daily post

Cher Taught Me To Believe

Actually, no she didn’t.  But that song was straight fire flames good.  I bumped that jam in my room when I was in sixth grade for DAYS.

Whether or not she is a scholar in the same realm as Gandhi or Buddha, we will never know.  But her fashion sense was always on point.  Am I right?

I guess it’s different for everyone.  Whether it is a person, a dream, a faith, or a promise.  We all need a reason to believe.

I could sit here and talk about what I believe and how it has shaped me into the person I am today.  But I don’t want to preach about my life, but just about the importance of believing in something.

First and foremost, you should believe in yourself.  

If you don’t have a foundation of self-acceptance and the innate conviction that you can achieve anything you set your mind to, then life is going to be pretty difficult.  Let’s be realistic though, this is not to say that it won’t be tough even if you do believe in yourself.  Because life is funny that way, and it likes to knock you down a couple pegs and make sure you’re not overconfident.

Life is full of uphill battles.  And while some are given a compass and a map to ease the struggle, others have to navigate blind, fighting more battles for no reason at all.

Regardless of where you fall on the life circumstance spectrum, having confidence yourself and what you can achieve is the first step towards getting where you want to go.  The rest is motivation, commitment, and perseverance – all of which take time to develop.

We all should wake up in the morning committed to something. 

If you can’t find it in your heart to believe in yourself, for the sake of humanity, believe in someone else.  There is nothing more frightening than knowing you are fighting a battle alone.  The greatest thing you can offer another human being is support.

When the outlook is bleak, the odds are stacked up, and the morale is fading; believe.  People can triumph and overcome the biggest of hurdles when they have a support system behind them.  Having a team rally and cheer you on makes those mountains that once seemed miles high get reduced to inches.

Believing in one another makes any obstacle surmountable. 

Faith in a higher power gives us a foundation and a basis to strive to be the best people we can be.  It is fundamentally rooted in serving others before yourself, knowing that you can make a difference in someone’s life, and them in yours.

It is understanding the key principle that all people are equal, believing that it’s true, and using your actions as a way to show it.  Because let’s face it, living our lives for other people isn’t the easiest thing to do.  In fact, it’s pretty difficult.

But in times when you feel incapable of continuing, grasping for something outside of yourself can be just what you need to keep going. 

If faith isn’t your answer, it can be a dream.

An aspiration to be better than what you are and where you are now.  An endpoint that you strive to reach in your career, your relationships, and your life.  Something that, in the darkest places, hardest times, deepest holes, you cling to and reach for.  And it’s that dream that helps you power through the worst of it.

All because you believe that you deserve it.

Whatever it is, don’t let it go.  Depending on something or someone other than ourselves is imperative.  We were not meant to walk the earth alone, nor should be have to do it. Make that conscious decision each day to strive to be better for you, for someone else, or for something.

Don’t settle for what you have right now, there’s always room to improve.  Find something you want in the future and go for it.  Perseverance and determination are attributes that no one will ever fault you for having.  You can be, achieve, and complete anything you want.  You just have to figure out what it is.

And when you do find what it is, be like Cher and just believe.

 

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What’s Up With That Wednesday

I like to eat.

This was most evident when I came back from studying abroad in Dublin circa 2009.  My mother was waiting for me at the ‘Arrivals’ section of the airport, and after five months of separation, the first thing she said to me was, “Wow, you look different.”

And it wasn’t the good different.  It was the twenty pounds heavier complete with a fat face and borderline emerging cankles different.

Being overseas for five months really expanded my horizons with food.  My newly expanded waistline and bloated face were concrete evidence. But as much as I learned to love food and experiment, there were some things I could not wrap my head around.

Spicy food.  One time I went to get wings with my friend Shannon.  She tried some from the “extremely hot” column.  Next thing you know, I look over and she’s got sweat coming out of her ears. HER EARS.  I’ve never been in a situation where ear sweat is not only acceptable but you voluntarily eat something that causes it.

Seriously… What the hell is up with food so hot that it could burn off your face?

Ghost Peppers:

I tend to avoid ghosts at all costs.  Especially in my food.  I don’t want to eat something that is invisible until I bite into it and all the sudden my mouth is engulfed in an inferno that only milk can control.  I’m lactose intolerant, milk don’t work for me.

Jalapeno Vodka:

I accept this.  But I only accept it in a bloody mary.  Otherwise, let’s stick with Stoli Orange and club soda.  It’s citrus sophisticated.

Habanero Pepper:

Yeah. HabanerNO.  I want nothing to do with you.  It’s not personal, only it is.  It is personal.  I can’t be eating something for dinner that will make me cry.  I’m already a woman, I don’t need another reason to shed tears in public.

Suicide Chicken Wings:

I don’t think I ever want to be put in a situation where I would want to kill myself over a chicken wing.  It just seems wrong.  I like to enjoy my wings, maybe have some beer, watch pretend to watch sports but really be scouting all the hot men at the bar.  I don’t want a fatal chicken appendage to come between me and a good man hunt.

…

I’m sweating just thinking about all of these.  I’m gonna go put an icepack on my forehead and stand in a freezer.

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Did I miss any?

Teach Me How To Do… Anything.

Some people just have it all.  They’re gifted with athleticism, gorgeous flowing hair, the ability to eat a thousand bags of cool ranch Doritos and not gain a pound.  The “have it alls” are naturally beautiful, conversationally gifted, and can generally stop drinking after one glass of wine.

Then there is me.

On a good day, which is usually a Thursday, I snooze three times before getting out of bed, realize I don’t want to there is not enough time to shower, and opt for a headband to conceal the collection of greasy follicles on my head.

Make up is a struggle.  Picking an outfit is a war.

Despite the fact that I’ve made several resolutions to be more polished and put together, I can’t seem to get my body on board by taking sleep off the top of my priority list.

Basically, I’m a hot mess and I can’t do anything correctly due to the fact that sleep dominates my life and I was given the short end of the stick in the talent department.

Given the opportunity, or a new body that miraculously is good at stuff, I would like to know how to do the following:

Cooking:

It’s no secret that I am the worst chef on the planet.  You ask me to make you toast, I’ll give you a plate full of bready ashes and a glob of jelly on the side.  I just don’t know how to do it.  My idea of a fully cooked dinner is a bag full of microwaved steamed broccoli and a side of 90-second rice.  I like microwaves because you don’t touch anything, and at the end of three minutes, your meal is hot and you didn’t ruin anyone’s day.

Construction:

If I have to look at another piece of IKEA furniture and try to assemble it based on picture directions, heads will roll. There are always four extra pegs and a structure that, to me, looks sound, but once I place an item of more than a pound on it, the whole thing will come crashing terribly to the floor.  I can’t build anything.  Except bears, I can totally build a bear.

Anything involving cars:

I bring in my car for a routine checkup and the mechanic tells me I have a four-foot-long boa constrictor in my engine and a nest of African rats in my trunk.  Seems reasonable, so yes, I’d love to pay $800 for you to alleviate that problem, Mr. Mechanic.  It would be nice to know that it isn’t possible for my gas tank to be under the hood of my car, or the general location of my spare tire.

Navigation:

If I text you and tell you I’m five minutes away, multiply it by four because I will be lost in thirty seconds.  I cannot, for the life of me, navigate to and from a location in one successful attempt.  Sure, you may think to yourself, “Why doesn’t this chick just buy a GPS?” And to you I say, thank you, but even GPS are not immune to my idiocy, and I have no idea how far three-hundred feet is, so now seems like a good time to make a right.

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Yeah.. um, let’s just take a left.

I Should Probably Lower My Expectations…

One time I was super excited to meet up with this kid from Tinder (hint #1 this didn’t go as planned).  Then when I showed up he was already at the bar on his second drink (hint #2).  I recognize his face and immediately realize that I am taller than him sitting down (hint #3).

He proceeded to spend the entire date talking about himself while intermittently sprinkling in hints about how women should learn to cook before anything else.

I told him I can’t even make toast without setting off my smoke alarm, went to the bathroom and never returned.  Needless to say, it didn’t go as planned, and it definitely didn’t work out.

Much like this clip featuring my husband, Joey GorLevs, life is chock full of moments like being excited for a date and not having it turn out the way you wanted.

But regardless of how important our day-to-day adventures may or may not be, we place an expectation on how they should go down, and unfortunately, the reality doesn’t always match up.

College Dorm Rooms

Expectation: If you’re like me and constantly relive your glory years by watching teen dramas like The CW’s Vampire Diaries and ABC Family’s Greek, you went in to college with the expectation that you were going to be living in a gorgeous, Pottery Barn inspired, pre-decorated master suite, complete with a queen sized bed, a bay window, and a roommate you totally got along with in all aspects of life.

Reality: You and your random roommate who happens to collect erasers and used buttons get to decorate your spacious, cement wall insulated 10×12 dorm room complete with single beds and old prison mattresses.  Don’t go too crazy!

Lean Cuisines

Expectation: That food photographer is straight out of the Annie Leibovitz Picture Academy. Making my broccoli and chicken bake meal practically jump off the box and into my mouth.  The cheesey goodness of my four-cheese pasta is making me salivate at the sight of it, almost leading me to commandeer the nearest microwave and use it on the spot.

Reality: This so called “meal” is barely a serving size and the broccoli is soggy.  There are two cubes of chicken and I can only taste one cheese in my four-cheese pasta.  It all tastes like disappointment and I’m walking, no calling for delivery from the nearest Dominos.

Birthdays

Expectation: It’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I want to! Everyone is here to celebrate ME, ME, ME, ME!  The guy I have a crush on is totally going to walk in, catch my eyeball, music will play as he waltzes towards me and we make out on the dance floor like the scene of a movie while all my friends clap behind me and rally in support of my birthday conquest.

Reality:  It’s 1030pm, you haven’t left your apartment because you’re too drunk.  You’re crying to your best friends because your left shoe doesn’t fit on your right foot and ultimately settling for chinese delivery and sleeping in your birthday dress.

 

 

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.

Nicki Minaj and A Free Fall.

I’ve been fortunate enough in my life to have some pretty amazing experiences.  Although, one trip in particular takes the cake, and it happened to be the product of my father’s overindulgence in Manhattans coupled with a sudden realization that frequent flyer miles actually do expire.

I’m talking about the time I swindled my way into a trip to New Zealand to visit my bestie of twenty-four years, Shannon.

Sidenote: Shannon is the type of person I’d love to be.  I consider myself a free-spirit, a ‘take it day-by-day’ type of girl.  But she completely blows me out of the water with her lifestyle.  This girl studied abroad in Auckland during college, then three minutes after accepting her diploma at graduation, was sitting down on a plane, seatbelt fastened, packed and ready to move halfway across the world and become a Kiwi for an undisclosed amount of time.  Just a true gambler and globetrotter to the core.

So let’s recap:  Friend since birth moves to New Zealand.  Friend asks me to come visit.  I can’t afford it.  Father drinks a couple Manhattans, realizes frequent flyer miles are going to expire.  I swoop in with transglobal travel suggestion. Emphasize cultural and personal importance of said experience.  Dad calls airline, subsequently drunkenly books ticket. I’m going to New Zealand. 

525 feet of nothing but air.

525 feet of nothing but air.

Fast forward through a twenty-four hour travel spree, nine in-flight movies, realizing and comprehending that they sell lamb patties at the Auckland Airport McDonalds, and I’ve arrived!

Shannon scoops me up at the airport, and we’re off!  Listing off all the audacious activities that are about to happen, which include, and are almost limited to wine tastings and vineyard tours.  Jackpot.  I’m nodding in agreement with all the activities she has planned, until she gets to the last one.  So let’s get to the ultimatum.

“Before you leave, we’re going to do the Nevis Swing,” I nodded in agreement, picturing those harmless swings at a carnival, “It’s the biggest swing in the world.”

That’s when my jaw dropped.

“I’m not doing it alone,” Shannon continued. “You have to do it with me, or else I’m never going to do it.”

It was a tall order, and she had done so much for me: planning this entire trip, making sure I saw everything that needed to be seen.  But I am absolutely terrified of heights. I don’t go over bridges. I don’t look out windows when I’m up high. I avoid seeing how far above the ground I am at all costs.  I don’t like to think about it.  And I definitely didn’t want a harness to be the only thing saving me from a canyon induced death.

This bridge... NOPE.

This bridge… NOPE.

But this was a challenge I had to accept.  I flew across the world to visit Shannon – I couldn’t back out of doing something that I’ll never again experience in my life. This was monumental.

I needed a wine.  I needed a beer.  I needed alcohol.

We went to get sized for harnesses, literally sign our lives away – in case of death or injury, Nevis claims no responsibility, as it was done on our own free will and utter stupidity – then boarded a bus that took us to the top of the canyon where we would inevitably plummet 525 feet at almost 80 MPH.

Just a typical Saturday.

“Are you with me, or are you going to chicken out?”  She asked as we approached just one of my many fears that I would end up conquering today: a giant, wide open, single file bridge.

“I’m scared shitless.”  There were no other words I could say, and in agreement, she turned and started walking.  I had to follow.  We made our way across the bridge, and to the platform where I took a seat in the safest corner of the hut.  We were given the task to chose our ‘descent music,’ the song that would play when we cut the cord and dropped into the valley. We chose Nicki Minaj’s classic, “Super Bass” to take us down.

Going to marry that guy.

Going to marry that guy.

We watched a few people go, a lot of girls scream, and before we knew it, and way before I was ready, it was our turn. Second fear to conquer: getting strapped and harnessed to the point of anxiety.  But I guess when the straps are so tight around your thighs that you can’t feel them, there’s less of a chance that you’ll slip out and die.  So I was okay with that.

We were ready.  Well, as ready as you could be.  We sat down on the platform, and the hot swing employee asks, “Are we ready, ladies?” Then, before we could answer, he flips a switch and we hear the gears grinding, and our bodies being lifted off the platform.  We’re hanging above safety now, and he asks us to smile.  We obliged.  This could be the happiest and last moment of my life, I may as well look excited.

He presses the button again, and we’re being mechanically moved farther away from the platform, and my heart is sinking with each passing inch.  Shannon is gripping my right hand so tightly, but I don’t even notice because I’m gripping hers just as tight. The machine stops, and we swing back and forth until we’ve reached an equilibrium.

“…This one is for the boys with the boomin’ system. Top down, AC with the coolin’ system…” I hear Nicki playing over the speakers, and the hot swing employee picks up a megaphone and holds it to his mouth, “Okay, I’m going to release you on the count of three. Does that work?”

DROPPED.

DROPPED.

Shannon and I both nodded.  I couldn’t formulate a sentence. “Okay, here we go! One, two..” He pressed the release button. Didn’t even get to three.

We were free falling, clutching each other’s hands so tightly, my eyes were closed, mouth open, but no sound coming out.  After a second, I opened my eyes, and we were swinging.  I look over at Shannon and she has opened her eyes at the same time.

“HOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT.” We both had lost any and all appropriate vocabulary for the moment, the only thing we could do was swear.  We were astonished. But we had done it.

I made it out alive.  

It was one of the single best events of the trip, and my life.  Shannon, a girl who I’ve looked up to as being the epitome of courageous, made me try something I never wanted to try.  She helped me conquer a fear that I never thought would be possible.  Do I still hate heights? Yes.  But the idea of driving over a bridge or looking out a floor-to-ceiling glass window is not so daunting when you’ve fallen over five-hundred feet solely attached by a harness.

So Dad, thanks for giving me the opportunity to go to New Zealand and experience this. Shan, thanks for making me do it, but please don’t ever make me do it again.

Full video of the jump:  Nevis Madness

Remembering My First Love

I’m going to be real honest and break it down for a hot second.

I’ve had my fair share of crushes that didn’t quite pan out (I’m talking to you, Leo DeCaps) the way that I wanted.  But love is a completely different story.

I’ve been there, done that, moved on, and (almost) got over it.  But then again, the first cut is the deepest, right Sheryl Crow?  You go girl, sign it from the heart! Lance Armstrong sucks! (just kidding…?)

Anyways, since I’m somewhat of a scornful human being when it comes to broken hearts, I did a little research into the whole feeling of love and what it means. And what I found what shocking.

Turns out, I’m already in love.  Who knew?  I started reading about the 7 Ways Love Transforms Your Brain, and with each progressing number it became more and more clear.

I’m in love with food.

And it’s pretty bad.  I knew when the clock struck noon that I was hungry, but who knew it was hunger pangs tugging on my heart strings?

Don’t believe me?  Well, you should.  Because here are the 7 ways my brain has been transformed since I admitted my unrequited love for all things edible.

EDITOR'S NOTE: RED TEXT is website info, BLACK TEXT, much like my soul, are my own thoughts. 

1. You Feel Addicted

Ever hear that love is a drug? Well, there may be some truth to that. Your brain houses these intensely passionate feelings using the same system that’s activated when a person is addicted to drugs, from the euphoria you feel to your cravings for more. Sure, it might be a much healthier addiction — but let’s face facts, shall we? You’re an addict.

The only things I am positive I am addicted to are bacon, wine, and unlimited brunch buffets.  Call me a hopeless romantic, but I don’t think too much IHOP ever hurt anybody. I guess that encompasses most food entities.  Checkmark on the addiction aspect of food admiration.

2. You Start Thinking In Twos

It’s not just “me, me, me” anymore. Now, there’s two of you to think about — and your brain will automatically pick up the changes. The bond you share with your partner or children runs way deeper than just on the outside.

I can’t imagine a day going by without having more than one of anything that I eat.  Two bowls of cereal? Yes, please. A double dose of chips and salsa? Absolutely.  An extra side of bacon?  Do I even have to answer? I even cut my sandwiches in half just so I cognitively think there are two rather than one part to my lunch meal.

3. You Love Longer (And Become Wiser)

Falling in love is as good for your heart as it is for your mental health. People in love report higher levels of dopamine, which is linked to pleasure, desire and euphoria. Studies report that people in positive, healthy relationships live longer, are happier, wiser and have better mental health. 

You know what’s good for your heart?  Food.  You know why skinny people are so crazy?  They don’t eat enough. Has anyone ever felt worse after eating a heaping pile of huevos rancheros for breakfast? Don’t answer that.  I just know that after I eat a bacon cheese burger, I feel like I’m on top of the world. Endorphins to the moon and back baby.  That’s how I roll.

4. You’re More Supportive

One of the biggest benefits of falling in love is that you’ll learn what it’s really like to lean on (and support) another person. Building trust in a relationship is crucial. And, your brain helps you out with that. When we’re in love, we’re less likely to be critical or skeptical of the person we care about.

“Hey, let’s talk about this over a big plate of onion rings” is one of my favorite phrases. Food builds trust.  Food is trust. Learn it, live it, love it.  Support food, support me, support you.  It’s all in a days work.  Eat, support a pal, go home, sleep like a baby.

5. You De-Stress

Some of us might mistake those butterflies surrounding your first kiss — but there’s no way your brain will ever forget how it first felt to be touched by someone you’re in love with. 

You haven’t had butterflies until you’re waiting in your booth on pins and needles for a short stack of pancakes on a Sunday morning.  Your brain doesn’t ever forget something as crucial as a post-hangover meal.  Especially if it’s carb-o-loaded. You can quote me on that.

6. You Glow (Well, Your Brain’s Reward Centers Do!)

In a study that assessed couples “madly in love,” scientists found that the reward centers of their brains lit up after just looking at a picture of their spouse. Let the bright lines shine, baby!

Look at these pictures and tell me you are not immediately filled with glee.  I rest my case.

7. You Feel Safe

Similar to the first bonds babies make with their mothers, the feeling of security will emerge in your relationship. As you age and change, your body actually remembers the brain cycles and stages that you went through in your youth — so when you feel reconnected to your baby self, those feelings of safety and contentment will come flooding back. Research also shows that when we feel love for someone, it shuts down the part of our brain that controls fear and negative emotions.

Do I feel safe while I’m eating? Not particularly.  Do I feel safe after I’m done eating, and have a full range of motion as well as sharp utensils to thwart off any enemies? Abso-posi-tive-a-lutely. Forks and steak knives all day.

…

PS- I will be an Onion Ring Connoisseur before I die.

Spoiler Alert: Invention of the Century Inside

OMG, SOOOO TASTY!!

OMG, SOOOO TASTY!!

Oh boy!  I’ve been waiting to share this idea for about three minutes since i just remembered it existed.

I’m a girl who is on the continual hunt for excellence.  I’m always trying to improve.  My brain is in constant motion, for the better and for the worse. I don’t want anyone to see or hear my private thoughts, but today, I’ve decided I’m going to let you in on a little piece of Meg’s brain that harbors my inventions.

A lot of things go on inside my head.  Mostly irrelevant, nonsensical notions, but sometimes there are gems.  This is one of those times.  But how do you dissect the weird from the truly ingenious?  Luckily, I found an online survey that allows you to determine whether or not your invention is good or bad.

I present to you:

MOTIVATIONAL SOUPS

Describe what your invention does in one or more action phrases.

It’s like MLK in your Minestrone.

Does your invention solve a specific problem? If so, describe the problem it solves.

Hunger is a very real problem in my life, and in anyone’s life who is alive.  People gotta eat! And everyone could use a little ego boost.

What advantages does your product have in comparison to the products or solutions above?

I’ve never eaten a can of minestrone and immediately felt souper cool, friendly, or fun – Progressive and Campbell’s just can’t do that. BOOM.

What disadvantages does it have?

I guess if you tell people that your emotional state is being swayed by a canned liquid lunch, people might question your sanity. Other than that, I see no disadvantages.

How much do you expect to sell your product for? How much do similar products sell for?

Like, 5$?  Maybe I’ll add a name your price option, Souper Rich seems like it could be a big seller.

Describe a typical user of your product. Is the person who pays for it a different person? If so, describe the typical person who would pay for your product.

Grumpy people at lunchtime.

What are your goals for this invention?

To improve the mental and physical well being of the human population, while providing a well balanced meal. To make so many dollhairs.

Mark any of the following items that you already have with a check. Mark any that would like to have with an * and estimate your expected budget for that item if you can.

[X] sketches (a simple drawing of the invention)

[X] patent (official patent protection for your idea)

[X] visual model (a 3D model that shows how the invention might look)

[ ] working model (a model that demonstrates that the invention will work)

[ ] computer model (a computer representation of the invention, used for manufacturing)

[ ] technical drawings (drawings that a shop can work from to produce your product)

[ ] renderings (a computer generated image of how your product will look)

[ ] prototype (something close to or identical to the final product)

[ ] production run (many copies of the product to sell)

[ ] product photographs (professional photographs of the product to use in marketing it)

Flavors to be rolled out in large quantities:

Souper Easy, Souper Fun, Souper Awesome, Souper Smart, Souper Attractive, Souper Awkward, Souper Friendly, Souper Drunk, Souper Sassy, Souper Dramatic

Any and all offers are appreciated.  I’d like to see this up and running… tomorrow.  Kinda hurting for cash and stuff.

 

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Cleaning: Then vs. Now

Chores.  The word that, as a child, would make me come up with a sudden prior commitment, a misplaced cell phone, or some sort of bedridden ailment.

No pants? No problem. #Laundry

No pants? No problem. #Laundry

Chores. The word, that as a semi-adult, would still make me come up with excuses, take a necessary nap in avoidance, but the end result would be finding my cell phone.

It’s funny to think about how much you’ve actually grown up compared to yourself as a child. I used to cringe at the thought of doing dishes, but now I will head hunt a roommate and give her a hairy eyeball until she goes and washes the pan from two days ago.

I don’t think I’ve grown up that much, but there are certain aspects of life I’ve accepted as growing up since I’ve moved out.

Making your bed:

Kid: The only time I made my bed was when my mom made me change my sheets.  I just rolled out of bed, then rolled right back in at the end of the night.  Covers still disrupted, it was easy to just pull them back over my gross kid body and call it a night.

Adult: I will forget to bring a lunch to work but you better bet your bottom dollar I make my bed.  There are few greater pleasures than getting ready to go to sleep and hopping inside a freshly made bed.  The warmth of the blankeys permeated through the sheets.  Just pure heaven.  An absolute must before leaving in the morning.

Laundry:

Kid: Laundry consisted of me finding what looked the cleanest on the floor and putting it back onto my body.  If I mustered up the motivation and strength to put everything in a basket and bring it upstairs, mamma Meg would take care of that problem.  Shirts always perfectly folded, socks always perfectly coupled.  I don’t think I ever had missing footwear as a child.  My mom had that shit on LOCK.

Adult: Laundry consists of me finding what looks the cleanest on my floor and putting it back onto my body.  If I muster up the motivation and strength to gather everything into a basket and bring it into the laundry room, chances are I waited too long to fit it all into one machine.  Nothing is ever folded. Socks are always missing.  Laundry is a constant battle.

Dishes:

Kid: Don’t get me started.  I could catch a disease washing a dish.  Especially growing up with three boys, I saw how they ate.  No regard for manners, politeness, or basic chewing.  I was not in any way, shape, or form touching those plates.  Got to the point where if I didn’t do my dishes, my mom would actually take them and put them on my bed.  And as we learned earlier, my bed was never made – so that made for a very unpleasant situation.

Adult: I learned very quickly after moving out that doing dishes is essential.  When you live with people you don’t know, it’s important to keep the place clean.  Or, you quickly learn to question how people were raised when you see them leave dishes in the sink, bowls on the counter, and mugs on the table for days on end. Also, never been more excited to see a dishwasher in my life than when I moved into my new apartment.

Cleaning the house:

Kid: Cleaning the house meant one of two things, either I was being punished, or relatives were coming, which in some cases, could be punishment in itself.  Nothing worse than knowing Thanksgiving was coming up and remembering I have to polish the entire silver set that we use for thirty minutes a year.  “But it’s because it’s your grandmother’s.” My mom would always say.  Okay mom.

Adult: Now I just clean because the place is filthy and I can’t stand having to walk around wearing shoes.  A good vacuum is hard to come by, but essential for my sanity. I never understood why my mom put so much effort into cleaning when guests were going to come and dirty up the place.  But as a mature, cultured adult, I understand that presentation is important, and first, second, and all the time impressions are always measured. CLEAN YA HOUZE.

..Now excuse me, I have to go decide whether or not I’m going to shower tonight.

…

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Embarrassment is spelled: M-E-G.

When someone says, “Hey Meg, you should tell me the most embarrassing thing that has happened to you.”

I’m very likely going to respond with, “Which time are you talking about?”

I’m a magnet for misbehavior.  Not just for myself, but if you hang out with me long enough, I’m pretty much guaranteed to embarrass myself, my family, you, your family, your friends, your pets, and even people you don’t necessarily like very much.

I could be at a horse race in Ireland with your extended family, and in the midst of an adult conversation, and interject and ask why it’s so windy even though there are no trees anywhere in sight. I could be in third grade, using a calculator on my multiplication math test and ultimately shaming the intellectual reputation of my family by getting caught by my teacher.  Or I could be in college trying to get to class by cutting through a mud puddle that sucked my flats clear off my feet.

All of those things could, and did happen, but those are not close to the most embarrassing moment in my life.

That moment came and went whilst I was in kindergarten.  A mere five years old.

It was the best day of the week, show and tell day. I was prepared, brought my favorite book along with my favorite page already marked with my favorite colored (green) post-it note. I was ready.

We all do stupid things.  And if you don’t do stupid things, here’s a hint.  You’ve done stupid things, you’re just not willing to admit they were stupid.

yeah, none of us really like attention.

yeah, none of us really like attention.

But I digress. My friend Hayden was showing me the latest in Barbie greatness, and this other kid, Kyle had a badass gold encrusted slinky that glistened every time a pocket of sunlight hit a curve, or slink, or whatever. Sarah was showing off her aggressive collection of photos she had taken with Disney characters.

I’ve always been competitive by nature.  I never like to lose, and I always like to be the best. In the kindergarten battle of who’s got what, I was getting completely outdone.  That was not going to be allowed.  Not in my book.  Not in my school.  Not today.  Not ever.

In this game of show and tell, I was going to win.  So, in every effort to steal the spotlight from all the children in the room, I did the only thing I could in order to solidify myself in with all the greatest showers and tellers.

It was at that moment that I decided the best possible course of action would be to take my red dress and lift it all the way over my head.  I would show my fellow kindergarteners my underwear.  And I would win show and tell for life.

Except the only thing I won was a first class ticket and a front row seat in the Principal’s office. Principal Dunlap to be exact. 

Mrs. Camarotta marched me down, clenching my left hand with an adult dismay, to Principal Dunlap’s office.  This woman was the epitome of my childhood terror.  She wore a tight black fitted skirt suit, stockings, and pointy black heels.  Her hair was perfectly gelled, combed, and styled.  It never moved.  Not even when she was angry.  She was an artist of discipline and I was her next project.

Letting go of my hand, Mrs. Camartotta turned and walked out the door after making sure I was seated in the chair facing Mrs. Dunlap’s desk.  She closed the door behind her. Then the lady in black turned around in her swivel chair, and spoke to me.

“Hello, Megan.” She said sternly, “What brings us here today?” I was unaware there was more than one person involved in this ‘us’ situation, but I made the motion to say that I understood what she asked me, yet I still had no idea how to respond. Then I heard a sound that normally wouldn’t alarm anyone, but scared me straight to my grave (metaphorically).  Right then, her office door opened.

I turned around, not knowing who to expect, when I saw my mother.  And then I saw her face.

It was at this point in time that I realized who she meant by ‘us.’  She meant me and my mother.  Why ‘we’ were here.  Essentially, my mother had to drop everything she was juggling, which at the time meant my two infant brothers in each arm and my four-year-old brother in a front facing backpack, to come to hang out at the bad kid party in the principal’s office.

“So what brings us here today, Megan?” She asked again.  I was astonished.  My skirt show just brought my mother into school.  This was not going to go over well with my father.  Pulling the hems at my dress, “Um, I think I did something bad.” My face was as red as the skirt I had just pulled over my head.  I was mortified.

“You know, Megan,” Principal Dunlap lectured, “there are appropriate ways to get your teacher’s attention, like raising your hand, calling out for help.”  She simultaneously counted on her fingers listing the ways to be appropriate.

“Do you think lifting your dress up was appropriate?” The question was rhetorical, and this was not the time to be smart ass, as my father would say. “No, not it wasn’t.”  I sounded apologetic as I looked up and nodded in agreement with my mother.  My face was still a very dark shade of “humiliation red,” and I didn’t see it fading any time soon.

“Good. As long as we’re clear, your mother can go home and you can go back to class.  Mrs. Tuccio will bring you back to show and tell.”  She reached to grab my hand and led me out the door, but not before my mother sarcastically added in, “Make sure you show your book this time.”

My conference with the devil was over.  I survived.

I marched down the hallway back to my classroom.  I was still filled with unease at what my classmates would think when I entered after the whole dilemma. But then I thought about what the kids would have been talking about while I was gone. They would have been talking about me.

I had made it into the Hall of Fame of Show and Tell.  Reputation cemented in history.  Right where I belonged.

…

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