Happy 27th birthday to me. woo woo.

Yesterday, I went to a bridal shower for my friend since middle school. This woman was sitting at my table, and occassionally I would look up and catch her staring at me. Then I'd be signing the guest book, look up and she'd be staring at me again. It was starting to get a little creepy when she finally said, "Do you know who you look like?" (oh no, I hate this game for fear it's going to be someone I think is not cute). "Molly Ringwald." I'm kinda on the fence with that one if it's a compliment or not. All I picture her in are those stupid hats from the 80s. I don't even have red hair, lady. She looked a lot like Bette Midler, but you didn't catch me taking the chance in possibly ruining someone's day. Unless you're about to tell someone they look like Gisele, I think you keep your comments to yourself.

For the record, I don't Wanta Fanta. Ever.

I love payday.

Tonight, I head back to my hometown in Wisconsin for basically less than 24 hours. I HATE driving 3 hours to stay such a short about of time. I didn't even do the drive for my own mom on Mother's Day, but I'm doing it for my friend Jill's bridal shower. And my mom bought and wrapped my gift to her. Yes, I'm a terrible child. To make up for it, I sort of opened my big fat mouth and told my parents that we could celebrate Mother's/Father's Day and birthdays tonight at dinner. The thing is, I haven't bought shit for either my mom or my dad. So I have 1 hour---lunch hour---to buy them something.

At this point, it's looking like anything I pick up will be at the EZ-on, EZ-off Amaco. Mom, here's your Willy Nelson's Greatest Hits cassette tape! Dad, here's some Armoral spray for the ole car. I love you guys.

Sigh.

Tonight, friends since high school, Jayme and Tarah, stopped by my place and hung out for a few hours. Their visit was a 'pit stop' of sorts on their way out to Boston, so I treated them to Geppetto's pizza (a staple if you come to my apartment to visit). We were forced to watch American Idol, since Tarah likes to think of herself as the next Diana Degarmo. That show is like a shitty high school show choir. And really, wasn't high school show choir one of the punishments in the nine circles of hell?

The good news is, they're hiring someone new to take some of the workload off of me. The bad news is, I have to "hang in there" until that happens. You hang in there.

Always on the forefront of great comebacks...that's me. Been busy lately...but look! Sex horoscopes!

Your week in sex.

Are you kidding me? This was an ad during The Swan Pageant. Which, by the way, was like a live version of a bad Glamour Shots photo shoot.

Just a little F.Y.I...I do not recommend golfing with a slight hangover in 88 degree heat. Four of us went out to Evanston yesterday and played (almost) 18 holes. The El goes right by there (ahhh...the sounds of nature), so you can bring your clubs and a 12-pack on the train(which we did not induldge in, see above: hangover) and not have to worry about driving.

When we got there my friend, Laura, said to me, "You look like a real golfer," to which I replied, "So I look like a lesbian? Thanks."

Yes, I golf. I've got mad skillz, yo. For golfing like once a year, that is. Shot a 44 on the front nine, and then sort of lost count on the back nine (it wasn't pretty). Like, when you hit and then immediately laugh at yourself out loud, it ain't pretty.

Back in October, I wrote about wanting to virtually bring the show, "Mortified" from LA to Chicago. For those of you who are too lazy to click on the link (and I've been meaning to tell you your index finger has been looking fat lately) the premise of the show is that people just like you read their most embarrassing diary entries, poems, rap lyrics, letters, etc. on stage in front of strangers.

I really fell in love with the idea. I had talked to the creator, Dave, over the phone and he gave me an assignment (of sorts) to prove my "worthiness." Understandably, this was/is Dave's baby, and he didn't want some broad in Chicago taking it from him and fucking it up. A week or so later, I called him, and he said that he was shopping the show around to MTV and VH1 and that's when I, quite frankly, shyed away from it, because it was getting way too big for my britches. I thought I should let the "experts" (really a 26-year-old college pal of Cody's from Michigan) handle it, and I'll just be their #1 fan. In that non-Kathy Bates "Misery" sort of way, though. Just to clarify.

Well, just got an email today that "Mortified" is getting their first pilot on Comedy Central. How great is that? As promised, I will be there watching, and maybe even have my TiVo set up by then. Maybe.

I think I found the solution to my woes this morning...and that came in the form of margaritas at lunch. Ole.

There's been a lot of booty shakin' in my house this past week because of these blokes. 'Take me Out' jerks me around like my last 5 boyfriends, but this time I like it. Naughty! But in my life, I've also been known to sing along to Chumbawumba and Terrence Trent D'Arby, so what the hell do I know?

Crap. I need to work on this.



Thanks to Brooks.

Last night, I stopped by the Jesus people's house and saw my kitty for the first time. He (and his siblings) are adorable. He crawled on my arm a bit and sneezed, and I fell in love. I brought the digital camera, but then found out that the batteries were dead, but luckily I had a throw away camera still in my purse from this weekend. I'll get them developed soon and see if I can post one or two. I know, I know...how archaic of me.

They asked me what I was going to name him, and I couldn't bring myself to tell them his full name (I'd be afraid they wouldn't let me adopt him out of sheer craziness) so I just said, "Walter." Then they tried to get me to change it. Look, Jesus people, if you want me to I'll officially name him "Fattie." Don't push me.

Jon Stewart gave the commencement speech at William & Mary this year. Jon Fucking Stewart. I think we had the friggin' secretary of state or something equally crappy give ours. If you and/or your parents paid a little over $80,000, shouldn't they at least be entertained during commencement? A little song and dance number? Something? Instead, I was reminded to wear my sunscreen and renew my driver's license on time. Shit, bitch.

Last night as I slept, we got quite a bit of rain. The rain was hitting my room air conditioner, causing quite a bit of noise. But in my sleepy, disoriented state, for some reason I thought the cicada invasion had hit and that they were running into my window. Paranoid much, Megs?

The Crazies are alive and well in California.

On Sunday, we were walking along Venice Beach, enjoying the sunshine and half-assed paying attention to the sidewalk performers. We passed a one-man band, watched some guy squat 645 lbs. at the famous Muscle Beach gym, and heard a terrible doo-wop group. Then we came upon an old guy who's talent was apparently sitting on a bench just screaming, "PUT THE MONEY IN THE BASKET," over and over at the tourists. Bravo, old man. :: golf claps ::

I don't think I've laughed so much like I did this past weekend. So much fun.

Favorite highlight: Driving up The Pacific Coast Highway (Route 1) to Malibu with Paul. Everyone should do that once in their lives. Seriously, Paul is a very funny guy to have along in your car. I hear he's available for rent.

Lots of fake celebrity sightings ("Is that Lou Diamond Philips?!"), and one sort of real one. Apparently Jaime Kennedy was at the Bar Marmont the same night we were, but I never saw the guy. Meh. A fun thing to do in bars in LA is start rumors about various celebs being at the bar and watch it circulate..."Hey...did you hear Ron Jeremy's here?" and then watch it eventually get back to you. It doesn't cost a thing for entertainment like that, people!

I'm heading off to Hell-A tomorrow to visit friends - Cody, Josh, and Paul - for a long weekend. Be back Monday night. And I promise to bring back all of my stories of doing coke off of Tara Reid's tits at the Chateau Marmont, so don't you worry, my pets.

Ok, I have to be up in 5 1/2 hours, so I guess I should go pack now. Bust it.

I'm in the midst of planning an event for a client that's going to be held in Vegas. We have a few days there and have to entertain our client while he's there. We suggested every show under the sun, hoping one would interest him. Finally, as our last ditch effort, we mentioned (out of the sides of our mouths, lower toned), "Celine Dion?" and he practically flipped out with excitement.

Dammit. I knew we should've mentioned the all male review first.

I'm all for volunteering and trying to make the world a better place, but how many walk/runs can one person donate to? I must've received at least 10 emails from various friends and co-workers. You can call me a cold hearted bastard, but I'm not even opening those email anymore. Screw you, Walk 'n Roll Chicago.

Catholic guilt begins...now.

When I saw this headline, I laughed to myself and wondered if it was one of Toby and Mihow's kitties.

So, a new summer intern started today. Since our HR dept. is so on the ball, I had no idea she was starting until about 10 minutes ago. Now I'm trying to figure out what she can help me out with. In the meantime, holy shit is her skirt short. Apparently she watched one too many episodes of Melrose Place and thought what Amanda wore is what all people in advertising/marketing wear. Good lord.

I feel old.

I had a dream last night that someone I know had become a spider, except it was a GIANT spider...like, the size of a cat. Ya think that might mean something? (note: sarcasm) The most icky part is when I woke up, I thought there were giant spiders in bed with me. PS. I fucking hate spiders.

Wow. Last night a girl I went to middle and high school with was on The Swan, Kelly B. The only way I was able to confirm it was definitely her was because her brother, Derek, (who I've also known since 6th grade) came out to hug her when she didn't make the pageant. She looked very...well, like she's had a lot of work done. Now that I'm a ordained minister, let's pray that those cheek implants settle down a bit. Amen.

Freaks from Wisconsin:

- Jeffrey Dahmer
- Ed Gein(the guy who made furniture out of people)
- Audrey Seiler
- Julie from The Real World: New Orleans
- and now this fool.

Dude.

Who knew Jesus was hiding in the Lincoln Tap Room all these years, cause that's where I apparently found him last night. Over a few Miller Lites and under the guidance of my "spiritual advisors" from Detroit, I've decided to become an ordained minister online. That's right. Reverend Megan. Can I get an Amen? People, I said, can I get an AMEN?!

My friends from the D, Shannon and Kristin, arrived at my place late last night and are staying for a couple of days. Haven't seen those fools in a long time, so it's been nice. We're off to see my friend, Phil's (Shannon's boyfriend) band, The Deadstring Brothers, play tonight.

In other news, if the song, "99 Problems" by Jay-Z (click on that link if you wanna see the video) was written by a Lucky Magazine reader, here is a start of what their problems would look like:

1. My mascara makes my lashes all clumpy.
2. I always look awkward when I try to wear sneakers with a mini.
3. How can I make my hair color less brassy?

I'm ashamed I subscribe.

The reason why I still might be on edge this morning is because yesterday at 4:30 p.m., my boss offered me box seat Cubs tickets. You're thinking, "What's so bad about that, you biotch, and why didn't you ask me to go?" Well, it's not so fun when it takes you three (yes, three) HOURS to get to Wrigley Field. Traffic was that bad. By the time I got there, I was wound up tighter than Delta Burke's girdle during the last season of Designing Women. The good news is, a couple of beers and a hot dog made everything better. The end.

If you like your mom, send her a card today since Mother's Day is on Sunday. You're welcome.

So, incase you've been in a coma, Friends is ending tonight. If Ross and Rachel don't end up together, heads will roll. People will freak. out. Riots will break out in Pottery Barns and Williams Sonomas across the suburbs. How do YOU think Friends will end? I heard a guy say this morning that he thinks they'll all drink the kool-aid and that'll be it. If I hear one more god damn promo for it, I might just start to hope so.

If you'd like, you can see pictures of my weekend in DC on Mihow's website. Don't even try to look up my skirt, pervert.

Lately I feel like I've been bombarded with weight loss articles, plastic surgery shows, and The Olsen Twins, but that's a separate issue. You know it's getting a tad out of control when a girl you went to middle and high school (Kelly B.) with is going to be on The Swan next week (yes, let's acknowledge the fact that i did watch it last night and commence making fun of me....now). Once you start recognizing people on plastic surgery shows, it's gone to a whole new level. Good lord.

Mihow & Toby's eloping reception/going away party had a very warm feel to it. It was intimate enough that you could meet everyone they write about and love so much. And without sounding too mushy, (don't let anybody fool you---behind this blonde exterior is a fucking tough ass) after spending a chunk of the weekend with them, it was really clear how in love they are. And I felt lucky they even asked me if I wanted to be there to celebrate it with them.

I really enjoyed meeting everyone out there---Calvo, Steve, Missy, Nico, George, Chandler, Scbob (which i found out is actually pronounced, "S.C. Bob, but I kept calling him "Scbob" all night anyway---thank you, chianti!) Momhow, Rob, The Yuppie, the friendliest bartender ever at Hamburger Mary's...you guys are a'ight in my book.

Favorite matchbook (of many) I wrote at Bedrock Billards: "You suck at pool." Seriously, you do.