Tonight, I, Megan - Queen of rockin' the Sunday night first dates - went out with a guy, Tony, tonight.

We went to Lalo's for Mexican, and I announced that I'm going to try something new besides my good ole standby of chicken fajitas. So I try this shrimp dish with these things in it that I didn't exactly know what they were. They kinda looked like cooked portabella mushrooms and thought those might be good in the little tortilla of mine.

So we're eating and talking, when I quickly realize the little mushroom thing was actually a hot pepper. Like, a really hot pepper. Possibly the hottest pepper ever. I'm trying to play it cool and keep the conversation going, but my eyes are watering so clearly something is wrong. I'm downing my water, my soda, I'm eyeing his water, and finally I say, "Um, I would talk more right now, but my mouth is on fire." I asked the waitress for some milk, and she sure as hell took her sweet ass time bringing it to the gringa in pain. Tony finally offered his water to me (I thought he'd never offer) and I spent the next 20 minutes trying to pay attention to what he was saying as my mouth was calming down. Turns out he ended up just talking about himself the for the next hour and a half, so I didn't have to worry about actually contributing to the conversation.

There was a party in my mouth and Tony wasn't (and won't) be invited.

I had to fight my way, but got two U2 tickets for the Thurs. show. I mean, I know there's U2 fans out there, but 80,000 in Chicago that I had to wait for the second extended show? Damn you Indiana bastards, trying to get tickets for the Chicago show. Get your own major city, you losers.

I'm kidding, I love you Indiana....sort of. Ok, a mild dislike at most.

I went out drinking with co-workers last night, and it definitely showed when I almost drove away from the gas station this morning with the pump still in my car. Duh.

U2 tickets are going on sale here in Chicago on Saturday. I do have a guilty pleasure for this band, which extends to even liking the Zooropa album. I liked the song "Numb" - back off! My only fear is that I'm going to get to this concert, and it's suddenly going to be the

"U2: All Because of You...2/3 of the world live in poverty, President Bush Tour. Sponsored by Target."

If I pay $75 for this ticket, I want you to just fucking play, Bono.

Work has been really busy trying to get set for this summer's event tour, so posting is going to be a little limited. Good thing I have friends like Betty Rocker around to whisk me away this evening for a little cocktail therapy at the Beacon pub. I'm going to have to come up with a good excuse as to why I'm leaving before 7 PM (not that I should have to, as that's already putting in 2 hours of overtime). I can't say I have a prior "family commitment," since I'm single and they all know my family lives out of state. And I don't think they'd go for it if I said Mr. Tinkleton's dance recital is tonight. Dammit.

Hilarious.

Warning: Not for parents, or anyone over the age of 50.

A friend of mine sent that to me, just so we're all clear that I'm not some creepy girl checking out DC's Craig's List.

Let's play a game everyone. It's called "Find Megan's car."



Fucking snow.

So, my best friend, Liz, just got engaged. She's teaching in Japan right now with her boyfriend/fiance, Jon. Jon's a great guy - he treats her like a queen, and they have the same goals/interests, so my bet is that they are in this for the long haul.

Liz was home on Christmas break and while we were out one night at the Penn Ave. pub, she said, "Megan...would you be really upset if Jon and I eloped?"

Warning: Cheesy girly alert. Abort. Abort now. See, Liz and I agreed to be each other's maids-of-honor when we were like, 15, so this was my one shot at getting to fluff someone's train (that sounds dirty) and you know...get to watch her on the biggest day of her life. I was really looking forward to it. So, yeah, selfishly, I'm a little disappointed.

Can't I at least become the ordained minister and marry them? That's not too much to ask, right? I'll dress up like Elvis. They won't even know it's me.

Sigh.

Incase you think Mr. Walter Tinkleton is some innocent little guy with a pussy name I gave him (pun intended), I will have you know, he is a tough ATTACK CAT.



Raaaaarr!

Did anyone happen to catch "My Super Sweet 16" on MTV tonight?

These girls are trying on Carolina Hererra dresses for their party where 750 people attended....I had a nacho cheese maker at mine.



Big pimpin' 'Sconnie style.

My second Black & Decker Home Cafe coffee maker started smoking and then went kaput on me this morning.

Juan Valdez must be angry with me.

Last night, I was talking to Bob and telling him the story of creepy leerer at the bar from the night before. He asked me how old he was, and I said, "I dunno. Probably around 45-50. He had grey hair." Bob said, "Well, I have some grey hair," and I said, "Yeah, but this guy was a lot older than you...plus, he was in a bar by himself." Bob said, "Well, I've gone to a bar by myself before," and I said, "Yeah, but you probably are going to meet up with people to watch some football game." After a slight pause, he said, "I've probably accidently leered at a girl before..." to which I said, "Seriously, stop. When did you become the creepy guy I used to date?"

Here was the scene tonight:

My good friend, Kelly, and I were talking at local pub. A 50+ year old man buys both of us a drink. We thank man for kindness. The 50+ year old man proceeds to ask us if we want to share a cab to "make out in." We say, "Um, no."

Confidential to 50+ aged guys everywhere: Don't be that guy - for we will proceed to make fun of you for hours.

I, like millions of hard-working Americans, left my grey cube walls at work late tonight - 9 PM - realizing that every night until April is going to probably be like this, only to come home to watch "The Fabulous Life of Paris Hilton" and realizing that....God hates us all.

Dear Megan,

Due to your inadvertent drunken iTunes purchase of Styx's remake of "I am the Walrus," we regret to inform you that we will be cancelling your Cool Kid Membership.

Regards,

The Cool Kids Club

Flava Flav!

Ladies and gentlemen. I give you: Norwegian. Disco. Lessons. [thanks to Freakgirl for the link]

Uff da.

Sometimes it actually shocks me at how pale I can get in the winter. Sadness.

Last night I went on what possibly could be the shortest date in recorded history. A hour and a half, folks. At one point during dinner, I said, "I think you're a great guy, but I really don't see this going anywhere other than friends. How's your garlic chicken?"

Smooth, Megs. Smooth.

He didn't get a kiss, or a hug. He got a high five, of sorts.

I could really use a cup of coffee right about now. Stupid defective coffee pot.

Last night, I met up with Betty Rocker (go check out her "Bad Hair Gallery" - it's hysterical), her husband, Mr. Rocker - aka Gaper's Blog and their friends at their house. An impromtu little party started, and then we all headed to a bar a block from their house called The Beacon. Sweet, sweet, Beacon.



There's a lot of similarities between Carla and I that's a little odd.

1. We grew up an hour away from each other in Wisconsin.
2. We live about 4 blocks from each other now.
3. We both played high school tennis - doubles- and think we may have played against each other. I'm about 90% sure because she remembers hitting a girl on accident in the head with a tennis ball and I think I was that girl.
4. We both went to Marquette (different years) and lived in the same freshman "Virgin Vault" dorm. I, funny enough, was president of that dorm. I wish I were kidding.
5. We both drive Volvos.
6. We were at the same Pixies show.
7. We have kitties that look a lot alike.
8. We both recognize that Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce is, in fact, the Boss.



Please note Kenny's t-shirt says, "Where my bitches at?" Right here, yo!



Good times had by all. In fact, a little too good of a time, as Carla and her friend had to drive me those 4 blocks home. (Thank you guys, I don't know how that happened. Clearly, the bartender overserved me.)

For the record, I'm still wearing my Sporto boots circa 1988 that my mom bought me INSIDE at work today because I'm too lazy to switch to my regular shoes.

We had 10" of snow, people. This guy I work with had to come to my apartment and dig (literally) my car out of the snow, which was as high as the car door. Fashion be damned!


Hott.

Freakgirl and Janet launched a new website called 120 for 120 in "honor" of President Bush's upcoming inauguration. I'm proud of these ladies - most people would've just hung it up after the election, but they have kept on truckin'. Please take a look, participate, and spread the word. Thank ya.

I'd like to give a shout out for the up-and-coming newest blogger - my homegirl, Ms. C to the O-D-Y. I've made many mentions of Ms. Cody - all the way back to when this site was an orange and green (if anyone remembers that) template. She lives in LA now, but was a good friend of mine when we both lived in Detroit (ok, suburbs). Go check her out.

If I have to hear about Jeanie eating peas (and corn) one more fucking time, SO HELP ME GOD, lady.

Last night, I decided to take a crack at making coffee in my new Home Cafe Coffee Maker my parents got me for Christmas. I followed the "first time use" instructions, and the whole thing started smoking. At first, I thought it was just steam, but I didn't think steam smelled similar to burning plastic.

Why does "group home" living seem like it would be a good option for me? First the Meltaway cookies, and now it seems like I don't know how to make coffee properly. Someone help me put this white helmet on before I fall down and hurt myself.

UPDATE: Not that anyone cares, but Black & Decker is mailing me a new one. Yay!

For some reason, I don't really think this fits into any low carb plan.



Not really sure what I should do with this...

Last night, we headed to a New Years party in a loft/warehouse on Hooker St. in Chicago. Ironically, that was a very appropriate address for the party based on the looks of some of the girls' outfits. Seriously, was there an explosion? Where's the hell is back of your shirt?

I'm old.

By the way, "The Remaking of Vince Neil" on VH1 is inspiring me to want to hit the gym. Funny how an aging rocker can do that to a person. The show is also inspiring me to take'r easy on the plucking of the eyebrows. Seriously, did anyone catch Vince's fiance, Lia's, poorly drawn-in eyebrows? Why didn't any of his stylists say something to her? Maybe she lost them in the same explosion that lost the back of her shirts, hm?

I'm also a bitch.

Happy New Year. I gotta admit, I thought we'd be driving around in flying cars by now.