I wake up hating you

Wednesday, April 13th in the Year of Our Lord 2011

Fun fact: Thomas Jefferson first started writing "in the Year of Our Lord" way back in the day.

Fun fact: I briefly heard that on The Daily Show the other night and may or may not have skewed it to fit this post.

Fun fact: I have no idea why I decided to bring any of that up.  I'm sorry you had to read all this.

I've been pondering the idea of starting another blog.  I'd keep this one up, for obvious reasons.  Someone out there in the Interwebs is remotely interested in my ancedotes about wanting to faceplant in a pile of mashed potatoes that Barefoot Contessa lovingly made on the Food Network or punching annoy heavy breathers on treadmills.  [A/N: What is up with that?  I can hear you huffing and puffing as you walk in.  It sounds like an overweight walrus with asthma is pounding away on the treadmill.  If you sound like a goose with tuberculosis, maybe you should quit the gym and check yourself into an out-patient facility.  You sound like you're going to drop dead within miliseconds.]

I want to go here and get attacked by what I can only imagine
is Perez Hilton in a swimsuit.



If I started a new blog, what would you like to read about?  That's the only problem I have.  I've been reading other blogs lately and I've discovered that I need at least 3 of these criteria to be successful:

1) A hilarious, witty blog title.
2) A wicked, dirty sense of humor.
3) Artistic talent.

Okay...I have #2 down.  I could probably think really hard about a title that is creative enough to attract attention.  #3...shit.  If you asked me to draw you a stick figure, I'd probably stab you in the eye with a pencil to save you the horror of trying to depict what I had scribbled haphazardly on a piece of paper. 

17 hours and 48 trees worth of paper later,
VOILA!  MY MASTERPIECE*!
*I actually Google Imaged "hand-drawn stick figures"

Alright, I should probably fill you in on my fun-filled swim yesterday morning.  It was filled with fun. Especially when I watched this woman swim so hard for a single lap, that she actually had to float in the water to catch her breath.  I don't know why she was swimming so hard; maybe she was pretending that a shark was chasing her or something.  I mean, this woman was fucking BOOKING it.  After 4 "laps", she took a water break and floated for a bit before slapping the water with such vigor, I thought dolphins and orcas were breaching.  

Anyone hearing Michael Jackson singing in their head while
viewing this image?
...yea, me neither...

The types of people who venture to the pool amuse me.  On some occasions, we have those who I've classified in the "serious" swimmer category.  I am not one of these people.  They come wearing racing suits and can put on a swimcap in one smooth motion.  I, on the otherhand, feel like a very drunk girl struggling to put a condom on her very drunken boyfriend's penis.  I'm snapping myself in the eye with it, catch my hair painfully and finally get it settled, only for it to fly off my head like a deflated balloon.  Needless to say, you can tell that I'm an amateur. 



Not pictured:
me getting my hand stuck in it on the top of my head,
snapping it painfully against my forehead,
putting it on sideways.



These "serious" swimmers jump into the pool and by the time they resurface, they're halfway down the lane, swimming with the ease of a harbor seal.

I just want to drown it because I'm angry it's THAT adorable.



Let's compare them to me, shall we?  I sit on the edge of the pool and dangle my legs in like I'm at a resort.  Sliding in with the grace of maybe a rock being pushed over a ledge, I hop around with my arms extended high over my head and hiss at the cold temperature of the water.  I'd like to say that I swim with the grace of a harbor seal, but I more or less flop around like a fish on a dock, right after being released from a hook.

Help...me...



These so-called "serious" swimmers can finish their 8,000 laps in 20 minutes whereas I'm on lap 5 in the first 10 minutes of my set.

We then have the "I'm only doing this to lose weight/smell like chlorine for the rest of the day" swimmers.  This is where I fall.  If there is a smell in the world I wish I could smell every day, it'd be chlorine.  God, I love that smell.  I love the smell of a pool area, especially a public pool.  I have no idea why I love it so much.  It's kind of like Play-Doh and Crayola crayons.  You just feel better after taking a whiff.  I also love smelling my arms later in the day [A/N: I honestly can say I have never written a sentence like that before.  I'm so fucking weird.] and smelling pool.  I can sit in class and sniff the entire time.  In fact, I've done that before in my Poli Sci class.  Makes the class go by faster.

How blatantly obvious can you get, falling asleep like that?
Nothing says "we value your class, professor" than a lecture hall
full of sleeping students.

My favorite person, next to Snorkel Man, is Flower Swim Cap Lady.  I kid you not, she wears one of these:

"I hate my life."



She sits on the edge of the pool for about 10 minutes, before sliding in halfway and chills for another 5 minutes.  She finally gets in the water and then stretches for 15 minutes and then lazily starts swimming.  I forgot to mention that she has long hair and doesn't tuck it up into her swim cap, it floats along behind her.  Letting your hair go into the water certainly defeats the purpose of a FUCKING SWIM CAP.

There are also the occasional geriatics who obviously are in possession of one natural joint in their body, everything else technically makes them half-Terminator.

"I'll be back...around 3:45. 
I don't want to miss dinner.
And by dinner, I mean pudding and prune juice."

As for the title of this post, my friends and I have discovered that we've been waking up angry at each other for no apparent reason.  Well...there is a reason.  The dreams we've been having usually involves one of us and that dream version of said friend always PISSES us off.  My roommate Brooke had a dream about me the other night and spent the next day ignoring me.  I asked her why she wasn't talking to me and she looked at me and said: "You pissed me off so bad in my dream, I can't even stand to be around you right now."

"Ahh...fuck.  I'm so mad right now.
I can't believe that bitch didn't
let me ride along with her and Daniel Tosh on the tour around campus."*
*That is the legit reason as to why Brooke was upset with me the other day.

I can't think of anything else to rant about, so I'm going to leave you with this image:

Hey JFC in the HEC, you can kiss my ASS

Thursday, April 7 in the Year of Our Lord 2011

I have re-entered the world of excerising with renewed vigor.  And by renewed vigor, I mean I don't get grumpy that much anymore when I wake up at 6:00 in the morning to go swimming. 

I almost drowned the other morning because the radio station was tuned into The Bob and Tom Show.  If you don't really know me, then you don't really understand my obsession for this radio show.  I grew up listening to my dad quoting songs and comedians who came on the show.  The highlight, thus far, of my college career was going to a show by Tim Bedore, a comedian on The Bob and Tom Show and former resident of Stevens Point.

Class up the ass, man.

I can go on YouTube and literally spend hours upon hours snorting and gasping for breath as I watch hundreds of videos from Bob and Tom.  It's a horrible addiction.

There was really nothing new at the pool last week when I went.  Well, the intramurals water polo team were trying to drown each other on Thursday and I was visited yet again by the person I have now dubbed "Snorkel Man".  I kid you not, this man comes to the pool, straps an obnoxiously huge snorkel mask to his face and never resurfaces until his workout is done.  I am both amazed and stupified at this.  Really?  Is it that hard to lift your face out of the water?  I don't see Michael Phelps or Dana Torres slapping a snorkel on right before a big race.  I can't imagine how he can manage to get deep enough breaths in so he doesn't pass out halfway through a lap.

Seen above: ineffective use of brain cells.



I trudged over to the Allen Center on Saturday.  Yea, I agree too.  What a waste of a perfectly boring Saturday afternoon.  I don't remember much from that escapade, probably because I hyperventilated on the treadmill because of hitting the huge button that read "SLOW", I stupidly slammed my thumb down on the "FAST" button and within seconds, I was BOOKING it and I was so flustered, I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong.  Luckily, I jumped onto the sides and discovered my error. 

With the security camera footage from last Saturday,
I could've been YouTube gold.

Flipping the Dreadmill (what I aptly named it after that terrifying ordeal) off, I jumped onto a bike and proceeded to laugh loudly (because I had my headphones in and I have a poor judgment of inner volume all the time) at the SNL marathon VH1 had lovingly put on for me.  It also happened to be the Gerard Butler episode and when I saw that one live, I almost peed myself.

"I just like a...big ass."
"Belle, I'm a candlelabra.  I date other candlelabras.  Once, in college,
I dated a menorrah."

I went back to the Allen Center on Wednesday, knowingly avoiding the Dreadmill.  I was forced to either watch Judge Judy (what the hell is that thing?  A snake?  A demon?) or the Travel Channel.

Would she do that with that beak she calls her nose?

After enduring less than 5 seconds of so-called "justice", I turned my attention to the Travel Channel and if I was a prepubescent male, I would've been sporting a woody at what I saw.

"We all have our Masters in Sluttiness."

It was "The 21 Sexiest Beach Bars" or "Just a Bunch of Slutty Girls Getting Drunk and Walking Around in Bikinis...and Yea, Bars." It was the worst show I've seen on that channel, and I've watched their week-long special on Disney Cruise Lines and these douche-nozzles:

What, Zak, no Bedazzled Ed Hardy shirt today?
THE HORROR.

Speaking of douche-nozzles, guess who just got canned?

He's crying because the voices in his head told him to.

I shit you not, folks.  Fox News (FOX NEWS) canned Glenn "The Voices Won't Be Quiet" Beck this week.  But who is the direct line to God for Fox News now?  Because I'm pretty sure Glenn had Jesus on speed dial. Who is going to make sure Bill O'Reilly remembers where he parked his car in the parking lot?  Or make sure the mandatory nap and cookie hours are followed?  WHO WILL FILL THE AIRWAVES WITH CONSPIRACY THEORIES THAT ARE INHERENTLY NOT TRUE?!

Knowledge goes in, gobble-dee-gook comes out.
You can't explain that.
But on Fox News you can.

On one hand, I'm STOKED that Fox News actually thought of something that had nothing to do with discovering where Obama's real birth certificate is.  On the other...

WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN TO THESE TWO?!

As I write this, Jon Stewart has dedicated himself to mocking Glenn Beck on The Daily Show and I don't remember how hard I've laughed at an episode of The Daily Show before.

I'll skip the rest of my crazy rant about Glenn Beck (that's probably going to be another post), I think I might have to explain my title of this post.

I don't know if you've been keeping up with the news, but Wisconsin is currently being ruled by a blood-thirsty, egocentric dictator.

The budget bill, which has elements in it that would strip union workers of their right to collectively bargain, a $250 million cut to the UW-system, separating UW-Madison from the rest of the system and making it "Wisconsin's Flagship School", is probably one of the most controversial bits of legislation in the last decade.  Just when you think the hysteria surrounding this has simmered down a bit, something like oh, state and local elections flare up and it's back in the media.  This bill is the herpes of the news world.  It literally took a devastating earthquake/tsunami in Japan to switch the headlines on all the major news channels.

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE BUDGET CRISIS IN WISCONSIN?
WHEN WILL WE GET BACK TO THAT?

Well, lucky ol' UW-Stevens Point was chosen to host the Joint Finance Committee Public Hearings today, the only college in Wisconsin asked to do so.  It was rumored that over 5,000+ people were going to flood this tiny campus for a rally this afternoon.  I don't know if there were that many people, but my roommate Brooke was astonished by the number of Porta-Potties that lined the parking lots.

I bet someone regrets buying that Polish sausage at 10 in the morning...

I hate rallies.  The only rally I usually attend are pep rallies, and if they found me lurking around a high school, the cops would be called on me.  I did watch Stewart and Colbert's Rally to Restore Sanity last October and thought it was brilliant. 

Like the immortal Mitch Hedberg once said:

"I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it."

Single greatest comedian ever.

I didn't attend the Public Hearings, just because I'm completely over this and there's literally nothing I can do about stopping this bill.  It's in the hands of the Wisconsin Supreme Court now. 

But what really ticked me off was what happened this morning.

I woke up to go swimming, actually excited about getting into the water.  I got dressed, grabbed my gear and went outside.  The parking lot of the HEC was surprisingly empty and I noticed the barricades at the entrances.  Shrugging it off, I headed to the doors.  And was promptly denied entrance.

The doors...were...LOCKED.

"Let us in!  WE WANT TO SWEAT OUR BALLS OFF!"



Pissed, I stomped back to my dorm, stripped myself and put my pajamas back on.  Fuck it; if I wasn't going swimming, I better damn be sleeping.  And sleep I did.  My alarm went off at 7:30 and I opened my bright and adorable little eyes at...8:30.  I have class at 9.

As Charlie Sheen would say, I was definitely -

I did have a tall glass of tiger blood with my Berry Cap'n Crunch, though.

Wham! Bam! Thanks for letting me look at your clam!

Saturday, March 26th in the Year of Our Lord 2011

I'd like to preface this post with an addition to a new phrase Candace and I have coined.  Another term for "clam bake" could be after one is done working out.  I thought of that this morning when I was brushing my teeth.  Needless to say, toothpaste residue is now all over my bathroom mirror and my shirt is bleached from the toothpaste.  Skyping at 2 in the morning is very beneficial for creative ideas; to catching up on sleep, not so much.

I don't really want to know why they're doing this.
I just know I want in on it.

Another thing I'd like to introduce is what I'm going to call all of you loyal readers [A/N: You're growing in size!  Thank you!] Candace keeps calling this my Bloggity, so of course we HAD to come up with a name for my Bloggity followers.  So, without further ado, I bring you...The Bloggity Battalion!  

Your intensity thrills me.
''A new update?!  Bitch, get me to a computer STAT."



Being a part of the Bloggity Battalion [A/N: That looks like "bat a lion", an activity I'd advise you not to do if you enjoy living...] is a huge responsibility.  Just think of what Uncle Ben said to Peter Parker...because I can't think of the actual quote and Googling it will just take up valuable time because then I'll start to look for funny pictures of Spiderman and eventually watch clips of the horrible Broadway musical and laugh when I see the actors fall from their harnesses, straight into the audience.

Sadly, the firemen with the trampoline were just five feet to the left...

We've come up with nicknames for you all.  Bloggity Bitches and Bloggity Bros.  If you have any other suggestions, please leave me a comment.  I'm serious.  I've been waiting and waiting for someone to write a comment. 

If you don't comment, I won't dig these random kids (I've kidnapped) out.
High tide is quickly approaching.
You know what you have to do.
And...BREAK!

Why is it when you're all bundled up in your winter jacket (that you don't understand why you have to wear it when it is obviously SPRING out and there's a foot and a half of snow on the ground) that someone comments on if you've lost weight or not?  Is it just my family that does this?  I went to go visit my gramma this afternoon and my aunt Cindy asked me if I lost weight as I was zipping on my thirtieth layer of protective clothing to battle the weather. 

Aunt Cindy: "Meggers, did you lose weight?"

[A/N: My family has the god damn weirdest nicknames for me.  I'm Bacon Pizza, Mrs. Rammer, Meg Speg, Tipper Gore and Megs.  I have a name, people!  USE. IT.]

*Glancing down at my Stay-Puff marshmallow body*

Me: "...sure, let's go with that."

Aunt Cindy: "It looks like your butt is smaller."

*Removes car keys that have magically been placed between my fingers like some sort of an automotive-esque Wolverine*

Me: "I'm going to go.  It was nice seeing you, Gramma!''

*Leaves with my apparently smaller ass in tow*

I don't get why she didn't comment on my new found skinniness when I WAS WALKING ALL AROUND THE HOUSE (sans winter jacket), BLATANTLY SHOWING OFF LIKE A DAMN PEACOCK.

"I wanna see your peacock-cock-cock...at 9:00 on Monday.
I think I may have gotten herpes from ALL of you."

I don't know if you knew this or not, but my entire family (on my dad's side) is OBSESSED with weight loss.  But the stupid part of this is the fact that after they go to Weight Watchers meetings, they walk next door to the Chili John's shop and eat chili.

That has got to be at least...5000 Weight Watcher points.
And I'm just talking about the counter.

I'm literally the only grandkid that didn't participate in sports in elementary through high school.  Oh, I'm sorry.  I was too busy EDUCATING MYSELF TO GET INTO COLLEGE.  For almost 4 years, my family would have to Google what I was talking about to make sure I wasn't making up stuff just to impress them.  I forget that they don't believe in reading.

"That's the directions on how to work the television.
Stop using the DVD remote to change channels.
I'm going to drink myself stupid now, Grampa."

On to a completely different topic, I'm mildly (read: stalkerish) obsessed with NCIS.  No lie, I've watched it every single day this week.  Plus I've been NetFlixing the seasons to catch up with the episodes I'm behind on.  I adore adore ADORE this show.  If you've never seen it, I really don't want to have anything to do with you.  You mean nothing to me.  At least YouTube some clips of McGee and DiNozzo so you get why I love this show.

Oh DiNozzo, you make me happy all the time.

I'm sorry to say that I have nothing new to report on in the working out division of my life.  I've been busy being absolutely lazy and LOVING IT.  [A/N: I'm going to go ahead and apologize for the over-abundance of CAPS LOCK in this post.  I don't know what's happening to me, but I have the need to over-emphasize certain parts of sentences.  Like THIS part.]

FUCK YEAH I AM!  BRING IT, NON CAPS LOCK SENTENCES.
YOU'RE ABOUT TO BE ANNIHILATED!
AHBOOYAH!

Is it just me or do you hear a drill instructor screaming the sentences that are CAPS LOCK in your head? 

"DO YOU GET WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY, PRIVATE?
I'M SAYING I LOVE ACTIVIA YOGURT.
IT'S NOT JUST FOR THE LADIES, PRIVATE!
IT MAKES ME REGULAR AND I LIKE THAT.
HURRAH."



 I'm going to go eat a doughnut now and watch NCIS until my eyes bleed.

I'd give my left boob to be in that room.

Where in the world am I? Oh yeah, Wisconsin.

Wednesday, March 23rd in the Year of Our Lord 2011

If anybody is out there, please help me. 

I've been snowed in.  I'm practically alone here, sans my mom and dad (who drove to work today, even though the roads were shit-tastic). 

I'm too young to be served as a main dish once we've depleted our pantry! 

I also watched the movie "Alive!" recently, the movie adaptation of the Uruguayan rugby team that crashed in the Andes Mountains in the late 1970s and ate the ass-meat of the deceased, so my paranoia is slowly reaching its peak. 

"We made snowmen and used body parts to decorate it!"

Guess what?  It's Spring Break! (if you go to 1:43 in the video, you'll get what I'm referring to).

*pauses for the uproar of laughter, not from Tosh.0 but that it fucking snowed when I'm on Spring Break*

Not joking.  Since yesterday, we've gotten over a foot of snow.  A FOOT OF SNOW.  A FOOT OF SNOW.  I don't know if I can ever over-emphasize that fact.

Har har har...go fuck yourself.

I've been home since last Friday.  Last Friday, it was nice out...so I dressed nice.  I've dressed nicely for the past couple of days.  But I apparently lost my mind today.

I came downstairs and the first thing out of my mom's mouth was, "Oh my God.  What ARE you wearing?" She proceeded to make herself a strong cup of coffee and go into the other room.

I don't know what she found wrong about my outfit.  I think rainbow toe socks (remember those things?!  The socks with little holders for your toes?!), a pair of bright red Wisconsin cut-off sweatpants and a high school German Club long-sleeve with the torn "MEG" on the back is pretty god damn classy.  I wish I had taken a picture of what was added throughout the day to my wardrobe.  I ended up wearing a felt hat I had to make in 6th grade for my Machu Picchu display and a black fabric cape with a single "B" ironed-on on the back.  Fucking badass, that's what I looked like.

I looked a lot like this.
Except I'm 20.  And a girl.  And way cooler.

I'm pretty sure my mom was afraid for her life, because my go-to phrase of the day was: "God, this is like the movie 'Misery'.  I'm afraid Kathy Bates is going to pop out of the washing machine and hobble us."

I actually went as far as to find objects in my kitchen that would be used to hobble people, if the need came up.  It was no wonder my mom kept far away from me for a few hours, as I scuffled around the kitchen muttering to myself, while swinging a meat tenderizer.

THERE'S NOTHING TO DO HERE!
THIS IS MY ENTERTAINMENT!

And don't just assume that all I've done during Spring Break is plan out how to break someone's ankles using fake chopsticks (the ones that are connected on the top because I'm retarded and can't coordinate two separate objects at once) and an apple.  I've been productive.  OOH!  I made a blanket for a tiny human that I've yet to meet.  OOH!  I've started on the plans of making a blanket for me to lose my mind in next year.  OOH!  I went running. 

Err...what?

You read that right, my loyal 5 readers!  [A/N: I counted the people I know who like my wall posts on Candace's wall on Facebook.  It's 5 thus far.  If I can make it 10, I'll bake you all cupcakes.] [A/N/N: That last part was a lie.  You won't be getting cupcakes.  I'll take pictures of me eating cupcakes.  Suck on that.]

SQUEE!
I just want to punch everyone single one out of love.

I've been playing around on the brand-spanking new treadmill my parental units bought a few months ago.  And I've also decided that it can go die a fiery, fiery death. Whoever thought of speed interval levels deserves to be dragged out into the street and stoned like the heretic they are.  Only a god damn wizard could do those things and I'm pretty sure wizards use magical sneakers to get around and really don't have a need to run around on fake inclines at various speeds.

Unless you're fucking Gandalf, who rides around on the fucking Lord of Horses, Shadowfax.
Who needs to walk, am I right?!  SHADOWFAX, TO MINAS TIRITH!  TTTTTWWWEEEEEEE!!!!

I actually miss the Allen Center.  GASP.  My basement only has 1 lonely little television and I miss being able to flip channels by simply glancing to a neighboring television.  I can only jog to Travel Channel's "Chowdown Countdown" before I flip to "Reno! 911" and die laughing.

Did anybody else cry during this episode?
The one where Jackie the Pickle-Throwing Hooker died?



Does the movie "The Source Code" remind anybody of "Donnie Darko", minus the whole dying from a falling jet engine part?  And if you've never seen that movie, what fucking rock have you been living under these past CENTURIES?!  Get with the picture, people.  It's called NetFlix and it's $9.99 a month.  Stop buying pot and buffalo wings and educate yourselves.

Anybody else shitting themselves because of this picture?
This is why I hate the Easter Bunny.

I only bring up that movie to tell you that the sequel sucks ass.  It's just like "Donnie Darko", minus Jake Gyllenhaal.  It's the same damn plot line.  OOH.  ORIGINAL.  "S. Darko" is not worth the hour and 48 minutes that I will NEVER get back.  The only decent part was the man-candy they had to throw in to please the lady viewers.

Howdy, boys! 
Yep, that one on the left is the douche-knuckle from "Gossip Girl".
The one on the right is Jasper from "Twilight".
Stop groaning, Candace. 
Hey, Kali! 
LOOK!  I MADE A ([N] OBLIGATORY) TWILIGHT REFERENCE!

Ever since I've been home, I've been systematically raping the shit (THE SHIT) out of NetFlix.  We've got it on our Wii, so when I get bored with shows, I beat my high score on Wakeboarding on WiiResort. 

I unlocked every level in under an hour.
U jelly?

Thus far, I've watched an entire season of "That 70's Show", the first couple episodes of "Dexter", every available "Viva La Bam" and oh yeah, "Firefly".  I've fallen among the ranks of other closet Browncoats. 

Well, hello there, Simon Tam. 
I'm in need of a yearly physical.
Care to take this to the infirmary?
...that was all inside thoughts...

If anyone who has any self-preservation or any dignity left when they come out of the theater after seeing "Hop", please let me know how it was.  On one hand, I really want to see it.  I love Russell Brand and James Marsden.  But on the other, I want to eat the end of a shotgun when I watch the previews.  OH.  And if you see "Arthur", let me know also.  I've just finised "My Booky Wook" by Russell Brand and now onto his second, "My Booky Wook 2: This Time It's Personal" and I'm mildly obsessed with the man.  I have a lot of respect for him.  But I may or may not have any left if I go see "Arthur".  Maybe you should just stick with the Aldous Snow schtick, my British lover.

I love this movie.
"What's the state fish of Hawaii?
-The Humuhumunukunukuapua'a. Yeah, bitch!"


 

Okay, I've been reading the quotes from "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" and nearly pissed myself at this one.

Aldous Snow: [holding a single sandal] I've lost a shoe... have you seen it anywhere? Excuse me, missus, I've lost a shoe... like this one. It's like this one's fellow... it's sort of the exact opposite in fact of that - not an evil version but just, you know, a shoe like this... but for the other foot. Otherwise I'd have two right...

SEX.
On a surfboard.

I'm going to leave you with that image.