My life story: Hairs in Mysterious Places

If you're a girl who wears her hair long, or if you're a dude has ever had long hair, then you know what the unpleasantness of having a long hair stuck in your butt crack is like.

I don't know exactly how they get there, but they do, and it's miserable until you can get to the bathroom and get it out.

But when you're in elementary school, you can't just go to the bathroom whenever you want. ("That's what recess is for!")

One time. when I was in third grade, I had a really terrible hair in my butt. It was made worse by the fact that I was wearing leggings, and I just couldn't wait until recess to go get it out. So when I thought that no one was looking, I reached my hand down the back of my pants and got that butt hair out.

But of course, to my horror, what do I hear from across the room?

"Megan's itching her butt!"

I felt as stupid and useless as a hair stuck in a butt crack.

And the kid's name was Ty. I remember him because he was pretty much bald himself and I was bothered by the fact that his name didn't have any proper vowels.

I'm sorry if you were offended by this post. But this is a true story, and the world needs to know that butt crack hairs are the worst, and there are millions of men and women with long hair who have to deal with this misery.

-Meg

Dear boys:

This post was inspired by Elise, from elise's pieces. Mine are just a bit more... well, bitter.

Dear Neal Patrick Harris boy,

You're an idiot. I am tired of being patient for you.

-Meg

Dear friend boy,

Even though you are miles away from him, will you please reason with Neal Patrick Harris boy? I can only hope he'll listen to you. Thanks.

-Meg

Dear meatball sandwich boy,

I'm so glad you are out of my life.

-Meg

Dear diamond boy,

I can't wait to meet you.

-Meg

Dear Z boy,

Get off your high horse and write me a letter!

-Meg

This is Megan on breakup

Oh, and here comes Meg's hidden anger. I just want to punch a cactus or something. I couldn't tell you why, but I just do. Everything is frustrating to me at this moment.

I know that I am so impatient. I want my cruise to happen now. I want to get a letter now. I want school to be over now. I want Elder Hill to be home now.

Now

Now

Now

(wow, that's a weird word when you say it a lot.)

Speaking of Elder Hill, I found this:

So I bought this:

Old Spice Fiji = gold. Now my room smells like guy. Wonderful, considering my newfound, boring single status.

I don't know if Elder Hill even remembers me anymore, but he does send me letters... like one every month or so. Not good for my impatient demeanor, but better than nothing.

I think my frustration in myself will subside with time, and accomplishing all the homework I have to do during Spring Break. Did I mention I am on Spring Break? Because I am.

-Meg

Going to the Zoo

Gosh, I haven't blogged in so long!

OK, it's really been just a week or so.

Last Saturday was a day at the zoo. Brian and I with Tasha and her fiancée. His name is Joe.

They're cute.

So are we.

It snowed.

Brian and I just love owls. They're just so wise and we like to think we're pretty wise ourselves.

When we (NaTasha and I) were in high school, we used "going to the zoo" as a euphemism for something else. Ya, we thought we were really cool.

School is getting so crazy. And that's OK. Work is going well, and it's never dull there. Thanks for sticking with me, all!

-Meg

So this is...

Hello world.

Here's the low-down.

I am dating this fantastic gentleman. And when I say fantastic, I mean FANTASTIC.

He is so good to me. He is so good for me. I spend less time moping about how much my life stinks -- because it doesn't--and more time just living and being content with life and love.

Every day he reminds me that I am beautiful, and he is a poet. He thinks it's cute how I'm a nerd. We are both nerdy wordy people, and we make a great team.

Yes world, I am in love.

OK, time to sleep...

The big game is tomorrow: UTAH vs. BYU. This is going to be wonderful.

Smiles, loves, and kisses from an extremely bubbly, giggly Meg.

-M

The Morning Comes Early

This is the cover for my novel. This is for you, DaSha! (One of the best cooks I know! If you EVER want a home cooked meal and a great time, she's your girl. She just knows how to bring people together.)

I know, it's a picture of me. But it just fits.

Everything has been fitting lately. Everything's been making sense, and I've stopped worrying and being lame and bitter.

Dear readers, my life just went up a few more notches of amazing.

OK.

I have a poem I have to write. If I wait too long it will disappear.

Good night.

-just little old me(g)

Much Ado about Shakespeare

Dear Shakespeare,

I love you. I love that you never ONCE say "There are no words to describe how I feel." You always have words.

But you left me more than words.

You left me people. I see myself up there, reflected in those characters and I that frightens me but I don't care. I give the actors the credit they deserve, but you are the one who wrote them there. You gave them people and places to interpret.

You make me miss Elder Hill. Oh, he is Benedick. Benedick is he! I was doing so well at hiding and suppressing everything. I was distracting and stiffening myself until I saw Benedick and Beatrice and Shylock and Pip and Biddy and Portia. Now I'm an emotional catastrophe. I'm emotional and romantic. I watched 2 chick flicks today! (Actually they were rather dull and utterly boring compared to your work, but, after all, romance comes in all colors.)

"Serve God, love me, and mend"

"Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humor? No, the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married."

There are many more quotes, and I will find them as I reread this play. I am sappy and romantic and tired. And there are shooting stars that are all the easier to see in all the darkness of the country.

-Megan

If Essays were Babies...

It was one of those days that didn't start at all.

I was still some sort of conscious at 3 a.m. working on my essays, the memories of the evening earlier fuzzy in my memory.

I finally got to my page limit, (barely) sent my essays off to my mother to be edited in a few hours. I crawled into bed and fell into a fitful rest.

I awoke seven hours later to my phone going off. My mom texts me and tells me she's ready to go over my essays with me. They are due today at one.

I stumble upstairs to grab the house phone, because something's wrong with my cell phone's speaker, and whenever I talk in it it sounds really muffled to the person on the other end. Besides, I don't get reception in the basement.

But the power's out.

I stumble back down stairs, put on a bra and some jeans, shove all my school paraphernalia in my back pack. My laptop's battery is almost spent and can't go more than 20 minutes without being plugged in, and besides, I need the internet.

I grab a protein bar and capri-sun and dash over to the library. Even though I try to find a secluded spot (that's near a plug), I'm not totally out of earshot of the other library patrons. I call my mom and she offers suggestions, but whenever I try to respond, she can't hear me. I try yelling as much as I can, but she keeps going, and there a times when I need clarification, or I just need her to slow down so I have chances to fix errors.

It's not working. She can't hear me and I don't dare raise my voice in the library. I'm really tired and when I'm tired I get really emotional and so I start crying. Like full out crying in the library. I hardly care that I look uber pathetic: absolutely no make-up, a disgusting bun, glasses, a t-shirt. And I'm bawling.

I hang up and rush outside. I can yell out there, but I look around for one of those out door plug things and I can't find one. (I swear they're everywhere until you need one!)

Out of necessity I collect myself and call my mom. I can yell and not disrupt people, but my battery has limited juice and the sun is so bright. I try adjusting the brightness, but nothing works. My screen is just too shimmery. I move to the shade. No luck. I put my laptop on the bench and kneel down and lower the screen. I look stupid, but it works for a few minutes.

All the while my mom is telling me stuff I need to fix and stuff she thinks I can add to more safely manage my page-limit. I'm trying to focus and stay calm, but I see the green battery icon rapidly slimming down.

So I hang up again (it sounds rude, but she can barely hear me anyway). I waddle over to the Union as the tower clock strikes 11, only to find that my ordinary floor is undergoing some renovation, of course. I wander around frantically and finally spot a table near a plug! It's right by the men's bathroom, but sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven.

I resume my conversation with my mother, and after working for another hour, it's complete! Both of them! You know, writing an essay is kind of like having kids, and I just gave birth two twins. What labor!

I look back and wonder what I could have done better-- the copy editor in my nags that it didn't check enough. I should have read through just one more time. But I can't look back. I can't stop. I'm not out of the woods.

I eat Chinese food to lighten my mood. I'm exhausted, so I catch a shuttle because I'm lazy, even though it's actually shorter to walk... but the driver must be asleep because we don't take off for what feels like forever and so I decide to walk anyway.

The moment I step off the bus it takes off. Wonderful.

At work I'm told it's my last day. I'm happy. I'm sad. I'm confused about how I feel about people there.

This whole day I've had a hope inside me that a letter will be waiting for me-- a triumphant reward for the crazy past few days.

No letter.

But scrabble with one of my best friends! And a party with my beloved family!

(The real party was last night-- my grandparent's 50th anniversary celebration. More on that to come.)

I still have a final to take. One last one.

And then I'm off to the Shakespearean Festival! Rapture in my soul!

Study Day

Study pad:

Study cards:
Study hair and study glasses:

Study tunes:
Study cursive:

Study toast:
Study fuel:
Study storm:
Study rain:
Study flower:

and in the end, I realized that a final for another class was due today, and I forgot to do it. So I turned it in an hour late. I suck at life sometimes. I set aside an ENTIRE day to study and work on homework, and yet I still can't get it right. I obviously don't use a planner enough, and the stress having a job and trying to be on my own is too much. I want to do it all, but instead I fail at like everything!

I know this is so depressing. I'm just down on myself. I keep messing up. I don't want to fail! I keep trying but I'm just not good enough right now! It's late, and I need to sleep. Tomorrow (today) is a big day.

And I really need to post about my dating life, because that has been interesting! But I'm not quite sure how to do it. I feel guilty that I am dating when I really should be a slave to my school work, but I have had some fantastic dates recently! I love boys!

But anyway, I'm signing off. Megan is sad and disappointed herself, but she knows things will work out in the end. Some nights are just hard.

Sleep tight, readers. Stay in school. Don't miss your finals. Don't do drugs.

Yours truly,

Meg

Imagine that You're Me

You know you’ve been up too late because you start freaking out because not all your pictures are the same shade of sepia.

You realize that you’ve been staring at a computer screen for more than 12 hours today.

You realize, with some horror and dismay, that this is a typical day for you.

You try writing your essay by hand, because that’s how you like to write your first drafts.

You start wondering what the story would be like if told from the monster’s perspective, not Frankenstein’s.

You sit for a few minutes trying to remember if you’ve ever seen Young Frankenstein. Maybe once, at a party, or something.

You remember that Young Frankenstein is a Mel Brook’s movie. So is the Producers. You’ve never seen The Producers, but you’ve heard it. Once you listened in the bathroom while the boys were watching it in your room. You went in the bathroom to study grammar so you could focus, but you really ended up listening to the whole movie. From the bathroom floor.

You remember who those boys were, and decide to Facebook stalk them.

You try to switch your Facebook back to normal, US English; a language that you haven’t used for several months on that website. (UK English, then Spanish, then Pirate.) As you’re trying to find English (Why are they not in alphabetical order?) You come across Esperanto. You cannot help but wonder WHO IN THIS WORLD READS FACEBOOK IN ESPERANTO? So you do the logical thing and change your Facebook to Esperanto.

You notice that Esperanto’s a lot like Spanish. Which reminds you that you have to buy a Spanish textbook that costs $200 and is sold only brand new at the bookstore, AND NOWHERE ELSE!

You then fondly turn your thoughts to the new planner you bought at the bookstore, and the beautiful crimson 5 subject notebook with the U’s logo on it. You can’t wait for fall, because then you’ll be too busy to breathe. But you have your planner! And with a planner, all things are possible.

You rejoice because all things are possible. Like passing your English class. It can happen. You just have to write your essays! You’re half-way done with one of them, which is nice, but you remind yourself that you still really need to buckle down and get going.

You know that the only way to get going is to have a beautiful new pair of shoes on your feet to take you where you want to go! So you search the World Wide Web for the perfect pair of Mary Jane pumps. You find them.

You have to tell your sister and mom about them, and ask for advice on whether it is taking the risk to buy shoes online. You also have to ask if I should get the shoes in mustard or gray. (Two of your favorite colors.)

You decide you are almost ready to conclude this blog post, and thus begin thinking of a decent title. You struggle at this, and sarcastically remind yourself that this is why none of your headline suggestions will ever make it in print.

You have read the newspaper for years, and even now you study it with more fervor than ever before so that you can become acquainted with the subtle nuances of the art. So that you can be a good copy editor and page designer.

You suddenly realize how many incomplete sentences fill your blog post! Your soul is suddenly drenched in horror, repulsion, and trepidation. But you try to stay true to your word and not delete major things! So you leave them. Because that is what you said, even if it is wrong. Because sometimes you write things that are wrong, but you write them anyway, because they must come out of inside of you, so they don't boil and rot and corrupt you.

-Meg

p.s. Do you know what's ironic? I'm horrible at writing headlines because they aren't complete sentences, yet this post is riddled with half-formed, crippled sentences. WHAT IS THIS?

Out of Nowhere-- A Curious Declaration of Love

Oh look, it's 12:07 a.m. Not a bad time, actually, but late enough that I can write a great blog post.

So I saw Elder Hill for the last time. His farewell was amazing! He is such a good public speaker, and his testimony is so clear and simple. "God just wants to talk to us so badly! He's just waiting for us!" He loves talking about God's love. He also talked about his own father.

Ah I love that kid. I really do. But saying "I love you" seems weird, because it's more than anything romantic or twitter-pated. It's a deep, abiding love of the purest sort. It's a caring love. I want the very best for him, oh so much. I don't know how to explain how I love him... this all sounds so horribly cheesy and it just falls so short of what I really mean to say.

Let me try this way: I heard a quote once, "Anyone you truly know, you love." Well, I feel like I truly love Elder Hill because I truly know him. I know his weaknesses, his strengths, his quirks, everything... He is not perfect, he's just Paul. I mean, Elder Hill.

Holy Whoa, I did not intend to write all that about my love for him! Where did that come from? Well inside of me, I guess. And, as you have well figured out by now, I don't really delete things, even though I should. So that proclamation of devotion was unexpected... Sorry, dear readers. I try so hard not be sappy and cliche, but it just happens sometimes.

I really wanted to just tell the world that I am so happy. I am so happy. I am happy. I thought I would be upset and wallowing in a tragic pit of tears, but I'm not. Mind you, I have cried. I have been sad, and nervous. But I have been overcome with a deep sense of peace. I am sad, but it’s a happy sort of sad.

All my emotional space is filled with this peace. The sadness and fear and loneliness are still inside me, but they aren’t as real. They’re nothing more than a slight coloring of the calm inside of me.

I know it may seem strange that I’m talking about emotions like this. I can’t help it. I find it so curious that my feelings are not the center fiber of myself right now. I’m used to them consuming my whole existence.

All I can say is that I feel God's love in my life every day. I do not know the end, but I know it's going to be okay! Everything is the way it should be.

-Megan

** Story behind the picture ** I was lining up to get my picture with the popular Elder Hill. So I go to stand next to him, and before I know it, he's picking me up! Talk about lover's leap! That made me really giddy. (Ah, I'm such a girl...)

Back in Whack

Hiking Adam's canyon. On the way down the canyon I fell and scraped myself up. But I'm okay; the only thing that broke was my sunglasses. (But they were such nice glasses...) I love nature, and boy is it warming up. Birds everywhere, green leaves, perfect weather.

I've been so busy lately, and I love it. In the past few days, I have been doing:

Homework, dates, long phone calls, cleaning, getting a job in order at the Daily Utah Chronicle (YAY! :D), getting the whole family history from grandma, learning to cook, reading, practicing piano again, working out... the list goes on and on.

I went to Red Butte and the Monument yesterday. I really want to be a pioneer. I think I'll volunteer there next summer if I'm in the city for the summer. We'll see.

I'm on a role, and I'm so glad to be back in whack again.

-Meg

Gollum

"Stupid boys." I growl in my best Gollum voice as open my dorm door.

What do you know? A girl's standing the hallway, staring at me. She's looking at me like I'm some evil, deranged, possessed hobbit.

I smile sheepishly and mouth hi.

I don't even know why I pretend to be normal...

-Meg

Distracted

A few months ago I was planning on writing a scathing piece about the evils of Valentine’s Day. That’s how much I loathe it. But tonight I looked at the calendar and wait—what? Tomorrow’s that vile, sappy, insincere excuse for a holiday? I didn’t even notice its approach. I suppose I’d subconsciously blocked the usual symbols from entering my mind. I didn’t see the roses, the balloons, the horrible clash of pink and red side by side…

I’ve gone on three dates this weekend, and two of them were blind dates. And in the two weeks past, I’ve been on a date.

I’m not trying to brag, I mean, this is rare for me. In fact, it’s rare for most females who do not have a significant other to call their own. Guys just don’t date like they used to. I kind of don’t blame them though. After all, dating gets expensive and lately it signals commitment or something.

February has been fun. Still don’t like single awareness day, but it isn’t as painful this year because I’ve been distracted. I’ve liked getting to know some new men, and spending time with one whom I’ve known for a while.

-Meg

Boys

When I was fifteen, I realized with both horror and pleasure that I was in love with guys. I noticed that they were no longer 'boys'; now they were 'guys.' Up until this point in time, contact with the opposite sex had scared the living daylights out of me.
Then, suddenly, the gawky pre-teen boys transformed into handsome, mature, straight-from-a romance novel 'guys.' Suddenly, every movement was monitored, every conversation was absorbed, and every blink a guy took was counted. When I was in junior high, my friends and I were sure that our crushes noticed each stalker-like movement we made. Actually, I realize now, they were oblivious.
Shaniqua and Andrea, my two best friends, were infatuated with Boston and Toby, respectively. I took to Albert- a shy, tall, blue-eyed bass who stood behind me in choir. Boston was a loud one who was just crawling out of his class clown shell and discovering his hidden talent for flirting without the archaic techniques of pulling hair and teasing. Toby was also on the quiet side, but he was keenly aware that half the girls at the junior high were already planning their weddings with him.
To 'accidentally' run into our 'special someone' we would plan out our days' itinerary with more care than a rocket scientist computing the launch time for the next shuttle. We would arrive at school just as their bus was pulling up, get a drink from the fountain right outside their first period class, position ourselves directly in their line of sight at lunch, hire our older sisters to drive us past their house, make shrines for them in our room, and call them only to hang up the phone when they answered. To put it bluntly, we were in 'like'.
Yet we hardly ever came in direct contact with our idols. When we did, it was taken down in a notebook we jointly shared. The conversation was recorded verbatim next to date and time, a detailed description of the clothing he was wearing at the time of incident, facial expression and body language, and a through analysis of the conversation's inner meaning. The dates of specific advances in the crusade were lauded and made into national holidays.
Our moments of trepidation came when we were convinced that the guys were catching on to our intents.
"Did he see me blush?"
"I was staring at him too much."
"We started laughing right as he walked past. If he doesn't know now then he never will."
Shaniqua was right. They never would. Their oblivion would only be broken by a blatent confession of enamoration, and even then they would still be clueless. That was two years ago, and I daresay that Toby and Albert still have no idea. Boston, on the other hand, was informed, of course, two years after Shaniqua's obsession passed. I told him, and the funny thing was he never even had a clue!