today in funny tweets [sorry christina, acacia]

for some reason i find this super amusing

repeat x 100

sadness where there should be none

there's a lot of tension today. i can cut it with a knife. or rather, not cut it, as it is that thick. the weather is characteristically dismal and lame-ass. i'm bummed out that emma watson is moving to this state because honestly she's only going to have poor things to say about it when she inevitably leaves two days in. dear jesus i hope twin cities live doesn't catch on to this. the royal wedding is bringing me extreme anxiety. poor poor kate middleton. i hope she'll start eating again once this stressfest is up.



and that has been today's pessimistic comments on society. sorry internet.

im pissed off today

another reason why i should get off twitter...

waste-of-space-post

before i write this i would like to say that i'm a sweaty person--i acknowledge my perspiration problem and now we can move on.

i really like the heat. you know how people say they can never sleep when it's hot? well, i'm the opposite. i sleep amazingly. the heat suffocates me into a slow slumber that i can't wait to experience more of. on the contrary, when i'm cold, it's all i think about---from my frigid nose to my freezing toes---and then i never sleep.

so today i was the only person in the entire school (i surveyed each student) who wore a winter jacket. sort of out of habit, sort of out of knowing the high will be around 40 tomorrow, but mostly because i know it will make me warmer. instead of fully taking advantage of the new spring weather, i try to bundle up so i can appreciate the sun without obsessing over the goosebumps blanketing my pillowy arms.

the end.

WTF

just get out while you can kim, get out.

to quote hermione: "go. leave."

was either this or another post on babysitting

i choose dis

dummers

A Post entitled, "Dear BitchSister."

[composed last night..under conditions not recommended by a sobered up poster.]

Dear BitchSister,

I did not appreciate that after risking my life for you I didn't recieve a single thank you, word of sympathy, encouragement or gratitude in return. May you go fuck yourself with none of the vast pleasure the world has to offer.

When I recieved my driver's license, I recieved the God-given right to pick you up from your friends' houses. I get that, because from a very young age I was instilled with one of the stricter Checks-and-Guilt-Systems known to man. But did I expect that I would have to risk my life in a night of Zero Visibilty to go pick you up in HickVille?  ABSOLUTELY NOT. I was scared out of my mind as a tornado of sleet stormed the windshield and my fragile car was tossed from lane to lane from that fuckery of wind.

Let's begin this letter of formal fuckyouiness with a list of unnerving half-questions.

1. First of all, I wonder, how in God's glorious Name did you choose a best friend who lives an extraordinary 27 minutes away? How? I know personally, when I chose my best friends, I mapquested their houses and compared estimated arrival times. Did you take this considerate step before befriending this person? Of course you didn't. Because you hate me, don't you? And of course, if you didn't mapquest the original arrival time you certainly didn't taken into account WEATHER DELAYS, did you? But oh no. You liked that I was late, didn't you? You could spend more time macking on your "gay bestfriend!" (unnerving question to follow.)

2. Why in God's glorious Name, did you feel the need to BLAST "My Last" while I was driving through the tornado of doom? Did you not find the coincidence of the song to be so unsettling you wanted to puke?  Because I sure did. (Lyric sample: "Imma Imma hit this drank up like it's my last, imma imma hit this night up like its my last." Stupid Chris Brown.)

3. Why did you have to drag your friend with us? Why couldn't his sister pick him up in the weather of doom?! Finding his house in the weather was basically a cat-call to die. Not only did he give directions like "Turn at 12 o'clock" which doesn't even make sense because by the time I get to "12 o'clock" it'll actually be "9 o'clock" because that's how turns work, but he stank my car up like only a preteen can. AND WHEN I ASK, who the hell he is, GIVE ME A STRAIGHT ANSWER, PLEASE. "He's my gay best friend." "He's gay?" "Not to my knowledge." "Well, IDIOT, it's not a great idea to lie about someone's sexual orientation on the DAY OF GODDAMN SILENCE." Did you find that conversation courtly? I sure did.


Then then then, my sweet, little, naive sister....trying to show your femininity by daintily running from my car to the garage upon reaching the house. You ballsy Protestant, you.

Yes, we reached our house safe and sound. Was I surprised? Yes. Were you? No. WERE YOU GOING TO THANK ME FOR RISKING LIFE in the hellish nowhere that is STILLWHITER (driving on 36, alone, slightly confused as to where i turn, with a hurricane---wait i said tornado---tornado of sleet "storming the windshield" was seriously one of the most nerve-racking experiences of my life.)

Like I said.  May you go fuck yourself with none of the vast pleasure the world has to offer.


Yours Truly,
Colonel Meghan Lee

BOLOGNA SANDWICH

I went downstairs this morning (after being awoken by a child yelling down the street), pointed outside, and told my mom "bologna sandwich." now, we were both thinking "bullshit" but i think the message got across. i kind of think the snow is funny now, because of 2 funny little incidences:

(1) Sonia yelling at me in the car, like a day ago, declaring "spring was here" and I was being stupid for not believing.
(2) Last night it started snowing/raining/mostly snowing and I had to drive to the middle of nowhere to pick up my sister. I seriously thought I was going to die. I even called my mom halfway through and told her about the situation and that I was going to be home real late because of my slow driving. When I came home, of course, my mom was in bed, not a worry across her face. Then I wrote a letter-like post to my sister, who had been a real bitch about the situation. That will be posted soon.

butt seriously.

once and a while, when i happen to think of it, i make it a point to netflix this movie:

seriously, it exceeds all expectations.

i recommend that you see this movie. at whatever means necessary. just kidding. but seriously.

"turdface."

do you see that title? not proud of it. not one bit. the only person i can think of who would like that word is someone who insisted today (marking the second time she's so bluntly made this announcement) that "i don't read your blog!" so all's good. or bad. wait. anyway, i would like that word (the beginning) to be formally dispelled from the english language. it's disgusting. and this coming from a c-word user.

why did i write it then, you may be asking yourself. well, upon driving from barnes and noble (where i spent twentyone-figh on tina fey's new book) to the gym and then walking inside, i suddenly realized why my mom had warned me not to go on mondays: every machine was in use.

apparently, people feel so guilty from their weekend that they feel the need to crowd the gym up with their sweaty limbs. i stood there for a good 20 seconds gazing at the occupied gym in a mix of pathetic despair, some sort of relief, and slight confusion. then i walked right on back out the door and into my '98 buick where i would proceed to read tinafey's book as onlookers peered in wondering what the hell was wrong with the pitiful soul.

after the third person walked past my car, i decided enough was enough...and that i better leave! so i swerved out of that hell hole and into a liaison of heaven: dairy queen. seemed like a great idea at the time. after all! there are now $1.99 mini blizzards! what a steal! after ordering, i was doing the creep to the window to get my "midnight truffle" blizzard (wtf it is, i still don't know) when i heard myself say "turdface." now, as i made pret-ty clear in the first paragraph, i'm not exactly prone to uttering such a word. so now in addition to my heavy-set guilt (in my heavy set chins, thighs, and bellies,) i was disgusted at my language.

i got home, not in despair because i had just called myself a turdface or that i had skipped the gym in favor of fattening "ice cream" ---but rather that i had forked up a hefty $2.14 for my blizzard instead of the advertized $1.99 (all i can say folks is save the naiveté for the bedroom. the world is a scary place.) when i mentioned this to no one in particular, my dad responded by saying, "you can blame the democrats for the tax on everything." no dad. you can blame the founding fathers and the british for the tax.

remind me to talk around him less.

basically, what i can say from this experience is that i'm one hot mess.

respect.

he says "87" instead of "97" ...but otherwise...

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

WHAT THE FUCK Y'ALL WHAT THE FUCK !?!!!!!!!!!!!!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?!

30 Rock': How Tina Fey's pregnancy won't change Liz Lemon

by Emily Exton

Categories: 30 Rock, Celebrity Babies, Food and Drink, Made Us Think, Not Jon Hamm, Television,Those Crazy Kids!, Tina Fey

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Revel in the glory of motherhood, nerds. Tina Fey has a bun in the oven. But how will theBossypants author’s recently announcedpregnancy affect our pal Liz Lemon? The folks at 30 Rock have yet to reveal if or how Fey’s news will affect the show, but when you really think about it, it doesn’t really matter: Lemon has vaguely resembled a pregnant woman for the last five years (except for the minor detail of getting her period for 61 straight days). While you might be wondering how Fey can work her bundle of joy into next season’s plot, here’s a quick list of ways her pregnancy won’t change a thing, as it already fits in with Lemon’s trademarked quirks:

• Whether she’s wearing it as a joke or not, theslanket aficionado likes her bi-curious fashion choices and DIY finds (Duane Reade bags as underwear) on the larger side, which gives Fey infinite room to hide a growing belly and prevent any dirty looks from that office gossip Brian Williams. 

• She’s known for “lizzing” and the occasional “snart” (always at inopportune times), which makes any morning sickness or other bodily changes caught on cam-eh-ra acceptable and, sadly, totally predictable.

• Fey’s pregnancy cravings won’t mean much to her fictional coworkers, who expect Lemon to have her hands full each scene with either lowbrow snack foods (like Cheesy Blasters and Sabor de Soledad cheese puffs), cupcakes, sandwiches, or night cheese.

Way to go, Tina. I’m high-fiving a million angels for you right now. May Dr. Spacemen walk you through a totally normal 12-month pregnancy.

Ultimately, it’s likely the 30 Rock writers will go the way of Jane Krakowski’s recent bun-in-the-oven and work around Fey’s pregnancy — of course Lemon would get pregnant after Jenna, no one will ever let her enjoy the spotlight by herself! — unless Fey and Co. really are looking to end the series. You know what they say, third time’s a charm, and our dear Lemon has already escaped a pregnancy scare and faked being with child. Maybe it’s time for the real thing? Because, really, what kid doesn’t wouldn’t be proud of having this for a mother?

Your turn, dummies. Should Liz Lemon get pregnant on 30 Rock? If so, there has to be a better baby daddy option than Dennis, right?

DRAMATIZATION - for my auto

So just now I was laying face down on my bed, feelin' pret-ty sorry for myself. When I'm feeling down, my pessimistic train of thought leads me to junior high, naturally. As I was thinking (or rather, desperately trying to lead my mind away from it) I took it as an opportunity to declare to no one at all that The Junior High Years are really the worst in one's life.

I remembered back to summer before 7th grade when Nickelodeon had this "junior high special" on and it was all about how junior high sucked (which is a really nasty way to scare kids, Nick) and how in high school people are "more mature." I remember that very clearly. Then I got to thinking about why (ok hang in there!) junior high sucked for me. Because it couldn't have really been as cliché and dramaticized as Nickelodeon made it out to be. Except it was. Here's the mental list, written out for the world to see:

- Uncontrollable Hair: Relatively speaking, my hair wasn't that bad at all. Unfortunately, though, I had no idea what to do with it. My mom sucked, now that I think about it. She has super thin, short, straight hair that she blow dries and puts massive amounts of product in. I'm guessing when I hit puberty she thought I was a nightmare, and saw it best to stay out of my way. Nice one, Mom. So I half-straightened it (not knowing how to use a fucking flat iron) and let my bangs curl to my scalp and let the rest wave idiotically through the storm of frizz. I'm sure I'm painting the pretty picture that was Meghan: Pubescent Pube.

- Awkward Social Skills: Coming in to 7th grade, I had been relatively popular by speaking my mind thru pessimistic, if not butch, commentary. Then, I was shoved into a world where people absolutely do not do that. You can laugh about a teacher, but you don't call them "fucking psychos" and rant endlessly about them in the 7th grade. Turns out, that's not a great way to make friends (only in incredibly lucky circumstances.) So I made very few friends, I believe, and went from class to class frowning. In 8th grade, when I found myself alone more than any other time in my entire life, I would roam the halls, and thought it okay to tap someone and start up a random, one-sided conversation. Looking back on this, I not only displayed an abnormal amount of courage, but a freakish sensibility that makes me squirm to this day. NO ONE WANTED TO TALK TO ME, HENCE THE WEIRD AMOUNT OF ALONETIME. That definitely did not register back then.

-Trend Setter Extraordinare: Then there was the "trend" thing that makes junior high, junior high. I was not into it; thought it was Cool to speak out against it. This definitely did not affect my amount of friends, I'll tell you that much. Coming from VCCS, once again, being unique was celebrated, and I was the negative, sarcastic-commentator in the group. Then my BFF was a gal named Erin who was just as cynical about the world in 5th grade, as I was in 6th grade. She confirmed my hate, so I went on with life thinking that giving the middle finger under desks was acceptable behavior. Anyway, when the Target/UGG brand slipper/shoe came into being, I marveled as I sat on the floor by Roxy's locker, watching each person walk by with a pair on. Even the boys!

- Clothes/boob situation, trembling through speeches, constant affair with a kleenex (or sleeve) etc... Let's just stop now.

BUT THIS WAS NOT THE POINT OF THE POST: when I was thinking about all the things that I did wrong in junior high that got me laughed at, bullied, and labeled, I came to the conclusion that there should be no junior high. That kids should be homeschooled from the ages of 12 to 16. Then they can go to high school and have the "important social experience." When I formed this stroke of genius, I thought it my civic duty to take this directly to the media!

But then the bad thoughts came. Y'know...the faults in the plan. The cracks in the system. This was my thought process, applying the "problem-solving methods," I mastered in grade school:

Problem:
- Kids wouldn't learn proper social skills when their minds are a-malleable.
Solution:
- Kids would learn from their parents/teachers how to interact like an adult. They would observe and be taught this kind of ettiquette instead of learning through awkward circumstance/the hard way.

Problem:
- Kids would become just as annoying as their fucking parents (through unconcious imitation)
Solution:
- This would happen with or without homeschooling. And with homeschooling, kids don't gang together to form Shit Storm Patrols that set rules of appearance. Rules--might I add!--that don't make a fucking difference when you get out of there.

Problem:
- BUT! Some people liked junior high, Meghan! It was fun! 
Solution:
- Suck my dick.

:D

WARNING: THIS COMMERCIAL IS A DRAMATIZATION AND IS AWESOME.

+0/10...a post I composed in English class.

Listen people who keep urging me to talk in English class: Up until this year I was quite content recieving F's in participation. Stop shooting me disappointed glances at the end of the hour. Why does it matter that I didn't "participate in the discussion?" Frankly, that's bullshit--- Being graded on whatever I can form into a semi-coherent blerb so Ms. Teacher can mark my name off. 

First of all, 

I don't like to hear myself speak, believe it or not. My voice ranges like a pubescent boy's - it can go from monotone-manly to squeakygirlynutjob. Neither is enjoyable.

And it isn't just being self-concious, it's about having nothing to say. Maybe I don't put enough effort into thinking about what the teacher is asking but I feel like even if I do come up with something, it's not anything genius; It's not important enough to say, not worthy, not right. 

Then there's the level of absurdity of English class--the teacher propelling discussions that's she's had 300 times and asking the same questions to evoke the same answer. In reality, everyone just slips shit in to get their points and the whole "discussion" aspect is a charade. And who is a discussion benefitting but a student's participation grade? If you read the book you come away with what your supposed to and then the little things that everyone percieves differently...

Participation points are stupid.

borrowing

hooray for my favorite lesbians.

too soon