on curing colds, popularity, and menageries

I have no legitimate purpose for this blog post. I simply have a lot of thoughts in my brain (probably inspired by my cold medicine cocktail) and feel the need to put them out into the universe. So here you are.

+ I think I somehow cured the common cold. Yes, researchers, sit down and shut up because I HAVE DONE IT! Yesterday I thought I might die... it felt as though Allison had roundhouse kicked me in the throat repeatedly. Felt like I was swallowing a cheese grater. It was terrible. I took a nap, and then over the span of the evening took Aleve (which I am convinced is made with unicorn tears, fairy dust and magic), sucked on a Cold Eeze (still just as gross as when my mom first made me eat one many moons ago), and then before bed downed some cough syrup (chased with orange juice because it still makes me gag). And this morning? I feel AWESOME. Still a little bit cold-ish, but my throat feels 98% better and I want to die much less than I did yesterday.

Boom. Cured. You're welcome.

+ I love Halloween. I love dressing up, and I love any excuse to wear black lipstick, red lipstick, fake eyelashes, too much makeup in general, witch tights, cowboy boots, and fringe... all of which I get to do this weekend. Tomorrow my costume is still in the works... but I am fairly thrilled about it. Today for work Halloween I resurrected the Wicked Witch costume (green face and all - although this morn I didn't have my hat on yet and our exec director looked and me and said - "let me guess - dead?" Wah wah.) Also the costumes overshadowed that this was my last day at LLS so I was able to very well compartmentalize that I have sadness about that. Ideal. Halloween is so useful.

Additionally, my sweet, long-time fantasies of popularity come almost completely true around Halloweentime. Let me tell you a tale. Three years ago, my roommates and I decided that we should have a Halloween party. Our house is great for parties, and we thought it was just a super idea. Somehow - and I do mean I literally do not know how this happened - it was pretty much the only party in all of the Denver area or something because it was RIDICULOUS how many people came. People none of us knew showed up. It was delightful. And now, 3 years later, this party has a reputation. People expect it and look forward to it for months. We have a responsibility, now, to the young fun people of Denver. And we dare not disappoint.

+ Lastly, a list: the top 5 reasons I love living in my house with the people who live in my house: (many require photographic documentation for full effect.)

5. My roommates:
i. Alli Pie: because she will push me through a crowd shouting "ITS AN EMERGENCY" when I need her to, does not really punch me in the throat, and is supportive of my pumpkin habit.
ii. Jammy: because she creeps around stealthily, texts me from downstairs, and looks in my throat when I'm convinced I have contracted the Bubonic Plague.
iii. Key-air-uh: because she makes glass menagerie signs when I want her to, sings rap lyrics gospel style with me in our house, and gets as excited about going to Target at night as I do.

4. The Old Man Chairs... None of our chairs cost more than $10. All of them are exquisite. Latest addition (not pictured) is a delightful blue striped rocking chair that is sort of broken.

old man chairs.

3. The Board. So useful. I love when people update it for us with cool new elements like "crush of the week" - thanks Vinnie!

 a couple of past boards...

2. The Glass Menagerie... our figurine collection. Still waiting for a second cat. I don't know why I think this is so funny, but I must say, it absolutely delights me.

glee & delight - figurines

1. The Halloween Party... duh. More on this as it develops...

"Oh great. I bet they're sexting from our phones!"

That is what Cristy said to me on Friday night when our purses were burgled.
Well, OK, on Friday night when I was dancing my little heart out and someone stole my bag from a bar. But seriously. Same diff right? We have still been done a horrific injustice, have we not?!

The whole thing is WILDLY irritating. Of course, I've been playing the "if only" game: "If only the stupid Tavern hadn't played Lady Gaga and kept me riveted on the dance floor for so long so I had gone to check my purse before last call" At fault: The Tav. "If only I had not worn my cute new boots which convinced me I should probs go dancing in them" At fault: Boots. "If only I had not packed every single thing I own that night and just taken the basics" At fault: irrational purse hoarding. "If only purse thief had decided to go to Cowboy Lounge that night!" At fault: sucky purse thief. See? So many things at fault that are not me.

I just did not realize the degree to which I am dependent on the things in that bag. And why on this particular evening I decided to pack a small travel suitcase to take to the bars is beyond me, but as a result, I have no stuff. Like, I go to grab my purse and every time I have this thought of "what will even go in it?" I'm like an 8 year old who has a purse and REALLY wants to carry it so she looks like a grown up but doesn't have anything to put in it really. So like the aforementioned 8 year old, I have to put random stuff in there to make it look legit to passersby. But if you looked closely, you'd see it was full of Barbies, a Unicorn figurine, an array of Scratch'n'Sniff stickers, assorted accessories from the Pretty Pretty Princess game, and a Hello Kitty wallet with my mom's old grocery store discount cards in it and the photo ID that my aunt made me out of cardboard (that, FYI, was a thing I actually had). Also maybe some fruit snacks. Who can say really.

I am realizing reluctantly that it is possible, although SUPER annoying and stupid, to replace stuff. I've been without a phone for a few days. (People keep asking me, "well, isn't it kind of nice? Sort of liberating?" Ummm, sure. Yeah. The bright side, you found it! Congratulations! Taking a break from your phone is one thing. I'm for it. BUT THIS IS NOT THAT. But really, your optimism is inspiring.) I have no camera. WHAT IF SOMETHING MOMENTOUS HAPPENS? I won't be able to capture it, that's what. I have no student ID to use for discounts at the movies anymore, which I couldn't go to anyway, since I have nothing to pay with. I wake up in the night and weep silently over the loss of my favorite J.Crew bag and Hobo wallet, and how they will probably spend the remainder of their days in a dumpster somewhere. I had to replace the 5ish Chapsticks that live in my purse, but really, that's no big deal because I have 17 more in my bedroom somewhere. I did have to stand in front of the Maybelline display in Target for a ridiculous amount of time in an attempt to remember the shade of lip gloss I loved so much, though.

But you know what? All of that I can deal with... but my FAVORITE pen was in there. I loved that pen. Enough to carry it with me everywhere. And now some thieving loser gets to enjoy MY Wild Rose Casino pen, and I hate him or her. You think I can just drive to Iowa again and replace it? Well, I can't. And also won't. There is just only so much one person can handle, and that crosses the line. Now it's personal.

The moral of the story here, kids, is that I never want all of my important items to be together in the same place ever again. Especially not a cute leather place with an accessible shoulder strap so that someone can conveniently carry it all away from me with ease and style.

If you need me, I'll just be here trying to rebuild my identity and fill a purse with legitimate grown up items.

why won't you wave at me?

To the drivers of Denver & other places I have lived and/or driven:
WHY WON'T YOU WAVE AT ME?

There are few things that make me more furious than those jerks on the road who KNOW that their lane is coming to an end and yet REFUSE to plan ahead and get over until their lane is 6 inches wide and they are about to crash directly into the side of my car. Fine, fine, you arrogant loser who clearly thinks your time is more important than mine, FINE. I will let you in. I won't even be rude about it. I'm calm, cool, collected, and far more mature than you. I might even smile at you, politely, inviting you to respond with matched courtesy. But do they? No. They don't. Not even a backwards glance as they cut in front of me.

It's just about as aggravating as lunch line cutters in the cafeteria. You think your time is more valuable than mine? You think you deserve warm, fresh lasagna and I don't? No, yeah, I see your point. Go right ahead. Let my noodles get crunchy. No big deal. It's the same story with driving. Yes of course, Toyota Tercel, I would love to let you in my lane. No, it's fine that you didn't plan ahead and are now holding up traffic. Sure, I'll be late to work, but at least you got up here faster than those jokers who merged lanes at the appropriate time - you really showed them. I was hoping to get through one more chorus of I Would Do Anything For Love before getting to the office anyway. Really, your arrogant merge habits are a blessing in disguise.

These are the kind, forgiving, very holy thoughts that fill my mind as that freaking Tercel cuts right in front of me day after day...
UNTIL I DON'T GET THE COURTESY WAVE.

You're an especially terrible person. YOU ALWAYS WAVE! I'm pretty sure serial killers and bank robbers wave. A guy who just pulled off a jewel heist and is running from the law would probably wave if you let them merge in front of you. I don't care what kind of jackhole you are, you wave. Because it's courtesy. It's basic human kindness. It's THE RULE. It's the thank-you note of driving. It's a little ray of hope and sunshine in the gloomy darkness that is traffic. The wave has become so infrequent that it hurts me in my heart. Honestly, I think not waving is more painful for me than if you'd flipped me the bird. If I made a list of ways I would want you to respond as you squeezed in front of me in rush hour traffic, a middle finger would be listed just above doing nothing at all.

Next time some poor, crazy soul singing Meatloaf in a red Saturn Vue lets you in her lane (like you gave her much choice, just saying), just throw up the hand. Give a quick wave. You don't even have to wiggle your fingers. Just one swift arm movement up to the rear view mirror could change the course of my day and restore my faith in humanity.

It's in your hands now.

(I have this feeling that given my last two posts, someone is going to send me to anger management or the psych ward or something. But these are legitimate upsets, people! I know somebody is as enraged as I am! Right!? I'm just trying to bring it into the light so we can all find some healing. You're welcome.)

Dear Microsoft Word

It has come to my attention that I have some very strong feelings about Microsoft Word. Computers in general, maybe... but mostly, WORD. Many of these sentiments are similar to what one might feel for a human person who has wronged them repeatedly. It's gotten personal. I have drafted a letter in an effort to therapeutically unload and express some of my word processing baggage. As a trained counselor, I feel that this catharsis is necessary. This is very emotional for me, so I ask that you be sensitive to my vulnerability. Thank you.

Dear Microsoft Word,

Hi. I feel a little awkward bringing this up... so publicly... but you've left me with little choice. This is what it has come to. Where do I even begin? We've been doing this dance for years, you and I, ever since you first betrayed me by losing half of my Good Life paper senior year of high school. Do you have any idea how hard I worked - how much heart and soul I put into that paper - only to have it ripped right from my hands the minute I turned my back for a moment? It took a while to regain my trust - I'm sure you remember the rocky years we had - but I always came back, even though the wound of that night still remains. I never left you. I never turned my back on you. And look where it's gotten me.

In college, and then seminary, you were never perfect, sure... but then, I never expected you to be. I didn't ask for perfection - I'm certainly not perfect myself. For a brief few years, I was happy. I let my guard down, and I let you in. I took a risk in vulnerability. How wrong I was. It wasn't long before I became wary again; I started feeling paranoid, living in fear of the heartbreak and document loss that lay ahead. It was hard to be content, hard to focus on anything at all with you constantly testing my patience, moving my margins, when I needed you at top performance. Is this fun for you? Is that it? I just... I just don't understand. I suppose I never will.

Lately it feels we are on the brink of destruction - I am this close to ending this thing once and for all. All I want to do is create documents that are well-formatted and attractive. Why won't you let me? Are you afraid of what will happen if my documents are pretty? Are you jealous, is that it? Is it because I said that thing about loving handwritten sentiments most? Is it because I use blogger to do most of my writing and not you? Well, why would I use you?!? Nothing I could ever say or do affects your choices - you have made up your mind and no amount of backspacing or CTRL+Z can change that. You are inconsistent, unpredictable, and impulsive. I think that's what bothers me most - the inconsistency. When I click "Tab," I want to know what to expect. Are you going to move an inch or all the way to the other side of the page?! I can never tell!! From one line to the next, I cannot predict your behavior. I feel on edge all the time. Flinching with each error message. Cowering every time I see the little paper clip guy come into the bottom right corner. I fear that our relationship has become abusive.

I tried being supportive, I did. I went to the Help menu, I tried to correct auto-formatting. I even spoke sweetly to you, stroked your ego, promised you my undying devotion, to reassure you. But nothing worked. Nothing. I continued to flounder, always afraid of your next move. I know I've been reactive, I've called you things that would make a sailor blush, but still you misbehave. I'm out of options. This isn't me! I don't even know who I am anymore. You have ruined my resume one too many times. Why must you sabotage my efforts to find a job? Are you afraid if I succeed I won't need you anymore? One too many times, you have refused my attempts at formatting when all I'm trying to do is make pretty signs for a charity event. A charity event, Word. What kind of monster do you have to be to get in the way of something like that? Your constant need to restrict my creativity makes me sick. You are controlling and manipulative. Let me choose how I want the wording centered! Let me decide how I want my lists indented! You don't always know best which font I should use. You can't fence me in. I will not be your doormat any longer. You can't continue to treat me like my opinions don't matter. Like I'm not a person with feelings. I'm done letting you walk all over me. This is an ultimatum.

I hope you will consider the things I have said, and I hope this is not the end for us, I truly do. I'm sure you have made and will make some people very happy. But I know I am not the first woman you have disappointed, and I'm certain I will not be the last. And I care about you too much to let you keep making the same mistakes. Maybe this will be a wake up call for you. More than anything, I feel sorry for you. I really do.

You leave me no choice but to wait for another word processor - one that will meet my needs, one that will treat me with the respect that I deserve. I wish you the best, I truly do. Get help. Until you do... well, I guess this is goodbye.

Sincerely yours,
Megan