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Showing posts with label Lists of useless crap that no one cares about. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lists of useless crap that no one cares about. Show all posts

Thursday, July 11, 2013

PREGNANCY! TIME WARPS! SPAM COMMENTS ABOUT BLORN!

Let me first start off this post with a heartfelt thanks. I've been off the internet for a while dealing with life (AND ALSO WORKING ON ANOTHER PROJECT BUT SHHH) and I returned to find some very comforting and kind comments about my miscarriage. I read every single comment and they brought a very special tear to my eye.

That tear quickly evaporated, though, as I realized that my comments section has been entirely taken over by robots posting about...naughty things. SPAM, guys. I have a feeling that this post may be what drew the sharks (or should I say, alligators. HA. Funny.) to the waters of my humble blog. As such, I don't think I can type certain words without drawing more. As this is generally a family friendly blog, I think it's safe to say that those words are not likely to make an appearance. But most of the comments were about something that rhymes with blorn. And blex. And blebcams. I think I've spent about 300 hours deleting them all, because sacrifice. Although some of the comments are just cruel because they'll start out with, "How do you manage such a fantastic website? You are truly a wonder! Very soon you will be famous!" and I'm like, FINALLY THE CREDIT I DESERVE until I read the rest of the comment which just devolves into, "Free chat blorn at spammypage.com!"

It's a cruel blow to my ego. The spambots are getting revenge for my harsh treatment of Jenny. Apparently they hunt in packs. Hide.

Please, know that despite the claims of these robots, I do not visit blorn websites and blebcam websites. Nor do I have any family members working in the blorn industry spamming my comments section. That I know of. If you are my family member and you have something you'd like to tell me, I'm all ears. And please stop spamming my blog. I love you but no, I do not want to direct my friends to your blebcam.

...Everyone knows what "blorn" means, right? We're all on the same page? Good. On to happier and more appropriate subjects.



I'm pregnant! As of today I am 13 weeks and 6 days along, and officially out of the 12 week "danger zone" associated with high rates of miscarriages. 

If you're particularly observant, you'll notice that we are having a time traveling baby. This is in no way related to the fact that I have trouble remembering my own age these days. Maybe I meant 2014. Maybe not. In either case, I announced with this picture and it caused some confusion as people wondered whether I was announcing that I currently have a 6 month old baby, or that in 6 months I will have a newborn baby. MYSTERIES!

But the correct answer is newborn baby in 6 months.

In thinking of ways to get this blog up and running again after my regrettable hiatus, I decided I might as well take you all along on the sweaty, uncomfortable journey that is the miracle of creating new life. I also will probably overhaul my blog design again...when I finally get to it. Now the only question is how do I make a visually appealing grown-up blog while still shoving unicorns into every illustration? So far, the answer escapes me. 

Without further ado, here is how the miracle of life has developed over the last 14 weeks.


Thoughts: It's a strange feeling. After two unexplained miscarriages, Eric and I (or should I say mostly I) were feeling a little down about the whole thing. I conceived this baby right after my second miscarriage, which surprised everyone. I didn't have much hope that things would progress normally, and it hasn't been real until this week. We announced yesterday because we finally got in for a Doppler appointment and were able to hear baby bean's heartbeat. I was incredibly nervous, because we'd had an ultrasound at 6 weeks, and the heartbeat was only at 90 BPM. If that number doesn't mean much to you...well it's not good. It's really low. As far as we can figure, the heart had just started beating that day, which is why it was still so slow and picking up speed. At our appointment yesterday, the baby had a very healthy 165 BPM. It's feeling more real every day. 

Doctor appointment: I have had a million appointments. Because of my unexplained miscarriages, I had to take many unpleasant tests. I can pee in a cup with my eyes closed now. No big. Also, I'm pretty sure my doctor might actually be a vampire because she ordered more blood drawn than I think is probably healthy. At every drawing I was like, "I see you have five tubes filled with my blood now. Are we almost done?" and the answer was always NO. NOT EVEN CLOSE. Still, I'm very grateful to have access to medical care and testing. It gave me huge peace of mind to know that, somewhere, a lab tech was looking at my pee through a microscope to make sure I'm healthy. That's what they do, right?

Baby: Beanie baby is now about the size of a lemon. He/she has a cute little face and can squint, grimace, smile, and suck his/her thumb. My baby can also pee. That's fun, considering the urge to pee dominates my entire life. Mother-child bonding time. We enjoy the same activities. Awwwww.

Weight: Since the beginning of pregnancy, I've probably lost about 10 to 15 pounds. That's what happens when the only appetizing foods in the house are pickles and pretzels, I suppose. Also, when you immediately throw up said pickles and pretzels. YUM.

Symptoms: I've had pretty much every symptom in the  book. I'm ridiculously sick many days, and battle constant nausea. The toilet and I have a very close relationship these days, both because my stomach enjoys the whole throwing up thing, and because my bladder has decided to fill itself every hour. I've also been enjoying regular migraines and fatigue. You know that sick, weak feeling you have after battling the flu for a few days? I feel like that most of the time. I'm taking Zofran, unisom, and B6 to control the nausea because I was losing too much weight and getting dehydrated. The medicine helps control things, but I still have pretty bad days. I also have insanely vivid dreams. They're so realistic that I often can't figure out whether events have really happened or whether I just dreamed them two days earlier. I think Eric's least favorite symptom is the mood swings. I get irritated more easily than ever in my life...I also cry more easily than is mentally sound. The other day I sobbed because our new Monsters, Inc. Blu Ray had three discs instead of two inside. Logically, I realize this is no reason to cry. However, that doesn't stop my eyes from tearing up every time I think about it.

Movement: Baby is apparently performing acrobatics inside of me, but I can't feel it yet.

Cravings/aversions/eating: I have an aversion to just about every food on the planet. Occasionally those aversions will go away long enough for me to experience an insane craving for something, at which point I'll go to the store and buy 17 of them. After about two servings, though, the aversion returns full force and I have to throw the rest of the food away. I am having a big problem struggling to control my craving for doughnuts this week. I haven't been able to eat too much, unfortunately. I can't really imagine ever enjoying food again. It's kind of tragic.

Workouts: HAHAHAHAHA. HA. HAHAHAHA.

Sleep: I could sleep for days. Unfortunately, I have to wake up every two hours to go to the bathroom, so my sleep is pretty interrupted. Also, those dang DREAMS...

Clothes: Since getting pregnant, my clothes fit better than ever before, what with the whole weight loss thing. But as I head into the second trimester here and my symptoms get better, I'll probably have to say goodbye to my skinny jeans. I hardly knew thee.


 Random: Now that I can finally talk openly about this pregnancy, I'll probably be posting a lot more about it. If you want to see all my baby-related adventures, follow me on instagram. There's a handy little link in the right column. Or you can just search "megansquared" on your phone. I also take lots of pictures of my puppy, Sherlock. 

Again, thank you for all of the support and kind words over the past few months. I'm excited to share this new journey with you all! And please don't send me links to blorn. Thank you.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

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.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

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.
 

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Talking to me is dangerous because there's a good chance I'll blog about it.

My friend Carmen and I like to talk about anything other than the homework we are supposed to be completing.  One night, however, I texted her, asking about an essay for American Heritage in which we are supposed to discuss the Electoral College system.  This conversation (predictably) devolved into rabies and sandwiches.  It's like she doesn't even want to write an essay.

Carmen: Huzzah. It’s easier to write good about popular vote. And the more I learned about it, the more it makes sense. What’s wrong with our country?

Megan: Communism and rapists. And overpriced chip bags that are half chip-flavored oxygen. That’s what’s wrong with this country.

Carmen: Yeah YEAH! And-and… and possums! I mean, WHAT?! Are they, like, actually a contributing factor to the betterment of our country?! Psh! … ahem.

Megan: No! They don’t do anything! Just like… children under seven! Children under seven are totally communists. All they do is nothing plus drool.

Carmen: Also, the huge waste of money on the production of wrist-stressing tambourines is like… a huge waste of money. Add a hand grip for crying out loud!

Megan: Yeah! And plus, house plants! Do you know how much good, all American tap water we waste on dumb house plants every day?? Probably at least ten gallons.

Carmen: And why in heavens name are there suddenly BIRDS everywhere? Everywhere! On trees, and cars, and telephone wires.. Isn’t there some sort of cautionary discipline they can implement? I’ve got calls to make and I don’t want a sparrow cutting them short.

Megan: The bird epidemic is almost as bad as all these stupid schools. Like ‘ooooh the kids are the future’ and ‘education is important’ and crap. Well whatever because they’re just all over the place and they don’t ever do anything. I’ve never had a school make me a sandwich. I fail to see the usefulness.

Carmen: I wish bakeries would have some sort of law that forces THEM to eat the stale pastries they fail to sell and try to shove down our throats anyways. 1. They didn’t sell so they must not be good. 2. They are stale so they must be worse than before.

Megan: 3. They must be full of rabies, or else the cashiers would have eaten them by now. I would have.


I think we've just identified every problem in this once-great nation.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

How to get an A in English

English is a hard subject for many reasons.  It involves spelling, it involves words, and it involves grammar.  No other language includes all three of these things, and I'm pretty sure most of them are comprised of guttural grunting noises and a series of clicks and whistles.  Fortunately, I've constructed this handy guide to help you navigate and pass the rigorous course that is English.

Spelling
Spelling is difficult because it involves letters, and some letters exist only to ruin your life.  The letter "P," for example, is a jerk.  If it is paired with the letter "H," it sounds like an "F."  If it is paired with the letter "S," it sounds like...well, like an "S."  When paired with other letters, like, say, the letter "R," "P" pretends to be all innocent and crap and does exactly what it's supposed to.  It is false and deceitful.  "P" is such a jerk, and it never responds to my emails.  Jerk.

"P" also looks a lot like the number 9, which poses difficulty for young children who happen to have fairly common first names and also have last names which start with the letter P, because maybe a certain young child is just trying to learn to differentiate between numbers and letters and the teacher hands back corrected papers to the class and loudly calls out "Megan 9?  Who is Megan 9?  We don't USE numbers in our NAMES, MEGAN!!" and then the poor child gets all embarrassed and remembers it to this very day and....

What?  Where am I?

Anyway.  The letter P.  It sucks.  In order to help you remember this, I've created the following illustration:
The concept to grasp here: the letter "P" is evil.

Here are some helpful tips when you're trying to spell things:
1. Don't spell in Spanish.
2. Spell in English.
3. When in doubt, just mouth the word "Watermelon."  That's a tip I learned from my fourth grade choir class.
4. If you don't remember how to spell a word, write "Watermelon" and then make it look like the word you are supposed to be spelling.
5. Pants inhibit blood flow to the brain.  Don't wear them to class.
6. Only use letters that appear in the alphabet.  If you cannot remember which letters are in the alphabet, make up your own letters because you are likely to be right at least some of the time.

The most important thing to remember when spelling is to believe in yourself.  When you have confidence in the magical power of your inner self or whatever, you cannot fail!  Try your best, kiddo.  And don't forget, there's no "P" in the phrase "Good speller."


Grammar
Grammar is like the crappy math of the English world.  Grammar makes you think about things like fragments, comma splices, tense shifts, and subject-verb agreement.  All this stuff kind of sucks.  They really aren't as hard as they sound though:
Seriously. 

If you want to be a grammar wizard, there are a few things you must always do.  

First, whenever you grasp a rule of grammar, cling to it like it's the holy grail of rules.  Whenever anyone misuses this rule or blatantly ignores it, consider it your divine calling to correct them immediately and succinctly.  Always be sure to act condescending and patronizing, because otherwise they just won't learn.  It's a fact.

Second, ignore any and all changes in the structure of the English language.  For example, it is now grammatically correct to use only one space after a period.  This is a ridiculous rule.  I grew up my whole life typing TWO SPACES.  It is the only correct way.  I will forever hold to what I know to be true.  I will also stubbornly insist on keeping all my VHS tapes and reading books that are made of paper.  In ten years no one will like me, but I will be so right.  It's worth it.  Keep your fancy high-definition space laser discs and your magical "e-readers."

Third, if you don't know a rule of grammar, just pretend like you do.  When your friend shakes his head and says "It always bothers me when I see a 'ten items or less' checkout station.  It's so incorrect," you must respond quickly, otherwise everyone you know and love will hate you forever for your ignorance.  Also, kittens will explode.

Below are some statements I've created that are suitable for any situation, and are definitely applicable when you don't know the rules of grammar.  Simply respond by saying:

"That was overturned at the Geneva Convention."
"That's so racist."
"I'm good at grammar."
"I love orphans."
"My whole family is dying of an incurable disease."
"Velociraptor overlords will soon be arriving from the past to take over, so it really doesn't matter."


Words
Words are just letters mushed up together to create sounds which are attached to meanings.  It is all very complicated.  If you have enough words together, and they all make sense in context with each other, you will have a sentence.  But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.

These are words:
Hello
Dinosaur
Applesauce
Onomatopoeia
Dyslexia
Tophat
Cannon
Cake
Genocide
Feelings

These are not words:
OMG
LOL/LULZ/LOLZ
WAT!!~?
Fantasterific
wkopghowabhpwioe
No

When in doubt, refer to this handy list. It's basically comprehensive.


Sentences
Sentences can lead to paragraphs,which in turn can lead to pointless essays (which you will inevitably encounter in your education), so it's important to know what a sentence is and how to use it.

A sentence looks like this:
The meth lab exploded into a million particles of chemical-doused rubble.

A sentence does not look like this:


Also, something about subjects and verbs and independent clauses.  (Hint: not Santa Clauses.)


Commas
I, don't know how, to use commas.  ,,,,


Now go earn that A!

Monday, October 18, 2010

When I grow up to be even more awesome than I am now, this is what it will look like

I am not married, and I probably won't be married any time soon because I think I don't like being married yet.  That's the idea, anyway.

Nevertheless, I have come up with some super-cool plans for my future.  Dive in, shall we?

Ideas for the names of my future daughters:
Autumn
Maisy
Chloe
Bella
Twilight Bella (Just in case I want to name one of them after Twilight Bella.  Wouldn't want people to be confused.)
Megaladon
Helen Keller (Too far?)
Picture Frame
Picture Frame II
Picture Frame Decorated With Butterflies
Wikipedia (Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?)
Sue
Lue
SueLue
* (Pronounced "Asterisk"
**(Pronounced "Double Asterisk")
(**) (Pronounced "Parenthesis Double Asterisk Amanda")

 (\_/)
(o.o)    (Pronounced "Franchesca")  (Or "Robot Bunny")  (Or both)
  /()\
 /_|_\


Ideas for the names of my future sons:
James
Asher
Dragonslayer
CrimsonRedScarletJones (His favorite color will be yellow, probably)
Cement (Pronounced See-Ment.  Probably will not go over well.)
Newton's Third Law (I always forget this one)
MyMotherIsBeautifulAndNice
AAAAAH!FIRE!EVERYONERUN!!!! (Pronounced "Christopher")
Atticus Google
Atticus LeGoogle
& (I don't know how I would pronounce this.)
Voldemort
Brunhildo (See, I took a popular female Viking name and made it male.  I want people to know how incredibly creative I am.  SO creative.  In fact, watch this next one.  It's a doozy.)
Satin Oxygen Little Bird


I also have ideas for my future name.  As I understand, it changes when you get married.  If I get to change my name, I would like for it to be one of these:

Optimus Beyonce (This is a bit of homage to Dan Bergstein, who should probably just go ahead and create a baby naming book.  It would be awesome.)
Megan Braveheart
Megan Iscool
Megan !
LeMegan Leblahbleaux (In case I marry a French guy.)
Megan Angel Miracle
The Illustrious Megan
Megan Jeremiah
Megan Megan
Megan M. Megan
Megan Sexyfacehotpants
Megan Gotareallybigdiamondring
The Wittiest, Most Charming Woman Ever To Have Lived

I also have picked out my future home.

I has a rocket.  Do you?
Not pictured in the above photo representation: hot tub, unicorn stables, more more cake, and back door.  Also, mailbox.

My future occupation will be one of the following:
Supreme Dictator of the State of Utah
Supreme Dictator of Any Other Place
Person Who Gets Paid To Eat Cake
Official Officiator
Person Who Writes About Random Crap And Draws Lousy Pictures
Blogger
Blogger Who Writes About Random Crap And Draws Lousy Pictures
Person Who Makes "PH" Not Sound Like "F" Anymore Because It Makes No Sense
Struggling College Student

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Pants with a polar bear

There are three easily recognizable classes of pants.

First, comfortable pants.

Comfortable pants are usually sweatpants, but they can also be a pair of old jeans.  They inhibit your movement only minimally.  They allow you to sit without exposing your butt crack.  They feel almost as good as not wearing pants, except nothing feels as good as not wearing pants.  However, if you have to wear pants, comfortable ones are the best option.


Comfortable pants will never let you down, especially when you leave the house wearing them because people will think you are a hobo and will give you leftover sandwiches.

Polar bears are awesome.


The second class of pants are stylish pants.

These pants generally have rips, tears, fading, and other signs of wear.  These damages are intended to make you look attractive.  You may think that these pants will garner you free leftover sandwiches.  You are mistaken.  Stylish pants often have strange and shiny logos emblazoned directly on the butt pockets so that each rump-cheek glistens with rhinestones and advertising.  These pants will, in no particular order: suffocate you, rip in the crotch at any sudden movement, disallow you from running away from pursuers, prove extremely difficult both to insert your body into and to remove from your body, and make bare your butt crack for all the world to see.  They will also situate around your pelvic area in a way that will cause your girth to overflow out of them like a waterfall of fat, no matter how skinny you are.  If you are not skinny, they will eventually cut off your blood circulation, and you will die.

These pants sometimes make you feel sexy fine, but usually they just make your legs go numb.  They are often accessorized with other stylish, similarly impractical items.



The third class: trendy (for some reason) pants.

"Trendy" pants are puzzling in that they are invariably hideous and clearly unfit for anything other than stockpiling extra fabric for sewing together a sail in case of abandonment in an ocean.  The "invariably hideous" factor is key to trendy pants, because whether they be checkered, tie-dyed, a blinding shade of neon, or these monstrosities, this category of pants causes the wearer shame in future years.

Overalls don't count as pants, and polar bears are still awesome.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Awkward things that hurt my soul.

Living away from home has brought up some serious issues in my day to day survival.  As it turns out, I actually require many things to survive never before considered.  Surprising things, like laundry.  I wake up and say "I know exactly what I need!  I need new socks to put on my feet!  I shall open up my sock drawer now!" and alas.  No socks are to be found.  Dirty laundry is to be found, but no socks.  (That whole scenario originally involved underpants, but I actually have plenty of underpants.  So if you were thinking about giving me a gift, socks would be better than underpants.  If enough people give me socks, I'll never have to wash the dirty ones.  You should buy me socks.) 

Half the time I find myself yelling "What do you mean I need money for that?  Give it to me!" or "Why are you standing in the hallway where I need to walk?" or "WHY IS THERE SO MUCH SHRUBBERY??"  There are no clear answers.  However, regardless of all my new-found responsibility, there is one other more pressing matter.

Some day to day occurrences are so mind-bogglingly awkward, I look up at the sky and whisper "whyyyyy?!" except I don't whisper very quietly and so most people stop and look at me and hope I don't have a knife on my person because I look like the kind of unstable psycho that might have a knife and use it irresponsibly.  Like for incorrect buttering.  Or stabbing.



Being unable to care for myself in even the most basic of fashions has led to an apparent inability to deal with normal occurrences with any degree of fortitude.  My awkwardness has increased about 3487 percent.  That's a rough estimate.

Naturally, I'm an awkward person.  It's one of the weapons that the Universe uses in its vendetta against my general health and well-being.  Recently, however, this has multiplied with my new level of responsibility to create my current method of dealing with life.  I am incapable of any kind of adult reaction.  This has led to very immature, anti-adult, reactions.  Such as stomping on inanimate objects.  Especially stairs.  I don't know why I do that.  Stairs don't care if I stomp on them.  In fact, that's more action than stairs have probably seen in a while.  Stairs are probably all "That's right, stomp harder!  Is that all you got, you little wuss?" and then stairs invert gravity for a moment and alter their molecular shape, causing me to fall.

Which brings me to point number one.

 Stairs that are either too short or too long for feet.


You probably know exactly what I'm talking about.  These stairs completely exacerbate my awkwardness. Stairs usually work like this:


Stairs, when properly designed, allow the user to walk comfortably downward or upward without much thought.  Any falling, tripping, or various methods of pain and death are direct results of the user's own physical failings, such as clumsiness or allergies.

Meet Stairs of Doom:



The above stairs are an example of perilous death.  These stairs are either a cruel joke or were built by people with extremely tiny feet and incredible balance.  These stairs cause you to topple down them mercilessly.  You will walk down them cautiously.  You will feel the slight pitch in gravity indicating your imminent fall.  You will brace yourself, and attempt to regain precious balance by flapping your arms uselessly and possibly uttering a grating shriek.  You will then hurtle to the ground.

When you are crumpled into a pathetic heap of shame and imbalance at the foot of the stairs, every bystander in the area will freeze for approximately three seconds before composing themselves enough to offer assistance.  You will pretend to be invisible.  It will become clear that you will be unable to pretend you are invisible.  You will raise your worthless carcass into a sitting position, mumble feebly that you are okay, and walk away as quickly as possible, registering the various bruises and abrasions now splashed across your elbows and knees.  You will hope that no one from the "stair incident" will ever see you in any other setting.  (Kind of like how I feel about Doug.  Doug works in the library.  Every time I see him, I wonder whether or not I should mention the fact that I almost ended his life on our first meeting.  I generally talk about it until things get awkward, which is immediately, and then I regret bringing it up.  Good times.)

Falling down these stairs will create a plethora of Dougs for your enjoyment.

Then there is this abomination:

These stairs are awkward and probably feel really insecure.  The steps themselves are very long, making the staircase stretch on into infinity.  When you use these stairs, you will not know how to walk.  Should you take two short steps on each stair, or you should you take extremely long steps and try not to faceplant?  Which will make you look less idiotic?  The answer: neither.  No matter what, you will look stupid.  These stairs were specifically designed to make you look as awkward and ridiculous as possible.  You will not descend with grace.  It's best to get it over with quickly.

Getting locked out.

Living in a dorm isn't all that bad for normal people.  You go to class, you shower in a stall, you return home and gossip with your roommate while watching various chick flicks.  For the regular, socially confident, not psychotic populace, it's a pretty good deal.  Then there's me.  My first week living in the dorms, I was locked out twice on accident after leaving my key inside the dorm, and then once due to my inability to perform simple functions like not lose my keys.  It didn't take long for every staff member who was even tenuously linked to keys to be able to recognize me on sight.

My mental well-being usually relies on the certainty that I am not burdening any strangers with my existence.  I have this guilt issue.  For example:  Last night I had a dream that I got hit by a semi-truck, damaging the truck in the process.  The driver got out of the car and yelled at me for ruining the truck and as I sat there on the street, I felt an overwhelming wave of guilt.  I felt guilty for causing minor damage to a semi-truck that had just flattened me.  Moments like these make me think I probably need to reevaluate my priorities.

Anyway.  The point is, I've been locked out a million times, and have to choose one of two options.  I either have to wait for my roommate to return, or go find someone with a master key to open the door for me.  I agonize over the decision, weighing the pros and cons, seeing only cons in both options, and finally I decide to find someone to open the door for me.  This always, without fail, leads to awkward conversation.  I live on the third floor.  The office is on the first floor.  I walk up seemingly endless flights of stairs next to someone who is as uncomfortable with making small talk as I am.

Me: ...........
Helpful Key Person: .......So.  Locked out, huh?
Me: Um.  Yep.
Helpful Key Person:  Yeah.  [Silence as we continue to climb the stairs.]  So.  Third floor?
Me: Uh huh.  Third floor.
Helpful Key Person:  Okay.  [More silence.  More stairs.]  It sure is a long walk to the third floor.
Me:  Yeah, the third floor is about three floors up, I think.
Helpful Key Person:  Yes I think that's about correct.
Me: ...............
Helpful Key Person: ................ 
Me: ...............[Still more stairs.  Finally, third floor hallway.  A long walk to my door.]
Helpful Key Person: Okay here we are.  [Opens door]
Me: Okay, um, thanks a lot.  [Worries for the rest of the night that Helpful Key Person hates me and I'll never be friends with Helpful Key Person and now the state of Utah is going to explode and it will be all my fault for losing my keys.]


Pants in general.


I often wonder what pants' problem is.  What the heck, pants?  Who invented you, anyway?  Why are you so annoying?  Especially jeans.  What kind of a person decided that jeans were a good idea?


Pain is fun!  Shimmying like a disabled lemur is awesome because it helps me get my pants on.

My favorite is when it takes twenty minutes.


The dreaded double-double door.

This is a double door:
 This is a double double door:


In theory, these doors aren't all that difficult to use.  You just walk through one set, then proceed through the next, and carry on your merry way.  This concept works very well until you throw in polite people.

Invariably, some kind-hearted soul will hold open the first set of doors.  "What a nice gesture!"  I think to myself as I carry on through the open door, saying "thank you!" loudly to Nice Guy.  Nice Guy then enters behind me, and we find ourselves at the second set of doors.  Having entered first, I am closer to the second set of doors than Nice Person.  I awkwardly reach for the handle.  Nice Guy awkwardly reaches for the handle, intent on continuing his kind deed of the day.  At this point, there's chivalry to think about.  Should I let Nice Guy hold open the door for me again?  If he does, do I mumble "Thank you" again?  Does the first "Thank you" carry over here, or should I ecstatically say it again?  Or should I hold the door open for Nice Guy?  What if Nice Guy expects me to?  What if he wants to be chivalrous, though?  What if opening the door tells him that I didn't appreciate the first door? WHAT IF NICE GUY DOESN'T LIKE ME ANYMORE?!

At this point my face usually betrays my inner turmoil.  99 times out of 100, Nice Guy is perfectly normal and simply holds the door open for me a second time, smiles politely, and walks away.  Nice Guy probably doesn't think about this at all as the day goes on.  I am not so lucky.

I usually end up knocking over a desk or something later though, so that gives me something else to agonize over.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Annoying stuff that I'm going to rant about, even though I do them all the time. Which is probably why they're so obnoxious to begin with.

There are always these things that people do and I'm all "GAR HOW DARE YOU DO THAT THING THAT IS BOTHERING ME!!!" and then whoever is doing that thing looks at me like I'm crazy just because I'm yelling and sound vaguely like a grizzled pirate. This post is about a few of those things.

1. People who are obsessed with magical unicorn sparkles

This is point number one on the case to get me kicked off the internet, since I'm totally obsessed with magical unicorn sparkles. AND THEREIN LIES THE PROBLEM. See...not everyone can love rainbows and princesses. If EVERYONE did, I would look like a stupid poser. I practically invented unicorn-obsession. I have a reputation to protect.

You see, I love glitter. It's my favorite color. I want a pet unicorn. I do. I do so bad. But then some special little...GIRL WHO ACTS LIKE ME comes along and guess what her favorite color is? It's glitter. And how many times has she tried to order a baby unicorn online? 56 times. Which is one more than me. And immediately, I think "you're going down, you fool."



Oh. It's on.


Not. Cool. Get your own interests, kid.
You threaten a six-year-old ONE TIME and suddenly you're not allowed near the children or kool-aid. Whatever.


2. People who awkwardly look at me while I'm driving


I do this all the time. I mean ALL the time. There's hardly anything interesting about other people when they're driving, but if someone magically summons a dragon while driving in the lane next to me, I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT.

I just don't like it when people do it to me, because if I actually knew how to summon dragons in my car, I wouldn't HAVE A CAR. I'd have a magical flying dragon. So you don't have to look at me. Nothing going on over here. Except that I think you're laughing at my hair. It's not THAT bad, okay?

And people who watch me while I drive make me feel...uncomfortable. It's like they're waiting for me to kill a pedestrian or forget to use my blinky thingy. (Blinky-majig? Blinkermatron? ...Whatever.)

WHY ARE YOU STARING AT ME?! CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I'M UNSTABLE AND AM ALREADY IMAGINING FIERY DEATH AS A DIRECT RESULT OF YOUR STARING, PROBING EYES?! IT'S LIKE THE ANGEL OF DOOM IS EYEBALLING ME IN THE NEXT LANE.




3. People who overreact.

Do I overreact? Never. Except for that one time when my brother and his friend were fighting over a lollipop and it got stuck to my forehead and I started crying in the backseat of the minivan. Or that time when this kid was at my house and he shot a rubber band at my leg, and I immediately started screaming, and, through my tears, I ordered him to leave my house forever. Or that night when I accidentally set the oven on fire making bagel bites, so I sent a bunch of delirious texts to my friend Braeden about how I was going to die and HELP ME FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY. I may also have called him, but I don't remember. (In retrospect, maybe that one wasn't an overreaction.)

But when OTHER PEOPLE overreact, I'm suddenly the Superman of All Things Ever. I'm all "Psh! A spider on the wall? I squish wall-spiders every Thursday afternoon, right after swimming with Great White Sharks but before fire-eating practice. You weak, puny, human, with your irrational fears and weak puniness."




4. Blurry pictures drawn on paint

......moving on.



5. People who get grumpy for no reason


My feelings are tender. When people are grumpy, it makes me want to cry. And shoot them in the head with a machete. And since that's impossible, I want to cry even more. And then nobody is giving me diamonds, and I'm not watching a Disney movie, and the grumpy person IS STILL GRUMPY and I'm all "SHUT UP, I HAVE PROBLEMS TOO, YOU KNOW."

I get grumpy when I'm tired. Or hungry. When I'm tired AND hungry? Well...



But is it ever okay for other people to be like this? The answer to that is a firm and resolute no. Absolutely not.

When other people are in a bad mood, I have to be all considerate and crap. And even if I am considerate, a grumpy person doesn't care. Dude. I'm *never* considerate. BE HAPPY.

Also, I'm socially incapable, so I'm likely to say something like "Yeah? Well I don't care if you've had a bad day, HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE KARATE CHOPPED IN THE CALF MUSCLE??! HEYAHHHH!" And then I have no friends again.



Another thing I hate is writing when I don't feel like it.



I'm very sure I'll add more to this list...eventually. I hate deadlines.