leaving...

hi guys...due to the fact that my family is nuts and won't stop trying to destroy my mental health i will be gone for a while.
i don't know where i'm staying so if you want to get ahold of me you'll just have to call my cell phone.

laters!
<3 MM

I can never call my mother annoying again...

because I am just like her.
I don't know how many times we've said the same thing at the same time (and not anything standard, stuff that I think only we could think of) or have watched a situation unfold, knowing that we were thinking the same thing about what we just saw.

But enough of that schmaltzy crap...I'mma gripe a little now.
She gets up so early. I swear I've been up at like seven every morning since she got here, and today we were up and out by nine, and done shopping by two. What the heck is that?!
I'm used to getting up at eleven, and not doing anything until seven, sometimes ten.

How dare she keep me from being lazy?!
Ha...

ouch

I told a somewhat older friend of mine that I was going to try and self publish a book of my poetry and they said:
"I've read your poetry. I think you should wait until you have some good material before you spend all that money."

Whoa. Burn.

and then they said:
"It's just really obvious that you have no life experience."



I'm never speaking to them again.

another reason to sleep with one eye (and browser) open...

I gave my friend Travis' myspace a makeover tonight...he'll be so excited when he logs on in the morning and sees it!

Check it out, before he changes something...
http://www.myspace.com/garr_glenn

PS...I Love Me

I think I should ask all my guy friends if I give off that "I'm madly in love with you" vibe everytime they are nice to me.
Why?
Well, let's just say that as of late I seem to be misunderstood in that arena.
I hate to say this but...I pretty much am just in love with myself. It's not that I don't have the capacity to love other people (I'm over my robot stage), it's just that I have trouble with the whole being in love thing. And yes, there is a difference. I never thought there was but there really is.

Anyway...I think I deserve it. I mean, I've done the self loathing thing for such a long time and it just hurts...and it's not cute, and it frustrates the crap out of me.

So I guess one of my resolutions for next year will be to love myself as much as I can.


Hey, that's a good one!

Rosary

The rosary is cold, shocking my hand as it lays in my palm like little pieces of blessed ice.

"Heavenly Father, I can take care of myself you know. You really shouldn't waste your time. You know I'm just gonna do what I wanna do. You can't stop me. Well, yes you can but you shouldn't...I want to live my life.
MY LIFE.
I want to live it how I want to and I don't care what it says in your damn...forgive me Father, darn book. You didn't even write that book did you?"

Father Callahan raises an eyebrow as he passes me, totally sure I'm doing something or saying something that I shouldn't.

"Why'd you make me Catholic anyway? Don't you know how hard it is to try and follow all these rules? No french kissing? And no fornicating?! I do that all the time!
So I'm going to hell for puttin' my tongue in someone else's mouth. That's like the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life. I hope you know you're gonna be lonely up there...you won't be seein' me or any of my family. See you made a mistake in makin' us Catholic 'cause you also made us Irish. We can't help but sin! We get so damn...sorry Father, darn excited we just can't help it, either that or we get drunk, and well...you know what happens next."

Some sister passes. Which one I don't know...they all look the same to me. She must know I'm not Hail Mary-ing.
I always lose count.

"...and speaking of my family, why me? I mean, they're not that bad I guess but come on! They're all insane. At least you didn't make me as crazy as you made all of them. And also, speaking of drunk...my dad. What's with him and the booze? Can't you do something about that?I guess he can't die from it but it makes him such an asshole. Oops, sorry again Father. It makes him unpleasant. You should have given me more patience if you wanted me to deal with these people for the rest of my life. But I guess that goes back to the makin' me Irish thing."

I shift, my knees crying out for mercy
"And what the hell were you thinkin' giving me bad knees?!"
Another twinge, worse this time.
"Are you even listening? Are you even there?"

My rosary hasn't warmed.

shadows

Once lying on a different plane
now all the greys cannot contain the night
as the sun moves in
and we go stepping into morning.
Your eyes are more clear now
and although they're only brown
they make me slip and make me fall
I hope that I don't end up broken.
And your voice will dance on the breeze
as you sing through the stillness and around the trees
and I'll hum along though I don't know the words,
content in this perfect place.
The sun comes up higher and it's afternoon
the night will fall again, very soon
I'll have you in the dark again
and we'll both turn into shadows.

Meg = doormat? Not really.

Do you ever just wake up and say:
"I'm not going to try so hard anymore"...and not in a bad way?

I think I try too hard to make people like me, and I've always been pretty sure that it either backfires or opens me up to being treated like a doormat. A recent encounter with a fairly new person in my life confirmed it. They seemed to lean more towards treating me like a doormat, and I just snapped. I let them know that in the grand scheme of things they just weren't that important in my life.

It was good to be honest. To admit to myself that I just didn't care as much as I thought I did. Took a huge load off my chest.
So from now on, if people like me and want to treat me as a friend and human being, I can and will reciprocate. If not, I'll treat them like as much of a pile of shit as they do me. Why the hell should I care anyway? I have my own life to live and enough friends to tide me over for the next thousand years.
I don't need to kiss your ass. Anyone's ass, for that matter.

I am really starting to feel the distance between little Meg and grown up Meg.
I like it.

sweet to me

i love you
the way you slide into my vein
the way you're so like candy
or by your other name
the way your smoke slides down my throat
snakes through my brain finding lobes to poke
i love you
the way you're cheap and easy
the way you make me sleep
i can't wake up
just hold me
don't shake me awake
i love you
the way you make me useful
the way you make me rush
how i can finish my day in
an hour fueled by your tender touch
i love you
the way you make me run
the way you make me hide
when you're around
i always sweat out all the fears inside
i love you
the way you make me forget
the way you make me pale
they'll never see me crying
i can forget this hell
because you love me back.

Madonna's Ass: a rant

So I was doing my daily Myspace ritual when I saw an ad that said something like "Who's Butt is This?"...the prize, a new Razr phone. The cost, my dignity.

I knew who the ass belonged to.

"That's totally Madonna's ass!" I thought, in the deep dark recesses of my mind. And instantly, I was ashamed of myself.

I hope I'm not one of those people. You know, the kind that watches Entertainment Tonight to hear the latest news about crazy ass Lindsay Lohan and her drunken antics. Or crazy ass Nicole Richie and her driving problems. Or crazy ass Britney Spears and her...vagina.

What about Maya Angelou's vagina?

Wait, that's not what I meant.

I just mean, what about people that matter? What about people that have done some good in the world, or at least tried. Why don't these people get much attention?

Let's take Bono for example.
Why does anyone care what he has to say about poverty, AIDS, etc?
Because he's Bono. Not because of the genius work he's trying to do...but because he's in a band that has kicked major ass for a hella long time.
That's not necessarily a bad thing, at least he's using his celebrity to do something good but...what if he was still just Paul Hewson, a dude from Ireland. An unfamous Irish dude isn't going to get any work done.

Why?
Because as a society we have our priorities all wrong. Doing the right thing comes after looking good, being famous, making money and beating everyone else to the punch. Helping other people is just too hard and who the hell cares if a bunch of people an ocean away die of some disease? You know, that money that you spend ordering Manolo Blahnik shoes online could be sent to Africa to feed a village for a month.

Too bad you just HAVE to emulate Sarah Jessica Parker. Too bad you can't just live your own life and be yourself.

What is so bad about being a regular person and doing some good in the world?

Hi, my name is Meg and I'm a masochist *waves*

Last night was a good night.
I won't go into details because I don't know of anyone who would want to know the kind of details I usually have to give.

But it was good nonetheless.

I was finally able to admit something, to myself and to someone else (who is always open minded...thankfully)

I don't want the power that I think I want.
I just want to exist, live my life, be happy.
And sometimes...I crave that feeling of absolute helplessness that comes with being tied down, chained (literally in this case, but it applies in a figurative way as well).
There's just something about not being able to move that makes you face your situation from a new angle. When you can't run or hide and you know it's going to hurt like hell. When you face the pain and realize it's not going to kill you.

Such a feeling of pride when you make it through, still all in one piece.
And it stings.
But it's so good at the same time.
I just love it.


Such is life.

Mornings

I climbed back into the house through the bedroom window, dreading having to tell my mother where I'd been. I stepped wrong, bringing my foot down on her legs.
"Watch where you're going!" she grumbled, without moving "We are talking about this tomorrow you know."
That is one of the things I hated about our apartment. When we were close it was great, being that there was only one bedroom, one bed, but we were never close that often. Her husband made sure we hated each other and that I was the odd one out. He can say that's not how it was but I know better than that.
Anyway...all I wanted was my own bed.
I think that's one thing everyone deserves. Their own bed to go to when they're sick, when they're fed up, when they want to be alone. When I made her mad or when she made me mad, there was never anywhere to go, I couldn't even dream in peace.
All that night I tossed and turned wondering what she was gonna say, who she was gonna keep me from seeing, where she was going to keep me from going. I dreamed about locks, and chains.
I woke up very early, right when the clock struck five, grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste and climbed back out the window to catch the bus to school. I could have used the front door,but he was there, awake and waiting.
I sat in the back of the bus, and tried to cover my face. My eyes were still bloodshot and throbbing, my lips felt dry, ready to fall right off. I always told myself that I wasn't going to do it anymore, that I was gonna quit, and cold turkey too. I was brave enough, I was ready enough. but everytime I tried, he was there with more.
No one was on campus when I got there at five thirty, but the sun was coming up a little. I found the highest hill on the field we never used for sports and sat down to watch. I never do that anymore, I'm never up that early. Sometimes I miss it, but nowadays there's not many things I care to do by myself. Not like that, it's not the same.
I watched the sun inch it's way into the new day, changing the sky from black, to gray, pink, red, light blue. Not one cloud in the sky that I could see...the higher it rose in the sky, the more I felt triumphant. It rose and rose until it found it's place, the best thing about the sky. It was what I wanted to be. The best, the brightest. I somehow got it into my head that as long as Iwas up to see it I had won.
It perched itself in the blue, and I started to lose the energy I woke up with. My legs stopped waggling, my hands stopped shaking, and I could hear someone coming from behind me.
Some kid. I guess I wasn't who they thought I was...they turned and scampered off, looking embarrassed. I checked my watch.

Seven thirty. The library was open.
If they still had "Howl" it would be a good day.

lookit...

"Four Generations"
Drifting by
lazy and placated
letting my hand touch the softness new flowers on the roadside
as the car meanders down the familiar dirt road
some chicken crossing...
isn't that funny?
A day that wouldn't end
and too many around speaking tongues and spitting memories
surrounded by everything I know
I feel the darkness like some familiar dream of death
and somehow i'm alone under the glittering stars
wanting to scream but tasting nothing but silence
on my carnation colored lips...
I don't want to be my mother's mother's mother anymore
the one who never lied and lost her only son
I don't want to paint lines up my legs
I don't want to ration coffee
there's so much to waste now...
Back in the car
waving to those little women old and almost gray
a little more hunched over than before
I don't want to get old...
Drifting by
talking myself back into laziness
letting my hand touch the softness of new flowers on the roadside
back down that same familiar dirt road
some chicken crossing...
to get to the other side I suppose

I need the strength to give to someone else...

So, I have this friend who's having a really hard time. And this time, the friend isn't me so don't even go there.

I'm really worried about them...they seem to be at the end of their rope. I know what to say, but it's really important that they listen, and I'm not sure if they're ready or willing to take my advice and hear what I have to say. I'm not sure if they're ready to hear that life is worth living and no matter how many mistakes you've made there is always a way to make things better and a new start around the corner. That there is so much ahead of you in this life, so much that you shouldn't miss.

Our lifespan is as long as it is for a reason...because there are so many things for us to see, so many people for us to meet, and so many opportunities to make our lives what we want them to be.

I just hope and pray that they listen. I hope that they're still here in the morning.

This makes me laugh.

I got an email from someone who kind of knows me but not really, and basically it was just all about how awful I am and why they think I'm a pathetic human being. The whole reason why they emailed me is because they found me on Myspace and started reading my blogs...which according to them were "rubbish" and just further proved their theory that I'm worthless and always have been.
I decided to publicly answer three of their gripes, just so they can feel special. Consider it an early Christmas present.


"You've been loafing for twenty years. Isn't that long enough?"

Loafing? First of all, who even says that anymore? And secondly, could you BE more wrong? I was working and making my own money and contributing to my household when I was 13. I missed over 50 days of school my freshman year because there were some days I just couldn't get off work. At one point, I was the only one out of me, my mother and my stepfather that was making any money...and I still feel bad that I didn't always make enough for rent and food. So excuse the crap out of me for not having a job in the past year.

"You would be almost perfect if you had any self esteem"

Obviously, you don't know me at all. Sure, sometimes I get insecure about whatever the crap doesn't look cute about my body at the time, but to say I have no self esteem is pretty far off. I have to be honest with you...I'd have sex with me.
It has been a long road to personal acceptance for me but believe it or not, I got there. I'm happy with who I am, and I'm happy with my life. Sure, there's stuff I want to do with my life still, and I still wanna lose five pounds but hey, I think that's just a girl thing. It has nothing to do with how I feel about myself. I love myself more than anyone else does.

"You try too hard."

I'll give you this one. But I don't do it for the reasons that you think. I'm not desperate, I just haven't shaken the habit. And alright, I DO want people to like me but being nice is way better than being an asshole. What's that saying about honey and vinegar...something about flies? You know what I mean.


Moral of the story:
They're in love with me but they can't find the words to tell me so they're taking their frustration out on the object of their desire (me). Classic case of projection.

stupid pictures

Sometimes when I can't sleep and I'm afraid I'll have bad dreams I'll flip through a photo album or two. Pictures of myself when I was small, with my grandparents who were young and didn't smoke as much...and my mom who was younger, and not as hard. I pick the albums that I know only have happy pictures inside, much the same way I pick the side of my brain that only has happy memories.

One stupid picture.
When I saw it, my face got hot and my body got cold and it felt like I had Pop Rocks in my veins. Whizzing through me, fizzling their way towards my heart. And then I laughed.

My uncle. The coolest person I've ever known in my life.
He was the only one in the family that was like me. I know you don't know my family but...sometimes I think fun is not in their vocabulary. No fun, no mistakes, no crying. Suck it up an join the Marines. I love them but they can be such hardasses sometimes. My uncle and I were the only outwardly insecure and emotional members of the family...and now that he's gone all that is left is me.

The picture is of a recliner that has tipped over with us in it.
Did I say recliner? I meant rocketship.

There was this commercial when I was younger that had rocket noises in it, and everytime it came on and I was sitting in his lap, he would put his hands behind my knees, lift me up a little, and lean back in the recliner as far as he could without tipping it over...all the while making more rocket noises ("mine are cooler" he would say).
One day, I guess he leaned back too far.
We weren't hurt, in fact, we both thought it was the funniest thing that had ever happened in our lives...well, it probably was for me since I was like four.
My grandma yelled at my mom for taking the picture instead of helping us up...and then she yelled at us, of course, and told us to never do "that stupid spaceship thing" ever again.

Did we listen?
We never did.


It's been a couple of years since he died, but I'm still not used the fact that he's not going to randomly show up one day to ask if he can crash on our couch for a few days.
I've never missed anyone this bad before.

Will I ever get over this?
Stupid picture.

totally taking a break

So I informed some people of my desire to take a break from shows. They were like "WHAAAT? you haven't even done that many!"

Seriously?

January: rehearsals for the CSUB One Acts
February: CSUB One Acts (acting)
March/April: rehearsals for Execution of Justice at BC
May: Execution of Justice, rehearsals for BCT One Acts
June: BCT One Acts (lights, directing and writing), rehearsals for Pinocchio
July: Pinnochio at BCT (stage managing), rehearsals for Daryl
August: Daryl at BCT (stage managing), rehearsals for Picnic
September: Picnic at BCT (acting), rehearsals for Project Murder(?)
October: Project Murder at the Empty Space (acting)
November: rehearsals for Velveteen Rabbit at BCT (assistant directing)
December: It's a wonderful Life at Jewel Box Theatre (stage managing)

Ten shows in a row.
I'd say I could stand to take a break for a few months.


...and if I even mention auditioning for a show please smack me.

buried, drowning in words.

I can't stop thinking about my day.
I did so much and yet I feel like I didn't do anything.

I think I'm still measuring busyness and doing things by other people's standards. It's like, if you didn't leave the house until 6 pm you didn't do anything. Well, you know what...I wrote. I wrote like all day long and believe me, it was exhausting. There are just so many words, a million ways to say one thing.

It's like giving blood.
Sometimes it's a painful process, but it has the potential to be life saving.
Well, that is a bit dramatic. But it's true, and anyway...it gives me something to do now that I'm not in school.

Since I gave up on school, I have felt kind of lost. I mean, I made my bed and I plan to lie in it but everyone just keeps telling me I'm too smart to quit.
"You're smarter than that." they say.
While I do appreciate the faith (but not) that you might have in my intelligence, I made my decision. It's not where I want to be right now. End of story.

You know, I used to find immense importance in physical things, pleasure especially...of a sexual nature usually. But some nights ago, I realized that how we feel and what we feel are not always connected. And I also realized that no matter how much you want to...there are just some things you can't say. Won't say.
I used to just blurt things out not caring if the timing was right...but I think that the older I've gotten the more I have realized that words are sensitive creatures...things have to be just so.

All I want right now...is words. Comforting words. Words I've never heard before. Ones I have but not in a while.
Validation.
Affirmation.
Written. Spoken. Screamed. Whispered.

Just say it.


Anyway...
This is the only time when I'm totally sure. When I'm not scared...when the words come from my fingers and not my mouth

mini story morsels

If they mated:

So, I was talking to a friend of mine and they said something that I am still not sure how to interpret:
"If Lucille Ball and Paul Lynde had a child...it would be you, sweetheart"

Oddly enough, this friend was not the first to call me Lynde-ish. I'm a cackling, drunk gay man. That's so hot.


Poo shoes:

I was going through my closet looking for something cute to wear for opening night (I always dress up opening night, no matter what my involvement in a show is) and I found my tall boots. My deliciously naughty, high heeled, knee high boots. I almost squealed, having not seen them since last winter. Imagine my surprise when I lifted them out of their box and found poo. Cat poo. New cat poo. Now how the hell do you get cat poo out of suede?! Damn cat.
Needless to say, they are going into retirement.
Anyone know where I can get some not hella expensive boots?


Teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeks:

Two tech weeks in a row. Ay dios mio! I'm going to lose my mind. More importantly, I'm not going to be able to spend any time with the friends I have that are not in my shows. Sure, I'll get to see Shannon, Liz, Tim (It's a Wonderful Life) and Julie (Velveteen Rabbit) but everyone else, unfortunately, will probably get neglected. Ugh, and the CB...sometimes I think I'll never see him again. Busy folks, both of us are.
I hope by now that everyone understands this theatre thing.


Weight loss secret:

Rice Chex and fat free milk. Seriously it seems like that's all I've eaten the past two weeks and I swear I've lost like six pounds. Why didn't I figure this out sooner?


Yar...that's about it.
Ohhhh, and if any of my Bakersfield theatre friends read this...there is going to be a Hellcat meeting on Friday at Border's on Stockdale. We start talking business at two, and when that's done we'll be discussing the sketch comedy project, so if you've written a sketch bring it in, and if not then maybe we can start from scratch. Everyone is welcome, the more the merrier!

Thankful things and smatterings of clarity

If you know me, you know I just don't seem like the mushy type. In fact, I'm NOT the mushy type. But there's just something about seeing everyone together, alive, and mostly healthy that makes me melt a little.
Don't get me wrong, they drive me a little insane...but I love my family. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about, and silently pray for, every single one of them. Not that I don't trust them to live their lives without somehow getting killed or maimed, but since my uncle died I've been alot more watchful, protective, paranoid even.

Like I said to my youngest cousin today before she took off on her quad:
"Be careful. Dying's bad, mmkay?"

She thought I was joking, and when she came back in one piece she said "I'm alive!".
She really has no idea how thankful I am for that.
That everyone is alive.
That I'm alive.
That there was pie...


Enough schmaltzy crap, let's move onto the smatterings of clarity.

I have realized that I allow my friends to pick on me too much, and saying "dude, not cool" does not suffice when they actually hit a nerve.
Sure, I should just be a good sport about it and let them pick, knowing that they'd be wrong about most things they say on the off chance that they're actually being malicious. Most of them, I know it's all in good fun, but a few of them I'm starting to wonder about.

Did I tell you the Mini Cooper story?!

I was talking to a friend about what kind of cars we wanted. She says..."blah blah blah Honda blah" and I said "I'd pick a Mini Cooper. They're cute"

She says:
"Yeah, I noticed that alot of big people drive Minis"
and no, she didn't mean tall when she said big.

All I could say was "Dude..."
she laughed. and laughed. and laughed.
and then she asked, quite insincerely "I'm sorry, did I offend you?"

No shit.
But seriously, I love it when my friends who aren't much smaller than me feel the need to call me big even though they know I've been having major mental rumblings about the state of my body. Oh, and thanks for making me cry. It always makes me feel like a mentally stable lumberjack Marine.

Hi sarcasm! You're my favorite.

The next time someone says something like that they are being told to fuck off.
Smooches!




...and now onto Christmas!

Part of a short story, hope you like it.

A cold, salty breeze pushed it's way all the way from the ocean into town, changing things. I pulled my sweater closer, cursing the fallen off buttons. I could go inside, if not for all the yelling. I had left the way I always did...I scooted past them, not making any noise, slid out the door and across the yard. They wouldn't see me, it was dark enough.

I didn't know where I was going, I never did. sometimes I would leave mindlessly and end up somewhere I didn't want to walk all the way home from. Stuff like that could be dangerous, someone said to me once. Yeah, but they weren't local. Anywhere over here would be dangerous for them. Especially with that Louis Vuitton purse and those fake nails. What was a rich person doing overhere anyway?
I turned the corner and got slapped in the face by hanging, dry palm leaves. I knew they were there, I just seemed to always forget. Through the alley, around the broken couch, away from the familiar places, I was trying to get lost on the main road. I always thought that maybe, just maybe , someone would find me, love me, take me away. But it never happened. Usually it was just Paola and the kids, on the way back from church, or Claudio and Marco. People I knew, people who would make me take a ride home when all I wanted was to just leave. It seemed like someone was always bringing me back home. I'd smile, say thank you, and hop in. Hop out when we got there, thank them again and promise to stay out of trouble, to not walk so far. But they knew...they knew the next time things got loud I'd be gone. I hope they didn't feel bad for me. I never liked that.
Half a mile and no one stopped me yet. I was glad. Maybe I'd make it wherever I was going. My chanclas made a skidding sound when I walked, brushing against the concrete and fallen leaves. Sounded good with the swish of my corderoys. Like a song.
Chanclas. Paola taught me that word. I liked it, for some reason. Really, Paola had taught me almost everything I needed to know in order to get along there without making trouble. I tried to tell my Ma but she wouldn't listen. She thought she could just do and say whatever. That's why she got heckled so much on her way home. Sometimes I was scared for her...but what can I say, she kind of brought it on herself. But I always knew she'd be alright, Marco knew she was my Ma. That meant she'd be safe.
But she should have learned, like me, that there are some people you don't look in the eye unless they say it's ok. You have to earn that eye contact, that respect. You don't just get it, and if they ask you to take something down somewhere, make a delivery, you do it. You never say no, especially to Marco. He was nice enough, but you just didn't want to say no. I felt kind of honored because after a while he started coming straight to me when he had a package needed delivering. That was a big deal 'cause believe you me, I was the only skinny white girl he let deliver for him. In fact, I think I was the only skinny white girl that was allowed to talk to him, that he liked talking to. That's why he liked me...he said, because I wasn't as white as I looked.
Sometimes, we'd sit on his front lawn across from each other, and he'd smoke his weed and blow the sweet smoke in my direction. A gift in the form of a little contact high. That's when I knew he trusted me.
He never let me smoke though, said I was too pretty and that smoking destroys your face."that's why my old lady has wrinkles already" he coughed, smoke pouring out of his mouth and nostrils "she smokes more 'n I do...trust!"
I don't think he thought that through, but I trusted him at the time. I trusted him, and sometimes I thought I'd do anything for him.

The company has a Myspace!

In case you didn't know...my friends and I started a theatre company. Yeah, I know it sounds like some amateur crap but we're really gonna go for it!

So, check us out on Myspace:
http://www.myspace.com/hellcattheatre

or email us
hellcattheatre@yahoo.com

Yay!

in the middle

I am going to admit something.
This isn't a plea for pity, because that kind of crap just pisses me off.
Once you know, we can discuss it...you can ask me about it, but if you attempt to stage some sort of intervention I will cut you.

I have a problem with food.
It is food's fault that I'm not a thin-ish Hottie McHotster dancer anymore. Oh man, I was so hot.
But food man! Seriously!
I love it...I love to eat it, I love to make it. But I hate it at the same time. So sometimes I don't eat it. Hell, I could go a week without eating and I would be perfectly fine. In fact, fairly recently I was able to avoid food for about three days. It made me feel powerful, better, lighter, more in control...and then it almost made me pass out.
Stupidly stupid bad habit yes...I won't argue with you on that.

Realizing that it was so close to Thanksgiving freaked me out. I used to look forward to it, but the last few years it's been nervewracking for me. All that food that my family won't let me get away with not eating.

Two pressures, to eat and to not, both raging in my mind. Panic attack inducing, almost. I would normally just, not go...but seeing as how we're all thankful that great grandma made it through her surgery and is doing well there is no way that would fly.

I just feel so stuck in the middle.
I mean, like I said before...I love food, and Thanksgiving is pretty much the most kickass holiday next to Saint Patrick's Day (sorry but food has never beat alcohol for me, ever) but I know I'm going to go on a weird not eating kick and a hardcore working out kick and it's just...bah.

You know?

get a jorb

I'm starting to think that I'm just not funny enough to have a job. Whenever I go into interviews everyone appears to be very chatty...and I just cannot believe that is in fact how they are all the time. Or maybe I'm wrong, they are...but I'm not and that's why I remain jobless.

So maybe next time I go in and they ask me
"Why should we hire you?"
instead of saying "because I'm _______ " (insert good thing)
I should say:
"Because, I'm awesome!" or "BECAUSE I ROCK EVERYONE'S FACES!"

and if they ask me:
"Why do you want to work here?"
I will say
"Because I want to put someone's calculator in jello like Jim did on The Office. HIGH FIVE!"

or maybe when they say I gave a good interview I can say:
"Thanks bitch" like Nicole Richie would. I'm so not over her yet.

Oh, or again, when they say I gave a good interview I'll say:
"Thanks for that, I hope you have a beautiful life because I know that there's no way in hell you're going to call me back" because that's what keeps happening.


Well, there's always prostitution.

Decision 2006

I hopped out of the car, a goodly amount of annoyance already clouding my mind. There was a grip of people standing in line, waiting to pass through the metal detector and vote. Metal detector? Really?
Something told me not everyone was here to vote, but the reason alludes me now. Probably just skepticism on my part, or maybe the fact that when I went to lose my voting virginity there in 2004 it was almost exactly the same time and I only had about two people ahead of me.
The guy in front of me had a puffy jacket on, with fur trim on the hood, so I thought I'd talk to him. I opened my mouth to speak and he waved me off "I'm not here to vote, I'm just waiting in line with my girlfriend". Great, I thought, Jigglypuff thinks I'm using my rights as an American citizen to pick up dudes. Had this been jury duty, he wouldn't have been wrong.
Girlfriend peeked her head out from behind his puffiness and waved. She had a crazed look in her eye, the kind Martha Stewart got that day that she taught us how to dress babies as Thanksgiving foods.
"I love voting!" she proclaimed "It's just like, the most important thing you could ever do!". Someone behind us gave a mocking "woot" and someone in front of us let out a long, drawn out sincere one. I gave a golf clap and halfway smiled back at her as she jumped up and down, apparently encouraged by the outburst.
Not one to leave well enough alone, I turned my attention back to her boyfriend.
"Not registered to vote eh?" I asked, only somewhat interested in his answer.
"Just don't wanna."
"Oh, well...there it is."
Girlfriend let the Mozart laugh fly out of her mouth unashamedly. I knew there was a reason why I sort of liked her.
Puffy turned to her and made a shushing sound, like it would have stopped her. It didn't. She continued snorting and chortling and nudging the people around her throughout the entire encounter. I hope she knew them.
"Look," he began, redfaced "I just don't vote ok. There's no point."
"What makes you think that?"
"I'm not in college, so my vote doesn't count. Everyone knows that!"
Unsure whether or not he meant the Electoral College or college in general I decided not to press that issue.
I turned to speak to the slightly less cantankerous person behind me, but before I could say anything Puffy tapped me on the shoulder.
"...and besides that, I don't think it's cool that you have to pick sides. You know, Republican or Democrat."
"You could always vote issue by issue. And since this is like a midterm election, that's really what you'll be doing more of. I mean, aside from voting for members of Congress and state legislatures and stuff like that."
"Still, not cool that they make you choose. What if you don't fit in as a Republican or Democrat?"
I was really starting to think he was screwing with my mind.
I blinked. "You do know that there are other parties right? Independent, Green, Libertarian..." he didn't stop me, so I continued "America First, Socialist, Peace and Freedom, American Nazi, Labor, Light, Natural Law..."
"Alright Gonzo Politicker, I get the point" he grumbled, shrugging me off for a second time.

I wonder if he'll register and vote next time...
I'm not counting on it.

At least he didn't run by yelling "only dweebs vote, Votey McDweeberson!" like someone did the first time I voted.
*sigh*
God Bless America, ya'll!

stress, surgery and theatre theatre theatre!

Great grandma is alive and doing fine, but for some reason I can't stop stressing. I guess there was something else in my mind that was eating away at me...something that I just can't put my finger on. I hope I figure it out soon before I start losing some of my luscious locks!

You know, I was thinking about this as I posted and reposted bulletins on Myspace about the various shows that are going on around town right now:
as much as it freaks me out, and stresses me out and makes me want to eat my own face...theatre is just terribly exciting (even if I'm not directly involved with a show, whenever I hear that one is opening I get a tingly feeling in my stomach and silently, or sometimes not so, wish everyone a good show ) and I don't think I'll be able to quit anytime soon. I should probably take a little bit of a break, but I don't think I'd quit forever.

I know, I know...glutton for punishment much? Yes, yes I am. But for now, I'm going to go to as many shows as I can, wish my friends broken legs (you know what I mean!) and enjoy myself as much as I can. A mini break, if you will...and I think I deserve it.

In the Navy?

Let me preface this story by saying:
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm just not the hardworking type. I mean, I get stuff done...sure. But when the going gets tough, I usually pass the job to someone else or give up. Not a good habit, and a habit I'm trying to break...but a habit nonetheless.

That being said, I feel that it will take a very dire situation or decision on my own part to change my ways, being that I am twenty years set into them. Apparently, my grandparents agree.

I came home Sunday night from an outing to find an packet of papers on my bed, face down. I turn it over and what do I find in big, bold letters? UNITED STATES NAVY.
This packet claims it's glad that I requested the information contained therein. Little does it know I had nothing to do with its arrival at my home. I flip it over, and over and yes...it is indeed addressed to me and yes indeed it is from the United States Navy.

In all the turning a little snippet of paper had fallen off of the envelope.
Confused, and slightly annoyed, I picked the paper up and opened it. It read:

Meg,
Hate to say it, but you're lazy. We feel the Navy will be a step in the right direction.

Just think about it.
Grandma and Grandpa

*blink*

Very funny. They take that one incident when I screamed at them "THAT'S IT! I'M RUNNING AWAY AND JOINING THE NAVY!" and use it against me a full ten years later. Typical.

I decide to humor them and read the damn thing...after all, I was already home which meant my fun was over for the night. I changed out of my skirt and into some sweatpants, and curled up with my new literature.

I'm not totally convinced. However, if I had to join the military, I'm sure I'd pick the Navy, despite their propensity towards being out to sea (which I am immensely terrified of) for extended periods of time.

But the uniforms are pretty sexy.
Hot damn, I think I might join up!

Girls Next Door

As much as I hate to admit it, I kind of like that show. I mean, what's not to like? Three beautiful (albeit dorky) women cavorting around a mansion...usually in costumes. If Hef were a little younger it would be a bi girl's dream show.

Mindless as it may be, it really brings up an important issue for me:
as progressive as I would like to think that I am, I'm not too sure that I could share my man like that. Physically, yeah...I have no problem with that. In fact the occasional tryst with someone else or the occasional threesome probably does more good than it does harm...in conjunction with a few ground rules, etc. Call me crazy but it all sounds pretty fun to me. (says the girl who is currently single. HA!)

However...even if he is acting, Hef really seems to genuinely to be in love all three girls. Sure, he loves one more than the others, but you know. How ok would I be with the one I love loving someone else as well as me? Love is such an important part of who we are, how we see ourselves, how we see other people.

As my idol, W.A. Mozart says:
"Love, love, love...that is the soul of genius"

I think that rings true on many levels.
Art can be better with love behind it. True, lost, or unrequited...love is fuel. I know that it has been for me, as I inch closer to loving myself, loving my friends, loving life. You'll say I have no idea what love is, I'm only twenty...blah blah blah. But I beg to differ. I have seen a house without love, and I have seen a house full of it. There is a difference, a very palpable one, and I can tell.
As far as genius goes, don't we all feel a little smarter, a little more clever when you finally figure
it out and find someone that loves you? (as if you planned the whole thing yourself. pfft!)

Maybe I should just move in with two other girls and an aging magazine editor...to test the theory.

pink phase

Like Picasso, I tend to label my emotions by color instead of trying to concoct a complex string of phrases that will no doubt just bore whomever I am speaking to at the time.

When it is spring and I feel fresh, and every whiff of air is crisp and light...I tend to feel green.
When it is winter or I just feel like hibernating...I feel gray.
When I'm just confused, and have no idea what's going on in my life and I just want to crawl in a hole and die...I feel brown.
And when I have just finished doing something naughty, I feel black and red. Or black and blue depending on who my partner in crime was. HA!

But right now, I'm in a pink phase. I feel pretty, and soft, and sweet...but with an edge. So, I guess hot pink.

Yes. Hot pink.

pretty, sweet, sexy, bold, cute, soft, naughty, attention getting, amazing, feminine.


Oh my, what's happening to me?

*sigh, swoon, sneeze*

Really good night.
Might write a story or at least a little snippet about it soon...unless he objects.

HA!

Bodies

What would life be like if we didn't have bodies? If we were just floating orbs of personality...

I think that I neglect my soul. I get so wrapped up in the physical. My image, my desires, my pains. The moment my muscles start to ache I run for pain medication. The moment I feel the twinge of lust I have it taken care of. But what do I do when my heart aches and I feel like if one more damn thing happens I'm going to lose it?

Nothing.

I don't tell anyone, I don't even allow myself to think about it. I throw it down, I shove it down, I swallow it down until it feels like it's gone. But it's not. It's not gone...it's there stacking up. Piling one on top of another and I'm almost full.

I don't know how to purge.

What can I say? What can I do to clear my soul of all these toxins that I've been keeping in? Everyone says to talk about it but I can't. It makes me so uncomfortable to think that maybe people know that I have feelings.
Kind of like when I was in school and I didn't want my teachers to know I was smart because they'd never cut me any slack if they knew. I don't want to have to always be emotional. I don't want people to see me as "that girl with problems".

I want to be an orb. An orb of personality with no body.

Ugly

It feels weird knowing that you're all you have.

I always used to think that there were people in my life that I could go to with things, that I could tell anything to...but the more I think about it the more I realize that even if they wanted to I'd never let them.

I'm afraid that if I tell you things you'll hold it against me.
I can't let you see through me, because then you'll know how ugly I am inside...
and you won't be able to see the good that's underneath.


I hate this.

Angsty Teenage Poetry

I was digging through my poetry when I found this, which was written when I was seventeen or so.

Dying Inside

I walked into the sea
deep enough to drown my scars
started floating to the surface
face up looking at the stars
the darkness surrounding
my body and my soul
physical manifestation of
the feeling of that seemed
to burn into my core
senses fail meas I'm sailing
with my body as my vessel tonight
what was once a cold wound
is painful again as the feeling surrounds me
the feeling of dying inside.




It's almost scary for me to re-read. I just can't believe there was a time in my life when I felt this way. I'm so glad I've grown up, and out of that feeling.

PPD

Everytime I do a show, I always say "This is the last show I'm doing", not because I hate theatre or that I really never want to do it again, but at a certain point in the run of a show I remember that I'm going to be sad when the show is over. I'm not one of those people that likes to dwell on the melancholy, but it just always seems to creep up on me, usually at the second to last show. Things were much the same for Project Murder last night, when I delivered one of my funnier lines and had to keep from choking up. After tonight, I will never say those lines again in front of an audience. I will never be drunk, loyal, overbearing, sassy, in love with shrimp balls Lucy Fitzsimmons ever again.

And that makes me sad, because she is amazing...and as conceited as this will make me sound, I feel amazing when I let myself fully be her.

I was talking with my dear friend Andrew last night when the topic of my self image came up.
"I have assloads of self esteem," I remarked, quite eloquently if I do say so myself.
He looked at me, laughed and said "No. No you don't."

I thought about it for a few moments and realized that, sonofabitch, he was right. I'm not sure how I got this way or why. When given time to think about it I can think of at least five good things about myself....and yet, the only time I feel totally comfortable with myself is when I just so happen to be someone else.

A slutty red dress, a wedding cake hat, an obnoxious pink coat: they are enablers. They let me be onstage who I want to be in real life.

The characters I've played thus far have been amazing, strong women.
There is nothing fake about Lucy Fitzsimmons. She tells it like it is.
There is no uncertainty in Irma Kronkite's life. She's not gonna be a slave her whole life and she'll wear whatever hat she wants.
There is no lonliness for Raquel. She wants a man, she gets him. Why? Because she's a maneater and she would NEVER apologize for it.

What about me though?
Sometimes I lie to make people feel better. Sometimes I lie to myself about how I feel, because I just don't want to be sad. Anger is fine...it's how I was raised. But sadness? Crying? Not allowed.

Who am I? Where am I going? Why was I even put on this earth? I have no idea, and when I think about it, it scares me. It really, really scares me. What if I never contribute to society, to the world? Then I was born for nothing.

Does he like me? Probably not. Why would he? I mean, I'm loud and obnoxious, I talk without thinking, I'm stubborn. I'm emotionally confused and probably damaged. Who could look past things like that? Who would bother taking the time to see that I'm worth the trouble?


As much as it runs me into the ground, and makes me yammer on like this...as much as I'll never make much money doing it, I'm just not sure if I could ever stop doing theatre because I'm not much on my own, but give me a character that has potential and I can be ten feet tall...or at least feel that way.

The New Pornographer

Now's the time to send the kids out of the room.
That's right...today, Meg ventures into the world of erotic literature.
Enjoy. I know I did.



The silence was maddening, yet the buzzing in my ears drowned it all out. It was all coming so fast...his body pressed against mine and his hands holding my ownbehind my back. I felt so soft, helpless in his hands. He was much stronger than I, andwould not let me forget it.
"Enjoy this" I thought "It may not happen again"
I wanted to say something, but nothing escaped my lips but a moan. Oh...where did he learn that? And that? My hands were freed from his grip, and his began to roam my body. With every inch of skin he explored I shivered deep inside, wondering what was in store for me. Where was this going? Shouldn't I be able to guess?
I felt like I was dealing with an expert and suddenly my passion began to almost fizzle. I felt inadequate. Inexperienced. Virginal.
My pants slid down my legs, nearly taking my panties with them. He finished the job slowly, deliberately. Was this something he got off on...was he a panty man, or did he just like seeing them off? I wanted to ask, but nothing happened except for a full body blush which I tried my best to conceal. He smiled at me sweetly, reached up and pulled my shirt over my head in one swoop.
Of all days to not wear a bra. Way to go me.
A long labored breath escaped his lips. Apparently, I had done well. I giggled."Please don't" he said "It's cute. Cute is distracting". I bit my lip, trying my best not to laugh. He was concentrating, and who was I to distract him from the very important task at hand?
Another sigh from him before he continued running his hands across my goosebumps. He teased my inner thigh, just long enough to frustrate us both before moving onto fleshier endeavors. He leaned forward to rest his head on my stomach, his hands finding their way to my bum and his fingers kneading the ample flesh slowly and softly.
I ran my fingers through his thick hair, tousling it, fixing it, tousling it again. It seemed to stay that way, messy. I liked that about him. He was always mussing his hair but he never bothered to fix it. I guess that was my job. I was lost in thoughts of his hair when he stood up slowly, leaving a trail of quick, tiny kisses leading from my bellybutton to my neck...and scratches up my back. Best of both worlds, he is.
"Did that hurt?" he asked, absentmindedly.
"It did"
He kissed my lips in apology, but said nothing. Before I knew what was what, he lifted me up and gently laid me down. And then...the moment of truth. Every movement triggered a chemical reaction, a lightning strike of electrical current running through my veins. I tried to formulate a plan, I tried to say something, I tried to think but all I could do was be there, so gladly under him. So helpless with his hands once again pinning mine down, this time over my head. So stirred by his ragged breathing in my ear, the way my name sounded as it tumbled from his lips at just the right moment. All that came out of my mouth was breathless, voiceless, incoherent.
After what seemed like forever and two seconds at the same time, it came. My release was just that. Every fear, every disappointment, every pain, every man who was ever less than I deserved ceased to be. It all melted away in that moment, leaving me drained. My legs shaking, my body spent, my heart lightened.

Small

Something happened to me today that I can't explain.

It's not like I've never been told to shut up before, but it has been a long time since someone hurled these words at me so forcefully.

"Shut the hell up" he growled, forcefully. My friend, spitting these words at me with contempt and something close to rage.

Something you should know about me before I continue:
I have tried long and hard to build myself up, to change into who I am from who I was. When I was younger I spent a good bit of time being bullied emotionally and physically, both at school and at home. Being told to shut up was something that was a regular thing for me...and it was maddening because I was almost always just trying to help, just trying to get my ideas out of my mind and into the world. I was always just trying to be heard, which is one of the few things about me that has not changed.

I am not a hard ass by any means (well, maybe just a little) but there are some things that I just cannot allow people to get away with. The aforementioned outburst is one of those things. I'm not ten years old, I'm not weak, and I'm not afraid of anyone...so if you're treating me with anything other than the respect that I feel I have earned, we have a problem.

When he told me to shut up, my first reaction was not anger. It was...I can't explain it. I just felt so small. So weak. So...ten years ago. Rather than jump across the room and beat the crap out of said friend, I squeaked out "You're being aggressive and making me uncomfortable. Unless you're going to apologize to me and mean it, you need to leave my home now."

He apologized, but I'm not sure if he meant it. I'm not sure if he understood the impact his words had on me. I'm not sure if anyone ever will.

I just know that I can't shake that feeling.

New Beginning

I told myself:

"Self,
You should never start a serious blog. and by serious I mean one that isn't on Myspace, Xanga or Livejournal. Also, please...never confuse blogging with writing."

But seeing as how I never listen to anyone, I started this thing. Hopefully, no one will be bitterly disappointed in the writings that I post here.

But if you are...
suck it.