that!
Me:  Why thank you!
Man:  My wife left me when I got this.
Me:  When you got...what?
Man:  Alzheimer's.

He stared at me very seriously as I choked on my own tongue.  I literally squeaked and sputtered as my brain ground to a stop and was like "Sorry, you're on your own with this one."  The man stared at me solemnly for about twenty seconds while I tried desperately to regain the function of my mind and say something appropriate.  I have never been rendered so utterly and unexpectedly speechless in my life.  But then everything was suddenly okay as he picked up the conversation, jubilant.

Man:  SO I GOT MYSELF A NEW ONE!
Me:  A...new...huh?
Man:  I got a new wife.  She's from Bulgaria.  Also, she's a rocket scientist.  That's what she does. Welp, bye!

And then I watched him walk away and I didn't know whether to laugh or not, but then I did because honestly?  I don't even have Alzheimer's and I will probably never marry a Bulgarian rocket scientist.  This guy's got me beat.  FOREVER.  Besides, he just seemed like the kind of man who would want me to laugh about it. 

I kind of wondered, then, whether or not I should have called someone.  Should this man be at Costco by himself?  Where's his Bulgarian rocket scientist?  How long until he trips on his untied shoelace?  But then he was gone, having done his job and done it well.

I think I'll just move into Costco.

And so it begins...

Did you know that Utah is freezing?  Freezing enough that I would seriously consider stealing a homeless person's only blanket if I thought it would do any good?  Freezing enough that if you wait too long between blinking, your eye lubrication quickly turns into ice?  SO COLD that the only words I can get out through my chattering teeth are "OHMYGOSH WHY WHY WHY I HATE THIS NO WHY"?  Point is, I don't like it.  Other point is, I'm pretty good at exaggeration.

Well today was one of those probably-colder-than-the-Arctic kind of days.  Luckily for me, I had a crucial test that I had to take for Biology (or as I like to call it, "Bio-dumb-ology." I never said I was clever) and parking at BYU is God's way of reminding me that those stumps of flesh attached to my butt are legs and are, in fact, capable of mobility.  So there I was, making the long and freezing trek back to my car from the testing center when I began to wonder why it was so dark.  I looked up at the sky.  It was filled with menacingly fluffy clouds.  Naturally I gave it a warning look, a look that said "You'd better just STAY clouds.  I don't want any precipitation out of you."

One miserably freezing walk later, I was finally, finally, FINALLY about to open my car door when I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING, a tiny, delicate, beautiful snowflake landed on my sleeve, pristine and perfect.  I blinked once and then immediately squished it in horror.  Waves of disgust rolled through me as I looked around and realized that. it. was. snowing.  It was very light snow, the kind that you might just mistake for a giant with dandruff scratching his head only you know, giants aren't real.  Probably.  I looked up at the sky and I was MAD.

"No.  NO.  DID YOU HEAR ME I SAID NO.  SERIOUSLY, STOP.  I HATE YOU, YOU HEAR?  I HATE YOU."

And I stood there shaking my fist above my head, yelling in the middle of the parking lot.  And now everyone who happened to be nearby (hint: many people) think I have a mental disorder or anger management issues.  If only they understood.

This is no exaggeration, the snow actually began to fall harder and thicker AS SOON AS I EXPRESSED MY FURY.  I don't understand why no one believes that the Universe hates me.  It's taunting me.  It's taunting me and there is no reasonable outlet because you can't just punch the Universe.  I guess I could punch the snow, but that would be awful because HELLO it's cold and wet.  The Universe has found the perfect weapon against me.

I was willing, maybe even hopeful, for a truce between myself and the snow.  I wanted to enjoy its sparkly beauty just like everyone else but, just as the white man and the Native American couldn't reconcile their differences and contagious diseases some 10 odd years ago (right?), I see no hope for peace here.  Except the likelihood that a holiday revolving around food will come from this feud is slim to none so THIS IS EVEN WORSE.

And you'd better believe I just said that this was even worse than that time Pilgrims settled America and virtually everyone died.  I don't know how I managed to end this post on an offensive note, so I guess I just have a talent.  Please send hate mail accordingly.

Anything stronger than baby aspirin is a problem for me because I start personifying my inuries and they're never nice

The night before Thanksgiving I was feeling charitable so I gave the dogs a bath which was fine until I had a terrible reaction to work.  About twenty minutes after the dogs were dry, I was minding my own business, googling pictures of clothes I will never be able to afford, when all of the sudden my leg was like, "HEY I ITCH BAD."  I scratched my leg absent-mindedly for a while when, would you look at that, I noticed skin underneath my fingernails.  Doesn't that sound totally not disgusting?

Huh! I thought to myself.  Where did all that skin come from? And then I looked at my leg and was like OH.  Because my thigh was covered in some particularly attractive red welts.  Like, the mothership of all welts.  Wherever a welt exists in the world, my welts birthed them.  THOSE KINDS OF WELTS.

It took me a minute to figure out that I ought to blame the dogs, but I got to that soon enough.  Then I kicked them both and yelled "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE" directly into their little, innocent faces.  This being before I mixed rat poison into their dinners, of course.  And by kicking, yelling, and poisoning, I mean snuggles and baby talk, but I don't really know which is worse from their perspective.

Anyway, I quickly put my brain to the task and deduced that I had two options: first, I could put some lotion on my legs and go to sleep.  Second, I could wake up my mom at 1:00 in the morning and ask her to cure me.  See, I occasionally wake my mom up in the middle of the night when I want to inform her that I'm dying of some awful allergic reaction.  I do this partly because my body really does itch, but mostly because I just like the attention.  This time, however, she just sort of tossed me some Benadryl and went back to bed, and now I think I may have overdone it a little bit because no one even feels bad for me anymore when I itch.

The point of this story is that on the night before Thanksgiving day I took Benadryl at 1:00 am.  I think a normal person would probably be fine and just go to bed once the drowsiness kicked in, but since I'm an idiot, I chose instead to fight the power of modern medicine until the last possible moment.  Basically I was completely out of it, and while some might be like "MEGAN YOU FOOL, YOU CAN'T GET HIGH FROM BENADRYL" I maintain that these people clearly do not know me and anything stronger than Advil will turn me into a bumbling idiot.  This is further proven by the fact that I am a clumsy fool with a weak immune system, so I always get sick or injured and require heavy duty cough medicine or some sort of pain killing narcotic for something or other.  I try not to take those prescriptions because I can't ever really remember anything that has ever happened to me while on them.  I have low tolerance for every single chemical, is what I'm saying.  You should see me on Red Bull.

So picture, if you will, me.  I'm sitting on my floor in the middle of the night insisting to myself that I am NOT tired.  (I totally am tired.)  I send a few mispelled texts (phone becomes "poo hone" when autocorrect hates me) and eventually settle into a sort of drug-induced haze of fatigue.  I cry a little bit, because that's what I do.  That's when I notice a freaking HUGE bruise running up my thigh.  How did it get there?  I don't know.  I still don't know.  Did I run into a table?  Did a midget beat me with a crowbar?  Did I punch myself repeatedly and then forget about it?  Anything is possible.  And that's when The Bruise and I started to have a conversation.


Me: Hey.  Whatcha doin?
Bruise: OMG, mind your own business.
Me: I would, it's just that you hurt and stuff.
Bruise: And your point?
Me: Well, you're huge and green.  Bruise, why are you green?
Bruise: Kool-aid.  Now go away.
Me: They make green flavored Kool-aid?
Bruise: Green isn't a flavor, idiot. It's apple.
Me: Oh.  You should just drink apple juice then.  It makes more health sense.
Bruise: Could you, like, shut up?  I'm trying to bleed into your soft tissues.
Me: Sorry.  I'm just confused.  I don't remember running into anything lately.
Bruise: Are you kidding? You've fallen over 17 times since I've been here.  You just bought a pack of glitter band-aids two days ago.
Me: Oh yeah.  I guess I did do that.  Do you think you would go away if I stuck a glitter bandaid on your face?
Bruise:...No.
Me: Why not
Bruise: I'm an internal pool of blood caused by ruptured capillaries.
Me: Sounds like a job for glitter bandaids.
Bruise: No, nitwit, bandaids only work to protect external abrasions, such as minor scrapes and--WHAT ARE YOU DOING, STOP IT, GET THAT OFF OF ME.
Me: Shh, bruise, sleep now.  Everything is going to be okay.
Bruise: NO IT ISN'T, YOU ARE THE DUMBEST GIRL IN THE HISTORY OF THE EARTH.
Megan: Hey, so I just googled you and the internet says you could solidify under my skin and become permanent.  Are you going to do that?
Bruise: No.
Me: Oh.  Well...you could, if you wanted.
Bruise: No.
Me:...Will you be my friend?
Bruise: No.
Me: Okay.
[awkward silence]
Bruise: Stop poking me.
Me: But you hurt.
Bruise: Stop.  Seriously.
Me: Owww, why do you hurt?  The harder I poke, the more you huuuuurt.  Oh my gosh, this is so paiiiinful.
Bruise: I hate you.
Me: OWWWWW.


My bruise is still there but it isn't talking to me.  I don't know if it's just mad or if it was inanimate all along, but I will cherish the memory forever.

A post about how much high school sucks and how important it is to be a decent human being.

When I was in high school, I used to be really, incredibly, insanely, and PAINFULLY jealous of other girls.  I was insecure and more than a little awkward.  I was a total dork but pretended to be into school dances and shopping for expensive dresses and gossiping.

And you know what?  I failed.  I failed hard.  I failed so hard, in fact, that I became absolutely silent at school.  Seriously, if one of these girls who I wanted to be friends with so much as talked to me, my brain would freeze up and I would try so so hard to think of anything to say.  Anything at all.

Hi, self.  It's me again.  Say something.  Anything.  Say that you agree.  Or like her shoes.  Or...I don't know.  Say "hi"?  That's acceptable, right?

And then I would try to say "hi" and it would come out as a nervous squeak and I would feel shame for the rest of the day.

I eventually became friends with all the boys because, well, boys are chill.  They play Halo.  They high five.  They don't feel the need to bash every person not within hearing range.  Being friends with boys in high school, though, means that every single girl is going to call you names.  Mean names, horrible names, and sometimes they're going to blame you for things you didn't do just because blaming you is easier than facing problems themselves. And sometimes they're going to do that in the middle of lunch in front of everyone and it's going to be accompanied by swear words and you're going to cry and get mascara all over your face.  And then you'll go sit in your car and cry some more for a few hours and wonder what's wrong with you and then you'll go back inside and pretend like nothing happened, because that's what you do when you're in high school.  And believe me, I feel for you. It's a complex, messed up system. 

High school was this miserable time for me.  But I learned some freaking important lessons. Such as...


Sometimes, life is a five year old's birthday party.

What do I mean by that?  Well, some days you're the pinata and some days you're the blind little kid dangerously swinging a baseball bat.  In high school, I think I focused a bit too much on my pinata days.  I was angry, SO angry at the people who gossiped about me, hurt me, pretended to be friends with me, humiliated me in front of classmates, ignored me when I was standing right there, and called me a slut every five seconds.  So angry, in fact, that I still would cry about it well after graduation.

Funny thing though.  It's hard to be angry about that sort of thing when you understand something.  I was the punching bag a lot in school, but I'm often the blindfolded kid too.  Sometimes, people are blind.  They hurt you and they hurt you a lot but they don't understand what they are doing.  They learn from hurting you.  But, you have to remember, you learned from hurting someone too at some point in your life.  We don't always get to be the victim, sometimes we're the bad guy and honestly, that's actually good for us.  A decent person will learn from it.


Those people are NOT worth your tears.

I spent a few really creepy hours on Facebook recently stalking some of the girls who I used to be so insanely jealous of.  You know how I felt?  I didn't feel better than them, or equal to them, or included or vindicated or anything.  I just felt free.  I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing.  I've embraced the Star Wars loving, video game playing, pokemon obsessed girl that I am and that is beyond awesome, you guys. 

When you're doing what you love to do, it's hard to be jealous of anyone, even the people you enjoy and respect.  It isn't about feeling superior.  It isn't about feeling like you're the bigger person.  It's just about being so happy with yourself that they can't do anything about it anymore.  They just become unworthy of your tears, not because they are bad or fail-tastic people, but just because it isn't worth your time to cry about it anymore.


It is so so so so important to be kind.

I've grown up and I'm not going to give a verbal butt-kicking to the next mean girl I encounter from those days.  But I know how it feels.  I know what it's like to dwell on painful, hurtful memories.  I get the anger, the resentment, the depression.  I understand what it's like to feel like there is something immensely wrong with you.  I know that there are certain memories that just won't unstick themselves from you and that you can't wish away no matter how hard you try.  That's why I never ever EVER want to make someone feel that way.

Promise yourself right now that you will never be that person.  Don't make someone feel worthless.  Don't let a lonely kid fall through the cracks.  Be everyone's friend.  Be everyone's support.  You don't know what someone's life is like in reality.  Remember that indifference can be just as painful as outright cruelty to someone who feels alone.

Don't let anyone look back at you and see only what you did to them.  Don't even let them look back and remember you as the person who stood by and watched.

In the words of Jesse Jackson, never look down on anybody unless you're helping him up.

A really awful explanation complete with horrible pictures.

Oh, hello!  This...is a blog! And...wow look at that, it's MY blog!  It's all dusty from disuse.  And bad ms paint drawings.  But that's never going to change, let's be honest.  The second part, I mean.  It will be tidied up due to...use.  THERE WILL BE NO MORE FIGURATIVE SPIDERWEBS IN MY BLOG.  Mainly because there are no figurative spiders here.  Unless my total lack of dedication these past few months are symbolized by spiders.

I'm sorry.  It's 2:00 in the a.m.

As an absolutely HORRIBLE and BORING apology, here are a bunch of pictures.  AND AT THE END OF THE SLIDESHOW YOU WILL HATE ME.  Probably.

 One time I had horrible bangs but awesome taste in clothing.

 And then I had awkward growing-out bangs and somewhat less awesome taste in clothing.

 And always I have Sullivan Jones and William Howard Taft "Mega William Mojawk Joe"

 Who I love.

 In a weird, green-skinned kind of way.

 Also, did you know that I have an incredibly sexy kissy face?  It's so hot.

But not NEARLY this hot.

And then there's this...

Now my whole point here is that I have a depressing amount of school work.  Also that I I like pictures wherein awkward men just barely make it into the frame.  Don't pretend you don't like it, too.

I have some posts planned.  I do for realzies.  In the meantime, keep up with me on the Twitter machine, my facebook page, and Sparknotes.com where they still haven't fired me for reasons unknown to myself and virtually every other person who knows me.

This is your own fault. YOU ASKED FOR IT.

I've been getting emails and comments and messages from people asking me if I have any other talents.  Other than drawing velociraptors.  Yeah.  Because that's a talent.  Anyway, usually I say, "NOPE.  NOT A ONE." Except a few of you have been very specific.  "Do you sing?" they ask.  Well...the answer is sort of.

I sort of sing.  I have taken a couple classes.  I've been in a few musicals.  I'm just not pursuing singing, so it's kind of something I don't do much, unless I'm alone, in my room with a hairbrush and underpants.  Because that's what pop stars do.

I thought I ought to share this with you since A. you seem interested, B. I really enjoy looking at/listening to/generally talking about myself, and C. it's been asked a surprising number of times.

So!  This is me singing "Just You and Me" by Zee Avi.  It's one of my favorites and I don't do it justice, but that's okay because SO WHAT, that's why.  My webcam sucks so you'll need to PUMP UP THA VOLUME!  It gets easier to hear after a couple lines, I think.  Also, I mess up a lot.  SO SUE ME.  Or sew me.  Whatever you want to do is fine with me.

Also, I have to just link you to YouTube where I have it because Blogger hates me more than anything and is trying to save you from watching this, I guess.  You have been warned.  By me and by blogger.

HERE IS THE LINK TO THE MELODIOUS SOUNDS OF MY VOICE THING.


P to the S: disneyaddict326 is the youtuber who uploaded the instrumental that I sang to because I have no instrument-type skills.  GO HER!

MORE STATII!

I'm going to Florida on vacation for a few days.  On a scale of one to ten, how jelly are you?  (Not the fruit kind.  The jealous kind.)  It's 8, right?  I thought it would be.

Anyway, here is something to prove that I am still a living human being while I am gone!  Facebook Statii part deux.  Since I will be in an airplane and at the airport tomorrow, perhaps some crazy mishaps will result in another traveling story!  Or maybe I'll just finish the first one...YOU NEVER KNOW.  Miracles do happen, people. 

 

-A bee flew into my room. It is banging against the window, unable to find the open half. What an idiot. However, I now have to decide whether it is more important to protect my room from the pouring rain or get the killer death insect outside. I'll probably just end up falling asleep.

-Don't pretend like you never wanted to be a marine biologist. Every kid wanted to be a marine biologist.

-When I die I want you guys to cremate me. Then shove my remains into a bunch of shotgun shells and use me to fight crime. Okay? Either that, or I want to be made into a firework.

-My problem is that I don't ever want to go to bed. And then I don't ever want to get out of bed. So....

-The surest way to get me to touch something expensive or fragile is to put a "do not touch" sign up.

-I cannot sleep because my brain is pissed at being awake. Makes sense.

-Ways to impress a hobbit number 14: climb over things.

-Looking at the Super Moon:
"Wow that is super bright"
"JIMMER GET DOWN FROM THERE!"

-Sprite and Costco cookies for everyone!!! #PartyLikeReliefSociety

-Tavia's Words of Wisdom: Obama, please make a law that says people can't call me a freak.

-Tavia: "We can only have three ounces of liquid through airport security. The terrorists have won."
Me: "...Why are they letting the terrorists have one of anything?? Wait, WHY ARE THEY LETTING THE TERRORISTS ON PLANES?!?!"

-I drank a lot of caffeine. Also, I'm getting married. Please RSVP so that I know how many chicken nuggets to order for the reception.

-My finger is stuck in the plastic wrap part that is supposed to go around the chapstick lid. Huh. Didn't expect that.

-I am unabashedly and somewhat disturbingly interested in all of your relationships.

-NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME. EXCEPT FOR FRODO. But he's a whiny brat, so that's disheartening.

-I would never PURPOSELY jump out my window, but if it ever happened accidentally then I bet Hayward would feel bad and he would kiss me. So if it ever happens on accident and I don't die, I have something to look forward to.

-I ate like 20 gummy bear vitamins. Am I going to die?

-I have elbows.

-Mentally reviewing my debilitating list of embarrassing moments. They're all just as humiliating in retrospect.

-I don't even know what that means but I disagree completely.

-Girl just knocked on my door:
Girl: I have a presentation.
Me: ...Okay.
Girl: (Talks about cellular respiration and photosynthesis for ten minutes using a chart filled with complicated illustrations.)
Me: Oh. Awesome.
Girl: Okay. Have a nice day.
Me: ...Kay bye.

-It takes talent to so thoroughly deny the obvious. And let me tell you, I am talented.

-I like to say things, especially if I haven't thought about them first.

-Tavia: "Is this a remix?"
Me: "I don't know I'm watching a video of a dog taking a bath."

-It's like speaking to a brick wall. Or a small child. A very young wall made of bricks and children.

-I want to be inside your personal space.

-Tavia's Words of Wisdom: "You can buy a flamethrower for 230 dollars. Actually, 229.99."

-I wish Facebook was more specific: "Sarah is now friends with Mary because she wants to go through all of Mary's pictures and convince herself that Nick is crazy to date her because Mary is totally not that hot."

-Never look up symptoms online. So far I've found that I have Swine Flu, breast cancer, Lyme Disease, and a cerebrospinal fluid leak.

-I am singing the pokemon theme song VERY passionately. This feels right.

-I resisted the urge to buy chocolate at the vending machine for 25 minutes. I decided to reward myself for my perseverance by buying myself two chocolate bars at the vending machine. I'm teaching myself self-control with positive reinforcement.

-I fail at consistency so much that sometimes I even win at consistency.

-Furiously trying to memorize the Pokemon Rap. I'm pretty sure this is a sign that I need a hobby.

-Just googled nine times seven. I'm a sad excuse for a human being.

-Oh you're sorry? We'll see how sorry you really are. Give me your monetary resources.

-I have serious issues with this whole "keeping FAQ/ABOUT/CONTACT" pages current. I'm going to post the words "Salami makes people happy" on all of those pages and call it good.

-I'm rooting for you, really. It's just that your failure is really funny.

-The bottom of my bowl says it's not microwave safe. Whatever, bowl, you don't own me.

-What I should be doing: writing a rhetorical analysis paper. What I am doing: taking a quiz to find out which mythical creature I am. Oh boy!

-I wish I were half as deep as everyone else thinks they are.

-Coke for breakfast. But it's okay because it's caffeine free coke, so basically it's like juice.

-Sometimes my brain says to me "Hey, you're never going to be successful if you don't actually post on your blog" and I say "Well, brain, if you weren't so easily distracted..." and my brain says "SILENCE! Let's think about space pirates" and I'm all "THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT."

-I bought juice. I cannot open the juice. Conspiracy.

-If you like free food, you should read my blog. I'm not really giving away free food, but I like free food too, so I assume we have something in common.

-September resolution: have eyelashes and fingernails. DONE. I'm freakin' accomplished.

-"Do you remember me?! I haven't seen you since you were a baby!" ...Of course I remember you. Good thing I was a super intelligent memory advanced baby or you would look really stupid right now.

-Sometimes I look back and I'm all "...oh dang. In retrospect, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Oh well. I wonder if we have dinosaur chicken nuggets in the freezer."

-New law: if you find any gold, it's mine.

-Nothing feels better than showering after a week of camping. Except maybe showering after two weeks of camping, but I'll never know because I would NEVER go camping for two weeks.

-I love posting my most personal, emotional struggles on facebook. It's very private, kind of like a virtual diary! And the best part is it's only accessible to 686 friends!

-The perfect Ramen isn't made on a stove. It's made in your heart.

-A friend of mine informed me that my status updates make me seem weird. If the only thing that makes me seem weird are my status updates, I think I'm doing pretty well.

-Google has a sad lack of scorpion puns. I checked.

-My life is exactly like a romantic comedy, except without the romance, or the comedy parts.

-I've worked out TWICE in a row. I had better wake up smokin' hot tomorrow, or SO HELP ME...

-A psycho stalker AND freezing rain? Oh boy, Christmas has come early this year!

-My shampoo spells amazing. I think it's made out of fairies.

-You know when you finish a project, and you spent a ton of time on it, and you're super proud, and then you show people and you're all "LOOK HOW AWESOME" and they're all "yeah cool" but they don't really care because it's not their project, and then you're all "whatever, screw you guys"? Well yeah. Screw you guys, this project is the bomb-tastic.

-Apparently her name is K-e-dollarsign-h-a, not K-dollarsign-s-h-a. Sorry, girl. The procunciation of the dollarsign throws me off.

-If I could punch pop culture in the eye, I would. And then I would hug it and tell it I was sorry, but I wouldn't mean it, and I'd probably get drunk the next night and punch it again. Because that's how I feel about pop culture.

-I almost punched him in the mouth with my brain. But I didn't, because the Jedi believe in peace.

-Oh Elton John. I wish you were here. You'd know what to do.

-My thought process goes from "man I should be doing homework" to "How many internet contests would I have to win in order to get Obama to make a guest appearance on my blog?"

-I know I'm full...I mean really full...but there's cake and I'm bored.

It's surprising that I don't have more friends than I do.

Sometimes I sit in front of my computer for a while and it makes me say idiotic things.  These things manifest themselves in my Facebook statuses.  Oh, that sounded weird.  Facebook stati?  Statii?  Capitalization, maybe?

Facebook Statii.  Yeah, that looks about right.  Anyway, if you read all of these you will notice that I am a brat and also I think I'm incredibly clever.  Feel free to use any of these Statii, so long as you cite me and send me a royalty check every week or so.  I'm flexible.

Enjoy.  I will write a real post about how I suck at music, complete with fancy drawings. BEGIN!:


-I'm going to steal my neighbor's mail because I'm in a bad mood. But I'm not going to open it, because that would be a felony. Also, I'm going to return it 2-5 minutes later. Ha!

-I really enjoy being an insufferable know it all.

-I like to stand out in the rain. But not because I'm deep, more because I'm an idiot.
  
-Look, I don't judge, but you're entirely wrong. And I'm right. And also you're ugly. And you have weird hair.

-Hey, race car guy, I can hear you driving your race car outside my window in a suburb and I just want you to know that shut up.


-I wish facebook would tell me who is actually online. Or give me a million dollars. I'd be happy with either.
  
-Hey look at my status.
  
-The doctor says I'm going to live. Whatever, doctor. Clearly you've never had a migraine before.
  
-I wonder sometimes if my actions are actually consistent with my personality or if they're just a product of sleep deprivation.

-"Have you ever made anything happen, anything you couldn't explain?" 
"Well, my hair IS quite unruly..."
  
-I've spent the last hour trying to figure out where I can live without dying of poisonous animals. Apparently, no matter where I go I am going to be murdered by demon spiders. Also, Australia is a land of horrors. Never go there.
  
-Happy birthday, George Washington. And Abraham Lincoln. And Walker Texas Ranger. And also America.
  
-"Conceded" and "conceited" are not the same thing. You're welcome.
  
-Who else is going to Kid Cudi? I'm going, because I like to go to concerts when I don't know the words to any of the songs.
  
-A search that found my blog: "People legitimately don't like me" and I'm all OH HONEY. You must be in high school. I'm so sorry.

-"Your cute." 
...My...cute? My...WHAT?!?!

-Rain outside+watching that one scene from the Hunchback of Notre Dame where Esmerelda sings "God Help the Outcasts" in the cathedral=me sobbing uncontrollably. I'm embarrassing to myself.

-"Why aren't you wearing pants?"
"Why ARE you wearing pants?"

-I don't have insomnia, I just don't allow myself to go to sleep because I need to update my status regularly. Otherwise you wouldn't know all the details of my life. You're welcome.

 -My face hurts on the inside.

-...Everyone needs to stop getting engaged without telling me. You may get engaged if I am aware. OTHER THAN THAT, NO. I INSIST ON KNOWING ALL THE INTIMATE DETAILS OF YOUR LIFE.

 -Blogging means that you constantly get spam emails with this in the subject line: "MY HEART CHOOSEN TO BLESS YOU."

-AM I CLOGGING UP YOUR NEWSFEED YET??

-I have done absolutely nothing of any value today. I'm not sure if I'm overtly pleased with myself or if I'm experiencing self-loathing.

-Actually, I think my body is just rebelling. I imagine that it was all, "WTF is this, Megan? Seriously? MORE french fries? What about an apple every once in a while? DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT AN APPLE IS? Could you maybe throw a couple vitamins my way occasionally? IDIOT."

-I really don't think I've been up this early since way back when I actually cared about being to time on school. So, like, the first three weeks of senior year.

-By this point I seriously doubt the existence of global warming, but if it will help Summer come any faster I will buy 300 aerosol cans of hairspray and empty them into the atmosphere myself.

-I'm going to go through and systematically like a bunch of three week old statuses. That way I can remind you all just how much of a creeper I really am.

-Sometimes I re-post a status I've already used if I think it needs reiterating.

-Sometimes I re-post a status I've already used if I think it needs reiterating.

-Playing Super Smash 64 with Ryan, who is playing as Captain Falcon.
Me: You are stupid.
Ryan: No, I'm CAPTAIN stupid.

-I love my momma, who happens to be in Hawaii getting tan and swimming with dolphins and, like, whatever else you do in Hawaii. Worship volcanoes? Yeah. My mom is worshiping volcanoes today. Happy Mother's Day!

-"Megan is a really awesome girl. -Aristotle"

-Hey guys. I just wanted to let you know that Osama Bin Laden is dead. You heard it here first.

-It's completely silent in my neighborhood. I don't think my neighbors read my status. I'm going to run up and down the street yelling "USA! USA!" and then set fire to an Osama-shaped pile of leaves. That ought to do it.

-Like my status and I'll tell you absolutely nothing of value. But I might tell you what time it is, so there's that incentive.

-I don't know half of you people.

 

Huh.   That was a lot of Statii.  Oh well, now you all know exactly what kind of a human being I am.  THAT.  I'm THAT kind of human being, guys. I'll post more Statii later.  MORE STATII, YOU SAY?  Yes.  More Statii.

 

Yes, it is a big deal

Some people don't understand how important today is.

Harry Potter.  It's ending.

I'm just going to come out and say this: if you weren't part of the Harry Potter movement, you missed one of the most important and generation-defining events of a lifetime.  I feel bad for you.

Seriously, these books and these movies aren't just books and movies.  This isn't just a story.  This is something that has made people who they are.  A story about strength and about love and about loyalty and courage in a world where all of those qualities seem useless against an unstoppable evil.  That's how the world is today, though.  We forget the power of love and friendship and Harry Potter supported those ideals all through our childhoods.  All through our lives.  We grew as Harry grew.  We struggled as he struggled.  Our stories were different from his, but they were so much the same as well.  Anyone who underestimates that does themselves a great disservice.

It isn't just a craze.  It isn't just something limited to nutty fans.  It's a community, a whole story built around those who love it.  This story has changed us and made us who we are.  It's a part of us.  I know it's a part of me.  I think that people underestimate the real power of a story.  Something like this, something that really connects with people on such a deep and strong and emotional level leaves a lasting imprint, and not just on individuals but on an entire society...something like this shifts the future because it defines the people who will create that future.  Our generation will always remember these books and these movies because they made us this way.  And those who didn't read them and didn't watch them and didn't like them...well, that's part of who they are as well.  And that matters.

Hogwarts was a home, a home that was always there.  The characters faced seemingly insurmountable challenges but they still struggled and fought and refused to be defeated, even when it was impossible to go on, even when there was no hope.  The message that there is always a reason to keep fighting is ingrained in my mind and on my heart, just as it is for all of us who love this story.  It really is this big of a deal.  It really is bittersweet and you will see people expressing that.  It's because Harry and Ron and Hermione and Dean and Neville and Seamus and Luna and Fred and George and so, so many more characters were my friends.  I learned alongside them.  Dumbledore was my teacher.  I can honestly say that parts of who I am are because of his character.

It IS just this important.  It will always be this important.  It's not just a story.  It never was.

"Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home." -J.K. Rowling

Anonymous is back!

I received this LOVELY comment on this post (which I find strangely ironic.  It's like anonymous is going for the gold!)

"dude, f*** this blog. I Mean Everything about This blog sucks Hardcore And Nobody, no One, Likes you."

First of all, why is grammar such a big problem for this person?  It's getting predictable.  I don't know who Nobody is, or who One is, but I'm assuming they are people because I don't know why else they would be capitalized.  Unless this comment is a cleverly worded code.  It's like a game!  An insert-your-own-punctuation-marks-game!

"...dude, f*** this blog.  I.  Mean.  Everything about.  This blog sucks.  Hardcore.  And.  Nobody, no.  One,.  Likes you."

When you read it that way, it's much nicer.

Secondly, people like me.  My mom likes me.  My mom loves me.  So take that, anonymous.  I think we can both agree that you stand CORRECTED, my friend.

I'm assuming this is your response to my offer to hug you.  I'm sorry.  Maybe you don't like close personal contact. I can see that we're going to continue to have problems, you and I.  In the future, please send all complaints to my house handwritten on 4x6 colored cards.  Fuchsia is preferable, but not required.  If you can name all the countries in Africa, you get bonus points.  Can I borrow your pen?  I left mine in the car.

I love you, anonymous.  I love you so much.

Entries from my journal part deux

I've posted some of my journal on this blog before.  I wonder why I did that.  However I clearly do not learn from past experience, because here is some more.


June 2, 2010 (At least I think that's the date, but I wrote that last night was May 31st, so I really have no idea.  Obviously)

-I have a theory about people who actively seek me out.  People are really looking for the other Megan Prietzel.  There must be another one.  She's reasonable and normal and knows how to do laundry.  She also is part of a super team that fights crime and can shoot fireballs from her eyebrows.  (I like to think my alter ego has skills.)  Anyway, they think they are going to get an awesome super person but instead they're all, "Oh dang.  CRAZY." and I'm all, "Let's go roll down a hill in a cardboard tube."  That's probably why I both do and do not have friends.


June 22, 2010

-I went to Lake Powell for my senior trip.  I felt just like Indiana Jones, only less masculine.  And coordinated.


June 23, 2010 [Hi, it's present day Megan.  I don't know what the following is about.  I think I was thinking about how to tell if someone is a zombie.  Just...I don't know.]

-I'm not saying you're a zombie.  I'm implying it.  There's a difference.

-You could be a zombie.  Let me check your pulse.  If you try to eat my brain, you're probably a zombie.

-Or you just like brains.  That's cool.  I don't judge.

-But I'd like to point out that I would judge if I were paid to.  I'd be like Simon Cowell only without an accent and a black shirt.  So, in other words, lame.

-But still cooler than a zombie.

-Who am I kidding.  Not cooler at all.


June 24, 2010

-I try not to be rude but then I'm all drunk and stuff.

-I meant to write "blunt" and accidentally wrote "drunk."  That tells you a little bit about me.


July 2, 2010

-Jordan just told me that my status updates me seem weird.  If status updates are the only things making me seem weird, I think I'm doing pretty well.

-You know, I find that mispronunciation is really the only way to go.

-I would like to inform the authorities about you but then the police would arrest you and I couldn't so openly stare.


July 4, 2010

-The housing market is pretty bad, so I think I should live in a house made out of legos and rubber cement.


July 30, 2010

-99% of what I write is junk. 1% is actually probably useful.  Not that I've ever written about anything useful exactly, but I'm sure that something, somewhere could be misconstrued as helpful.  It would probably be disguised as a unicorn or something though.

-I think the world would be a better place if I were in charge of it.  Or at least parts of it.  I hear Switzerland is doing pretty well without me.

-I just don't want to live in a world that requires I wear pants in public.


October 22, 2010

-Some mail came for you today.  It looked fairly important, so I threw it away.


March 15, 2011

-There just isn't much dialogue written out for real life.  And the stuff there is sucks.

-I think that if you're enough of a nerd, people will just love you.


Hello!  It's Megan again.  To answer some questions that haven't been asked but that I can guess will come in emails after this post, there IS a reason why I write and why I write like this.  These little thoughts and snippets of internal conversations lead to things.  Bigger things.  A lot of my journal has just been skipped in this post because so many of the entries turned into full posts or articles and since you've already read those, why write them here again?  So I guess this is a behind-the-scenes look for you.  I'm sorry that there is nothing more exciting to report.  I know that a lot of you are writers and I suggest that you guys get yourself a cute and whimsical journal (mine is made up of a bunch of different illustrated pages) and jot down every weird thought that comes to your head.  Because we all have them and anyone who says they don't is a liar. 

So there are some glimpses into my crazy brain.  If you're still confused and don't understand any of it, then I'll just leave you with my last entry, which is just this: It just feels so good to write for no specific reason.

This is why teachers never expect much out of me.

I go to Brigham Young University.  College!  I am the most collegial, college-esque, mature, college-er ever.  I go to school like it's my JOB.  I participate in class and I make comments and provoke thought regularly.  Occasionally (read: usually) I say something that makes my teacher make The Face.  You know.  The one where he/she internally debates whether something should be done about my behavior or whether we all should just collectively move on.  Usually it's followed by a head shake and classroom snickers.  Not the candy kind.  The laughing kind.

Below are a few examples of this.  My advice: do not do these things.  Although sometimes it makes your teacher love you.  But usually, no.  No it does not.

Example 1: The Time I Turned In A Two Page Essay About Velociraptors

In my very first college writing class, we were given an assignment to write as many words as we could about a topic.  Any topic.  The teacher actually told us to write about anything.  The only requirements were that we keep completely on topic and be clear about our topic. In addition, she promised a candy prize to the essay writer with the most words.  THIS IS THE FIRST SIGN OF NAIVETY.  Clearly, Prof. Larsen didn't know that I was in her class.  Most kids wrote about their hobbies or dance class or a historical event that would take up a lot of words easy-peasy.  I, however, felt a competitive fire burn in my veins and said to myself, "Hey, I know what will win and also make Professor Larsen love me.  DINOSAURS."

This is the result:

Megan Prietzel

Prof. Larsen

Writing and Rhetoric 150

10/25/10

Velociraptors and Why They are Really Cool But Should be Avoided at all Costs

            Velociraptors were a type of dinosaur that lived during the Cretaceous Period.  Velociraptors lived during the later part of the Cretaceous Period, and they were very, extremely, incredibly awesome.  There were two species of velociraptors that were discovered, but both of them were astonishing, so it doesn’t really matter.  Velociraptors were discovered because they left fossils, probably because when they were dying they were all “We’re really cool and humans need to know about us so we’re going to throw ourselves into mud and wait until it hardens around us so that our majesty can be preserved.”  Velociraptors would do that, because Velociraptors were just good dinosaurs like that.  Velociraptors also were smaller than depicted in Jurassic Park, but that’s okay because they were still super awesome to the infinitieth degree.  They were sometimes as small as a turkey, which probably means they were good at sneaking up on people and killing them, so basically velociraptors were the ninjas of the dinosaur world.  They were the terror of the other dinosaurs, and they would probably have killed the whole world, except they were too noble for that and decided to preserve their dead bones in fossils so that paleontologists could dig them up and stand in awe of their majesty and nobility and magnanimity.  Velociraptors were a species called a dromaeosaurid, and even though spell check says that that is not a word, it totally is, so shut up spell check.  Velociraptors had teeth that were a lot sharper on the back than on the front, and I’ll tell you why.  The reason for this was because Velociraptor teeth were specially designed to catch and hold prey, and the serration on the back of their chompers allowed velociraptors to efficiently kill things.  Velociraptors were killing machines, obviously.  Velociraptors had the serrated teeth because some prey was really fast, and since velociraptors were really fast, they could catch the fast wimpy dinosaurs and then the serration would kill them dead, so no matter how fast they were, they couldn’t escape.  Velociraptors had hands, y’all.  Velociraptors were extremely deadly in part because of their hands which had three insanely killer-ific claws that tore into prey.  Velociraptors used their second claw, which was the largest, to pierce the vital organs of the throats of weakling dinosaurs, including the carotid artery, trachea, and jugular vein, because velociraptors didn’t care if their prey was bleeding all over the place.  The velociraptor would hunt by embedding its claws into the throat of another dinosaur, and then biting the crap out of the rest of the prey’s poor and defenseless body.  Velociraptors also had talons of this sort on their feet, as if they needed any other awesome weapons.  Velociraptors used their feet to deliver fatal blows to lesser dinosaurs, which was every dinosaur besides velociraptors.  Velociraptors also had a long tail that was really good at helping them to balance, allowing velociraptors to run at incredibly fast, neck breaking speeds.  Velociraptors were so freaking awesome, it’s hard to accept.  Velociraptors also had feathers, and some people say that these feathers make velociraptors less awesome.  I would like to point out that velociraptors were actually MORE awesome because of these feathers.  Velociraptors could probably fly, although paleontologists and other science people say that they actually couldn’t and that the feathers were more like a jacket, but I don’t believe them and I’m pretty sure velociraptors could secretly fly AND stay warm at the same time.  Velociraptors could destroy all the scientists in the world if they were still alive, so if I were the scientists, I would go ahead and praise velociraptors as the most awesome ever because the velociraptors will probably figure out a way to time-travel and they will come into our reality and massacre us all in our sleep if we don’t recognize them as supreme overlords, JUST SAYING.  If velociraptors came into the world via time machine, scientists who doubted their abilities would be the first to go.  Velociraptors weren’t very smart, according to paleontologists, but obviously that is not true and the scientists had better shape up, John Travolta style.  Velociraptors will probably be benevolent overlords, but I doubt they will tolerate flagrant disrespect.  Velociraptors were still even more awesome than I have as of yet described, and I will tell you why.  The velociraptor was named for its awesome nature, and the word velociraptor is derived from the latin words “velox” and “raptor” which literally translates to “swift plunderer” or “robber” and that is probably one of the best names ever, even better than Mohawk Joe, which is a very good name.  Velociraptors were so cool that in Mongolia, a fossilized velociraptor was discovered locked in combat with a lone protoceratops, which was another dinosaur that no one has ever heard of because it was not as astonishing as the dreaded velociraptor.  The velociraptor was so incredible, in fact, that Mongolia totally freaked out when the fossilized battle of epic proportions was discovered and the country declared it a national treasure which makes the velociraptor Mongolia’s most precious thing ever. Velociraptors are similar in anatomy to adorable little birds called kiwis, so it’s safe to say that not only were velociraptors wreakers of havoc, but they were adorable wreakers of havoc.  Velociraptors were very cunning, thus supporting my theory that they will soon be here as time traveling mega-predators, so you really ought to learn how to protect yourself, in case they decide to kill you.  If a velociraptor decides to make you dead, you probably don’t stand much of a chance, but if we all band together, there is probably a safe way to defend yourself from velociraptors.  Dying by velociraptor would be extremely painful and agonizing, so it would be a good thing to avoid.  If you don’t want to die by velociraptor, you must master every martial art available.  To avoid getting killed by these agile hunters, one must follow some simple steps.  In order to remember the way to not die, I have created a simple mnemonic in order to make these steps easier to remember.  To not die, remember ROY G BIV, which stands for Run Or Yell Greatly Blue Indigo Violet.  As you can see, not dying is highly dependent on how greatly you can run or yell.  Try really hard not to die, also run and yell as loudly and fast as you possibly can, and then the velociraptors will get bored with your pathetic and feeble attempts at life and will probably return to the Cretaceous period where things are awesome. 

The outcome:  I won the contest.  No one got my Dan Bergstein reference.  I used the word "velociraptor" an obscene amount of times, if that's even possible. My teacher had already awarded the prize to someone else since I was late but I didn't care because my victory was so obvious so she got me another prize.  She appeared confused, but also slightly amused.  Little did she know.  Oh, how little did she know.

Example 2: The Time I Tried To Use Methamphetamine As An Example In A Grammar Lesson.

We were all sitting in Prof. Larsen's class learning about grammar.  That is to say, we were "reviewing" grammar, which meant learning it because we were all really bad at remembering high school.  I'm not quite sure what principle of grammar was being discussed, but the teacher was trying to get us to participate in class by supplying our own sentences to be discussed.

Prof. Larsen: It was a lovely...

Student: Day!

(Grammatical discussion)

Prof Larsen: Unfortunately, it was time...

Student: To go home!

(Grammatical discussion)

Prof. Larsen: She sat quietly...

Student: in church!

(Grammatical discussion)

Prof. Larsen: The air shimmered with...

Me: METH FUMES!!!

(Awkward moment of silence)

The outcome: Grammatical discussion didn't ensue.  Rather, the class burst into laughter and poor Professor Larsen shook her head, wondering what was happening to the rising generation. I didn't MEAN to say it.  IT JUST SEEMED SO REASONABLE AT THE TIME.

Example 3: The Time That This Was Our Final Project

We had to make a video.  About food.  HERE IT IS. (Note that Rae played the role of "prestigious medical expert.")

Outcome: Exactly what you'd expect.  We did not get the A that we so CLEARLY deserved.

This is sad. Legitimately. *Updated*

Quick update on this post: I've deleted a few hateful comments already.  I'm not so much concerned about what you say about me, but I won't tolerate anyone who says anything about this girl or her family.  If you're one of those who would like to leave a hateful comment, feel free.  Just know that it will be deleted within seconds.

I'm really disturbed.  Yesterday a fifteen year old girl was hit by a train near my house. Her name was Shariah Casper and she was the cousin of a friend of mine.  This morning I spent an hour or so reading articles about the accident, which I won't recap here.  There are plenty of recaps elsewhere.  I found out that there was a facebook page dedicated to this girl and I "liked" it.

I can't remember the last time I've felt this revolted by human beings.

There are people on this page posting horrible, cruel, heartless things.  Someone has made a fake facebook account of Shariah and keeps posting on the page.  How disgusting.  How sickening.  I feel for this poor family who would undoubtedly do anything to have their little girl back.

"Your friends saw it? Lucky them. I always wondered what would happen, does the body like, explode? Or does it rip into two pieces?"

"The dumb b*tch was dumb enough to cross a train track. Thank god she died."

 "I don't have a problem, it's funny to rip on a dumb dead girl."

"rest in piss"

"That "poor" slut "

"Miss Casper, you and your tits will be missed."


That's really just the beginning of the pile of garbage overflowing out of that page.  That alone makes me angry and sickened, but these trolls (and I know they are trolls) have the standard defenses in place.  They cite "The Rules" and specifically Rule #20.  In case you aren't familiar, Rule #20 of the internet is that "nothing is to be taken seriously." 

As one commenter so aptly and simply put it, there is no rule #20. It only exists because people like this exist.

They say "don't feed the trolls."  They say "if you stop commenting on my post, I'll stop."  They say "this is the internet, get over it."

I love the internet, really I do.  Most of the time I find awesome things and awesome people here.  But this is what I really hate.  This idea that anonymity and a computer screen make it okay to say whatever you want to whoever you want.  It is so false.  These "Rules" and internet memes and phrases that get used to harass this girl's family are nothing more than a flimsy pretense that allows cruelty to go unchecked in this situation.  You can cite the rules all you want, but anyone who tries to use them as a free pass openly displays that they don't have a shred of human decency.  This isn't primarily about what is the norm on the internet. It's about a tragedy, a horrible accident, and the way some people react to it so...heartlessly.  I don't understand.  Just because the internet offers a sense of anonymity, does that really mean that we should all become monsters?  How can you consider yourself a nice person or a good person or any kind of decent person, really, if this is your reaction to such a sad event?

I have always had a problem with using the internet as an excuse for spreading hatred and pain because I know that it can do SO MUCH BETTER. 

Today I am disgusted, sickened, shocked.  I find it difficult to "not feed the trolls." That phrase implies that the hurtful comments of a troll are not their fault.  No.  Not true.  It's a TROLL'S fault if he or she posts cruel, heartless things.  No one else bears the responsibility for it.  Citing these internet excuses marks these people as cruel.  Cruel, cruel, cruel.  It's a lame defense and a callous defense.

I don't know what other word to use.

Words can't express the disgust I feel today.  The sadness, the shock, the anger that instead of offering support and kindness, the internet community offers hate and cruelty.

It's days like these that I'm ashamed to be a part of it.
 

Tavia and I talk drugs. Because that's what we do, yo.

Tavia: DUDE.  I'm working in a house, like fixing it up while I'm here, and I found coke, like the drug, in it today.

Me: Did you SELL IT.  I would have sold it.  And then CALLED THE COPS.

Tavia: I couldn't sell it, it was all over this shelf I was cleaning off.  Oh, and then I found weed in the freezer.

Me: How do you know it was coke?  Maybe the dude liked flour.  Or sugar.  Or crystal meth.

Tavia: It was coke.  We asked the other guy who was working with us.

Me: Did you smell it?  I probably would have smelled it just to make sure. Which is why I'm not allowed around cocaine.

Tavia: ...You have a lot to blog about.

Me: Wait, you found the weed IN THE FREEZER?

This is part two and it would probably be better for all of you if I just didn't post it but I'm not that considerate.

I'm not exactly sure about the chronological order of events after the juggling clown man, but there are some key points that need to be mentioned.  So in the places where I have forgotten the order of things, I will just...mumble.  Or something.  Or blame Tavia.  Or devolve into rambling about that one time that I spilled my Coke in the airport.  Just don't yell at me.  And now that my premature and inexplicable defense has been put forth, let's continue, SHALL WE?


My Airport Adventure: A Tale of Loss, Achieving my Dreams, and Strange Men Dressed as Clowns in Terminal A (Part Two)

You'll recall that when we left off, I was sitting in Terminal A wondering how I ought to have responded to a strange clown man flirting with me while juggling.  And wearing bright red overalls.  It is a situation that still haunts me to this day. 

Tavia and I sat and waited for our plane.  And as we waited, a man sat by us with his 14-ish year old daughter.  Tavia and I both had our laptops out and were discussing something that was no doubt incredibly intelligent and sophisticated and important.  On facebook chat.  While sitting next to each other.  We do this a lot.  The man started talking to us, presumably because we were both wearing BYU jerseys.  He talked about BYU, he talked about Jimmer, and then he talked about his son who had just returned from a mission.  It was pleasant, and Tavia and I returned to our conversation about the particulars of astrophysics.  I soon noticed a quiet power struggle taking place:

Man: Do you think they'll want to see Andrew's picture?
Daughter: OH MY GOSH.  No, Dad. 
Man: I think they will.  They're about the right age. *Reaches for his wallet.*
Daughter: Dad, please.  Please no.  Please, stop.  (She sounded absolutely mortified.)
Man: I'm going to show them.  He's going to go to BYU!  This could be perfect!
Daughter:  I WILL KILL MYSELF IF YOU SHOW THEM.  I WILL LITERALLY STAB MY OWN FACE OUT OF EMBARRASSMENT.

Okay, that last part was paraphrased a bit, but I could tell that his daughter was thinking JUST EXACTLY THAT.  I almost leaned over and asked to see the picture, just to put her out of her misery.  Fortunately for us all, the plane boarded at that precise moment.

The flight itself was uneventful and only two things are worth mentioning: first, my inexplicable inability to perform menial tasks with any sort of efficiency kicked in as I attempted to stow my carry-on luggage in the overhead.  Also, we happened to be in the first few rows of seats (I think) so everyone had to wait for me to be an idiot and my brain was all, "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU RIGHT NOW, IS THAT COOL?" And I just responded with, "Yes.  Please.  Now is a good time for that."

Second, there was minor turbulence in the plane.  This terrified me more than I can possibly explain.  I have this thing with planes, this thing where I'm not sure if I'm SO SO EXCITED or so terrified that oh!  Look!  Is that me peeing myself? Planes are awesome and I am so thoroughly intrigued and astonished at the idea of zooming through the sky while sitting in a chair, reading a book and eating pretzels.  Then again, planes seem very fragile to me.  Like gravity could just be like, "Eh, I don't think I'm cool with this many tons of metal being airborne after all."  And then we would all plummet to the ocean and die in a fiery explosion underwater.  Which makes no sense for a few reasons, the main one being that there is no ocean between Utah and Colorado.  BUT I DIGRESS.

As I said, there was minor turbulence on the plane that night because it was raining when we arrived at the airport.  When the plane started to shake, this primitive part of my brain punched the rational, normal part of my brain right in it's brain-face, and then proceeded to take over.  It didn't help that Tavia was seated in the row in front of me, and we both had window seats.  The guy next to me was a mouth-breather with an iPad.  He was watching Salt on his iPad.  The combined stress of watching Angelina Jolie being tortured in her underwear along with a near-constant jostling in my seat caused me to lean forward to Tavia and predict our death.  WE ARE GOING TO DIE, TAVIA, AND DO YOU KNOW WHY?  IT'S BECAUSE ANGELINA JOLIE IS A RUSSIAN SPY AND ALSO THIS PLANE IS SCREWING WITH GRAVITY, AND WHEN YOU SCREW WITH GRAVITY, YOU ALWAYS LOSE.

Needless to say, Tavia just rolled her eyes a lot and took it like a champ.  And told me to shut up a lot.  And laughed because I was sitting next to a large mouth-breather who didn't like it that I kept frantically checking whether or not Angelina was dead yet.

Eventually the plane landed and I kept wondering whether or not I would die horribly up until the moment we were walking out of the plane.  Because you just never know.  Anyway, nothing too terribly exciting happened next.  I had a wonderful time in Colorado, but this story is about the airport, and I still have to tell you all about the epic return trip.  So, in summary, this is what happened in Colorado:

-BYU basketball games that were awesome.
-Stalking the team around downtown Denver.  Also, meeting Brandon Davies.  He loves me.
-Driving home from the airport at 4 in the morning because Tavia and I had to take her family there so they could go to Hawaii without us.  Also, that was when we made up a version of "Friday" that was all about communist Russia.  It was very socially aware and at the time it seemed pretty profound.
-Mean Girls 2.  It's a crappy movie.
-Tavia punched herself in the face while jumping onto a bean bag.  It is the only time I have ever seen Tavia show any sign of weakness.  I didn't know she could bleed until that moment.
-Other stuff that I forgot about.

Okay, well I planned to write about the TSA lady who thought I was a tiny, deadly terrorist, but I can't because this post is already too long.  So there will be a part three.  In which I get to the part where the authorities start taking me way more seriously than they ought to.