The Gospel According to Gates

Untitled

2010-10-20T09:53:00.001-05:00

Like an ancient code
Explaining the mouths of rivers
And the lines of palms
Why day and night and wet and dry
And you and I exist

Feigning Bliss

2010-10-20T09:49:00.003-05:00

lies is
love is not
i maintain
that love by deceiving is poetry
between the kiss and confession lies reality
lies, reality
nearly blinding and convincing
before love and binding is silence
blind and naked
there i undress
here made to stand strangled
laughing
upon his hand
this ignorance made with color
sworn to say bliss
but not believing it

O'Hara's Moon

2010-10-20T09:43:00.002-05:00

The Moon is not as gentle as the Sun,
sometimes it is too demanding, too bold
it rapped on my window with its
big blue hand telling me it was time
to go to sleep. “Your friend the Sun
told me about you. You like to work
when the Sun goes down. You don’t sleep enough.

Why do you scribble at that desk
with such a thin pencil
into the long hours of night? Don’t you know
that I come for you?
For all of you?"

I did not hear the Moon’s last words,
my eyes were not accustomed to
such a brilliant diamond shine.
It affected me,

“I am sorry,” I said, “but I am a poet
and I work at night. I mean not to
interfere with your duties.”

I noticed the Moon’s pocked silver face
was more smooth on the right side
as it tilted its round head downward.
The Moon’s lips were but streaks,
golden ethereal dust marks

on an old highway of a face.
I wanted them to blow away as it spoke,

“Most people wait for my arrival. Most people
sit on the edge of their small beds and
tap their small feet together and
count the minutes before
I come” he said.

“You should hang up the clothes of day,
wash off the face you wear to work,
clean the hands that catch the Sun,
and open the closet for your night”.

“Yes?” I asked. My eyes has adjusted
to the Moon’s reticent glare.

“Your closet will be filled with
the things of dreams...
tangerines and paintings,
and the music of Ella Fitzgerald.”

“Then I will come to keep the night
just lucid enough for you to feel
the thoughts float to the tips of your fingers
and slide into that thin pencil of yours.”

I watched as the Moon turned its back
and noticed how round and hunched its shoulders
were. As it slunk down the path to the next house
I began to get very tired. Pretty soon I was asleep.

Book Review

2010-07-27T16:46:00.002-05:00

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I fell in love with this book right away, as I tend to err toward darker undertones in fiction and writing. Reading it is a challenge, on account of the format and structure of the novel, but I love the playfulness and unconventionality that the author used to create a feeling of confusion and erudite profundity. It took me at least three days to read a whole chapter because of all the footnotes! Footnotes inside of footnotes inside of footnotes. It's like a literary scavenger hunt.

I really liked that aspect of this novel...it's not an easy read and its not for everyone, but if you can get through it, you definitely feel a sense of accomplishment. As a writer, I appreciate the skill it takes to craft an experimental novel such as this. The house in the novel itself is unusual and disorienting, and Danielewski is so adept at using his writing to make the reader feel just so as well. The text, at times, with its format and structure, mimics the feelings and situations of the characters in the book. Danielewski is SO good at this.

This novel is dark. It's unsettling in a way that you can't understand unless you read it. It's not a horror novel; it's not graphic in a scary way, but this book IS scary. When I read this book, I lived alone and had a hard time reading it in bed at night. Its difficult to describe, but this book just gave me the willies.

The plot is centered around a man who moves his family into a house and one day discovers that the inside of the house is actually "bigger" than the outside of the house. From there, his obsession with the house and downward spiral into the depths of the house overtake his life, his family, his sanity.

House of Leaves made me feel both claustrophobic and agoraphobic; yet compelled to keep reading. The author taps into that place in each of us that is still afraid of the dark and things that go bump in the night without ever having to "show" any of these conventionally "scary" things and concepts.

I was so impressed by this book, even when I couldn't follow the plot. It took a lot of patience to read each chapter, but was worth it. The author is a master of ergodic literature, pushing his reader to focus and really dig into the actual text, each word, in order to grasp one page after the next.

It has also been said that even the title, "House of Leaves", suggests that "leaves" is a synonym for "pages", thus making the "house" a book. You can't see the whole tree without studying each individual leaf.

Incredibly interesting, wholly challenging, and unsettingly mysterious.

I loved it.

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Talking to a Ghost

2010-06-16T15:16:00.006-05:00

Unknowingly the day after you died, I sent you a text message wishing you luck on the LSAT.

I now realize that I was talking to a ghost.

This morning I woke up wanting to punch the universe in the face over and over and over again until it shouted back in submission, “Okay, okay! Enough! You can have him back!”

While I fight the urge to face the truth that this will never happen with anguish and uncertainty, I muster up the best in myself, tapping into that subterranean well that lies within all of us, and embrace it with the warmth and authenticity you approached your life with every day and remember you.

You.

My friend.

It hurts, but I slip loose the knots of the unthinkable and begin to remember you, though it’s a challenge because for me, you are still not gone.

And though you would be embarrassed to read this, you would never say.

Taking a page out of the book of jwc, I’ll do it anyway.

You always made me smile. Those remarkable blue eyes and snarky laugh. Your love of talking about Hesse, Vonnegut, and Salinger into the long hours of the night, ignoring my yawns and lazy responses. Your heartbreakingly honest confessions of a deep regret for past mistakes. The way you always gave my boyfriends unsavory nicknames and scoffed at my attempts to defend their honor. Your insatiable love of bucking tradition and blazing your own rebellious trail. The practical jokes. Your knack for passing out at the most inopportune moments. How you never forgot to ask about my parents, even across the distance of continents and the passing of months, years. Similarly, how time always managed to stand still for us until the next time we saw each other, picking up right where we left off, never missing a beat. A true rarity in friendships these days. I remember the impressive depths of your mind and staggering intelligence and how easy the sharing of profound thoughts was with you. I don't know if that type of comfortability came along simply with the sheer number of years I have known you (23 years to be exact), or if it was just always you. I think the latter. Because I like to think you served this purpose for many people. I was always Megs, not Megan, or Meg. You always called. “Clear your calendar” you would say, and nothing else. Leaving the details of your visits a mystery until I would hear your familiar voice on the other end of the phone telling me to “Save you a bar stool”. How you had this consistent lack of direction in life, but were always so unabashed about admitting it. It was endearing. And you were charming. Parents loved you. Teachers didn’t know what to do with you. You were silly and quick-witted; the biggest smartass I know. In friendships you were not fastidious, preferring to scatter your companionship out to every kind of person, but save the good stuff for a few. You fought wars and claimed conservatism, but you were a hippie at heart. You were a hero. And a patriot. I always hated arguing with you because you had this unbelievable knack for being right that only really, really gifted people possess. You were clever. You were authentic. You were an original. You were a good friend. You were my friend.

A few weeks before you passed, we spent one crazy night in Chicago together. Speeding through downtown streets, up until dawn, smoking cigarettes and laughing off old high school memories. We talked briefly about “over there”, but I know you preferred to speak less about the past and more about the future. I didn’t press you, but you said, “One day you’ll write it for me.”

You always supported my writing. So now I’m writing this for you.

Its unfair and I’m sad and angry and confused and I don’t know how I’m going to deal with knowing I will never see you again, but I will never forget you. I know that. And I will never let anyone else forget you. And by writing this, I honor the memory of you.

I will be kinder to strangers. Better to myself. More honest in my relationships. Stronger in my convictions. I will write more. And write better. I will do this moving forward because the only way I know how to honor you is to be a better me. And I’ll always be grateful when I wake up in the morning and know that that first smile that hides inside the pockets of each day belongs to you.

And tomorrow, when I throw my arms around the memory of you, I will never stop holding tight. And I promise you, I won’t weep for your death, but I will celebrate your life.

I will always, always love you.

Justin Wesley Cloe
August 2, 1980 – June 5, 2010

Book review

2010-06-15T16:41:00.000-05:00

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

If you love the playfulness of language at all, you will love this book. This book was written for lovers of the English language, people who frolic in the splashy joyfulness of syntax and diction, wanderers of the doldrums of grammar, and seekers of simple, breathtaking irony.

It's a childrens' adventure tale, but it doesn't take a kid to enjoy this story. In fact, the later I reread it in my years, the more meaning it had to me. The more wit I found in Juster's words.

If you have kids, put this book on their bookshelf. They will thank you when they finally learn to appreciate it. Hopefully, it will nurture their love of reading and words as much as it did for me.

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Book reviews

2010-06-15T16:39:00.001-05:00

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is one of the best books I have ever read. I've read it over and over and yet, I still can't tell you why it made such an impression on me.

The characters are so fully developed, so acute and influential that you want to BE them. It's glamorous and elegant, the world of Ayn Rand, graced with descriptions of stunning architecture and juxtapositions of good versus evil. I don't find myself driven by Rand's "objectivism" philosophy of the selfish man, the individual above all, but I still found the way she portrayed this theme through her characters obsessively fascinating.

From the moment we are introduced to Roark standing on the edge of the cliff...the first sentence, "Howard Roark laughed", we are pulled into Ayn Rand's world of the ideal. She makes us aware of the existence of both opulence and poverty within our own souls.

The book is beautiful. She makes the stark lines of city dwelling and the coldness of power-driven men seem not so bleak. There is a love story there, don't be mistaken. But its between the reader and the characters.

I'll reread this book a million times and never get tired of it.

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Book reviews

2010-06-15T16:38:00.001-05:00

Reasons for Moving, Darker & The Sargentville Not: Poems by Mark Strand

My rating: 5 of 5 stars
This was the first book of poetry where I memorized an entire poem because it moved me so much. Here goes, from memory:

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.

The absolute simplicity of this poem and the careful diction Strand chooses displays a mastery of the English language that I think only poets really possess.

If you read on, read more of his poems, you will see the theme of filling spaces and absences and voids. His words are so perfect. Every time.

For a long time I wanted to tattoo the last stanza of this poem on my body because it was the first piece of language I really, truly fell head over heels in love with.

Thank you Professor David Hamilton, University of Iowa Writer's Workshop, for introducing me to Mark Strand and for the subsequent love affair that followed.

It has been one of the most significant and lasting relationships I've ever had.

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Handle With Care

2010-05-10T10:15:00.002-05:00

Can I get a moving walkway for all this emotional baggage?

I'm tired of carrying it around. Or better yet, make like a real airport and lose it. Drop it in the middle of Lake Michigan or the Bermuda Triangle. Leave its contents to be pulled and plucked at by the curious lips of strange ocean fish.

If that doesn't work, let's strap it haphazardly to the roof of some suburban mini-van and see how far we can get. Somewhere along the curves and bends of some lonely interstate highway I'll smile as it topples over the side, following the passing of an eighteen wheeler.

I'm free.

They'll flutter out of the open suitcase as it lies agape by the side of the road, like a giant face caught in a yawn. Moments, like shredded newspaper ads, litter the azure sky, the road, the windshields of cars. Travelers switch their wipers to "On", unaware of what they are brushing away.

As we speed further down the road, the wrinkles of my mind ease and slacken, spreading my memory out flat. I hold in a sigh. I let out a grin.

Miles behind, caught in between the blades of a beat-up Toyota is the memory of us.

And with a casual sweep, it's gone.

Hum drum dumb numb.

2010-04-07T09:57:00.001-05:00

There's something about those city buses that crawl through the park in the morning, something slow and depressing. Like an old dog lumbering along, trying to keep up with his owner. This morning on my drive to work it hits me particularly hard. Umbrellas open up to dirty skies, blotting out blueless days. Those blurry faces staring vacantly out rain-streaked windows, following the same yellow lines of the same filthy streets for weeks upon end.

Finally, I break from the park and head up Lakeshore Drive, pausing at the Chicago Ave. stoplight where a man in french cuffs leers at me from inside his immaculate BMW. His glossy black cuff links stare back at me like the eyes on a snake.

Green light. I hit the gas. Hard. Swerving in and around idling cars, I accelerate, the heaving and whurring of my car engine drowning out the traffic report whining out of my radio. Faster and faster until I'm going 85 mph, trading the sad, rain-soaked skyline of the city behind me for the blank, outstretched gray horizon ahead.

At about Harlem Ave. it strikes me that I'm still going 80 mph and for what? I'm speeding faster and faster toward my life in a box. A box with knockdownable walls and numbered plaques. Every day it records my permanence with erasable pen.

When I arrive at work and get out of my car, I slam the door shut and gaze into the driver's side window. The face I see I do not recognize.

Me, or something like it.

2010-02-24T09:55:00.001-06:00

Lately I have been searching for something without a name. I follow it and it chases me. I hide and it finds me. It reels me in and spits me out a different person everyday. What I am with you now is not who I have been. I have to look into the mirror to remember that I’m not someone else. To remember that I’m not that impulsive, passionate, irrational, glowing face I see staring back at me.

I’m not that. But I chase it. I see you in the wake of it, casually begging me to catch up. Your nonchalance about this Jekyll and Hyde within me makes me want to keep up with you even more, prove to you that I am what I see in the mirror when I don’t recognize myself. Knowing you makes that seems attainable and inescapable all at once.

It’s not something that I embrace heedlessly. Most of the time it jumps up from behind or out from murky blue-gray shadows on horribly lit streets or I see it when nothing’s there at all. It’s something I have created that you have control over. It’s a prison with no bars that I sit in willingly and without cause.

I am disenchanted and I don’t care. It’s something, really. To walk around in a dream all the time, not knowing which person I am, torn between who I am with you and who I am with someone else. And it’s silly to think I can remain both.

Made my day on a day that needed making.

2010-02-18T12:47:00.002-06:00

I received this email from a colleague who read my NPR, "This I Believe" essay titled, "Why I write."

Your essay was absolutely amazing. I am a writer as well and constantly ask myself why in the world I do it. J I cannot begin to tell you the renewal you have brought to my day. Reading your words was like inhaling ocean air for me. Thank you for weaving your words together so beautifully. You have a gift – thank you for sharing it.

I hope we have time for a conversation one day. I look forward to it.

And right there. That inspired me.

More writing to come. I promise.

Open Letter to 2009

2009-12-31T11:47:00.003-06:00

Dear 2009,

Thank you.

I saw you come through different eyes than I will see you go. You gave me moments of happiness the likes of which I never believed possible for me. Winter wasn’t so cold. Spring wasn’t so wet. And Summer…well Summer I fell in love with you all over again.

Just like 2008, I stumbled forth blindly into your arms, seeking your gentle embrace, putting all of my faith into a reassurance I knew wouldn’t come, but continued to foolishly hoped for.

2009 you have tested me.

You jumped on my back and laughed while I struggled to carry you, adding more weight when I felt my back would break with the burden of you.

And you gave me no choice. Time is cruel in its unrelenting pursuit of our most precious assets.

At some point during your pursuit I surrendered to the notion that I have no control over what you had in store for me.

But 2009 you didn’t get the best of me.

I gave you an effort that was unmercifully halfhearted. A reluctance that was unmovable. I unleashed a stubbornness to fight you that made it impossible for me to accept the plan you had so circumspectly mapped out for me.

I sat under you, kicking my legs, heaving you off of me, escaping your defeat of me every time you tried to force me to submit.

And I fought so hard I became tired. And ultimately I grew too weary to deter you any longer.

What happened at that point changed everything.

And even on the very last day of you, everything is still changing for me.

2006, 2007, 2008, you put me to sleep. 2009 woke me up.

So thank you.

I somehow think you always knew I would submit to you, sagaciously encouraging me in your own way to keep hauling you around; that the end somehow would justify a means so burdensome.

You reinvented me 2009.

In my new opinion, 2010 doesn’t stand a chance.

Happy New Year everyone, but mostly I think, to me.

Love,
Megan

Seeing in the dark.

2009-12-10T13:25:00.005-06:00

My mood is black, like the ink inside an unused well.

Just under the surface it sits, blooming instantly like an ugly flower at the unplanned sight of your unaffected smile.

It gets the best of me most of the time, though there is a razor thin line of light, the mystery glow behind a seamless door, I have been struggling to find.

I rub my eyes and place a careful hand on a dark wall, pacing the black for some abberation. A crack. A handle. A hinge.

I still haven't found it.

But I'm getting closer.

I can feel it.

When something's lost, I wanna fight to get it back again.

2009-11-23T11:50:00.005-06:00

It's time to talk about Backspacer.

It’s been almost two months since it was released and I’m not lying when I say it’s the only album I have listened to in that time. I don’t have a radio in my car so this is entirely plausible.

Here’s the thing about this album. You won’t like it.

You’ll listen to it quizzically the first time through and after another stubborn run through the 37 minute long puzzle, you will wonder what Pearl Jam was thinking.

You’ll think about all the time and effort you have put into loving one band, one band alone, for the most formative years of your life and you’ll frown, knowing that this is their latest reciprocal effort.

You’ll feel a sense of disappointment, kind of like the first time you heard Yield come distinctively stumbling through your 90’ Pontiac Grand Prix speakers.

Then, during Track 7, “Unthought Known”, right before the chorus comes crashing through, you hear the words, “Feel the sky blanket you, with gems and rhinestones…” and somewhere inside the gravel and raspy sincerity in Eddie’s voice you will begin the process of falling in love.

It will happen just like that.

For me it happened after three times through the album. It was Tracks 5, 6 & 7.

“Just Breathe” is easy to love. It’s simple acoustic guitar and that voice. A love song, in its own right. Poignant in its lamenting. And, of course, I am just a pushover for love songs; but that is not a big surprise to anyone.

“Amongst the Waves” didn’t interpret for me right away. At first I thought it was a song about regret, but after several listens, it smacked me right upside the head.

This is a song about hope, much like “The Fixer”, and of confidence in the future. That is a notion I have recently distanced myself so much from that I couldn’t listen to “The Fixer” for a few weeks. I wasn’t about hope, I was about darkness and “The Fixer” only served to pull me out instead of wallow in and that’s not what I wanted.

In fact, many of the tracks on Backspacer are woven with glittery, immutable threads of hope; optimism even. The dissonance and dissent from their last self-titled album are curiously absent.

And no, I don’t think it was because they are going main stream to sell more albums. I know a lot of fans do, but I didn’t feel that with this album.

What I felt was a less self-conscious effort to music-making. I felt a band more comfortable in their own skin, and more up-beat than ever before. I don’t know if this is a product of where they are at in their own lives, or the mood of the country, or anything, really, but I know I liked it and I believed it.

Ten and Vs. were epic. There is no denying that. But Backspacer is wholly different. Fundamentally and characteristically, it sounds nothing like anything that came before it.

In the course of listening to only this album I experienced some strong emotions in the wake of a particularly tough break-up. If you are looking for an angry, edgy song like “Black” or “Whipping”, perhaps this isn’t the album for you. Backspacer gave me no pent-up, aggressive release. Instead, it turned me inward and contemplative. It made me nostalgic in not a wistful way, but in a reflective way.

Lyrics like, “Amongst the Waves”, “Love ain’t love until you give it up/Gotta say it now/better loud/than too late” really sliced through the misty, false reality I had been forging ahead into, and “Force of Nature”, "Makes me ache/makes me shake…/is it so wrong to think that love can keep us safe?” finished the process by bringing my head back down from the clouds.

Eddie never lets you forget that above everything else, he's just a guy with a screwed up past who is trying to heal, just like the rest of us. There's something earnest about him. He makes you feel like you're a part of his private relationship with the music. And it does matter. To me, at least.

Don’t get me wrong, “Supersonic” will rock your balls off and has enough energy to power Tokyo with its electricity. “Gonna See My Friend” is equally ferocious, and an adrenaline shot right into your heart, right off the bat.

I just didn’t expect so many insightful pockets of joy from a Pearl Jam album.

For once I had to turn to other bands to fulfill my rock needs. That is not to say that Backspacer is not a rock album. That is plainly not the case. Pearl Jam cannot help but rock. Mike McCready won’t allow anything less.

But during those moments when only the slow, angry build up of “Why Go” or the cold-cocked recklessness of “Spin the Black Circle” will do, I found myself turning to other bands, other songs.

Because there isn't an angry, cynical note on this album.

And that's what made Backspacer a memorable album for me. I will always remember that listening to it helped me through a particularly hard time in my life, pushing me forward, urging me to rethink my future when I could only see one outcome. And then confidently patting me on the back, reassuring me that my past mistakes are not who I am. That I could shatter all my old expectations and create the potential for possibility, to reinvent myself in a way people don't expect.

And, ultimately, that's why music is so important.

I went from "And now my bitter hands/chafe beneath the clouds/of what was everything" to "Riding high amongst the waves/I can feel like I/Have a soul that has been saved/I can see the light/Coming through the clouds in rays."

And that’s why we needed to talk about Backspacer.

We all have one and they probably broke your heart.

2009-11-23T10:47:00.001-06:00

"We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It's easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven't even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else."

From Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman

Happy Birthday, Peter!

2009-11-18T09:06:00.002-06:00

I just wanted to take a moment today to wish my good friend, Peter DeWolf, a very happy birthday. I can't remember not knowing you Peter, but it must have sucked.

To my favorite Canadian, and yes, I love you more than Marty LaPointe!

XOXOXOXO
Megan

My muse is one fickle bitch.

2009-11-12T10:08:00.002-06:00

She is patronizing in her arbitrariness, disdainful in her elusiveness.

For months now I have begged her to return to me, chucked my pride out the car window at 85 mph into the dark of night as I scan shadowy back roads to find her, calling out her name, wildly into the midnight air, heavy with anticipation.

I’ve set up altars in her name, promised my soul to her for just one fleeting moment again to bask in the possibility and clarity she provides.

It’s just now that I realize she only turns up when I’m completely broken, delighting in kicking around the pieces of me for a while as I watch on, eyes wide with disbelief. It always takes a few moments before I notice that I am actually mistaken.

Her enjoyment is not in the kicking around, but in the putting back together.

TKO

2009-11-10T08:51:00.000-06:00

Everyday it's a struggle to get up in the morning. Everyday. Every morning I play a game with myself; the one that always leaves me feeling like I've lost, even when the rules tell me I've won.

There's this sneaking suspicion that weighs in like a heavyweight, arms in the air prematurely celebrating a win. It's always there. Always two steps behind me, bobbing and weaving, ready to knock the wind out of me when I least suspect it. It's the uneasy thought that some kind of superior happiness is just beyond my reach.

Maybe if I work harder, or do gooder, or smile more, it will tie itself into a ribbon of gold and fall into my lap. But instead, I sustain on nothing. Gain nothing. Tread air.

This type of suspicion will always leave me a little dissatisfied. Never living in the now.

It's making me older every day.

I hate waking in the morning because that abrasive sound of the alarm always reminds me to be cautious. In between its shrill beeps I can hear it whispering,

"Shhhhh...Megan. That punch in the gut is just around the corner."

Your turn to run.

2009-11-09T14:33:00.005-06:00

I don’t want to be just another moment in your history. Just another book on the shelf of your infinite library. The song on your iTunes playlist that you loved hard for three weeks straight and now just skip through to the next.

I don’t want to be the water that cuts so easily under your oars as you paddle away.

Because you made me believe less in me and you and more in us and we and now I can’t go back. I shed the impermeable layer that initially kept me from letting you in and now I can’t stop absorbing you. All that energy I didn’t put into us I’m now taking in, radioactive with remorse. And at times I feel as though I might burst with all these emotions I worked so circumspectly to train to roll right off, not in.

You brought truth to me in a way I was not ready to reciprocate. Part of me always thought there would be a runner in this story, but I had no idea your gym shoes would be so effortlessly laced by the time I realized it wasn't me.

By the time I realized this wasn't what I wanted, you had already cut a path through the trees and I could barely make out your dizzying shadow.

You gave me no choice in loving you and now you leave me nothing but to trace and retrace the the outline of your footsteps in the soil, still warm with the heat of you.

Ghost Writer

2009-11-03T14:15:00.004-06:00

I am not the heroine of this story.

I am not the villain.

And yet it’s still so familiar being here, dropped off blindfolded at a different place in the telling of it. I’m wandering, arms outstretched, stubbornly refusing to take off the blindfold so I don’t have to see.

The ending.

Because this story we are writing is far more complicated than my last, with newer characters and heavier hearts, much bigger emotions than I am used to shaping metaphorically. I can create something out of nothing, turn dark into light with adjectives and clever syntax, but even the deftest of similies can’t erase what’s already been written.

And I’m shaking the pen, in a moment more desperately, and suddenly the ink is dry and I am left here with so many words and no way to compose the remaining chapters. I’m stuck here in a constant state of inhale.

Write it for me?

Finish it.

Don’t forget to write me into it?

Deja vu

2009-11-02T10:15:00.004-06:00

Lately I have been propping up my smile with the ghosts of memories past.

This smile is a counterfeit though, forged with regret that slumps my shoulders and pulls the corners of my mouth down with defeat.

And I think to myself, "This should be easier the second time around."

My poor heart has only recently adjusted to being whole again.

But I'll trudge on, soldiering through the muck yet again; this time trying to avoid the muddy footprints of my past mistakes.

Today

2009-10-26T11:19:00.006-05:00

Today is a day.

Just another day.

A day so ordinary it makes my insides ache for change.

Waking up today I realized I'm about half way down a road I didn't choose to walk down. And my thoughts, they've betrayed me. And writing isn't helping me untangle this big, messy ball of yarn that is my life.

I find myself a bit lost, yet again. Tumbling about in plasmatic limbo, white knuckled, eyes closed tight, not knowing where I'll land.

It sucks.

And all I know is that there is not enough White-Out in the world to cover up the mistakes I make daily. Hourly.

But today is a day.

Just like tomorrow will be.

And even though walking this path wasn't a choice, today I can choose to dig in my heels, swivel myself around, and propel myself in the other direction. I've chucked the map and am traveling on instinct.

And I can't believe I couldn't figure this out earlier.

But, today doesn't care. Today has not betrayed me.

*edit* Today is the day.

Published on IndieInk again...

2009-10-19T15:50:00.001-05:00

The Musician

Please check it out if you are at all interested.

When Writers Speak

2009-09-29T13:59:00.003-05:00

A great read from the NYT for people like me who find eloquence in words on paper but complete unease and fumbling with real conversation.

NYT Article

Reader Worthy

2009-09-24T15:53:00.002-05:00

IndieBloggers has been reincarnated, praise the lord!

It is now IndieInk and you can read it here.

Calling All Writers!

2009-09-18T11:39:00.004-05:00

I need help.

I am piecing together a new work to submit for publication. I have about 100 pages of material right now, I am just having trouble coming up with a cohesive way to tie everything together.

Here's what I envision:

An anthology of creative non-fiction pieces (mine) that are chronologically tied together. Has a diary-like feel, each entry separated by date. Not every piece is long. Some are one liners, some are three pages. In total, I'd like it to be about 150 pages.

My working title is "Weaving a Basketcase". I have a couple of subtitle options I am toying with. I don't even know if a subtitle is necessary.

Possible subtitles:

The Anatomy of a Break-Up
The Diary of a Hopeless Romantic
A Compilation of Notes to Myself
Blogging Myself Whole Again

Most of the pieces are posts from my blog from 2003 - Present and most of them have to do with my love life.

What I am struggling with is if this will even be readable. If you have read me before, please leave your comments.

Or, if you promise to be constructive, I will send you a copy of the working manuscript and you can tell me your thoughts. I am particularly having trouble with the transitions between posts/pieces. I don't know if people will have a hard time following the chronology, even with the date.

This is something I've wanted to compile for a while now; I just don't know if it's possible or how I would even begin to make it cohesive.

Any help you can give is much appreciated!

Thanks. :)

Another new recipe

2009-09-10T11:42:00.004-05:00

Homemade Pizza, Pre-Cheese

Left side: BBQ turkey with red onions and freshly grated mozzarella
Right side: Fresh roma tomatoes, basil and mozzarella, drizzled with olive oil

We used a wheat flatbread crust.

So good! Colorful.

Made This Last Night -- Delicious!

2009-09-08T09:40:00.002-05:00

MyRecipes

Shared via AddThis

Here is my version:

The panko is key!

Stroke of Genius

2009-08-17T15:17:00.003-05:00

It's like being ripped from a blank canvas into a Matisse. Each moment with you painting a brighter, bolder stroke than the next. Every color moving something deeper inside me. Its composition, staggering.

It's always been beautiful and messy and vaguely familiar, but this time its painting me from the inside out in ways I cannot hide. I'm slinging magenta from my fingertips.

In the end though I'm not sure if what we have created is a masterpiece or a reprint of the same original.

And that thought is not a happy one for a starving artist like me.

to live and breathe for something you cannot see, is love

2009-08-11T16:20:00.003-05:00

i remember your lips
still plump and pink

as i bite the bottom of my lip, in excess
because i cannot feel yours on mine

the pain of this bite is real
the memory of your kiss is not

how unfair
that i prefer the pain of this reality
to the blissful bites of memory

Team "Rhymes With Bunt"

2009-07-31T14:54:00.003-05:00

2009 Chicago Players Sports Group 12" Co-Ed Softball Summer League CHAMPIONS!

Who knew such a rag tag group could bring so much awesomeness.

Quiet possibly the creepiest thing I've ever written.

2009-06-17T12:56:00.003-05:00

This week our computers are being encrypted at work. All of the external media devices we use are being password-protected.

During this time I decided to clean up the external hard drive that I use for all my personal stuff. While doing this, I found a folder called "Old Papers" and the files for a portfolio I created for my final project in my "Literature of the Avant-Garde" course in college.

Strange, people. Very strange.

Apparently part of the project was to write four Avant-Garde plays of my own. I opened the file for this play called, "The End/Denouement".

Stage: The scene is set in a living room. There is one chair and the room is lit by one singular lamp. A man is seated in the chair. He’s staring off to his left, face in a relaxed hang, as though in thought.

Light flickers a bit. Almost unnoticeable.

Man: Singing. This is the end, beautiful friend, the end.

Man looks at his watch, sings again.

Man: This is the ennnnnd.

Man stops singing. Sits forward and speaks.

Man: Tell me what you see when the darkness finally ceases and tell me, do you like it?

The light goes out completely and for a moment the entire stage is dark.
A faint voice is heard, a radio broadcaster reporting traffic.

The stage is suddenly filled with white light, the chair is gone and in its place is a small boy. In one hand he holds a string, at the end of it is a green balloon, soaring above his head. In the other, a gun, pointed at the audience.

Boy: In a whisper. Bang.

Lights dim, curtains close, the radio program turns to static, then fades out.

Pretty dark for a girl who was known to wear tube tops and platforms while singing Def Leppard songs on the tops of tables.

I mean, is it Avant-Garde? Maybe. Creepy? Definitely.

I was pleasantly surprised to find this. I'll let you know if I find any more that are post-worthy.

...

2009-05-11T13:01:00.000-05:00

Conflicted minds cause silent tongues.

Samesies!

2009-04-30T15:01:00.005-05:00

In case I don't get the opportunity this weekend to follow my yearly tradition, today I am gonna go ahead and wish my sister a happy early 29th birthday!

Here's to never knowing a day without you by my side. And never wanting to.

Warm days bring warm memories.

2009-04-23T14:49:00.001-05:00

Looking back at the evolution of things, of me and where and who I am now, I don't think I've ever been the type of person who has all the answers. As with a lot of things, sureness has always teased my fingertips with its allure, but I've never been able to get a good grasp.

It just seems that I am destined to wear this heavy necklace of uncertainty, always dangling near my heart, whispering fears I can never seem to turn a deaf ear to.

But I'm also not someone who deals well with impossibilities.

"I love yous" that are buried so deeply it takes years of digging to unearth them.

The senseless turn of your attention. The tide of you.

Us.

But I've learned how to be patient. And this stubborn will is learning to bend instead of always finding itself hurled against a wall. I've grown tired of sweeping up that mess.

I long for days when easy words yield easy answers though I know I will always have to fight for them.

For days like that.

Whitman was never my thing.

2009-04-14T16:21:00.001-05:00

In fields of grassy splendor,
An army of thin blades swipes at my shins,
It is here that I heed the gentle wisps
Of who I am.

Have you heard the whispering of the acres?
Have you felt your own breath slip in through the pine, vine,
Earthy meadows, purpled shadows, whiskers and into open spaces
To disintegrate into dust?

Have you seen the notes of your song
Dancing along the chords of a tree branch?

I have possessed nothing,
Only this and from this day forward I shall possess
Nothing but this.

And now, it seems the widening rays of the sun
Capture me like bars of a prison.

And I feel that I am at home on this earth.
And I feel not at all like a prisoner.

I lay and because I understand the lyrics,
You understand them.

They linger and sidle dirty skyscrapers,
Riding on top, mastering and taming them
Until they are polished and beautiful and the architecture
Of their faces shows lips pursed in the singing of a note.

And the city too, knows its song.

The lyrics bounce around with the desert sand
Careening and tumbling over and above the dunes
A quiet and explosive sound.
And an ocean of brown and gold and white spreads its body vast.

The waves roll and its song is played.

And the language of the lyrics I understand
Because I have always understood.

Rejoice and celebrate for your song is that of my own,
And of the city and of the desert.
But it is yours.

Like this one.
Like that one.
Like this one.

Things you only tell your diary and/or Blogger readers.

2009-04-06T12:49:00.007-05:00

The same ghosts still haunt me. Lately I have been existing on the fumes of a prior life. My engine is screaming for maintenance, but I refuse to fill up the tank. Instead I turn up the volume of my present, constantly trying to drown out the noise of those old ghosts. The bass bellows, the feeback shrieks. And yet I forge ahead unrelentingly.

I should be happier, but I'm not. My life looks better on paper than it ever has, and yet I can cherry pick the days I don't have to force a smile.

I have a relationship that my indifference toward has exceeded the need for. This life that I've flash built in a year's time feels more foreign to me than ever. And then I think it was never that comfortable, but I wanted it to fit so badly I cut off my feet to wear the shoe.

I'm not ready to get back into bed with my past if that's what you're wondering. Nor am I able to leave my present in the middle of the night, with only a warm spot beside it as a parting gift.

But I am willing to give the future a chance.

The one that I didn't choose years ago because the alternative came in a prettier box.

And I know this is all pretty cryptic and might not make any sense to many people, but for so long this platform has given me clarity and scope and room to breathe.

And right now, that all sounds pretty amazing.

Evil genius.

2009-04-01T15:02:00.002-05:00

I just succeeded in pulling the most brilliant April Fool's Day prank in my own personal history. Thank you, Facebook.

A Guide to Living in Chicago

2009-03-24T09:34:00.007-05:00

My friend Chuck just posted something similar about L.A.

I have been a resident Chicagoan for five years, living within the city limits, but have been dancing outside those lines like a concertgoer at a port-a-potty all my life. So here it is, Megan's Guide to Living in Chicago, the second city.

Far North Side: Uptown, Rogers Park, Andersonville, Edgewater

I don't know much about these areas simply because I don't go past the Irving Park exit on Lakeshore Drive. I know that Andersonville has some amazing Swedish bakeries. Oh and these areas are all along the lake and happily ethnically diverse. However, my friend lived in Uptown for a while and though it is much cheaper to live there, she said she couldn't take her dog for walks at night in some areas. Such is life in all big cities. Make the trip to the burbs in only 15 minutes!

Far Mid-North Side: North Center, St. Ben's, Roscoe Village, Ravenswood, Lincoln Square

This is my hood. I live in North Center. It's a nice mix of being about a mile away from Wrigley Field and being far enough away to avoid the non-existent parking and constant traffic of drunk people in the summertime. It's a family-oriented area and if I ever have a family, I would park them in a huge five bedroom lot in Ravenswood, with a ginormous wrap around porch and a yard. It's a little quiet for me, but there are tons of great restaurants down Irving Park Rd. and Montrose Ave. Lincoln Square is the "home of the Bierstube" so if you like drinking beer from a boot and eating pretzels as big as your head, "Prost!". Moderately expensive.

North Side: Wrigleyville, Lakeview East & West, Lincoln Park*

This is my favorite area of the city. I lived in Lakeview East for two years and Lincoln Park, right on the border of Old Town for one beautiful year. My years in Lakeview were the best, I think. Sharing a tiny apartment right on Halsted St. next to Clark St. Dog and Binny's Beverage Depot. Everything was right outside my door, the lake just a short bike ride or walk from my front steps. Again, close enough to Wrigley to feel the fever and be amidst a sea of blue and red, but far enough away to avoid the real crowds and tourists. Lakeview and Wrigleyville are both younger neighborhoods, so if you don't mind a kegger or two next door on game days, you'll be fine. You can find apartments dirt cheap in these areas if you look hard enough, but they won't be super nice.

*Lincoln Park encompasses the following areas: Depaul, Old Town, Lincoln Park, and Park West. Lincoln Park is probably one of the most expensive areas to live outside the Loop or Gold Coast. It's 'old money', with huge graystones sweeping across streets lined with trees and kids on big wheels in Lacoste polos. Its yuppie central, beware. Old Town though is great, very artsy, close to the lake, unique apartments, great restaurants and shopping. However, once you go south of North Ave., not so nice. Parts of Cabrini Green still loom over Division and Larabee along with a slew of other Section 8 housing. Depaul is nice and you can find a cheap place there because it's mostly students in the area. Park West don't even try to afford. Plus it's all old women with small dogs yipping at your heels yelling about you biking too fast.

Near North Side: Gold Coast, River North, Mag Mile, Streeterville, State Parkway, River West

For the longest time, Near North was the only place I wanted to live. In a fabulous, loft right on the River, where I could see the architecture tours floating by, pointing out my building, tourists staring in awe at the interesting people who must live there. A lot of people don't know that the River North area has the largest concentration of art galleries outside of Manhattan. However, if you're a starving artist trying to make it big, it will be hard for you to live in this area. Club kids and trust fund babies have started to inhabit the lofts and condos here and you will hate it.

The Gold Coast is absolutely beautiful. Tree-lined streets with statuesque brown and graystones hulking over immaculately kept historic sidewalks. Every other street, Oak, State, Walton has a different designer boutique you can spend your hard earned divorcee dollars at as well as Chicago's only Lamborghini dealership for miles. You can actually feel the horse-drawn carriages and women with parasols that once walked these cobblestone streets. Gorgeous. For the amazingly wealthy.

No one actually *lives* on the Mag Mile, one of the craziest, busiest streets in Chicago. Lined with tourists, you can find Water Tower Place, the Hancock Building, our flagship Marshall Field store turned Macy's, and the Drake Hotel. Steer clear of Niketown and FAO Shwartz or suffer getting sucked into the vortex of tourists that gather in front, cameras pointing toward the sky.

The Loop: Loop, Printer's Row, South Loop

The Loop is mainly for the masses of working people in Chicago. Skyskrapers, tower after tower after tower reaching toward the sky. Thousands of well-dressed people file out of Union Station and Ogilivie in the morning, trudging to whatever corporate job they chose months, years, decades ago. Though there are tons of restaurants and shops and theaters open during the day, The Loop is dead on the weekends and nothing is open on Sunday. Nothing. Crickets chirping.

Printer's Row and South Loop have only recently started to be built up. When I first moved into the city, I almost rented a condo on 14th and Michigan Ave. in a brand new construction building. We finally decided against it, because there was absolutely NOTHING in the area except the random scary warehouse and homeless person. Not a very habitable environment for two fresh out of college aged girls. However now I wish I had that condo on 14th & Michigan. South Loop is vibrant and bustling, tons of brand new affordable lofts have been built in the midst of trendy restaurants and quirky coffee shops. Printer's Row is what is sounds like. Originally the buildings were printing and publishing houses turned residential lofts. Expensive, but historic and the Printer's Row Book Fair in the summer is awesomely amazing if you are at all literary.

Near South Side: Dearborn Park, Museum Park, Prairie Avenue Historic District

I really love this area. I have been reading "Sin in the Second City" by Karen Abbott which is all about the famous brothels and whorehouses in the Levee District during the early twentieth century. After taking a tour of the Prairie Street mansions with my dad last year, I can tell you this area is rich in history and worth a walk through. Not so livable, as everything out there is a historic landmark of some sort, but I did see some nice new row homes going up. Kind of cool to think you could be walking the same streets that Marshall Field and George Pullman once strode. Dearborn Park and Museum Park are where Soldier Field, McCormick Place and the Museum Campus span: Field, Adler & Shedd. Not residential at all.

West Side: Humboldt Park, Bucktown, Wicker Park, East Village, West Town

Many of my friends live in Bucktown or Wicker Park. Several years ago it was considered the new 'cool' area to live and much more affordable than the north side. Now so many people have moved there and so many trendy restaurants and bars have opened that it's not as affordable, but its still pretty damn cool. Most people would say that 'hipsters' and 'anti-yuppies' flock to this area. Bucktown is great for a night off from the frat guys and trixies of Lincoln Park and Wrigleyville, when you just want to drink and mingle with the intelligentsia of Chicago. Hey, you're emo? Bucktown loves you, too. Still some shady areas so watch out.

Near West Side: Tri-Taylor, University Village, Medical Center, Greektown, Little Italy, Fulton Market District

In my opinion, Near West is going to blow up in the next ten, fifteen years. Right now there are sketchy areas and it's still a little dirty in parts, but I see the potential. Greektown is what it sounds like. University Village and Medical Center are named for being so close to UIC, so many students live there. Its affordable because it is still not considered a hot area, but nice because the university has subsidized most of the housing. Tri-Taylor and Little Italy are like walking back in time. Take a walk down Taylor Street and you'll get the full Italian-American experience. Oh the smells, oh the food. Ridiculous. Housing not so good, but getting better. Al's Beef, people. Al's Beef! Fulton Market is also growing. I would consider it to be similar to River West or River North with the trendier lofts and condos going up in all the old warehouses. Still kind of isolated though, so if you need to be in the thick of it, might not be for you.

Lower West Side: Pilsen

Cool, up and coming artsy area, huge Mexican infuence still present. You can find great lofts for cheap, but you are still in the middle of nowhere.

South Side: Chinatown, Bronzeville, Hyde Park

Wentworth and Archer have literally the Rolls Royce of authentic Chinese restaurants of anywhere in the city. You have not lived if you haven't tried a ham and egg bun from one of the many bakeries in the area. I don't know about living there, but you should at least visit once in your Chicago experience. Hyde Park I also don't know much about, but if it's good enough for Barack Obama, it's good enough for me. Lots of cultural stuff to do out there.

Souf Side: Bridgeport, Beverly, Evergreen Park, Morgan Park, Mt. Greenwood

Not to be confused with "south" side, the SOUF side is where, according to the residents, you can find the TRUE Chicagoans. This is Ditka's DA BEARS South Side. Polish sausage South Side. South Side Irish South Side. It's Comiskey and U.S. Cellular, Sox Park South Side. The real, blue collar, Bud Heavy drinking, church going, Western Ave. loving South Side. God love 'em. I do!

Oh and any neighborhood you find yourself in in Chicago, it takes twenty minutes to get to the highway.

This now concludes our tour through Chicago's neighborhoods. Questions welcome.

The Scariest Movie I Have Ever Seen

2009-03-18T08:18:00.005-05:00

Last night the Horror Movie Fan Club was resurrected. Hallelujah! Something to break up the monotony!

Just in case you missed the last nine hundred posts where I talk about my obsession with all things creepy, catch up quickly here.

The film of the night was called The Orphanage or El Orfanato, a Spanish movie with English subtitles directed by the always twisted Guillermo Del Toro (Pan's Labyrinth, Devil's Backbone, Hellboy). He has this way of creating the most gorgeously dismal shots, creepy fantasy chic I call it. There is a creative precision in every transition he shoots.

But camera work and production design alone do not a scary movie make.

Here is the ratings scale we use with my ratings:

Gore factor: 1
Sustained tension level: 4
'Gotcha' moments: 2
Overall Sound: 6
Black humor: 0
Overall horror movie rating: 2
Overall movie rating: 6

Overall, I liked this movie, but it was by no means a horror movie. It was a drama with a few frightening moments. Don't get me wrong, it was dark, but more somber dark than twisted dark. However, the cinematography, if we want to get really geeky was fantastic. The Orphanage was good, but not fit to sit next to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre on the horror movie shelf at Blockbuster.

For examples of films we have rated in the past, go here.

The Waiting Game

2009-03-13T10:43:00.003-05:00

Last night I saw the new Visa commercial. You know the one with Smashing Pumpkins' "Today" playing inspirationally in the background while people jump out of bed in the morning, ready to face the day, try new things and be better versions of themselves.

I'm fairly certain that commercial was meant to inspire and motivate me, but it did the opposite. I'm not jumping out bed in the morning. I'm not blazing a new trail or saving the world.

In fact, the things I used to love now elude me, like snowflakes melting on my tongue. They are just too fleeting to find any enjoyment in anymore. I find myself searching for a new kind of happiness in my life. A grown up kind of happiness.

I am constantly finding an exclamation point to all my question marks. A stop sign to my revving engine. I have become accustomed to my daily disappointed sigh and I can't tell you how disappointing that is.

You wait for a moment so telling, so epiphanous, and it never comes. Then you wait for a smaller moment. Something more subtle might mean more, you tell yourself. Then you wait for any moment, exasperated and aching from desperation. You start to be nicer to strangers in hopes that your karma will improve. After every sentence you speak, you pause awkwardly, hoping that in the silence it hides, waiting for a quiet minute to appear. And for a while, you actually are happier, knowing that the moment hangs suspensefully in the wings makes you think you have something to look forward to. And it too, never comes.

What happens when you are tired of waiting for that one glimmer of hope that keeps you balanced? What happens when that moment you've been waiting for actually turns out to be the heartbreaking realization that a moment like that might never come?

Grace in Small Things

2009-03-04T11:31:00.003-06:00

Stolen from Molly.

1. Girl Scout Caramel Delites Cookies.
2. Pushing the "Send Calls" button on my work phone.
3. A full hour of Danny McBride in Outbound & Down waiting for me on my DVR at home
4. Merrell sneakers. Heaven to my feet.
5. Shell Gas Station Fat-Free Vanilla Lattes.
6. Going through old voicemails and hearing the little voice of my nephew: "Hi Auntie Megan." *whispering from my sister* "What's up?" *more whispering" "I'm at the crib just shooting some hoops." *whisper* "This shot is for you." "I MADE IT AUNTIE KATE I MADE IT!!!" Click.

What are your small graces today?

Serious Faces

2009-02-12T10:22:00.004-06:00

This is what this blog has been reduced to. The occasional hilarious photo.

Have a great Valentine's Day weekend! I will be spending it being dragged behind a snowmobile in the northern sticks of Wisconsin. Sigh. The Midwest.

If you don't vote for me, that means you hate love.

2009-02-06T09:29:00.006-06:00

In honor of Valentine's Day this year, I entered this contest online. You basically tell the story about how you and your current love met and onces it is approved and posted online, the person with the most votes wins!

To read and vote for my love story, click on this link: www.mariosenchantedevening.com/story.php?ID=143.

Some of you may recognize this from a post I previously wrote before the new year. I have to say, it was a challenge to cut a 900 word post to 150 words! To read the full post, click this link: http://hellafied.blogspot.com/2008/10/part-three-state-of-megan.html.

I need your help! Please vote for me! :)

*Big wet sloppy smooch*

Poetry

2009-02-02T17:28:00.001-06:00

Like an ancient code
Explaining the mouths of rivers
And the lines of palms
And day and night and wet and dry
And you and I exist

Litany

2009-02-02T17:21:00.002-06:00

To the sky I pray
For I have had to give up what I have
In order to be what I am not yet

From the sky I took its blue
The color of the blankets
It spreads across its lonely bed
For I can offer only that to you

At the sky I shout
Because my voice was not made for singing
Or surely I would have composed a song for you instead

Of the sky I am part
Just for today

Until the night washes the day away
With black inked palms
And I give in to what I am not

Oh sky
Again

Crash

2009-01-28T11:02:00.003-06:00

It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.

I really believe this.

These days we constantly invent new ways to avoid each other. Email, instant messaging. Text messaging. I'm the first one to say that yeah, I am guilty of it, that I prefer this habit of evading. Really dealing with people is a pain in the ass. Nurses, teachers, customer service people...they know all too well what we're working day in and day out to avoid.

But then there are some people who pull you back in. They reach out and grab you from the comfortable, disconnected atmosphere you've been floating around in and yank you back to life. Real life. Not the one you watch on TV. Not the disembodied form lettered voice you read on the internet.

These people notice you. They look into your eyes. They ask questions. They tug at those dorment emotions inside your chest. It's like coming up for air when you've been stuck under the surface for too long.

This morning on my way to work I started to think. All those faces I pass in oncoming cars, do they wonder who I am as much as I wonder about them?

And all at once there it is, the gentle, rolling warmth that the human connection brings.

I find myself lingering over the toll worker's mittened hand when I relinquish my change. Smiling longer at the girl in the brown coat I walk past on the sidewalk. Caring more for the old man struggling to get on the bus with his grocery bags.

That's the thing. We're all in this together. We're all human, and pretty soon we'll get it right. Or else, we'll just crash.

The Greatest Day

2009-01-20T11:19:00.001-06:00

Write now.

2009-01-16T13:30:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I wonder
if the seeds of my existence
were watered with the ink of great authors,
and this is what pushes my pen to the paper
at night and on
sad days.

Untitled

2009-01-16T13:25:00.000-06:00

They told me I had
the heart of a poet.

How could they
have lied to me?

The x-rays showed nothing.

5th Avenue Girl

2009-01-16T13:20:00.002-06:00

She leans from her window,
and dries her hair,
half-conciously hoping to be seen.
She has done everything that
was required,
and to her friend, who is fond
of her,
she offers an accomodating body.
Sometimes they speak of love.
Often, in crowds, she mistakes a
casual word for her name
and turns to see who calls.

For instance,

2009-01-16T13:17:00.002-06:00

New beginnings are impossible
Because
Too many people slip into old ways
Like a pair of ancient shoes
That find your feet ---
They fit perfectly
More perfect than the two of you
Ever could

Changing my look.

2009-01-03T10:23:00.009-06:00

Which one would you pick for me?

Apartment Update

2009-01-02T15:56:00.010-06:00

I know I promised you updates on the progress of the Great Apartment Renovation 2008 like a million months ago and here it is, 2009, and nothing to show for it!

I took a couple photos the other night while my hot piece of a boyfriend was making me dinner.

The color on the walls (a very light gray-blue) is lighter than originally planned due to some contractual regulations, but it's getting there. All 550 sq/ft of it! :) Pics of my bathroom next. Exciting, I know.

Oh and it was spicy turkey tortilla soup and it was delicious.

And the most she will do is throw shadows at you.

2008-12-30T09:43:00.002-06:00

Taking a look back....

Another year, another chance to take a good hard look at yourself.

I guess I look back at this year with a kind of bittersweet fondness, like a mother watching from the family van, as her child goes off to college. All that time, effort and care that went into shaping them for the future, just to watch them walk off into the distance and make the same mistakes that you did.

For all its ups and downs, this has been an amazing year for me. I know I've changed a lot--gained back some of the self-assuredness that somehow I lost along the way. I still worry about getting hurt although I have found myself to be suprisingly unguarded. That was something I didn't expect.

I've grown closer to some people and further from others. I don't try to hold so tightly to the past anymore, instead I've traded it in for more room for my future, like an empty parking spot in a garage full of new experiences.

This year I have loved and lost so continuously that it doesn't scare me anymore. Each major heartbreak always offset by a minor victory, showing me what's important in the scheme of things. I've given up on believing in absolutes and finalities.

I still dive head first into things, falling in love with everyone I meet. But instead of looking at that as a bad thing, as something to strive to change, I've embraced it as one of my best qualities.

I look at relationships differently. It's like I've taken a baseball bat and swung blindly, shattering the perfect snow globe into millions of little pieces, exposing what's really inside; two dimensional people forced to stand in front of a fake background for eternity. Meanwhile trying to weather the storm each time life decides to flip you upside down and shake.

It turns out, you better really like who's in there with you.

I've called old friends, traveled alone, read more books, moved to a city I adore. I've realized that I know I'm alone if I am with or without you and have accepted that as an impossibility that will always haunt our pasts, presents and futures. It's changed what I see when I fast forward my life.

But not who.

I've decided not to settle down or for anything less. That without a little drama, life would be just a bunch of Tuesdays. That I'm not perfect, but I'm not sure that's what I'm looking for anymore. To always be kind and questioning. To stop sparing my feelings for your own. And most importantly, that no matter how old I get, I can always come home and feel like a kid again.

And I like that.

So here's to a year of lasts, of firsts, of in betweens and maybes. A year of warmth and discovery and forgiveness.

Here's to a present of cheap tabs and excitement, of late nights, vulnerability and impulsiveness.

And here's to a future of infinite possibilities, to the certainty of trips and stumbles along the way and the hope that when and where I do fall, the ground will always be soft and forgiving.

Happy Holidays from the Gates girls!

2008-12-21T17:46:00.001-06:00

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Old Habits Die Hard

2008-12-16T13:28:00.001-06:00

Across a smoky, crowded bar you shouted that I broke your heart. I yelled something back equally sad and hurtful, maybe even found my hands reaching toward your chest to push you away. Over and over we recall the tragic story of us, like the drone of the indifferent voice coming out of a dead telephone line, "...If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again..."

Because in my head there's an airport terminal that flies away those dangerous thoughts every hour on the hour. Off to destinations more habitable. Cruising at thirty-five thousand feet through the mist and fog are those unsettling thoughts. Those tempting notions that someday we'll finally forgive each other for this scar, that wound, those heartbreaks. That we will one day stop fighting the pull of something we can't control.

And I count on it every night, that vital red eye.

Because I know that on my own, I won't be able to hang up that telephone.

Wah wah wee wah!

2008-12-12T09:09:00.002-06:00

I do my part for charity fundraisers.

WTF??

2008-12-09T11:43:00.004-06:00

Today I walked out of my apartment building to find my car was not where I had parked it last night.

Ok, I park on a side street that is one way going east. The spot I parked in was the last spot before a small alley behind my building. When I walked out, my car was literally blocking the alley, about four or five feet from where I parked it last night.

The only viable options I can think of for why this occurred are the following:

1. I was high when I parked my car last night.

2. I did not put my car in park and it rolled backwards, somehow managing to do so even though I can't pull the keys out of the ignition if it's not in park.

3. The car in front of me attempted to push my car backward while he or she was reversing to get out of the spot in front of me.

4. A slick spot of ice formed underneath the wheels of my car causing it to slide 4-5 feet backward into the alley behind me.

5. I missed the memo on street cleaning and my car was towed, the towtruck driver was distracted by something and left halfway through the tow.

6. The towtruck driver was high when he towed my car.

7. When running to get into my car during the downpour this morning, I neglected to look at the right side of my car, which has been smashed to pieces when someone plowed into my car in the middle of the night, pushing it into the alley.

Um, I hope it's not #7. My vote is for #1.

Home is where the heart is.

2008-12-08T12:48:00.004-06:00

It's reposting, but this is a busy time of year for me and if I can't write something original, I can at least give you something appropos.

There's a quiet in the suburbs that doesn't exist in the city.

When I stepped outside onto the snowy folds of my parents' back deck last night, I noticed it.

It's remarkable, the calm. Maybe that's why I go back so often. There's a peace of mind this place gives me that nothing else can.

When my world starts getting a little fuzzy around the edges and I feel like at any moment my heels could slip off the ledge, I pack up some stuff, take to the Kennedy and go home.

My mom always scolds me every time I leave her place and say, "I'm going home." She says,

"No. You ARE home. This is your home. THAT'S your apartment."
She's right.

I am home here.

And that's something I didn't really value until my twenty-eighth year on this Earth.

Shame on me.

Yesterday night I came home to find an empty house; no one else was there. I like it this way. I imagine having my own house one day, big and open all around me, sheltering and defining. The spaces of my parents' house are intimate and familiar. Each corner my own. Each creak of the walls and moan of the stairs predictable under my feet.

And that's a safe feeling.

Because when it comes down to it, that's what we all want. To feel safe. And accepted.

Life doesn't always give us these opportunities to fit somewhere so perfectly.

I walked out onto the back deck last night and breathed in deep. The only sound for miles, my own breath.

It's official.

2008-12-03T12:42:00.001-06:00

I am going to live with a boy.

D-day Feb. 21st.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

2008-12-01T11:58:00.003-06:00

For the past 48 hours in Chicago it has been raining, sleeting and last night around 9 pm it finally started snowing. Now that it's here, I've officially commenced what we'll call the Season of Complaining.

I've lived in this city all my life, so I consider myself a "Chicagoan". I say "Ma" instead of "Mom" and drink Old Style like water. I know the grid system, hate the Kennedy and can tell you who has the best Italian beef in the city off the top of my head.

But no matter how many years I spend in the city, no matter how many pounds of snow I shovel off my car year after year, I still become a little whiny bitch for the first few weeks once that first snowflake hits the ground.

You'd think I'd get used to the freezing cold winds that even the warmest coat can't break, the slushy, five seconds away from spinning out of control every time I change lanes morning commutes, the slow and inefficient way in which the Chicago DOT responds to the weather report. I know all this, and yet I still complain. Why?

Because that's part of being from Chicago. We complain.

We complain about the Bears, we complain about Daley, we complain about the expressways. We complain. That's what we do.

I know that winter means I'll walk around for about two months with the cuffs of my pants soaking wet. I know that it means once Dec. 1st hits, I will have about only one 6x6 area of street that I can actually park on that's not now considered a "Snow Route". I know that it means that I will have a choice between turning on the heat in my apartment and paying the cable bill and damn it, the Food Network wins every time.

I know all this and I still choose to live here because once that first crisp, white snow falls, all the dirt and grime and muck we've become innoculated by every day is washed away and I all at once remember that I live in the greatest city in the world.

Happy first snow storm Chicago!

p.s. Happy Cyber Monday, too! I'm going to spend the rest of today happily in an electronics-induced coma. Mmmm gigahertz.

Lacking Inspiration

2008-11-25T09:42:00.008-06:00

I realize I haven't really written anything worth reading in a long time. My inspiration comes in flashes and I guess I haven't been struck by lightning in a while.

Lately my life fits into a tidy little box. There are no messy edges, no carelessness.

There's nothing to write about.

And yet here I am still struggling to put words to my humdrum. Passion to my plaintive. I don't know what moves me to do this. I don't know why my fingers always find the keys.

I am inspired by a lot of things.

Today it was a little girl in red mittens. A sign in a living room window. The wandering man outside the Damen St. Liquor Store, pushing a heaving cart of bulging garbage bags.

I know its unwise of me to envy his messy edges, but I do anyway.

The thing is my inspiration is fleeting. It never sticks. I subsist in it for as long as I can, backstroking happily through waves of insight and revelation and then nothing. Poof. Like a dream, it's gone.

I wake to find myself staring at that homeless man's face, feeling nothing as the woman in the car behind me begins honking her horn.

And all at once, I'm just a girl in a car at a stop sign.

When adding three little dots to the end of a word can mean a world of possibility.

2008-11-21T20:40:00.002-06:00

Love.

*Erase period. Type new statement*

Love...

“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around.”

Today, filled with it. To the brim.

In Keeping With Tradition...

2008-11-19T08:47:00.004-06:00

Ah, Thanksgiving in the suburbs. Can’t wait. Once again, for those who don't already know, here’s how it will go down.

The week of Thanksgiving will come around and my Mom will already be going nuts with things she has to do; as if this scene wasn’t at all familiar to her from past year's experience. She’ll forget where she put the “good” gravy boats and force my Dad into manual labor up in the attic where it is constantly 400°, even in the dead of winter. My Dad will exhume himself from the attic a shell of man and thirty pounds lighter from sweating, empty-handed. My Mom will have found the “good” gravy boats five minutes after she sent my Dad into the attic, but will neglect to tell him this because something is on fire in the kitchen.

Once the smoke clears, it’s Black Wednesday in Palatine. This is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving where everyone in the suburbs goes out because no one has to work in the morning. Though most of us claim we are over traditions and are too mature to follow the crowd, eventually we’ll all end up at Durty Nellie’s. Usually you have to wait in line for like an hour to get into this bar that none of the people actually in line would ever hang out in on a regular Wednesday night. Then you pay an absurd cover charge just to see all the people you hated in high school come out of the woodwork. People fly in for this. People plan their family vacations around it. But it's worth it to see that the guy who turned you down for Homecoming is now a fat, unemployed alcoholic and fortunately for you, the girl he took instead of you is not there because she got pregnant after high school and is working the night shift at Kmart to support her three illegitimate children.

Once inside the bar, you’re obviously already ridiculously drunk because you HAVE to be drunk in order to have that same artificial conversation with three hundred people you haven’t seen in five or six years. It goes something like this:

“Hey, what’s up?”*Awkward hug* “Wow, I haven’t seen YOU in forever. What are you doing these days?” *Stock answer* “No way, that’s great!” “Well, I gotta get another beer, are you going to be here for a while?” *Turn and leave, no intentions of coming back*

That is, unless you run into the person who you had an intensely obsessive crush on in high school and is now incredibly HOT. Then, it’s okay to "accidentally" stumble drunkenly into them, tell them how cute you thought they were in high school and lick their face. Or…so I’ve heard. I’m not talking from personal experience, of course.

After Nellie’s closes down and enough people are trampled into the mud (it always rains) in that absurdly small tent, everyone heads over to the Slice (pronounced Slee-chay) for more of the same except in an even smaller bar packed with even more people, shoved up next to you, reeking of booze. There, either someone gets into a fight or shows their boobs and you realize, god damn, is it really 4:30 a.m. because you forgot that you are big time now with your Big Ten degree, corporate job and your new Honda Accord and you can’t afford to be hanging out with these people who you never really liked anyway because you actually have to be productive during the week. So you find a ride home in a police car or take a cab and wake up the next morning, groggy and hung over, Taco Bell wrappers strewn across your bedroom floor and wonder why in the hell you thought it was a good idea to lick that guy’s face.

You shower, down a quart of orange juice, sack up, drag yourself upstairs from your parent's basement where you stuff your face with assorted meats and baked goods until you pass out on the living room floor to the sound of your brother, who has had one too many Labatt Blues, shouting about the Bears losing again on Thanksgiving. Good times.

A-dor-able.

2008-11-17T16:53:00.003-06:00

Mine Are Cuter Than Yours

2008-11-17T16:50:00.002-06:00

Look at Paul Begala Chuckle!

2008-11-13T10:29:00.003-06:00

via videosift.com

November 7, 2008

New Rule: Never give up hope! I never thought it would happen. You never thought it would happen. But you'll be able to tell your grandkids that in November of 2008, the impossible did happen: Guns N' Roses released "Chinese Democracy"!

New Rule: As his first official act, Barack Obama must raise Joe the Plumber's taxes. I'm not saying he should raise all middle-class taxes. Just Joe. Congratulations, plumber's helper, you're in a tax bracket of one. Complete with your very own tax form, the 1040FU.

New Rule: In order to fight terrorism, the Obama Administration must first concentrate on getting the Saudis laid. This is the recent "Most Beautiful Goat" competition--in Riyadh. I'm not making this up. And, yes, those are Saudis taking pictures of the winning goat's ass. Someone help these people. Sexual repression makes people believe in all sorts of crazy shit. [slide shown of Morman sister wives]

New Rule: Don't pretend Twinkies are healthy now. Just because you can get the 100-calorie size. Here's the miracle: it's smaller. And here's how to make your own at home: cut an old Twinkie in half. And here's how to make it healthy: throw both halves in the toilet and eat a carrot.

New Rule: The guy in AC/DC has to stop wearing the schoolboy outfit. He's 53 years old. This look doesn't say, "I'm on a Highway to Hell." It says, "I'm a registered sex offender." Also, you have to sell your new record someplace other than Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart's are too crowded. I can't find anything. And the old greeter at the front door creeps me out. [slide shown of John McCain as Wal-Mart greeter]

And finally, New Rule: Now that you've lost, Republicans have to agree not to waste everyone's time spending the next four years screaming for investigations of Barack Obama over made-up bullshit. Let's not kid ourselves. The hardcore Republican base is like a stalker; rejection just makes them crazier. You think Matt Drudge was a vindictive prick before? His headline Wednesday morning was, "Senior Citizen and Woman Beaten by Black Man." You see, because McCain is old and then there was the woman, and Obama is a black man. And wait till you see Ann Coulter's new book, How to Field Dress a Liberal.

You know, there's loyal opposition and then there's just opposition. Let's not do the '90s again, except for the part where we have peace and prosperity. You know, there was an entire industry back then dedicated to making Bill Clinton's life miserable over expensive haircuts and old land deals and the Lincoln Bedroom and getting blown. But this ain't the '90s. We've got two wars, a melting planet, and the only thing keeping the economy from total collapse is Sarah Palin shopping sprees.

So, you know what phrase I don't want to hear used frivolously for the next four years whenever Barack Obama forgets to put the kids in the car seat? "Disrespect for the rule of law." Dick Cheney ordered prisoners tortured by name. That ship has sailed.

I don't want to hear Sean Hannity say that, "Barack Obama announced that his daughters would be getting a puppy. A puppy from where? Probably a Chihuahua that came in from Mexico illegally. And how do we know this isn't a dog that pals around with terriers?"

You know, when Obama starts a pre-emptive war, and then f*cks it up, and makes torture our official policy and outs a CIA agent, and purges U.S. Attorneys, and tries to put his cleaning lady on the Supreme Court--and doesn't act on global warming, and appoints as the head of FEMA an ex-dildo salesman who was his college roommate--you know, that kind of stuff, believe me, I'll be with you. But, until then, I don't want to see Republicans freaking out if Obama isn't singing the National Anthem loud enough, or they find out he gets his suits made in France.

If he puts a moon roof in the presidential limo, he's not making himself Fuhrer; he's just trying to get the smell of stupidity out of the seats.

And, mostly, I don't want to hear about ACORN. Your guy lost by eight million votes. Just because you don't know any black people doesn't mean they don't exist.

So, that's it. No special prosecutors, no trumped up investigations. If Republicans really want to look into something for the next four years, my suggestion: try a mirror.

50 Interesting Facts About Barack Obama

2008-11-12T11:02:00.001-06:00

That maybe you didn't know! Here.

How To Watch An Election Night Speech by Gatesy

2008-11-07T13:18:00.010-06:00

Letting It Sink In

2008-11-06T10:15:00.004-06:00

When I think of the events that occurred on Tuesday, my first reaction is to attempt to cage the disbelief running circles in my head. How do I wrap my head around this thing? Did it really happen?

I find myself instinctively flipping my TV to CNN in moments of quiet at home. When I walk past the newspaper stands on the way to my car in the morning, their curious emptiness turns the corners of my mouth up into a wide smile. The images pervade. The thought of this new moment in history consumes me.

Let me tell you what I have learned from all of this. While my heart aches over the last eight years in our country, I am grateful for the clarity it has brought in its wake. Clarity so strong, it compelled a country to change.

I have never been more proud to be an American, on Tuesday, today, tomorrow. The pride I feel as that overwhelms me.

The way our nation has come together and the speed of our unity amazes me. It gives me faith in humanity and restores my trust in democracy. The faceless masses across the USA and around the world have united. They need no faces, they have one, and in it is the proud reflection of the United States -- disabled, but determined.

The capacity I see for hope overwhelms me. It transcends race and ethnicity, wealth and poverty, cultural diversities and border lines. If apathy is the new poison, then hope is its antidote. Barack Obama knew before any of us that hope could change the world.

And as I stare into the open face of possibility this nation gives me reason to believe we've only just begun to fight.

So continue to let freedom ring America, trust in the fact that the rest of the world has heard us.

Find out what's in store for Americans here.

An Email From My Good Friend Across the Pond

2008-11-05T11:55:00.001-06:00

GO OBAMA!!!

Congratulations to you and THANK YOU for all your hard work! I am proud to be an American living abroad - not an ex-pat! No longer will I be the ambassador of a country that I dont even understand - I can know hold my head high and say with pride that America has made the right decision - for its own people, and for the world.

I was sitting in a waiting room this morning at 9am today in a culturally-mixed area of West London - a woman walked in and pointed at the man behind the desk (she a west Londoner, in him I detected a slight African accent of type) and said "All I have to say is OBAMA", to which he said "It's not just history my friend, it's a new dawn".

These are the conversations happening in the most banal of locations in places which are typically considered unrelated to the election of a US president. But you see just how much this election has affected everyone, and injected everyone with hope.

There is more work to do of course, and I would hope that this spurs us all on to continue to make changes in our lives and how we consider our power as individuals and collectively. We are all a part of America, and when 75% of America gets out and votes, it is clear exactly who has been in the minority all this time - those who have dominated politics for the last 50,100, 200 years.

We brought about this change, each one of us...I am very proud of us all today.

GO OBAMA!!!

Oh The Times They Are 'A Changin'

2008-11-04T10:08:00.001-06:00

If this doesn't move you, then you are dead inside.

2008-11-03T09:26:00.001-06:00

Not the Year of Megan

2008-10-28T11:06:00.010-05:00

So the universe decided for whatever reason that this year it was going to fuck with me.

And I'm not talking just "Hey look we just made that girl trip on a crack in the sidewalk, isn't that funny" fuck with me. I'm talking someone up there has something against me fuck with me. Serious stuff.

In the past fourteen months I have suffered the following catastrophes:

March 2007, Drunk driver slams into my car on my way home from work one Friday night, totaling my car, leaving me devastated.

November 2007, My only living grandparent passes away completely unexpectedly.

December 2007, Fall victim to theft and vandalism, when some stupid assface decides one week before Christmas to break into my new car and steal my GPS Navi, rip out my dashboard, render the car useless and leave me in the dead of winter without heat and a broken window.

December 2007, Shitty insurance coverage. Nothing is paid for. $900 just to have to heat fixed. Can't afford to replace Navi, or even buy terrible replacement radio. Tolerate gaping hole in dash for seven months.

December 2007, Chase Bank notifies me that my credit card identity has been stolen and $3000 has been charged to my account.

January 2008, End nearly decade long relationship with high school sweetheart, true love, first love. Heart shattered yet again for the thousandth time.

March 2008, My book publishes. Receive publisher's copy and realize it has been chopped to shit. Not my words. My heart aches. My moment in time blackened.

April 2008, My sister gives away our dog. This one speaks for itself.

June/September 2008, City of Chicago perpetuates my now predictable cycle of bad luck with unrelenting, ruthless ticketing of my car and final boot placement. Humiliated and downtrodden, I take public transportation to City Hall.

July 2008, The great apartment plumbing fiasco occurs. All of a sudden thrust into a living hell of landlords, rusty sewer water and $800 worth of damage to my beautiful closet and all of its beautiful and irreplaceable contents.

September 2008, MOVING HELL. I aged ten years in this process. There were moments where I woke up crying after falling asleep sobbing.

October 2008, Lose $10,000 in investments. Only a "paper loss" my ass. It's still the largest sum of money I've ever gambled away. Watch feebly and helplessly as my year-to-date return dwindles daily. Gasp. Sigh. Repeat.

October 2008, Latest, and hopefully last, catastrophe of the year. Wake up one morning with a stiff neck, think nothing of it. Next morning find myself admitted to the hospital, IV stuck in my arm, doctors ordering cat scans. Final diagnosis, that subtle neck pain was actually a rare throat infection called epiglottitis, that of all things, can be fatal. No, seriously, Google it. I had to.

And listen, I know I have a lot of good things going on in my life, too. I'm the first person in line with that paint brush, ready to paint my own silver lining, trust me.

I know there are people out there who have it much worse than me and that's how I rationalize not throwing myself into traffic on Lakeshore Drive whenever the next disaster decides to saunter its way into my life. I feel like I've done a pretty good job of dealing with all of these things as they come, but I'm seriously at the point where I'm starting to wonder if life will ever get easier? All of these things together make me wonder if I am going to be fighting with bad luck for the rest of my days on earth.

I guess right now what I need is a sunny day and hug. Some friendly encouragement. Maybe some spiced apple cider. And a cute puppy licking my face. And an iPod Touch.

Me, only 11 years ago better...

2008-10-25T18:07:00.002-05:00

Awwww

2008-10-23T13:02:00.001-05:00

So I've been sick this past week and to my surprise my sister showed up at my apartment with what she called "The Cheer Up Megan Squad".

This is the founding member. :)

Advice from Tyler Durden

2008-10-16T09:28:00.004-05:00

"You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis. You’re the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world."

On that note, god I miss college. I miss no responsibilities. I miss walking into Iowa Book & Supply everyday to charge a Diet Coke and a bag of pretzels to my account. I miss the guy who sold gyros in the ped mall at 2 a.m. when the bars closed down. I miss the night crew at Panchero's. I miss the English-Philosphy Building. I miss sitting on our porch swing talking on the phone and hearing the sounds of my roommates watching TV inside through the screen window. I miss K Tan. I miss the Java House and their big, comfy couches where you can study all day and people watch. I miss cheap tabs. I miss the dirty ass elevator doors at Burge Hall. I miss Sunday nights listening to Kyle play the piano in the study lounge at Currier. I miss hooker boots and tube tops. I miss open doors in hallways and IM'ing my roommates from one room over. I miss sitting on our counter in the kitchen in the morning after a long night of drinking, trying to piece together unaccounted for moments. Laughing. I miss the drop box at the Dey House. I miss walking across the bridge to the Art Building. I miss the River Room and smoothies with Mel, watching the boys play pool. I miss our carpet picnics and makeshift Slip & Slides. I miss the cafeteria at Burge and trying to find a table at dinner. I miss Easy Place and Big Mike's. I miss Snowflake. I miss the smell of Mel's Pier One candle. I miss never coming home to an empty house and always having someone to go get McDonald's with after a night of boozing. I miss Erron from the Column. I miss our pimped out dorm room sophomore year, Donnelly. I miss our autographed Ricky Martin and Backstreet Boys posters. I miss going into the closet to make private phone calls. I miss the biggest double in the Big Ten. I miss waking up at 1 p.m. everyday. I miss making Brother's our bar. I miss seventy-five cent massive Diet Cokes from the QT. I miss the Handy House and red Solo cups. I miss 111 Evans St. I miss the Union Bar and the slutty girls who danced on boxes. I miss writing papers. Long ones. I miss a false sense of responsibility. I miss the smell of Iowa City in the fall. I miss my own bathroom in my room. I miss watching the frat boys come and go at the Main Library from behind the Reserve Room desk. I miss running the belt. I miss "Razor" and Edgar and Jeremy and Elijah. I miss ghetto Diamond Dave's karaoke and "Radar Love". I miss the workshop. A lot. I miss Panda Express at Coralville Mall. I miss borrowing Mel's wagon. I miss Donnelly's closet. I miss calling cards and ridiculous drunk emails to sort through and decipher the next day. I miss weekend trips to U of I. I miss thinking the Fieldhouse was the shit for like five minutes. I miss my horrible fake ID. I miss away messages.

But most of all, I miss "once I graduate".

'Cause the real world is not all it's cracked up to be. Nope. Not at all.

I'm fighting it, I really am. The pull into the corporate machine. It's constant. It's stronger than me. Like a present being slowly unwrapped, I am losing my skin, becoming unrecognizable from what I looked like when I started. The glossy and brilliant colors of me are lying crumpled, in a pile, on the floor. Defeated.

Seeing that, those foreign bits of me scattered about, makes me fight like hell not to lose the rest of me.

We're all in it. Me. You. Your brother in law. Your father. Your neighbors. My best friends.

We're going to nine to five our way into a society that works itself to death.

When did it become acceptable to flag an email with a big red exclamation point? Why do we think more of deadlines and market share and less of creativity and collaboration? Where did the individual go in individuality? The corporate machine has no sense of individuals, only growing pensions.

When did our priorities become inflicted and not chosen? Why has punching that time clock become the loudest, most resounding noise, drowning out everything else we cannot hear or simply refuse to hear?

That, my friends, unsettles me.

I counteract this numbness in my own way.

Some people have exercise, some people get massages, some people have Prozac.

I sit in my car and scream as loud as I can, "SINCE I WAS ALWAYS CAAAAGED AND NOW I'M FREEEEEEEE!!!!" along with Dave Grohl. Or Eddie Vedder. Or Trent Reznor.

It's how I keep from ramming my car into the car in front of me while I sit for two hours in traffic on my way home from a shitty day at the office where even the guy who comes in to clean the bathrooms at 2:30 p.m. everyday ignores me.

It's the way I keep from crying when I feel overwhelmed. When money's tight. When work sucks. When my love life's a mess.

I live a life of open ended questions so I sit in my car and scream as loud as I can.

And sometimes, if I’m really lucky, I feel better.

Go Hawkeyes!

More Apartment Updates - Lots of Photos for Your Viewing Pleasure

2008-10-14T14:05:00.016-05:00

I have slowly been pulling my little studio loft apartment together over the past couple of weeks. My theme is Cape Cod Cottage meets Thrift Store Budget. I am kind of obsessed with the East Hampton beach look right now, but I have a lot of art, so it's more beachy vintage.

I finally picked my paint colors.

I am painting the living room in a quiet and calming "Shore".

My bathroom will be subtley elegant in the signature Restoration Hardware "Silver Sage".

My kitchen cabinets, appliances and floors are white and the hardware is brushed silver. The kitchen island counters are a light gray color. I've decided to do the backsplash in decorative paper. Something along these color lines:

My furniture is celery green and ivory and all the wood is a dark chocolate brown, so I think the backsplash will tie everything together.

The bathroom is my baby. I'm attempting to recreate the whole hotel spa bathroom thing. Very clean and inviting for guests. (If only I had an extra bedroom for them to stay!)

I will, of course update you with photos as this huge project progresses. Why is it that even though I downsized about 500 square feet, the projects keep getting bigger?

Oh oh! I forgot about my black and white photo wall.

I have always wanted to do this with photos of my niece and nephew and interesting photos I have taken in my travels here and there. I feel strongly about decorating my living space with art that I have created: photos I have taken, sea glass I have collected, paintings I have drawn, vintage items I have discovered in this flea market or that estate sale. I think an interesting home is a reflection of who you are. Anyone can recreate a living room they saw in a Pottery Barn ad.

So I bought this wall shelving unit from Ikea in dark brown (two small shelves and one large one) and I plan to use the frames below to make my black and white masterpiece.

Here are some of the photos I plan to use.

I am going to get the photos professionally retouched to black and white. The photos above are just adjusted on my computer. Should I go black and white, or should I try sepia? I do have a lot of browns in my apartment, though the frames are black. I just don't know. All of these momentous decisions.

I have a lot of creative ideas rolling around in this scattered head of mine, but sometimes lack the discipline and patience to see them through. I'm going to count on you guys to hold me accountable!

If anyone has any decorating tips or inspiration you might want to lend me, I'll take 'em.

Stay class San Diego, and thanks for stopping by. But mainly stay classy.

Part Three - State of Megan

2008-10-09T13:09:00.013-05:00

I've chosen to update you today on the state of my love life.

This is actually the first time I've ever "directly" addressed it in my blog. Over a decade spent with someone else and not even a single mention of his name on here. I understand now that my choice to keep his anonymity was just my own uncertainty about him realized.

For many of you who have been following me since my Xanga days, you know that I don't get too specific about this topic, but when I'm sad, it shows. And I've been sad for too long.

You have seen me through the ups and downs, been through moments where I've teetered on the edge of heartbreak, been through moments where I ran full speed into it. You've breathed faith into my crumpled heart, inflating it until I thought it would burst with hope.

You've forced me to take a good hard look at myself, readers. And for once, I'm liking what I see.

As I've said before, I look at relationships differently than I did three years ago, a year ago, hell a month ago. It's like I've taken a baseball bat and swung blindly, shattering the perfect snow globe into millions of little pieces, exposing what's really inside; two dimensional people forced to stand in front of a fake background for eternity. Meanwhile trying to weather the storm each time life decides to flip you upside down and shake.

It turns out, you better really like who's in there with you.

And finally, FINALLY I do.

No, not "I do" in that way. Sheesh. Let's not get carried away.

I've just decided not to settle down or for anything less. That I'm not perfect, but I'm not sure that's what I'm looking for anymore. And I think I may have finally found someone that thinks imperfection is as great as I do. Flaws? What flaws? He sees the best in me and because of him when I look in the mirror every morning, I see the best in myself.

So here it is, anonymity, be damned.

His name is Ryan.

He is (was) my next door neighbor.

I met him coming out of my apartment at the same time he was. It was deliciously movie scripted at first. You know, the classic "girl moves into apartment building, finds out she has a cute neighbor, cue random run-ins, flustered conversations, dropping of mail, struggling with keys" scenarios.

The only thing is, I was still set on the storybook ending for my current disaster (to my credit, it didn't feel like a disaster at the time, I was still hopeful) of a relationship with my ex of six years. I mean, I know I've abstractly written about it here, but he was literally MY LIFE. I ate, breathed and lived that guy for like a decade. He was all I knew. I'm still unsure the book is closed on that one, to be completely honest. He was my first love. My big love. The love that stops time while you mourn your break-up for THREE YEARS.

Three and half years I refused to become un-single. I didn't want to find someone else. I wasn't looking. Honestly, my heart was unavailable.

When neighbor and I met, I really, really truly didn't have a care for him. No inkling, no spark, no hunch, feeling, idea, notion.

Of love.

None.

I know that the thought of making it work with the ex consumed me. I know his voice on the other end of the phone, at my front door intercom at 3 a.m. felt like home to me. I know I couldn't see who and what that was turning me into until one day I just did.

Clarity of scope always comes too late.

But at least it came. And once I decided to let him in (figuratively AND literally) neighbor was relentless. He pursued me. It made me uncomfortable. It made me wonder what was wrong with him. I told him time after time that I was a mess, that he didn't want to date me, that I would only break his heart. I tried to convince him that I was crazy. That he would eventually tire of my manipulations and slink away, defeated. I closed doors in his face. Scoffed at his emails. Mocked his pursuit.

And yet he still tried to persuade me to give him a chance.

And then all of the sudden it was New Year's Eve at midnight and there he stood in his tuxedo across the room. Champagne spraying everywhere, people packed wall to wall into our apartments singing Auld Lang Syne. I looked at him, brimming with potential and promise, earnest and expectant, smiling at me as if he already knew I was his.

And that was the moment people. One for the ages. One good enough for all the writers in Hollywood.

That was it.

Now I'm the lucky one. For so many reasons.

He offered me partnership. Finally a street big enough for two people to walk down. For once, I am the girl on top of the pedestal, not the one trying to climb up it. All of those fears and hesitations I attached to relationships were curiously absent with him. I realized what I had been subsisting on for years and years were scraps not good enough for even the strayest of dogs. Words I wrestled with saying to someone else before were at long last easy to say. The poetry in my heart, safe.

And that my friends, is one hell of an update.

Intermission

2008-10-09T10:38:00.003-05:00

I know you're due for Part Three. I'm working on it. In the meantime, enjoy this piece I wrote a while back. Still very relevant!

Choose a life. Choose a job. Choose the fancy car or the modest car. Choose between cream and sugar. Choose to love a man, woman, pet, house, painting, ex-boyfriend, daughter, yourself. Choose paper or plastic. Choose the higher deductible and lower premium. Choose to get to know someone, something, someplace like the back of your hand. Choose well-done or rare. Choose to be happy, sad, excited, lonely, insecure, confident and outspoken. Choose to be all of them at once. Choose something. Choose your friends. Choose a big fucking television. Choose crazy over boring. Choose heels over flats. Choose to believe less in god and more in yourself. Choose a candidate. Choose 350 count instead of 200 count. Choose pride, greed, envy, wrath, lust, gluttony, and sloth. Choose to forgive him. Choose a restaurant, already! Choose lots and lots of books. Choose to create something remarkable. Choose forever or fleeting. Choose to make it easier on someone else, even if it makes it harder on you. Choose to deserve better. Choose to want, to sing, to dream. Choose Grey Goose or Absolut. Choose differently this time. Choose red and gold and green and bright blue. Choose to vote. Choose whether or not he makes you mad today. Choose big white lies. Choose compassion everytime. Choose to say yes. Choose Chekhov over reality TV. Choose to open a window when a door closes. Choose to be brave. Choose to turn it up, not off. Choose a party affiliation. Choose to cry, pound, scream, kick, punch, yell. Choose to feel something. Choose to be unsure. Choose the Cubs or the Sox, not both. Choose your favorite memory and keep it close. Choose love, always. Choose your own destiny. Choose mismatching socks today. Choose something heartfelt over expensive. Choose me. Choose you.

Just choose.

State of Megan - Part Two

2008-10-07T12:24:00.003-05:00

Today we're going to talk about money. The state of my money.

See the problem is, I'm not a naturally fiscal person.

My inherent proclivities are towards spending, not saving. Matters of money are a huge source of stress for me. My relationship with it vascillates between love and hate, almost daily. Almost hourly. I've never had *a lot* of money per se, but I'm definitely not poor. I save during months where money is not tight, less than my financial advisor wants, but more than the average person I suspect.

When I started at my current job six and a half years ago I immediately enrolled the max into my 401k. My company matches 6%, so by now I have a considerable chunk of change socked away for when I decide to live my dream of building a gigantic front porch somewhere, spending the rest of my days fanning myself between glasses of iced tea and unreciprocated fetch with my fat, grandfatherly curmudgeon of a dog.

Trust me, it's planned out. There will be cupcakes, too. Lots of cupcakes.

So this morning when I signed on to check my stocks and see this in the activity column: Gains/Losses -$7,313.42, it put a bit of a dent in my day.

I know times are hard for everyone, but that's the largest sum of money I've ever gambled away, ever.

My Year-to-Date Rate of Return is -32.1%.

I don't know much about the stock market, admittedly. I dated a broker for a while, but most of my money I entrust to the good people at Ameriprise Financial. My advisor has honestly helped me a lot to understand good spending and saving habits. He put me on a budget, which I adhere to everyday with a computerized program that my boyfriend wrote for me. It tells me how much money I have to spend for the week and then that's what I spend. I have a Roth IRA, an ING Savings account and a 401k and all that makes me feel is confused. I know it's not enough. Not enough, even still.

Me and money, we don't know the steps yet in this dance. Somehow, I fear we will always being stepping on each other's toes.

The economy is in a sorry state today, this isn't news to anyone. Of course during the years of the Clinton surplus, all I had to worry about were slap bracelets and Slurpee allowances, so its definitely news I am keeping up with. Like most Americans, I have a lot of debt. Credit card debt, school loans, car loans, not to mention the thousands of dollars my parents have lent me over the years.

Short of a miracle, that little nest egg is all I have. So yes, I'm concerned. I'm not an economist. I don't even balance my check book.

What I can't imagine is that anyone would willingly volunteer to take on this country's issues. That is why I am a voter. I have such respect for both candidates in this election. Who would want to be them right now? Honestly.

She wrote an intriguing post today and I have to say, after reading it again, I really think she's right on the money. *Cheesy pun FULLY intended*

Maybe a recession is what this country needs. Learn to live within our means for a while and then appreciate what we have. Its amazing how it takes ridiculously high and rising gas prices to really focus on the energy crisis. I know it sounds socialist, but I really believe there could be worse things. So we buy generic for a while. We buy the sensible, fuel-economic Honda instead of the gas guzzling luxury SUV. I'm up for it. I have enough Ramen to last me another ice age.

But seriously. What this is teaching me is how unnecessary half the things I buy are. I've been wanting a new bed frame/headboard set for my new bedroom. I can't afford what I want. What I want is from Crate and Barrel and is $1200. See, totally unnecessary. But I waaaaaaant iiiiiiit.

With my new fiscally responsible mindset at work, I searched for something that would satisfy my headboard obsession at a lower cost.

Then I found the Ikea "As Is" section.

I peed my pants a little I think upon stumbling across this veritable diamond in the rough, this wonderful section of loveliness. In my current state of newfound frugality, all of those "as is" items looked shiny and new to me. I walked the aisles like a queen ordaining saints. "I'll take this one. And this one. Oh this one. This one for sure. Annnnnnnd this one."

They have this section that just has scraps from returned cabinets, media centers, bathroom shelving units, kitchen counters, backs of chairs. Their collection is amazing. I settled on this little piece, the door from a bookcase unit. The wood was exactly what I wanted, dark brown, the size, perfect. I plan to knock the glass out of the center and replace it with a covered piece of MDF or foam core, maybe in a microsuede with some upholstered buttons.

And all for $10. Plus I had a coupon.

Oh yeah, I'm a coupon cutter now, too.

I know my money is the issue here, but I also know many of you are feeling the effects of the slowly tightening wallet of our goverment. What are some things you do to make ends meet?

State of Megan - In Five Parts

2008-10-06T12:33:00.016-05:00

Hey guys, I know I've been mysteriously absent lately. I've decided that in order to update you appropriately, that I would tackle one topic per day for a whole week.

Today's topic iiiiiiiiis.....

Part One: MOVING!

Moving is never fun. I don't think I need to tell any of you that. This move, however, was unusually nightmarish due to some insane outlying factors. For one, I am currently embroiled in a lawsuit with my old property manager over the whole water damage mess I wrote about here. It's a total catastrophe. A headache beyond all proportions of headaches. I asked for a simple request. A barter if you will. Something Americans all the way back to the days of Conestoga wagons and the Oregon Trail have been doing, quite easily, might I add. I asked for a twenty-four hour extension to my lease from my landlord and in exchange, I would drop the issue of reimbursement for damages to my personal property due to their negligence.

Seems like a pretty opportunistic trade, no?

No. No it was not.

Not only did they refuse my offer, but they countered with kicking me out of my place even earlier, by 2 p.m. on Sept. 30th. So from 2 p.m. to 8 a.m. I was bound to be homeless. Not just me. Me and all my shit. AND I HAVE A LOT OF SHIT.

After selling half of what I own on Craigslist (god bless you, Craig and your inimitable List) and moving every last nail and screw and dust particle to my boyfriend's apartment, I successfully was out of my place by 2 p.m. Keep in mind this is taking place during the day on a work week, so it is JUST ME moving ALL MY SHIT, eighteen boxes, a bed, ten thousand books, three wardrobe boxes of clothes, one for JUST COATS. MY COUCH.

On a side note, my boyfriend's apartment is the mirror image of mine. He has a roommate, so the space for all my stuff was limited to a 10x10 area behind their couch in the dining room. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this, but he lives across the hall from me. Everyday I live an episode of Friends. It's incredibly convenient. I never had to pack an overnight bag or leave a toothbrush. All traces of me, safely locked behind my apartment doors. When I lock myself out, I just buzz the intercom and voila, I am ushered inside. Low on butter or milk? Just don't want to cook? Walk across the hall. Need something heavy brought down to my car? Not even a phone call needed. Want a 60" rear projection flat panel HDTV to watch Cubs games? Um I'M THERE. It's been great. And now, it has served it's purpose as my very own storage solution.

But I digress. The night before my move I was freaking out. I know I am 28 years old and that is certainly old enough to be doing things on my own, but I've never lived alone and I've never had to move alone and what if the movers try to screw me into buying seventeen rolls of packing tape and what if my property manager catches me moving out the front instead of the back and decides to fine me $100 and what if I get to my new place and my keys don't work and the movers throw all my stuff into the alley and my head explodes?

Freaking out.

I end up waking up around 5:15 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep I was so anxious. So I'm sitting up in bed at 5:20, just sitting there, knees pulled into my chest in the darkness. Boyfriend's hand grabs at mine and he sleepily mutters, "Go back to sleep." I think about that for a second and then climb over his lifeless body, nearly kneeing him in the crotch and say, "Um I'm gonna go to Dunkin' Donuts. I'll be back." He gives me a quizzical look and just buries his face in his pillow.

So now it's 5:30 and I'm in my car in the dark on my way to the Dunkin' Donuts down the street. It's oddly crowded for this time of the morning, I order my dozen donuts and three bottles of water and leave. When I get back, I notice that the loading zone in front of the bar below my apartment is totally empty. This is a huge score. I pull my car right into the middle of about two and half spots and go upstairs. I arrange the donuts and waters artfully on the kitchen counter and by this time its about a quarter after six.

Boyfriend's roommate is sleeping on the couch, so I gently nudge him to get up and move to his room. The TV is blaring ESPN. After several failed attempts, I leave him and go to the window. A fucking van is parking in the spots I have so circumspectly saved!

So then I run downstairs and bark at the guys unloading their van. "My moving truck is coming any minute now! You can't park here!" One of them looks at me like I am a crazy girl. The other one says in a thick Eastern European accent, "We are painting all day in apartment upstairs. Where we go?" This is me, frantic, "Um I don't know, across the street in like ANY of the open spots? Please, they have nowhere to park. It will be gone in a half hour. Please, just move your van. PLEASE?" Then the one guy mutters something to the other two and they keep unloading their stuff onto the sidewalk. I just stand there and stare at them with eyes burning into the back of their heads hotter than the fire of a thousand suns.

Finally the gang leader turns around and says again, "Where you want us to go? We paint ALL DAY."

Then in a voice that I didn't even know existed inside me growled, "I don't CARE where you go, just MOVE YOUR VAN."

It was seriously something out of Ghostbusters. "There is no Dana, only ZOOOOOOL!"

The other two guys stopped unloading and came around the other side of the van to look at me. Then for about a whole uninterrupted thirty seconds, the leader just stared at me. It was kind of intense. I just stood there in the typical mad girl stance. Feet wide, hands on hips, scowl on my face.

He said something to his crew in another language and then they moved the van across the street just as the moving truck was pulling up.

Oh I forgot to mention that the reason I had to move my shit across the hall is well, number one, because they wouldn't extend my lease and number two, because my new landlord told me that I "couldn't possibly move in any earlier" because the current tenant was also moving out at 2 p.m. on the 30th and they needed time to paint and clean before I moved in. This is even after I begged and pleaded with her....told her I would do the painting and cleaning myself. Told her I would let them paint the apartment occupied after I moved in. Told her to take pity on me and my homelessness. Finally, she said "I'm deeply sorry" and I walked away dejectedly with slumped shoulders.

Another defeat.

Little did I know the battle was just beginning. After that I called to schedule the movers and could not find a single company that could give me a set moving time. One company told me anywhere between 10 a.m. and 1 p.m. One told me flat out that I should have called two weeks ago to schedule a move ON THE BUSIEST MOVING DAY OF THE YEAR. Uh huh, yes. This is why I don't do anything alone. Because I fail when it's just me. I don't know these things.

One last call to make. Done Rite Movers. This place sounds legit, right? Haaaaaaaaaaaaa. HA. I left a message and tried not to sound like I had just been sobbing earlier. Still sniffling, a woman called me back. She said they had a cancellation and that they could schedule the move on the 1st for 7 a.m.

HALLELUJAH! "And so shines a good deed in a weary world."

Now. The key pick up mishap.

I swear to you this is last disaster I will outline.

After I scheduled my move-in time, I emailed my new property manager to let her know that I would be moving in the morning on the 1st and if I can pick up the keys the day before.

"Oh no" she replies "that is just not possible." "Your key pick-up and your move-in date need to happen on the same day and our office does not open until 9:30 a.m., so you will need to reschedule your move-in."

"You will need to reschedule your move-in."

As if I can just make a call and magically reschedule to a time that is better for her. Poof! You now have a 10 a.m. move in time and the movers will pick you up in a diamond covered chariot with horses that shit money.

I calmly explained to her that I had already put down a non-refundable deposit on the movers and that if she had wanted me to move in at a specific time, she should have said something other than "Just let me know your move-in time." in her last email.

I don't usually say this about other women, but I'll make an exception for you, Tiffany from Enterprise Realty.

You are A HUGE BITCH.

The queen bitch among worker bitches. The wickedest bitch in the Midwest. You are such a bitch I bet you bark every time you hear an ambulance pass by. BEEEEEE - OTCH. Bitch.

On that note, she told me that if I agreed to let her paint the apartment after I moved in, she would give me the keys early. I said, "Whatever. Fine. When can I get the keys?"

Her response was this, "I have 65 apartments moving this week so the only time you will be able to pick up the keys is Monday from 12 p.m. - 1 p.m."

I said yes, even though a one hour window seemed ridiculous. This would mean I would have to drive 45 minutes out to my office in the morning, drive 45 minutes back to Lakeview at noon, pick up the keys, drive 45 minutes back to work, then drive 45 minutes back to the city to come home. That's four trips back and forth, a whole tank of gas. And at $4.89 a gallon, it's also expensive. I guess "Tiff" never had to commute.

So my very altruistic and munificent boyfriend, upon hearing the patented "I'm gonna cry" waver in my voice over the phone, offered to pick them up for me, since he works ten minutes away from the Lakeview office.

A sigh of relief. I email her to tell her that he will be there at noon, with a check for $1342.50 for first month's rent (rent and half), to pick up the keys.

I get this email response on Monday morning at 11 a.m.

"He can't pick up your keys. He is not on the lease."

That's it. That's all. Just those two sentences. No alternate offerings. No I'm sorry, but I just can't do its. Not even any fake effort. Just straight up BITCH PLEASE.

Wow.

Ok so at this point I need to figure this out. Am I going to drive back and forth to get these keys? I have no other option, it seems, so I walk into my boss's office to tell her I might be a little late on my lunch break and start explaining the situation. Then I just lose it. The flood gates open and I would have lifted my arms to shield my hysterically crying eyes, but they were too sore from moving a hundred and fifteen boxes all by myself.

The she started crying, bless her heart. It was a genuine woman to woman cryfest. She told me she understood and to take the rest of the afternoon off. I told her she was the best boss ever and hurried my mascara covered ass out of her office.

The key pick up happens and now that I have some extra time, I head for Comcast to get my new HD-DVR cable box for my NEW PLASMA HDTV. Of course it's like 1:00 p.m. so why wouldn't there be a line of like twenty-two people waiting. I finally get to the front and tell her that I need to start new service and pick up my cable box. She gives me the run around about how the current tenant hasn't disconnected service yet, so I can't have anything installed until she does so. She calls said tenant and leaves a message. A stroke of luck. The tenant calls her back while I am at the window and says its fine, they can disconnect her service. That she's sorry she didn't call sooner, but she has been moving all morning into her new apartment.

I blink my eyes and say, "She said she was moving into her new apartment TODAY? As in THIS MORNING?" I ask.

Ok, let's reverse a second. I want you to scroll back up to the paragraph that begins "Oh I forgot to mention..." where the property manager explicitly states that I "couldn't possibly move in any earlier" due to blah blah blah BULLSHIT. I grabbed my DVR and fumed all the way to my car, then fumed all the way home, then fumed in my empty apartment by myself where I scrubbed the refrigerator down in rubber gloves, all the while fuming and gagging because THAT SHIT WAS DISGUSTING.

So in a nutshell, both my property managers screwed me over, one straight up lied to me, I made an unnecessary move of all my shit to my boyfriend's place for the night, had a mini-breakdown in my boss's office, almost killed a civilian at Comcast, and probably now have a hit on me from the Russian mafia painters.

Um, the movers were nice.

*think silver lining, Megan, think silver lining*

Oh and someone stole my front two hubcaps. Fuck you karma you bitch whore. Just the two? Seriously?

Post one.

Done.

Fun with Grandma's Mac.

2008-10-06T08:44:00.010-05:00

Best. Housewarming. Gift. Ever.

2008-09-30T20:48:00.001-05:00

This. Amazing.

What if...

2008-09-23T21:28:00.006-05:00

Eleanor and I would have spent Friday night actually being productive?

Thank you City of Chicago

2008-09-19T08:37:00.001-05:00

For making my day a completely miserable one.

The end of an era.

2008-09-17T13:19:00.004-05:00

In less than a week I will enter into the world of single livingship. After having to share living quarters for 28 years (keep in mind, I didn't even get to be alone in the womb!) it's about time.

My current roomie and I have had some great times. There was this night. And our oh so lovely relationships with our many property managers. But we got by, even prospered.

So I just wanted to give a shout out to one of my best friends who has shared the good times and bad times with me for the last three years. There will always be a seat at my table, always a spot on my couch, always a second glass to be poured. Thanks for the memories.

Let's go make some more!

Name my Dodgeball Team

2008-09-16T10:35:00.001-05:00

I need ideas for a dodgeball team we're starting in a month.

Throw some at me.

Lake House Weekend 2008

2008-09-15T12:38:00.018-05:00

We do it every year.

Here are some of my favorite moments captured on camera from this weekend.

Thanks to Pete for catching all of them on film.

Hey look!

2008-09-09T09:31:00.001-05:00

It's me at a White Sox game and I'm smiling! GO CUBS!

A few things I've learned...

2008-09-04T11:32:00.004-05:00

...in the last twenty-eight years.

Say please and thank you, even to strangers.

Don't scrimp on car or renter's insurance. Get full coverage.

If a family member needs you, you go.

Kindness will always get you further than cruelty.

If it's important, send it certified US Mail.

Anything work related can wait.

Look at people when they talk to you.

Respect other people's boundaries, even if you don't share them.

You teach people how to treat you. Teach them to treat you fairly and with respect or no one else will.

Call ahead before you fly.

Everything has a silver lining and if it doesn't, make your own.

Fake it 'til you make it, baby.

Do not grocery shop on Sundays. The stores are way too crowded.

There is absolutely no reason to be purposefully mean to anyone.

Excuses are unnacceptable.

Don't wait for people to change. Move on. They'll come with you or they won't.

Happiness is a choice.

Always let your cookies cool for five minutes on a cookie sheet before moving them to a rack.

Back up your hard drive every three months.

Yelling or screaming is not cool. Or necessary.

When people show you who they are, believe them.

Voting is a priviledge AND a right.

There are two types of people in the world: those who send thank you cards and those who don't.

You don't have to use a baby voice to talk to a toddler.

Invest the max percent of your paycheck into your 401k as soon as you enroll. Especially if your company will match it.

There is always a way.

Have an opinion, but don't offer it unless you are asked for it. Especially about politics.

Read every day. Your vocabulary will double as you see words used in context.

There you have it. That's one thing I've learned for every year I've been on this earth.

Please feel free to share your wisdom, too.

The road not taken.

2008-09-02T15:27:00.003-05:00

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Bill Clinton for Secretary of State!

2008-08-28T09:01:00.003-05:00

"Barack Obama will not allow the world's problems to obscure its opportunities. Everywhere, in rich and poor countries alike, hardworking people need good jobs; secure, affordable healthcare, food, and energy; quality education for their children; and economically beneficial ways to fight global warming. These challenges cry out for American ideas and American innovation. When Barack Obama unleashes them, America will save lives, win new allies, open new markets, and create new jobs for our people.

Most important, Barack Obama knows that America cannot be strong abroad unless we are strong at home. People the world over have always been more impressed by the power of our example than by the example of our power."

The power of our example.

Get out there and vote! There is still time to register. Check out your state's deadlines here.

Barack Obama is our next President.

2008-08-28T08:43:00.005-05:00

I truly believe that.

Remember his words back at the 2004 DNC?

In the end, that’s what this election is about. Do we participate in a politics of cynicism or do we participate in a politics of hope?

John Kerry calls on us to hope. John Edwards calls on us to hope.

I’m not talking about blind optimism here -- the almost willful ignorance that thinks unemployment will go away if we just don’t think about it, or the health care crisis will solve itself if we just ignore it. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about something more substantial. It’s the hope of slaves sitting around a fire singing freedom songs; the hope of immigrants setting out for distant shores; the hope of a young naval lieutenant bravely patrolling the Mekong Delta; the hope of a millworker’s son who dares to defy the odds; the hope of a skinny kid with a funny name who believes that America has a place for him, too.

Hope -- Hope in the face of difficulty. Hope in the face of uncertainty. The audacity of hope!

In the end, that is God’s greatest gift to us, the bedrock of this nation. A belief in things not seen. A belief that there are better days ahead.

I believe that we can give our middle class relief and provide working families with a road to opportunity.

I believe we can provide jobs to the jobless, homes to the homeless, and reclaim young people in cities across America from violence and despair.

I believe that we have a righteous wind at our backs and that as we stand on the crossroads of history, we can make the right choices, and meet the challenges that face us.

America! Tonight, if you feel the same energy that I do, if you feel the same urgency that I do, if you feel the same passion that I do, if you feel the same hopefulness that I do -- if we do what we must do, then I have no doubt that all across the country, from Florida to Oregon, from Washington to Maine, the people will rise up in November, and John Kerry will be sworn in as President, and John Edwards will be sworn in as Vice President, and this country will reclaim its promise, and out of this long political darkness a brighter day will come.

The audacity of hope. I fucking love that. How dare we see a better future for ourselves? What boldness to question our current state of inertia. How brave to embrace change.

This is dissent. A notion Americans don't nearly practice as much as we should. Barack Obama is a modern rebel. He's the Billy Idol of politics! He's making you believe, isn't he?

I feel those massive steel wheels scraping and grinding on the track, sparking and revving, steam billowing. Even enveloped in smoke I can see it coming.

Choo choo, baby.

Let's catch up.

2008-08-26T11:06:00.028-05:00

I told you I was going to take care of you, and I am a woman of my word so here I am. I think you deserve a massive update.

Last night I was in the suburbs taking care of these two little monsters.

It really made me realize how fortunate I am to have such a wonderful family. Sure half the time we're dysfunctional and insane, but whose family isn't? I've shared a fantastic childhood, rich with family history and tradition. I have unbelievable Aunts and Uncles who spoiled us rotten when we were growing up. Thanks to them I know my heritage and recognize where I come from. Thanks to them my niece and nephew will never have to know anything but an outpouring of unconditional love and a genuine desire to be a part of their lives. To know who they are now and a wish to see who they become.

As I've mentioned before, I don't know if a family of my own is in the cards for me, but with the one I've already got, I'll never long for more.

I know you can't choose your family, and I'm okay with that because I am lucky enough to have gotten stuck with mine.

I think about that a lot. Life would be a lot easier if you could choose who you love. Think about it. Instead of that sneaking, slow growing, smack you upside your head moment, it would be something you could control. Something that was accessible and convenient for you. What if we could pick out who we love from a line-up, like they do to perps in jail. Instead of holding up criminal numbers, they would hold up something like, "Is nice to his mom", or "Cries a lot" or "Will only break your heart". Imagine the possibilities.

I was just talking the other day with my friend Jackie about the roles different people play in our lives.

Laura is like a warm cup of tea on a cold afternoon, she just makes me feel at ease and comfortable. Laura knows the best and the worst of me and still loves me. She is my mama bear, always going to bat for me without even having to ask for her help.

Katie is a fiercely loyal friend. She's the one you call when you're all dressed up on a Friday night and your date never shows up. Even if she has been sleeping for hours, she will without hesitation, show up at your door when you need her.

Eleanor lets me be myself more than anyone, a true gift. She knows the words in my heart even when I don't speak them. She is endlessly generous and has shown me moments of kindness that inspire me to be a better person.

Ryan is my magic wand. He makes everyone else disappear. He's the hand that holds my own. He brought commitment to me, shoved it's rearing, ugly face into mine and said, "Don't run."

Dianka is a laugh just when I need it the most and brings excitement into my life. She is authentic and genuine and has taught me never to judge a book by its cover.

Dave is a kindred spirit, he understands things unsaid. He inspires me to have faith in other people and to never give up on true love.

Mel is my wise seer, someone who radiates strength into all she is around. Out of everyone, her words calm me the most. She is the most compassionate person I have ever met without a doubt. When she says "My heart aches for you, Meg" she truly means it.

Shannon is stability and honesty and always gives a genuine and warm hug.

Jess is my home away from home, even at 4,000 miles away. She gets it. She always has.

Donnelly makes me a better friend, effortlessly. Her friendship is as delightful as it is easy, a rare find. With her, there is no judgement, just unconditional love. And more importantly, unconditional fun.

Jill, Caroline and Jackie are my surrogate sisters, always hard at work, helping sort through the drama of my life and keeping me sane day to day. They are the rock I stand on to see above the waves.

And Kate, Kate is the other half of me. We still communicate in a language without words. We still have a relationship no one else can touch. She's the blood and I'm the heart. One doesn't work without the other.

All of these people help fill the holes in the respective puzzle of me, but there are little corners unoccupied even still. I feel like there are always spots left open, waiting, like a reserved parking space in a garage, left warm from the last car that it inhabited.

It would just be easier to choose who you love. Though I doubt it could be better.

Thank you, friends.

Please take me back, baby please.

2008-08-26T10:36:00.004-05:00

Dear Blogger,

I know I haven't been around lately, baby. But don't hate on me, I've been workin' hard to buy you nice things. It's all for you in the end, you know that, baby right?

[insert the intro to Barry White's Can't Get Enough of Your Love here]

[turn down the lights real low]

[slip into something comfortable...]

Shhhhh. There now. Let me give you some of that quality time you deserve. Sit back, relax and let me take care of you.

Yours,
Megan

I love you Eddie Vedder and I promise not to stalk you.

2008-08-25T10:08:00.005-05:00

Last night the stars aligned and my karma finally kicked back into gear. I drank with Eddie Vedder.

Here's how it went down. My friend Katie works for the Cubs. She books all the talent and celebrities for the 7th inning stretch and to throw out the first pitch. It's basically a dream job...hang out at Wrigley all day and entertain stars and professional athletes. Anyways, Eddie is just one of her many celebrity friends.

So she texts my roommate to come down to Stanley’s, which is the bar below my apartment. I'm lazing around on the couch at my neighbor's place when my roommate runs in and is like, "Didn't you get my texts?" completely breathless. I said no, and she was like, "Get up, get dressed. We're going to Stanley's. Eddie Vedder and Chris Chelios are hanging out down there and Katie got us the in!" So I go down there and who the fuck is she sitting with, but Eddie motherfucking Vedder? I almost shit myself. No, you know what? I may have shit a little.

This man is my god. I don’t have religion, I have Pearl Jam. It was insane. A warm wave came over me. My cheeks started burning and my hands grew slick with sweat. This is one of those once in a lifetime moments, I thought to myself.

But I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even bring myself to make eye contact with him. I was totally frozen with apprehension. It was as if my whole body had petrified upon taking one step into the bar. I was cemented to the ground.

I've met a lot of celebrities and I've never lost it like this. This man made me LOVE MUSIC. See this post about Pearl Jam. Now you understand the reason for all of the above.

I did end up loosening up, as my roommate can attest. At one point, as we got up to leave, we made eye contact briefly. And no, it wasn't soul shaking, it wasn't awestriking. He's just a regular guy, like me or you. I threw up the peace sign and he graciously flashed it back. My insides warmed.

I had my camera, but felt that these moments should be memorexed in my mind. These type of moments are so rare and not everything needs to be captured. You end up missing the real moments with your face behind a camera.

So I snapped the above shot as we were leaving. Just one photo.

I can die happy.

Air & Water Show, Lake Michigan 2008

2008-08-19T10:02:00.006-05:00

In the meantime, enjoy these photos from the show this weekend.

It was a perfect day!