...Almost Happy Birthday to Me!

Even though my blog posting has become as irregular as Jeff Conaway's mental state on Celebrity Fit Club 3 (not that I watch it or anything), I wanted to sneak one last post in before my birthday.

I probably shouldn't be allowed to celebrate my day of birth. Next to erin, I think I'm the most obnoxious birthday celebrater in history. This is evidence in my screeching "It's my birthday!" from morning until midnight, when I whimper a sad "It's not my birthday." And you know that I'm going to put a note on my work IM tomorrow that says "It's my birthday!" so that when anyone positions their pointer over my name, the note will appear. How much more obnoxious can you get? Kind of like erin creating her own birthday pin to wear. (Which I totally commend you for, ek.) I start celebrating days in advance, and manage to squeeze the celebration days following the 24th.

My fabulous great aunts, Marian and Irene, sent me a beautiful birthday card with a crisp 10-dollar bill inside. They have been the most consistent birthday card senders I can remember in my life, no note, just signed Love, Marian & Irene, with a 10-dollar bill inside. Two sweet little old ladies that have five nephews and nieces, 12 great-nephews and nieces (yay, me!), and now six great-great nieces and nephews, and they still remember to send a birthday card with a 10-dollar bill. I believe their thoughtfulness contributed to my self-centered, indulgent birthday celebrating.

Not It!

McKate tagged me. Apparently, this is the new fad in blogging that's the equivalent of a chain letter or one of those stupid e-mails where you answer 20 questions. So here goes. Kate and Scott, I'm kicking you in the shins when I see you on the 25th. :-)


Four Jobs I've had in My Life
Technical Writer
Resident Assistant
Customer Service (aka "Grunt") at a ball park
Valley Drive Inn

Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over, and Have
The Breakfast Club
Sixteen Candles
Shawshank Redemption
Dead Poets Society

Four Places I Have Lived
Kansas City, MO
Iowa City, Iowa
Correctionville, Iowa
Detroit, Michigan

Four TV Shows I Love to Watch
The Office (either BBC or American version)
Love Monkey (kind of early to tell, but I think I'm hooked on Tom Cavanaugh's new show)
Scrubs
Lost

Four Places I Have Been on Vacation
Montreal, Quebec, oh Canada
French Lick, Indiana
New York City, NY
Horseshoe Bend, Arkansas

Four Web Sites I Visit Daily
My work Web site
CNN.com
Yahoo.com
imdb.com

Four Favorite Foods
Mongolian Beef
Subway: 6-inch turkey on wheat with Prologne cheese, green peppers, black olives, lettuce, mayo. Toasted.
Caramel Delite Girl Scout Cookies
Carrots with veggie dip

Four Places I Would Like to Visit
Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania (Groundhog's Day 2007! Yeah, baby!)
London
Scotland
Norway

Four People I am Tagging With This Meme
Colleen
Anyone else who wants to do this. Post it in the Comments box on my page if you don't have a blog.
Scott, erin, and Kate: you stink for taking everyone.

Hollywood Hold-Up

Due to some random circumstances, I ended up taking Friday as my Personal Day from work. It was heavenly as I slept in, then rolled over in bed with the one comforting thought that had managed to propel me through the week: I was about to have a three-day weekend. Three whole days of sleeping, eating, reading, and no work.

What on earth could I do to entertain myself for so many open days? A part of me has forgotten what it's like not to worry about work, to not let it consume my very few hours away from the office. But I knew I could handle it on my Personal Day.

I really wanted to rent the movie Junebug. So I hopped into my new car (which I have yet to name) and zoomed over to Hollywood Video to use some of the free video coupons that Jerry gave me for Christmas (all-time great idea, Jer). When I arrived at the store, I walked inside thinking La la la la, no work for me, going to video store at noon on a Friday. La la la la. Only I was stopped by man who had Santa Claus' hair and features wearing a tattered pair of cargo pants and a baby blue Corona T-shirt (think Beach Bum Santa), chatting on a cell phone.

Who was this man stopping me on my quest to get Junebug? Apparently, a good Samaritan. The Hollywood Video store in Westport was unlocked, no lights on, no employees in sight, and four customers waiting to return their videos. Beach Bum Santa was on the phone with the police, who showed up approximately two minutes later.

Someone had broken into Hollywood Video.

Beach Bum Santa had been there since 10:40 a.m., waiting to return his videos and stopping people who tried to enter the store. The police came, they searched the store, and couldn't find anyone. They offered to let people leave their videos if they wanted to avoid late fees, but my question is: if a video store has been broken into and no employees are in sight, do you really want to leave your videos unattended with the chance of a) someone stealing it resulting in you getting charged for the video, b) the employees not checking them in on time resulting in you getting late fees, or c) having your fingerprints at the crime scene when they find Vinnie the Video guy gunned down in the backroom?

So I drove to the Hollywood Video on Johnson Drive in Shawnee, KS, later that afternoon. Since my Hollywood Video card is still registered to the Iowa City store, the video clerk asked me what store I used in Kansas City. She called the Hollywood Video in Westport, and they answered. Two hours later, and the Hollywood Video in Westport was open and fully functioning. This left me with several questions about the credibility of the Hollywood Video chain, but I'm going to have say that apparently the Hollywood Video in Westport is a little shady. I'm thinking they're running a prostitution ring out of the storeroom, right next to where they keep the extra DVDs of Full House Season 2.

Just How Personal Is This Personal Day?

Story 2 from my Personal Day:

I went to Hy-Vee to buy groceries. While I was in the produce aisle feeling the bananas, I looked up and caught the eye of this nice-looking man who was probably in his late 30s, early 40s. I smiled at him as a reflex of my friendly Midwestern upbringing. Kind of like when you sneeze in bright light -- you don't want to, it just happens.

It wasn't until 20 minutes later when I reached the juice aisle that I got that ibby-jibby feeling. I turned around, and there was the same man staring at me. He winked at me and said "Why hello."

Usually, when people approach me like this in the grocery store, it's to ask me to get something off the top shelf for them, but his "Why hello" had a slimy feel to it. So I responded with a skeptical "Hi." As in "Hi, I'm grocery shopping, not looking to talk to anyone and have them judge me on the fact that I have six frozen dinners, an onion, ice cream bars, and four gallons of milk in my cart."

I think he interpreted my "Hi" as something else because he said, and I do quote: "Is it just me, or did you feel that chemistry between the two of us back in the produce aisle?" All I could think of was all the times my mother told me to watch out for my personal safety in the Big City, and here I was going to be molested in the middle of HyVee, an employee-owned store that I take my grandma grocery shopping at in Minnesota.

He then introduced himself as Jimmy.

First of all, no one, I repeat no one has ever used that pick-up line on me before. Secondly, there was something horrifying about standing in the middle of HyVee at 3 in the afternoon when all the little old ladies are out picking up their sundries for the day, and I'm getting hit on by a man who doesn't seem to have a day job.

This toe-curling moment made me think of Singles Night at Wal-Marts. Apparently someone at Wal-Mart decided that it would be a good idea for single people to shop at the store on Friday nights. Lookin' love? Just tie a red bow around your cart and basket to indicate that you're on the meat market. Nothing humiliating about that. This is something being practiced as we speak in Germany on Friday nights. The Wal-Mart home office in Bentonville, Arkansas, gave the thumbs up to trial runs of this in the US, but soon demanded that the stores in Roanoke, VA, cancel the singles night there. Due to low attendance? the humility of picking someone up at Wal-Mart? the risk of meeting a sexual deviant in the electronics department? Who knows. So Singles Night continues to thrive in other countries, while US-based Wal-Mart customers are forced to resort to the old-fashioned pickup methods: bars, blinddates, or HyVee.

Sleazy Sal

According to a conversation I had with Brett, my mother is paranoid that I am no longer posting anything because my parents read my blog. This coming from a woman who said that she and her college roommate went by the names "Sleazy Sal and her Easy Pal" or, my all-time favorite Sally story, who as a teenager gave her principal a strip tease. That's right: when she was in high school, my mother decided to wear a Pomeroy Bicentennial garter with her mini-skirt and boots to show her support of the town's bicentennial. A natural trendsetter in her rights, the teenage Sleazy Sal convinced other young girls to participate in this shocking act of promiscuity. When the prinicipal found out that she was the ringleader, he called her into his office to inform her that she needed to stop wearing the garter -- or else. When he excused her to the restroom to remove the garter, Sleazy Sal leaned over, slid the garter down her leg (I always envisioned it as a move that would have rivaled Demi Moore in Striptease), and plopped it on his desk before sashaying out of his office. I imagine a middleaged balding man with horn-rimmed glasses using the garter to mop his sweaty forehead, right before he stuck the garter into his desk drawer. I bet they buried him with that garter.

(At this point, I imagine Sleazy Sal is sitting in front of her laptop, completely mortified that this story has been captured in cyberspace. Just don't point out any inaccuracies in my recounting the story unless it makes it juicier, okay, Mom? Because you know an embellished version of this story is going in my memoir.)

So this post is for my mother and possibly Gwen, who seems to think I should be posting more often and who laughed with delight the first time she heard that story.

My, What a Perky Rear-End You Have!

I bought a car. It meets all of my criteria: not black or white (it's silver), no leather seats (they're cloth), and it has a perky rear end (see pic to check out its degree of perkiness). Because, honestly, if you're going to spend money on a car, why buy one that has anything but a perky rear end? Who wants to own a car with a sad, droopy, wide ol' behind? Isn't that one of those things that come later in life?

Tom accompanied me on the car purchasing expedition, and apparently I'm difficult when it comes to making purchases that require a commitment. (Shut your mouth, Brett.) But alas, I can now drive to the grocery store at all hours of the day or night, do doughnuts, or pick up hitchhikers without asking someone else for assistance. Since you all couldn't be there to share in the drama, I thought I would share some of the best comments from the experience:

"Well, whatever happens, I am NOT buying a new car today." -- Me to Tom, six hours before I signed the last of the papers.

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"How easy is this thing to steal?" -- Me, less than 20 seconds after getting into the car.

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"Do you mind if we go look at the car again? I want to sit in the backseat this time." --Me

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"Do you want to make out?" -- Tom, as we were sitting in the backseat.

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"We found the floormats in the trunk." --Tom to Jay, the car salesperson.

"Yep, when we were trying to figure out how many bodies the trunk would hold." --Me

"We're thinking a person-and-a-half, maybe two." -- Tom

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"Well, theoretically, if she drove 100,001 miles and showed up on Day 89, she wouldn't be able to cancel it." -- Tom

"No, but if she drove 91,000 miles in the next 89 days, I would personally buy her her next car." --Scott, the finance guy

"If I did that, apparently I've become a drug runner." --Me

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"Are you going to be okay? You look a little dazed. I know this is a lot to take in, but can I get you something?" (30 seconds later) "Are you okay? You look a little overwhelmed. Can I get you something?" (30 seconds later) "Are you sure you're okay?" (30 seconds later.) "Really, are you okay? Do you need a break? Seriously, we can pause for a moment." (30 seconds later) "Okay, well, that's all I have. Are you sure you're going to be okay?" -- Allison, the car prepping manager, during her overview of additional paint coverage I could get on the car. (I guess I looked like I was either going to burst into tears or vomit the entire time we were negotiating and signing papers.) She also asked if I was interested in spinners or hydraulics.

I Still Love You ...

... Fred Savage.

May your comeback with Jane Curtin carry you into your 30s and your first divorce where we can finally be united.

Breaking and Entering

I have two fears about my apartment building. The first is that some sort of creature is going to jump out at me from the inside of one of the dryers in my building's basement. Every time I open a dryer door, I brace myself for a pants-wetting moment straight from the movie Ghoulies. My other fear is that I'm going to lock myself out of my apartment.

I realized the latter last week. I borrowed Tom's car while he was at the Iowa bowl game so that I could drive myself to work in his absence. In typical Megan fashion, I was running late. Rushing to get out the door at 7:05 a.m., I grabbed the keys to my door, pushed in the lock, and hopped onto the elevator. As I was riding down the elevator, I looked at the keys in my hand only to realize that I had grabbed the keys to the storage unit and not the keys to Tom's car and my apartment door. I wasn't worried so much about the fact that my apartment complex charges $50 every time they have to unlock your door for you, but that I had parked his car in front of my apartment building. According to the city, you are not allowed to park a car on the street in front of my building between 7 - 9 a.m. The KC police are vigilent in slapping parking tickets onto cars by 7:25 a.m., and they like to tow cars.

In a slight panic mode, I rode the elevator back up to my apartment. I dialed emergency maintenance and left a voice message notifying them that I was an idiot and needed someone to let me into my apartment.

But, as I was standing there, looking at the key in my hand, I realized that I had the key to my storage unit. The storage unit which has a hole leading into the back of a kitchen cabinet. Opening the storage unit, I pulled out five-gazillion tubs, pried the plywood off the back wall, and moved papertowels, vinegar, plastic bags, and other random items in the kitchen cabinet out of the way. Pushing hard against the cabinet door to move the garbage can out of the way, I pulled myself through my kitchen cabinet into my kitchen. Covered in dirt, I hopped up, ran through my living room, and grabbed the right keys just as emergency maintenance returned my call. I told them that I had found a way into my apartment, no need to send anyone. The maintenance guy didn't ask questions.

By 7:15 a.m., I made it to Tom's car. No ticket, no maintenance charges. And I discovered that I can fit into my kitchen cupboards.

Book Read

Breakfast at Tiffany's: A Novel and Three Stories by Truman Capote

I've never seen the movie starring Audrey Hepburn (does that make me unAmerican? I mean, it inspired Deep Blue Something to write a song with the same title), but click here to read a couple of interesting discrepencies between the book and the film.







Capote with Audrey Hepburn and her husband Mel Furre during the filming of Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Book Read

My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult

Book Read

Name All the Animals by Alison Smith

Incredible.

Whoa, Skinny Matt!

Now that's what I'm talking about, newly skinny Matt Hoover!

If I lost 157 pounds and looked like this, you couldn't get me to put my clothes back on.

McKate gets the gold star and chance to oil him down for getting his full name. (And for being my first Christmas card of the season. Yay!!)

I am the Biggest Loser

I was procrastinating on doing more work, and I flipped through the channels, ending up on NBC's "The Biggest Loser" season finale. The winner? Matt, from Marion, Iowa, who used to be a wrestler at The University of Iowa. I know he looks familiar, but couldn't remember his last name.

Twait, quick -- suppy the last name.

Fat Matt:













Picture of Skinny Matt soon to come.

Books Read

Metaphorosis by Franz Kafka

A man turns into an insect and leaves lots of brown stains. Yum-my.


Chloe Does Yale by Natalie Krinsky

Anna's Pick

Krinksy wrote a column for the Yale Daily News called "Sex and the (Elm) City"...the main character of the book wrote a column for the Yale Daily News called "Sex and the (Elm) City". Hmmm...sounds like a stretch, right? The book is amusing, but the ending is a) predictable and b) feels kind of like Krinsky went "Shoot -- I have a 200+ page book and need to wrap it up...I'll just write an epilogue to get myself out of a real ending." But it's fun fluff reading.

Book Read

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark

Happy Birthday to Sleazy Sal!

She's [mumble mumble] years old today!!

Not only did she get to celebrate her birthday, but she was able to wear her favorite suit all day long!!

He's Not Heavy

This is why my brother is my all-time favorite person:

As of this past Monday, I am writing for the same team that Brett works on. While I might know what I'm doing as a technical writer, each engineering team has different areas of expertise, so it's kind of like I'm starting all over again. Brett is considered one of the brightest, most knowledgeable people on his team, so I scheduled a meeting with him so that he could give me an overview of what the engineers on his team are coding.

By the time I got to the conference room, Brett had already drawn an intricate diagram on the whiteboard. I sat down, and he started describing what his engineering team codes. As he was explaining database warehouses, third-party software, and overnight reports, it struck me as incredibly funny that we were sitting in a glass room with office chairs that cost more than my college education, on the sixth floor of a building that holds the intellectual property of corporate America. The guy who used to rub his dirty socks in my face and call me great things like Amazon and Demon Child was updating me on back-end software.

So I did what any professional would do: I started giggling.

Brett continued speaking, unphased. I bit my tongue in an effort to stop my laughter, but couldn't. Eventually, Brett slowed his speech down to a drawl and gave me A Look. Which made me laugh harder.

Finally, he looked at me and said "Don't make me hit you." then continued talking about database warehouses. He even remembered where he was at in his presentation. As if an architect threatening a writer happens every day. We finished the discussion without further incident.

Which makes me wonder...if he had hit me, would I have called HR or our mother?

Book Read

Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation by Lynne Truss

From the back of the book:

A panda walks into a cafe. He orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and fires two shots in the air.

"Why?" asked the confused waiter, as the panda makes towards the exit. The panda produces a badly punctuated wildlife manual and tosses it over his shoulder.

"I'm a panda," he says, at the door. "Look it up."

The waiter turns to the relevant entry and, sure enough, finds an explanation.

"Panda. Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves."

So, punctuation really does matter, even if it is only occasionally a matter of life and death.


As I if spending my 50+ hour work weeks frolicking with commas, periods, and other fun punctuation marks (but rarely exclamation points!), what better way to spend my free time than reading a humorous account of punctuation like semi-colons, ellipsis, and, my personal all-time favorite, the em dash. Mmmm...the em dash.

Naturally Curly

According to one of those stupid fashion shows I was watching on the E! Network and then VH1's I Love the 80s: 3D, curly hair is out. So all those curly-haired ladies -- like Julia Roberts, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Nicole Kidman -- are now wearing their hair silky sleek. So Curly hair = 80s fashion victim.

My hair is still frizzy curly, and the bigger I can get it, the better. After all, who wants limp curls or to spend all that time with a blow dryer and flat iron, wrestling out the curls? While it doesn't seem like there are that many curly-haired people out there, most of my friends have curly hair. Gwen, erin, Allison...it's as if all us curly-haired people were drawn together to unite against the straight-haired people of the world. Gwen and I discussed this at length (no pun intended) because, on occasion, we go straight. People make a big deal out of it, like "Wow, you look so different." or Gwen's favorite "Why are you so dressed up?", and I have discovered that people take me more seriously when I wear my hair straight. But straight hair makes my head look bigger and I feel a little like a traitor. Part of me feels like I'm denying my roots.

See? Julia Roberts doesn't look happy to have straight hair. In fact, she looks quite peeved, like "You mean to tell me that the hairstylist made my hair straight? I'm like Samson, and gone are my powers!"

But to have a fashion show discount an entire group of people because our hair kinks as opposed to flattens, it kind of made me want to punch someone. And shame on Julia, Sarah Jessica, and all those women who are denying their curly-haired roots. Be the role models that you know you are: embrace your waves.

May 2007

The joke around work has become that i have some bad carma. I guess having your car stolen and being the victim of a hit-and-run leaves you wide open for jokes like that. On top of the car, shall we say, issues, my fridge broke that same week. Luckily, the fridge was replaced several days ago. My car, not so lucky. Brett's car, not so lucky. He still hasn't taken it into to a body shop to get an estimate on the damages. I have this feeling that he'll be getting a new bumper and tire alignment from me for Christmas.

I'm more upset about Brett's car then I am about mine, and I might even be more so if my library books hadn't been in my car. But there are saving graces. I strategically planned my approach to telling the librarians that my books were stolen by car thieves. I dressed nicely and grabbed my police report, making sure I smoothed it out so that it had no wrinkles or tear stains. When I arrived at the library, I waited for the youngest librarian to help me. I know that's totally agist, but I thought the younger librarian would be more sympathetic to my situation than the 70-year-old librarian who was yelling at the patrons he was checking out.

The hot librarian who helped me out felt so bad that he put an extended renewal on my stolen books, so my library books now are due in May of 2007. That's right -- a year-and-a-half from now. And he put a note on the account that if the books weren't returned by May 2007, they should renew them. Say what? May of 2007 and beyond? I felt like I needed to offer him my first born in gratitude. He suggested that I just replace the books on my own by going to a used bookstore, and then bringing them to the library. Otherwise, they'll charge me $30 per book. So $60 to replace two books, one of which wasn't even good. Or I just let it weigh on my conscious that the librarians at the Plaza Brach of the Kansas City Public Library will be renewing my books to the end of eternity.