I'm just sayin'.

:: cue the theme to Rocky ::

Yesterday afternoon, I headed over to Betty R & Kenny's house in preparation for the Beacon's 2nd annual chili contest. After some warm up stretches and leg kicks, our secret ingredients were added and we headed to the Beacon....and made Kenny carry the crock pot. We were feeling confident.

Until Mr. Professional arrived.

It was rumored amongst the other contestants that Mr. Professional was an actual chef at some restaurant nearby. The atmopshere quickly intensified when he decided there was a "certain presentation" to his chili that included a lime-infused tequilla sour cream sauce and some sort of fancy beer chips. All of a sudden, our cornbread started to look a little sad. Kenny stood in line (no one else's chili had a line, except Mr. Professional's) and got a bowl.

Kenny came back to the table and look at us.

"It's really fucking good," he said.

Later on, he went up to Mr. Professional and did the ultimate no-no. He paid him a COMPLIMENT on his chili. Who's side was he on, anyway?

Mr. Asshole Professional won every. single. category. Except spiciest. Which went to a guy I cursed today because I think he's the reason we all got a little 'sick.' Let's not talk about it.

As we were leaving, Kenny complimented Mr. Professional again, and that's when I said, "Kenny, why don't you just marry the guy?"

Pictures to come soon....

$50 says that Martin Scorsese's next movie includes a scene in which every voter from the Academy of Motion Picture Art & Sciences is lined up and shot.

Homeboy got dissed.

Tomorrow, I'm entering a chili contest with Betty R. at the Beacon.

The thing is, I've never made chili.

Go big or go home, I say.

Happy Retirement Day, Mom!

Thirty-four years as a social worker - it's high time to start thinking about something else. Like, why those damn kids are in your backyard, and more time for fun activities like driving slow and complaining why the mail arrives so late.

My dad bought her a bottle of Cristal to celebrate. Awwww. Retirement: P. Diddy Style.

I asked her if she'd miss it at all, and I think it was the way she said it, but it cracked me up how she just slightly paused and said, "....uh, No." My mom taught me to bust my ass, just like she did, and I can truly say I'm looking forward to the day where I, too, can tell my employer to take this job and shove it. Mom, please do that today when you walk out! This is YOUR CHANCE. That'd be so kick ass!

At any rate, Congrats Mom! I love you.

Hey Luna,

Um, I was wondering if you weren't busy...maybe we could go out sometime.

:: shuffles right foot ::

*cough*Iloveyou.

Love, Megan

The show last night was great. I had a hard time taking my eyes off of the hottest woman in rock, Britta Phillips. I heard that Dean Wareham left his wife for her, but then again, I'm convinced we'd ALL leave our wives for Britta. Me-ow. Thanks to Betty R. and Kenny for giving me the heads up about the show. Glad I got to see them before they called it quits.

I'd like to take a moment to say that I'm enjoying an "Amy's" frozen meal, made with organic vegetables and no bioengineered ingredients.

With Cheetos.

I don't think the description "Dangerously Cheesy" is very organic.

So, when I first met Betty R. and Kenny, they gave me like, 100 cds. Each. Ok, so I'm exaggerating, but they definitely hooked me up. One of the songs on Kenny's "Greatest Songs of '04" cds was "Astronaut" by Luna. I've often thought in my head that I could listen to that guy sing all damn night. And tonight, I get to because I'm going to their show!

Provided they don't shackle me to my desk and make me stay all night.

It's happened before.

Fucking job.

Dear Linda McCartney,

Dang, girl. These butternut squash raviolis are pretty good. Sorry about the cancer.

Your pal,
Megan

This weekend, I got the idea in my head that making a low-carb pie crust sounded like a good idea. The recipe called for "whey protein," which I have no idea what that actually is, but it sounded like I needed it. I headed to Whole Foods to pick that up, along with some Oat and Almond Flour. Then I saw the Linda McCartney frozen dinners were on sale, and since Paul was my favorite Beatle and I actually didn't mind some of Wings' songs (shhhhh, keep that on the DL), I decided to give the butternut squash ravioli a go.

I bought 7 items.

$45 fucking dollars later, I walk out. Who knew being a dirty hippie was so expensive?

Everyone else has had more sex than me.

[thanks to Tales of a Post Grad Nothing]

Conversation with my mom (via phone):

Mom: "What'cha doin?"
Me: "Watching "8 Mile."
Mom: "Oh I loved that movie. Great movie."
Me: "YOU saw "8 Mile?"
Mom: "Yeah, I loved it, it was so great. Great movie"
Me: "You're sure? "8 Mile?" Really?"
Mom: "Wait..."
Me: "Do you mean "The Green Mile?"
Mom: "Oh. Oops. I mean "The Green Mile." 8 Mile. Green Mile. Whatever."

For a second, I thought my mom was down with O.P.P.

Everyday for the past week, I've driven past a dead raccoon on the side of the road on my way to work. If someone doesn't come by to clean this thing up soon, I'm going to name it and it will become my pet.

Don't make me do that, Dept. of Transportation.

I've never been one to get into comics-turned-into-live-action-movies. I haven't seen Spiderman, and call me a commie, but I really don't care if I ever do. Anyway, because of a tie-in sponsorship my client's doing, I'm being forced to pay attention to the movie, "The Fantastic Four."

What I wanna know is - who the hell designed this logo/poster? Doesn't it look like the Fantastic Four are newscasters?



The Thing will have your Weather Forecast at 10.

3 months and 12 days since my last Arby's Chicken Salad Sandwich.

Takin' it one day at a time. One day at a time.

Because I'm obsessed with this ad, I just bought this song...

I can't help but think dirty things when he sings, "And you jerk it out."

I know it's some UK term about dancing or whatever, but I'd like to think that Steve Jobs agreed to put a song about masturbating on air.

Yesterday, I made some sugar cookie dough in preparation of my V-day surprise to my co-workers. After my 3-peat Christmas cookie disaster, I think my kitchen could sense my fear. But I put a full-nelson on it and showed the dough who's boss. Me, Dough. I'M the boss.

They turned out really well - a girl even asked me for the recipe. And that's when I realized HOW FUCKING AWESOME OF A BAKER I AM.

You better recognize.

I woke up this morning spooning my cat.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

Heard outside of Sound-bar (apparently martinis at Bungalow weren't enough):

Bouncer: "You guys can come in after your friend is done finishing her hot dog."

We are so high class.

I ended up dancing with some guy who smelled oddly like a sub sandwich. He said HE would be my valentine. Thanks, sandwich dude.

Tomorrow night, I'm heading to Bungalow Lounge on Belmont for a "Valentine's Day Singles Martini Party," that two of my friends are throwing. Anyone can go (sounds like there will be a good crowd), but if you're an a relationship you have to bring two single friends along. Initially, the idea sounded like fun, but now I feel like the bastard "special" child going with my friends.

There will be cocktails.

My Valentine's Day date just cancelled on me.

CANCELLED.

Isn't it written somewhere in the book of Cool that you just don't do that?

Just a quick update...I ended up not going to Detroit for the funeral, which was on Monday. I sent white lilies with a few light pink gerber daisies (I had once given John's grandma pink gerber daisies, so I thought it was a nice touch) on behalf of my family. John called yesterday to thank me for the flowers, and said they were positioned right next to his grandma at the funeral home. I said, "Well that's good, it sounds like they were pretty and not like, out in the hallway next to the ashtray." He said his whole family appreciated it, and John and I are on friendly terms again, so all-in-all I think things turned out as best as could be expected without leading the guy on.

Special Valentine's Day Tips for Men
by Megan

1. Despite what you hear on the ads, women DO NOT want a Vermont Teddy Bear. If you do buy us one, we will secretly talk about the craptastic gift you got us this year.

2. The DVD "The Notebook" does NOT make the perfect Valentine day gift.

3. Nothing says, "This is going to sit at the bottom of my jewelry box forever" more than the quarter carat heart-shaped pendant from Zales. Stay away from heart-shaped anything. And Zales.

This has been a special Valentine's Day Public Service Announcement from Write On, Megs.

Deadlines are piling up and are right on my ass.

A conversation with a co-worker:

Me: "Kelly, what day is it? Wednesday or Thursday?"
Kelly: "Um, it's Tuesday. Are you feeling okay?"

I wasn't even in the ballpark.

Tonight, I went to the grocery store, bought some Hello Kitty Valentine's day cards and a couple of heart-shaped cookie cutters. I don't know everyone's personal situation at work, but hopefully I can bring a little extra cheer come next Tuesday. I think I might make some extra ones for the folks in Accounting. Those people are especially miserable bastards. Can you blame them?

You know your taste palette is completely fucked up when you start thinking Lean Cuisines are pretty good. I could use a good meal.

I'm having a not-so-cute day.
Bleh.

Busy, busy at work - posting will be a little limited...

This weekend, my vet sent a postcard to Mr. Walter Tinkleton saying it was time for his "Fecal Analysis (floatation)."

So, if I just scoop up one of his turds and put it in a glass of water to see if it floats, do I really need to spend the money to take him to the vet?*

*Apologies if you were eating lunch while reading this post.

My Christmas was ruined this year by the FCC.

This year's Superbowl ads were an overreaction to last year, and no one seemed to take any risks. It was as family-values oriented as The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, and you all know how I feel about that parade. The only ad I really liked was the Ameriquest ad where the customer on a cell phone in a dingy convenience store said, "You're getting robbed." and then was maced by the guy behind the counter. Otherwise it was just more of the same as years before - talking animals, wacky babies, and unfunny main male characters.

zzzzzz.....

Friday night, I headed to the Beacon and called Cody (who was sitting in a bar in LA), and we had a drink together over the phone.
...
And I'm realizing that you couldn't write a sappier Verizon ad if you tried.

The Rockers - Betty R. and Kenny - met up with me, so I wasn't "the weird girl at the bar by herself" for very long. Later that night, I did something that I've never done before. You can see it here, but if you're a lazy bastard and don't want to click (don't strain yourself there), I signed little Vinny Rocker's kittie cast with a little "Mr. Tinkleton (Paw print)" signature. Also known as the cutest cast ever. Poor li'l guy.

Tonight, I brought dinner over to Bob's and schooled him on "Grand Theft Auto" for X-box. He seemed pretty excited to learn that you can get a hooker, make the car rock, and when she gets out, run her over to get your money back. "Pong" never did that...

If you're a total ad nerd like me, you will agree with me that this Sunday is like Christmas for you. I am going to a Superbowl party, but am Tivoing the entire game so I can actually enjoy the party and not act like the ad nazi and sit in front of the TV so I can hear the spots (yes, I am that much of a loser). Sadly, I think the ads are going to be fairly tame this year. I just hope tame doesn't = boring.

Bonus: I think my friend, Chris, is going to be in the Staples ad in the third quarter. He plays a postal service kind of looking guy. I don't even know if he knows yet, since I just read this chart on Ad Age.com, and that's the spot he's in.

Yes, I found a chart. Stop making fun of me.

Thinking...

How do they expect me to create a budget for a $5 million dollar event tour when I can't even balance my own checkbook?

- also -

If Americans started a conflict with Canadians, would we finally start calling Canadian bacon "Ham?" Or would we be lame and call it "Freedom Ham?"

These are the kind of thoughts that get me through the day.

As if being fat isn't tough enough, do we, as Americans, need to be subjected to Kirstie Alley? It's like nails on a chalkboard.



I give you the most annoying spokesperson ever, everyone.
:: golf claps ::

I spent 40 minutes listening to a debate over square tables vs. circle tables.

Fucking shoot me now, people.