lifestyle

Remember the time… Oh wait, I forgot.

It’s a burden I carry.  It’s my Achilles heel. It’s almost every explanation as to why I didn’t do something right, get somewhere on time, or put something away.

I just forgot.

My parents did a great job documenting my upbringing.  There are tons of videos and pictures of me as a child, so it’s nice to be able to have a tangible photo to jog my memory, and explain things like why I thought it was a good idea to get cornrows AFTER I got home from vacation in Florida.

That’s a story for a different time, however.

When thinking about my earliest memory, it would most likely be a story about food making it or not making it into my mouth, and my mom subsequently cleaning up the mess I made only to realize she’d be cleaning up my messes for the next eighteen years and then into my adult life.

So rather than bore you with that mumbojumbo, I want to talk about the shambles of my life, and the things I always seem to forget.

Why I walked into a room.

This happens every day; without fail.  I will walk into a room at some point, stare blankly at everything, and not know in the slightest why I am there.  Also, a good thing to note: it does not jog your memory if you slowly twirl in circles looking at all the objects in the room.  It just makes you dizzy.

What I’m supposed to get at the grocery store.

This would be super helpful. Regardless of how many lists I write down for myself, I always end up wandering up and down each aisle in the store – always stopping in the snack aisle for too long – and then inevitably leaving with a flank steak, birthday cake Oreos, and a block of Swiss cheese.  All I needed was cereal.

To fill up my gas tank before it’s too late.

Do I ever fill up my car all the way? Nope.  Am I really good at playing the neutral game?  Yes.  I can coast in neutral and make a tank last double time if needed.  A good skill to learn, in my opinion.  Also a good skill to learn: filling up your gas tank so you don’t have to rely on slight inclines and declines in order to keep your car moving.

Wine will get you drunk.

If I had a dollar for every time I said, “Oh, I’ll only have one glass with dinner.” I’d be rich.  It starts off as a flavor addition to my post-work meal, next thing you know, the bottle is empty and I’m passed out on my living room rug with the TV still on and my dinner half-eaten.

Check my bank account.

I pretty much ignore everything that has to do with personal finances.  My credit cards are always with me, and they give me a false sense of wealth because in my mind, when I don’t see physical dollars disappearing from my wallet, it means that those dollars are still in my bank account.  Except that’s not how it works at all.

Not to drunk dial my parents.  

At this point, my mom knows I’m drunk dialing her and just cuts me off mid-sentence saying she has to do something more important like watch Ellen DeGeneres or file her nails.

Turn off the oven.

But really though, we’re in 2014 and we don’t have an oven that turns itself off?  I thought humanity was smarter than that.  Moreover, I think other people are just smarter than me.  They probably make a point to turn off the oven; I find it more important to hover over the stove with a spoon in hand shoveling the freshly made meal into my mouth.  There is no time for plates.  There is no time for sitting down.  There is only food and it needs to be consumed.

… and then I forgot the rest of my list.

rtt-new

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.

A thousand words describing my time spent locked in a bathroom.

I was nine when I got locked in a bathroom inside my own house.

And no, it wasn’t easy to free myself.  I was actually, truly, really stuck.

The following is a (slightly embellished) version of how I was deserted in my own home, left to fend for myself inside a desolate, personal bathroom prison.

It was summer.  The day in question was pretty hot, if I remember correctly.  My mother implemented this rule she liked to call, “Amish Time” during our summer breaks.  Meaning every weekday from 9-5pm, there was no technology – i.e. GameBoy color, Nintendo 64, AOL 5.0 – of any kind allowed.

The only exception to “going Amish” was when the US Open of Tennis was being broadcasted, because she wanted to watch that.  I cannot wait to be a parent and make self-benefitting rules.

I digress.  Since technology wasn’t allowed, we were reduced to remedial means of entertainment, like having conversations with each other, imaginative play, and embracing the great outdoors.  We always gravitated towards the pool because it passed the time extremely fast, and it was always fun to have our mom rate belly flops for hours on end.

It was after lunch; all four of us steamrolled down the hallway and onto the deck.  We waited for my mom to sit down in her chair under the umbrella, her idea spot for visibility and shaded protection, before we all made our entries into the shallow end.

We had been outside for a while when nature called.  I had to pee.

There is a bathroom very close to the pool; yet for some reason, unbeknownst to me in the present day, I chose to use the upstairs bathroom, located on the opposite side of the house.

I approach the bathroom, go inside, close the door.  Routine procedure. Until it wasn’t.

At the moment I closed the door, the handle on the interior of the bathroom fell out of the socket. From the inside, the door looks like this:

NOOOOOO!

NOOOOOO!

I immediately freaked out.  I look my new surroundings, there are four walls.  No windows.  A shower curtain and rod. And a door that will not open.

I yelled for probably eight minutes.  Immediately after screaming at nothing, I screamed at myself, “WHY ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH DID YOU PICK THE ONLY BATHROOM WITH NO WINDOWS?!”

My screams fell on deaf ears.  Everyone was outdoors enjoying the sunshine; a luxury I was no longer afforded since I went and trapped myself in this four-walled, shame cellar.

I was here, alone, stuck in the bathroom of my nightmares.  After about fifteen minutes of wasted tears, unheard screams, and pathetic cries, I rescanned my surroundings for something I could use to get me out of this joint.

I contemplated.  I saw the shower rod as a weapon; I yanked the curtain down from the wall with the brute strength of a toddler, and quickly disassembled the curtain from the rod. I had seen jousting before; I knew poles were deadly.  And this door was my opponent.

Only I had no idea that blunt, hollow, metal poles were not strong enough to break down a two-inch thick wood door.  I tried anyways.  I took the pole over my shoulder and rammed it as hard as I could into the back of the door.  There was a dent.

“YES!” I thought, “SMALL VICTORIES!” This dent was a small step towards freedom, and I quickly got into position to make another one.

I hit the door with the shower rod eight times before giving up from boredom.

That was it.  That was all I had.  No more ideas.  No more drive.  I was stuck.  I wrapped myself in the shower curtain and cried.  I thought about how long I could survive in there.  “Probably seven days without food, maybe four without water.” I guessed, “But I have a sink, a shower, and a toilet for the worst case scenario – hydration was covered.”

I planned out my missing persons ad, “Girl locked in bathroom, gone for weeks before found.”  It sounded sincere, I guess.

I had accepted my new living conditions, because I had decided that I may as well take a nap.  Putting my head on the floor, and using the curtain as a blanket, I prepared to snooze the time away in my new surroundings.

Until I heard my brother’s footsteps.  He was coming up the stairs; I was immediately filled with glee and adrenaline.

I shot up off the floor, shed my shower curtain blanket, and started screaming through the hole where the door handle used to be. “BRIAN! HELP ME. GET ME OUT OF HERE.”

He heard my cry and comes to my aid.  “Meg, get the door handle from the floor.”  He points to the handle on the inside with me. “Pick it up and stick it back into the slot where it was before.”  I picked it up and did as I was told.

“Now turn it.” And so I did.  Like magic, the door opened and I was freed from captivity. I ran outside, fell to the floor and hugged the ground. I was so happy to be out of there.  It was the worst twenty minutes of my life.

After helping me escape, Brian looks at me and says, “Yeah, I came up here before lunch and had the same thing happen to me.”  I was relieved I wasn’t the only one.  “I just used the door handle and got myself out.  Super easy if you think about it.”  The sad thing was, he wasn’t even gloating.  He was genuinely smarter than me.

I was trapped and immediately resorted to jousting my way out, but only after I wrapped myself in a shower curtain cape.  Brian just picked up the source of the problem and immediately let himself return to society as a functioning human being.

After the whole ordeal, I still had yet to go to the bathroom.  I used the downstairs one though, just in case.

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.

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.

…

Related:

  1. Friends | The Magic Black Book
  2. You want to see best friends against the world? | From One Crazy Life To Another
  3. Daily Prompt: BFFs | Journeyman
  4. Voices | Momma Said There’d Be Days Like This
  5. A Speck Of Green – Part 1(Looking for Dad) | The Jittery Goat
  6. Kith and kin | Perspectives on life, universe and everything
  7. Daily Prompt: BFFs | tnkerr-Writing Prompts and Practice
  8. things to learn | y

26 Things the Grammys taught me.

THANKS!!!

THANKS!!!

The 2014 Grammys and malbec go together like wine and everything else every day of my life.  Kendrick Lamar was robbed in broad nightlight.  Revenge will be sought.  So yeah, in a nutshell, this is what I learned:

Pharrell Williams gave everyone a preview of his halloween costume.

Guess I can’t be Indiana Jones this year. Damnit.

Kendrick Lamar is perfect.

I would have locked him down as my prom date and future boyfriend so fast in high school.  We could have awkwardly slow danced to Vitamin-C’s “Graduation” whilst daydreaming about our future. Hey Kendrick, call me… not maybe.  Call me for real.

Yes, yes I will marry you.

Yes, yes I will marry you.

Rita Ora is my bff in my head.

Move over, Jennifer Lawrence, you are no longer my #1.  Rita Ora just turned the imaginary bff game upside down.  Multi-color packman nails? SIGN. ME. UP. Besties fo’ lyfe.  Rita, have your people call my people (my mom) and let’s set up a time to hang out.  Maybe we can go to an amusement park or I can be your +1 to an exclusive hollywood party in which I meet Drake and we get married…  You can pick.

Kevin Hart is so small.

I didn’t just learn this tonight.  But I did learn he is an entire torso shorter than everyone else in the world.

too short to ride this ride.

too short to ride this ride.

The term “baby bump” is uncomfortable.

Just stop it. Stop.  Traffic terminology is not acceptable when referencing pregnancy.

Lorde needs to be diagnosed with arthritis.

There is no other explanation for the clenching of the fingers.  I’m not even a doctor and I know claw hands are not a desirable trait to have.  She’s either secretly practicing witchcraft or preparing for Halloween as an elderly woman.

Broomsticks double as stripper poles.

I knew witches and wizards had a little something extra with wands and pointy hats, but now you’re telling me their brooms are also stripper poles?  Some people have all the luck.  I see you winding and grinding up on that pole, Hermoine.

Headgear is on the cusp of becoming a fashion staple.

LL Cool J has worn the same newsboy hat since ’93. Daft Punk with star wars helmets.  Pharrell embodying Indiana Jones.  Zac Brown beanie swag.

John Legend looks like a cartoon.

Has anyone ever walked the earth as a living, breathing animation better than John Legend?  A straight up cross between Cleveland from Family Guy and Gerald from Hey Arnold.

just an afro away.

just an afro away.

Taylor Swift is the most loveable and hateable person on the planet. 

Her dancing. Her hair flipping. I love her songs. I can’t stand her being so shocked all the time.  She knows she’s good – own it. Stop being all surprised people relate to you.

There are only six awards during the entire show.

This shouldn’t be considered an award show.  It’s more of a two-hour time block in which you get a glimpse into every single possible facet of music using only the most famous and/or popular people in each genre.  It’s like going to a music festival and only caring about three out of the ninety bands playing.  Waste of time.

The circus revival is not going to happen until Barnum and Bailey both give Pink a personal phone call.

I mean seriously.  How many times is this girl supposed to dangle from a sheet without a harness before they deem her worthy?  She clearly wants in on the Ringling Bros. GIVE THE GIRL A CHANCE.

Give this girl a job already.

Give this girl a job already.

Visa Mastercard is doing Priceless Surprises and I need to have it happen to me.

Where do I sign up and how much money do I need to spend to have Aaron Paul and Kendrick Lamar show up at my doorstep and hang out with me?

Kendrick Lamar won the Grammys and punched the world right in the eyeball. 

Don’t care how long Taylor Swift sultry stared into the camera demanding recognition for her relational hardships, or how mysterious Katy Perry’s mystical forest was, Kendrick just performed in an all white track suit and didn’t suck.  Done.

Kacey Musgraves is better than TSwift and everyone needs to know it.

When you stop complaining about relationships when you’re pretty, rich, and famous, and be less annoying all around, you have Kacey Musgraves.  Get it girl.

The Osbournes need to make their comeback and reclaim their throne as reality tv royalty.

tumblr_n01go0lTMC1qz82gvo1_500

Yo MTV, bring back The Osbournes.

Go away, Kardashians, the patriarch of the metal head family dynasty needs to return to MTV.  Ozzy’s presentation delivery was phenomenal.  And we need more of this in our lives.

Everyone now knows what a nursing home talent show would look like. 

Willie Nelson and company showing us , literally how old they are.  If your grandma asks you to come see her performance in the talent show at Sweet Acres Retirement Center, just respond with a, “Thanks, but I think I’ve had my fill of adult entertainment for a while.”

The Storm Troopers made an appearance.

Oh, wait.  That was just Daft Punk being Daft Punk.

Kristen Stewart has passed the awkward torch.

Lorde just stole that flame; just absolutely the most awkward person on the planet channeling Elvira at the Grammys. And…. posture. Learn it, live it, love it.

safety first. silence second.

safety first. silence second.

Daft Punk needs to give a speech at my wedding.

I don’t care who I need to pay, or what soul I need to sell, it will happen, and it will be silent as hell.

Lindsey Buckingham made an appearance.

And Keenan Thompson wasn’t a part of it.  I was praying on all deities for a What Up Wit Dat re-enactment.  SNL for the win

Lindsey Buckingham Saturday Night Live May 14 b

the best.

Bolo ties are real, and they’re here to stay.

Macklemore, Bruno Mars, the NFL.  Who’s next?

Madonna never left her music video.

In case you were wondering, the reigning Queen of Pop still thinks she’s in her music video for, “Don’t Tell Me,” cowboy hat included.

Kent Knappenberger needs to open up a restaraunt. 

Mail it in on the teaching music.  If I don’t have a Knappenburger with extra BBQ sauce and a side of onion rings by Friday, I’m quitting my job, renouncing my United States citizenship, and becoming a nomad (just kidding… unless it really happens).  Also, if he didn’t win beard of the year award, it went to ZZ Top, and that’s fair, but I think they should do a recount.

pass the torch already

pass the torch already

White suits are the only way to establish dominance.

Backstreet Boys did it in the 90s, and 2014 is bringing it back. Kendrick Lamar, Imagine Dragons, and Daft Punk all asserting their power over the music industry with full on white on white suits.  Just a sweatband and an Adidas high top sneaker away from an NBA practice squad.

Daft Punk got lucky.

In no way, shape, or form should they have beat out Kendrick Lamar.  But the biggest cop out is the fact that they received this honor and can’t even speak for themselves.  I can’t tell if I hate them or respect them for staying in character.

… and now it’s time for bed. Malbec and Meg out.

…

DailyPost

Proof that exercising is dangerous.

The following story is a recountance of true events.  Emotions, time frames, and dialogue are potentially misconstrued and over exaggerated due to the fact that there was alcohol involved. 

It started with a paddleboard.

Yup, you know, one of these things.  They’re supposed to be fun, a good way to exercise, a tool to relax on the open water.

Only it wasn’t.  It was a plank of desolation, inconvenience, and misery.

Well, wait. Let’s backtrack a little bit.  I was on vacation.  Minnesota. July 2013. The purpose: a bi-annual reunion with my best friends with whom I studied abroad in Dublin back in 2009.  We have had about six reunions prior to this one, the most recent summer event was at this exact lake house.

heaven, paradise, whatever you call it.

heaven, paradise, whatever you call it.

We agreed that this was the only spot to spend our summer reunions from there on out, so we returned with anticipation and a thirst that only a multitude of beers, margaritas, and shots could quench.

The day started as most days did, on the boat, in the sun, drinking beverages of the adult variety.  Friends were seen jumping off the stern, or port, or whatever you call it, into the lake, floating on noodles and crushing beers.  Others were seen riding a jetski at high speeds.  Some were tanning on the lawn.  It was a great day.  And it remained that way until everyone had their fill of each activity that was offered.

As the sun transitioned to set, Audrey* and I decided we wanted to take one last trip out on the paddleboard before dinner – you know, because we needed exercise and stuff.

** Name has been changed to protect Audrey's identity.

We float/don’t do much at all but sit/paddle out into the lake, singing songs in what I’m positive was completely off key, laughing, and trying to balance enough to both stand up on the board at the same time.  It was only a short time later that we both realized the current was a lot stronger than we thought, and we had drifted quite a bit away from the dock, safety, and our friends.

“Audrey, we’re really far away.  What are we supposed to do?”

“Get off the paddle board, start swimming and pull us like you’re in a dog sled race.” She responded.

trying to dance... or something

trying to dance… or something

I tried my best, but to no avail, we ended up floating farther and farther away, but at a rapid pace.

“Let’s signal for them,” I suggested, “they’ll hear us if we yell loud enough.  I heard that sound travels on water.”

We both screamed for help, and a man with a jetski came to our rescue.  “Here,” he said as he motioned to jump, “you two climb on the jetski, I’ll paddle the board back to the dock.  I left the keys in the ignition.”

It seemed fool proof.  Only it wasn’t.  I lost my sunglasses in the transition from the water to the platform, the second pair of the day.  Audrey was grabbing my arm like you would a toy on black Friday so that I wouldn’t fall back into the water.  It was a complete disaster.  We looked like we had just learned that we each had limbs, only had no idea how to maneuver them.

We looked off into the distance and the lad who had helped us was already halfway back to the dock. “What the hell did he do that we didn’t do?” I asked. “He probably didn’t have eight margaritas today.”  Audrey answered.  She was probably right.

We’re both (almost) securely on the jetski when Audrey reaches for the key and turns right to activate the ignition.  It chuggs.  She turns again.  It sounds almost like the noise someone makes before they sneeze; just heavy, mechanic, wheezing.  I don’t know a lot about motors, but I know that when there is fuel inside them, and you turn the key, they turn on.

Then the red light of death starts blinking.  “FUEL GAUGE ERROR.  PLEASE CHECK ENGINE.” I read in complete dismay.

We’re drifting fast towards a set of docks on the opposite side of the lake.  No one is around us, the kid who rescued us has since rescued the paddle board and himself, and has now safely returned to land.

We were stranded.

struggles.

struggles.

I have no threshold for sanity or patience in these types of dilemmas so I immediately start freaking out.  “HOLY SHIT, WE’RE LOST. AUDREY, HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET BACK.?!?!”  I’m frantic.  Audrey starts to feel it as well.  She jumps out, and starts to pull the jetski towards the closet dock.

“Jump out and grab the rope, tie us to this dock.”  She instructs me.  I followed the directions.  We had landed on this empty dock.  Audrey was sandwiched between the Ski-Doo and the dock pole, a place I like to call, Barnacle City. Once tied, we looked up at the house the dock belonged to, and noticed a woman on the balcony, just staring at us.

She was drinking a margarita. I can only imagine what her view was like from up there.  Two drunk girls in bathing suits, a broken jetski, and no sense of direction just tacking up on her property.

Audrey and I made our way up the steps, crossing her lawn, and eventually made awkward eye contact. “Hi!  Excuse us, we’re like lost. And our jetski has no gas.  We’re just trying to get back home.” I explain to this woman.

“Well, my husband isn’t going to be home for a while, and I’ve just had extensive back surgery.  I’m on multiple pain medications, and I can’t really think or see straight at the moment.” She explains her situation to us.  It seemed like… a little bit of an overshare. But we had no choice.  Audrey and I looked at each other, thinking about what our next move would be, when suddenly she interrupts our thoughts, “Would you guys like a sandwich? You can use my telephone, too.”

so happy after the jetski debacle.

so happy after the jetski debacle.

A telephone sounded great.  A sandwich sounded amazing.  We had worked up a serious appetite, and I was hoping to the high heavens that she had bacon, lettuce, and tomato in that house.  An avocado wouldn’t hurt either, but I wasn’t banking on it. We started to walk towards the basement door when we heard the honking of a boat horn.

Audrey and I turned around and saw all of our friends on the boat, honking at us, laughing at us, and most importantly, rescuing us.  They took a rope and towed the jetski back to the dock. We turned and thanked the woman for her almost-hospitality, and promptly ran back to the boat, and grabbed a towel to dry off.

It had been a long day. On the safety of land, I pondered to myself.  I know I don’t like to exercise, but this incident damn near proved me right.  Exercising is dangerous.  It’s better to stay stationary and enjoy all the things the lake house has to offer – and that’s what I did for the next two days.

With beers, shots, and margaritas, of course.

rtt-new

SNOW DAY.

Dear Boss Lady,

I will not be making it to work today.

It’s unfortunate, because I really wanted to be there. I even went to bed extra early so I could get up rested and ready to go.  I had already picked out my outfit.  I even showered.

But the thing is, I’m worried about my safety.  I have to walk. And the thing is, when it gets really cold, my right knee does this thing where it doesn’t bend like usual, so it is just really hard to get places.  I look like a zombie in the apocalypse, and people tend to act like I’m a leper.

My left foot also has this tendency to just not move when it snows.  It’s like I’m glued to the ground.  I call it Cement Foot.  It’s pretty serious; bodybuilders have been seen trying to move me, but I am a mountain. I know, I’ve made an appointment with my doctor to get it checked out.

Sometimes, I even think my eyes intuitively know it’s not safe to look outside, so they just won’t even open.  I have no other choice but to trust my body under these circumstances.  The best option is clearly staying home, wrapped up in my blankets, in my bed: snuggled, secure, and ultimately, safe.

During this state of snow emergency, it’s also important to know that I am without the essentials.  I will be surviving for the next twenty-four hours on the most basic supply of human nourishment. I have only completely sanitary running water, a sweet potato, five frozen meals, a bag of broccoli, and a handful of Lean Cuisines.

That’s right. You heard me, I have no milk. No bottled water. No non-perishables. and I’m pretty sure I just heard a scream coming from Shaw’s; they probably have a storewide dairy and minestrone shortage.

I also have a reserve consisting of two handles of vodka, a fifth of tequila, and six bottles of wine.  I just wish I was more prepared.

Also, the zipper on my coat broke, and I’m extremely prone to catching airborne illnesses, especially ones that are particularly elusive, or non-existent. I got hypothermia one time because I looked at a frozen carrot.  So, I’m taking all the preventative measures to not only protect myself from any harmful winter sickness, but I’m also protecting the office.

Thank you so much for understanding.  I’ll make sure my timesheet is filled out properly.

No need to respond to this letter. I’m going to assume you have felt the immense pain and grave danger of my situation and only want me to be safe.  And for that, I thank you.

Please ignore this picture and all others like it.

Please ignore this picture and all others like it.

Please be advised that any pictures of me uploaded to any and all social media outlets within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are strictly due to an unforeseeable technological timelapse.  Those are actually from a different time it snowed.  And I don’t drink during the daytime. Or during the week.  Or ever, really.  

My best regards,

Meg

PS – If you make it into the office and want to check a few emails for me, that would be the greatest service.  If not, no problem, I guess I can do that when I get better.  ::cough, cough::

PPS – I forgot to put socks on last night before my slumber, so my toes are pretty cold.  I may be on crutches and need a few days to recover.  More on that later.

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

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.

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