My Wednesday:

6:26 am - Realized I slept through my alarm. Not really upset though because I feel like I’m about to die.

7:00 am - After lying wide awake in pain for half an hour Chuckles alarm goes off. I call in sick and then hobble to kitchen. Must force down cereal because can’t take pills on empty stomach. Feel like I might throw up at any minute.

7:30 am - Tried to go back to sleep. However, there was some sort of truck drilling right outside the bedroom window.

11:54 am - Woke up to phone ringing. Jumped out of bed to answer it, ran down hallway only to discover it was a wrong number. Since I was already up laid on couch and watched the last hour and a half of Grease.

12:47 pm - Phone rings again. Answer it. Person hangs up. This happens five more times in the afternoon.

1:00 pm - Watch True Hollywood Story of Home Improvement for two hours. Don’t ask me why. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

4:00 pm - Decide that if I really want to watch my 3 yr old nephew play t-ball I should probably change out of my pj’s.

4:15 pm - Still feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. Break down into tears because I really WANNA GO! Realize I’m being a pussy, take more ibuprofen than I probably should have and make it to the t-ball game just in time.

6:00 pm - Well worth it! It is hilarious watching a group of three yr olds play baseball. Jared’s helmet was about three sizes to big for him so he had to hold it on so it didn’t fall off. We had to tell them when to run and half of the time they’d run after the ball they just hit or run to third base instead of first. Jared would routinely look over at us and wave with a big smile on his face (I wonder how long that will last). Then my parents treated us to dinner.

All in all it was a good day because it ended on a good note. My two nephews are hilarious and adorable. I don’t know what my big sis was thinking when I asked her how her summer was going being at home with the boys all day and she replied, “I’m thinking about becoming an alcoholic. SERIOUSLY.”

Sunday was my day to relax this weekend. I had originally planned on cleaning and studying, but the couch was emphatic in wanting me to sit on it and would cry every time I tried to get up. He is so needy, but I was feeling generous so I granted his wish to have me sit and watch TV all afternoon. I’m nice like that.

There was nothing really on so I got sucked into watching Tori & Dean. I swear, hand on the bible, there was nothing else on! I have always been apathetic towards Tori. She was on 90210, which is, obviously, a good thing. Although, she got the job just by being Aaron Spelling’s daughter. Then again I probably would have done the same thing in her shoes. Don’t lie! You would too. Also, I feel sorry because her mom is crazy with the whole gift wrapping room thing and she was left out of her dad’s will. So, to summarize, even though I found her immensely annoying I didn’t completely hate her.

That is, of course, until I watched an entire episode of Tori & Dean. In this particular episode she was approximately seven months pregnant and had to go to the doctor for a checkup. While sitting in the waiting room Tori had a little bit of a freak out. You see the baby was kicking her in the ribs and what, oh dear God, what if the baby managed to puncture one of her internal organs with her fingernail and THEN DROWNED IN THE BLOOD! Oh, the horror!

At this point in the show I was slightly annoyed by her extraordinary stupidity and I thought she might have been faking it, but I wasn’t completely sure. I couldn’t even decide if I wanted her to be faking it or not - both options are disturbing. The true dreadfulness came when Tori stepped onto the scale. She turned to Dean very melodramatically with a look of utter shock. I think she said something along the lines of, “How could I have gained so much weight?! How dare you for giving me that Rocky Road last night! 141 POUNDS! This is disastrous. I’m a whale.” Yep, she’s a big fat fattie and if she’s a big fat fattie than I am seconds away from dying from a heart attack. Yes, I weigh more than 141 pounds. It didn’t help that as I was watching this there was a bag of pretzels next to me on the couch waiting to be eaten or that I had chocolate chip cookies cooling in the kitchen also just waiting to be eaten.

So when I got to work yesterday I wrote a little note on a post-it and put it on my computer screen. It says, “You weigh more than a pregnant woman. People might mistakenly think you’re pregnant.” (I hope this isn’t offensive to pregnant women…) Anyway, this is my motivation to eat healthy and workout. It was enough to get me to do yoga last night, hopefully run tonight, and cancel my plans to eat cheese stuffed hot dogs wrapped in bacon for dinner tonight. So thank you Tori Spelling. Thank you for finally forcing me to get off my ass.

I would like an exact date and time please. You know, just in case a time machine is ever invented I can go back and make sure it doesn’t happen again. I went out for the first time in about a year with some girlfriends Friday night. We were celebrating the fact that my bestest friend, Jo, passed her boards and is now a nurse practitioner. That all by itself made me feel old - we’re not old enough to be Nurse Practitioners! That’s crazy talk.

We started the night out in Ballard at a very cool restaurant called Madame K’s. It used to be a brothel back in the day and the waitresses dress the part. They have amazing pizza and a delicious dessert called Chocolate Chip Orgasm, which lives up to its name. We chose Ballard because one of the girls has an apartment there that we could crash at. I had absolutely no intention of crashing there (I love my bed) so I had planned on remaining sober all night…well, after we went through three bottles of wine at dinner I was pretty sure that I was going to be crashing on a couch while praying for a hangover free Saturday.

After that we went to a bar down the street called Balmar. We were really in the mood for dancing so we made sure at the front door that there was a dance floor and dj. They lied to us. We went up to the second floor and there was nothing but pool tables and couches. I asked the bartender what happened to this so-called “dance floor” and he pointed to the corner of the bar and said, as if I was a complete moron, “It’s right there.” Let me tell you interwebs it was in no way a dance floor. There was barely room to stand let alone dance! There were couches and tables everywhere. It was absolutely ridiculous. I am getting more indignant the more I think about it.

Since none of us ever go out on the town anymore and Jo lives in Boston we had no idea where we could go that wouldn’t suck balls. We decided to ask the coolest guy we could find in the bar and by coolest guy I mean the guy standing closest to us. We lied to him and said we were visiting and didn’t know where to go. He said the Ballroom was the place to go. Unfortunately, we were well aware of the Ballroom and that was not the answer we were looking for. The Ballroom is where we went for my 21 run. The Ballroom is where the college crowd hangs out. The Ballroom is where you do one too many shots of tequila, throw up in the sink, and get thrown out by the security who asks you out as he’s walking you to the door. As Jo said, we aren’t 21 anymore. But on the plus side the cab ride would be less than $10. We decided to go for it. Biggest. Mistake. Ever.

We quickly made our way to the dance floor and, thank God, they were playing good music, but within minutes there were two guys accosting us. We studiously ignored them since we were not interested in dancing with any guys (I don’t think our boyfriends would have liked that). But this guy would not give up. Jo finally turned around and told him she wasn’t interested. His response was to go into a diatribe about what I’m not 100% sure of because I really couldn’t hear him, but part of it was that he didn’t believe her and he was sure he would see her in an hour grinding with some other guy. Jackass.

At this point I had to go to the bathroom where I ran into some real characters. First, there were two girls standing outside the bathroom: a brunette crying her eyes out while a redhead comforted her. I squeezed by them to get inside where there was, of course, a long line. While I impatiently waited in line I entertained myself by watching a girl drunkenly try to explain over the phone how to get to the bar while she had absolutely no idea where she was. Also, she was wearing a cleave-tastic dress and the strap had fallen off her shoulder leaving ample room for her boob to pop out for all the world to see, but she didn’t care because it was imperative that she figure out where she was. As I was contemplating whether or not I should let her know what bar she was at when one of the stall doors open to reveal a girl pulling up her spanx. Aren’t you supposed to do that before you open the door? Annnywwaaayy, after she pulled up her spanx she relinquished the stall to me and when I came back out the directionally challenged girl had disappeared and the redhead and brunette had migrated into the bathroom and now the redhead was sobbing and the brunette was comforting her.

I got the hell out of there as quickly as I could to find Jo and her friend waiting impatiently for me. They had been accosted again by someone who didn’t understand the meaning of no. We had been there for a total of about four songs before we left. We grabbed a cab and as we got in Jo kept asking, “When did we get to be so old?! I can’t believe this.” She then made the mistake of asking the cabbie how old he thought she was. His answer: 34. She turned 26 a month ago. She wasn’t what you would call a happy camper. You might say she was the opposite of a happy camper.

That was my Friday night. Probably the last one like it for a long while.

I didn’t watch much TV growing up instead I would sit outside and pout while the other neighborhood kids played basketball. Once in a while we would all play a game of Sardines (man I miss those days). But I did watch the Muppet Show and boy did I love it! First off there was singing - who doesn’t love muppets singing? There were stupid jokes - thank you Fozzy Bear. There was the requisite romance, Kermit and Miss Piggy. There were the two old guys - admit it you can’t get enough of them! I really wish they’d come out with a new and modern Muppet Show, although, not too modernized then it would be ruined. Sure they tried it a while back and it failed, but there’s no reason they can’t try again! It would do wonders for Lindsey Lohan’s image if she were to be a guest and sing a love song with Kermit and then have Miss Piggy come in and sucker punch her - America would LOVE it!

Now I am not your typical little girl, don’t for a second start to think that I am predictable, no, my favorite was not Kermit, or Fozzy, or Gonzo. I aspire to be unboring. I actually had two favorites: Crazy Harry and Swedish Chef. Everybody knows and loves the Swedish chef - how can you not? He’s always chasing other muppets around with a butcher knife while speaking gibberish - how is that not the funniest thing ever?

Good stuff. Not many people have heard of Crazy Harry though. Well, let me edumacate you as to why he was the coolest muppet ever  - he blew stuff up. That’s it. He would show up in the middle of a scene and just blow everything up. I honestly don’t know why they didn’t have him in every single sketch. But I will share my favorite Crazy Harry moment with you:

Notice how it’s nice girlie muppets singing a lame song and then Crazy Harry comes in and ruins it?! There’s no contest: he is by far the best Muppet. So seriously, when are they going to bring the Muppet Show back? I mean the more I think about it the more I remember how much I loved it. Veterinarians Hospital? Pigs in Space? I might start a letter writing campaign. Who’s with me?!

I made a decision Monday night. It is a decision that I have made multiple times in the past and yet always fail to stick to. I thought if I state the decision here and am very clear about the rules surrounding it I will be less likely to fail. Hopefully.

My decision was that I need to stop making lame excuses for why I can’t work out. See what happened is I was going to go running on Saturday morning, but then I woke up late and we wanted to go to the beach and I figured I could go running in the afternoon. That is until my dad called and wanted us to come over for dessert - well, I didn’t have time to run AND shower so of course I didn’t go for a run - nobody likes a smelly girl. Plus I figured I would run on Sunday. Well…I slept in (Shocker!) and I had a study session that morning I had to go to. By the time I got home it was time for dinner - NOT time to go for a run. Do you see how this is quickly turning into a list of all my excuses?

I told myself it was ok because I would run on Monday; well it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out that that did not occur. You see I wasn’t feeling well. I did run yesterday, but only because I was so disappointed in myself.

I had myself convinced that the solution was a different workout - that it was the actual running I didn’t like and I was all excited because the Queen of Fucking Everything is sending me some yoga dvds and I was certain that this was the solution to all my problems and before you knew it I’d be a swimsuit model. Then I remembered about that aerobics tape I had in college that was never used. Then I remembered that state of the art FREE rec center I had access to that I rarely took advantage of. The only conclusion that can be made from this is that I am the Queen of Excuses who hates getting off the couch. Hence my decision: No More Fucking Excuses. There are only three valid excuses that I am allowed to use:

1.  My back hurts…BAD. This is valid because I have had serious health problems related to my back and don’t want to repeat that. Maybe one day I’ll share the story behind my one ambulance ride. Although, it is a possibility that I am including this because my back hurts today and I don’t want to workout tonight, but I get three excuses and I choose this one so SHUT UP ALREADY!

2.  I am so sick it takes every ounce of will power I have to get off the couch.

3.  My calendar is full to the BRIM. Of course this means I will start writing trivial things down in my calendar…but I’m trying here folks.

That’s that. Before you know it I’ll be the Queen of Skinny. Well, maybe not Skinny because that doesn’t sound right…maybe Queen of Look At My Perfect Ass!

I have been invited to a couple parties and a camping trip on the 26^th and to every invitation I responded maybe because I couldn’t help thinking that there was something else going on that day, but for the life of me I could not remember what it was. Today I finally remembered what is happening that Saturday and I am at a loss as to how I could have possibly forgotten that I am a member of the cardboard tube fighting league. There is going to be a cardboard tube fighting thingie at Gasworks park on that day and to think that I came close to missing it gives me shivers and the fact that I finally remembered makes me finally believe that there is, in fact, a God. You should check it out dear reader. These wars are not only occurring in Seattle, they are everywhere - maybe in a city near you? You should keep your fingers crossed that this league exists near you. Now I must go, I have a costume to design.

I hope everybody had as lovely a weekend as I did. I went to my parents Saturday night for some delicious homemade dessert accompanied by some very tasty wine. My parents happened to be babysitting my nephews and since my three year old nephew kept talking trash about his wii bowling skills I was forced to take him on and hopefully take him down a notch. I’m telling you his ego was pretty big - he kept going on and on saying things like, “I scored 100 strikes today! 100 strikes in a row!” I told him that was impossible, but he convinced me it wasn’t.

The only option I had was to challenge him to a game of bowling, which only made things worse because he won…despite the fact that he throws the “ball” between his legs. Yep, I lost to a three year old. He insisted on playing tennis next to show off his wii skills some more and make his Auntie Megan who adores him so much look even more like a fool/nerdy geek with zero video game skills. Guess what the outcome of that was. Ding ding ding! I lost again. When it was my serve I kept trying to hit the sweet spot - you know, that spot that makes the serve so fast not even the best wii tennis player can hit it? Here’s what Chuckles had to say about that: “You’re not really trying to score a fast serve against your nephew are you?!” To which I said, “Look at the score! I think we’re pretty fairly matched. I’m not exactly letting him win.”

Luckily, at this point Jared had grown tired of my lack of skills and wanted to play baseball by himself. That is how I discovered that I am superior to Jared in at least one skill: the English language. Every time he switched sides he’d say either, “I’m battering” or “I’m pitchering.” I didn’t correct him because I was too busy enjoying my ultimate superiority.

Later when we played another game of bowling every time Jared would say, “Auntie Megan, do you need my help? You just press the B button and try to hit the pins. You want to hit ALL the pins, not just one, and that’s called a STRIKE,” I would just remind myself you speak better English and that was how I convinced myself to not yell back, “I do NOT need your help! I can do it all by myself. Let me do it by myself!” So I let him help because I’m nice like that and, let’s face it, I needed it.

That’s right I am not in the greatest of moods today. This is probably due to the fact that it is Friday and 82º and sunny outside and I am INSIDE…staring at a computer screen. Poopy. Because of this, slightly annoying things that I would normally brush off are now exponentially more annoying today.

I will focus solely on the one annoying incident of this morning that put me over the edge and caused me to sit in my office with a look on my face that says, “Don’t you DARE come near me and try to strike up a conversation because it is quite possible that you will get your head bitten off.” There is a young girl I work with who recently graduated from college and just happens to be my boss’s daughter.

First, some background info to explain my semi-dislike for her. She is getting married this summer and OMG it is only the best wedding taking place in Seattle this summer! It is at the BEST reception hall, has the BEST wedding planners, the BEST wedding cake, themed drinks, and sand imported from Hawaii!! Oh, and did I mention she had to get two wedding gowns because the one for the ceremony is too heavy because she’s a size negative two and she can’t wear it for too long or she literally passes out from the sheer weight of it. Oh, and, also, Chuckles isn’t invited so I have to go by myself and it’s a black tie affair and I can’t find a dress. Oh, and she has gotten a series of Mercedes that she just keeps crashing, except a month ago she exchanged her Mercedes convertible for a Volkswagen and it’s RED and she likes drive it around during lunch and talk for an hour about how cute she looks when she drives it.

Annnywaaay this morning she was, oh, I don’t know, four hours late to work? I guess it pays to be the boss’s daughter. Daddy, are you reading this? Since I might potentially work for you one day can I only work when I feel like it? Anyway, she was late because she had been in line since 5 am for her new iphone. When she got in she had to run in and show everybody how unbelievably CUTE it is! Look at it! Look at it! What she really means is, “Look at ME! How Cute am I?!” I guess I should be glad because she’s not calling my cute little civic trash or asking me if my hair will always be that color or will it fade because it would be better if it would fade or asking me how I got to be so weird. Since she got in she’s been messing with it on her laptop instead of working - this is why I have zero loyalty to this company and have zero guilt about reading blogs while at work. She gets paid to socialize and work why not me too? Really my irritation with her today is a result of my distress at having to go to her wedding by myself. Given that there’s an open bar the evening might end in my getting fired, but I have a month to come up with a plan to get the hell out of it…even though I already RSVP’d.

So I was thinking today what would I be like if I had a rich daddy who would buy anything my little heart desired because he had no interest in teaching me the importance of responsibility. Here’s my list:

The shoes and purse are from Piperlime, the necklace and sweater are from Banana Republic, and the dress is from Nordstrom. I wonder if there’s anybody out there who would be willing to buy them for me. I would make you some very yummy chocolate chip cookies.

Update: I kinda feel bad now because she is now doing part of my job for me and she was surprisingly very sweet about it…but I don’t take anything back! You can not win me over with flattery. That’s actually a lie I am easily won over by flattery. I’m sorry I’m a liar.

All my life I’ve never been sure what I was supposed to be when I grew up. For a long time I thought I was meant to be an actress, but that was only because I knew I would be the girl with the most stylish dress at the Oscars. Now I secretly think I would be a fantabulous stylist for the Stars…I mean Brit Brit could really use me in her court, but I imagine I would have to move to LA and I will never ever live in SoCal.

Then I wanted to be a librarian simply because I figured my job would be reading books and alphabetizing. (Don’t worry I now realize there’s more to it than that, but I was young and no one informed me otherwise). And then, don’t ask me why, I decided I wanted to be a postman. It seemed like a job that required good organization skills, which is something I have an abundance of. This might surprise those of you who know me out in the “real world” whatever the hell that is, but as Chuckles can now attest to after living me with me for only a few weeks I don’t take well to clutter. Everything MUST have a home and it’s home MUST be pretty. Anyway, I soon learned that postmen don’t make the kind of money that I was interested in making.

Finally, after years over agonizing over what to be, I settled on Doctor. I always thought Doctor Pinckney had a nice ring to it and I would be helping people. Oh, and I would make a lot of money, but that was only a teensy eensy part of my decision making process. I even went so far as to take the MCAT’s twice and throw $3 G’s down the tube because, well, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you, but it is fucking expensive to apply to med. school and I didn’t even get to the part where I fly around the country going to interviews. Soooo, long story short, a certain someone forgot to turn in my letter of reference and nobody notified me and my applications were all late. Thanks a LOT Washington State Chemistry Department! I’m not bitter or anything. Actually, I’m not because now I am really glad that I am not living in Vermont and that my life isn’t completely taken over by work. Not that there’s anything wrong with Vermont.

That brings me to now and why I want to be an accountant. Basically, when your life falls to pieces around you it forces you to pick them back up and try to put it all back together and you start to reevaluate the choices you had made. I realized that the life of a 9-5 office worker isn’t as bad as I once thought. The stability of it all was attractive. You know - I would always have a job, make decent money - what could go wrong? Well, last night as I was reading my book for class last night there was a section in the chapter titled, “Beware of the Cost Allocation Death Spiral.” DEATH SPIRALS?! Nobody told me there would be any risk taking in accounting! I don’t even know what a death spiral is, but if I had to guess I would imagine a plane going down NOT allocating costs incorrectly. I eagerly read the section waiting for them to tell me how I could avoid these “death spirals” and, you know what, they didn’t even mention them. Not once. So, now, thanks to this stupid book I will be constantly afraid of the death spiral that is surely waiting for me in the next excel spreadsheet I open. I’m starting to think it would be safer for me to be a stunt man in Hollywood or a daredevil like Evil Knievel. At least if I was a daredevil I could wear a jumpsuit with flames on the side. Career change? Here I come!!!

I have refrained from posting anything about my coworkers because I am afraid that when I talk about them I turn into an evil witch and I am really not an evil witch. That and I feel like I shouldn’t be talking shit about specific people on the interwebs, but I’m not using their names so in my mind that makes it ok. But really I need the world to know what I put up with every day. The big thing lately has been their lack of humor while they think they are the funniest people EVER. I don’t even know where to start in trying to explain this.

First of all they don’t understand sarcasm. Example: yesterday at lunch my coworker E was complaining that it was too hot to mow her lawn and I suggested that she let it grow for a while and buy some goats to eat it. (I realize that isn’t very funny, but I think everybody understands that I don’t seriously believe somebody should buy goats so they don’t have to mow their lawns anymore.) Well, another coworker, M, informed me that she owned goats once and it doesn’t result in a very uniform lawn. (Yes, she was being serious. M does not know how to joke - she can’t even smile for heaven’s sake). She then went on a long, oh dear God soooo long, story about how she once owned goats. She actually told a story about how one of her goats attacked her mom, which I can imagine would be funny if absolutely anybody else was telling the story. I stopped listening at some point and started daydreaming about whether I could pull together a short story involving a carnival and midgets and deep fried oreos for Surviving Myself’s story contest when M said something about how her goats somehow got cloven hooves or had them already…I really don’t know because I had completely lost the thread of the story eons ago, but L (who I like) replied, “What? Did they eventually turn into the devil?” Well, I think it goes without saying that M was extremely confused, “No! Why would you say that? That makes no sense.”

Secondly, there’re the people who think they’re funny and they’re NOT! I have soooo many examples, but I will stick to three because I have something called “will power.” First of all, there’s E who loves to tell stories, but she usually forgets where she’s going with it halfway through so here’s an example of one of her stories: “I was playing with my puppies in the backyard this weekend! Gremlin just kept running around and around and around and he was getting soooo tired. He just loves to run that little guy. He loves the grass. And and and, oh yeah, so he just ran straight into the wall. HAR HAR HAR!” Oh man, it is some good stuff. Then there’s C who is the epitome of white trash - and I don’t just throw that label around. I MEAN IT. Usually she just talks about the people she knows in jail or the time she got her nipple pierced on live radio or that time her mother in law got really drunk and yelled obscenities at her seven year old son, but every once in a while she tells a joke. Those moments are the only motivation I need to get out of bed every morning and come into work. Like last week when the owners had this insanely big party and apparently they had to purchase a large amount of mayonnaise for said party. Well, there were 8 Costco sized bottles of mayonnaise left over and C came back to my office and went on and on like this, “Do you need any mayonnaise? Because there’s a LOT! A LOT! There is soooo much mayonnaise! Take some home! There’s so much. So much. HAHAHA! Look at it all.” It was really awkward. You see several months ago I decided to stop fake laughing because I felt it was making me dumber and so C was laughing her ass off, but all I did was stare at her without so much as a smile. Am I crazy? Is that funny?

Before you answer that let me give you one more item of proof of the non sense of humor around here. Posted above the copy machine is a comic that is supposed to be really funny and I wish I could find it online to post it here, but, unfortunately, I can’t so I will just have to describe it. It’s a picture of God and two angels. God is wearing a tie that says, “World’s best Dad.” And he is saying to the angels, “The boy gave it to me.” Is that funny? Because I’m starting to doubt whether I have a sense of humor when I am surrounded by these people more than forty hours a week and they all think I am a very very serious person because I don’t ever laugh when I’m with them.