I just spent over $100 at this site picking out fun Christmas gifts for people I adore. Mi amor. I don't know where else I could find Japanese Talking Watches.

Love, love this site.

On Saturday night, a family friend and I were trading bad dating stories. She told me she was once set up on a blind date with a guy that had a mullet. I asked her, "Did this person just not know you at all?"

In exchange, I told her this one:

Hot Tubbin'.

I think the year is 2000 (again, Detroit = blur). At the time, I was living in Royal Oak, MI, and headed to Caribou Coffee one Saturday afternoon. As I was sitting in one of their comfy chairs, I looked outside and noticed a meter maid writing me a parking ticket. I said over my breath, "Oh shit, that's my car!" and ran outside to feed the meter, but she just handed me the violation notice instead of sticking it on Christine's windshield.

I walked back inside cursing the stupid meter biotch in my head, and sat back down. The guy who was sitting directly across from me (slightly older than me, but cute) uses this moment to strike up a conversation. He asks me about my ticket, we make small talk, and eventually he asks me for my number.

He calls me, and we agree to go out for Mediterranean food. I meet him at the restaurant, and I swear to Christ, not more than TWO minutes after we sit down does he open his mouth and tell me that he's still MARRIED and stuck in an awful marriage. No ring, people. NO RING. I KNEW there was a catch. For the next HOUR AND A HALF (no exaggeration), I lend a sympathetic ear and listen to him tell me about his wife's crippling depression and the toll it has taken on their marriage. It's actually an awful story, but not one that I expected to hear ON A DATE.

After dinner, we get up to leave and are standing on the corner when he says something (still to this day) I cannot believe.

"Um, so if you're up for it sometime, maybe we could get a room at The Townsend. We could get a room with a hot tub and just sit and relax for a bit."

Let's recap the situation: I just sat for an hour and a half with a guy who I didn't know was MARRIED, listening about his wife's depression and now he wants to get in a hot tub?

No. There will be no hot tubbin'.

Jack White and Karen Elson are Expecting their First Kid.

This weekend, as families gathered together, I was busy self-diagnosing myself with Seasonal Affective Disorder. Milwaukee saw 4 inches of the "white shit" on Saturday. As I was walking (to a bar, with my parents), my "Yay! Thanksgiving!" mood quickly deteriorated to "I hate winter, everything associated with it, and you. Don't talk to me." For a moment, I rationalized that KENTUCKY might actually be an ok place to live.

I mean, pull yourself together, Megan.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

I'm in Sheboygan, WI, right now at my parents' house. Linner with my parents, Grandma, her 90-year-old boyfriend and his son wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. The most off-color thing she said to me was after I told her how much I pay for a haircut, she said, "It sure doesn't look like it."

You need a cocktail to be around her, I swear, people.

I've had some bad dates.

Like, these aren't your average run-of-the-mill "poor me, he took me to Chili's" dating stories. These are 100%, Grade F dates that I've endured. I've entertained many a close friends with these stories, and after a little prodding from Thode, I've decided to write a few down. My pain is your entertainment, people. So let's get started.

Chili Boy

I think the year is 2002. I'm not sure because I was living in Mt. Clemens, MI, and refer to that time of my life as "the dark period," so I mentally blocked most of it.

Some friends of mine (including Thode) and I head to a party somewhere in Detroit. I remember standing in the kitchen of this house and seeing this guy who I thought was really cute. Like, slightly out-of-my-league hot. I later found out his name was Carl, and I remember wishing SO BAD his name wasn't Carl because a) that sounds like a old person's name and b) I would mentally refer to him as "Hot Carl." *cough*

Hot Carl started off as a fairly normal dude (anyone seems normal after about 5 beers), and I was really excited when he asked me for my number that night. And even MORE excited when he called and invited me over for dinner. That he was going to MAKE for me. A boy had never made me dinner. Ever. He tells me that he'll make me chili. Not super fancy, but I think I was just completely snowed over at that point.

So, the night of dinner arrives and I'm getting ready when he calls me and puts his roommate on the phone to talk with me. His roommate tells me it's "customary in their house for whomever is coming over to bring beer."

It was at that moment when I start to regret the decision to go to this dude's house for dinner. Not impressed.

I go to the Q-Mart and buy a 6-pack of Bud Light. Cans. I'm trying to prove a point "Hey dipshit! Don't have your roommate ask a girl to bring you beer on a first date." I drive over there and the entire house is dark. Like, creepy out-of-a-horror-movie dark and I'm playing the helpless blonde. I ring the door bell and when he opens the door I see the entire place is dimly lit with candles. That might sound romantic, but part of me was wondering if he had remembered to pay the electric bill. Plus it was a first date - isn't candles a little much? For chili? The answer is yes.

So, I get inside and he tells me he already ate (um, what?), but there's some chili still on the stove. So, he fumbles around for a bowl (remember, it's dark) and then invites me to sit down in the "dining area," which is PLASTIC PATIO FURNITURE. So, I'm sitting on a plastic white chair with my bowl of chili while he's sitting practically 20 ft. away from me in a Laz-E-Boy. He swivels around and asks how I like the chili. I'm wake out of my dazed "How the fuck do I get out of here?" state to tell him that it's pretty good.

At this point, I can't really see what I'm eating (just praying I won't get salmonella from it) so I ask, "Why is it so dark in here?"

He laughs and says, "Oh, it's because it's dirty in here and I thought the candles would help distract from that."

I put the bowl of chili down.

Periodically, he swivels his Laz-E-Boy away from me to watch whatever's on TV, while I continue to ponder how the fuck to get out of there.

He then invites me to sit on his couch. I sit 3 feet away from him. He encourages me to come closer. I move an inch closer. Arms are folded. We're watching a fuzzy TV because he doesn't have cable, but I think The Simpsons are on. Finally, when he tried to make his move, I shot up and just said, "I gotta go."

The worst part is, because I felt like a bitch for judging his living situation, I agreed to go out with him AGAIN (see? Queen of Second chances). I went to a movie with him, we got popcorn, and everything was fine until he licked my face with popcorn butter all over him.

HE LICKED MY FACE. NOT OK.

On the way home I told him that the buttery popcorn lick was a deal-breaker, and I never saw Hot Carl ever again.

The end.

Dawn of Kitty.

I just bought some popcorn from a Boy Scout, and man, is this stuff shit. They ain't got nothin' on the Girl Scounts and their cookies.

Mmmmm...Tagalongs.

Can I get a "hell, yes" for a short work week?

The weekend was good - last night, I went out on a second date with this guy (Tom) for some Thai food and a movie. I gotta say, for once I'm actually kinda excited about this one. He's very funny, normal and cool, just when I was starting to think there weren't any left in this world. Another weird thing is, he lives a whole 1/2 block away from me. When we realized this, I told him he better hope I not turn into a stalker, because this is mighty convenient.

I don't know, we're embarking on that weird holiday period of time where you go away to visit family, come home and he'll be like, practically engaged to someone else, so I'm not holding my breath on this one just yet. If you're single, you know what I'm talkin' about.

This headline cracked me up. The Onion...I love you.

Do yourself a favor and see this movie. I shed tears throughout many scenes - not so much because it was a "sad" film, but because I just think it was so well done and I think Johnny and June would've been really pleased to see how it all turned out.

Thank you to all who have contacted me with the news that Talan from Laguna Beach and Kimberly Stewart are engaged. I didn't realize all of you cared so much to email me the various news links. The fact that you now associate "Megan" with "Laguna Beach" shows me that you really care. I hope whenever you hear the theme song, that you sit back, smile and know that most likely, I am probably watching that exact episode right along with you, no matter if it's the 1000th time it's aired.

Your support through this difficult time is appreciated.

Love, Megan

Besides the Bears game, this weekend's plans include celebrating my friend Brad's (hi Brad! I know you read this) 30th birthday tonight and my friend Kelly's 28th birthday pub crawl tomorrow night. Good times will be had! The rest of the weekend will be spent seeing "Walk the Line" with Betty R, which is the movie that all those little Harry Potter Freakoids should be getting excited about, but life isn't always fair, is it?

Mmmmm...Johnny Cash circa 1958 is dreamy. Yes, dreamy.

Internet, I have listened to your suggestions and I am going to the Bears game on Sunday with my friend, Kelly. It's Kelly's birthday this weekend, so I figured I could give her a little extra birthday treat. We agreed to only go if it's not raining, warmer than 45 degrees outside and if we're not hungover from her birthday party the night before.

There's about a 10% chance that I will actually attend this game.

If anyone actually wants these tickets, email me at uvolks2 at hotmail dot com.

If you were me, and you had 2 tickets to Sunday's Bears game, would you:

A) Invite Bob, who is a very good friend to you and has done a lot of nice things for you in the past, but relationship is going no where

B) Invite potential new-guy, Jeff, who you've never gone out with, but a Bears game could be a fun, easy-going first date, but also could be potentially painful if you have nothing to talk about by 3rd quarter (I doubt that would happen, though).

C) Invite one of my girl friends, drink beer and yell belligerent things to the players about their tight pants

This is like a "Choose your own Adventure" book, but for reals.

Update on Loser:

He emailed me a few times yesterday. First, he asked why I was so angry. I explained the situation as I saw it. He said I was unwilling to accept his apology. I said that I don't accept a half-assed apology from a text message, and expressed that I really don't want to hear from him again. And then he said something about how he should have "left me to the vultures" at 10pin and how I was such a waste of his time, blah blah blah.

If he means he should've left me to all the other hot, muscley vultures at 10pin, then I fully agree with him.

Last night was the season finale of Laguna Beach. Thode and I hopped online (per usual) and AIMed throughout the show, which is probably the most Gen Y thing I associate myself with. Oh, and sending phone video messages of myself singing along to the theme song to Thode. I did not just admit that.

So, until we meet next summer, adieu, Laguna Beach. Adieu.

I am the queen of second chances.

Recently, I told a guy that I just didn't think we would work out. We had gone out only a few times and I tried to be considerate of his feelings, but thought, "no harm, no foul." He said that he wanted to try and be friends, and I was skeptical, but ok with that.

Since then, we've made plans to get together twice and he's flaked out both times. Today, I get a text message on my phone 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet that said,

"Sorry hung over can't make it."

You wanna know what my response was?

"You know what? Fuck you, and don't ever contact me again."

I'm sick and tired of giving guys second or third chances. Friends would never treat me like that, and I'll be damned if this guy does. He called me twice and left me a voicemail that said, "I really appreciate you leaving me that message when i'm sick and hungover."

Awwww. Was I actually supposed to feel SORRY for you?

Bitch, please.

Um, I invited this guy to meet up for brunch on Sunday at this restaurant called X/O. The only thing I DIDN'T realize is that every Sunday is "Drag Queen Brunch." Hopefully he can roll with it.

Holy crap.

Last week I rented (and last night I finally watched) the German "comedy," Schultze Gets The Blues," ein film von Michael Schorr. I rented the film purely for the fact that Schultze is remarkably close to my last name. I'm vain like that.

(below is my weak attempt at a film critique)

If you want to see a giant German man in a Speedo, rent this film.

The end.

Oh. My. Gaw.

After reading that, my IMMEDIATE voicemail message to Betty Rocker went something like this:

"Um, whatever you're doing on Friday night, you are cancelling and coming to Crobar (bleck) with me to hang out with the Laguna Beach kids. Just you, me, LC, Jason, Jessica, Alex M, Alex H. and Dieter. It's gonna be awe-some."

I'll probably be roofied at that place, but it'll be worth it. Just prop me up next to Jason.

I'm convinced to be popular nowadays in the blog world you have to be a gay male gossip columnist, which sadly, I can never be no matter how hard I try to grow a 'stache. I'm sure most of you are hip to both of these sites, but I would be doing you a disservice if I didn't at least mention Perez Hilton and Pink is the New Blog. Both are fabulous.

Holla!

Um, did everybody else BUT me know that Tony Danza was doing a "Who's the Boss" FULL CAST reunion on his talk show today? I wonder if Judith Light looks any less drag-queenish these days...

Anguhla makes me wanna Jump, Jump!

Boo Yeeeahhh!

What's up, Eses?

I just dropped off Freakgirl at the airport and I miss her already. Wally's sitting here mewing, too. We're mourning.

I think we covered off on nearly everything promised on the "Write On, Megs" guided tour, plus a Chicago style pizza and a special trip to see Shit Fountain thrown in. Pizza and shit should never be in the same sentence, for the record.

Bob told us that the guy who created Shit Fountain was so sick of dogs shitting in front of his sidewalk that he built and created this to get back at all the neighbors. I love cranky people.

More about the weekend later, I'm off to shower and get ready to take Janet around a little more...

Comments are now fixed, so they shouldn't be so wonky anymore.

Thanks to Maggie!

My mom announced to me that we're going out for Thanksgiving dinner this year, which I'm not too happy about. Nor am I very happy that my grandma is bringing her new little 90-year-old boyfriend, Ed, and his (probably gay) 45+-year-old son that I think they want to try and set me up with.

Family. Good times.

I haven't done this in a while, so I'm gonna let my inner ad nerd come out. The good news is, you can TiVo this and skip this post all together if you'd like.

Here are some ads that have caught my eye and older ones that I still really like:

Science World (Canada).

Bang & Olufsen (United Kingdom)

Kleenex (Brazil)

Pampers (Argentina)

Nike Pro Apparel (USA)

Peugeot (France)

GMC (USA)

Time to roll out the welcome mat because we're having visitors, Chicago.

Freakgirl and Snarkcake are coming into town THIS weekend! The event planner in me wants to make sure they're entertained every second that they are awake (I can't seem to turn that off), and really, I just need to fucking chill. Freakgirl has expressed that she would like to visit people, hang out where we hang out, see a few sights, and drink wine. I can do that.

On the "Write on, Megs" Guided Tour, you get to:

- Meet The Rockers!
- See where The Rockers live and meet their pets!
- Drink at "The Beacon!"
- Meet Megan's ex, Bob!
- Have a (pretty much guaranteed) odd night bar hopping with Bob!
- Blog drunk!
- Meet Mr. Tinkleton!
- Watch Laguna Beach reruns hungover on Saturday morning!
- Clean Megan's apartment!

Ok, kidding about the last one. I'm taking Friday off from work to do that, though.

Seriously, if you two don't specify anything that you *really* want to do, you're going to end up watching me dance soft shoe all weekend.