Hocus Pocus Alimagocus!

All right. I admit it. When I was younger, I had a little bit of a crush on Jeff the Mannequin from Today's Special . Maybe it was the plaid hat and matching vest, or the fact that he froze whenever his hat was removed.

But, looking at this picture now, Sam and Muffy were even creepier than I remember them being. And Jodie was way hot. Jeff and Jodie definitely should have made that final sale, if you know what I mean.

Grandpa Fritz Hats

My Grandpa Fritz always wore the Irish wool caps. In fact, a huge chunk of my memories of my grandpa have him wearing either a blue or a gray version of that hat. When we were little, my brother and I had no clue as to what the names of these hats were or where they originated from. We just knew that our grandfather wore them, and that immediately made the hat something that we respected. Unsure of what type of hats they were, we referred to them as "Grandpa Fritz Hats".



When we were in high school, Brett started wearing Grandpa Fritz Hats of his own. As soon as Brett found out that he and Allison were having a boy, he started searching to find a Grandpa Fritz Hat for his son. He found one, but he's had to wait four months for Ryne's head to actually become large enough to fill out the hat. The hat's still a little big, but it looks like Ryne was born to wear a Grandpa Fritz Hat.

Grandpa Fritz would be proud.

Merry Christmas, Kid

Usually I'm on top of things when it comes to having Christmas presents bought and cards mailed, but this year I just couldn't seem to stay on top of it. Maybe it was spending a huge chunk of November in Hawaii, the other chunk of November homeless, and most of December either sick or working. So today I found myself in the crowds of shoppers trying to buy last minute gifts.

As I was standing in the toy section at Target, I overheard a couple talking. I caught the tail end of the conversation, but I was in time for the woman to say:

"...I mean, bless his heart, but the poor kid is just not coordinated. There is no way we're buying him a scooter."

That, my friend, explains why there's thousands of us uncoordinated adults still alive. Parent interference. This explains why most of my toys didn't have wheels. Thanks, Mom.

Get 'Em While They're Young

Today Tommy and I visited the Liberty Memorial Museum, the National WWI Museum. Originally built in 1921, the museum was partially closed in recent years for renovations. It reopened on December 2, and the place is incredible. This now tops my list of recommended activities for people visiting (or living in) Kansas City.

The museum is almost overwhelming with all the memorabilia, information, and interactive displays.

But my all-time favorite interactive display I saw at the museum is the one simply entitled "Create Propaganda". Yes, using a laser pen and high-tech computers, people of all ages can select the color of their propaganda's paper, pictures, and wording. To top it all off, you can then e-mail the propaganda to yourself or to anyone you choose. After all, what good is propaganda if you can't spread it?

2, 4, 6, 3.8...

...I survived my first earthquake!**


**The earthquake on Sunday registered in at 3.8 on the Richter scale. The shopping center Dujka and I were standing in was so structurally sound that we didn't feel it. Claudius did, however, and text messaged Dujka to let her know that another earthquake kinda-sorta shooke Honolulu. The news covered it as well. I'll let that count as my first earthquake.

Back to the Stone Age

For those of you who have been e-mailing me requests to send pictures of the Hawai'i adventures so far, stop it. I'm still using an archaic 35mm camera, so you can expect to see pictures 6-8 weeks after I return to KC. Unless I don't get through my last role of film, and then you can expect to see pictures some time in August.

Brett and Scott, before you start mocking my camera, I do want to point out that Baikie let me borrow his sleek Cannon camera. So it's not the shoebox of a camera that you've mocked at prior occasions. This one at least fits into the palm of my hand and, when the camera rewinds, it doesn't sound like a bomb timer counting down. (Although I will admit that when I asked a tourist to take a picture of Dujka, Claudius, and me, she became very disoriented when she couldn't find the LCD monitor and I had to explain to her how to use a camera that requires film. And then she mocked me.) But at least my camera size is getting closer to modern times. :-)

SPF 45...and then some.

I've spent more time in the sun in the last week then I have in the last four years. The last time I found myself exposed to the sun this often was the summer after my junior year of college, the last summer I worked at the Sioux City Explorers ballpark. While I didn't exactly have a golden tan that year, I could pass more for a living body than the deathlike status I've evolved into since starting to work in Corporate America.

I can always tell when I'm starting to get sun because a) I suddenly become more freckle than skin, and b) my previously existing freckles turn a funky shade of green. Think Gumby developing the same skin disease that Michael Jackson allegedly has. Despite a bottle of SPF 45 and my forcing Dujka and Claudius to lay in the shade of palm trees any time we go to the beach, I shall be returning to Kansas City green.

At least I'll match the Christmas decorations.

Sand People

Hawai'i is beautiful. Beautiful...and hot and humid. Despite surviving an entire month of 100+ degree weather in July in KC, my body is still cringing at the temps here. So I'm clad in tank tops and skirts, exposing people here to the blinding whiteness of my midwestern "tan".

Between Dujka's work schedule, we've managed to squeeze in quite a bit. The Dole Plantation, downtown Waikiki, the set of Lost, North Shore, the Ala Moana Center. Phew. Today we're headed to another beach and town and a macademia nut farm. Tomorrow is Pearl Harbor and the Flea Market.

While at the Lost set, we decided to lay out on the beach. All the beaches in Hawaii are public, so at no point in time can the Lost security guards kick you off the beach. (Although the one security officer that was there watched us the entire time, like we might suddenly rush the church that Mr. Eko built or something.) The section of the beach is in a residential section, but the beach was pretty quiet with only a handful of people scattered across it, unlike the beach in downtown Waikiki or the beach images of Hawaii that seem to accompany the brochures that travel agencies use.

I'm not sure how this happened, but by the end of the laying out on the beach portion, I was caked from head to foot in sand. Claudius and Michelle just had a few pieces of sand wrapped around their feet and ankles. You know, from where they had actually touched the beach, unlike me, who only stepped on the beach, yet found sand plastered across my hips and chest. Maybe it's because I had slathered myself in SPF 45 a few hours before, but regardless, sand everywhere. I couldn't brush it off; it clung to me in all the uncomfortable spots. Which reminded me that I don't like to be dirty and beaches make me slightly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable like I've-got-sand-in-my-eye sort of way.

The only conclusion that I can draw is that I am a novice beach goer, while Michelle and Claudius are professionals. Either that, or they have struck a deal with the sand devil and have become exempt from sand sticking to the weird body parts.

Aloha, Baby

I made it to Hawai'i.

Not only did Dujka lei me at the airport, she made me a fabulous welcome poster that is prominently displayed in her apartment (and she cut out the letters by hand!).

You don't get a welcome like that at the Four Seasons.

Eat the Megan

Looking through some of my previous posts, I'm surprised that I have neglected to discuss Subway.

The women at Subway love Tom and me. There's Debbie, who is probably in her late 40s, early 50s; the cute blond girl, who is probably in her early 20s and is dating a guy who works at the same place that Tom and I do; and the man who Tom and Mike have deemed Chips-and-a-Drink Guy (because he usually runs the cash register during the lunch hour and never neglects to say "Do you want chips and a drink?" before taking your money).

If Debbie likes you, she teases you. If she likes you and you're female, she calls you Missy because it gives some familiarity without having to remember your name. If the Cute Blond Girl likes you, she smiles while she adds the toppings to your sandwich; if Chips-and-a-Drink Guy likes you, he tries to guess what sandwich you ordered. Tom and I are so in with them.

Tom and I go to Subway at least once a week. We didn't discover how much they liked us until the week the toaster oven broke. When people found out that the toaster oven was going to be out of commission for a few days, they decided to go elsewhere for lunch. Tom and I are dedicated -- we eat our sandwiches toasted or untoasted. The place was deserted during the middle of the lunch hour, which rarely happens, so we had a chance to talk with Debbie and Cute Blond Girl (Chips-and-a-Drink Guy was mysteriously absent for several weeks, leading Tom to worry as to what sort of fate had met Chips-and-a-Drink Guy). Debbie and Cute Blond Girl referred to us as being "some of our favorite customers" because apparently we're polite and always smiling when we come in. Cute Blond Girl told me that I was the first unsnobby girl she had met from the company where we work. They then proceeded to give us free cookies.

Anyway, this past Friday, Tom and I made a stop at Subway. We walked in right before the rush started, making us the head of the line.

Now, I have to preempt what I'm about to say here with the statement that I realize that my taste buds are not five star. I've been known to eat the same thing for dinner weeks in a row with no variance. Just like my Subway sandwich: I've found something that works, and I stick with it. Tom finds this a little odd, and occasionally he'll poke fun at me for doing so. The Subway women think this is hilarious.

On Friday, I ordered what Tom now deems "The Megan": turkey on six-inch wheat bread, provologne cheese, toasted, with lettuce, green peppers, black olives, just a few onions, mayonnaise, and salt-and-pepper. I order it the same way, in this exact order, every time; it just makes sense as this is how the condiments are arranged from left to right in the topping line.

Debbie and Cute Blond Girl know that I order the same sandwich; I like to think that they think it's endearing. But Tom turned to Debbie on this particular day and said "Hmm, I think I'll have The Megan as well." And proceeded to order my sandwich, which immediately set me into a tizzy for him mocking me, and caused the Subway women to burst into giggles.

The chaos held up the lunch line, and we started getting dirty looks as Tom ordered my sandwich and I shook my fist at him. When he finished, I told Cute Blond Girl that this was what I had to deal with all the time, and she reassured me by saying, "It's okay; he didn't order it as well as you do." Because I say "please" for every topping I ask for and "thank you" once she finishes.

So, really, I have no conclusion for this little story other than the Subway women know Tom and me too well; I could eat the same thing every day; and Tom often eats the veggie patty sandwich, which makes me gag a little. I'll buy your next Subway sandwich if you're the first person to order The Megan and e-mail me to tell me what you think of it. If you can get Subway to name the sandwich after me, I'll buy you two sandwiches from Subway.

Numbers

8 days until Halloween and Allison's birthday.

9 days until I have to be moved out of my apartment.

3 boxes packed.

10 days until Tom's birthday.

11 days until I leave for Hawaii (and see Dujka!!).

18 consecutive days I will have off from work starting November 2.

22 days until Thanksgiving.

24 days until I can move into my new apartment.

27 days since my last post.

6 minutes I spent trying to come up with some incredibly witty number to end the post with, but failed.

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.