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.
Showing posts with label Stuff that even I don't find funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stuff that even I don't find funny. Show all posts
Friday, July 1, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
Still not dead. Surprisingly.
Hey just wanted to let you guys know that I WILL be posting this week. I'm not dead. Or seriously injured, as the rumors suggest. (I made up the rumors. I just want to be important.)
Please bear with my for a while because not too long ago no one read my blog except for my mom and, like, two random internet people who happened upon it accidentally. So up until now, no one cared if I took a month to post. I'M FIXIN' MY WAYS. I even have a post in the works. Love me still, please.
Sorry that this is not a real post. Please accept my sincerest apologies, and also this picture:
Look! It's me! It's me putting food in my mouth! HOW EMBARRASSING! ...Okay this is full of fail. More to come this week, and it might even be good.
Please bear with my for a while because not too long ago no one read my blog except for my mom and, like, two random internet people who happened upon it accidentally. So up until now, no one cared if I took a month to post. I'M FIXIN' MY WAYS. I even have a post in the works. Love me still, please.
Sorry that this is not a real post. Please accept my sincerest apologies, and also this picture:
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Sometimes I'm accidently funny without meaning to be. Also, sometimes I spell accidently as "accidentally" because I suck.
Updated: Apparently it really is spelled "accidentally" and I've been right all along. So it's kind of like my failure is a success, if you think about it.
I actually was planning on writing a very long illustrated post today, but a friend of mine brought something else to my attention. Also, I've been working for hours upon hours on a special project for SparkLife, and when you see it you will be all, "THAT took you hours upon hours?" and I will say, "DUDE do you know how long it took me to draw four bears? DO YOU EVEN KNOW ME?" and then I will indisputably win the argument and you will bask in my glory or whatever.
Anyway, my friend texted me a very long text but mostly what stuck out to me was something that a lot of people have asked me: "How are you so funny?" He actually worded it differently, but the concept is the same. And it's a question that a lot of people have emailed me about, and a lot of times they are looking for tips to help them excel at comedy. So, how am I funny?
Well there's an easy answer to that. I have no freaking idea.
To be completely honest, I don't think I'm funny at all. If real life is any indication, I'm just an instigator of awkward conversations. In actual every day situations my humor falls flat all the time and that's assuming I even know what to talk about to begin with because more than half of my life is spent like this:
I actually was planning on writing a very long illustrated post today, but a friend of mine brought something else to my attention. Also, I've been working for hours upon hours on a special project for SparkLife, and when you see it you will be all, "THAT took you hours upon hours?" and I will say, "DUDE do you know how long it took me to draw four bears? DO YOU EVEN KNOW ME?" and then I will indisputably win the argument and you will bask in my glory or whatever.
Anyway, my friend texted me a very long text but mostly what stuck out to me was something that a lot of people have asked me: "How are you so funny?" He actually worded it differently, but the concept is the same. And it's a question that a lot of people have emailed me about, and a lot of times they are looking for tips to help them excel at comedy. So, how am I funny?
Well there's an easy answer to that. I have no freaking idea.
To be completely honest, I don't think I'm funny at all. If real life is any indication, I'm just an instigator of awkward conversations. In actual every day situations my humor falls flat all the time and that's assuming I even know what to talk about to begin with because more than half of my life is spent like this:
Usually when this happens (EVERY DAY) I just run away as quickly as possible and retreat to my dorm room. I'm still trying to figure out how to be socially acceptable as a human being, but so far most of my attempts at humor and conversation have been so painfully futile, I just don't say anything. Or I'll go through this really horrible process in which my brain starts grinding against itself and my vocal chords issue forth a horrible buzzing sound. Inside my head I'm all, "I need to say something. I'm going to say something about zombies. But wait! Previous experience has taught me that talking about zombies is not successful. What do I talk about, then? Um, I could talk about how much I hate cheese. But most people like cheese. What if he thinks I'm a freak because I don't like cheese? WHAT DO I DO!? Oh no. It's been like 2 minutes. I should say something. He's probably offended. But if I say something now, he'll think I'm an idiot. Wait, what did he ask me? I don't know. Something about zombie cheese. Ew, gross. But...in a cool way. I would totally like zombie cheese. Not to eat, but just to look at for a minute." And then by the time I formulate an acceptable answer, my conversational partner is gone and by then my brain is trying to bash it's way out of my idiotic skull anyway so it doesn't really matter.
But here, on the magical world of the internet, I have found that everything is wonderful and full of love and happiness and puppies and puppy-ness. And videos of cats in boxes! And EVERYONE likes zombies! And suddenly, I'm funny. But I haven't ever been funny before. That's why I'm at a total loss as to answering your questions, see? People ask how to be funny or how to make their blogs funny and I'm just all "Uuuuuummmmm......" and then I start giggling nervously and talking about spaceships because I'm scared that my secret will be revealed and everyone will realize that I'm not funny at all. So here are my comedy tips:
1. Be funny.
2. Don't be not funny.
3. When in doubt, draw a really terrible picture of yourself.
4. When that doesn't work, wallow in self-pity.
5. Mention glitter as often as possible. Also, think about dinosaurs a lot.
6. Be mildly offensive.
7. Draw more things.
8. Read blogs that you think are funny and try to draw some inspiration.
10. Eat debilitating amounts of junk food.
...And that's about it. That's all I've got so far. I'm learning, brothers and sisters. Thank you for liking me, because I certainly like you back. Let's be together forever.
Monday, December 27, 2010
An open letter to Miley Cyrus
Dear Miley,
Hey girlfriend. How've you been? I see you are still making music. That's nice. You've always liked the whole music thing, right? Look, Mile-igator. We need to talk. It's just that...I don't know if we can keep doing this.
Don't get me wrong, I've been nothing short of a devoted fan. In the not so distant past, my favorite TV show was Hannah Montana. I had a Hannah Montana sleeping bag that lit up whenever it was touched. I even had socks with your face on them. Do you understand? I wore your face on my feet every single day. So I want you to know that this isn't about your past. Really. It's not.
I just think we've gone our separate ways, you know? You smoke a bong and I'm not even entirely sure what a bong is. You are really good at hip thrusting and I'm fairly positive that if I ever tried to pull off one of your dance moves, I would injure myself horribly. You like to wear things that make your boobs look awesome. I like to wear Star Wars shirts. Do you see what I'm getting at here? We're just different people, Mile-inator.
I'm really sorry, honest. I wanna back you up here, but I don't know where to start. When you got all naked sexy sheet-tastic for Vanity Fair, I defended you. I figured that everyone is entitled to their own choices, even a preteen icon. I still think that, Miley. I do.
When you suddenly popped up all over the internet in your underwear, I felt bad for you. I felt bad that the media would inevitably bombard you with criticism and meanness. I thought you probably would be really upset. I was totes on your side, Miles.
And heaven knows that when your new music video came out and I saw you shakin' your thaaaang and crooning about how you simply cannot be tamed, I said, "Wow. That girl does NOT want to be tamed. Huh." I might have shaken my head in disappointment, Miley, but I didn't condemn. I still don't condemn. I want you to know that.
Wow. Is this as hard for you as it is for me? Because this is really hard for me.
Now, there's the bong video. And there's that lap dance you gave your director. Also, all that sexy-time dancing and sexy-sexy-time outfits. I'm not really diggin' it, Miley. Not at all. But the real truth, the reason that we are totally over, isn't so much about any of that. The real reason is so much deeper. So much more painful. It's...well, it's your legs.
CURSE YOU, Miley! Curse you and your hot, long legs! Why?!?! Why must I be tortured with jealousy every time I see them? They look freaking AWESOME in heels. They make your skirts and dresses incredible. I HATE YOUR LEGS. SO MUCH. XOMGsfWIEAHOGIWIH!@@!!!!
I'm glad we had this talk.
Love,
Megan
Hey girlfriend. How've you been? I see you are still making music. That's nice. You've always liked the whole music thing, right? Look, Mile-igator. We need to talk. It's just that...I don't know if we can keep doing this.
Don't get me wrong, I've been nothing short of a devoted fan. In the not so distant past, my favorite TV show was Hannah Montana. I had a Hannah Montana sleeping bag that lit up whenever it was touched. I even had socks with your face on them. Do you understand? I wore your face on my feet every single day. So I want you to know that this isn't about your past. Really. It's not.
I just think we've gone our separate ways, you know? You smoke a bong and I'm not even entirely sure what a bong is. You are really good at hip thrusting and I'm fairly positive that if I ever tried to pull off one of your dance moves, I would injure myself horribly. You like to wear things that make your boobs look awesome. I like to wear Star Wars shirts. Do you see what I'm getting at here? We're just different people, Mile-inator.
I'm really sorry, honest. I wanna back you up here, but I don't know where to start. When you got all naked sexy sheet-tastic for Vanity Fair, I defended you. I figured that everyone is entitled to their own choices, even a preteen icon. I still think that, Miley. I do.
When you suddenly popped up all over the internet in your underwear, I felt bad for you. I felt bad that the media would inevitably bombard you with criticism and meanness. I thought you probably would be really upset. I was totes on your side, Miles.
And heaven knows that when your new music video came out and I saw you shakin' your thaaaang and crooning about how you simply cannot be tamed, I said, "Wow. That girl does NOT want to be tamed. Huh." I might have shaken my head in disappointment, Miley, but I didn't condemn. I still don't condemn. I want you to know that.
Wow. Is this as hard for you as it is for me? Because this is really hard for me.
Now, there's the bong video. And there's that lap dance you gave your director. Also, all that sexy-time dancing and sexy-sexy-time outfits. I'm not really diggin' it, Miley. Not at all. But the real truth, the reason that we are totally over, isn't so much about any of that. The real reason is so much deeper. So much more painful. It's...well, it's your legs.
CURSE YOU, Miley! Curse you and your hot, long legs! Why?!?! Why must I be tortured with jealousy every time I see them? They look freaking AWESOME in heels. They make your skirts and dresses incredible. I HATE YOUR LEGS. SO MUCH. XOMGsfWIEAHOGIWIH!@@!!!!
I'm glad we had this talk.
Love,
Megan
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Finals and why they are ruining everything for the world
Hi. Normally I would try to post. Really. But there's this thing about college and it's called Finals Week and it wears a pointy hat and cackles darkly at every college student in the world. For the time being, Finals Week is my master. That means that I have nothing for you. Except apologies and this drawing of The Muffin of Shame.
I still feel like I haven't really made it up to you. What can I do? Hire a monkey to love you forever? Summon a rainbow to follow you wherever your darling feet trod? Tap dance with feeling? I just don't know.
How about another drawing?
YAY!!!!
Anyway, I should be back to posting ridiculous rants about crap that no one cares about soon enough. Please love me in my absence. It makes me feel like a real woman.
...Clearly I need more sleep.
Comment that I completely relate with: "Finals are the devil's quizzes. Just like stairs are the devil's hills." -Nadia Murti
I still feel like I haven't really made it up to you. What can I do? Hire a monkey to love you forever? Summon a rainbow to follow you wherever your darling feet trod? Tap dance with feeling? I just don't know.
How about another drawing?
YAY!!!!
Anyway, I should be back to posting ridiculous rants about crap that no one cares about soon enough. Please love me in my absence. It makes me feel like a real woman.
...Clearly I need more sleep.
Comment that I completely relate with: "Finals are the devil's quizzes. Just like stairs are the devil's hills." -Nadia Murti
Friday, December 10, 2010
I am going to be killed by a pile of snow. Probably very soon.
Congratulations, my friends. Since you read my blog, you are about to be treated to 4 months of me whining about the snow and how horrible it is and how much I hate it and how it is an attempt by the Universe to kill me. Which it is. I KNOW IT.
Here in Utah, Winter can last for half of the year. HALF OF THE YEAR. If the year has two parts, Winter is one of those parts. I know, I know. "MEGAN TRY LIVING IN MONTANA, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT COLD IS!!!" Yes I do. I don't live in Montana because if I did I would be dead. And that's where my logic ends.
Anyway, it was snowing for a while up at campus. Then, miraculously, it stopped! I have been known to weep bitterly when I see the first snowfall of the year (hint:every single year) so when it stopped it felt like Christmas had come early and I was already enjoying the unicorn that I KNOW is waiting for me under the tree. (I shook the present that looked like a book. It sounded like a unicorn, or a book. I'm betting it's a unicorn, though. A unicorn with a monocle that will breathe glitter into my oatmeal. I don't like oatmeal, but if I did, my unicorn would breathe glitter into it, cause he's a nice guy like that.)
Over the next few days, all of the snow melted because the sun was being awesome. However, a few days before, some boys had made a snowman. A big, huge snowman. I took pleasure in watching this snowman die tragically. Is that cruel? I don't know. I just know that, "DIE, Frosty, DIE!!" has become my new mantra.
Soon, all the snow had disappeared except for a big pile of half-melted snow where the snowman used to be:
It won't go away. And it's mocking me. And it hates me. It's like the Universe just wants to make sure that I know that the battle isn't over. Normally I would say "bring it on, UNIVERSE!" but now I'm scared that a slush pile monster is going to devour me when I least expect it.
Awesome.
Truest comment: "I think anyone who says they like/love Winter, doesn't really know what they mean by that. Winter is cold, dark, wet, lifeless and cruel. What they like is hot chocolate, cuddling cause "It'll make us warmer" skiing, snowboarding, getting WARM by the fire and the fact that Christmas must be getting close. You only like the snow if you're wearing five hoodies and A coat that's so thick you can't bend your arms. Too often do we misinterpret what it is we actually want."-leaflock
Here in Utah, Winter can last for half of the year. HALF OF THE YEAR. If the year has two parts, Winter is one of those parts. I know, I know. "MEGAN TRY LIVING IN MONTANA, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT COLD IS!!!" Yes I do. I don't live in Montana because if I did I would be dead. And that's where my logic ends.
Anyway, it was snowing for a while up at campus. Then, miraculously, it stopped! I have been known to weep bitterly when I see the first snowfall of the year (hint:every single year) so when it stopped it felt like Christmas had come early and I was already enjoying the unicorn that I KNOW is waiting for me under the tree. (I shook the present that looked like a book. It sounded like a unicorn, or a book. I'm betting it's a unicorn, though. A unicorn with a monocle that will breathe glitter into my oatmeal. I don't like oatmeal, but if I did, my unicorn would breathe glitter into it, cause he's a nice guy like that.)
Over the next few days, all of the snow melted because the sun was being awesome. However, a few days before, some boys had made a snowman. A big, huge snowman. I took pleasure in watching this snowman die tragically. Is that cruel? I don't know. I just know that, "DIE, Frosty, DIE!!" has become my new mantra.
Soon, all the snow had disappeared except for a big pile of half-melted snow where the snowman used to be:
Awesome.
Truest comment: "I think anyone who says they like/love Winter, doesn't really know what they mean by that. Winter is cold, dark, wet, lifeless and cruel. What they like is hot chocolate, cuddling cause "It'll make us warmer" skiing, snowboarding, getting WARM by the fire and the fact that Christmas must be getting close. You only like the snow if you're wearing five hoodies and A coat that's so thick you can't bend your arms. Too often do we misinterpret what it is we actually want."-leaflock
Monday, November 22, 2010
Things that make me sad in the heart
1. People who hate me. (Who knew that disliking Megamind would cause so many people so much misery. I AM SORRY THAT YOU FEEL MISERY AND HATE INSTEAD OF RAINBOWS BECAUSE I DID NOT LIKE MEGAMIND. PLEASE DO NOT SEND ME SCORPIONS IN THE MAIL. I'm allergic. Probably.)
2. Utah being like, "Hey, Megan. I'ma be covered in snow now, okay? Cool."
3. People who have taken to disliking things solely because I like them. Don't take your misery out on Despicable Me. It has cute little girls and unicorns. It deserves your love. IT'S ME YOU WANT.
4. Genocide.
5. The first 100 pages of The Fellowship of the Ring. I have read those pages a billion times. I am attempting another reading. BUT COME ON.
Frodo, Sam, and Pippin forged through the brambles, 'neath the canopy of emerald leaves. The leaves, forming an emerald canopy, filtered light so that the ground appeared dappled with greenish lighty light. The brambles through which the three hobbits were forging were very dense and it took them three hours to forge. Three hours of dense brambles, underneath an emerald canopy, [insert complicated geography pertaining to the Shire for three consecutive paragraphs. Still remain in the brambles.] And so it was that Frodo, Sam, and Pippin became hungry and sat down for a rest in a green clearing, finally free of brambles, where they ate lunch and sang a little hobbit song about food.
Now, because I know that some of you guys take me OH SO SERIOUSLY, I now have to point out that the above paragraph was of my own construction, and was clearly very silly. J.R.R. Tolkien is brilliant and his descriptions are incredible, if lengthy. I am merely pointing out that these descriptions are so very very long and...descriptive. Blah blah blah, apology, blah blah, explanation for my behavior, blah blah blah I wouldn't have to be boring and explain myself if people didn't take me so seriously all the time. Are you happy now? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?
But in all seriousness, though, this really does make me sad, because I thought it was pretty well understood that everything I write for both Megansquared and SparkLife is firmly categorized as, "Mildly Humorous Junk That Should Not Be Cause For Fighting And Hating," and I'm the kind of person who will agonize about those few people who decided that I suck because my clearly ridiculous opinion is different from theirs, and they took me too seriously. Should I send them a gift basket? Should I email, begging for forgiveness for my treachery? Should I revoke my opinion? Should I BLOW UP MY TRASH CAN?! (This has less to do with angry commenters and more to do with my own curiosity.)
Let me break it down for you real quick:
Percentage of things that I write which should never be taken seriously: 98%
Percentage of serious things that I write that pertain to unicorns: 1.9999%
Percentage of things that I write that I'm dead serious about: .00001
The lesson to be learned here: If I ever write about unicorns, you can take that to the bank, because seriously, I love those things. Everything else you may dismiss as silliness unless clearly stated. If I write, "This is to be taken seriously," then you may take it seriously.
Oh, but now you are confused. "Megan, how do we know we ought to take the above paragraph seriously, then? LOGICAL FALLACY!"
Well, let me help you: The above paragraphs are to be taken seriously. But, like, in a non-serious way. You know what I'm saying?
6. The fact that I have to explain when I'm being serious.
7. I left my computer mouse somewhere. I don't know where. Now my drawings look like this:
If you can't read that, don't worry about it. It's just pathetic. You probably don't want to be able to read it.
8. The fact that the above drawing still looks pretty much like all of my other drawings. That's just sad.
All of the above things have culminated to Megan feeling sad about stuff. Which means Megan may not write until after Thanksgiving. This may be taken seriously.
2. Utah being like, "Hey, Megan. I'ma be covered in snow now, okay? Cool."
3. People who have taken to disliking things solely because I like them. Don't take your misery out on Despicable Me. It has cute little girls and unicorns. It deserves your love. IT'S ME YOU WANT.
4. Genocide.
5. The first 100 pages of The Fellowship of the Ring. I have read those pages a billion times. I am attempting another reading. BUT COME ON.
Frodo, Sam, and Pippin forged through the brambles, 'neath the canopy of emerald leaves. The leaves, forming an emerald canopy, filtered light so that the ground appeared dappled with greenish lighty light. The brambles through which the three hobbits were forging were very dense and it took them three hours to forge. Three hours of dense brambles, underneath an emerald canopy, [insert complicated geography pertaining to the Shire for three consecutive paragraphs. Still remain in the brambles.] And so it was that Frodo, Sam, and Pippin became hungry and sat down for a rest in a green clearing, finally free of brambles, where they ate lunch and sang a little hobbit song about food.
Now, because I know that some of you guys take me OH SO SERIOUSLY, I now have to point out that the above paragraph was of my own construction, and was clearly very silly. J.R.R. Tolkien is brilliant and his descriptions are incredible, if lengthy. I am merely pointing out that these descriptions are so very very long and...descriptive. Blah blah blah, apology, blah blah, explanation for my behavior, blah blah blah I wouldn't have to be boring and explain myself if people didn't take me so seriously all the time. Are you happy now? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?
But in all seriousness, though, this really does make me sad, because I thought it was pretty well understood that everything I write for both Megansquared and SparkLife is firmly categorized as, "Mildly Humorous Junk That Should Not Be Cause For Fighting And Hating," and I'm the kind of person who will agonize about those few people who decided that I suck because my clearly ridiculous opinion is different from theirs, and they took me too seriously. Should I send them a gift basket? Should I email, begging for forgiveness for my treachery? Should I revoke my opinion? Should I BLOW UP MY TRASH CAN?! (This has less to do with angry commenters and more to do with my own curiosity.)
Let me break it down for you real quick:
Percentage of things that I write which should never be taken seriously: 98%
Percentage of serious things that I write that pertain to unicorns: 1.9999%
Percentage of things that I write that I'm dead serious about: .00001
The lesson to be learned here: If I ever write about unicorns, you can take that to the bank, because seriously, I love those things. Everything else you may dismiss as silliness unless clearly stated. If I write, "This is to be taken seriously," then you may take it seriously.
Oh, but now you are confused. "Megan, how do we know we ought to take the above paragraph seriously, then? LOGICAL FALLACY!"
Well, let me help you: The above paragraphs are to be taken seriously. But, like, in a non-serious way. You know what I'm saying?
6. The fact that I have to explain when I'm being serious.
7. I left my computer mouse somewhere. I don't know where. Now my drawings look like this:
If you can't read that, don't worry about it. It's just pathetic. You probably don't want to be able to read it.
8. The fact that the above drawing still looks pretty much like all of my other drawings. That's just sad.
All of the above things have culminated to Megan feeling sad about stuff. Which means Megan may not write until after Thanksgiving. This may be taken seriously.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
It was funny if you were there. Well, not really. Mostly this whole event was just pathetic. Kind of like this post.
Some of you may have noticed that I have been posting/tweeting/facebook status updating about migraine headaches. This is because I have had migraine headaches. Often these headaches are accompanied by weird vertigo and imbalance, so much so that the other day while I was getting lunch on campus, I thought there was an earthquake and that we were all going to die and I didn't know why no one else was freaking out. But I WAS. I was freaking out. Internally, though, because if I'm gonna die a horrible death in a natural disaster, I'm going to be composed. Like, "Oh, look, Humphrey. The floor is splitting open beneath us. How jovial!"
I do not know who Humphrey is. In my imagination, there is a Humphrey, apparently.
Anyway, the last time I had a bout of these headaches, it was because my eyes suck and they can't see anything and so they wanted me dead and told my brain to hurt.
Clearly, my inability to see anything whatsoever was causing my migraines, and the doctor was all, "Here are contacts," and then I got better!
So this recent bout of migraines naturally spurred me on over to the eye doctor, who prescribed me new contacts, different contacts. I now have a different prescription for each eye, because one of my eyes is kind of stupid.
At the doctor's office, my eyeballs were poked and measured and made to do all kinds of tests that they hadn't studied for. You know those charts they show you at the eye doctors office? The ones with all the little letters? Those charts always make me feel like failure.
I always feel really bad for my eyeballs after I take those tests. It's not their fault that they suck. Some things just can't be explained, like magic and long division.
So the nurse was all, "Do you want your eyes dilated, or do you want to come back later?" and I was all,"DILATE ME UP" cause I wasn't going to come back to the dumb doctor just to get my dumb eyes dumb dilated dumb.
As we were leaving the office, I suddenly found it difficult to, like, see. Also, my eyes looked like aliens and they were basically sucking all the light in the world into themselves so that I was like, "WHAT THE HECK MIGRAINES HURT AND THIS HURTS AS WELL."
And then my mom was like, "Let's go to Costco! We need to get your prescription!" and, um, it's Costco. So of course I was practically wetting my pants with excitement.
As we entered Costco, I traipsed happily over to the glasses section and got super excited about getting my first pair of glasses ever. The guy behind the counter pointed me to the women's glasses section, and then I encountered a problem, being that I couldn't freaking see anything. So there I was, the glasses guy staring at me and trying to be helpful and ready to offer suggestions or tell me how awesome I looked in my glasses and I just stood there, unable to tell which blurry smudge I should put on my face but too embarrassed to admit it, pretending like I was just extremely picky. Then I yanked a pair off the stand and put them on, because asking for help was just out of the question, of course.
Fortunately my mom saved me from buying the ugliest glasses in existence. I still don't know what my new glasses will look like. I hope they're made of bacon.
Wait. No I hope they aren't, because then I will eat them and be blind again.
After ordering my glasses, my mom and I walked around taking in the wonder and glamor that is Costco. Every now and then she would see something apparently amazing on one of the many t.v.'s and say, "WHOA Megan isn't that cool?" and I would be sadface because I couldn't see.
The dilation of my eyes was such that anything too close or too far away was a blurry mess, but there was a perfect point in my line of vision that enabled me to get a clear shot of an object. Because of this, I was able to see a shiny stack of CDs and simply could not help myself and was all, "OMGOMGOMGOMG SUSAN BOYLE OMGHERNEWCHRISTMASCD!!" which is funny because I don't own a single Susan Boyle CD but for some reason it was of tantamount importance that I stop walking and spend ten minutes trying to read the back of the disc case.
Of course, my mom had moved on by then, not noticing I wasn't with her, and I got lost. It was at this point that my bladder was like. "HI. I exist and I have needs." and I really really needed to find a restroom except that I couldn't read a freaking thing.
Is that a sign on the wall? Does it say restrooms? Or is it a picture? Or perhaps a decorative neon light? Or maybe it's absolutely nothing. (It was absolutely nothing.)
I wandered around Costco, pretending like I was a totally capable human being. Oh look! A thing! A thing that I need to buy because I'm adult and not in any way physically compromised right now! I want this...um...vaccume cleaner pipe. Yeahhh...
Finally my mom found me and I asked her to tell me where the bathroom was and she sighed like I was five and pointed across the store and then walked toward what I can only assume was the entrance of Costco because after that I was pretty much alone. I directed myself toward the bathroom and found it out of sheer luck. However, to one side was a sign and to another was another sign. I was fairly certain one said "men" and the other "women" but I couldn't tell. My brow became quizzical. I squinted and sighed and twined my hands in my hair nervously and eventually I chose the door that bore (what I thought) was the longer wording.
Apparently I chose correctly, because there were no urinals. Although it's possible that there were urinals and I just thought they were sinks. And that the men in the restroom were too shocked by my appearance to say anything. Either that, or they felt pity for me, because I'm positive I looked fairly pathetic.
And then everything was okay and I got a magical unicorn and rode off into the sunset.
(You can tell that I got tired of writing this because that is not at all what happened. The end.)
I do not know who Humphrey is. In my imagination, there is a Humphrey, apparently.
Anyway, the last time I had a bout of these headaches, it was because my eyes suck and they can't see anything and so they wanted me dead and told my brain to hurt.
So this recent bout of migraines naturally spurred me on over to the eye doctor, who prescribed me new contacts, different contacts. I now have a different prescription for each eye, because one of my eyes is kind of stupid.
So the nurse was all, "Do you want your eyes dilated, or do you want to come back later?" and I was all,"DILATE ME UP" cause I wasn't going to come back to the dumb doctor just to get my dumb eyes dumb dilated dumb.
As we were leaving the office, I suddenly found it difficult to, like, see. Also, my eyes looked like aliens and they were basically sucking all the light in the world into themselves so that I was like, "WHAT THE HECK MIGRAINES HURT AND THIS HURTS AS WELL."
And then my mom was like, "Let's go to Costco! We need to get your prescription!" and, um, it's Costco. So of course I was practically wetting my pants with excitement.
As we entered Costco, I traipsed happily over to the glasses section and got super excited about getting my first pair of glasses ever. The guy behind the counter pointed me to the women's glasses section, and then I encountered a problem, being that I couldn't freaking see anything. So there I was, the glasses guy staring at me and trying to be helpful and ready to offer suggestions or tell me how awesome I looked in my glasses and I just stood there, unable to tell which blurry smudge I should put on my face but too embarrassed to admit it, pretending like I was just extremely picky. Then I yanked a pair off the stand and put them on, because asking for help was just out of the question, of course.
Fortunately my mom saved me from buying the ugliest glasses in existence. I still don't know what my new glasses will look like. I hope they're made of bacon.
Wait. No I hope they aren't, because then I will eat them and be blind again.
After ordering my glasses, my mom and I walked around taking in the wonder and glamor that is Costco. Every now and then she would see something apparently amazing on one of the many t.v.'s and say, "WHOA Megan isn't that cool?" and I would be sadface because I couldn't see.
The dilation of my eyes was such that anything too close or too far away was a blurry mess, but there was a perfect point in my line of vision that enabled me to get a clear shot of an object. Because of this, I was able to see a shiny stack of CDs and simply could not help myself and was all, "OMGOMGOMGOMG SUSAN BOYLE OMGHERNEWCHRISTMASCD!!" which is funny because I don't own a single Susan Boyle CD but for some reason it was of tantamount importance that I stop walking and spend ten minutes trying to read the back of the disc case.
Of course, my mom had moved on by then, not noticing I wasn't with her, and I got lost. It was at this point that my bladder was like. "HI. I exist and I have needs." and I really really needed to find a restroom except that I couldn't read a freaking thing.
Is that a sign on the wall? Does it say restrooms? Or is it a picture? Or perhaps a decorative neon light? Or maybe it's absolutely nothing. (It was absolutely nothing.)
I wandered around Costco, pretending like I was a totally capable human being. Oh look! A thing! A thing that I need to buy because I'm adult and not in any way physically compromised right now! I want this...um...vaccume cleaner pipe. Yeahhh...
Finally my mom found me and I asked her to tell me where the bathroom was and she sighed like I was five and pointed across the store and then walked toward what I can only assume was the entrance of Costco because after that I was pretty much alone. I directed myself toward the bathroom and found it out of sheer luck. However, to one side was a sign and to another was another sign. I was fairly certain one said "men" and the other "women" but I couldn't tell. My brow became quizzical. I squinted and sighed and twined my hands in my hair nervously and eventually I chose the door that bore (what I thought) was the longer wording.
Apparently I chose correctly, because there were no urinals. Although it's possible that there were urinals and I just thought they were sinks. And that the men in the restroom were too shocked by my appearance to say anything. Either that, or they felt pity for me, because I'm positive I looked fairly pathetic.
And then everything was okay and I got a magical unicorn and rode off into the sunset.
(You can tell that I got tired of writing this because that is not at all what happened. The end.)
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