Think Before You… Oh Wait, Too Late.

It’s Friday! I’m extremely impulsive.  So it’s about time to make a list of all the things I do before I think about the repercussions.

  • Buy five new books before I’ve even finished the one I’m currently reading
  • Decide to purchase flights across the country when I don’t know if I have time off from work
  • Eat an entire cheeseburger that weighs the same amount as a newborn baby
  • Drink an entire bottle of wine, and then another one
  • Make a crock pot meal and double the ingredients because I think I’m Martha Stewart
  • See how far I can go on empty before filling up my gas tank
  • Get all the supplies to do a Pinterested “DIY” craft and never attempt to do it
  • Sign up for the gym with no intentions of ever going
  • Sign up for a marathon with no intentions of actually running
  • Eat an entire can of BBQ Pringles hoping I won’t feel like a lardo
  • Consuming copious amounts of cheese, ice cream, milk, and yogurt knowing full well that I am lactose intolerant
  • Making drastic lifestyle changes because I had one bad day
  • Giving up drinking on the weekdays for Lent — WHY?
  • Swipe my credit card and “worry about it later”
  • Go on a blind date with a guy that turns out to be three feet tall and extremely clingy
  • Try to win a burrito contest from Chipotle only to be blacklisted because of sheer dedication
  • Avoid wearing a bra out in public only to realize I’d be out of the house for an entire eight hours
  • Drink wine for dinner because it’s healthier than going spoons deep in chunky peanut butter
  • Go out in public without make up only to bump into the only person you don’t want to see in public without make up
  • Drink beer for breakfast
  • Signing receipts with my twitter handle before realizing I’m a jackass
  • Not exercise
  • Watch an entire day’s marathon of Gangland only to be scared to walk outside my house for fear for my life
  • Watch an entire day’s marathon of CSI only to be even more terrified to walk outside my house for fear of my life
  • Choose to watch Titanic refusing to watch past the iceberg scene in respect to Leo DeCaps and in disdain of fat Rose taking up the entire goddamn floating double door
  • Knowing I’m due for a good cry and choosing to watch A Walk To Remember on a Saturday night before I go out
  • Pretending I know what I’m talking about then unintentionally getting wrapped up in a conversation full of lies and deceit
  • Going to the doctor to get my ears checked out and having it turn into a full fledged interrogation of my medical history — it’s just an ear lady, LAY OFF ME.
  • Deciding that after a week of drinking, it seems like a good time to check how much I weigh — IT’S NOT
  • Going outside without a jacket on because it’s not that cold out — when the only way I tell the temperature is by looking out my windows into the alley with no sunlight
  • Not checking the weather before I walk to work because I think I am an amature meteorologist
  • Looking at pictures of myself from middle school knowing that I thought I honestly looked really fly in my tearaway Addias sweat pants, Aeropostale polo shirt, a curly bun, and my grandmother’s dangly earrings
  • Starting this list and then realizing it’s dumb

The Band of Books and Booze and Brilliance.



Good news, everyone! The gods of the interwebs have smiled upon me!

Today is a day to be remembered.  A time to rejoice. Because I have accepted a seat at the cool kids lunch table.

Oh, what’s that sound you hear?  It’s the sweet, sweet music of a wonderful symphonic orchestra playing as I’m dancing around in circles.

That’s right, I have joined the ranks with a band of the booziest, brilliant, and book-crazy peeps on the internet. I am now officially part of the Tipsy Lit crew, and I couldn’t be more happy.

Please drink and read responsibly.

Tipsy Lit was gracious enough to invite me to partake in their Children’s Literature week, allowing me to rewrite an excerpt of Judy Blume’s classic coming of age novel, which was appropriately named, “Are you there, Google? It’s me, Meg.”

So, if you’re a drinker, a thinker, and an inker (booze, books, brilliance, woahhhhhhh), please subscribe to Tipsy Lit and do yourself a double favor and spice up your inbox with a few of my problems by following me as well.

That’s not too much to ask is it?

Not at all! But, you may be asking yourself, “Hi self, what is in it for me?”

I’m so very glad that you asked.  Because there are tons of things in it for you, my fellow amigos and amigas. I’m not trying to say I’m kind of a big deal, but I am kind of a big deal because not only am I one of the most overly caffeinated and excited people on the planet, I am now the new Promotional Manager for the site, and with great power, comes great responsibility.

Thus I give you, FREE STUFF.  If you follow me at all, which you should be – except physically, because that would be scary – stay tuned for some new announcements detailing tons of giveaways and freebies that you can win by entering some of the Tipsy Contests!

That’s right, folks!  You can win free stuff just by being friends with me.

Let the bidding for my friendship start at ten slice and bake cookies… or just the press of a button.

Shameless self promotion. FOLLOW ME: 




Tipsy Lit

Bad Habits Don’t Always Need to Be Broken

Your twenties are chock full of bad habits.

You’re young, you’re in your prime, you’re on your own. COOL!

You’re irresponsible, you drink too much, you took another selfie, you spent all your money. NOT COOL!

But why does everyone have something to say about it?  Telling me what should I be doing.  Advising me on what I should avoid.  There are hundreds of lists on every corner of the internet either agreeing or contradicting with what someone else has already said.

People grow up at different rates, and these compiled lists of what we should and shouldn’t be doing is entirely based on a generic assumption of how a ‘twenty-something’ acts.  We don’t act the same.  We’re not all on the same timeline.

As a ‘twenty-something’ myself, I read these lists and immediately compare my life to what they’re telling me to do and avoid.  Sometimes I agree, but sometimes I don’t.

Look, I get it.  I’m not supposed to break the law, and being inappropriately drunk in public before 2pm is frowned upon by society.  But half the battle of being in your twenties is moving out of your parents home – IF YOU CAN, figuring out your relationships – IF YOU HAVE ONE, and managing your money – IF YOU HAVE ANY.

The idea of being twenty-something and having your life figured out is utter insanity.  Yes that is the ultimate goal.  But we all know that.  Why do we have to grow up immediately after college and not have fun anymore?

I don’t think you ever reach a point where you have it figured out.  My parents don’t even have their life figured out.  They moved to the suburbs thirty years ago, and now have no idea what to do with their lives since we’ve moved out.

I bet they didn’t think about that when they had four kids under five-years-old. They were just trying to survive the day without wanting to (metaphorically) kill all of us. It was a stage in life. Just like now.

Personally, I have a lot of bad habits.  But the majority of them stem from my age.  Isn’t that the whole reason we take away knives from children and allow eight year olds to pick their nose?  They grow out of it, and so will we.

Please don’t tell me to stop comparing myself to other girls, because girls just do that.  It’s in our blood.  If you ever meet a girl who says, “Yeah, I don’t really measure myself against other women, it’s a waste of time because I just love myself so much, and know that I’m worth it.”

That girl is either lying or she is a man.  Women innately want to analyze things.  Not just bodies, not just minds, everything.  We compare tile samples at Target, paint swatches at Home Depot, and the vacuums at department stores before we buy.  We are pros-and-cons list advocates, and it has nothing to do with how we feel about our own bodies, that’s just the most obvious comparison we, as women, happen to make.

Don’t let anyone tell you that you have to grow up.  Next thing you know, you’re sixty and spend three hours a day wondering where your life went.  Find a balance between toddler and parent and stick to it for a while.

It’s okay to be weird, it works.  Just don’t lick anyone’s face and people will think you’re quirky.

Let’s stop talking about the quintessential post-grad love life.  Relationships, and lack there of, are not unique to this age bracket.  Reaching your twenties just means you’ve progressed to a whole new level of issues.  It’s like you’re in a real life video game, and it’s saying, “Congratulations!  You’ve reached level 22, you are now equipped to deal with the reality of dating in a thriving metropolis! Go forth, enjoy it!”

Newsflash: Where you live now is just a bigger version of high school or college. Same problems, different location. Adapt and deal.

Unless you have a dress code at work, don’t let anyone tell you what to wear.  The fact that wearing sweatpants outside of the house isn’t acceptable is a crock of shit.  Wear what you feel comfortable in.  It’s not “if you look good, you feel good,” rather it should be, “if you feel good, you’re more confident.”  And confidence is more important than wearing a tight pair of pants and heels because basketball shorts are forbidden at the grocery store.

You’re at the goddamn grocery store.  Do you really think people care what you’re wearing when you’re selecting which cantaloupe feels more ripe?  No.  They’re more concerned with the amount of items in your cart and whether or not they should try and cut you in line.

Who cares if your friend group is sizably smaller than it was in college.  When you were at school, if you attended, there were thousands of other people at the same place passionate about the same things.  If everyone in the world lived in places based on the same interests, this would make it possible for everyone to have infinite friends.

Instead, we live in the real world, where people have to embrace differences and work to establish meaningful friendships.  Ignore everyone who tries to tell you how many friends you need to have.  This isn’t high school.  Life doesn’t care about your friend count.  If you’re happy, that’s what matters.

At the end of the day, follow your gut.  More times than I can count, my first instinct was the best one.  If you have to overthink a decision, chances are it probably isn’t a good idea.  Unless you’re dealing with ghost peppers and heights; then thinking it through is always a plus.

Your twenties are chock full of bad habits and bad decisions to match.  But you don’t have to break them right away.  Let’s make this a judgment free zone, avoid the snarky comments revolving around making a bad decision, and let the individual decide whether or not to do it again.  After all, you are an adult now, and it’s time you decided what is and isn’t good for you.

Along the road you’ll encounter a problem, a blessing, an inconvenience, and eventually, a reward… your thirties.

CloudLife 101.

A lot of people buy sports cars or elaborate vacation homes when they reach their mid-life crisis.

My father chose to take up skydiving.

He spent his week commuting to work in his fabulous, pre-owned, 2003 Ford Taurus – a car our family so wonderfully dubbed, the Golden Gladiator – he spent the weekend riding in a different type of vehicle.  One that happens to elevate over 12,500 feet above ground level.

While your parents may have had to extend their car insurance policy to encompass that new Porsche or Corvette, my mother had to sign off on a life insurance policy.  You know, just in case my dad died mid-flight or whatever.

On my twenty-first birthday, my dad walks into my room with a question, “How would you feel about going skydiving?”

I weighed my options, thinking to myself, “Is this something I really want to do?  Jumping out of a plane is a pretty serious activity.  And totally dangerous.  I don’t know if I want to take that kind of risk…”

That is completely false.  As soon as the question left his mouth, my voice was already in full-fledged, freak out mode.

“UMMMMMMMMMMMMM, are you serious? HOW CAN I NOT GO SKYDIVING?!?!?! Tell Mr. Shaw, the butler, to clear my schedule. TODAY, I WILL BE WITH THE CLOUDS!”

And was in the front seat, buckled up, and had posted a Facebook status before he even finished his sentence.

It’s a pretty well-known fact that I am completely obsessed with clouds.  Like, I know everything about them.  Cumulonimbus, altostratus, fog, you name it, I love it.  So when I heard the words ‘sky’ and ‘diving’ come out of my father’s mouth, you better believe that I immediately jumped (no pun intended, but totally intended) at the chance to hang out in higher altitudes.

We get to the ranch, which is essentially a giant field enclosed by a wooden fence, and go to this hut to check in.  My dad elects to have my first attempt at sky flight filmed and photographed, “You’re going to want to look at this later, trust me, kid.”

My father calls me kid. I don’t know why. I guess I am still a child… mentally?

Getting harnessed up by Lars.

Getting harnessed up by Lars.

I get harnessed and strapped six ways to Neptune, then meet the guy who is essentially responsible for my life.  He is no shorter than six-foot-three, skinny, and extremely Russian.

“Hello, I am Lars, I will be your tandem.” He tells me as he pulls up his goggles away from his eyes.

He hands me what looks like a leather yamika with straps, and points at my hair, “Put this on your head. Your hair is wild. I don’t want that curly bun my face.” Then handed me a pair of plastic goggles. These looked more like a see-through bikini a doll would wear on vacation than something I’d use to cover my eyeballs.

We march to the plane, and take our seats inside.  The plane takes off, and all I see is the field getting smaller and smaller.  We reach the desired altitude, and they swing open the side door.

The videographer stands  up, snaps a picture, and holds on to the bar on the side of the doorway.

“Are you ready?” Lars asks me before interrupting my answer, “It doesn’t matter, because you are strapped in you see?  You go where I go. And we are going down.”

I am completely strapped in to this man.  We have to move our legs in unison to take steps forwards towards the doorway.  We are inches away from free falling.


Nice goggles, eh?

Then he says the most magical words I’ve ever heard, “Do you want to go through a cloud, or wait and go around it?”

“UMMMMM. I want to go through a goddamn cloud.”

The videographer jumps out of the plane, and we rock back and forth and “THREE… TWOO…”

He doesn’t even wait until 1 to push off the landing and into the open air.  My face is being slapped seven ways to Sunday with wind in every direction.  I see the videographer below me, snapping pictures, so I give my best thumbs up.

I feel my cheeks being pushed backwards towards my ears, inevitably making me look like a chipmunk. But I don’t even care, because we jumped right smack dab into the middle of a big ass cumulonibus cloud.

Realizing this, I look straight into the video camera and scream, “OH MY GOD, I AM IN A CLOUD. I AM IN A [EXPLETIVE] CLOUD!”

Best looking chipmunk in the sky?

Best looking chipmunk in the sky?

Turns out, playing the video back, you can’t hear me, you can only see me mouthing the words and doing rapid hand movements which I assume means I was just really excited.

We were freefalling for what felt like a lifetime, but was actually probably thirty seconds when Lars called out, “MEG. PULL THE PARACHUTE.”

And just like I practiced, I unloaded the parachute – like a champion, I might add.

We coasted under the parachute for another minute or two until we were in clear sight of the landing spot.  I didn’t realize how awkward the whole man-strapped-on-your-back thing was until I wasn’t hopped up on adrenaline, realizing it was all ending soon.

Approaching the landing, I did as I was taught, and made sure my feet were lifted off the ground, as to prevent any broken legs. We landed, Lars freed me from my buckle harness, and gave me a high five.  “Did you have fun?” He asked.

The answer was obvious, but I couldn’t put my feelings into words.

It was even better than I imagined.

Related Posts:

Sky Geometry – Vintage Photography

Just A Perfect Day – Raspberry’s Daydreams