The One With the Princesses

My list of Disney Princesses (DPs for short) in order of who I respect most to who I think should be dethroned.

  

     

           1. Mulan is first for obvious reasons.  She is not motivated by selfish ambition, she is trying to save her family. The beautiful Mulan dresses in drag and fights as a badass ninja warrior.  This teaches young girls that they need to act like boys to get ahead in life.

   

    

          2. Belle is a close second because she reads.  We will choose to look past the fact that the intelligent girl gets the love of a beast who turns into a man who is obviously gay.  Seriously, we are letting it go.

           3.   Pocahontas is pretty fearless, jumping off that giant cliff and all.  She teaches girls that they have to be athletic to get a nice tall build.  She climbs a bunch of trees, is good at rowing, and she can paint with all the colors of the wind.  Plus, she snagged Mel Gibson before he got crazy.  Points.

  

         4.  Repunzel was not a DP when I was growing up, so she doesn’t have my 100% respect.  She is pretty spunky though, and she wields a mean frying pan.  Her flaw is her emotional instability, which she makes up for in hair.

            5.  Jasmine gets a bad rap because of her outfits, as she should. I mean, parachute pants have never been in.  Sorry MC Hammer. But she does have some moral fiber to her character.  It is admirable that she is tired of being rich and spoiled, stupid, but admirable.  Her idiocy continues when she hands that kid an apple and then acts surprised that she got in trouble.  She gets the coveted middle spot for good intentions but horrible common sense.

      

             6.  Cinderella could use a backbone.  That is why she is on the backside of this list.  Anybody who is content getting yelled and cleaning has too many self esteem issues for my taste.  Plus, she encouraged small children to think of rodents as friends and supported her boyfriend’s foot fetish.  Think about it.  It’s weird.

     
     
     7.   Sleeping Beauty.  This chick is famous for sleeping.  I mean really?  I take naps every day, and a hot guy on a horse has yet to wake me up.  Not to mention she has an entourage and still can’t pick out a dress to wear. 

   




      8.  Snow White has the most obnoxious voice in the world.  Be honest, that chick could win the Noble Peace Prize, and I'd still smack her with Repunzel's frying pan for that squeak.  Not to mention she took an apple from the most terrifying old lady ever.  Everyone knows if you are going to accept food from strangers, they need to at least be attractive. 





     9.  I feel bad putting Tiana at nine. I know virtually nothing about her, except that she wasn’t a princess, she was poor.  Which is fine, except that she willingly decided to stay a frog for love.  I will give you $100 if you can explain to me how that is a good example to set for anyone.

    


     10.  Ariel gets my least amount of respect.  She gave up her voice to an obviously untrustworthy sea witch, and she did it for a man. Let’s talk about what that teaches our children.  “Sweetie, you just need to be pretty and silent. Then a man will like you.  If you really want him to get hot and bothered, comb your hair with a fork.” But the biggest reason she is number 10 is that she’s a ginger – which is why she sold her voice and not her soul to the devil.

The One With the Trophy Wife

In my youth, I thought that I would be happy if I became a trophy wife.  I could lounge about while my Race Car driving husband made all the money and be, you know, rich.  (Yes, I picked a Race Car driver to be my income generating man candy. Due to racing’s lack of popularity among women, and the fact that you can meet drivers before a race, I feel I could actually have a shot.)

But then I realized something.   I am too opinionated to be a trophy wife, and my guess is, that’s not going to fly with my non-existent Race Car driving husband.

 So then I thought, “I could be a stay at home wife, who cooks and cleans!”  Then I laughed at how ridiculous that seemed, because, let’s be honest, I’m not prepared to take on that kind of responsibility. I am skilled at cooking two meals, tacos and those Bertolli frozen bag pastas that claim to feed two, but really feed just one. 

And cleaning?  My idea of cleaning is putting everything in stacks and placing it carefully around my apartment, behind bigger stuff.  Or placing bills and mail in decorative bowls so you are distracted by the bowl and fail to see the disaster of my life sitting inside it.

 

And laundry?  I’ll do it because it smells nice, but I’ll also leave it down in the dryer until it becomes absolutely necessary for me to make the trip to my basement to get it.  And even then, I’ll keep the clean clothes in the laundry basket until all the dirty stuff piles up on the floor, and it becomes pertinent for me to empty the clean stuff to pile in the dirty stuff so my room looks clean-ish.

I don’t want you to think I am a pig.  I keep a clean bathroom, I Clorox wipe surfaces down.  But when it comes to general crap  – it is just going to be thrown on the first available surface I see when I walk through the door.  In my old apartment, it was on a chair that no one realized I had until I moved – today it is the kitchen table.  It is around this table where you can find my shoes, shopping bags, work bag, books, and mail.  It isn’t used for eating, that is what the coffee table in the living room is for, on the off night I decide to make tacos, again.

So all this to say that I am not exactly domesticated wife material.  But based on that fabulous sales pitch I just gave, if any of you men are willing to take a shot, I’d be willing to get married for a teal Kitchen Aide mixer.  I am actually a fabulous baker.  And by fabulous, I mean I buy box mixes and add chocolate chips to them and believe that is enough to tell everyone what I baked is from scratch.

The One With the Walking

People that walk slow. OH MY GOSH!  I cannot mentally FATHOM why is takes people so long to move their appendages.  I will take some responsibility, in that I walk faster than the average individual.  I have short legs, and  the misfortune of having tall modelesque friends, so I have overcompensated with a spritely stride which makes me travel further and faster than the average Homo Sapien.  But that is beside the point. Everyone else needs to be accommodating.

This is what I imagine these sloth like people to be thinking as they clog up streets, halls and alleys, “Ho, hum, what a wonderful stroll on this six inch path with lava on either side of it, making it impossible for kind strangers to pass me.  I think I’ll move as fast as Pangaea did when it broke into 7 continents.” It is so inappropriate and irritating.  Usually there are two of them walking at that robot like pace, holding hands, and it is all I can do not to sprint through them yelling, “Red Rover.”

I used to run into the problem frequently with athletes in college.  Mostly on the brick pathways where on either side were signs that said, “Please Stay of the Grass.” These Neanderthals would carefully place one foot in front of the other, as though it was the most tedious task they had to do all day.  My greatest fear is that it was the only thing they ever accomplished at school.  They were so unmoving that I wondered if perhaps they were statues, erected to block my only way to the dining hall.

Since I am often stuck behind someone slow, I have developed a particular set of skills to try and move around them.  First, I walk as fast as possible to where they stand, stop as far behind as is socially acceptable, then engage in what I like to call “revving.”  I call it this because I equate it to a car that is going to take off full speed.  It involves quick and hurried steps, until I am breathing on their neck, then I ease off, then scamper up again, and repeat the awkward heaving breathing.  I do this in the hopes that they will become frightened of the strange blonde that keeps aggressively moving into their personal space, step to the side, and let me pass.  Athletes don’t catch on so easily, unfortunately. I also engage in the “hand shoo”, where I make wild gestures like people do to dogs when they want them to stop sniffing their crotch.  Occasionally, if I am in a rule-breaking mood, I’ll step into the lava, grass, or busy street to move around these people.  This is done in an angry huff, with arms swinging to show them I am truly irritated in their social indecency.  It is also a warning that I am capable of moving quickly, so if someday I kick them in the kneecap for their sins, I will be able to escape.

Note to all you slow walkers out there: Please do better.  You are ruining the bipedal way of life for all of us.

The One Where I Returned

Obviously I haven't blogged in awhile.  I'd like to formally apologize here and now to all of you who have been bothering me to do this over the last month.  I should have been better.  I did, however, acquire somewhat of a social life, which may be part of the reason for my radio silence. I know, it's odd for me too.  In fact, I found socializing to be exhausting and realized the reason why I choose not to interact with other humans my age.  But here is a quick over view of the highlights that were missed . . .

1.   I went to Vegas for work.  Having never been to Vegas this was an exciting moment for me.  Of course, being there for work meant I had to be on my best behavior.  Several of my co-workers, who had been to Vegas before, knew what they were doing with that gambling business and tried their hand at some tables.  When asked if I was going to participate, I answered, "If I am going to put $100.00 down, I am going to get a pair of shoes back."  My philosophy in life.  I also got told I looked like a James Bond accessory.  Obviously I have the look and intimidation quality of a spy.

2.  I celebrated a birthday.  It was no major milestone, just another year older.  I had a fantastic weekend with my friends from college. One of them brought me a baby. Pretty awesome birthday present huh?  Yeah, I decided for the sake of the child to give it back to it's mother. . . for all of you concerned parents out there, no one ACTUALLY gave me a child.  It was my friend's child, she brought it, for me to see, but not to keep.  Apparently people get very attached when the kid is actually theirs.

3.  I joined a kick ball league.  This is obviously a shock to many of you.  It is mind blowing to me as well.  Having operated the majority of my life without being able to walk without smacking into things, this risk into organized sports was a big one.  As it turns out, I truly excel at this game.  Granted the first time I played I pulled every muscle in my kicking leg, something I was not prepared for in elementary school.  Usually I just wear a Hello Kitty shirt and stand in the outfield singing "She's a Maniac, MANIAC," while doing a little Flash Dance run and hip gyration, but sometimes, I help my team.  All of those years of my sister kicking soccer balls at my head and forcing me to do college-level sprint work-outs with her finally paid off.

The One Where I Was Discovered

But not in a cool, I am going to be famous kind of way . . .

Some of you may remember that I have been working hard at convincing my neighbors that I am older, in order to appear less lame when they invite me to do things.  Well this weekend . .  . my cover was blown.

Friday night, my friend Molly and I were getting ready for an evening on the town, when I heard a ruckus on my back porch.  Upon peeking my head out, I discovered my neighbors were having a small get together.  They invited me over, and instead of respectfully declining in favor of watching a movie, I decided to accept.  Ok, honestly, Molly gave me the "meet new people and stop talking about The Avengers and maybe you won't be so lame," speech.  Ok, Molly is much nicer than that, but those were the implied undertones.

So we went over to play a few . . . party games, and once we got the ball rolling, the conversation I had been dreading came up.  They asked Molly when she graduated college.  Being the well trained and good friend that she was, she evaded the question.  Then the tables turned on me, and one of my neighbor's friends asked how old I was. . .

"27!" Answered my neighbor, God bless him.  My plan had worked!  I seemed mature and over the "going out" stage that I never actually entered.  I was a GENIUS.  I could do anything in that moment, it was like I had a super power.

I said, "Yes, 27 sounds close enough."

"You look 19," said his friend.  Nonsense, what did he know!

"How old are you really?" They enquired.

Here is the thing.  I have never point blank lied to this wonderful couple, I simply said things like, "Oh . . .I'm so old . . ." which, you know, in my defense, I am. . . compared to babies or a 12 year old.  It's all about perspective.

So I told them my real age, which they didn't believe.  Because here is the kicker - they are actually OLDER than me.  It was a shock to us ALL!  OK, not to me, I had expected this.  They were surprised, flabbergasted even, and now, distrusting of my motives.  Thus I had to tell them my whole "brilliant" plan, to which they answered, "This is ridiculous, you are coming out with us all the time now."

Which to be honest, is probably a good thing.  So now my soul is cleansed of my deceit, and I have new friends (we were friends before but now we are better friends . . . and I am not saying all these nice things because we are now Facebook friends, and they can essentially see all the things I have blogged about our interactions over the last couple of months . . .awk. ward.)

The One with the Conversation

Some of my favorite conversations go like this:

Them: Hello Morgan! It is so wonderful to see you!
Me: Oh my goodness you too!
What I am thinking: Oh crap. Who are you?
Them: How are you doing?  What are you doing?
Me: I am doing well.  I live and work in Columbus.
What I am thinking: I know you look familiar.
Them: So are you married?
Me: Ha ha no.
What I am thinking: Wow stranger, you are just cutting to the chase.  I have a job you know.  A good one.  I got promoted once too.
Them: Oh. (sad, confused face) Well are you seeing anyone?
Me: Ha. No.
What I am thinking: Thank goodness! Yeah, the job is great.  I have a lot of area to grow.  Did you know women can work now?  Amazing isn't it?
Them: Oh well, don't feel bad.
Me: Haha. Oh I don't.
What I am thinking: Yep, we can work and buy homes and even go into public without an escort!  I can do whatever I want when ever I want. I can date 5 guys at once, go out on weekdays and stay up as late as I want. I mean granted, I usually just hang out alone and read.  But I could do those things . . . If I wanted to. I have options!
Them:  I'm sure you will find someone soon.
Me: Mmmmhmmm. . .
What I am thinking: I actually really enjoy shamelessly flirting with strangers, so I am pretty content right now.  It's actually a strength of mine. But while we are on the topic, how's your marriage? I heard the divorce rate is declining, that must be an encouragement!
Them: How are your friends?
Me: They are doing well.  So and So is in school and So and So just got married.
What I am thinking: Where is your spouse?  I thought part of getting married was so you could have someone to consistently nag, thereby leaving me in peace. I really wish I could remember who you are. Why can't someone come over here and introduce themselves so I can at least get a name?
Them: sympathetic look.
What I am thinking:  I am going to punch you in the mouth.
Them:  Well it was so nice to see you!
Me: Just charming.
What I am thinking: I almost told you I was a lesbian, just so you'd leave me alone.

The One with the Remodel

So my Landlord, God bless his soul, decided to remodel the apartment below me since the tenant moved out. I discovered this upon coming home from vacation Thursday afternoon to find my garage door open and a bunch of strange men meandering around. Once in my apartment, I was pleased to discover you could hear the work going on below quite well. This thrilled me to no end. I decided not to pitch a fit, since it was a weekday and normally I would be working anyways.

Saturday, 8:30am – Annoying jack hammer sound and pounding as though the contruction-ers were at the foot of my bed. I yelled, I’m sure loud enough for them to hear, “IT’S SATURDAY.” The sound died down for approximately 3 minutes then vibrantly refilled the air around me. I begrudgingly got up, stomped around and flushed the toilet many times, hoping they were working on the plumbing and it screwed up whatever they were doing. I have no knowledge of plumbing, but it seemed like a good revenge since I didn't have my make-up on yet, and I hadn't had enough caffeine to go downstairs and yell at them.

After my flush-a-thon of angst, I went to my kitchen, where I was lucky enough to hear one of the worker's renditions of “Call Me” by Carley Rae Jepsen, through the heating vent. I disregarded judging him for this, as that song is incredibly catchy. I also had the pleasure of hearing one of them belch impressively. In my annoyance with morning, men and construction, I decided I needed something to cheer me up. I entertained myself for the rest of the morning by leaning down next to the vent and whispering, “I can hear you.”

As the day progressed, I kept yelling in my apartment for them to be quiet. It was neither effective nor tactful. But be honest, who was the genius who remodeled a multi tenant building on a Saturday and didn't expect to get nagged through the ceiling by the pain in the butt upstairs? Didn't think that one though did you Landlord? I was just thinking of my neighbors! I mean some people could be hung over and needing to sleep in. Not me obviously, having been in bed by midnight. But my wonderful neighbors were having a party last night, and I am sure they wanted their rest. I have somehow managed to convince them that I am much older than them, therefore, they don’t ask me to come over and play beer pong with their friends. I am almost positive we are the same age, but I always say things like, “When I was your age,” and “I’ve been out of school so long,” and “Oh, to be young again.” I do this so they at least think I got my craziness out of my system in my youth, and that's why I choose a life of solitude now. Though they once commented that I always have people over. I didn't have the heart to tell them it was the same 2 people all the time . . .

Man, I make myself sound more and more cool every day.

The One With the Pictures

Many of you may wonder when you read my blog, "Where does she get her self deprecating humor from?" And for that I have one answer . . .

Which about sums up any questions you may have had.

Now, my sister, is like me in many ways, but also possess the power to attract fame. . . Here you can see her watching Tiger Woods play golf in People Magazine. Yes, People magazine. That's her - clear as day in the glasses. Though I have always openly sought fame and glory, she has received it with no work at all. It makes me gnash my teeth in fury. All I ever wanted out of life was to be on a Disney Channel show . . .

Anywho, the other night when I received this photo of Michael Jordan from my sister in a text message, I can't say it surprised me. Just another one of her famous friends, out on the town. I'm surprised she hasn't been in a TMZ story already, that would be just soooo like her. Apparently she and MJ met and became chums at a bar in Charlotte. Obviously I didn't get an invite.

Though I live in Ohio . . .where no one famous ever visits, and if they do, I'm not out on the town to see them . . .because I never go out.

Immediately after receiving that lovely picture of MJ in real life, my dearest cousin Kalie (not pictured in the seagway photo, but a member of the family none the less) sent a picture of herself, with a Victoria's Secret Angel, whom she apparently met in Chicago. Again, she lives in a glamorous city and engages in a social life, two strikes against me in seeking fame and fortune. (Must work on creating opportunities where I can meet famous people and be discovered. Must get tickets to the next Jonas Brothers' concert.)

Naturally with my family interacting with all these amazing people, I had to text them to let them see what I was up to . .

Which was waiting for a delayed plane at the St. Louis airport. By myself.

Sometimes, even if you are a good person, good things don't happen to you. But just an FYI in case you are all wondering what famous person I want to meet, it's Jennifer Lawrence. I think we could be great friends. I also think, with our powers combined, we could over throw Taylor Swift.

The One With More Pet Peeves

6. People who visibly aren't interested in listening to you when you are obviously trying to converse with them. Granted, maybe stating the obvious to the Stone Cold Steve Austin look alike isn't your best moment. "Oh, you don't have to put that arm rest down since you're so much larger than me." Awkward silence . . .

7. People that get mad because while eating cracker-like bread (you know, mana that expensive restaurants provide because apparently it's very chic to eat like poor people) you broke off a piece and a large chunk ACCIDENTALLY shot off into a co worker's face during a business meeting. In my defense, I said I was sorry. I couldn't have planned for something that magical to happen, even on my best day.

8. When I can hear my neighbors talking to each other, only to realize that maybe they can hear me, talking to myself.

9. When the only noticeable difference I can feel after my sinus surgery is that after using my netti pot, even hours later, water may decide to pour out of my nose at the slightest head movement. The water doesn't care who I am talking to (bosses, co workers, attorneys), and it is impossible to stop. The only thing I can do is catch it in my hand.

10. I thought about writing a tenth, but I want to leave you all with something savory, like the netti pot visual.

The One With Yoga

You may be expecting Pet Peeves part two, which will come eventually, but today you get the story of me deciding to do yoga.

So this weekend, I was visiting my wonderful sister in Charlotte. For some unknown reason, may it be genetics or years of practice, my sister and I can eat an insurmountable amount of food. This phenomenon is only exponentially impacted when we are together. So naturally, it was after our third gluttonous feast that I decided I needed to start taking better care of myself. This may also have been attributed to the fact that I was in lululemon looking at all their cute yoga clothes and fit floor models. It could have also been the shame of over eating for the third time in 12 hours. Either way,it was at that moment, nibbling on the brownie in my purse, that I decided yoga was the sport for me.

So today I popped in my Jillian Michaels' Yoga Meltdown DVD and gave it a whirl. I met Jillian Michael's last year when I attempted her 30 day Shred DVD. That became nothing more than a three day battle zone of soreness and self loathing, where I mostly whimpered while doing whatever she told me on the television screen. This was accompanied by me screaming, "I hate you Jillian. I. Hate. You." from some awkward position on the floor. But today I felt ready to go.

I started strong during the warm up, breezed easily through Mountain and Cobra (These are Yoga poses for those of you who aren't "yogis" like me). . . but then somewhere around Crescent pose, I lost focus. It was about this time when I couldn't figure out which leg I had been exercising (I feel that if I was doing in correctly, the pain should have been an indicator, but I felt none of this).

My confusion made me tired, so I dropped into Child's Pose, and just hung out on the floor. I noticed a hole in my yoga matt. I stretched my hands out and then tried a Downward Dog that the ladies were doing on screen. Only then did I notice I was a little shaky. Not wanting to lapse into hypoglycemic shock, I thought perhaps a snack would help my stamina. I grabbed a bag of blue berries and some potato chips from the counter and sat "criss cross applesauce" (this is the new PC version of "Indian Style") on my yoga mat to watch Jillian and friends work out. I sat, incredulous, as the women on TV did some complicated pretzel/balance move. I yelled angrily at the screen, "I don't think so Jillian. Nope, not for me."

I was disgusted, but watched entranced for another minute, while I finished my snack. Next I returned to Child's pose and arose exhausted. This experience had been quite eye opening.

And people say yoga is difficult.

The One With The Pet Peeves Part 1

I always say when I grow up I am going to buy a dog and name him Peeve . . .until then we'll just stick with these things that bother me . . .

1. Couples who feel the need to be smooching with each other at the gym. I respect that you want a heathy life together, and you stay in shape so that neither one of you has to know how shallow each other really is, but that does not mean you need to make out on the bench press. I'm sure it is difficult for you to be apart for seconds at a time, but let's not reenact the end of the Titanic while others are strengthening their quads.

2. People who have self control when it comes to food. What are you, wizards? And why do waitresses think it's me who ordered the salad? No, I am the one who ordered the burger and fries and dessert. I am sorry that I need sustenance every 3 hours, and it generally isn't of the healthy variety. But for crying out loud people, stop using your super powers for evil.

3. Not having a clean spoon after I already poured milk on my cereal. This just upsets me so. . .

4. Thinking I am really smart for packing light one my trip to Boston, therefore forgoing the roller bag. This meant having to lug two bags around Orangoutang style through four airports. The problem was only compounded after I bought 6 glass candles at the Yankee Candle magical village in Boston. (Don't judge me until you've seen it's majesty and received 50% off.) My hands now have the aesthetic quality of a weight lifter. My boss, "Morgan, your arms are going to be sore tomorrow from lifting those bags. Now you won't need to feel bad about not working out." Me, "Um . . . I missed the part where I was supposed to feel bad?"

5. Dumb questions. Like the other day when I asked no one in particular in my row of cubicles what the State abbreviation for Seattle was. "Is it SA? Oh . . .wait . . ." *

*For those of you who don't understand this - it is funny because Seattle isn't a state, it's a city. . .

I have 5 more Pet Peeves . . . stay tuned until next time.

The One With the Three Year Old

Children. Scare me. To death. Yes, it matters that much that I needed to write three fragmented sentences to get the point across. I have never really interacted with them and never wanted to interact with them in all of the years of my existance. I do not babysit. I do not believe people should trust me with the care of their children. It amazes me that my work has allowed me to carry an Iphone . . . so I have the natural sense to discourage people from handing me their offspring.

There are a few kids I do alright with, and as I age I tend to improve in being able to hold them for minutes at a time. However, recently, I was given the challenge of getting my friend's niece and nephew ready for bed. Thus begins the adventure of me getting a three year old princess tucked in for bed time. . .[Note from the author: just so you aren't too concerned (as I said two kids) the little boy was being watched, cared for and put to bed by my friend. This was a two men operation. One kid is scarey enough, I would never survive two.]

The first thing I did wrong was eat most of the little girl's bedtime snack. This created a problem when she asked my friend Molly for more. I had to negotiate the little girl's second helping, saying that I had personally consumed 3/4s of the rationed amount of Gold Fish. Keep the judgment to yourself, those gold fishes are so delicious.

Second thing I did wrong was I let her jump on the bed for 3 seconds everytime I wanted her to do something. I don't think she was allowed to jump on the bed EVER, so even a 1 second compromise made her putty in my hands. Me, "Put on your pj pants!" Her, "No." Me, "You have three seconds to jump on the bed then it's pants time." Her, "OK!" I thought it was genius, but it's probably causing all sorts of parenting problems and disciplinary action now. But she did do what I wanted.

Third thing I did wrong . . .reading bed time stories. These classic tales are no longer the sweet and simple "Cat in the Hat," books of our past. These days, Doctor Suess is hell bent on making bed time harder than it already is. And from my experience bed time is Hard. I don't need to be told "My Daddy can read it better," while I'm attempting to read nonsensical words about Bin, Flin and Jin. After this, we got in trouble because we were still hanging out in her bed talking at 9:30. I felt like a failure. I went back to my friend, exhausted, feeling like it was 1:30am.

Lesson learned. Kids are a lot of work. Between the singing of Beauty and the Beast Songs, the strategic puzzle that is Pull-Up diapers, and the questions about my life I think it's best that I stay childless. For the good of the child and for me. By the way parents . . I'd like to apologize in advance if your daughter asks why my dog is in Heaven. I'm sure that's a conversation you weren't planning on having yet . . .

The One Where I Saw "The Vow"

This is the story of when I saw "The Vow" staring Channing Tatum and Rachel McAdams. It's a thrilling and romantic tale about a wife who loses her memory and doesn't remember being married to someone RIDICULOUSLY attractive. I'm going to have to side with the sign I saw on pinterest that said, "If I woke up from a coma and Channing Tatum told me we were married, I wouldn't question it." Personally the movie could be called, "Channing Tatum Standing There Shirtless," and I still would have watched the whole darn thing. Twice.

So my friend Carrie and I get to the theatre precisely at 7:15, when the movie starts - which meant we got to see all the previews. Before we are in our seats I am already double fisting Milk Duds and Popcorn. It is delicious - its like I have been waiting my whole life to have this sweet, salty chewy combination. We watch the previews and I decide that I would happily watch a movie called, "Zac Efron Standing There Shirtless," too. Yes. I am that shallow.

By the time the movie starts I am anxious because I have already eaten all my treats. I am momentarily distracted by Channing Tatum, then I am sad again. Minutes later my stomach starts hurting from the speed and velocity at which I ate the entire box of candy and a third of a small popcorn . . that wasn't mine.

Emotional scene involving the wife not remembering the husband, I decide I should have gone to the bathroom before the show.

Romantic scene where Channing Tatum and Rachel McAdams love each other. I grumble loudly that this isn't real life. It's all just a cinematic lie. Though apparently, according to the previews it is based on true events. I am momentarily jaded before settling back into a fictional romantic reverie.

Emotional scene with Channing and Rachel McAdams' on-screen father, where they (spoiler alert) get mad because neither one of them can save their Rach. I just can't stop thinking about how the dad is in Jurassic Park. I smile, because I like dinosaurs. I then start thinking of a picture I saw today of a shark swallowing another shark whole. Sharks aren't dinosaurs - in case you are confused.

Sad emotional climax where things just aren't working out between the destined lovers. I hear sniffles around the theater, and can see tears streaming the cheeks of my neighbors. I decide I'm dead inside. . . get re-distracted by Channing Tatum shirtless and comment about it (HELLO!)- totally ruin the mood for my peers who were moved (by the emotion, not by his abs . . .some people have no priorities).

Movie ends and they show a picture of the real life couple. Unfortunately, these people are truly unfortunate looking. It's decided that the greatest compliment to their love story isn't that it was made into a movie - it's that they had the honor of being played by such attractive people. Obviously some creative license was used for this "free adaptation" of their life.

The One Where I Ate All the Candy Hearts

So you know when you are a kid, and your mom limits the amount of sugar you can have, and you never believe her when she says it's for your own good. And the assumption is that when you grow older and mature, you will know your own limits, therefore you won't need to be told by your mother to stop eating every piece of Valentine's Day candy, because obviously that is something an adult would be able to decipher. Well today I have discovered, I am not one such adult.

Today, the amount of sugar I consumed was astronomical. It's all a blur of chocolate hearts and crunch bars, ice cream and chocolate covered strawberries (this sounds much more romantic than it was, I assure you). I think I ate a sandwich somewhere around 12 - but I can't remember because around 1:30 I went into hyperglycemic shock. Sometimes this happens - I just get on a roll and enjoy eating so much that I can't stop . . . like the one time I ate a whole block of cheese and a snickers bar, then told my mom I felt fat . . . her response was, "No kidding, you just ate a whole block of cheese."

On another note, I wrote on Facebook the other day that I didn't receive enough compliments on my new outfit to justify the cost of it. I under sold myself. I did receive one comment. My boss, upon seeing my black and white striped jacket and red shirt, said, "Ah HOY Captain."

The One Where I Ran into Someone

There is always that awkward moment, generally post break up, where you run into that one person you least want to see in the world. You can try your best to avoid all the spots you used to go together, but the universe is an unkind place, so eventually it's bound to happen. Today is one such story . . .

A few months ago I dated a gentleman (I know, me, dating . . .already this story sounds like total nonsensical fiction). We dated for approximately one month. It was only after the fact that my family revealed some knowledge to me. Though they had never met this gentleman, they said there were red flags that lead them to believe he was . . . gay. Gay? Gay.

I support this life style and gave my fist in the air, "I stand with you" sign of approval.

So back to today. . .

Today I saw said gentleman at my favorite coffee shop having a date with another girl. Though I contemplated holding a sign up that said, "He's not playing for your team" or trying to tap some morris code on the table to let her know, I figured, she can make her own mistakes. So instead I pretended I didn't see him. Oh, make no mistake, I made sure he saw me. I flirted and smiled at strangers, I laughed jovially, cheating my face to the side. Of course the only table available in the whole place was two tables over from his, so I am sure he heard, saw, and wandered as I shook my recently short hair, "how could I have let such a majestic creature get away?" (this is what I imagine him thinking . . .everyone else was probably thinking, "this chick is a pain in the ass, someone shut her up.") In reality he probably didn't notice anything since he still isn't observant enough to stop dating girls. . .

Luckily I had put on make-up this morning, and was wearing a hat to cover up the hair which was a result of "no shower Saturdays." Anyways, as my friend and I were leaving, I snuck my first glance at him. As I stepped into the threshold of the door, wind blowing my hair back (sort of), I paused and we exchanged dramatic eye contact from across the room. Then I stepped out into the unknown. Actually I stepped onto Grandview Ave. but "the unknown" sounded more enchanting. . . like in a romantic comedy, when the screen goes white and you know there are big dreams ahead for the heroine. The best part was I didn't trip.

As we walked past his car, my friend said, with wisdom and knowledge in her 25 years, "He has a personalized license plate? That seems like a check in the gay column."

I should have warned the poor girl inside . . .

The One Where I Took an Ice Bath

So I was rereading some of my old columns from college, and I stumbled upon this glorious piece of non fiction. What in the world was I thinking. . .

"What you think about in an ice bath for 12 minutes?

T minus 30 seconds: Before you get into the ice bath you think, “Wow a bikini, scarf and hat is really an underrated look. Someone should bring it into style.”

Minute 1: When your feet first hit an ice bath (which is really your bathtub with water and ice from four of your neighbor’s freezers) you think . . . In fact, you can’t really hear yourself think at all, because you are too busy screaming “Dear God!” and “Whose idea was this?!” and of course “Ah!” at a high pitched range that caused dogs to start scratching on your apartment door. Just kidding RAs.

Minute 2: Still not much thinking going on. Hate myself. Hate this idea. Hate whoever invented ice. Feel like crying. Remember I don’t cry and try a cute little whimper instead . . . leads to more shrieking.

Minute 3: At minute three you start thinking, why are there five people in my bathroom laughing at me and why is my friend Sean singing me a lullaby from the side of the bathtub? (Allow me to reiterate here that I am wearing a swimsuit). And why aren’t any of the people stopping him from throwing ice cubes at me? Scream some more.

Minute 4: Apparently you’re supposed to go numb around minute two. At minute four I am still cold, and still screaming.

Minute 5: Entire lower body has gone number. It’s not bad actually, this ice bath. I move a little. Bad idea. My roommate tries to leave the bathroom. I stop her with a line from the “Blair Witch,” “I’m so scared.”

Minute 6: Around the half-way-point I begin to wonder if this is colder than the water that killed Leo in the Titanic. I decide it must be. I decide him and Kate Winslet are weak, and I think I may audition for the sequel.

Minute 7: Watch video footage of me getting into the ice bath, which my roommate so kindly captured. Not my best look. Think about how refreshing it would be to have a straw with me in the ice bath. I’m getting kind of thirsty.

Minute 8. I remember what I am trying to accomplish in the ice bath. I have been very sore from exercising and my friend Nick suggested this therapy, him being a runner and all. I curse his name then I remember he bet me a dollar. Think about all the things I could buy with a dollar.

Minute 9: A candy bar. A bottle of water. Two Stamps, with change to spare. I could bet someone to take an ice bath. A ride on a carousel. Four gumballs (if he gives the dollar to me in quarters). 1/5 of a five dollar footlong. A Red box film. A McDouble, though I’m more of a fan of the Double Cheeseburger, which is extra these days, fascists.

Minute 10: E6 Famous Amos cookies from the vending machine. Lottery ticket. A taco. 10 copies or if my printing quota was out, 10 prints.

Minute 11: Notice my legs are a bit red. Well, a bit more than a bit. I poke them and they float to the surface. This amuses me for approximately the rest of the minute.

Minute 12: I wonder what all the fuss what about. This wasn’t so bad, this sitting in ice thing. I emerge from icy confines of hell. Legs feel sort of asleep and look sunburned. They are amazingly fun to poke and to jump on.

Next Day: Wake up with the swine flu.

Coincidence? You decide.

And still no dollar."

Editors note: please know that the dollar was in fact paid after the publishing of this post. It still hangs on the bulletin board in my kitchen along with a note from the Bet-or. Should you ever break into my home please try not to steal the dollar - even if it is the only one you find.

The One Where I Need a Life Saver

There is nothing like trying to prove to the people at your company that you are wise and mature for your age - only to be invited on a work road trip and have to tell them you aren't legally old enough to rent a car . . .

This photo of the candy jar at my office is a reflection on how I feel most days . . .

The One With the Superbowl

These are my thoughts on the SuperBowl. . .

I shouldn't have brought a jar of cheese dip to the party, and then eaten 3/4 of it and the whole bag of Frittos.

Any commercial with Betty White automatically wins for the best commercial, followed closely by anything done by VW.

For the last two years I have gone to the same party (shout out CD), and for the last two years I have called this one guy Ryan . . . his name is John. Next year, I must remember/call him by his name.

Football players have one job - just as all pro-athletes do. If your job is to catch a ball, catch the ball. If your job is to shoot a ball (in basketball - I know I'm switching sports here, but don't harsh my momentum) - don't miss free throws. You should be perfect at it - What else have you got to do with your time? - DO. BETTER.

On a completely unrelated topic, can anyone explain to me how Selena Gomez has managed to have a singing career. I heard her song, "I love you like a love song," today, and it struck me once again how STUPID it is. Besides the obvious - that the song title is redundant and unimaginative (I'm not sure that she would even understand these 3 syllable words), the lyrics themselves could have been written by a five year old with a crayon. I could have written better lyrics hanging upside-down and sleeping.

I suppose I am giving Selena too much credit by assuming she wrote the song. Judging by the auto-tune on that track and the fact that they used an alarm as half of the words (beep beep beep), all she did was pick the most ridiculous song that someone probably wrote as a joke, and then decided to speak the words into a microphone. The computer did the rest. When I get famous and become friends with Taylor Swift, I am going to have tell her not to be friends with Selena anymore. I know, I know, most of you think I despise TS, which I do. But I am thinking offensively. Everyone in Hollywood likes her, and naturally the media would pull up anything bad I have to say about her - so I have chosen the route of Frenemy. She just doesn't know it yet . . .

The One Where I Shouldn't

The Top Eight Things I should probably stop doing, but likely won't (I couldn't think of ten).

1. Saying, “wad up playa” in a variety of different octaves to my co workers.

2. When vegetarians get really passionate about talking about being vegetarian - suddenly craving a steak, and making that comment aloud. (Not you AP)

3. Constructively criticizing men when they ask me out. Even though I say no, I feel like they should not leave empty handed. Though apparently saying, “work on yourself and then maybe a girlfriend will come along,” is not the most polite thing to say to a guy’s face. But I was smiling as I said it – Yay for positivity!

4. Judging my life’s events by how funny they would look written out as Facebook posts. . .

5. Thinking that all bald men look alike, because they are bald, and I just can’t get past that.

6. Using a space heater at work - because it's illegal - I love the thrill! And it's really, really cold.

7. Secretly using my neighbor’s washer and dryer in the basement. One day I’m going to get caught – or they’re going to break up because she’s found my unmentionables in his laundry . . .

8. Confusing the words message and massage. . . trust me, things get awkward. And it happens ALL the TIME.

The One Where I Rhymed at Work

I work in corporate America, and being in corporate America and being Morgan is sometimes a tricky task. You may be thinking, "Obviously you don't work that hard if you are blogging at work," but to you, I say, "Everyone gets a lunch break, so back off."

Anyways, I have been at my company for almost two years and have been in my current position for 7 months. I work in sales so it's easy to get discouraged. But only just today I realized something. Being boring isn't getting me anywhere. . . acting how I think people in my position should act isn't getting results. So maybe, if I am a little bit more me - I still won't get results - but I'll have more fun. Haha. Just kidding. Anyways, I'm trying some new stuff - I mean, what have I got to lose. . . other than my job. Which I won't because I am always the epitome of professionalism.

Behold - a poem I wrote for a mailer I will be soon sending out to lease space in random stip center . . .

Hello, and greetings to you and yours!
An opportunity has come forth.
For your church which is here near Gallipolis,
To expand or relocate to fill your needs!
Perhaps you need an office? Or a place for the youth?
A place to practice music, or study God’s truth?
A place just for gatherings, be larger or small,
For eating and meeting, a dining hall?
I have just the place – 17,000 square feet to deliver,
Off Upper Valley Road, the Plaza at Ohio River.

Don't hate.

PS. Shout out to the one random person who read my blog last night from South America - ok, you probably didn't read it. You probably found it randomly googling something else. . .

The One Where I Started a Blog . . . Again

This is the 4th blog I've started. Being the finicky person I am, I disliked the names of the other ones, but I am glass half full hopeful that this one might actually make it. Maybe this blog will last. Maybe it will be the second longest relationship I have ever had, after my hairdresser. Anywho . . . I figure if I actually tell people about this one, I might just stick to it.

Shout out to my home girl KS (you know who you are!) for the name - it seems the most appropriate. I make no promises on the consistency of my posts . . but it is my utter wish that I make this happen . . .because I like writing, I think about weird stuff, and some really strange things happen to me on a regular basis. Let's jump into it shall we . . .

I have started trying to eat healthy (apparently I have tested positive for high cholesterol. . . I'm not sure if that's how you say it, but I just did). I used to love food, I'd eat it all the time in abundance. It used to be full of wonder and mystery and grease, now it is full of fiber, antioxidants and boredom. For example, today I ate an avocado with a spoon and the only thing exciting about it was that I was doing it while driving.