Survival of the Fittest.. Or In My Case, Surviving.

They say no man is an island, but what if you were stranded on one?

I went camping this past summer for four days with one of my best friends.  It was my first time being out in the elements, so I didn’t really know what to expect when weather that wasn’t sunny and 72 degrees happened.

Needless to say, I was an emotional wreck and did not handle sleeping in a tent in the rain very well.

We’ve all played the “What Would You Take To A Deserted Island” game.  But after my experience with weather, tents, and bugs, I’ve decided there are more than a few essentials to surviving if I was ever to really be totally stranded.

castaway

so rude.

 

Here are the five things I would ABSOLUTELY bring on my island with me:

1.  A house

You best believe after sleeping in a tent for four days, I will do everything in my power to avoid being exposed.  I’m bringing a goddamn house to my island.  Four walls, a roof, and a bed with a real mattress will make my stay extra cushy.  It’s my island, and I’ll do what I want!

2.  A boyfriend

Either my real boyfriend, or if he won’t agree to it, Charlie Hunnam will do.  Because I need someone to hang out with me and also want to protect me from all the wild animals that will be roaming the lands.  Plus, he won’t ever have an excuse to flake on plans, cause I’ll be the only one he can spend time with (MUAHAHAHAHA).  Just kidding, really, misery just loves company, and two people on an island is better than me alone with my thoughts… that would be scary.

3.  Wine and snacks.

Becuase… nourishment.

4.  Electricity

What is the point of having a house without electricity to power it up?  I’m talking total comfort here.  I want lights, television, and running water.  I’ll bring Thomas Edison back from the dead if I have to, as long as I can see where I’m going when the sun goes down.

5.  Mary Poppins’ Tote Bag

If you were asking yourself after items #1-4 how I was planning on getting all these things to my island, this is the answer.  Shit get’s real small up in Mary P’s bag, and I am going to need to borrow/steal/keep it forever in order to caravan an entire home, a full-grown man, an electricity system, and a lifetime supply of wine onto my desolate vacation.

Honorable Mention: Wilson from Castaway

Just seems like an all around great dude.  And when I’m inevitably fighting with my boyfriend for paying more attention to the wild animals than me, I’ll need someone who won’t sass me back to converse with in confidence.


What would you take with you on a deserted island?

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I’m Thankful For The Facebook Timeline Feature Because Now I Can Relive My Glory Days With The Click Of A Button.

Everyone!  Let’s give a round of applause for technology and the permanent trail of embarrassment that is the internet!

Just when you think you’ve escaped the metaphorical black hole that was your life in middle and high school, Facebook is here with the Timeline Activity feature that allows you to click a year and see just what you wrote during that specific time period.  Let’s bring back those cringeworthy flirt posts, relive that awkward drunk message you wrote to that kid you don’t even know, and by all means, take a loosky at that time you thought it was a good idea to wear plaid pants and high top sneakers.

I like to put my life on display.  Mostly because I think that if I admit to myself and the world how much of an embarassment to society I was between the ages of my entire life 12-22, maybe I can help others not make the same mistakes.

So, today I am thankful for Facebook.  I am so excited that I get a permanent reminder of how much of a jackass I was when I was sixteen and constantly get to see my blatant disregard for proper capitalization and grammar.  I guess hindsight is twenty/twenty.

Here are some highlights from my Facebook past:

0

Zo zerious, in fact, that I couldn’t even use an ‘S’

1

Halfway convinced that my mother actually wrote this status instead of me.  But then I remember that she can barely work Microsoft Word in 2014, so there’s no way she could have hacked into my Facebook account back in 2006.

2

I never got a humpback whale. WHERE IS MY HUMPBACK WHALE.

3

#FutureEnglishMajor #FutureTeacher

4

Well, there you have it folks, you can finally tell people you know someone who has risen from the dead. I’m pretty sure it sucked when I was dead, but I can assure you, being alive is way more fun.

5

So, I’m not half asian. Not even in the slightest bit. So I don’t think I can regret it, but clearly it was something I felt strongly about this night.

6

Honestly, this is a personal problem and I’m getting it checked out.  I didn’t realize I was so willy nilly about exposing personal struggles via such a public forum, but I guess a lot was going on in life in 2008.

7

Like I said, clearly a lot was going on in my life where I wasn’t concerned about being implicated for the murder of my professor.  Like how shitty of a criminal am I?

Sidenote: I didn’t actually murder my professor, but he’s definitely not here to talk about it anymore.

8

This is a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I haven’t rethought of this.  Probably because I came to the conclusion that bathtubs are generally riddled with the remnants of dirty people, therefor, I realized I was washing my clothes in liquid human filth. #graphic #visuals

9

This is what I was concerned about when I studied abroad.  This is also why I gained twenty-five pounds before I came back.

10

Valid. They were. And I legit never got them back.

Hey! Let’s be social and make bad decisions together, follow me on Facebook, and I’ll do the same for you.  LOVE YOU. MEAN IT.

***

Have you ever posted anything on the internet you later regretted?  What’s your best/most embarrassing post?

I’m Always Late To The Party.

Or maybe I just wasn’t ever invited? I’m not sure, but whatever it is, I don’t belong.

I’ve showed up at my fair share of parties without being invited. But the good thing about being the weird girl in the corner is that everyone always expects you to be the weird girl in the corner. If you see an empty corner, people are like, hey where’s that weird girl who normally stands there?

Yeah, I like corners, so what! Sue me. No, don’t. I’m not in a financially stable point in my life to accept lawsuits at the moment, so wait for me to win the lottery or become famous off a viral video of me eating peas at the kids table during Thanksgiving.

Does that even happen?

I think what I’m trying to say here is that I’m not really ever at the forefront of anything cool. I’m kind of a follower, which I know is super hard to believe judging by all my amazingly attractive #tbt instagram pictures. I had no clue that glasses without prescriptions are actually a thing people wanted to have.  I didn’t even know what a gluten was until suddenly people aren’t supposed to be eating it. And I still have no idea why Beyonce is ‘everything’ but we’ll discuss that in a little bit.

Here Is The List of Things I Just Don’t Understand

Heels: Maybe I have terrible arches and a penchant for faceplanting, but I just have no idea where heels rank on the fun scale. For me, it’s about negative seven-hundred.  Do I wish I was taller sometimes? Yes. But I also wish I had even boobs and the same sized eyeballs, but we can’t always get what we want.  If wearing certain shoes is something you have to “train your feet to enjoy,” then I want no part of it. I’ll be sitting over here, comfy as hell, wearing orthopedic fashion like it aint no thang.

Eating Clean: My idea of clean eating is using napkins when I’m stuffing my face full of cookies. If I didn’t spill on myself, I consider it a victory.  I don’t have time to learn what all those hard-to-pronounce words mean on the labels. I sure as hell don’t have time to actually grow my own stuff and be organic.  Ignorance is bliss, in my opinion. And I’m totally fine not knowing what is actually in a hot dog, because they taste amazing and I don’t want to be privy to that type of information.

Make Up: Do I always like my face? No. Sometimes I think it does weird things and when I see pictures of myself I wish I didn’t exist. But adding another step towards making myself look presentable seems like it’s going to end up doing more harm than good. Plus, it’s going to all eventually come off anyways, and there’s nothing worse than someone seeing what you actually look like and running the other direction. Gotta walk around this world with your God-given face, and say “Fuck You.” to all the haters. Or something nicer like, “Hey please stop staring at my small left eye, that’s rude.”

Beyonce: Apparently, Beyonce is “everything,” and girls “literally die” for her. If Beyonce is causing women’s hearts around the world to legitimately stop beating, shouldn’t the FBI be taking a closer look at this? It seems like an epidemic in my opinion. And one that needs to be investigated. Oj Simpson already got away with murder, we can’t have another celebrity falling through the cracks.

Whole Foods: I went inside a whole foods one time and I got so overwhelmed I almost started crying. The floor was practically paved with granola and the cash registers were made out of recycled tree trunks. I had no idea where to even begin, so I just left. Not to mention that the vegan soccer mom army was monopolizing the check-out line, so I didn’t have a shot in hell at making it out alive without buying something organic.

I’ll tell you one thing though, when the teleport gets invented, I’m going to be so early to that party. I’ll be that weird girl in the corner. If I’m not there, you know it’s not cool.

***

What are some things you just don’t understand?

ATTENTION: Pumpkins Are Using Jedi Mind Tricks On All Of Us

A pumpkin after my own heart.

A pumpkin after my own heart.

Summer is practically synonymous with sunscreen, ice cream, and barbecues.  I mean, I can already smell the bbq bacon cheeseburger coming fresh off the charcoal grill and it’s not because I am eating a cheeseburger at 10am.

Or it is, the jury is still out.

With each season, there is a specific scent we associate with it.  Normally I’m all for it, because scents mean that there is food somewhere in the vicinity, and that’s never a bad thing.

But I have a bone to pick with one particular scent/flavor/permeation that really just makes me angry, because it’s trying to be the favorite, and I learned in kindergarten that being the teacher’s pet meant getting special treatment, and then everyone hates you.

I’m about to drop some high voltage knowledge bombs about this goddamn pumpkin spice obsession.

I’m not going to say I hate it, because hate is a word I reserve for push button faucets and people who talk in elevators.

I’m just not all up in pumpkin’s face asking it to hang out with me.  I don’t let it have a special season, because that’s how egos grow, and I need pumpkins to know their place in this world.

Frankly, I just think that pumpkins are jedi mind tricking us all into thinking we NEED them in our lives, creating demand during the fall solstice.  Whoever is marketing for the pumpkins of the world, reveal yourself!  I need you on my team, you could probably take this here blog to new heights and help me achieve my dream of being married to Danny McBride and Jimmy Fallon at the same time. 

Seasonal privileges are for treats that make you feel like you’re going to vomit if you so much as look at another piece.  Like candy corn. It’s a scientific law that candy corn has to get the hell out of your life by October’s end, because you start to see all foods in a tri-color hierarchy of white, yellow, and orange.

Let me make this perfectly clear, there are rules set in place that have been there for hundreds of years.  They were rules created by the bromagnons and the bromosapiens to protect our taste buds from over-indulgence.

In order to be a seasonal treat, you have to follow a strict criteria, which goes as follows:

1. It must be a treat that is solely used or consumed during a specific season.

ie. candy canes, candy corns, peeps, eggnog.

2. You must want to vomit after over-consumption of said treat.

Ever tried drinking Eggnog after December? It’s almost impossible. It’s at this time you may actually realize that it doesn’t even taste that good to begin with, and you’ll regret all of it.  Eggnog = regret. Remember that.

3. You can’t be a gourd.

Plain and simple, they are a decorative item in a cornucopia. You can’t have your own season if you’re part of a fucking cornucopia.

4. As  a seasonal treat, you have to have absolutely no value to the outside world after your said season is over.

You don’t see candy canes trying to make an appearance on Valentine’s day, or Peeps trying to squeeze their demonic candy crusted bodies into your summer pool party.  They know their place, they don’t want to be in the pool with you, they want to be there when you’re running around your house trying to find where your mom ninja-hid all the colored eggs.

There you have it. A tale as old as time, a song as old as rhyme.  Pumpkins, go back to your hole in the ground, ya gourdy betch.  You don’t deserve your own season; not on my watch.

Now let me go finish my breakfast cheeseburger.

Honestly, The “Now, That’s What I Call Disney” Compilation Is A Complete Travesty.

This compiler is a dunce.

This compiler is a dunce.

I can’t go into the weekend with this on my mind.  So, here we go.

I asked my mom the other day, “On a scale of 1-10, how dramatic am I?”

In unwritten dramatic scales, 10 presumably consists of daily temper tantrums in the street because you can’t get two toppings on your ice cream cone, and 1 consists of ignoring all problems in your day to day life because you’re just “so over the drama.”

My mother rated me at an 8.

Yes, an 8 on the drama scale. My mother just sentenced me to a semi-regular mental and physical breakdown in a public place over frozen treats.

Keeping that in mind, but at the same time, ignoring it completely and thinking of me in a more positive, attractive, calm and collected light, I want to tell you a story.

Recently, there was an attack on my childhood.

It started with an infomercial. An innocent advertisement for a compilation of songs that serenaded me through adolescence, Now That’s What I Call Disney!

At the start of it all, it seemed like a mix I could get behind. A little piece of plastic disc nostalgia that I could really see myself enjoying… Until I saw the track list.

Frankly, it was just atrocious. Flat out wrong, immoral, and a complete mockery of the cartoons that taught me the wind had colors, carpets can fly, and legs were required for dancing.

I don’t know who did it.  I don’t know what committee is involved with the song selection.  I’m assuming can only be a panel made up of this woman and her friends, to represent Disney in the first volume of hits.

But, God as my witness, it needs to be corrected.

At first glance you may think to yourself, hey Meg, your mom is totally right, you are dramatic, I actually think I saw you crying about missing toppings on your ice cream cone back in August.

And while I was having a tantrum, it was actually because my friend wouldn’t buy me a wine at 3pm on a Wednesday.

My thoughts on this CD are still valid.  If you’re going to have a Now That’s What I Call Disney, you’ll need a few Bare Necessities, if you will (umm…. yes, pun totally intended). Here are my expert feelings on most of the selections:

…THE GOOD

Can You Feel The Love TonightI’ll be honest, this is the first love scene I ever saw in a feature film. So, that alone needs to be a reason for it to be PRAISED. Lion love is like, so real.

Part Of Your WorldNever in my life have I found someone who had as many thingamabobs as me.  I also have never met anyone who didn’t know what a fire was and why it burned.  Still don’t. So… anyone?

Hakuna Matata: Zen Nation. I didn’t know what chill was until I heard this song.  Plus, teenage Simba was kinda hot, no? Just me? K.

Under the Sea: How did I know things existed under water? This song.  Figured the sea was just a big bathtub that covered the Earth’s floor before I found out there were talking crabs and singing corals down there. Just a big percussion party at the clam bake on the ocean floor.

Circle Of Life: NAHAHHHHHSSIIVVEEENNNYYAAA- NAMA-MEE-SCALABOOOOOW. Don’t know if that’s what it says, but I’m gonna sing it like that so loud, and so proud. Every time. Such a good song.

Colors of the Wind: I have asked four grinning bobcats, none have answered. I have no idea why the hell they keep smiling and someone needs to answer me. NOW.

I Just Can’t Wait To Be KingThis song taught me how to rule a household.  One time my mom told me to go clean my room before my grandparents came to visit. I was all like, “Kings don’t need advice from little horn bills for a start.” —  I don’t want to talk about what happened after that. (#Grounded)

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious: Ummdiddaliddiaummdillaaaiiiiiiii. I don’t think there are actual words to this song, so it gets credit by default for being a jumble of syllables with a boss melody.

…THE BAD

When You Wish Upon a Shooting Star: Could this be a more boring opener?  Do I want to fall asleep immediately after one song? No. I want to continue my journey down memory lane and go back to the time that I actually thought body parts would grow if I lied (aside: this would be so cool if you could pick the body parts that grew after lying, like my hair, I’d be Millenium Rapunzel with all my fib growth).

Someday My Prince Will Come: The only acceptable song from Snow White that should be included on this cd is Heigh Ho, and you didn’t do that.

Bella Notte: More like better not. Snore city.  Population: everyone listening.

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes: To be honest, I didn’t even know there were songs in Cinderella, this is just dumb.

Once Upon A Dream, Go The Distance, Friend Like Me, I Won’t Say: Same thing, don’t even remember these songs. Like a bad football player, cut ’em.

Everybody Wants to Be A Cat: Newsflash: No one likes cats. Dogs are so in right now. Puppies are the new currency, and cats are straight up debt. No one wants debt; no one wants cats.

I See The Light, You’ve Got A Friend In Me, Life is A HighwayNew aged Pixar Disney movies shouldn’t even be considered for volume 1 (Post ’95). It’s just a sin. Get out of my face Tangled, Cars, and Toy Story. See you next year, suckaaaaas.

Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride: Does it sound like a good time? Yes. Do I even know what it means? No. I’ve never seen Lilo and Stitch because I like movies about real animals with real plots. I see you Lion King. Respect.

Reflection (NOT CHRISTINA AGUILERA): I don’t know why I would have to explain this, but not having Christina’s version of this song is nothing shy of eating a sandwich without condiments. Just deplorable.

… THE UGLY

Seeing as I just exiled ten songs from DisneyTown, there are some additions that need to be spoken for in order to make this whole ordeal right:

I’ll Make A Man Out of You: The fact that this song isn’t number 1 on the whole thing is blasphemous. This is the best song in Disney history. Coursing rivers, great typhoons, raging fires, moons with mysterious dark sides. Color me intrigued. Repeat. All day. Every day. Except when I get sick of it. I take one day off. Then start again.

Be Our GuestTalking candles? Pots and pans that have feelings? An ottoman that’s a dog? GIVE ME THIS HOUSE. I don’t need friends, I have decorations that will hang out with me. Life crisis averted.

Heigh-Ho: Give a kid a pick-axe and ask him to sing a song. What’s it gonna be?  This one. Unforgivable overlook.

Reflection (Christina Aguilera Version): Phenomenal acting by Mulan in this music video.  Very attentive, inquisitive stares into various mirrors of sizes and lengths.  Breathtaking.

The only way to make this right is to take my suggestions and reprint all the copies of the cd out there right now. I’m speaking for a generation of 85’s to 90’s babies. But really, I’m speaking for myself. Fix it. Fix it now. Make it right. Or make a man out of me. Either one would be greatly appreciated.

Although, under no circumstances, will I be doing this:

determined01_9461

GOOD DAY.

Tag Has Been Banned From Recess And I’ve Lost All Faith In Humanity.

playing_tag_with_friends_by_darksteampunkangel-d6a6329

Survival 101.

Humanity has lost its mind.

We’re just all living in one, big, ozone-covered insane asylum that is slowly but surely turning all of the world’s children into pansies.

Playgrounds were once viewed as a voyeuristic jungle in which a child could pretend to be anything he or she wanted.  Now, they are reduced to kindergarten demilitarized zones in which kids are forced to simply just sit down and watch as the swings sway in the wind.

Tag is banned.  Dodgeball is eradicated.  Fun is gone. 

Now, I got hurt quite a bit as a child.  From my middle finger almost being severed (which would have been tragic considering how much I use it), to a tree and bike collision, my childhood was far from band-aid and emergency room free.

But I like to think that despite all the cuts, bruises, and broken bones, I turned out to be a socially capable adult and functioning member of society (Please refrain from further investigating that statement).

I also like to think that playing (physical) games during recess in elementary and middle school are crucial to cognitively developing social skills with other people.  How is a kid going to grow up knowing he wants to play football if he never gets the chance to play it during school?  How is a child supposed to know what defeat is if everyone gets a trophy and there are no losers?

Newsflash:  The world is full of football and defeat. Life is tough, to ignore it is preposterous, and to ban it is blasphemous (big word usage, +100 points). Get a helmet and go back out there.

This one is about a trip down memory lane and paying tribute to the fallen soldiers of the recess game world.

Let’s take a look at the games considered too dangerous but I played them and turned out fine:

Red Rover: Ahh, Red Rover, Red Rover, send Pete on over! The classic game of death grips and running full speed ahead at the weakest pair in the line.  This is a game of strategy for both teams.  So while you’re over there picking the weakest kid on the opposing squad to run through your child chain linked fence, he or she is over there plotting the same revenge to be extracted.  And is there a better feeling than breaking through an elementary arm grip?  I don’t think so.

**Redeeming Value: Learn how to shake a hand.  Have you ever shook someone’s hand and it was like holding a dead fish?  Prescribe that kid a game of red rover and he or she will have the firmest handshake in town.

Tetherball: I’ll be honest.  I made my mom put a tether ball up on a tree in my front yard so I could practice daily.  There were lines out the playground to get a piece of the tether ball champion at recess.  The best was the momentum, once you got it, there was no stopping – and hearing the chain that connected the ball to the rope hit the pole to end the game was nothing short of a magical experience.  Short kids shouldn’t play this game. It’ll be an uphill battle from day one.  Sorry.

**Redeeming Value: Hand-Eye coordination.

Butts Up: Fifth grade aim is mediocre at best. Plus, if you were a girl lucky enough to survive three rounds of this game – you were pretty much guaranteed a prom date by age seven.

**Redeeming Value: Obtaining a prom date earlier than everyone else.  Avoiding that type of stress is seriously encouraged.

Freeze Tag: Survival of the Fittest.  Run or be frozen.  Don’t know how you can take that away from a kid. If you were the only kid to escape freeze tag without becoming a statue?  You’re a legend, and definitely a future Olympian.

**Redeeming Value:  Learn to be a statue.  If you’re good at freezing, you’re probably good at being one of those guards in front of the royal palace who don’t move at all. Or you could become a gargoyle or a garden gnome, depending on your level of ambition.

Dodgeball:  What were balls made for if not for dodging?  Get over yourself.  If you’re out, sit down. Hopefully there’s an athletic Joe out there who can catch a ball and you can learn how to shadow the good kids and not get out on the first throw.  If you don’t have athleticism, use your brain. Making the star baseball player become a human wall for you is probably the best advice I will ever give.

**Redeeming Value: Learning to sneak under the radar.  Shadowing the best player on the team will ensure you that you will at least not be the first one out, thus you’ve removed the brand on your face that says you suck at throwing and catching. CHA-CHING.

Rest In Peace, Recess Games.  You were always there when I needed an ego boost or stress relief.  Hope you’re up in activity heaven just hamming it up with banned books and platonic hugs from inspirational teachers.  There is now a thirty minute play period in schools where kids just kinda sit down and stare at things.  It’s apparently way more fun and a lot more safe.

PS – I challenge anyone to a game of tetherball. Anyone 5’4 and over 160lbs with extreme athleticism need not inquire.

Honest Acceptance Speeches

Yeah, we all know you want to thank your parents, your family, and your fans.  But really, how can you forget all the things that really make the world go round?

First and foremost, I’d like to thank:

  • Bono, for single handedly fueling sales of blue polarized sunglasses.
  • Puppies, for teaching couples that kids are really going to be a lot of work.
  • Crunchy peanut butter, for diversifying the snack game.
  • Maxi dresses, for being my entire summer wardrobe.
  • Sunglasses, for allowing me to sneakily stare at people without being noticed.
  • Snuggies, for repurposing the bathrobe by simply wearing it backwards.
  • Text messages, for allowing me to ignore phone calls because “I can’t talk right now.”
  • Tattoos, for permanently reminding me of how stupid I am.
  • Beyonce, for being “everything,” so girls all over the world “literally can’t even” to the point that they “die.”
  • Grease, for clearly indicating when I need to shower.
  •  Barbecues, for giving everyone an excuse to eat and drink outside.
  • Scarves, for catching all my crumbs so I can save them for later.
  • Glasses, for allowing my eyeballs to be puffy with a barrier.
  • Air conditioning, for keeping me sane when it’s above 74 degrees.
  • Nick Lachey, for somehow staying relevant.
  • Dancing with the Stars, for cutting Kim Kardashian in the first week.
  • American Idol, for proving that The Voice is better.
  • Katy Perry, for comparing men to aliens, all while looking like an alien herself.
  • The Skinny Arm Pose, for making girls everywhere create triangles with their bodies.
  • Instagram, for giving everyone the option to look better than they actually do.
  • Push-Button Faucets, for showing me that I take too long to wash my hands.
  • The DMV, for teaching me that I have no patience.
  • The grocery store snack aisle, for your ability to make me forget and disregard everything I initially came to buy.
  • iPhone screenshot, for allowing me to capture inside jokes in text message threads and post them on social media, even though no one else will understand what it means.
  • Status updates, for letting me know that Carl from Florida is currently on his third episode of Hoarders with no plans of stopping anytime soon.
  • Spaghetti, for demonstrating that I am not an attractive eater.
  • Selfies, for letting the world know exactly what my face looks like at all hours of the day.
  • Buns, for somewhat salvaging my bad hair day.
  • Makeup, for making me look like a human being.
  • Accents, for blessing the world with imitation material.
  • Bret Michaels, for his commitment to the bandana cause.
  • Oreos, for being milk’s favorite cookie.

… And of course, last and certainly not least, I’d like to thank Leonardo DiCaprio, for being my imaginary husband and life partner.  You’re the best, babe.  I wouldn’t be here without all your love and support.

Stay classy.

Dear Girls Of Tomorrow,

I’ve been there before.  I’ve made those mistakes. Take my advice: here’s how not to dress.

We live in a digital age.  It’s no secret that most things we do eventually end up on the internet.  This is awesome for events like New Years Eve, birthday parties, and charity events or functions.

Then there are the events involving a face plant in the street running to catch the late bus that your friend HAD to document.

To put it bluntly, not everyone is photogenic.  But that doesn’t give you an excuse to throw common sense out the window with the baby and the bathwater.

What I’m saying is, there’s going to be pictures of you girls circulating the internet for the rest of your lives.  You need to take preventative measures to ensure that when you do land your dream job interview, a picture of you in seventh grade wearing a Ronald Regan mask and your grandmother’s bathrobe doesn’t surface during the process.

So you should not do any of these things before or during taking a picture that will represent you for the rest of your life at that age, and your friends and family will also see it and that is how they will remember you forever.

2nd Grade

2nd Grade

A general rule of thumb is to not wear your grandmother’s tablecloth when taking a photo.

A nice pink embroidered doily collar may seem cutesy and innocent, but in reality it will only make your co-workers and peers question whether or not your mother took outfits off your life-sized Raggedy Ann doll and dressed you in them in an effort to save money.

Also a good thing to remember is to not do dangerous activities before a known photo-op.  Going on a two-wheel bike adventure when you aren’t the most confident rider isn’t the type of activity you want to roll into when your third grade yearbook photo is right around the corner.

3rd Grade

3rd Grade

If you’re just too adventurous and crazy to avoid indulging in extreme sports, you’ll inevitably be the girl wearing long underwear because you can’t fit regular sleeves over your cast.

REMEMBER: THERE ARE ALWAYS RETAKES. ALWAYS.

Borrowing argyle sweater vests from your youngest brother is not only frowned upon, but in some countries it’s illegal.  I don’t care how flawless your hair looks that day, or if you were an ombre pioneer before ombre was a ‘thing,’ you do not need clothes that badly that you resort to rummaging through your brother’s drawers to find an outfit.

4th Grade

4th Grade

(But I mean look at that blonde to light blonde fade, it’s totally magnificent, right?)

Make sure your shirts fit you.

A good way to determine if a shirt fits is by making sure it is not two sizes bigger than every other shirt you own. Or that is not your mom’s.

5th Grade

5th Grade

Don’t wear choker necklaces, even if that dangly bead in the middle is the most jaw-dropping plastic gemstone you own, and it makes Rose’s sapphire necklace from Titanic pale in comparison.

Seriously, don’t get bangs in puberty.

I don’t care if they look great on Sabrina, the cool girl, you will ultimately end up gluing them to your scalp with a can of Rave hairspray every morning and consequently looking more like a guido-gremlin hybrid than a fifth grade girl.

Oh yeah… and braces. There are no rules about braces except that it’s required to change the rubber band colors to coordinate with the holidays.

Don’t set the tone for your middle school reputation by wearing a floral v-neck from Limited Too.

6th Grade

6th Grade

Also, practice your smile extensively before taking any pictures.

Photographs aren’t forgiving – neither are parents when it comes to allowing you to hang out with their children.

Creepy smiles will not get you very far.  It definitely won’t get you a babysitting job.

Puberty is the worst time in your life.  Try and make the best of it.

7th Grade

7th Grade

Wearing half-turtle neck argyle sweaters is not a way to make the best of it.  At the very least, if you’re going to do it, commit to a full neck or at least a scarf.

It’s imperative that you never, ever let your mother attempt to tame your pubescent mane by straightening it with a curling iron.  You will end up with tresses shaped like a voluminous frizz triangle and have people asking if someone rubbed a balloon on the back of your head to create static electricity.

Wearing your hair in a half-up, half-down fashion is completely acceptable, if done correctly.

8th Grade

8th Grade

Wearing half of your hair in a bun from gym class and the other half down as the remnants of last night’s botched straightening job is a big, big no no no nononononoNO.

Plus, wearing a collared shirt with a lace-up neckline is one step shy of actually going cookoo for Coco Puffs.

And again, with the smile. Please, for the love of God, practice your smile.

Avoid shopping at Aeropostale, Wet Seal, or Rave.

9th Grade

9th Grade

Don’t take two tiny tresses located at the widow’s peak section of your hairline and wear them in a bang-like, accessory fashion, not pulling them into your ponytail or headband.

You will regret this.  Mostly because you will slightly resemble a dinosaur.

Last, but definitely not least, if your friends ever tell you it’s okay to take sweatshirts from lost and found and parade around claiming them as your own, please ignore them and immediately question their intelligence.

By not doing these things, and following my instructions, strangers will not have to wonder – even just a little bit – if you grew to develop an odd affinity for fedoras or played the tambourine in a traveling band.

Ultimately, fashion consciousness is not always second nature with every girl, clearly it wasn’t my strong point.  At the end of the day, if you don’t do or wear what makes you happy, you’re missing out on a lot of what life has to offer.  Do what you love, and wear what you want.

Unless it’s a lace up, argyle, v-neck polo.  Please, please, please avoid those.

UP NEXT: How to NOT apply make-up.

Love,

Meg (President of the Late Bloomers)

Food Taught Me Everything I Ever Needed To Know About Life

You can learn a lot about a person by what they eat.  And no, I’m not saying you should stare at people while they’re eating, that’s rude.  Unless it’s a celebrity, then please report back because I NEED to know what Oprah eats for breakfast that makes her so powerful.

 

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This may come as a shock – or it won’t because you’ll realize that my brain works in strange ways, and this is just one of those things that makes me unique – but food has taught me everything I ever needed to know about life.

Real talk.

Sidenote: Let me start off by saying that if you looked in my cabinet where I store all my food, you’d probably think I had a child.  But alas, those are my groceries, I just eat like I’m seven.  So this is one of those times where I will make judgments about others, completely ignoring the fact that I have been all of these people at one time or another.

For starters, if you’re sitting on your couch in dirty sweatpants using a ladle to eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, I’m going to assume you’re going through a breakup. Or at the very least, a rough week.  When a spoon just isn’t big enough to satisfy your cravings for creamy delights to the point where you’re going to go straight for a ladle, among the Cherry Garcia remnants, you have heartbreak written all over your face.

And for you, I will pray.  Because no one can stop after one ladle scoop of B&Js.  It’s impossible.

When I see a twenty-something eating a steak with an older man or woman, it’s a safe bet that they are not paying for it.  You never eat the cheapest thing on the menu when your parents are footing the bill.  I’ll hit up Olive Garden and pay $9.99 for unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks; but you best believe when I’m out with my parents I’m getting my fill of fine wine and filets.

If you can eat it in your pajamas, it’s not acceptable to feed a potential life partner.  Nothing says, “Hey baby, let’s get married!” like bagel bites with a side of Doritos.  You should learn to cook something substantial before you commit to someone for the rest of your life.

But when you’re drunk, it’s completely acceptable to throw all dietary restrictions and personal inhibitions out the window and go face deep into a pile of nachos and cinnastix.  A good rule of thumb is: if you don’t remember it, it never happened.

This is also a great indicator for how old someone is.  No one above thirty should be forgetting they ate forty-eight loaded tater tots and an entire Christmas ham the previous night due to alcohol.

I immediately know I need to tread lightly when I see someone eating a salad.  Especially men.  Woman have this extra chromosome where they can turn off their memories of delicious food and focus solely on bathing suit season.  It makes stomaching a salad almost mouth-watering.  Almost.

But the time a man voluntarily orders a cobb salad at a restaurant, don’t say anything mean to him within a five-foot-radius.  He is not choosing to eat that salad.  His doctor, his mother, or his girlfriend told him he needed to stop eating so many carbs and watch his cholesterol, and eating an entire head of iceberg lettuce is the only thing stopping him from shoveling a foot-long chicken parm sandwich down his throat.

When you’re around someone who is grumpy, they may need a snack.  That’s why I always like to keep a few granola bars in my purse.  You never know when a romantic stroll with your boyfriend will turn into the last moments of your life because you told him the restaurant was “like five minutes away” an hour ago.

Boys need to eat sixty-times more a day than women.  Granola bars save lives.

I also know you’re having a great time at your dinner date by the filter you’re using to instagram your food.  Anything less than a high contrast filter means your date sucks.  No one wants to see a poorly photographed, low resolution cheeseburger.  I want to see that thing oozing grease out of my phone.

If you don’t instagram a picture of your food, I assume you’ve either died, or are having a real, face-to-face conversation with the person who brought you out, and there may be hope for your love life after all.

 Also, if you like Taco Bell, KFC, and Pizza Hut, you may be my soul mate.  Inquire within.