VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED: It’s the VMA’s and I have access to social media, a large bottle of wine and no filter.

Award show season! Thank you for giving me the momentous ~~excuse~~ opportunity to pollute the twittersphere and subsequently the rest of the social media universe with all of my thoughts and feelings on the MTV VMA’s.

Join me, won’t you? It’s time to watch award shows and let social media know what you really think about Katy Perry’s hair, if Lady Gaga is actually wearing a dress or just walking around in a cowhide, and whether or not Justin Beiber and Selena Gomez are really dating… wait, are they? I can’t keep up.

It’s the VMAs, and we should talk shit about celebrities without consequences while we still can. I think in the future they may be able to virtually punch us in the face, and I will probably have a long list of people waiting in line. I see you Kristen Stewart.

Follow me on Twitter to see the full rant rundown.

I’ll be here all night, unfortunately.

Drink a bottle of your favorite, cheapest wine, and take a seat right in front of your television AND computer and hop on the train to funtown. We’re gonna tweet up a storm, and you’re going to need a raincoat. Or an umbrella. Or some galoshes. Or just a roof.

LIVE TWEET:

Follow @meg_lago

Tweets by @meg_lago

It’s Time For A MAKEOVER!

What? Something’s weird.

So by now, you may have realized things look a little different around here. But it’s just like when you lose weight. It’s the same body, just a new look.

I realized when I first started this blog back in December, I was very hasty — much like with everything else I do — and didn’t think everything through before making decisions about the site. So now, I have to correct those mistakes.

After spending some time writing this, being introduced to communities, and learning what successful blogs look like, I realized I needed to make some changes. I needed a new name, one that reflected the theme of my blog, and that’s something I didn’t have with Twenty-Four Problems.

There are a slew of twenty-something blogs out there, and they pretty much kill it. While I do fit into that age range, I want to distinguish myself from them, and to do that I have changed the name of my blog to something I feel is way more fitting, unique, and applicable to the stuff I actually write about.

So, without further adieu, welcome to Half Wit, Half Wisdom, or in other words, Half and Half.

I hope that the name change doesn’t send you into a metaphorical tailspin. I hope you will all still be my friend. I am looking forward to the future with this name, and truly feel I can grow as a writer in this community far better with this, and hope you all join me on the road to… wherever I go.

The new URL will be: thehalfandhalfblog.com – save it, like a lifeguard.

you can tell by the header, this is going to be a serious change.

It’s Friday… CHILL OUT.

It’s Friday. Here’s a list of all the things you can do tonight to unwind from that bitch of a work week.

Drink a ~~glass~~ bottle of wine
Go on a Netflix binge
Read an entire book
Take a long nap that actually ends up being an entire night’s sleep so you wake up at 6am on Saturday
Reorganize your closet
Watch Dateline NBC so you can fall asleep until tomorrow
Have a dance party in your apartment
Have a dance party at a bar
Have a dance party in the street
Put a $20 bill in a random pair of pants so when you go to wash them in three months you’ll get a present from yourself
Do your laundry
Eat your weight in Chinese food
Take a pregnancy test (this is only a good idea if you know there’s not a chance in hell you can be pregnant, otherwise this will just ADD to the stress)
Play the games on the back of a cereal box
Talk to another human being – scientists have done studies proving that talking about your problems sometimes results in relief of stress
Go for a run… not really though.
Drink another bottle of wine
Talk to a stranger(make sure he/she’s harmless first)
Try to adopt telekinesis with your television remote
Organize your closet by color
Drink a margarita
Drink a martini
Drink a vodka soda
Drink anything in your apartment
Stretch
Q-Tip your ears
Talk about your feelings on social media
Take your temperature
Paint your nails
Count the rats outside your apartment window (just me?)
Make a list of all the things you hate then light your gas stovetop and burn it responsibly
Make a fortune teller like you did when you were in third grade and have only good fortunes on it
Play MASH with all the hotties in your life
Think of a new way to insult someone
Don’t listen to any of these suggestions because they’re coming from a girl who was blacklisted by Chipotle and has already eaten her weight in Chinese food before 4pm

It’s Safe To Say Chipotle Blacklisted Me

There comes a time in every girl’s life where she has to stand up for what she believes in. It may not be the most popular opinion. It may not win her any awards. But in desperate times you need some desperate measures.

In a nutshell, I’m at war with Chipotle.

My mother was not amused or supportive of my endeavors.

Let me start off by saying this war is 50% my fault. I’m not one to avoid taking responsibility for my actions. I’m also not the type of person to take all the blame for something either.

Back in February, Chipotle ran a haiku contest where entrants were asked to create a, you guessed it, haiku demonstrating their love of all things Chipotle burritos. So naturally, being creatively inclined in the writing department, I decided to take this chance and show the burrito conglomerate what my cerebral cortex really thinks about all the time: snacks.

The prize was two free burritos, chips and guac and a fountain soda of my choosing. JACKPOT.

Cut to the part that is my fault. Much like my entire academic career, I didn’t read the directions. I was so excited, so hopped up on burrito fueled creativity, I completely blanked on when the contest actually started and ended.

The letter of good intentions.

I created the most perfectly crafted haiku that I personally thought would be foolish to ignore as the clear winner, even though I didn’t see, read or care about any other haikus in the contest. I just knew mine was the best.

I went on a social media blitz. I asked my entire family to vote for me. I was dedicated. The only problem was I completely missed the deadline. The contest I so desperately wanted to win had ended three days prior to my attack. I was devastated, heartbroken, and downtrodden.

So I did the only rational thing any human being obsessed with winning a free burrito would do. I wrote Chipotle a letter.

(see above)

To me, that is a very strongly worded letter. Lots of feelings are involved. I was fully aware that I may be certifiably insane and could be put on Chipotle’s “No Fly” list – do they even have one? Probably.

But I was willing to put my mental state on display to show them how much I love them. Because when I’m committed to something, I am all in, and I wasn’t about to let a big, bad burrito company get the best of me.

NOT TODAY. Not ever.

So, finally Chipotle Joe responds to me. He asks for my mailing address to send me something. I have no idea what it is. I’m just filled with glee.

In my head, I’m thinking they’re sending an inflatable burrito toy, a “Lifetime Member” pin for my sweaters, maybe even a thousand coupons and free burritos for life.

The possibilities were endless.

Then a week went by, two weeks, and still nothing in the mail. So, maybe it got lost, so I sent Chipotle Joe another message. You know, just to check on the status of things. He responded, promptly.

(see below)

Chipotle Joe is on my shit list.

But now were almost two months in, and I still have yet to receive anything.

I’m wondering what I did to deserve this kind of treatment.

Don’t you always reward the best players on the team with the MVP trophy? Don’t you always give the promotion to the person who deserves it most? Don’t you care at all about people who love burritos?

My conclusion is that Chipotle does not care. And I may be asking a lot, but I’m asking all of you to boycott them.

Or just be on my side with this one. I know I may sound a little off the sane wagon, and by a little, I mean I’m fully aware that I’ve probably been blacklisted by Chipotle.

But I just need to feel validated. I need to know that what I’ve done cannot be ignored and I deserve my Lifetime Member pin!

What do you think? Am I really crazy? Or is Chipotle wrong? (Think before you answer, or you may be receiving one of these letters, and no one wants that.)

What’s Up With That Wednesday

FEATURING: A British Chick Commenting on Americans

Sophie from British Chick Across the Pond so wonderfully volunteered to guest post for me!

As my weekly rant addressing all the weird things people do without reason, I thought it would be a great opportunity to have a recently transplanted British person comment on all the, “What’s up with that?!” nuances of American life.

Please check out her blog, and follow her cause she’s hilarious and makes me want an accent.

Without further adieu…

Life Across the Pond

One question people usually ask me when they learn I’m not from here is, “What is the thing you miss the most?” (Closely followed by… “Have you met the queen?”)

Well, if you take out the obvious of friends and family, my initial answer would be “Bakewell tarts” – a type of pastry filled with fake cherry stuff and topped with some kind of fondant (and a cherry of course).

This is closely followed by, “and yes but the queen and I stopped hanging out since the incident so I don’t like to talk about it.”

After being here 4 months – and having had a care package filled with tarts- my answer would need a bit more consideration. Now I think it’s more about things I didn’t realise I would miss… Things that are almost the same but totally different at the same time.

To figure out what I miss the most I need to think about what things have taken me by surprise or been difficult to adjust to. My blog is all about the alien encounters since moving here but for now I’ll go with my top 3:

Driving:

I’ve blogged about my fears of driving before but since then I’ve actually done it.

Personally I’ve found that driving on the right side of the road (or the wrong side as far as I’m concerned) is doable.

But throw in all this right on red – unless there’s-a-red-arrow-and-even-then-that-doesn’t-mean-don’t-go-unless-there’s-a-sign-and-sometimes-there-is-and-sometimes-there-isn’t-but-even-then-it-depends-on-the-state- crap… Well it’s bloody confusing!

My son knows more than I do.

Not to mention the fact that a green light doesn’t actually mean, “Go! Be free… Drive forward confidently!” because depending on the layout the chances are it actually means yield but you won’t know that until you get beeped at for being hesitant or rammed head on for going without checking every possible direction.

Now I’ve learned what is and isn’t allowed at each set of lights between home and daycare but the thought of driving anywhere else makes me want to curl up and hide.

I miss the ease and confidence of driving, I miss roundabouts, streams of traffic where the majority know what indicators (blinkers) are for regardless of whether they use them and traffic lights in a 30mph zone rather than stopping dead from 55.

My brakes -and my nerves- are shot.

Words & Accents

Now… I say a lot of weird things in the company of friends but never have I experienced as many confused/blank faces after saying a simple sentence than I have since being here.

An American vs. Brit reading this label = fun for all

I get that we use different words for the same things and that even then we pronounce the same words differently, but the idea of starting a conversation with anyone who isn’t used to “my accent” fills me with dread.

The cashier asks me how my day is or if I found everything I was looking for and I’ll reply… But then it’s over because she’s trying to translate whatever my response was into something she can make sense of and there just isn’t enough time to wait for it to sink in before the card throws out my receipt and the person behind starts unloading.

Having my ID checked at the base gate the guard always says something along the lines of, “Hi, how are you?” And every time I reply with, “Fine thanks… You?”

… And then silence because he thinks I’ve cut him off with a, “Fine, thank you”.

Not only is every pleasantry met with “the look” but I’m always the one to accidentally finish it by opening my mouth so these people probably think I’m rude too.

Money:

When you go on holiday, money usually feels like monopoly money – for me anyway. It holds little ACTUAL monetary value in my mind and gets thrown around without much thought…but this ISN’T a holiday.

: Where is it actually $1?!

I still think of items as they’re UK conversion and think, “yeah that’s about the same,” but when you get paid in dollars and a pack of chicken nuggets sets you back more than 8 of them…well it’s gonna be bread and water for dinner tonight buddy.

I mean who doesn’t feel like they’re flashing the cash when they’re carrying a whole handful of bills…but then you remember the ones you have are worth ONE dollar. This is all well and good if you’re shopping in the dollar store…but even then they add tax at the end.

If I go in to a place where everything is one dollar I expect to come out with 7 items for 7 dollars… but it doesn’t work that way…and it gets me every time. Then you have the coins… the dime and nickel thing is guesswork for me; a nickel is bigger than a dime… 25c is called a quarter… one cent is called a penny… so why aren’t they all pennies?

I would rather break a $20 to pay for something with actual change. But hey on the upside my sons piggy bank is making big bucks…I just cant figure out how much that is!

I miss the familiarity of it all, the ease of asking anything with confidence and knowing that more than one person will be able to help me out or the ability to drive from one place to another without needing a stiff drink to calm my nerves. In short, there’s nothing I miss because it’s all here… it’s all the same and yet completely different and THAT has been the hardest change to deal with.

It happened again!

Elite Daily has smiled upon me and has deemed me worthy of being published for a second time.

Clearly my Masters degree in secondary education is being put to good use.

Please check out the link below to see what I have to say about being perpetually single, and why it doesn’t suck.

Me, Myself, and Holy Crap, I’m Still Single

The Common White Girl’s Thoughts On Smiling

Honestly, I don’t really get why people don’t smile more often.

Life isn’t that hard. I put on my designer jeans one leg at a time just like everyone else. I embellish my elegantly tailored satin shirt with a cute, overpriced bubble necklace from J Crew. It compliments the color pallet perfectly.

I look great.

Granted, I won’t be smiling until I’ve had my Starbucks triple shot espresso macchiato with half skim, half regular milk straight from the cow’s udders, but the world could probably perk up a bit before 9am, for my sake at least.

If I’m having a bad day, which is pretty much any day that’s not on the weekend, I like to do therapy. Retail therapy. There is nothing that turns my frown upside down quicker than swiping my father’s credit card and getting a bag full of new outfits I don’t need at all. Because when you look good, you feel good.

I’ve learned that you have to smile through the hard things in order to get through life. One time my aunt gave me a Dolce and Gabbana bag that was clearly fake, clearly ugly, and clearly not my style. But I smiled through the pain of not having real leather to hold my car keys and used the extra cash my parents gave me because it was a Wednesday to go out and buy the new iPhone.

Crisis averted, smile affixed.

When walking down the street in my new Michael Kors bedazzled flats and freshly painted nails, it’s hard to be sad about life. I’ve had my fair share of struggles but I’ve come out the other end of the tunnel victorious. I don’t understand why others don’t adopt my “can-do” attitude.

I actually had to interview for my job. At my father’s company. Working for my father. We went to breakfast and he asked me really tough questions about organizational tactics and people skills, to which I replied, “Have you seen my closet? I color code and arrange my clothing by season, organization is totally my thing!”

Really, I’m a simple girl. I am happiest when I’m driving in my Range Rover SUV, sunroof open, windows down, and sunglasses on my face. Normally, I don’t have anywhere to go, I just like driving. I never take public transportation, people always look miserable on the subway, and frankly, it brings down my mood.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take my lunch break and get a massage. I deserve it.

Does This Mean I’m Cool?

So I’m happy to announce that Cents and Cents-abilities has nominated me for a Liebster Award 🙂

I WON SOMETHING, GUYS!

The Liebster Award is pretty much the equivalent of being the new kid in school, you’re recognized cause you’re new but no one really knows anything about you. Thus, you must do the following things:

Link back to the person who nominated you.
Answer the 10 Liebster questions given to you by the nominee before you.
Pick 10 bloggers to be nominated for the award with under 200 followers.
Come up with 10 questions for your nominees to answer.
Go to their blogs and notify your nominees.

Here are my answers:

1. How long have you been blogging?

I started back in 2009 when I studied abroad in Ireland, it’s cringeworthy mostly because I completely disregarded the rules of proper grammar and capitalization.

2. What inspired you to start blogging?

I wanted to keep a log of my travels abroad, and let my mother know that I was alive and well and wasn’t a kidnapped and held hostage like that girl in Taken.

3. What advice do you have for new bloggers?

Write every day. Write about anything. Find your voice. You only get better with practice.

4. What is the hardest thing about blogging for you?

Trying to come up with fresh, innovative, entertaining content is tough! But somehow my brain works in weird ways and I find that talking about burritos and pictures of myself from middle school are sufficient ammunition for posts.

5. Describe yourself in three words.

Hungry. Impulsive. Creative.

6. What is your favorite post on your own blog?

Catharsis, my post about reflecting on my first year moving away from home is up there, but it is tied with Sole Mates, my post about socks in the dryer.

7. If you were going to write a blog post about your life, what would the title be?

Directionally Challenged. (I don’t know where I’m going. But I know how I got here.)

8/9. If you could have a super power, what would it be and why?

Teleport. Hands down. Plane tickets are EXPENSIVE, and I got places I need to see before I kick the bucket.

10. If you weren’t blogging about (your blog’s subject matter), what would you blog about?

I’d love to take a stab at blogging about animals. Puppies, kittens, whales, the whole kit and caboodle. If I had more patience and a higher IQ, I totally would have loved to be a vet. But who has time for that much school when you have an entry level job and you live in the basement apartment in your building?

Here are my nominees (those nominated must answer my ten questions below, OR ELSE):

British Chick Across the Pond

The Wandering Poet

Cents and Cents-abilities

http://renardmoreau.wordpress.com/

John Greaves III

Life in Portsong

U Mad Yet?

The Importance of Being Edited

ViewSplash

Dr. Killpatient’s Weird Fiction

My Ten Questions:

What made you start a blog?
Where do you see your blog going in the future?
What talent (other than your fantastic writing skills) do you wish you had?
What is your dream job?
What is your favorite post you’ve written?
Describe yourself in three words.
What are 3 goals on your Life To-Do list?
Who would be your dream guest poster?
Who is your BFF in your head (meaning a celebrity that doesn’t know you exist, but you know you’d be best friends if they did)?
What would you title a blog post about your life?

Thanks again, and congrats to my nominees!

xox Meg

I Need To Talk To The Person In Charge Of Changing Humans Into Dogs

I went out with my roommates last night and drank too much wine. Story of my life.

Earlier this morning, I watched this video to help cure my hangover and take my mind off the fact that I have to sit in a rolly chair for the next eight hours and stare at my computer screen.

And then I realized… I’m so jealous of dogs.

Forget girls with nice hair, girls who can plow through three bacon cheeseburgers and not gain a pound, girls who have their dream job before age twenty-five, girls (and boys) with independently wealthy families that get to exclusively shop at Whole Foods. Forget all of them.

I want to be a dog.

Aside from the fact that they get to know one another by smelling butts, being a dog is pretty awesome. I guess I could also do without the whole eating bark flavored kibble bits, too. But we’ll save my grievances for the time I actually turn into a dog, which is hopefully my next life. My previous life I was a cat and I was just angry all the time, so I pray I’ve gathered enough good karma in my human life to be worthy of a canine in my next one.

First of all, I’d never have to wear clothes. It would completely eliminate the whole waking up every morning and try on seven outfits thing and still manage to walk out the door with one shoe. Nope. None of that would be an issue. Because I could roll out of bed and magically have a sweater on when it’s cold, or a furry bathing suit on when it’s hot. Just being happy in the skin suit God gave me ready to take on the world.

If I was a dog, no one would ever care if I was fat. Sure, I’ve set off a few alarms by feeding my pup too many pork chops or lamb shanks, but it’s because she deserves it. And as a dog, I would deserve it, too. Being loyal is a tough job, and it’s one that requires compensation in the form of delicious food you’re not allowed to eat, ever. No one ever complains about dogs being too fat, there’s just more to love, that’s all. Big is beautiful in Canine Country, and I have a one way ticket to Fat Island.

I’ve told a number of people this, but for my last ten minutes of life, I want someone with a good set of fingernails and a strong wrist to stroke my arm and give me a head rub. Maybe a bloody mary, but that can be negotiated. Pup life is full of these sorts of activities. People practically slap box each other to get a chance to pet a puppy. I WANT SOMEONE TO PET ME, DAMNIT. Head rubs and belly scratches will have me in a constant state of bliss, which last time I checked, no one complains about bliss.

A good wingwoman is hard to find. Not with a dog. If you want to attract someone, there is no better way than bringing along your four-legged friend. I don’t know what it is about humans, I think we have leg envy and are just innately jealous that we can go through life on all fours. There is no better conversation topic than asking what breed the dog is (I would obviously be a Saint Bernard and run shit) then following up by asking the age. What started off as an innocent walk through the park ends with you walking down the aisle and Meg the Saint Bernard is your ring bearer. You’re welcome.

Lastly, I want a bomb ass name. Dogs are always given the most extreme names that humans could never live up to. I want to saunter through life as Ulysses the Great Dane, or Chianti the cultured Sheppard. Instead I’m stuck here living life as a boring old human with the most basic one syllable name on the planet. Meg sucks. Ulysses RULES.

I just want to tan on my driveway during all seasons and soak up warmth. I just want to be a dog.

What’s Up With That Wednesday?

FEATURING: This Asshole On His Cell Phone

What is up with people talking on their cellphones on public transportation?

Yes, I see you’re wearing a suit today, Mr. Chats-A-Lot. I know this makes you seem very important. I am sure you have a lot of meetings on your calendar, and a bunch of tasks your need to cross off your “To-Do List.”

You know what else is important? My sanity. My ears. My morning commute I planned to have in solitude.

But you, Mr. Cellphone Chats McGee, seem to think that everyone in the world around you wants to hear about the latest conflict with your interior designer, how your dishwasher detergent just doesn’t clean everything that well, or that your job is “ruining your social life.”

Oh, poor you.

You know who else has fallen victim to their jobs? EVERYONE ON THIS TRAIN. You know how many times I have to rerun my dishwasher everyday? THREE, AND IT SUCKS. You know what I think about my interior designer? I DON’T HAVE ONE BECAUSE I’M POOR.

But you have a suit. You have the power to do whatever you want, to disregard the civilians on the same train, bus, or subway. You, my friend, are the most important person in the room.

So please, go on, you have the floor. We can all accommodate you and text about our problems like the polite, normal human beings we are at 7am.

By the way, your pants look stupid and your shoes are ugly. I kind of hate you.

And I want to talk to my mom on the phone about it. But I can’t because I don’t want to be you. So I’m going to text her and passive aggressively shoot death glares in your direction and hope you can feel my mean gaze on the back of your head.

Half and Half

half wit. half wisdom. a whole lot of nonsense.