inspiration

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

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.

…

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.

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.

…

Not one, but five #BFFs

I don’t think you learn just one thing from your best friends, but a multitude of things.

It is impossible to put into words how important and instrumental these five women were in helping shape who I am today. There is something about the longevity of our friendship that is perplexing – because normally, putting five girls in a room together would almost always result in a sacrifice, sabotage, or slander – but we’ve made it past the point of petty arguments and low blows. We’ve survived, endured, and sustained.

I am lucky in the fact that I’ve had the same group of friends from third grade. We are all still close. Our friendship has encompassed the majority of my life, spanning twelve or more years, and continues to, for a lack of a better word, mature.

They were all there when I felt like complete shit. They all witnessed the most defining moments of my life. The all have helped me change, grow, and flourish.

Friends leave an imprint on your soul that no family member or significant other can replicate. You become part of each other whether you want to or not. I constantly find myself embodying little quirks that are only explained by going back to a mall, beach, high school party, concert, or a parking lot on my eighteenth birthday.

And then, there are just some things I do that cannot be explained by anyone or anything, and I don’t really know how to feel about it quite yet.

My friend Jocelyn is an acrobat and should be in the circus. I mean this in the best way possible. I swear to God this girl has more things on her plate than a professional eater. Yet, she always makes it look effortless. Her myriad of commitments span most of her weekdays, consume her weekends, and leave little time for sleep. Yet she is always the first one to pick up the phone and call me – just because she has time. She has taught me that there is a way to juggle all the things you need to have in life, and to do it with a good heart and good intentions.

Then there is Sam, who has, for the entire time I’ve known her, taught me to never compromise on anything. There is someone out there for you; it just may not be right now. They are called standards for a reason, and if we didn’t have them, the world would be a bunch of monkeys dressed in suits trying to steal your banana on the way to work. Go for the job you want, but start with the job you need. Always have a goal that you want to achieve because it’s the only way you’ll better yourself. Don’t change yourself for anyone or anything.

Katie is the most accomplished, and the one who has done everything first. She has consistently shown what it means to be an independent, self-sufficient, and completely reliable woman. Following your heart is a suggestion, using intuition is a requirement. It is possible to be truly happy, healthy, and successful in your mid-twenties. She is the perfect example of what it looks like to follow your heart, and still be able to live out your dreams.

Megan is living proof that beauty and brains can coexist – and not in the superficial, compliment seeking way. Staying grounded is the key to figuring out what you want in life, not just settling for what you can get. It’s a skill to fight through hardships, both familial and relational, and to do it with grace and sophistication. Some people grow up too fast, but in some instances, it’s a blessing that allows you to understand loyalty, devotion, and selflessness. Phrasing this in the best way that I can: I know that this girl would do some absolutely terrible things to keep her loved ones safe – and you cannot teach that.

Through all my terrible clothing choices, Julie has taught me how to find what works and make it your own. It may not be the most fabulous shirt on the planet, but if you pair it with the right accessory, anything can look stunning. Fashion intuition cannot be taught – and it’s something I do not take for granted in a friend. You need someone to tell you when your slouchy boots make you look like a homeless Pocahontas, as well as someone to verify that scarves are acceptable and encouraged year round, and boot season is something to be cherished, worshiped, and never overlooked.

LlamaLoveAlways.

Sure, there people that I’ve known longer than these girls, but none of them have taught me anything remotely as valuable as them. Five is always better than one. I think math taught me that. I’ve learned how to create my own style, live life to the fullest, never compromise, find balance within the chaos, and to fight for what you want. These are lessons that are so simple, yet so many people go about their lives without ever truly learning them.

I want to personally thank Megan, Jocelyn, Sam, Katie, and Julie for growing up with me, dealing with me, molding me, helping me, and above all, being friends with me. Without you, I would not be who I am today.

I love you betches.

…

Being Single Does Not Mean You Are Alone.

There aren’t many situations I encounter where I am in the minority.

I am at that stage of life where I guess I am supposed to start making commitments that will last longer than a bout of healthy eating or an attempt at keeping up with a gym membership.

But I am a late bloomer in more than one sense. My body, face, and fashion sense absolutely took its precious time developing during adolescence and into early adulthood.

I am also not in any way, shape, or form ready to make choices regarding life-long commitments like many of my friends, coworkers, and family members.

This is where I find myself on the wrong side of the fence. On the outside looking in.

I am at a point in my life where I am just figuring out how to support myself, cook food that is not poisonous, and make choices that won’t significantly impact how my skin looks after I turn 35 (yes, mom, I am using sunscreen).

I cannot imagine committing the rest of my life to someone. I could accidentally poison them, and I am not ready for those repercussions.

I can’t even figure out how to stop drinking after one glass of wine. How am I supposed to talk finances and and mortgage rates when I have ten dollars in my pocket and all I can think about is how many 3$ wine bottles I can buy at Trader Joes?

Objectively speaking, I am just not ready for it. That is not to say that I am against people who have found that person with whom they want to spend the rest of their lives.

I saw my best friend get married at twenty-three this past May, and it was amazing. When you witness unconditional love, it is truly a magical experience.

But people are wired differently. If we were all the same at every point in life, our existence would be stable, predictable, and utterly mundane. The idea that you don’t know what is coming next is fascinating, exciting, and makes life worth living.

I hear a lot of people complain that they are the only single one in their group of friends, like it is a curse, disease, or something to be discouraged.

We should stop associating the word ‘single’ with negative ideals. It is not a deplorable state of being in which we are forced to constantly fight and claw our way out, knowing that a human counterpart is the sole way to reach complete happiness.

Being single is an opportunity and an advantage not afforded to everyone. It is a chance to take risks, like moving into an apartment with three complete strangers off Craigslist. Or a time to find out what you genuinely enjoy doing, like writing about how ugly you were in middle school or your complete inability to adhere to social cues.

DAD?

It’s a waste of time, energy, and your face before it wrinkles to worry about not having a significant other. Take advantage of the fact that you don’t have to answer to anyone and do the craziest things while you still can.

Ride a horse in South America with a cape and a margarita.

Because who wouldn’t want to live out an inter-continental alcoholic equestrian superhero fantasy?

Dress up like a Christmas tree with your friends and pretend every other topiary structure is your relative.

Because…. why not?

When you’re older, I promise it will be way more fun to think about when you and your friends held hands and prayed with three strange men in the middle of Boylston street during the Red Sox victory parade.

yes, that actually happened.

It won’t be so fun to think about how many things you missed out on because you were too busy wishing you had a boyfriend or girlfriend.

Take heart in the fact that you can have just as much, if not more fun with your friends and family while you’re single.

Embrace each opportunity and event and treat it like it will be the last time you’ll ever live through it.

Because the next time you are on Boylston Street after the Red Sox win the world series, you may not be with your best friends, but with your boyfriend, and he sure as hell won’t allow you to hold hands and say a prayer with strange men in the street.

Think about it.

The Solution to Your New Years Resolution.

I’m about to share something with all of you that may be considered offensive. But as my main man, Drake, says, “You only live once,” and if I intend on enjoying the rest of my life, changes must be made.

I can’t live stressed out from one month to the next trying to keep up with all these holiday and seasonal commitments. I can’t wear white after Labor Day? Drastic lifestyle changes every January? Pumpkins are only important in autumn? Candy for breakfast is only socially acceptable during Halloween?

Next thing you know, it’s March and I’m getting shifty eyeballs in my direction because of my white pants and the fact that I’m eating a king size Butterfinger before 10am. It’s gone too far.

America ignored Thanksgiving’s plea to have sole custody of the turkey. We shunned Halloween and in turn, invented the theme party. So why not give the proverbial middle finger to New Years and just be better people for all twelve months, rather than two weeks of one?

I’m saying this because I know myself. I’ve accepted the fact that I have a less than stellar motivational track record. That is totally fine with me. But the concept of cutting out things that make life better is complete and utter insanity.

So in 2014, I’m going to eat a lot of food.

I am talking carbs on carbs on carbs. Oh yeah, and glutens and sugars and dairy and all that other stuff that people say is bad for you.

Although, in 2014, I hope to not rob any banks.

Because frankly, making a conscious decision to avoid bacon cheeseburgers, chocolate, and belgian waffles sounds like a full-fledged recipe for anarchy and chaos in my life.

I actually turn into a demon when I’m hungry. I’m talking enlarged eyeballs, speaking in tongues, and foaming at the mouth.

Edit: This could just be me when I’m hungry in a grocery store and get a whiff of the rotisserie chicken. Jury is still out. Will report back later.

I understand the value of healthy eating. My mother always harped on the rule that if nothing else, we had to eat the vegetables on the plate to be done with dinner.

That doesn’t change the fact that I am still completely incompetent when it comes to being a chef, and just because a new year has blossomed, doesn’t mean the same happened to my cooking skills.

I’m probably still not going to exercise.

You can give me all the perks in the world. A personal trainer? Someone to make me protein shakes? Free workout classes? Sounds good – I’ll sign on the dotted line. And once I walk out the door (because I obviously didn’t bring the right shoes to start today), I will not be back for at least two months, if not more.

And when I do show up, I’ll either be crying, angry, or just asking to use your bathroom (but I paid for it, so it’s totally allowed).

January has no business telling me to get up two hours before my alarm and voluntarily walk outside in the bitter cold just to sweat. Oh, and then promptly endure an entire day of work afterwards just so I can regret eating an entire tub of Ben and Jerry’s? No. No. And a big fat capital N-O.

Regret is something I like to tackle when I have the sun at full blast and a tan on my skin. Everyone regrets January in general; pale people aren’t happy people.

My suggestion and solution is to take all those negative feelings and reassess them in June – you may still regret eating that Cherry Garcia, but hey, at least it will be more enjoyable on a beach.

All my phone calls will continue to go unanswered.

This is not to say that I am ignoring people this year. But the effort to keep in touch should not stem from the fact that it’s January 1 and you still have yet to find out your six-month-old nephew’s first name.

I will pick up your phone call if I am in a place of peace and serenity. I will not pick up your phone call if I am in the middle of a music-induced car concert. I am channeling Beyonce, and I will not be interrupted.

I will answer if I am in bed, on the couch, or any place where I am doing absolutely nothing, and have nothing to do in the foreseeable future. Texts or emails are perfectly acceptable ways to keep in touch.

So if you know that at 6pm you’re on the couch, watching Dance Moms, and eating last night’s leftover Chinese food, let your old pal, Jocelyn, know about it – if she happens to be free as well, BOOM!, instant phone convo.

Mission accomplished.

There is no need to change your entire life because it’s a new year, when you should just try to be a better version of yourself all year round.

Don’t waste the money on a gym membership if you have no intention of ever going to lift a weight. Don’t swear off carbs if you can’t eat a salad without croutons. Don’t commit to keeping in touch if the only time you call home is from the emergency room and its because you need your insurance information.

Make an honest effort all year round, and the whole idea of a resolution isn’t so daunting. Know your limits as a person; know what you will and won’t do and your Januarys will be a hell of a lot happier, and way less stressful.

You’re welcome. Now, go forth, enjoy 2014.

Meg

Half and Half

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

inspiration

Cleaning: Then vs. Now

Making your bed:

Laundry:

Dishes:

Cleaning the house:

Embarrassment is spelled: M-E-G.

Not one, but five #BFFs

Being Single Does Not Mean You Are Alone.

The Solution to Your New Years Resolution.

Making your bed:

Laundry:

Dishes:

Cleaning the house:

Spread The Word(s)

Spread The Word(s)

Spread The Word(s)

Spread The Word(s)

Spread The Word(s)