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.