The Teenagers Made Me Do It

A friend of mine (not yours, mine!) sent this to me today and aside from it being utterly hilarious, it’s also painfully true – and well timed.


About an hour before she sent it to me I was sitting outside a Starbucks with another friend, just lounging, enjoying an overpriced beverage and a patio, as I am wont to do. There we are just sitting there, discussing our RRSPs, mortgages and viable eggs… JUST KIDDING! On our agenda was custom made Star Wars dresses, internating and dubious decisions made whilst intoxicated. It was all well and good until four


sat down at the table next to us while they waited for someone’s mother to pick them up.

Honestly I was doing my best to tune them out and apparently I was successful because as soon as they left my friend started talking about one of them who apparently has been with the love of her life for SIX WHOLE MONTHS (it’s super cereal guys) and he just got her a ring. Sighhhhh. Drool. Stabs BFF/Bestie out of jealousy but it’s ok because that’s what girl 1 wanted her bestie to feel so she can at least die knowing her life was better than her Bestest Fucking Friend’s.

I’m sorry but y’all can’t even drive yet! Was the ring from a cereal box? Out of one of those machines where you put in a twoonie, twist the dial and out pops a plastic bubble containing what I’m sure is a quality ring that appropriately conveys the love shared by these two soulmates?


Your problems are trivial. You have no idea what a real problem is. Shouldn’t you be studying?! (I don’t care that it’s August.)

I’ve never felt more adult in my life. It’s not a good feeling. I’m going to go shower. With beer.


Liquor and Life

You know, I never understood alcoholism nor why someone would want to hide at the bottom of a bottle. It’s not like your problems go away. They’re there, and likely worse, when you’re sober again (or at least less drunk). I mean, if I want to escape my problems I’m not just going to hide from them, I’m going to run the fuck away from those bastards. To a different country. Where I’l live under an assumed name. And wear shirts that say “Fuck this shit!” and “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing.” (Alright so it’s not much different than my current life but theoretically Foreign Country Megan has less problems and spends the majority of her time on a beach.)

That said, I think I should live my life slightly buzzed.

Why, you ask? I’ll tell you why.

  1. I’m nicer
  2. It feels less like the world is crashing down around me
  3. I feel calmer
  4. It’s easier to make small talk
  5. I almost want to make small talk
  6. I care less about the judgement and censure of others
  7. I’m friendlier
  8. I have less of a filter

So, ya, I think I’ll carry a flask with me from now on and maintain just a bit of a buzz. I’m not just doing it for me, I’m doing it for the good of everyone – well, everyone that comes into contact with me.

Life advise from Megan. No one should ever follow this.


This post brought to you by the Bailey’s in my lunchtime coffee.

Toga! Toga! Toga!

So I went grocery shopping the other day. Well, I was out with friends and we stopped so I could pick up a few things because, as usual, I didn’t have much of anything.

At the time I thought this was a great idea. I was being responsible! I would have food! Hurray!

Get in the store.

Walk the aisles.

Go to checkout.

Stand in line to purchase grapes, 4 litres of vegetable oil and cheese croissants.

Friends look at me, “You know, it looks like you’re buying supplies to deep fry these grapes and croissants and have a lot left over.”

Me: “Pfft. Like I’d deep fry anything. That shit is dangerous to my person and so bad for you! No, the oil is for greasing up hot Greek guys and the grapes are for them to feed to me while they’re fanning me with obscenely large leaves.”

Friend: “What about the croissants?”

Me: “Those are for stamina.” 😉

Checkout Girl: *trying not to laugh*

Woman behind me in line: *Absolutely horrified and disgusted*

My job here is done.

These Are The Days of (My Friend’s) Lives

I’m not generally a story topper but usually when a friend comes to me with a ‘woe is me’ story, I offer up my latest escapade (because there seems to always be a latest escapade) and say “Hey man, it could be worse, it could be…[insert escapade here]”

Buuuuuuuut they finally did it. Two of my friends are officially worse off than me. I can’t compete. AND IT’S AWESOME! I think I’ll strut a bit today.

Friend 1 is buying a condo.

Why doesn’t anyone tell the truth about major life events? Why must they all insist they’re magical, fluffy unicorns when, in actuality, they’re more akin to being murdered by a horde of demons armed with thick paper (for paper cuts) and lemons (for squeezing in said paper cuts and they’ll give you so many that you die from it. Eventually.)

Buying a house, getting married, spawning a child. These are all supposed to be magical life events that are wondrous occurrences, signifying your leveling-up in adulthood. But what no one tells you is the SHEER HORROR OF EACH OF THESE EVENTS. There’s no magical unicorn. No fluffy rainbow. There’s just a maniacal bunny pointing and laughing at you and you want to much to pet the fuzzy beast but you just know it’ll go all Monty Python on your ass and you’ll suddenly be the headless horseman – horsePERSON, thank you very much, it’s not the bloody 50’s anymore, no one liked the 50’s anyways except maybe Coke, I feel like they liked the 50’s… what?

Buying a house sucks worse than a broken vacuum with no suction. It’s all fun and games until you see a shiny place that you’d like to purchase for yourself and then it’s all downhill like a big rig with no brakes from there. The seller drags their feet. The seller’s realtor goes on frequent vacations (ok, we get it, you make a fuckload of money…). You have to wade through months of bullshit strata meeting minutes that basically tell you which neighbors are whiny bastards and which try to hide dog poop in the gutters (WTF people? Really?) They also tell you which neighbors are cultured and pretentious and play the piano… and which ones are intolerant rednecks and complain about the strains of Chopin ruining their shopping cart BBQ.


You’ll also find out that your mortgage broker doesn’t really want you to get any money and, as much as they don’t want to give you their money, they want you to have your own even less. “What do you mean you deposited an extra $5 in your savings seven months ago? Where did it come from? I need a notarized affidavit stating it was a gift from your dead uncle’s hamster’s estate”.

And don’t even get me started on weddings – hello, Bridezilla. It’s a thing. Do you think those bitches are happy? NO! They’re wondering what the fuck they were thinking when they agreed to the whole wedding thing. “But Megan, some brides are happy,” I hear you say. Yeah, because they’re heavily medicated – and not necessarily with their knowledge or consent. Why do you think the divorce rate is so high? Because the husband stopped being able to sneak her the happy pills.

Sure, on the surface pregnancy sounds like fun. I’ll just sit around and eat all the things, right? Not so much. For the first three months your body will attempt to eject the parasite (because that’s what the fetus is) via projectile vomiting (that’s how the reproductive system works, right?). Then you’ll have to pee fifty million times per day. Then there’s the mile long list of things that could go wrong with you or the parasite baby and unfortunately nothing that could go right. As in, the mother never comes out the other side of pregnancy saying “Hey, my boobs got bigger and stayed bigger! Woo!” No. That doesn’t happen. You’ve got a damaged body and this crying thing that you hope to hell you can mold into someone who won’t stick you in a crappy home when you’re old and frail and you’ve spent all your money gambling on bingo and greyhounds.

Friend 2 let her boyfriend do buttstuff.

All That White Stuff In My Bathroom

I keep finding dried clumps of white stuff clinging to my lotion, my hair spray, my hair dryer, all over the sink… I even found some on the wall today. And I KNOW there’s some on the floor – I’m just not sure where.

It’s not what you’re thinking.

I tried to be a girl. I melted coconut oil and slathered it all over my hair. Well, not at first. At first I didn’t realize I had to melt it. Figured that out after I practically needed a chisel to get it out of the container.

Eventually I got enough into a separate bowl and melted it and proceeded to put the crap in my hair. Then I moved and shit went flying. I swear, I barely moved! It’s not like I felt a sudden and irrepressible urge to head bang. I didn’t! That shit hurts my neck too much. And I can promise you I have no love for haireography (hair + choreography. It was a thing on Glee… I’m pretty sure). But something happened and now, days later, I have clumps everywhere!

Good news is my hair is as soft and shiny as a newly minted puppy (because newly minted coins are shiny and puppies are soft. I’m tired. Go home.)

Bad news is that my shower has become as hazardous to me as a regular shower is to an octogenarian. I’m going to fall and not be able to get up. That bitch is slippery!

The internet all raves about the benefits of using coconut oil in your hair but no one ever mentions that it turns your shower into a death trap when you rinse the oil from your hair causing the non-water soluble OIL to coat your shower floor. Naturally, when you spell it out like that it kind of makes you *facepalm*.

PS. For anyone wanting to try this at home. What they also don’t mention is that the oil, warmed by your body heat, slowly drips from your hair to your neck and shoulders. It’s not a great feeling, let me tell ya. It’s slippery and slimy and kind of feels like someone ghosting their fingers along your neck which, when you’re lounging on the couch facing away from the rest of the presumably empty apartment, is not at all comforting.

Social Experimentation

It’s that time again. I’m bored. So I’ve decided it’s time to do another social experiment, similar to that time I posted on Craigslist seeking a houseboy. We all remember how well that went. Clearly this is a brilliant idea.

I’m going to change my online profile to read as follows:

I make amazing homemade pizza, believe bacon goes with everything, and beer takes up 90% of the real estate in my fridge.

Let the demands for my hand in marriage commence! Remember, when bribing my sixteenth century father, I’m worth at least a cow and two goats. I’ll not settle for anything less.

I’ll post the results after the data has been collated. Stay tuned.



Would make an excellent war cry. In fact, I imagine it’d negate the need for war. Though some vegetarians might be sacrificed to the god of bacon.

The Real Reason People Want to Work From Home

It’s not about saving gas or sleeping in those extra 20 minutes that you would have otherwise spent getting ready. Hell, it’s not even about the absolute decadency of working in your beloved pajama pants. No, it’s about being able to indulge in Bailey’s and Lindt chocolate. Although, really, any liquor and chocolate combination will do. I was just happening to be feeling saucy at the time this photo was taken.  BTW if you’re one of the many women who have yet to experience an orgasm not of your own making, try the Lindt Creme Brulee chocolate bar and hold on to your hard hats!

Booze n chocolate

If you’re anything like me, and, for your sanity’s sake, I hope that you’re not (also because I like being limited edition) you may find that while working from home and valiantly trying to apply yourself to the task at hand, your mind wanders to other projects you’ve got on the go. Maybe you suddenly experience inspiration for a new blog post or plot point or whatever other people who aren’t me might be distracted by.

On the one hand I enjoy these distractions because it means I’m progressing with my blogging and/or whatever fiction project I’m working on when normally I procrastinate at Supreme Ruler of the Unicorns that Deal Non-Addicting Bacon-Cocaine level. Also known as Bacocaine, patent pending. It should be noted that proper pronunciation of Bacocaine is similar to “dynomite” in the following education video.

On the other hand, it means I’m not yet doing the work I’m being paid to do which means I’ll be sitting at my home computer longer than intended and instead of the self-imposed chains locking me to my desk magically opening at 3:30pm, they’ll stay locked for however long I spent composing this blog post… I mean…

I think the massive mug of straight Bailey’s is starting to kick in. Thankfully, all I’m doing today is Googling Like a Mofo – it’s in capitals because I created an actual category with that title in my employer’s CRM software. When the software asks how a lead was generated the options are Trade Show, Marketing Campaign, Googling Like a Mofo, etc.

To recap: Working from home = Baileys & chocolate + pajama pants +/- Googling like a Mofo.

Drinking plus working always equals Adult.

Christmas Shopping… Sigh

I know, I know, it’s not an uncommon thing to start Christmas shopping in December. In fact, if you’re starting at the beginning of December you’re probably ahead of the game. But dammit I started thinking about Christmas shopping at the beginning of NOVEMBER!

I was all, “I’m going to get shit done early this year,” “I’m going to put thought and consideration into buying gifts and not just grab cheap crap last minute,” “I’m NOT going to wrap presents like a 6 year old on crack”.

People, I made a list of who to buy for. I checked it. Twice.

I was all set to go shopping and start purchasing gifts. I was even going to drive to Seattle on the 5th to do some foreign shopping! Unfortunately, due to scheduling conflicts and irreconcilable differences, Seattle and I divorced and I didn’t get to shop there. Next thing I know, it’s freakin’ December! WTF happened?

You know when you’re a kid and time seems to go so slowly, you have all the time in the world. You can sit and play Minesweeper on your computer all day long if you’re so inclined. Not that anyone would be. I certainly wasn’t… What?

But then, when you’re a little older, theoretically a little wiser, and suddenly there’s not enough time for anything and before you know it an entire month has passed! Silver lining though, this increased speed of time is undeniable proof that you are at least part adult. Next time someone questions your maturity you can throw it in their face that a month flew past and you did dick all. That right there is how you win an argument.

Anywho, it’s now December and things aren’t looking good. Friends, I love you, but y’all are getting gift certificates. Kindly ignore the shiny, seemingly new, toys that have suddenly appeared throughout my apartment, they’re not mine, I’m holding them for a friend. *giggles while playing with new electronic gadget*

Grocery Shopping, Like A Boss

Let’s just assume that I purchase a sufficient amount of fruits and vegetables so as to keep the proverbial doctor (and the actual scurvy) away and move on to the good stuff, mmmk?

I was in M&M Meats the other day picking up some chicken nuggets because sometimes (most of the time) I don’t want to cook and I’d rather throw some frozen substance claiming to be a lean meat covered in delectable fried fats in the oven than pick up fast food that disgruntled strangers and self-entitled weenie teenagers have had the opportunity to perform unspeakable horrors on. Well, wouldn’t you know it? M&M has a dessert section! And in that dessert section, they have Christmas desserts!

Tell me something is only available for a limited time and I MUST HAVE IT! Not so much because I want it right that second, but because I might want it in the future and what if it’s not available when I do want it? Perish the thought, right?

I got myself a box of nanaimo bars, rationalizing that I wouldn’t be purchasing any other Christmas goodies. No Pot of Gold, no After Eight, none of that other stuff that people tend to purchase and leave on their coffee tables to force feed to the inevitable Christmas guests they will be required by social convention to entertain during this, the season of giving. I was about to pay but then I saw it, peanut butter chocolate cake (or something like that, either way it’s peanut butter and chocolate, you know I had no choice!) and, telling myself that I’d share these desserts with family and friends (HAHAHAHAHAHA), I bought it.

I get home and put my new purchases away in the freezer which is now, for the first time in months, half full. WOOOO!!! Don’t care that it’s half full with chicken nuggets, fries, desserts and bacon (the bacon was pre-existing because, and I feel quite strongly about this, no household should ever be without bacon), IT’S FREAKIN HALF FULL!

Adulting WIN.

I go about my business, feeling pretty good about myself. Even go so far as to make a decent dinner that involved a legitimate form of cooking. This encompassing feeling of adultness follows me into the next day and I rock along at work being all productive and shit. I get home my world comes crashing down. My landlord presents me with four boxes of Christmas goodies that I ordered to support her fundraiser.


Not only have I blown my grocery budget but now I have a freezer FULL of junk food.

How the hell did I forget I ordered two boxes of ready to bake frozen cookies and two pies?!

Adulting fail (cue sad fail “waah waaaah waaaaaaaaah” music).