Thursday, December 29, 2011

1996. On the surface, it seems like I was boy crazy but I think my one true love at this time may have been myself.

14 year old Megs (almost 15!)

M is MC this guy I really like (I liked a boy. Shocking!). We could have an interesting relationship (maybe people didn't want to date me because I talked about 'interesting' and 'mutually satisfying' relationships? 40 year old student loan officer indeed) because neither one of us wants anything really serious (bwahahahah), but he sees me like most boys see me - as a grinny girl scout, everybody's little Gilligan (have you heard my new band Everybody's Little Gilligan?) - ever faithful, sweet, and pretty much dull and predictable. I like myself, but I wish I was alluring, mysterious, and sexy (at 14). There's nothing really alluring, mysterious, or sexy about a practical, responsible, _________ girl (1. My husband would like to point out that all those traits 14 year old me hated so much actually make me an ideal wife. 2. I have no idea what that blank was about.)At least I am not really predictable though (or coherent, apparently, wasn't I just lamenting my dull predictableness a minute ago?). I mean, some people can predict me, but not people that I am not really close to (I...okay?)The thing is, I am fairly attractive, smart and interesting (also: modest and humble) so why are guys so not interested in me? (Because 14 yo guys want boobies).I am not stupid, ugly, personality free, or dull so what is the deal? (No boobs). Boys are dumb that's the only thing I can figure out (also I had no boobs. You'd think this was a fairly simple equation for someone so smart...). Anyway, my major crush is M. He did like me once, but I had a boyfriend (except boys never liked me so...coherence: not my strong suit) and he kind of fell for my step sister a little bit (he was so in love with me he immediately transferred that love to my stepsister)but that is over now, and he broke up with his girlfriend two weeks after Valentines Day, so I think he's unattached (in my defense: he didn't actually DATE my stepsister. He just thought she was hot, basically. Also, this never went anywhere).

Damn, I spent a lot of my teenage years obsessed with boys, apparently. Also, with myself. On the other hand, I mention in an entry later about how I hate it when I obsess for weeks but I can't help it. These entries were pre-OCD diagnosis, but I can totally see it now.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Let's go way, way back to 1994. Wooo-woooo. That's the noise that happens when you go way way back.

Note: I feel I should say here that as far as I know Ben from the previous entry is now a productive member of society. He has a wife and 4 kids, and is presumably quite happy and law abiding. I have mixed feelings about this. Like, I always kind of assumed I "won". You know? Because despite my mockery, he was the first guy to break my heart and even though I am totally over it by now (married, in love, blah blah) I still needed the win a little bit. After all the stuff went down, he actually wrote me a letter and wanted to get back together. I was already with my husband by then, and had no desire to break up with him to take the risk on the other guy. But...I guess that also boosted the old ego and the fact that 10 years later he's not still pining over me taught me something about myself. And that is that apparently there is nothing wrong with my confidence level, because I still kind of expected him to be mourning my loss. Also, I am a spiteful bitch. I'm happy for Ben that he's managed to turn his life around. I just need all of my old boyfriends who ever hurt me to deeply regret that for the rest of their lives and pine away for me for all eternity. Also, I may have tried to facebook stalk him a little bit and he's not on facebook and his wife's page is blocked. If that wasn't embarrassing enough here are journal entries!

Dear Diary,

A few days ago N told me that J said some bad things about me. I found out today it's true. One day N asked J if he liked me. J said, "No. I hate that _____." Then he called me a bad word. (I can only assume he called me a bitch.) At first, I was so angry I was shaking, then I was hurt. I was hurt because someone I thought was my friend really truly hated me. (12 year old Megs - not a great judge of character apparently.) I guess it is a little humiliating too (I guess?!) It is going to be hard to be kind to him, but I know that is what I need to do. Because God says so and because if I were mean to him it would only make his opinion of me worse.

Dear Diary,

Today at lunch, N confronted J about that name he called me (I think my mother should have just named Pollyanna and been done with it). J said he didn't call me the name but said I was mean. To me, that is just as bad. I know I'm not always the sweetest person in the world (actually, at this point in life, I might have been one of the sweetest people in the world. At least I was shy enough and doormat-y enough that most people thought that) but I can't imagine what I've done that is that mean. I tried at one point to console myself with the fact that he likes G and she's mean (this was my current best friend. Maybe he was right...)but when I think that I am really being very cruel (okay, it probably wasn't that bad. I wasn't eating her dog or anything). I've prayed that the Lord will help me change what is mean in me so that other people won't think I'm mean (I...don't think this worked).

Just so you aren't in suspense, I later attended a Valentine's banquet with J. A Valentine's banquet is what you have when you go to Baptist school and you can't let the kids dance, but you kind of want to let them do something. Anyway, he and I were actually friends later and we still keep in touch. Even if he did call me the B-word. Gasp.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Merry Christmas: In which I make fun of 17 year old Megs

I found old journals. So my Christmas present to you is that I will post some of the more interesting entries between now and Christmas. Because nothing says "Christ is born" like my own personal humiliation via the internet.

Let me tell you about Ben. He makes me believe in love at first sight. (Oh. Great. I'm already ready to die because now I know how this love story would have ended, and let me just say it would have involved a trailer park and starring on an episode of Cops. 17 year old me didn't date a lot.) He's adorable, but not gorgeous or anywhere close to perfect. I don't know him very well, but we have really good chemistry. (At least I didn't call it "a connection".) I know he has a really playful, goodnatured personality. (He was a pothead.) I know he just broke up with his long time girlfriend because she cheated on him several times. But they were not together last August, because he was talking to me and stopped because she lived in Dover. Where he lives. (Long time is relative at 17, I guess.) That's our main problem - 100 miles and a mountain. (He was a pothead. A meth dealing pothead. But you know, the distance and the mountain, that's the important stuff.)I really really like him so much. (Not the first pothead I really really liked so much) I know that he likes me too, but I'm afraid that Ben will let the distance stop us from having a relationship that could be very mutually satisfying.

There are so many things I could say about that last line, but I think it will be more mutually satisfying to let it speak for itself.

Friday, December 9, 2011

Bad mood totally flipped around. It's a Christmahannukwaanzica miracle.

We went to my husband's work Christmas party tonight. I did not think I would have fun. First, I put on my pantyhose and realized that at some point, someone (and by someone I am pretty sure I mean the dumb demon dog) decided that what I really needed were CROTCHLESS pantyhose. So, awesome. Then I put on the skirt I wanted to wear. It zipped, but it would be an exaggeration to say that it fit. Unless the rules of fit are different now, and a camel toe is a good thing. A camel toe in a skirt. This is basically the same story for the rest of the skirts that I put on. And 2/3 of the pants. Apparently, my ass has been sneaking around behind my back and has taken on Kardashian proportions. Too bad my boobs never get in on the fat gaining action. I might not mind being fat if I at least had a slightly more impressive rack. It doesn't even have to be impressive. Just slightly more impressive than what I have. Which wouldn't require much, since I can comfortably shop in the training bra aisle. Seriously, bras in my size almost ALL come with serious padding, like it is trying to make me feel better about my non-existent breasts. "It's okay," they seem to say, "no one has to know you don't really have boobs. Unless they bump into you and the padding leaves a bruise or something."

I finally put together some outfit that I am sure screamed "I HAVE NO CLOTHES THAT FIT!!!" But I really had no choice since I haven't tried any of these clothes on since last year.

Then my husband calls me 8 times to see where I am, and decides that maybe he needs to meet me somewhere because I sound "confused" about where I am. Which pissed me off because I knew exactly where I was. He just didn't know where I was. If you follow. So I get there. Without his help. Like a big girl who even knows how to dress herself and everything. And it's a business-y finance-y thing, and I am used to these and I never have anyone to talk to because what I understand about stocks can be summed up as, "People trying to guess what pretend thing might happen to make pretend money happen or something" and what I know about bonds can be summed up as "..." and what I know about taxes can be summed up as "we have an accountant to know that for me".

HOWEVER. Three things made this night AWESOME.

1. My husband and two co-workers killing at karaoke. You've lost that loving feeling, indeed.

2. Other non-banky people who were girls! Who were close to my age.

3. I don't have to work tomorrow because he and I are taking a 3 day weekend for his birthday. We aren't doing anything, necessarily, but we have time off. Yay!

Monday, December 5, 2011

Damn. Apparently, I am no longer following any blogs. This is what happens when blogger decides you're dead, I guess.

I have to interrupt my busy schedule of holiday spazzing, cleaning, and staring off into space and then leaping about like a maniac to share with you a new exercise I have discovered that will melt the pounds right off.

You will need:

1 overweight dog with an aversion to rain. Mine weighs approximately 30 pounds, but this is not strictly necessary.

3,000,000 gallons of rain

1 cup of a deep and abiding desire to not have all of the floors in your house ruined.

a pinch of appreciation for a house that does not smell of urine and/or dog shit.


Forget that you ever had any dignity at all. Otherwise, you'll never get through this.

Take the dog outside.

Shut the door fast before the dog realizes there is water falling from the sky and attempts to run back in.

Tell the dog "go tinkle for Mama".

Spend a second or two pondering how a dog can possibly roll it's eyes at you. They aren't really known for their sense of sarcasm.

Pick the dog up and walk out into the yard.

Set the dog down.

Chase the dog as she runs back up on the porch.

Pick the dog up and walk out into the yard.

Set the dog down.

Chase the dog as she runs back up on the porch.

Pick the dog do see where I'm going with this, right? Continue to do this until the dog actually pees or you have a screaming fit in the rain which you hope your neighbor's kid didn't hear because you really don't want to be responsible for teaching such a precious child the phrase "goatfucking fatheaded asshole".