Does Heaven Have An Open Bar?

Dichotomy City.

Dichotomy City.

I have already talked about how I’m going to hell, but since turning twenty-five, my mother told me to grow up I’m all about making dramatic life changes in order to become a better person.

A few weeks ago I was at the gas station when a homeless woman came up to me and asked me for money so she could buy a coffee.  I never carry cash, so I went in with her and used my debit card to get her a medium light and sweet.

The next day a man asked me for some money so he could buy a T pass. Again, I never carry cash, but I swiped him through the turnstile so he could catch the next train.

I don’t carry cash for a variety of reasons.  One, I am too disorganized in my purse to ever hold on to any amount of money.  Second, using credit cards gives the illusion that I’m not spending real money, so if I don’t see the cash physically disappear, it must still be in my bank account (this is completely rational thinking, by the way).

But not carrying cash in those two instances allowed me to do something good with my money.  Now I know buying a coffee and a train ride aren’t the basis for getting into heaven, but I have to believe it’s a good start.

This whole path towards greatness got me thinking about what heaven must be like.  And if I’m going to be in it, there definitely needs to be a few things to make my eternal stay in the afterlife a comfortable one.  I made this list assuming bacon was already present, because frankly, excluding it would be preposterous.

Here is a list of the things that (absolutely) have to be in heaven:

1. Naps

You have to be outside of your mind if you don’t think that I will spend every night dreaming about nap time, and every day planning out when it’s happening.

2. Wine

Grapes on grapes on grapes.  Wine for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Wine is water, and water is wine. I think the bible says that.

3. Buffets

I can’t be in an eternal place of peace and serenity and not have unlimited access to selections from Taco Bell, Pizza Hut and KFC.  KFC biscuits are a deity.

4. Teleports

Aint nobody got time to wait in line in heaven. I can’t be dealing with traffic up in the sky when I want to go to Cloud Bar for a 7pm dinner reservation.

5. Jax Teller

I don’t understand why I would have to explain this one.

6. Baby Animals

Puppies will always be puppies, and baby pandas will be my pillows, and there will be a baby jungle full of baby lions, tigers, bears, OH MY! Basically heaven will be Neverland for animals.

7. Trampolines

No one has a bad day after playing on a trampoline. I will also miraculously be gifted the talent of being able to do gymnastics, so trampolines will have infinitely more applications in my afterlife.

8. Good Hair Days

There is no way I don’t wake up in heaven with perfect tendrils or tresses or curls, it’s just not possible. Hair always looks good in heaven. I think it’s because there’s no humidity or something. Don’t quote me on that.

In the vein of all things glorious, there are definitely a list of things that are, under no circumstances, allowed in heaven (with or without me).

1. The DMV

The DMV belongs in hell. Those people probably didn’t pay their parking tickets and have more of a use for it anyways. Heaven only lets in good drivers.

2. Airport Security

I’m going to fly with nine hundred water bottles and regular sized shampoos.

3. Push Button/Hand Sensor Faucets

Heaven trusts people to turn the faucet off when you’re done washing your hands.  The people in hell deserve to have sensors tell them when they’ve hit their water quota.

4. Food Allergies

I’ve lived too long with a dairy allergy. I reserve the right to gorge my face with cheese and ice cream, or cheese-flavored-ice cream in heaven.  Food allergies are going to hell. BE GONE.

 

Is There Anything Worse Than A Bruised Banana?

20140611-051241-18761863.jpg

EW.

I say this with the utmost sensitivity, but also not being sensitive at all because I’m at the airport, sans coffee, and all I had to look forward to after the debacle that is TSA security was the banana I liberated from my office yesterday afternoon.

To my dismay, after removing said freed work banana out of my trusty satchel, I found that it looks mildly discolored.

Normally, this is fine. I’ll take a brown spotted over a hard green any day of the week and twice on Sunday, but this particular banana was full of lies and deceit.

After the initial peel, which usually fills me with glee and anticipation of eating a potassium induced fruit that, after consumption, alleviates me of an annoying pulsating cramp in my left shoulder from sleeping weird, I noticed that the one or two spots on the outside revealed a more disturbing inside.

This banana was dead.

And there was no saving it.

It was like I opened a yellow protective peel expecting to see a freestanding fruit, yet I was greeted with a pile of brown mush that was only held together by a damaged outer shell.

The banana that held my hand through security, the banana that helped me save one whole dollar at Dunkin Donuts, the banana I worked tirelessly to liberate from the kitchen cages of corporate greed, my friends, that banana was inedible.

If you know anything about airports, you know that getting through security unscathed and with your entrails intact is a feat most people don’t overcome.

But I thought luck was on my side When the TSA woman at the initial check point let me know that I basically don’t look like a terrorist.

Round One: Meg – 1, Airport – 0.

I was selected to pass through security in the fast lane. No shoe removal, no invasive body scans, no suitcase search, just an innocent face and a plane to catch.

And the thought in the back of my mind that I would be enjoying the
deliciously ripe banana that accompanied me through airport security.

After pretty much getting upgraded to the first class security line, and fast tracking it through metal detectors like it ain’t no thang, I was shocked that after the good fortunes I was again rewarded with a wonderful window seat to watch planes departing whilst eating my potassium.

Round Two: Meg – 2, Airport – 0.

Only then did I realize that my morning would take a turn for the worst.

I could not enjoy my banana.

I couldn’t even look it in the eye and tell it why I was throwing it out.  It just needed to go.

I am hungry. I am tired. And I am still twitching in my left shoulder because I slept weird.

Fuck you, banana. Get a hard shell. Adapt, evolve, do something and stop ruining my life.

Airport/Banana – 1, Meg – 0.

It Has Come To My Attention That I Am Deformed.

doctor-holding-prescription

Thanks, Dr. Obvious.

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

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

In fact, I am deformed.

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

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

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

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

“You have toe fingers.”

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

Exhibit A.

Exhibit A.

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

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

Thumb or Big Toe?

Twins?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somebody get some toe gloves and hand socks, PRONTO.

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

Girl Scouts: The Most Notorious Gang In History

gang (noun): a group of people which shares an identity and a common purpose; often know to fight against other groups with similar interests. 

Pouty Meg, front and center.

Pouty Meg, front and center. #RuthlessTroop156

Have you ever tried to say “No,” to a gaggle of five-year-old girls, all of whom are dead set on winning first place in a bake sale competition?

If you were one of the few brave souls who stood up to the corrupt tactics of using seasonal treats to transform innocent girls into tyrannical, power hungry  preteens, you probably did not live to tell the tale.

So we salute you, brave, dead soul, for your attempts to stand up to the most notorious gang in history: The Girl Scouts of America.

To the naked eye, a Girl Scout is a poster of all that is good in the universe: a volunteer at retirement centers, one who spends time picking up trash around local parks, earning badges and patches for being active in their respective communities.

But a closer look into the organization reveals cut throat sales techniques, questionable initiation rituals, and heinously manufactured uniforms.  These girls are highly trained cookie assassins, and they will attack you when you are weakest.

You may think I’m exaggerating.  But I am not.  I am a survivor of the GSoA.  I’ve lived through it, and I’m here to explain why the Girl Scouts organization just a mirage for an undercover street gang of elementary school girls.

According to this article, here is what constitutes a gang:

1.  Organized in some way, often with clear leaders and a hierarchy, and that the members gather to socialize and carry out various activities on a regular basis.

Troops leaders are the head honchos of the Girl Scouts.  These women, usually mothers related to a girl in the respective troop, will coordinate, plan, and execute meetings on a weekly basis.  Discussion topics of relevance include but are not limited to: scheming various sales strategies for seasonal supplies, decorate clothing items with symbols of segmented troop for unique identifier and easy avoidance of “friend or foe” when in the streets.

2.  The shared identity of gang members can be based on ethnicity, culture, class, religion, or another common thread which allows people to find something of interest in each other.

Girls are usually grouped together based on initial elementary friend groups, and or community based neighborhoods, or ‘hoods.’  These girls generally have common interests based on blocks where they live, classes, and school bus routes.

3.  Members may choose to identify themselves with nicknames, tattoos, specific slang, distinctive graffiti tags, or specific styles of dress. 

Daisies, Brownies, Juniors, Cadets – you see where I’m going with this – just climbing the gang ranks. If you didn’t have patches on patches sewn to your vest, you knew you didn’t try and no one respected you.  You had to have a vest so patched out, it looked like a quilt on your back.  Nothing less than perfection was accepted.

LightenedWhiteBackgroundMyUltimategroup100_Years_of_Scouting_No_Copy_4-27-11

Collectively identified with distinctively unique clothing.

4.  Often, if not always require indicative hand gesture, slogan, identifying sign or graffiti during meetings and greetings.

GetImgVlt1

Self explanatory.

5.  Seeks to exercise control over a particular geographic location or region, or it may simply defend its perceived interests against rivals.

Girl Scouts are constantly defending coveted neighborhood territory against rival gangs like: other girl scout troops – specifically those within the same elementary school – the dreaded boy scouts, do good church-led youth groups, and/or any extracurricular activity dedicated to the betterment of society as a whole.

6.  Infamous for being involved in activities of questionable legality.

Bragging rights for most cookies sold was essential, prudent, and imperative.  Losing was not an option.  If you had to work twelve-hour sale days, you did it.  If you had to walk eight miles in your fifth grade shoes after soccer practice, you did it.  We learned one slogan, ABC: Always Be Closing.

There were no tears, only triumphs.

Always remember, if you see something, say something.  Girl Scouts are taking over our communities one box of cookies at a time.  Do your due diligence to stop your sisters, daughters, and friends from joining.

But if you have a hook-up to some Thin Mints, Tagalongs, Do-Si-Dos, hell any of those delicious seasonal treats, email me.  Let’s talk, I’m never above an under the table transaction. 

Things Boys Are Doing While They’re Not Texting You Back

You asked him about his thoughts on the color blue, and he hasn’t responded.  The nerve!

Here’s what he could be doing instead:

  • sleeping
  • rattling off sports statistics in a macho-off with his friends
  • eating pizza
  • doing hoodrat shit with his friends
  • watching baseball
  • watching basketball
  • watching football
  • watching hockey
  • watching any other sport in the world
  • watching sports center
  • reading ESPN.comgirlfriend-clingy-crazy-texting
  • eating burritos
  • googling pictures of Dwayne Wade
  • drinking beers with his friends
  • playing video games
  • playing basketball
  • playing football
  • playing baseball
  • playing golf
  • googling pictures of Kevin Durant
  • doing anything active
  • taking a nap
  • eating pasta
  • trying to figure out why you asked him that question
  • doing push ups
  • googling sports predictions for the upcoming season
  • watching porn
  • reading Barstool Sports
  • complaining that there is no one around to make him a sandwich
  • talking to someone on the phone
  • taking a shower
  • forgetting you texted him in the first place
  • researching the illuminati on wikipedia
  • grocery shopping
  • comparing who has bigger biceps among his friends
  • googling pictures of Mila Kunis
  • making fun of someone else in his group of friends
  • watching a movie
  • trying to figure out/understand the female psyche
  • actually doing work
  • dreaming out the next meal
  • talking in a weird accent
  • masturbating
  • googling pictures of sneakers
  • driving somewhere
  • not talking about his feelings
  • working out
  • watching videos of old people falling over on YouTube
  • eating lunch
  • eating breakfast
  • eating dinner
  • eating a snack
  • watching some more porn
  • refreshing that app that tells you all those sports scores and stats
  • googling pictures of LeBron James
  • pretending to work out while they check out other girls at the gym
  • figuring out where he left his cell phone
  • on his lunch break
  • enjoying some extra curricular activities
  • or he just doesn’t feel like answering your question because he feels no immediate need to respond as it will not directly benefit him in the near future

 

A Loose Interpretation of To Kill A Mockingbird

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

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

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

self-timer status

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

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

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

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

Phil Dunphy

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

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

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

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

Adam DeMamp

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

Yup, I can see it now…

Summer nights with mom :)

Summer nights with mom 🙂

College graduation!

College graduation!

Seasons Greetings!

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

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

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.

Hump Day Humor

It’s Wednesday, so we all need a laugh, right?

This is John Mulaney, friend to Seth Meyer’s, SNL writer, and best friend in my head. He is responsible for co-creating Stefon with SNL’s Bill Hader, and is pretty much the greatest human being on this planet.

He has a new Comedy Central special, New In Town, which I think is pretty spectacular, and gives a bundle of laughs that you could wrap up, use as sticks and make a funny fire.  Metaphorically, of course.

May he dance his way into your heart, and make your vocal chords jiggle with laughter.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q2xyTvl10RU

The Common White Girl’s Guide to Risk Taking

I’m a common white girl, and this is my idea of risky behavior:

  • Ordering a double shot mocha latte with whole milk and giving them my porn star name to label my cup
  • Opening my sunroof when it’s below 50 degrees
  • Wearing white afterlabor day
  • Ordering a carb-filled meal at a restaurant when I’m on a diet
  • Not brushing my hair
  • Double dipping
  • Wearing glasses without a prescription
  • Photobombing
  • Eating more than the recommended serving size
  • Sneaking past security at a concert
  • Dating an older man
  • Wearing white to a wedding
  • Sharing a cup with someone else
  • Calling my dad to ask how he is with the real intention of asking for money
  • Only rinsing my hands with water and telling my mom I used soap
  • Sending the Netflix dvds back a week late
  • Letting my gas tank get below a quarter of a tank
  • Wearing mismatching patterns… on purpose
  • Drinking beer before liquor
  • Eating the entire footlong meatball sub and demanding to still be considered a lady
  • Pretending I know about politics
  • Smoking a cigarette, or eight
  • Lying about my age26660_10151252365162559_1982910512_n
  • Lying about my weight
  • Lying about my ethnicity
  • Lying about my accent
  • Lying about everything
  • Leaving my room a mess when I know I have company coming over later
  • Taking a shower and not moisturizing after
  • Day drinking on a Wednesday
  • Leaving a bar tab open
  • Making racially insensitive jokes under my breath
  • Drinking a bottle of wine and getting all active on social media
  • Posting more than one picture a day on Instagram
  • Calling my parents and telling them I’m pregnant
  • Calling my parents and telling them I’ve been arrested
  • Calling my parents and telling them I’m getting married
  • Calling my parents and then hanging up
  • Getting drunk and texting everyone in my phone I shouldn’t be texting
  • Taking an aggressive amount of no filter duckface selfies
  • Sending a hundred snapchats to everyone I have a crush on
  • Changing my email signature at work from Office Coordinator to Tupperware Patrol
  • Wearing glasses and no makeup to work
  • Spending my lunch hour googling pictures of male celebrities in suits
  • Daydreaming about all the times P Diddy has changed his name
  • Doubling down on servings during Bagel Friday
  • Not confessing to all my sins at church
  • Swimming directly after I eat lunch

I’m Too Sexy for This Shirt

You heard me.  I’m just too sexy for it.

Actually, this shirt is too sexy for me.

Have a hangover?  Slap on this vintage, limited edition XXL 2002 Jingle Ball long sleeve shirt and perk your brain right up.  No headaches, just happiness.

Feeling downtrodden?  Not with this fabulous fabric chest piece complete with an intertwined embrace featuring none other than pop superstars, Destiny’s Child.

Don’t have a fashion sense?  Not a problem, because Avril Lavigne is on the back sporting polarized yellow aviators, so you know you’re not the worst looking one in the room.

Forgot about Ja Rule?  Never again, because he’s featured on the front AND the back of this majestic poly-fiber blended shirt.

Want to land a hot date?  Just make sure that Nelly is visible and no one can deny you when you ask, “You want to take a ride with me?”  It’s just science.

Feeling nostalgic? You’re in luck because Justin Timberlake and his frosted tips make an appearance. Never miss out on your 90’s memories again!

Can’t get this shirt out of your head?  Neither can Kylie Minogue!  Turns out, this shirt was the inspiration for that annoying hit song.  You’re welcome, world!

*** No, this is not for sale.  Unless you want to buy it.  Have your people call my people. 

Untitled

meg lago’s hangover face.