At 11:15 tonight I finished my final project, that blasted cabin assigned to us three weeks ago, and then did a happy little dance. It's still a pretty ugly cabin...but it was a cute little dance. I am so very happy to be finished with drafting. I hated that class. I still don't understand why we had to take it, spending roughtly $300 on supplies and equipment, when next semester I just have to turn around and take the Computer-Aided Drafting next semester. I hate college.
Who am I kidding, I love this place. Just not the drafting part.
Random Rude Drunken Dumb Girl: Hello?
Me: Hi, is Don there?
RRDDG: Um, who is this?
Me: His friend Meagan, can I talk to him, please?
RRDDG: Ummmm, he's busy now. What do you want?
Me: Well, he told me and my roommate to come over to the house, I'm just trying to find him. Where are you guys at?
Me: Where are you at...are you at the bars or the house or what?
RRDDG: Why? [insert Don yelling in the background to give him the damn phone]
Me: I'm looking for him. I've been trying to get a hold of him for a few hours now...let me talk to him please.
RRDDG: Well...[a minor scuffle ensues on the other end. Don emmerges the victor.]
Me: Who was THAT?
Don: Oh, that was my girl. She's really possessive tonight.
Me: She sounds like a real keeper.
So instead of introducing CC to Donny and watching them fall in love, thus taking all the credit for their beautiful and fulfilling realationship and being the godmother to their four children, I got to watch him make out with this dumb ho who was stupid, hanging all over him in a gross, stalkerish way, and way not as cute as CC.
She does not get the seal of approval. Two thumbs down. Do not pass go, RRDDG, do not collect $200, go directly to HoJail.
And on top of all that, I missed a call from Mikey and didn't get to talk to him at all today. I blame the ugly drunk bitch.
One month from today I will be starting classes back here at MU. Boooo! Where did all the summer go? Where and whyfore? There wasn't enough time! It's kind of weird how fast time goes by when you aren't even looking.
I've lived down here the whole summer basically, but I have to say that it will be completely different when classes start for the fall. I don't think summer school really counts as real school. It's too hot to be real. And no one ever goes. Well, I go of course...mostly.
As it goes every year, I am looking forward to seeing everyone, but not to the class part. And for once I'll get to do that, being that I will be back in CoMo for two fun-filled sororityriffic weeks before the semester starts. Formal recruitment is my favorite thing. But it's a good time to see all the girls and, you know, bond.
Two weeks of intense Nazi-esque bonding. With marching in formation...and song practice.
Now, I will admit, I am a fan of a good old fashioned kegger. I pay my four bucks, take my cup, and don't complain. But there are some people who abuse the keg privilege.
I'm not talking about the guys with the gallon-sized house cup or the girls who flirt to get their cups at a discount, and I admit I have called ahead to find out what color the cups were so I could bring my own, but even that's pretty low. And hey, we've all seen those who bring their own alcohol, the ones carrying around a 12-pack like this season's hottest handbag. That's fine too.
So it wasn't really a big deal when three girls came in with their 40 ounces, complete with paper bag. Hell, that's even kind of cool. Nothing says ghetto fabulous like sipping on a 40 at a house party. The crappy part was when they refilled their bottles from the keg. You know, the one that the other 50 people at the party were nursing desperately for every last drop of beer and foam before it was declared cashed. Then these lovely ladies come and fill three huge bottles to the top with the beer that should have been in my cup and in my tummy.
I love my boyfriend, and I love hearing from him. And nothng is better than a nice drunk phone call at 3 am when he's feeling affectionate.
Now, I do appreciate the thought, and the fact that he would rather call me than be drunk all by himself, or talking to some other girl or whatever. Actually, I think it's kind of cute. My phone rang several times last night. I was too bleary and groggy to answer it, so I woke up this morning to a voicemail!
"Hi babbbby. I loveyouloveyouloveyou and I jusss wan-ned to tell youuu thaat. Yer my bbbabbbbbby an I looooovvvve yoooouu. OK, so I'll talk to youu llader then, G'night, buh bye. Mmmm ok bye."
Isn't that precious?
I remember one time I drunk dialed him. I had just got back from a house party at the Alamo and I was, well, toasted. I called his apartment and rambled on for about twenty minutes about the party and how my roommate got up on the bar and flashed everyone. I was sprawled out in the hallway with my feet up on the wall, and the ultra-conservative girls that lived across from me, dubbed Fat Bitch and Mean Bitch for unknown reasons, told me to be quiet. I don't remember Mikey saying much. I think it was one of those conversations that is actually just a monologue delivered in the presence of a witness. Then I hung up, kicked some people out of my room, and sat down to take my boots off. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, halfway in my closet, four hours later, boots still on, with my still-drunk roommate poking me and asking if I was dead.
I hope he had as much fun last night as I did. And I hope he got home before passing out somewhere random. Love you too, babydoll.
Everyday I wake up and tell myself I will go work out right after class, right after I run errands, right after I lay out, right after I eat...etc, etc. And I never ever do. Until today. That's right, I Meagan, ran a friggin mile on Stankowski. I know! I did! It's amazing!
Seriously people, the Freshmen 15 is evil. Really really really evil. But I have come to terms with my fat ass and now I need to work it off. It's a sad thing really. I had so much fun. But beer is a two-faced son of a bitch, my friend. It goes down so nice, such fermented goodness, with little to no morning-after effect (at least for me). I would rather have the hangover than the accumulated calories from two semesters of alcoholism. I may have gotten fat, but dammit it was fun as hell.
But now the crappy part. Why is it so much easier to gain the weight than it is to lose it? I really don't see the fairness there. Getting fat meant parties and sleep and deep-fried food. Losing it means sweating and work-outs and carrot sticks.
We just got a little beagle puppy in the apartment. She is adorable, but she poos on the floor all the time.
We try not to get mad, because she is a baby, after all, and learning. And, as it is puppy nature, she looks up at you with these big chocolate brown lovey eyes and twitchy little doggy eyebrows. And she has these huge ears that she has to grow into, and a jackhammer tail that runs a mile a minute. Her ears flap around when she runs, and she runs everywhere, in circles. The tail runs all the time, mostly side to side.
My dad always says they make baby things cute and irresistable so that you won't want to give them back.
I always thought that was so harsh, but with the smell of baby doggy poo in the air, I am beginning to see what Daddy meant.
This will shock those who know me, but I had a rather, well, dumb day on Saturday.
We spent the day shopping in St. Louis, and after having spent too much money on things we did not need, my weekend visitor Katie and I headed back to the CoMo. CC had come with us but was staying the night in the city to go to a party with some girls from school.
I would just like to preface the next part by saying that I am not a complete idiot. I am actually a fairly intelligent young lady. Dumb things just sort of happen to me. I swear I'm smart.
Pulling into my apartment complex, I have a revelation. Having switched wallets to shop that morning, I don't have the keys that are attached to my ID holder...keys to my apartment, in other words. CC is in St. Louis, an hour and a half away. Linds is in Chilacothe, two hours away. Nat is with her boyfriend, I don't know where, maybe St. Louis. Then there's me, sitting outside the locked apartment, screwed.
I have to call the main office and have them send some guy out to unlock the apartment. It will take 35 minutes for the Key Dude to come out. His services will cost me a small fee. I hang up, and an onslaught of profanity commences. A pair of boys walking past my car, blushing, comment to each other about "the mouth on that girl."
To top it all off, I lost two consecutive games of War. But Katie was cheating; she had all the aces.
Everybody has one. You know, they are the ones that make you do things you don't want to do. The bad seeds that set you down the wrong path. But then again, you have the best time ever with them. Mine is Katie (not my sister, the other one, Graham Katie).
You see, good old GK came into town for the weekend, up to her old tricks. Today we went to Addison's for lunch, quite possibly the best food in central Missouri, complete with a whopping order of crab rangoon dip. Mmmmmm, for those of you who even remotely like crab rangoon...this stuff is awesome. Go try it. Don't walk, run.
But I digress...
So then we cook up this plan for dinner, after lazing around all afternoon watching movies on USA and playing with my roommates new beagle puppy. (Jada was rescued from an abusive home and she is the cutest thing in the world. I want one. Not an abusive home, a cute puppy.)
Again, I digress...
Dinnertime arrives. Shakespeare's Pizza, which everyone knows is to die for, followed by Mama Rip Chip Dip (with Ruffles, who have ridges), followed by Rice Krispie Treats that had little bitty M&Ms in them. Someone please put me out to pasture.
This is terrible! I had more calories today than the entire population of most third world countries get in a month! And we are supposed to be shopping tomorrow! For clothes! Cute ones! I cannot think thin and cute when I am feeling all fatty and gross from garlic chip dip. This is very bad. I don't think GK will be allowed to come back here any time soon. I should have known better.
After all, this is the same girl who used to consume large amounts of Ben&Jerry's with me because we both missed our boyfriends. Then we would roll down the hall in the dorm (literally, on the floor, rolling around) and promise promise promise that we would go work out tomorrow. She is a bad bad bad girl.
There are people to drive you to drink. Katie drives me to binge.
But oh well. It's been fun.
And next weekend will be even better because I have something really naughty cooking up for Shivago! The Doctor is coming! And she will worship me when she sees the surprise I have in store for her. It's going to be great.
I want to be a scary late-night gas station attendant like the one I just had the joy of coming across. On my way home (from the yucky sucky studio, grrr on drafting) I stopped for milk. The man had 3 Band-Aids on his neck and 2 front teeth gone. He commented on my t-shirt, the Harry's Chocolate Shop "Drink Em Cute" one that was a gift from my sister. (It's a bar at Purdue, for those who are wondering.) I take a lot of crap for it, but never biblical crap. He read the shirt and asked if I partook in that "drinkin stuff" and if I had been saved recently.
I paid for the milk, said no thanks to the salvation, and ran away.
But it got me thinking. Maybe he isn't actually a normal everyday weirdo, like the ones who talk to you at stoplights or sit too close on the bus. Maybe he has chosen the career path of a Crazy Dude Who Works at a Gas Station Waiting to Frighten Little Girls Late at Night intentionally so that he could better express his talent for being creepy. It's a sweet setup. Just think...you get to work with people, be creative, have flexible hours, get free gas.
I could do that. I could be weird and creepy and scare people and work at a gas station. I could be good at that.
I was home (because God forbid I actually live in the apartment I am paying an outrageous rent for) to celebrate the Fourth of July and Mikey's 21st birthday (happy birthday, baby!!!). There were fireworks, public drunkeness, and Ajit almost losing a hand to six lit sparklers (and nearly a car fire when he dropped the six lit sparklers, now a flame ball, on top of about 40 boxes of unused sparklers. He's a smart one). But that isn't even the really weird part.
Saturday was a lesson on how NOT to get married. Here is what I have learned:
1. Do not marry your band teacher from the 7th grade, who is also twice your age.
2. If you are getting married at eighteen have a good reason, like inheriting an outrageous sum of money, or getting knocked up or something.
3. Do not hold the wedding in a town with a smaller poplulation than the number of guests invited to your big day.
4. Find a church with air conditioning if you are getting married in July.
5. Make sure the wedding party's total amount of teeth is more than what a single normal person should have. And avoid any groomsmen who have their mullets disguised as a slicked back ponytail.
6. Choose a flower girl that will understand the concept, not just heave the basket of petals at the alter and then run screaming for her mother.
7. When choosing a wedding gown, do not look at anything with poofy sleeves, huuuuuuuuge traines, or bows larger than the span of your hips. Also, when getting married in a summer month, such as July, do not pick out a wedding dress from the winter of 1985. In other words, avoid Good Will.
8. Establish some sort of dress code for your guests, and do not allow them to come in jeans or whatever stretchy pants will fit over the beer gut. No spandex.
9. Do not hold your reception at the local VFW post.
10. For the reception, choose a classy menu. Avoid pulled pork sandwiches. Also, make sure that the water coming out of the faucets could never be mistaken for lemonaide or iced tea.
If you forsee any of these things at your wedding, dear God just don't get married, or just please please never have children. But, if you insist, I know a great church near Griggsville that will accomodate your every need.
Isn't it weird how things are always changing but you never notice until everything is completely different?
This past year has meant a lot of big obvious changes for all of us kids. We left home and came close to being in the real world for the first time. But we all kind of assumed that, while we were out growing up and figuring out who we are, everything at home would remain static. But how could it really. They say you can never go home again, and I am really beginning to believe it. Places, as well as people, are ever-changing and shifting organisms, and the world doesn't stop turning when you're not looking.
Maybe it's because home really isn't home anymore. It's more of a concept than a reality to me. When I go home everything feels out of balance, and I hardly see the people that I vowed never to leave behind just a year ago. I know that part of that is my fault, but it is not me alone. It isn't because of a boyfriend or summer school or busy schedules. It's because, over the past year, life happened to all of us. A year is a long time, and so much has happened to all of us that we don't see. Without being witness to all of the milestones, ups and downs, heartaches and triumphs, it is so hard to understand them. We used to be together for everything; out lives revolved around each other. We just understood things that now we have to explain. It's not wrong, but it is sad. Staying close is almost a battle. It's a constant struggle against the currant of life. Without being there, seeing it, living it along side a person, how can you help but to drift a little?
We've all changed, more than we can know. Should we have known better? Maybe. Can we stop it? Nope. I think all we can do is embrace it and try to move on.
We are all becoming wonderful people. I want to know who those people are.