Well, it comes to this, reader:

I’m moving on. Stop crying. No really, stop. It’s a little awkward for me to see you do that.

Plus, you didn’t let me finish (you never do).

I’m moving on to a new blog site. Apparently my year and half’s worth of wanderlust-ings is enough to fill up the free space on this site. And don’t worry, on my new site I will continue to have pure, insatiable, wanderlust, and the apple pies will still hubbub.

Not to sound strange (because I’ve NEVER done that), but I’m gonna miss writing on this little site. I kinda got attached to it, mainly because it chronicled so much of me and what I’ve done in the past year and half. And yet, still so many questions.

One question I can answer for you: the mystery of the highlighter. In my last posting, I had been attacked by an orange highlighter sent from the heavens. Well, when relating the story to a coworker, ending the story with “Who throws a highlighter? Honestly!”, one of my bosses (I have three) looks and me, asks me to relate the story again, and then says, “Well, first we threw the cap at your window, but you didn’t turn, so then we threw the whole thing.”

I looked at him, realizing that he had provided the cap detail (which I had left out of my story), and said, “Are you even kidding me?” I immediately throw my Post-Its at him, and he bursts out laughing. Apparently he was driving with his buddies, saw me in my car, had been doing some celebrating at the local pub, and decided to get my attention. So after honking (apparently I was a little more into my music than I thought I was), and throwing the cap, they threw the rest of the highlighter. The worst part is that my boss has been doing impressions of my car dancing all around town.

Revenge is currently in the development stage.

What was I saying before? Oh right. This past year and a half has been crazy wonderful. And, not to remind you, I’ve done a lot. Almost died a couple times, rode a lot of planes, wrote a lot of inane propaganda for international travel, ate a lot of duck’s feet (okay, just one of those). Collected postcards, ornaments, friends, paper, and brochures. Consumed alcohol and knowledge. Got consumed by nature, architecture, spirituality, moments, and love. Like I said, I’ve done a lot.

And the best part is that I’m nowhere near done. I don’t know where my wanderlust will take me this year, maybe not even much farther than Chicago, but wherever I go I’ll take my desire to explore and discover with me, and I’ll write about it to, that I can almost promise.

So, follow the link for my future ridiculous rantings (with occasional alliteration):

http://www.livejournal.com/users/applepiehubbub/

I decided I’d start if off with my 2006 resolutions (my resolutions are always categorically stupid, and this year is no exception). I’ve still got some 2005 stuff to write about which I haven’t gotten to (I know, I know, China/Japan, I’m on it!) including the story of the shnitzle, and I need to catch you up on the insanity that is my workplace.

Anyway, I should probably start my goodbyes now. It’s been great, tripod, but I need more space. You will always be the first, and of course, the best.

Much love.
-M

The Highlighter of My Day
Allow me to set the scene for you, my dear reader:

It was the end of yet another long day’s work for Megan, the (insert adjective here) heroine of our tale. Megan, who takes to a full day’s work as well as a fish does to life in the desert (the place, not a tasty treat, hence the spelling), has been working full days since her school term ended right before Turkey Day, and last week was an essential cog for her bosses WAY TOO BIG (but fun) Christmas Open House, which, it is needless to mention, went like clockwork (hence the cog reference). Megan has yet to recover from said party (the prep for which will be revealed, perhaps, in the future), and is extremely tired.

Driving home from work, she plugs her iTrip into her iPod mini (the best investment iEverMade), and for the first time all day is able to escape from 93.9 fm WLIT, which has been pumping the same 24 Christmas Carols into her the air supply of her office since the Monday before Thanksgiving, the best moments being the 7 times she hears “Blue Christmas” and “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, the low points being “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” and a really crappy rendition of “Silver Bells”. In celebration, she decides to go crazy and put said iPod mini on shuffle, and up pops Tori Amos’ “Silent All These Years” (ie, good old-fashioned girlie-ness).

As I do when I’m chilling in my vehicle at a stoplight, I do a little car singing. On the how-much-was-I-into-my-car-performance scale, it ranked maybe a 2.5 out of 10, very low, and basically was zoning out until the green arrow to turn into my subdivision got going.

That is when in my peripheral I see something hit my windshield and roll to the side. The noise jolted me out of my daze, and I do a quick survey of for any large rocks that apparently had descended from on high to stop me from singing Tori Amos. I start looking for what the heck hit my car, and just then I get the green arrow, so I turn to keep with traffic. For the rest of my drive home (all 37 seconds of it, I’m looking around me. I ask myself, Self, what the hell was that?

Did I hit a low flying bat? Was Euterpe, the Greek muse of music, telling me I should have skipped Tori Amos and gone to Live’s “Lightning Crashes” or perhaps the dulcet tones of Styx’s “Renegade”? Was the Ghost of Christmas Past making an unplanned crash into my world to show me what life would have been like if I’d never been born (two stories in one!)? Or, is this just your run of the mill rain of frogs? I was open to anything.

So I park my car in the garage, get out, and there it was. It had rolled into that spot between the hood of the car and the windshield, that slightly unprotected part that is just out of sight to the driver.

What the hell is that?

I pull it out carefully, and look at it. How the hell did this get on the hood of my car?

Either from the heavens or from another car, I ended up with an Office Max highlighter on my car.

And it was bright orange.

And it still works.

Either this is the mark of a severely corrupt individual, someone who wanted to leave a Dane Cook-ian legacy (I’ll remember this for a while, for sure), or someone in another car wanted to get my attention and pull me out of my girlie music daze.

My personal theory? Lock your doors tonight kiddies, there’s danger afoot, in the form of office supply throwing ninjas. Sure, it’s cute now with the highlighters, but wait ‘til they get to the paperweights and letter openers. Their leader is called “The (paper) Shredder”.

And there you have it. The highlighter of my day.

Seriously though, goodnight, and take care of yourself and your loved ones tonight. It’s a cold, highlighter-throwing world out there.
-M

My fatwa against The Pussycat Dolls
Now Playing: I'll tell you what's not playing! THE PUSSYCAT DOLLS!
My head is about to explode, reader:

Due to the ubiquitous nature of the song "Don't cha?", and how everyone and their pet squirrel Norman is using "Don't cha wish your [insert stupid noun here] was hot like me?" in everything, I have decided, against my better judgement, to declare a fatwa against The Pussycat Dolls.

It's just not my flavor. Just like how Nelly saying that it was hot in "herr" made me want to throw myself off a bridge.

The Pussycat Dolls, ergo, should be charged and found guilty against their crimes to humanity.

Oh, and the video stinks too. Pretty girls, but really? Necessary? No.

So there, Pussycat Dolls, I fatwa you. And by the way I understand fatwas, I'm the only one who can un-fatwa you. Hold your breath, kitties.

Wow, that was so vindictive of me. I think I should go to bed.

Night,
-M

Of Cabbages and Drag Queens
Now Playing: Nada Surf
FYI: this post is rated PG-13 for some adult situations. And I say Ass. (Twice, I think. No wait, I only say Ass once, unless you count those two, then it's three. Ass cubed, if you will.)

Reader, I’m tie-tie (Megan and Megan’s momma speak for “mucho tired”.)

It has been quite a week. I’ll try and be boxer-brief about it. (That means kinda constricting, but at the same time allows for some breathing room. So I’m told. Did I mention I’m tired?)

Sunday: Multi-tasking Megan! All but finished up my senior portfolio in the morning, made myself look fantastical (why didn’t spell check pick up “fantastical”? Does that mean it’s a word? Well, that’s…fantastical, I guess), and went to my choir concert. Despite having a cough that sounds little bit like I’m dying, I rocked the house. I mean, my choir sounded good. After that, post-choir concert celebration (read: Chipotle), and then went to Danielle’s to celebrate her big 22.

If I’ve never publicly taken the opportunity to praise the Danielle, please let me do so now. Basically, Danielle is the bee’s knees (if they have knees, otherwise she’s a kick-ass esophagus). A night with Danielle will never go in the direction you would expect it (in a good way).

And that’s how I ended up whooping it up at The Baton, one of the longest running female impersonator shows in the country. All right, I admit that I knew in advance we were going, and was excited, but I wasn’t expecting to enjoy the show so much. But I get ahead of myself. As usual. We had dinner at Maggiano’s, and had the stuffed chicken, which gave me great joy (and later, maybe a little heartburn).

So, The Baton. What an interesting assortment of people in there. First, there was, of course, Danielle’s super squad of chicks. But there was a going away party, a bachelor/bachelorette party, and then people there because…well, it’s Sunday, and on Sunday’s they go to The Baton.

First of all, what a wonderful bunch of bee-yatches. There was the host of the show, Holly, who is a gigantic latina/o, who preceeded to skewer the audience. Later, while doing a brief song remarking on unclean cats, Holly humorly tore Danielle a new one due to Danielle’s ill-timed tipping moment. Then there was Chilli Pepper, who looked a little older, and with her blonde bob, perfectly applied eyeliner and mascara, along with her miniskirt powersuit with shoulder pads soaring to the Heavens, could easily get into a fanastic Dynasty-style catfight with Joan Collins. Somebody should set that up.

Best name of the night: the enigmatic Barbara Her, who with her (I think) collagen-infused lips, is a brunette wig away from Barbara Hershey in Beaches.

My favorite would be Whitney Houston. No joke, it was really Whitney. And she looked better than she has in years. Sure, she went by the name of “Sherry Payne”, but when “Sherry” busted off her jacket and revealed a bedazzled bustier, during the “you were making a fool of me” part of “It’s not right, but it’s okay”, I knew it was her. In the same line of coolness with Whitney was Victoria, who did a Macy Gray song and exuded this confidence was so, “Yes, I know,” that it was pretty awesome.

My personal MacGuffin I had throughout the show, the thing I was hoping but at the same time not hoping to find out was whether or not the ladies on stage, well, still had a...MacGuffin. I can’t offer concrete proof, but I’m gonna say yes. As for the top portion of the show, they are as real as the plastic surgeons that made them, and Barbara Her accidentally almost showed a little nip, even.

Also, I have to giggle about this just a little, but there was this one dude that was TOTALLY into it. I’m not trying to offend in anyway people who REALLY enjoying watching female impersonators (whatever rubs your Buddha, friend), but this guy was lower lip biting, soft hip grinding into it. There were other guys who you could tell when they went up there to tip the performers that they were enjoying the performance as well, but this guy was a Mai Tai away from humping a chair or whatever else was handy.

Regardless, the bottom line: Fun times.

Monday: Work, Class, turned in Senior Portfolio, Home. However, since Fox has pulled The A.D. in favor of reruns (RERUNS!) of Prison Break (explain to me again how a British guy and an American are brothers?), I was so depressed I couldn’t get myself to do anything. Instead I coughed myself to sleep.

Tuesday: Class, Lunch, Meeting, Class, busy Writing Center time, Home. Now I’m just being lazy, and still do not do any work for my two 8-10 page papers due Friday. Watch The Office, and am happy. My cold at this point is now cough-tastic, and through my classes I go through about 18 Chipotle napkins (Tell you what Kleenex company: you start making tissues that smell like steak and cilantro rice, but have aloe vera-enriched softness, and I’ll switch brands).

Wednesday: Work, Class, Writing Center, Home. I decide I can’t procrastinate anymore, and start researching one of my papers. In bed. After 15 minutes, I decide to take some cough syrup and call it a night.

Thursday: Class, Lunch of Champions (read: Chipotle), Class ended early because the power went out in the building (huzzah, faulty electricity!), Home. At home, I read The Kindling, my school’s humor magazine, and enjoyed my vanilla cappuccino from BP (at $1.45, it’s 20 ounces of coffee-like deliciousness). A quick note on The Kindling: this term I wrote something for it, and, well, it kinda talks about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. Specifically, it calls them out. So if you hear on the news that pregnant Katie Holmes kicked the crap out of me, understand that I did not fight back because I refuse to punch pregnant women. Either that, or I just couldn’t get past her arms, they are very long. I am to take on Tom Cruise though, but I do suspect that he would fight dirty, specifically, that he’s a biter.

So I finally had to sit down and write my papers, and at about 10:00 I get down to it. I’m stupid, and I stayed up all night, with the exceptions of the moments when I fell asleep with my hands on the keyboard and typed grammatically correct, but completely absurd sentences. It’s what I do. I go a little crazy when I don’t sleep, and so…

Friday: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANYTHING I SAID ON FRIDAY. I AM GIVING MYSELF TIRED MEGAN IMMUNITY. So anyone that thinks that something I said yesterday made little or no sense, or noticed I was sleeping during choir (which is kinda impossible, but I did it), I’m sorry.

I also saw Harry Potter yesterday, and liked it, but think that the director made some interesting choices. By interesting, I’m thinking I don’t like them. That’s all I have to say about that, because I don’t want to ruin the Potter for anyone. Except for a fun movie trivia fact: that is Ralph Fiennes’ (aka Voldemort) actual nose. In all other movies they just CGI it up.

Also, last night I took some Nyquil. How did Nyquil manage to create a cough syrup empire when the product tastes so much like death? After the first tablespoon, I actually thought to myself, “You know, coughing like I have the black lung isn’t THAT bad. I could just keep coughing at not take more of this liquid torture.” But I took it anyway.

I have chicken and the egg relationship with Nyquil. See, when I was in England, my flatmates would always buy this particular brand of shots called “Aftershock”. The only flavor that I could almost stand was the blue one, though I’ve never really trusted drinking something that has a natural color of electric blue (draino, windex). Anyway, I always had the drink the “Aftershock” shots because my flatmates bought them and I didn’t want to be rude (I’m very susceptive to peer pressure), but one time I thought I was gonna vomit on the spot because I got stuck with the green one, which, interestingly enough, tastes EXACTLY like Nyquil. But the thing is, I don’t know if I think that the Nyquil tastes like Aftershock, or Aftershock tastes like Nyquil. Either way, Nyquil and Aftershock are gross. But in Aftershock's defense, it'll get you drunk faster than Nyquil will.

I lied, reader, this is really long posting. Oops. Well, I had fun, at least.
Finals coming up, then el dia del pavo, which always turns out to be bizarre.

Such is life. Toodles.
-M.

Canceling Arrested Development: Or, why I want to punch Fox square in the jaw.
So, reader, Fox is canceling “Arrested Development”, which means that I am now officially banished to NBC for any laughter (“My Name is Earl” and “The Office”, 8-9 NBC Tuesdays. Start watching. At least watch “The Office”.)

I’m not sure if I’ve discussed “Arrested” (or as I like to call it, “The A.D.”), but I thought that me liking a show like “The A.D.” would go without saying. I mean, last week they were able to assemble an homage to Godzilla films with David Cross dressed as a mole and Michael Cera in a jetpack. And the best part of it is that it ALL MADE PERFECT SENSE.

Do you get that kind of stuff on “That 70’s Show”? That’s a big 70’s “no.”

I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t make such a big deal about a television series when women of all different races around the world and being oppressed, but come on! They have a character that had his hand bitten off by a seal!

Do any other shows on any networks have characters whose hands were bitten off by seals?
How about this: do any other shows have any disabled characters at all?

I guess I’m just upset because now this show is going to be off the air, yet Amy Smart, Denise Richards, and Tom Cruise continue to be employed.

What it comes down, to, I’ve realized, is that the Fox network and I have perhaps one of the most sadomasochistic relationships of all time. It’s true. It happens the same way every time: they lure me back to them with a fun and hip cast, and a chart topper in the ads for the show. I’m intrigued; plus there has been some critical acclaim for the show. So I watch a show.

I become addicted. The show and I have a relationship. It comes around once a week, I watch, entertained, and I promise to tune in next week (unless it’s a repeat or replaced by a sporting event).

But then something goes wrong. The show just stops dropping in, sometimes without warning, for weeks at a time. I start to think it’s me. I’m not good enough, that I don’t buy enough of the advertisers’ deodorant, alcohol, and/or Dentyne Ice.

Then I find out it got canceled. The time that I put into that show, liking and disliking certain characters, laughing when appropriate, and sometimes when it isn’t (I’m not perfect, you know.)

But the worst part, my dear reader, is that this is not the first time this has happened. This may reveal more about me (and my sometimes not 100% awesome taste) than you wanted to know, but here’s a brief list of the show’s Fox prematurely pulled on me with little or no warning (in no particular order):

The American Embassy
Time of Your Life
Wonderfalls
Keen Eddie
The Inside
Family Guy
Dark Angel
The Tick
The Critic

Now I’ll give you that “The Inside” and “Time of Your Life” were not fantastic. At all. So you get those, Fox. And yeah, Dark Angel was too expensive. But come on? “The Critic” and “The Tick” (both the cartoon and the live action series) were just fantastic. Jon Lovitz as a fat, angry movie critic? Like manna from Heaven. And “The Tick” is responsible for perhaps the best line in television history: in response to the question “Do you have the power to destroy the world?” The Tick answers, “Ee gad, I hope not! That’s where all my stuff is!”) As for “Family Guy”, I think we are all familiar with its Peter Griffin-glory.

The only thing I can think of for canceling “Keen Eddie”, “The American Embassy”, and “Wonderfalls” is that Fox is afraid of British people (The brilliant “Wonderfalls” took place at Niagara Falls, which is on the boarder of Canada and New York, and since Canadians are British citizens…there you go). The “AD” also has a “British Problem” since the beginning of the 3rd season began with a “Charlize Theron as a ‘MR-F’ Brit” story arc.

So well done, Fox network. You were able to trick me again. But be careful, I am now nrice (like “thrice”, only for nine) times burned by you, and hopefully I will not be so foolish to fall into your abusive clutches again. And don’t think I’m getting too attached to “Stacked” either, ‘cause I’m not. Really.

Although, like a true masochist, it is hard not to want to come back for more.

I’ve got homework to do now. Sigh.
-M

Say "Hamburger" to me.
Now Playing: The movie Sabrina - The Billy Wilder version. No Harrison Ford, but there's William Holden, so that's nice.
My dear reader,
As you are well aware, I use my blog as an opportunity to share what is going on in my life, and very often reveal either A: my extremely geeky (yet caramel cream-like) center, or B: my less than smooth operator maneuvering through this mighty and awesome universe.

Well, this story definitely fits in the B category. It takes place in my Spanish class…venture back with me…if you will…

This past Wednesday was an especially momentous Spanish class, porque (that means “because”), I had to give a quick little presentation in class on a Spanish article I read outside of class. Well, I figured that I could just wing it, and have key phrases written on a note card. This turned out to be, as I quickly discovered, a mistake, as I was left standing in front of a class bumbling for words like a...well, I'm not sure, I've really never seen anything quite like it.

It must have been stupendous for the other people in the class though, as it is a rare opportunity when you can actually watch a person try and shape every single syllable and phrase, which I had to dig deep, DEEP, for. I literally spoke at the speed of my thoughts, and apparently I was thinking 10mph below the speed limit in a school zone.

But my “presentation” was not even the paramount shame for the day. No, that would be when we were working on how to say commands. The picture was of children dreaming of a hamburger at a restaurant (trust me, I’m going somewhere here), and when the teacher asked for people to give examples of some commands, I decide I’m gonna be the brilliant student of the day and so I raised my hand and said, “Dime la hamburguesa.”

My teacher looks at me and says, “La hamburguesa.”

There is snickering from the fluent Spanish speakers in the front of the room.

Turns out that instead of saying “Give me the hamburger,” which I thought I was saying (Deme la hamburguesa, I think is what I was supposed to say), I was actually telling my teacher to “Say ‘hamburger’ to me.”

Stupid vowels. I hate them all. Th_y s_ck. V_w_ls s_ck.

Although, kudos to my profesora. I wouldn’t have thought to say that. Es muy lista y chistosa. Also, I’m digging that she’s not testing us on the vocab. If she was, no joke, this week I would have had to conjugate the verb for “to chip ice”. Is this necessary? No. Does my profesora rock? S?.

Alright, I have to go do my homework now, porque estoy perezosa.

Gracias y buenos noche,
-M

Megan: 1 The Man: 0
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: "Gonna Fly Now" from Rocky. Granted, the music is playing in my head...
I am happy, reader:

I feel like I just took down City Hall. I just spent 59 minutes and 50 seconds on the phone with a certain DVD/Music/Electronic company who also prints out pictures. I recently printed out about 700 pictures from my wanderlust-ings with their online digital camera company. Due to some problems with their website, during an earlier phone call placed to the company, I was guaranteed that due to their error I would receive a refund of about $21 once all of my pictures were printed out. With this is mind, I printed out my pictures.

Please understand this: though I am at times a liar and have cheated (most often as a child in the form of "Pin the Tail on the Donkey", but that's not my fault, put the blindfold on right and I won't be able to cheat. I was enabled, I tell you.), I am, unequivocally (and that's a GRE word, so you know I mean it), in the right here. The $21 was and is mine. Moving on.

Today I received a message from the company, and upon calling them back, I discovered that rather than giving me the refund that I deserved, I would be refunded instead $3.85. I declared that this was unacceptable, and proceeded to get into a debate with the woman on the other line. However, it was a once-sided debate, because she refused to deal with my problem in a mature fashion. She put me on hold for 10 minutes, then came back with a chipper voice and say "Thanks for holding, Megan. I am able to refund you $3.85 today, so I'm going to go ahead and put this through, okay?"

4 times she pulls this. The first time, I just asked her why I wasn't getting the rest of my money back. "I understand your frustration. I'm going to put you on hold while I look at this, okay?"

Then she would get back on, and say the same thing again in that chipper voice. "Thank for holding, Megan. I am able to refund you $3.85 today, so I'm going to go ahead and put this through, okay?"

No, I explained, it is not okay. We then get into a conversation and she starts explaining that notes in her computer say that "Research" has made notes that I only get $3.85 back. I explain that I don't know who "Research" is, but I never talked to them, and I don't know how they can't just do some "research" in my previous phone calls with the company and find out that I am right.

I am put on hold again, but now the girl is agitated. Ten minutes later, peppy voice. "Thanks for holding, Megan. I am able to refund you $3.85 today, so I'm going to go ahead and put this through, okay?"

This continued on. Her telling me that all I could get is $3.85, and me telling her that I don't explain why her company is full of liars. I got agitated, she got agitated. I ask her where my next level of recourse is, she tells me there is no next level of recourse. I ask for a manager or something, she tells me $3.85. Hold again.

Ten minutes later. "Thanks for holding, Megan. I am able to refund you $3.85 today, so I'm going to go ahead and put this through, okay?"

I can't understand how you think that coming back on the phone and saying the same thing over and over again in the same voice is going to make me feel better about it, I finally say to her.

I then offer a compromise: I'll take the $3.85 if she gives me a discount on my next photo purchase. She says no, and after a long silence on my part she says, with just the slightest hint of trepidation..."So, I am able to refund you $3.85 today, so I'm going to go ahead and put this through, okay?"

I do not answer. And then she says, in a slightly angry and softer voice, "And I can put you through to customer care at the end of the call."

Fine, I say.

Customer care gets on. "Hello Megan, this is April. I understand that you are having difficulty with our online photo service?"

My exact words: "Yes I have April. I feel grossly misused by your online photo service, and I do not feel cared for." Granted, not poetry, but apparently it got her attention.

Five minutes with customer care later, I get a $21 gift card in the mail.

Now come on, DVD/Music/Electronic company, was that so hard to do? I would have taken that in the first 3 minutes. That's exactly like getting cash back. Cash that, granted, can only be used in one place, but cash nonetheless.

Besides it's not like I can avoid said DVD/Music/Electronic store. They have the best selection, my pictures look great, and let's face it, the prices are usually the best too.

I just hate to complain for 45 minutes until I get my way. Though it may appear otherwise, I hate having to complain just to get what I want. It's so stereotypical American, and working in insurance, I know that angry people on telephones suck.

I guess retail sucks. Viva Ebay!
Night.
-M

My iPod mini problem
Mood:  lyrical
Now Playing: my iPod songs, but that's not important. How is Lyrical a mood?
My dear reader -
So I got an iPod mini a couple of weeks ago. Actually, my little Kelsey-sister got an iPod mini a few weeks ago, and then experienced buyers remorse, so I bought it off her.

Not to say this is the coolest thing ever, but, well -

COOLEST THING EVER.

There's just one tiny problem.

I listen to it often while walking around campus and from place to place. And I don't mean to, but if you know me you know that I like to dance to the music. Like all the time. Like elevators, nice restaurants, everywhere. So now that I actually have music playing while I walk from place to place, I start to rock out a little bit to the music. A little bit too much, that is.

The reason why this is an issue, I should probably admit, is because ever since my high school days one of my perennial daydreams has been have a platform with a jam band on it follow me around all day and be my soundtrack for the day. Sounds great, right?

Get out of your car? Drummer yells "5,6,7,8!" and suddenly the starts a "boom, boom, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, boom, boom," on a loop while the bass starts walking.

Walking through hallways? Perfect. How about a heavy drum solo?

Thinking about something important? Maybe just a little cymbal action.

See, now you know you want it too. But guess what? My day dream, and I'm not sharing. Sorry, them's the rules.

I am now walking from place to place, forgive my language, like a complete a-hole. At first I didn't notice it, but then I caught myself swinging my hips and stepping to the beat of Green Day's "Extraordinary Girl".

With good reason, mind you: I am, after all, an extraordinary girl, but the beginning of the song has some cool somewhat-African percussion, and there is nothing in my ethnic background that makes it okay for me to step out into public convulsing like a human marimba.

The worse, though, is without a doubt, "Battle Without Honor or Humanity" from the Kill Bill Vol. 1 soundtrack. It's from the part when Lucy Liu's Oren Ishii walks through the hallway of the Japanese tea house looking like a bad ass with the Crazy 88 killers.

And that's just it. My name is Megan, and though I do indeed rock, I am not, nor ever will be, a bad ass. My hair is just too frizzy in the front. That is actually the main thing. You just can't be cold-hearted or a bad ass if you've got frizzy hair in the front. You just end up looking crazy. Or rather, more crazy than you already do, since you have crazy frizzy hair. Moving on.

So this Kill Bill song. I start walking all slow-like, delaying the constant flow of pedestrians behind me, and I get this scowl on my face which I'm sure looks less cool and more "Where's the bathroom?".

The other day, of course, was the perfect moment when, during my Kill Bill bad ass walk, I fell up the steps outside a building. Not a shock to those who know me and have seen me bite the dust many a time, but it did take the piss out of my bad ass-ness. Or lack thereof.

So there you go. You know my secret. Well, you know not so much a secret but a truth you didn't know about me. When provoked by bitchin' tunes, I walk like an idiot. But I fall like a pro.

Until I get off my lazy streak and write again,
I am,
-M

Owwww.
Now Playing: Under Pressure - Queen and David Bowie. For real, is there a better duet in history? I think not.
Reader -

I am soooo hurting today. Right before I was leaving work, I had the most intense, crazy pain in my side. Of the honest to goodness diagnosis (what is the plural of diagnosis? Diagnosi?) I have received from people today:

-my gall bladder has exploded.
-my kidneys has stones (as long as they are rolling, I approve)
-I pulled a muscle in my back
-my gall bladder does not like peanuts (this I know to be true, because a couple weeks back I had a long talk with my gall bladder and he did indeed reveal his dislike for peanuts. However, I'm not sure if he has since exploded, as a couple of weeks ago he said some things about my spleen that simply DID NOT FLY with me or my pancreas. Long story short, we haven't been talking much lately.)

Personally, I'm starting to think it is all of my pent of procrastination localizing in one spot of my body and trying to prevent me from finishing a paper I have due tomorrow morning at 8. Which, since I've only finished about 3/4 of a page (out of a 5-7 page paper) at this point, I'd say it's succeeding.

Well, I better go, I'm not letting a simple thing like searing pain through my left side get me down. I've got a paper to write!

Love and burritos to you,
-Megan

Note from the ApplePieHubbub: We at The Hubbub recognize that the above was written while Megan was under the influence of generic acetaminophen. We apologize, and in the future hope to have her heavily sedated at all times. -APH

I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar.
Now Playing: Umm, the movie Serenity over and over and over and over in my head.
I know, dear reader, that I have been a bad Megan, and have failed to write about more of my Wanderlust-filled adventures in China and Japan.

I'm sorry. I'll try and be better. But this entry is not about me (don't get used to it, the world will resume revolving around me as soon as I finish this post).

I just have to say, RUN RUN RUN to the movie theater, drop WHATEVER you are holding (homework, polish sausage, chex mix, or baby) and go see Serenity.(On second thought, don't drop the baby, but don't bring it to the theater unless you are sure it won't cry its way through the feature film). It was not the greatest movie I've ever seen, but it's definitely some of the best two hours I've spent in the movie theater this year, and something will get lost in its translation to your boob tube. Go see it. Right now.

Trust me, you'll thank me and Joss Whedon later.

That's all I have to say for now, except one more tiny thing: Serenity, in addition to being kinda awesome, solidifies a feeling I've had in my gut for sometime, and that is that David Krumholtz and Alan Tudyk are both (if I may get dated for a second) the shizzam bomb diggity. That is all.

Take care,
-M