my thoughts on the topic …

The day after two icons pass away – there is much to reflect on.  Matt Lauer gave me a lot to think about this morning, as did MTV’s Sway – whose soothing voice drifted me off to sleep.

So I decided that, today, I am going to recap some things that The King of Pop and The Queen of Sex Symbols have taught me.

1.  Red is, by far, the best swimsuit color.

2.  White, on the other hand, is preferred for gloves.

3.  Glass balls floating behind your head creates a magical effect people will remember for ages.

4. When they say ‘why, why?’ tell ‘em it is human nature.

5. “The reason that the all-American boy prefers beauty to brains is that he can see better than he can think.” Farrah was so wise.

Other contributions:

- Justin Timberlake

- The highly underrated ‘Charlie’s Angels’ film (which I’m convinced would never have been made had Farrah not been in the TV show).

- Yearly Thriller Dance at Zombie Walk here in Portland.

- Subsequently, the Thriller Dance done by Filipino prisoners.

RIP Farrah and MJ.

Now, if you’ll excuse me – I am going to drink myself into oblivion this weekend and spend a LOT of time singing karaoke.

god damn you, celebrities!

I’m thinking that I need a break from Twitter.

‘OMG, why!?‘ you’re probably screaming.

Because I woke up this morning and, as is the case so often, I didn’t want to be up. So I rolled over and checked my phone. Of course I had a few texts … and then the Twitter drew me in.

‘What happened in the seven hours since I’ve been gone?’ I thought.

I spent the next fifteen minutes looking at Perez Hilton’s tweets about his alleged assault by Will.i.Am.

That’s right. At seven a.m. I was not making coffee or reading about the Iranian protest situation. I was not doing yoga or watching Matt Lauer’s return to The Today Show.

I was reading Perez Hilton’s tweets. His tweets from his Sidekick requesting that his followers call the Toronto police.

Jesus Christ.

Then – of course, I found Will.i.Am., who started a Twitter account simply to reject the accusations.

It was 7:15 a.m. and I was still going. Reading Tila Tequila’s replies to Will and her call for people to unfollow Perez.

Then reading celebrity’s replies to Perez hoping he’s well. Even Kim Kardashian cares, so it’s okay if I do.

It was 7:25 a.m. and I was still in my PJs.

And that’s when I realized … that Twitter is The Devil.

I must stop following celebrities. BECAUSE THEY DON’T KNOW I EXIST, NOR DO THEY CARE ABOUT MY OPINION.

…. For the record …. I’m taking a very progressive stand on this beef.

the agitation is building …

There is something I will never understand as long as I live.

Something that has driven me insane as long as I’ve wandered this Earth.

People who play music loudly … from their cubicle.

Yes, I understand that you & your best friend LOVE Sting. But it’s only 9:30 a.m. and I am still homicidal.

And you – you REALLY love Spanish music. Great! Shut your god damn door because I don’t speak Spanish and your singing is horrible.

Three quarters of you might absolutely love country music – but the rest of us would rather pull our eyeballs out of the protective socket before listening to Alan Jackson.

This is becoming another upside of being done at this job as of the 29th of June.

Also – I’m performing in Mortified tonight. Tickets only available at the door now.  I’ll be there Saturday, too. Come and tell me I’m pretty

eff yeah, sweet freedom …. weeping … no, im cool.

welp. i didn’t get to keep my job.

this leaves me in quite the pickle. i have never been unemployed before, and i don’t know how i feel about it.

this was a position for graduate students, so it wasnt a full 40-hour, 9-5, pention kind of job. but i loved it for the most part.

so, now i am on the hunt for other jobs. and i feel a comrodery with the other hundreds of thousands out of a job right now.

so – if you want to hire me to do stuff for you, i will.

things like writing, singing, telling you you’re pretty, brushing your hair, and buying you drugs.

good things coming from this? Melissa Lion might pay me to watch her 3yo, who I am in love with. Roomie might get me a gig at her job (which actually relates to my career path) and above all else – I can post pictures of myself on the bloggie without worrying about people from work finding it. because after june 30th, i won’t have a god damn job!

EFF YES.

things are looking up.

oh jesus. what if i can’t pay rent!?

weep.weep.weep.

no – i’m ok. i’ll be ok.

i think.

preparing for professional death …

Long story short – I have to re-interview for my own job today.

There are other candidates. I want to vomit.

So, since my father’s worry-wort nature has prepared me to do so – I am planning for the worst.

The following are potential job avenues for me:

• Prostitute. [For obvious reasons. Mainly my stems.]

• Professional drinker.
• Personal shopper.
• Bad financial role model.
• Competitive sushi eater.
• Driver. [I would probably need something other than my '92 Intrepid. But whatever.]
• Stunt woman. As long as I don’t have to fall from tall buildings or really jump at all. I hate jumping.
• Drug dealer. Only prescription, though. I’m classy.
• Birthday party planner. For cool people.
• Mimosa maker. Not a bartender. A mimosa maker.
• Test eater for famous people in fear of poisoning.
• Bad joke teller. [I mean ... Dustin Fucking Diamond gets stand-up gigs!]

Any other ideas?

I DON’T WANT TO LIVE IN A BOX, PEOPLE!

Wish me luck today!

here’s to you, friday

It’s Friday. Obviously.

::warning: i felt like bombarding you with photos. deal.::

I usually like Fridays, and feel generally upbeat – the weekend is coming. The weekend means booze.

Fridays are usually pretty laid back in my office. Today we even have a dessert party!

So, today I wore my bright yellow moccasins. It’s yucky outside, so I thought I would make up for it by wearing shoes that make me happy.

The iPhone doesn’t do these justice, but they are canary yellow and hella comfortable.

But the shoes have not maintained my cheery disposition like I had hoped.

Instead – this day is going down the shitter. And fast.

It’s mother flipping Fleet Week, and the sailors are everywhere. I want to giggle and look at them. I want to write inappropriate instant messages to co-workers as we watch them pass by our windows.

But even my sassy single office buddies are grumbling about the weather and not getting laid. THAT’S WHAT SAILORS ARE FOR, LADIES!

I tried to cheer everyone up. I tried to hold on to my last string of happiness. I suggested a Starbucks trip. I ordered a Venti Americano with a shot of sugar free vanilla. To give the boost I needed.

The snarky blond bitch obviously wasn’t listening. She handed me this.

Kids – that’s a Venti Iced Coffee.

I’m a pussy, so I just said ‘thank you,’ picked up the coffee and walked out of the Starbucks.

I don’t like to rock the boat.

Walking back to the office, I turned to a coworker and exclaimed ‘This day is going to fucking suck, isn’t it?’

She looked at me. Blankly. Then said ‘Of course it is. Of course. Let’s just get through this without killing ourselves.’

And now, as I type this, our office manager is blasting ‘Born to be Wild’ and it is overshadowing my depressing Pandora mix.

I want to rip my ears off.

So – here’s to you, Friday.

Go fuck yourself.

you’re done with that PBR? i don’t think so!

I have talked about my struggle with money before.

But I’m thinking I need to start getting creative to save money. Let me know what you think:

1. I can’t do coke anymore. Too spendy. Should probably switch to speed or crack.[just kidding, Mom!]

2. I need to learn how to cook so that I don’t eat sushi every two days. I love raw fish, but I also love booze. I should budget booze into my … non existant budget.

3. If my job gets cut out of the budget [stupid education systems], I’m going to need to get another job. Where I make millions of dollars.

Something like a Princess. Do they have those posted on Craigslist!?

Look at Princess Grace for christsakes! She does NOT look worried about paying her cable bill!

In fact, she looks like she just got done watching an episode of a show on Bravo that I can’t watch because I can’t afford it.

Stupid Princesses.

4.  I will begin drinking other’s drinks at bars. A guy goes to the bathroom? I got his whiskey. Some chick is playing pool? That’s my vodka tonic. What? You’re done with that PBR? I don’t think so!

5. Beg. I am going to beg my parents to help me. My bills are covered. It’s the fun stuff … like food … that I need cash for.

6. Send Vimeos of me drinking and being hilarious to Conan O’Brien so he can discover me and ask me to come write for him.

Numbers 3 & 6 sound most likely to really help me out here.

what a waste…

The topic of my blog today is this gentleman.

And not just him, but thousands of others like him.

This man, in an attempt to get out of a drug violation, ate a bag of weed.

A bag. Of weed.

He, of course, gagged and threw up the marijuana in front of the police.  Which, of course, got him the drug violation and the delicious mug shot seen above.

Here is my question: Is this guy new? Has he been around pot before? Has he ever seen someone consume large quantities of mary jane and come out unscathed!?

Doubtful.

Every time I have seen a friend eat one too many pot brownies, they always end up on the floor screaming about elves and asking me to play a Backstreet Boys song on repeat for the next two hours.

I oblige, because it’s always time for BSB.

I digress.

Please, all of you, don’t eat weed. It’s a waste of perfectly good green and if you don’t die, you will simply be the laughing stock of … well, everyone. The entire world will know.

#seriously

it’s twitter’s fault!

Twitter is a cruel mistress. She steals me from you at all hours of the night, bloggie.

She sucks me in with her promises of DMs and @ mentions! So I go to her. I go to her hoping for instant fame and 1,000 followers.

But it’s never what I get, bloggie. Not Ever.

So, I’m coming back to you in full force, bloggie. You and me. Forever.

Also, it’s absolutely gorgeous in Portland, today bloggie. Too bad I’m stuck wearing business casual monkey suits for the man. But it’s worth it. Because I can play with you when I’m at work. Private offices are where I can practice my blog love.

Anyone reading this — feel free to follow me on the Twitter. @MeaganKate.

Don’t worry, bloggie – I just REALLY want to make it to a milliony bajilliony followers. It’s not you. It’s me.

Meagans Hate Heat

It’s hot as balls in my apartment right now.

Last week, Portland was downpouring. I ruined a pair of suede flats trying to outrun a metro bus and make it into the office without looking like the tragic climax of  a Nicholas Sparks film.

And now I’m laying in bed sweating.

My crack head neighbor called to me yesterday as I left for a concert.

“You got one of ‘dem air conditioners in there?”

“Nope. Not right now.”

“Yah best get one. It’s about to get really hot.”

“I heard.”

“We wouldn’t want you meltin’ or nothin’ like that.”

“Indeed. No melting.”

“incoherantgrumbles”

Storymakerupper was supposed to sell me her AC unit. I haven’t done that yet. But I should soon, because I have to come to terms with the fact that I am NOT made for heat. Meagans are a fragile, simple people. We need cold air, chilled wine and DVDs of workplace comedies.

Fuck this day and this heat and my sweating.

Someone. Someone please bring me ice. My deadbolt is broken. You could probably get in if you try hard enough.

I’ll be up here. Watching The Whitest Guys You Know. Dying.