Nonsense

The Friday Five and A BIG THANK YOU.

Here are my five favorite posts from this week, and a BIG, HUGE, GIANT, MONSTER thank you to the 1000+ people who follow this blog!

Falling From Grace:  Admit it, you know when to break up with your best friend.

Grace is an awesome twenty-something writer that really captures the feelings and emotions of that decade.  This post illustrates that friendships, like relationships, are also temporary, and lets you know when it might be time to move on.

Candy Coated Cyanide: I’m not for the Bible, but I’m not exactly against it either. 

I tend to stray away from religious posts, but this one really grabbed my attention.  I don’t think of myself as a feminist, but the way this was written really made me question, in a good way, a lot of what I had learned in the past about religion and the bible, and that’s always a good thing!

Ah, The Country Life:  Don’t Question the Questionnaire

This post cracked me up and reminded me of a blog I wrote about all the lies I tell on a day to day basis.  The doctor’s office is already an extremely stressful room, but adding a redundant yearly questionnaire that constantly goes ignored is be enough to ruin anyone’s day.

Chaos + Words: Motherhood: Leave It Be

Ashley is an extremely talented writer (and fellow Tipsy member), and in this post, she showcases her ability to eloquently write about the controversial topic of motherhood.  Women are constantly asked when they are getting to that ‘next step’ in life, whether it be engagement, marriage, or kids, and she objectively argues for those who don’t see the necessity of taking that next step.

Red, White & Bitchy: Warning Shots

These girls are hilarious, first and foremost, but this post on body image really got my attention.  Taking a break from their normally sarcastic and humorous posts, they dive deeper into a girl’s need to be thinner and what she loses in the process.

Bonus: Half and Half: Had A Crappy Week?  Here’s How To Feel Better

A little self promotion never hurt nobody right?  This is one of my favorite posts — and since it’s Friday, maybe you can utilize some of my brain tools to help you feel better about slaving away from 9-5 or however long you work.

***

And as if reading all these wonderful posts wasn’t enough to make my week, I found out on Tuesday that I crossed the bridge to over 1,000 followers!

THANK YOU.

THANK YOU.

Thank you so much to all of you for your support, comments, feedback, and likes.

I am so grateful that you all read what I have to say, comment on it, and enjoy it.  It makes this whole thing so much more fun!

I owe all of you seventeen virtual wine bottles, a tray of imaginary snacks, and forty stickers.  I just need all your addresses, a week alone, and a lot of prepaid envelopes.

Now, excuse me, I have a bottle of wine with my name on it ready to celebrate.  Cheers to all you beautiful people, and here’s to the next one thousand!

(I hope.)

xoxo, Meg

In the spirit of thank yous, submit your favorite post (by you or someone else) from this week it in a comment and I’ll feature my top five next Friday!

I Gave All My Friends Breast Implants At My Thirteenth Birthday Party.

You know the saying, “patience is a virtue?”  Well, when I was thirteen there was no capacity left in me to endure my flat chested, baby body, and I decided it was time I got boobs. 

Now, before you all break out your early millenium spiral corded landlines and dial the DCF hotline to file a ten-years-too-late complaint on my mother, just know that any time you put a bunch of thirteen year old girls around things that resemble boobs, they’re all going to jump at the chance to enhance.

Case and point: At my thirteenth birthday party there were water balloons present.  We were all in bathing suits and there was not much going on up top, if you know what I mean. One thing led to another, and all of the sudden there were ten pre-teen girls resembling wet dog versions of Pamela Anderson running around my front yard.

Waterboobloons.

Waterboobloons.

I was thirteen years old, and I couldn’t wait to be sixteen.  To get my license, responsibility, and the sacred freedom from my parents to stay out later than 9pm.

When I was sixteen, I couldn’t wait to be eighteen.  To be legal and able to buy cigarettes and porn, and pretend I knew about politics.  (Aside: I did not buy porn, I wouldn’t even know where to begin in the purchasing process, but the thought seemed scandalous) 

When I was eighteen I couldn’t wait to be twenty-one, to have my first (legal) sip of alcohol, to walk into a liquor store with my real ID and not be scared of getting arrested for poorly impersonating my sorority sister from Virginia.

When I was twenty-one, I couldn’t wait to be twenty-five.  To.. well, nevermind, I didn’t think anything fun happened after twenty-one, but I just wanted to be grown up and out of college.

Looking back, there are so many instances in life where I couldn’t wait for the future.  I had plans, visions, and aspirations for my next milestone.  Sure, it’s exciting to think about the car you want to drive when you get your license, or the way you want to celebrate your twenty-first birthday.  But in reality, we spend so much time wishing for the future, that we never really enjoy the present.

If there is one thing we can take away from childhood photographs, it is to remember to take each day as it is.  If you’re twenty-five waiting for thirty, you’ll miss out on all the opportunities and advantages your twenties have to offer.

Don’t be that thirteen year old girl wishing she was sixteen, then eighteen, then twenty-one. You’ll regret caring so much about your appearance, wasting time, your allowance, and your sanity on clothes that are too expensive and won’t fit in a year.

You’ll eventually get boobs and own as many bras as your little heart desires.  You’ll get that womanly shape you see on television, and you’ll critique it just like you do to the women in the magazines.

Don’t wish for things you don’t have.  I promise you the girl who actually got boobs in fifth grade cursed her mother’s mammary glands until all her friends caught up to her three years later.

Remember that life is a gift.  Cherish it.  Revel in it.

Next thing you know you’re twenty-five and are looking at pictures of yourself when you were thirteen wondering why you took growing up so seriously.

And you also hate your boobs. 

The Friday Five: My Favorite Posts of the Week

Each week, I’ll be listing off my favorites from all the wonderful blogs I follow.  I mean, if I love you, why shouldn’t the rest of the world?  So, without further adieu, here are the posts that really got my attention this week!

Friday Favorites

Friday Favorites

Pinstripes and Lipgloss:  How To Handle Being the “Other Woman” In Your Boyfriend’s Bromance

Taylor of P&L (just created that little abbreev right there, sorry Taylor!) writes a great post about dealing with your boyfriends’ bromancing ways, and how to keep a great balance between relationships and friendships.

Something on being a twenty-something:  Disregarding the notion of virginity

This post wonderfully explores the idea of virginity, and how ‘losing it’ doesn’t always have to be significant.

Routine Dreamer:  How Technology Ruins Social Interaction.

Loved this post on technology and how it has seriously influenced how people, for lack of a better word, communicate with each other in today’s social world.  Great read that really makes you think about how addicted you are to your phone, and how easy it is to hide behind a computer screen!

Tipsy Lit:  The Whisper Game

Nicole writes an extremely relatable post for anyone who has worked in the service industry on dealing with customers who value their time above, well, everyone elses.

Life As Jamie Writes It: Why girls love Instagram

I didn’t think people needed to know why girls love Instagram.  But they do. They really do. And Jamie does a great job at explaining it to the people who just don’t get it.

BONUS: Five Reasons with Meg Lago

Well, didn’t think I was going to do this little post without doing a little shameless self-promotion?  Oh, you did?  Well, sorry I’m not sorry.  Read this little post I wrote as my alcoholic nerd alter-ego over at Tipsy Lit.

Do you have a favorite post from this week?  Submit it in a comment and maybe I’ll feature it next Friday!

Mascot’s Most Eligible Bachelors: Cap’n Crunch

Snow White got her Prince Charming.  Don’t these down to earth dudes deserve a shot at love?

Each week, I’ll be profiling some of the world’s most suitable men.  You’ll get the good, the bad, and the ugly on why these guys haven’t been able to hold down a steady girlfriend.

Introducing: Mascot’s Most Eligible Bachelors.

Nautical Headshot!

Nautical Headshot!

Name: Horatio Magellan Crunch, AKA: Cap’n Crunch

Born: 1963, Crunch Island, Sea of Milk; owns lavish beachfront vacation home at Mount Crunchmore

Height: Unknown

Occupation: Captain of the S.S. Guppy

Known Enemies: Jean LaFoote

Hobbies: Sailing the open seas

About the Cap’n: Horatio is not your average guy, in fact, he’s pretty darn unique.  While most men hold a typical 9-5 job in order to pay the bills, he fantasizes about exploring new lands and setting sail to tropical destinations.

He is on currently the quest to find his first mate.  And would love an able bodied seawoman who does not abandon ship due to seasickness, as they will be living aboard the S.S. Guppy while they traverse the globe in search of new ingredients for their cereal.

On his quest for love, Horatio has run into several women who just couldn’t hold his interests.  He’s ready for love, and wants to find the anchor to his boat and the wind to his sails.

A perfect date includes a tour of the S.S. Guppy, sailing into the sunset and bonding over a bowl of cereal in the Crow’s Nest. As far as dates go, he’s not too hard to please.  He’s willing to dote on his partner and has been known to fly his significant other to his vacation home on Mt. Crunchmore.

The downfall is that he will need a woman who is either committed to waiting for him to return home, or a born sea detective, as he has been lost at sea for twenty-years.

 

This Is Why My Face Is Messed Up.

Oh wow, she’s cute!

Well, it’s messed up because of genetics and my inability to correctly apply make up.  But that’s neither here nor there.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane…

I’ll be the first person to admit that I am not fond of someone telling me what to do.

But being a twenty-five year old with extensive nanny experience, I realize that the rules and regulations established for us as children were meant to keep us safe.  But that never stopped me from giving the stop sign the middle finger as I rolled through it, or being disruptive to the point where I was actually kicked out of girl scouts.

Growing up with three younger brothers, I never really had a chance to become a girly-girl.  I was always playing in the mud, getting shot at with paintball guns, and learning the names of all the baseball players on the New York Yankees.

My brothers taught me to be tough, stubborn, and rebellious above anything else.

I’m not going to say I’m a criminal, but I have taken a few creative liberties when it comes to following the law.

Here’s a few that I’ve broken:

The Laws of the Road: I’ve gotten more than my fair share of tickets.

The Unwritten Law of Digestion: I don’t wait 30 minutes to swim.

The Drinking Age Law: I had wine at my first communion, broke that law in a church.  Does that count as two?

But these are all trivial compared to the time that I broke The First Law of Motion.

Sir Isaac Newton states that an object will stay in motion until acted upon by an outside force – basically if you’re moving, you’ll keep moving until something stops you, like a wall, or in my case, a big ass tree.

Let me set the scene for a minute.

My mom is a crazy runner, like six miles every other day.  My brother had just gotten this spiffy new Huffy bike with grippy handlebars and a comfy seat.  Like, way better than mine.  She asked me to accompany her on her run and I said yes.

Naturally, I took his bike instead of mine (so I guess I’ve stolen too?) and embarked on what was supposed to be a six mile adventure with my mom.

Enter the law of motion.

I ride out of the driveway and turn to go down the hill.  I knew in my head that I could roll down the hill faster than my mom’s two, tiny, Irish feet could carry her, so I told her that I’d meet her by the pond at the end of the road.  I wanted to feel the wind in my hair and the breeze on my face without interruption.

I was riding at a leisurely pace when all the sudden the force that interrupted my inertia joyride came out of nowhere… and then I broke my face.

Yup, stay in school kids.  Pay attention to science, or your teachers, or whoever tells you something and says it’s important.  If you don’t, you’ll ultimately end up breaking laws, and breaking laws causes you to crash your bike into a tree and end up looking like this:

Is that a bruise or are you just happy to see me?

Result: 6 broken bones in the face, two in the arm, and a popped blood vessel in my left eye.

Side note: Having a black eye, a broken face, and arm sling swag in my third grade school photo did give me some serious street cred.

But it also could have been because I told people I got into a fight over a Twix and they needed to “see what happened to the other guy.”

 

https://thehalfandhalfblog.com/press/

ATTENTION: Here’s What The Tabloids Are Saying

newspaper-clipart-2

No press is bad press, right?

I’ve been doing some research and on most famous websites, they have a tab appropriately titled, “Press” where a visitor will click to see what the media has said about their work.

I didn’t want to be left out of the loop, so I reached out to a few of my besties asking for comments and statements about my writing so I can fill out my Press tab, and ultimately skyrocket myself to stardom.

If you’re wondering if any of these statements were fabricated, the answer is: How dare you doubt my connections with Justin Timberlake and Chuck Norris! No, they are not made up.

Oprah really dubbed me the next Plato, and NSync really did write that song about me.

I’m sorry to all those teenage girls who thought they were special and assumed it was written about them; you weren’t and Lance Bass is still gay.

If you’d be so inclined, hop on over to my brand, spankin’, new Press tab, and let me know what you think!  

… please click that link…

SIDENOTE: If anyone would like me to drum up a quote for a personal Press tab on their blog, please let me know, I am more than willing to give glowing, over-embellished reviews, statements, and comments, especially if I can include profanity and my affinity for BBQ sauce. 

 

If you were to write a press release about your blog, what would people say?

It Has Come To My Attention That I Am Deformed.

doctor-holding-prescription

Thanks, Dr. Obvious.

I didn’t know if I should speak out on my personal struggle with this particular malformation, but after reading this post on a similar subject, I felt it was my civic duty to enlighten the interwebs and at the same time, acknowledge my condition, so in case I become rich and famous, TMZ and E! News will not be able to use it against me.

It is also high time I take my responsibility as a newfound adult seriously and admit that I am not perfect.

In fact, I am deformed.

A month or so ago, my boyfriend was visiting, and it since was under sixty degrees outside we were able to hold hands whilst traversing around the city.

Sidenote: This may or may not be another unknown medical condition I need to research, because if the weather is above sixty-eight degrees, my hands sweat uncontrollably and I can’t lock fingers with anyone or anything.  I used to nanny and when I would walk anywhere with the kids, I had to assist them through the crosswalks by grabbing the collars of their t-shirts like dogs in order to avoid an unwanted sweaty palm debacle. 

But anyways, I’ll look into that another time, back to the part where the air was the perfect amount of crisp so I could link phalanges without fear of being dumped due to aggressive hand perspiration.

He picks up my hand, examines it, and then says something that smacks me in the face (metaphorically) with a big, fat dose of deformed reality.

“You have toe fingers.”

It was at that moment I realized I did not have hands fit for a ring model, rather my mitts looked like I should be wearing socks instead of gloves.  I was horrified.

Exhibit A.

Exhibit A.

After he pointed out my enlarged nail beds and all encompassing fake fingers, I refused to give high fives. I didn’t want to shake any more hands.  It was embarrassing.  I was messed up.

Moments, maybe hours went by feeling singled out, but a side-by-side comparison of my thumb and my big toe revealed that his accusations were not in vain, they were actually true.

Thumb or Big Toe?

Twins?

Then I realized how inexplicably good I was at handstands when I was a kid and it was probably a direct result of the Meg Lago toe finger epidemic.

I also conveniently remembered how committed I was to the Toe Sock trend in the early 2000’s, which makes sense now since they are essentially gloves for your feet.  I was a foot game pioneer at an early age, and no one sought to hire me for various endorsements.

Honestly, toe socks would probably still be cool if Nike or Adidas had called me when I was thirteen for a sponsorship.  Let that just sink in for a second.

I just want the world to know that Toe Fingers exist, and if you have them, announce yourself to the world like me.  We can start a support group, talk about all the things we wish we could do if we were only born normal.

We can wear gloves on our feet and socks on our hands, parading about like we own the world slapping soccer balls into goals and making foot fives the new craze on the streets.

Somebody get me some toe gloves and hand socks, PRONTO.

Somebody get some toe gloves and hand socks, PRONTO.

I guess diversity is what makes the world turn.  We all have differences, and mine just happen to be the sheer fact that I have feet hands and I’m not afraid to show it.

A Loose Interpretation of To Kill A Mockingbird

“You can choose your friends but you sho’ can’t choose your family.” – Harper Lee

The theme of family is consistent throughout To Kill A Mockingbird.  With juxtaposing character views on the subject, the reader can choose to side with Atticus Finch, where you accept your family and the blessings or curses, if you will, that come with them; or choose to side with Aunt Alexandra, who believes in kicking out the unworthy and preserving what is “good” within the bloodline.

If we’re talking about picking sides, I’m going to saddle up with Atticus on this one. I love my family and all the weird they bring into my life.  My parents are two of the most selfless human beings to ever walk this earth, constantly making sure my brothers and I had everything we needed growing up.  My three younger brothers taught me self defense; like physically shielding my face from flying objects, thwarting slaps from all directions, and building general mental walls so I don’t get hurt in other ways (ie, boys who are not related to me).

self-timer status

On the contrary, I want to play a little Devil’s Advocate here.  As mentioned above, I LOVE my family.  Wouldn’t change a thing. But like, what if I could?  What if I could pick three new brothers, a new mother, and a new father?

The thought tickled my pop culture nerve.  Suddenly, I had a fake family to create, and it was going to be the best fake family in the whole internet world.

It took extensive research, hours on the couch, and about four bottles of wine to come up with my replacement family, and our motto: If it aint broke, it will be soon.

Without further adieu, these are the people I want to (hypothetically) replace my current family members:

Phil Dunphy

Phil Dunphy is my new dad because who doesn’t want an overgrown child as a guardian and protector?  There’s a 90% chance he’d agree to replacing the stairs with a slide.

  Lucille Bluth is the kind of mother that makes you wish you were an orphan.  But this is my internet family, and she is the most absurd matriarch on the silver screen, and I absolutely need  her.

Kevin McCallister is my new youngest brother. Booby trap city, all day, errrry day.  I think we could do a lot of damage together.  I also wouldn’t mind taking limos to work, the grocery store, or everywhere in general.

  Seth Cohen needs to be my brother so we can wear ugly Christmas sweaters and I can attend his barmitzvah.  Those parties are always OFF THE CHAIN.  Goody bags were 12’s out of 10. Always. Plus, he’ll bring the one shred of humility to my internet family.

Adam DeMamp

Adam DeMamp from Workaholics needs to be my third brother for the sole reason that I am not the dumbest one in my family.  My work ethic will make me look like Bill Gates in comparison to him.

Yup, I can see it now…

Summer nights with mom :)

Summer nights with mom 🙂

College graduation!

College graduation!

Seasons Greetings!

Editor’s Note:  I may need to take a look at the people I am choosing to surround myself with. My fake family may self-destruct thirty seconds after assembly.

Hypothetically speaking, if you could recreate your family with Hollywood’s mecca of characters, who would you pick?

I’m Obsessed With SkyMall And I Don’t Care Who Knows It

Some people hate flying.  I happen to love it.

And it’s not because you can get drunk above sea level.  It’s not because I’m anticipating landing at my destination.  It’s definitely not because of that one time the inflight radio played Hilary Duff’s Metamorphosis on repeat for six hours while I traveled to California from New York.

I love flying because I simply cannot wait to sit down, pull open the seat back pocket and unveil the latest issue of SkyMall.

There have been heated debates as to which magazine is the best in all the land.  And personally, I don’t even think it’s a close race.

Sure, People has celebrity gossip, and fashion advice from the professionals.

Cosmopolitan has those weird sex positions that make you want to renounce citizenship and become celibate before ever letting your partner near you while only wearing a chef hat and wielding a spatula.

But SkyMall has everything you didn’t know you needed all inside an 87  page magazine.  

1

For when plugs simply just don’t cut it.

Have you ever been washing your hands and thought about how your phone was about to die?  SkyMall has the answer.  Aside from the fact that your phone probably isn’t waterproof, and this may be a pretty risky purchase, you can rest assured that you will be the only one of your friends that can simultaneously dry their hands and charge their iPad.

 

1

The new-age scarecrow.

Put all those history buffs in their place with this Jurassic-sized velociraptor statue.  Fossil buffs and Pangea enthusiasts can spruce up their garden with this carnivorous lizard that will surely keep those pesky deer from eating your plants when you’re away.

Actually, it should be noted that the entire outdoor patio section is a MUST SEE.  But keep your wallets locked up, or else you’ll end up spending money on an 8-foot-tall giant silverback gorilla statue and a BigFoot garden yeti sculpture to match your dinosaur collection.

I’m not even joking when I tell you the best present I’ve ever received was from SkyMall.  I’d like to take this time to thank my aunt for purchasing me a glorious white noise machine that soothes my soul and puts me to sleep like a straight up boulder every night.  I would be a thousand times more grumpy than I already am without it.

Not to mention, SkyMall is just adding fuel to my obsessive fire because they follow me on twitter.  I’m not sure if it’s because they’re rewarding my supportive nature, or they’re just genuinely scared that I may off myself if I don’t get some sort of social recognition for my commitment to a travel magazine.

Hey, SkyMall, if you’re looking for models for your products, or need a potentially over enthusiastic person to write really amazing product descriptions, inquire within.  I can absolutely help you out. 

2

#BornForThis

Who did it better? (Don’t answer that.)

1

Amateur.