Ryne

I always thought my ability to bore men to sleep only impacted men my own age. Apparently I can make anyone fall asleep.

Duj-ka!

So I did something kind of crazy, that's so unlike me (more like a Tom move) that I'll probably blame it on Tom if it doesn't work out. I canceled my apartment lease...without first lining up another place to live. As of November 1, I will officially be without a home. I'll load everything into a storage unit, then maybe try to find someplace new to live come 2007.

I've been talking about visiting Dujka in Hawaii for three years now. It's been forever since I've seen her, and what better way to see Hawaii then with someone you love and who won't make you pay a ridiculous amount for room and board? So, instead of paying November's rent here in KC, I bought a plane ticket to Hawaii for two weeks. When I return to KC, I'll mooch off my friends for a few weeks, hitting up my parents (or Tom's) during Thanksgiving week (hope you don't mind, Mom, that I didn't clear that with you first).

So once again Brett and Allison will be receiving all my mail. And November 2 through 16, Dujka and I will be frolicking on the beaches of Oahu, looking for Jack and Sawyer on the set of Lost, and getting leied.

Sploosh

Yesterday I went to Blockbuster. As I was wandering around the store, trying to find something to rent, I noticed they placed Splash in the Drama section. This completely took me by surprise -- at first. My first thought was Really? A movie about a mermaid who likes jazzercise and who names herself after a street sign is considered a drama? But then I remembered the heartwrenching exposure of Madison as a mermaid, her being experimented on in a fish tank, and the intense race through New York City to the harbor so that she could escape. A drama indeed.

This took me back to a conversation we had with Gwen a while ago, when she admitted that her video store often shelves movies in categories that you might not think the movie would be associated with. I tried to shrug it off as something that makes sense in Gwen's universe, but no place else. Damn you, Blockbuster. Damn you.

Brilliant!

Last night I went to bed at 6:45 p.m. out of exhaustion from work and perhaps a little boredom.

At the same time, Tommy e-mailed me pictures from his trip to visit Niall's homeland. He has some incredible pics, and he still has five more days to go and the craziness of Niall's birthday to celebrate. In Ireland.

To see some of his pics, click here or here. I opted not to share the photos of Niall mooning Tommy for fear of causing too much excitement.

Exposed

Friday morning I had to ride the shuttle from the parking garage to campus. I was carrying everything for work -- my laptop, my lunch, granola bars, a drink -- when I hurriedly boarded the shuttle. If I ever have to ride the shuttle, I normally avoid sitting next to someone due to the whole personal-space issue. The seats are so close that you inevitably wind up with some part of your body touching a part of the other person's body. Usually the shoulders, but I once rode the shuttle sitting next to someone where we touched from shoulder all the way down to thigh. By the time I departed the shuttle, I thought I was going to need a cigarette.

But on Friday I had no choice but to sit next to someone since I was the last person to board the shuttle. I ended up sharing a seat with a young man...I'm guessing one of our summer interns due to his baby face, lack of a computer, and that "I'm an intern" look that they all seem to have. In my rush to catch the shuttle, I sat down without looking where I put any of my stuff, just dumping it on my lap. As my numerous bags weighed me down, it apparently weighed my shirt down as well, pulling my V-neck shirt so far as such my entire bra-clad breast was exposed.

It took me at least two minutes riding on the shuttle to notice that my entire breast was hanging out, enjoying the ride. I quickly tucked myself back in, but not soon enough to go unnoticed. The intern looked at me, his ears turned pink, and then he quickly looked out the window. He spent the rest of the shuttle ride looking out the window, not even flinching when the guy behind him bumped him in the head with his bag.

I always knew I could show the interns something, but I was hoping it would be something less personal and more work related.

Ginny, You Didn't!

Yesterday my doctor prescribed muscle relaxers to ease the pain in my hip. All I could think of was the scene from Sixteen Candles, when Brenda Baker said to the little old lady (who played the creepy clairvoyant in Poltergeist), "Her monthly bill came early. Well, she's fine, she just took a muscle relaxer."

To which Ginny replied "Try four."

Something tells me that Ginny would not have been standing if she actually took four of those bad boys.

On a related note, when erin visited me in KC, we discovered that Kohls is selling T-shirts that have quotes/pictures from Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club. I'm now the proud owner of my very own "I (Heart) Jake Ryan" shirt. Too bad Michael Schoeffling left Hollywood to become a carpenter in Pennsylvania. I was only 11 and he was 31, but I'm sure my parents would have let him use a saw and some wood in our garage until I turned 18.

Four Weeks to D-Day

Yesterday marked exactly four weeks until Allison's delivery day. That's right: Cletus the Fetus (as lovingly called by his grandparents) is scheduled to arrive on August 27. The nursery is painted, the furniture is set up, the baby clothes are ready to be worn, and Gracie the Great Dane is ready to have her first baby snack.

I'm excited about being Aunt Megs, but anyone who knows me realizes my adversion to babies. One of my biggest phobias is naked babies. Those Anne Geddes baby pictures where she dresses up infants as fruit and vegetables and unicorns? Creepy. My roommate my freshman year of college put up a poster of a half-naked baby splashing itself with water from a hose, and suddenly there was a corner of the room I couldn't walk by, let alone look at. I stopped babysitting because changing strange babies' diapers gave me the eebie jeebies. Tom still hasn't forgiven me for refusing to hold his niece on numerous occasions (well, that and for slipping and referring to her as "it").

And I'm listed as the one other person that can be in the delivery room when the baby makes his debut.

I am tremendously honored by Brett and Allison including me as the only person in the delivery room who neither has any sort of medical schooling or participated in the conception of my nephew. I am feeling tremendously honored...and a little woozy. I hear words like placenta, dialation, and push, and I immediately fight the urge to turn my head to the side and vomit. But it's the miracle of life, right? Slimy, writhing, right out of Allison's stomach like that scene from Aliens, but preferrably not directly through the middle of her stomach. I'm having flashbacks to 9th Grade Health Class with Mrs. French, where she showed us the birthing video. They showed the placenta (gag), and when the baby came out, it sounded like a Slurpee machine. A Slurpee machine. Schlllooooop!

I'm going to hell for this post. That, and for calling my mom Sleazy Sal. And for breaking Corey Meyer's Alf backpack when we were in second grade. Sorry, guys.

Arrr!

Another trip to the chiropractor revealed that my right leg has shrunk up another 1/2-inch.

At this rate, I'm going to need an eye patch and a parrot to go with the peg leg I whittle out of my futon.

Condiments Galore

During the Fourth of July week, my refrigerator broke. I had to throw everything out. Everything. All of my condiments except for a bottle of unopened Ranch dressing. (For those of you who are keeping count, this is the fourth fridge that has broken on me in the 1.5 year that I have lived in my apartment.)

The apartment people brought me Fridge #5, and I was left with the expensive task of rebuilding my fridge base.

Diane took it upon herself to rally all my direct reports together to buy me condiments. I like to think that they like me since they bought me the brand name condiments and not the generic stuff that kind of tastes like you're licking the inside of a metallic tomato.

And look how happy the condiments look. So bright and happy, aligned by height. Bless those coworkers of mine.

What Condition Is My Condition In

This past week I started an abusive relationship that will be one-sided (him giving, me taking). Our first two dates last week ended with me in tears and icing down my body parts. We have 10 dates scheduled over the next month; I'm not sure how things will go after the end of our first month. Not that it matters; it would never work: he's a Florida fan and I vow to stay loyal to the Hawkeyes.

Due to severe pain in my shoulder and neck, Tom convinced me to make an appointment with his chiropractor. Chiropractory has changed a little since I last attended one in high school (for the same shoulder problems). Back then the 250-pound chiropractor would throw himself on top of me to crack my bones into place. This time around, the doctor is using an adjuster which aligns my vertebrae with a single pop. He also measures the length of my legs to determine if my alignment is getting better after he adjusts me. Apparently my right leg is 1/4 of an inch shorter than my left leg. The doctor told me that I'm in pretty bad shape, mostly from years of sports, studying, and most recently, spending hours in front of a computer. So take note, Gwen and erin, you lifelong students -- sit up straight while studying.

In addition to being grotesquely out of alignment, I have a new disease to add to my list of ailments that makes my inner-hypochondriac swoon: a minor case of scoliosis AND a rotating pelvis. Which sounds so incredibly dirty that I couldn't stop giggling when he diagnosed it. Prior to last week, the only things I really knew about scoliosis was that that's the disease that the school nurse would check for when she felt your spine (to this day, I still wonder if the pedophiles are really running that show); severe cases are fixed by wearing a brace; and Rene Russo had scoliosis as a kid, wore a brace, and later impressed everyone by going on to become a model and actress. And Elvis invented the rotating pelvis, right?

I don't think I'm an ideal candidate for getting poked by an adjustor. (Once again, who knew that chiropractory could sound so incredibly dirty?) When he went to adjust my rib and poked me in the ribcage, he had to stop for a couple minutes before he could continue because I was giggling so hard. When he makes me ride up and down on the rotating table, I keep saying things like "Wheee!" or "Oh, I think I'm going to puke." And I'm far too embarrassed to recount the story of when he first ran the tests on me while I was wearing one of those hospital gowns that don't close in the back.

So, yay! I have my very own case of scoliosis! The highlight has come when I told Tom about it at work after being diagnosed (because the doctor has put me on the injured list for bowling, and the lovely Baikie is subbing for me indefinitely); Tom, Diaz (our other bowling partner) and I had been talking about it when Tom turned to a new girl on his team and said "Hey, have you met Megan? She has scoliosis."

I think I should make a T-shirt.

Guest Blogger: Sleazy Sal

[On Tuesday], Jer and I were planning a small dinner party for 12 people—thanking them for bringing food to his retirement party. I’d spent the day, leisurely getting ready and I had everything in control. It was 4:45, I had just put the meat on the grill and Jer had left to walk Hali. My plan was to have the meat done and keeping warm in the oven before guests arrived so we could enjoy a cocktail with the guests before dinner. Did I mention, I was so organized?

I was heading into the dining room with some last minute table decorations when I stopped dead in my tracks. Sprawled out on the dining room floor was a BAT!!
I shrieked, turned and rushed out the back door, running to the front door to prop it open. I then ran back around the house to the garage to grab a broom to chase the bat out the front.

Jer was just getting back with Hali, so I gladly handed him the broom to do the bat chasing. When Jer entered through the back door, the bat was just inside the back door. So he smashed it with a broom and I ran back around the house to shut the front door (the air conditioning was on). Hali slipped out the back door as I rushed past. So now the dog was on the loose. Hali must have recognized the urgency in my voice, so she did dutifully follow me into the house. As I rushed to grab Jer a towel so he wouldn’t have to touch the bat, Hali jumped on the couch and let out a loud “I’m really hurt howl.” I usually have a cover on the couch that I had removed for company. As Hali jumped up, her toenail caught in the tweed and nearly ripped off. So now the dog is limping into the kichen, leaving bloody paw prints the whole way.

Jer had successfully completed bat removal, but hadn’t started getting ready yet. I herded him to the shower, remembered the meat, so I grabbed a pan and got the meat off the grill. It has more done than intended, but not burnt. I quickly mixed up some marinade, smothered the meat and wrapped it in foil and tossed it in the oven. Next, I quickly grabbed the first aid kit and bandaged the dog’s foot and mopped up all the blood from the kitchen floor.

Somehow, Jer and I both managed to greet guests with a smile as they arrived at 5:30.We had made a pact to tell NO BAT Stories during the night. I was afraid that my story might affect appetities.

Between the dog chewing off her bandages and the fear of more bats, I hardly slept all night. So [Wednesday], we took the dog to the vet for foot surgery (can you say “$$$$”?) and called the bat control people from Storm Lake (can you say “even bigger $$$$$”?) Hali [is] home and on the mend, but the bat people can’t come until the 20th. We’ll see how sleep goes until then!

Screeching Pins Update

I bowled a 184.

I believe it was a combination of 6 spares, 3 strikes, and 9 pins.

I want to retire from bowling because it can't get any better than that for me.

Instead, I have around six weeks of bowling left. I curse the person who signed me on for this sixteen-week long Pizza Bowling League.

Corporate Bobblehead Megs

I'm taking a three-day management class at work. It's a class that was designed for new team leads/managers, and after four successful attempts to get out of the class, the fifth one failed. My manager told me that since I have been a team lead for over a year, I needed to take the class ASAP. Imagine sitting in a room for 9-hours (with periodic restroom breaks) listening to various people talk about the same subject of delegation and managing people, projects, and processes, but using different PowerPoint slides. Phew.

I've discovered that, as I'm sitting there, drifting in and out of my various daydreams (for example, today I thought about who would win in a fist fight: Long Duck Dong or William Hung? but then realized it was an unfair match up since one of them is fictional. You figure out which one), I nod my head up and down with a little smile, as if I'm saying "Yes, yes, I can be a corporate drone." And the presenter smiles and nods back, acknowledging that he or she is in the midst of stripping me of my individuality and all humanizing characteristics that I possess.

Until Tom's manager walked in to present. I felt bad for him: he was nervous, and he was presenting after lunch, so everyone was in a semi-food coma. He began throwing out jokes and asking questions to which no one responded, only receiving empty stares. When he started using examples that included Tom (thus pointing out to the other 30 people in the room that "Megan's boyfriend reports to [him]"), I tuned out. I do like to keep some of my personal life separate from work, and how am I supposed to hook up with the rich managerial types when they know I have a ... Tom?

So I started doing my smile-and-nod routine (while thinking about Al Gore's movie, An Inconvenient Truth, and how long it would take Florida and the East and West Coasts to flood when Greenland really does melt and whether they can evacuate Disney World in time) when J__ called on me. Which I should have expected because I was one of the few people in the room whose name he knew, making me a prime target.

Assuming that he hadn't been talking about global warming, I drew a blank. Rather than asking him to repeat the question, I think I gave him an unintentional dirty look and sat there for 30 seconds, then I said "Um..." Sat for a moment again, immediately went scarlet, and switched it up by saying "Uhhh..." as 31 pairs of managerial eyes burned holes into my mortified skin.

I took a stab in the dark and said "Going back to the topic of communication, I essentially think that listening is crucial to the role of a manager, someone who is willing to listen to their direct reports' concerns."

Fortunately, I lucked out with my guess. The question had been "What leadership skills are important in a good manager?"

I should have been fired on the spot.

Take Me Out

Here's Tommy** and me at the White Sox/Astros game last Friday night. My food consumption for the game included, in the following order:

1. 1 12-oz bottle of Miller Lite
2. 3 12-oz cans of Miller Lite
3. 1 20-oz glass of Miller Lite
4. Nachos with Jalepenos
5. Pretzel with Cheese
6. 1 Chocolate Churro
7. 12-oz Mountain Dew
8. Italian Sausage (which I thought was the same thing as a Polish sausage, but boy was I wrong)

Serpico tried to get me some sort of corn-shucked-off-the-cob snack (which would have been sandwiched between food items 5 and 6), but the concession stand was sold out. Next time.


**Tom normally does not have a double chin.

Chaka...Chaka...Chaka Khan

Holy crap. So, I found this picture of Chaka Khan, who totally looks like that creepy globe-owning/astrology lady muppet from The Dark Crystal. The old lady who was attacked by Kira's frizzy dog-like critter (who also attacked Jen, I think), remember? And it bothered me that I couldn't remember the name of the muppet since I've seen The Dark Crystal a gazillion times, so I started on a mission to figure out her name.

That's when I discovered that they're making a sequel to The Dark Crystal. The Power of the Dark Crystal is scheduled to be released in 2008. It makes me a little nervous that they're releasing the sequel 26-years after the first one came out. Then again, all the original actors are signed on to reprise the voices (with the exception of The General).


I remember thinking that Jen was hot and I wanted to make out with him, while at the same time being repulsed by his blank-eyed stare and crazy-ass ears. This might be my opportunity to see an aged Jen, which might solidify my decision not to write Jim Henson to ask how I could meet this Gelfling and his Landstrider. (Although I highly doubt that my missing my opportunity to hook up with Jen was a good thing.)

Anyway, Chaka Khan is starting to look like Aughra.

Threesomes Are Lovely

Tommy and I went to Chicago for Sara's and Jacob's wedding this past weekend. Never one to pass up on an opportunity to see the great Serpico, Tom made arrangements for us to stay with Serpico for a few days.

After the wedding on Saturday, we were supposed to meet up with Serpico and a bunch of their friends later that night, but the reception started later than what we thought it would so we didn't get back to Serpico's place until after midnight. The crew was already out, so Tom and I just went to bed. They returned home later that night, a little tipsy (and then some). After the initial ruckus, I fell back asleep and probably would have slept through the night had I not felt Serpico pulling my ankles around 4:30 a.m., which was immediately followed by Serpico pushing my body to the side of the bed. He somehow managed to wedge himself between Tom and me and promptly passed out.

Apparently Tom and I were okay with this as we looked at each other then went back to sleep, but I woke up soon after having to pee so badly that I thought I might drown everyone in the bed. I had two options: get up and go to the bathroom, or risk losing my place in the bed. I contemplated this for several minutes, only opting to stay in bed when I realized that Serpico was just wearing his boxer shorts. I wasn't sure if I wanted to run the risk of having to wrestle a drunken Serpico in his underwear. (After all, what's a little urine between friends?)

After opting for sleep instead of bladder relief, I realized that Serpico was lovingly spooning Tom.

We left for the airport without waking Serpico, taking turns climbing over him to get out of bed. We found Danny P. curled in the fetal position on the wooden floor in Serpico's living room, wedged between the sofa and the coffee table. Milan was tangled in an awkward position on Rawles' bed, and we couldn't find Rawles. Any night that ends with crazy sleeping patterns and a missing roommate calls for a story.

As we were waiting to board our plane, Serpico called Tom. He had no recollection of the night's previous sleeping arrangements.

I only hope he realizes that when he comes to Kansas City, it means that I get to sleep in the middle.

Sleazy Sal Does Pennsylvania

Sleazy Sal and Jer the Bod are on vacation.

They're staying in a posh resort in Pennsylvania, sleeping until noon and drinking Mai Tais. Sleazy Sal has the pool boy scheduled to apply suntan lotion to her back at least a dozen times a day. Jer the Bod smokes cigars while making connections with the Philadelphia mob.

They superimposed themselves with the Statue of Liberty so that Brett and I wouldn't catch on to the fact that they are dwindling away our inheritance on lap dances and booze. If you look closely, you can see body glitter on Sleazy Sal's right forearm.

Tsk tsk.

How the Mighty Have Fallen

Oh, Dustin Diamond, this makes me so incredibly sad. Hocking T-shirts to raise $250,000 to avoid foreclosure on your home? If only you had taken me up on my marriage proposal the night that Erin, Dujka, Diane, and I came to watch your "comedy" routine at Penguin's Comedy Club in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, instead of just grabbing my ass while we posed together for the picture I still have framed and I only look at longingly on the days when my self-esteem feels particularly low.

Screech, do you think that Lisa Turtle would ever give you the time of day after this stunt? Even though she sold most of her wardrobe from the Bayside High lockers in like the first season of Saved By the Bell to earn money to pay off a massive phone bill or something, this is just an all-time low for you. Mario Lopez, who cheated on his wife the Dorito's chick after being married for like two weeks, is sitting someplace, laughing his ass off. Even Elizabeth Berkley, star of Erin's and my favorite movie which single-handedly left the nation wondering how on earth she thought that the role of Naomi was going to get her taken seriously in Hollywood after she was seen in her birthday suit giving a gross lap dance to creepy Kyle McLaughlin, is feeling pretty good about herself at this moment. And Mark Paul and Tiffany Thiessen (formerly Tiffany-Amber Thiessen) are just thankful that they went on to have successful TV careers and are praying at this very moment that they don't meet the same fate.

While I absolutely refuse to contribute money to saving his home in Wisconsin (hello? Wisconsin? near Gwen? Dammit, Screech) when he had an opportunity to build a life with me in barbeque-jazz-lovin' Kansas City, if any of my friends happen to buy me a Save Screeech DShirt (preferrably autographed with the "Fuck Giraldo" message, size M) for the next major holiday (Fourth of July, perhaps?), I would not turn this gift away. In fact, you would be my new best friend.


Screech, if you're serious about saving your house, I suggest making a porno. I think you could get top dollar for being in one, especially if you can convince one of your former castmates to join you, even if it was one of those crappy kids from The New Class. I would watch it.

And Friends, just remember, size M.

Motley Crue Wrote a Song About This

Whenever I return home to Correctionville, certain things always take me by surprise.

* Everyone waves. When driving, the farmers have the 1-2 finger wave, while the rest of the people in town lift most of their fingers while keeping their thumbs looped through the steering wheel. If you don't wave, people know you're from out of town. I'm hiding behind my MO license plates with the hopes of no one recognizing me as I forget to do The Wave.

* Rather than highlighting the number of murders and rapes (like the KC news seems to do), the Sioux City news focuses on uplifting human interest stories and...agricultural. In addition to listing the top companies for the day on the Dow and NASDAQ markets, the news always flashes the cash prices for grain, cows, pigs, corn, and beans.

* I don't have to lock my car doors when I'm any where in Correctionville. Heck, I can leave my keys in the car. With the engine running. Doors unlocked. With my purse on the front seat, and not even think twice about someone stealing anything. Take that, you bleepin' KC car thieves.

* Stops at the Valley Drive Inn, the Valley Grocery Store, the post office, and the bank all result in me running into someone I know. And me immediately running away from them. I thought small talk got easier when you became an adult, but apparently the weather in KC and C'ville isn't different enough to sustain you through a conversation in the bank.

* You can live someplace throughout your formative years, and yet feel like a stranger whenever you return. Thank God I plan to hit the beer as soon as the retirement party starts. I wonder if it's inappropriate to drink myself silly at the Little Sioux Park shelter while my parents' family and friends celebrate Jerry's retirement. I think it is. I've always hoped to live up to my reputation as a lush. :-)

So I totally stole this from Claudius' Web site, but look: our Dujka's all graduated!