HLLWN Throwback

It's the Friday before HLLWN, which basically means it's HLLWN y'all! Ughhhhh I'm so excited I can't stand it. My costume is basically ready - I just have a couple more things to pick up, and it will officially be GAGAWEEN.

In honor of my favorite holiday, I thought I would throwback and post some photos of the past two HLLWNs. Being some sort of diva seems to be my modus operandi. In 2007, I was Vicky B. Last year, of course, I was Beyoncé. This year, Lady Gaga. Next year? Oh, yes, I already have an idea. But you bitches gotta wait a while for that announcement.

HLLWN 2007

The most important thing about this photo is the Colonel Reb decoration. I believe that might be a tapestry??






















Naturally, Z went as David Beckham.






















I remember we implemented a strict "NO SMILING" rule. I fucked it up.















C went as Bill Clinton, which makes this photo seem all the more appropriate.























HLLWN 2008
If ya liked it, then ya shoulda put a ring on it.






















I was pretty proud of this costume. I have to give Schmom B. credit for my hair though. It was the shit.






















M went as Bust It Baby. Plies keep her on deck.






















Look! Hours of dancing in, and my hair is still up. We were out til like 6 a.m. I'm telling you, the shit.

















This year promises to be even more epic, because we now enjoy taking video of ourselves. Check back Sunday for updates. Or Monday, LBO.

Aiming Low: My first real blogger convention

Last night, I went to my first real convention for bloggers! I'm like legitimate now? It was sponsored by Aiming Low, a blog started by a group of snarky women who basically make fun of themselves for having no real ambitions in life, aside from - apparently - launching a really successful blog that has quite a bit of a cult following. But I mean, it's whatevz.






















So I ate free food and drank free dirty martinis water and handed out ghetto homemade blogger cards in the hopes that some of these hilarious women might also find me hilarious. I also met the ladies behind the Twitter jewelry you may have seen around the Internet. The company is Survival of the Hippest, and I'm probs going to order one because I think they're tongue-in-cheek and brilliant. And I guess they inspired me, because on my way home I tweeted the following.












So, that was a good decision. I'm pretty sure there's an incorrect comma usage in there somewhere. And then this morning I wake up and see this in my inbox.










Internet 1, Meghan 0.

A little piece of fall in New York

Fall is my favorite season, and always has been. It's the season with all my favorite things: HLLWN, Thanksgiving, college football, beautiful leaves, cool weather, blankets, jackets, sweaters, scarves, candy corn, and hot (though definitely not spiked) apple cider. Fall in the South is so beautiful, and I am really sad to be missing it.

But this past weekend, I took my first trip to Central Park since the season changed, and I have to say: Fall in NYC is everything I had hoped for and everything I had heard it would be, plus some. Beautiful, gorgeous, crisp, happy and inspiring. Fall is the only season I haven't yet experienced in New York; I moved up in the dead of winter, then of course subsequently lived through spring and summer. So I find fall particularly inspiring, like a totally fresh start, almost the beginning of a new year. Check it out, and keep in mind that these photos don't even come close to replicating the real thing.


This is a tree on my street. Harlem represent.





















More gorgeous golden leaves on Fifth Avenue.





















I wish these photos were bigger on the blog; this literally looks like a painting.
















The trees look like fire, no?
































The fact that this looks somewhat inappropriate is a total accident, and therefore I find it hilarious and worth including.
















More fire trees and fallen leaves on the mall.






































I just walked around all day thinking I wasn't actually there. It was so beautiful that it was surreal.
















Another bridge, closer to the Upper West Side.
















The Upper West Side over the trees.
















This photo isn't particularly stunning, but it's pretty adorable. It kind of summarizes the day, because there were people walking their dogs all over the place. It was basically an infestation of adorable, and resulted in me repeatedly saying "OMGGGG look at that booboo faaaaceeeee!!!!" then tacking on a string of inaudible mumbly noises.

The day I crawled onto the NYC subway tracks to save my iPhone, or every 20something's worst nightmare realized*

If you have been fortunate enough to spend any time around me, you probably know at least two things: 1. I'm clumsy as fuck, and 2. My iPhone screen is cracked to hell from a (completely sober) tromp around Times Square this summer. And now that these two highly relevant facts are general Internet knowledge, we will proceed with the story of my morning, and mayhaps you will find said story - though still hilarious - a bit less shocking.

It's perhaps a lesser known fact that when it rains, NYC becomes CFC: Cluster Fuck Central. The trains get fucked up, the buses gets fucked up, the average commuter is practically reduced to tears from the frightening - and very real - prospect that she might drown in a sea of wet umbrellas. It's miserable. This morning was no different, as my bus was about eight minutes late. Therefore, I blame the MTA for the pseudo-tragedy that followed, and nearly made me one of those "I'm only 23 and I've had a heart attack" statistics.

After I got off my late bus, I walked to the subway and waited for the downtown train, which I'm sure was also late. (Because, from what I hear, the subway trains are actually supposed to run on this thing called a "schedule," though I have never seen any evidence of this.) As per yooj, I was listening to music on my iPhone. I really wish I could remember what I was listening to, because I'm sure it was something that now reveals itself to be super fucking ironic, as the universe tends to have a twisted sense of humor about stuff like this.

Anyway. The train approached. Naturally, I decided to pull my iPhone from the safe coccoon of my pocket so I could begin reading The New York Times daily email, because, you know, it was of the utmost importance that I read it right then. Because I always read it, every morning, and never fill my valuable time and brain space with Word Warp or Tap Tap Revenge.

The train stopped. The doors opened. iPhone in hand, eyes fixated on screen, I moved toward the open door. Then, something happened. I have no idea what. I would not be surprised if, had a photo been taken at the precise moment when this thing happened, you could literally see the hand of God reaching down through 116th street, into the subway station, and through my earbud cords, tangling them up and yanking with a malicious intent I will never understand. The iPhone tumbled from my hands, the earbuds popped from their snug homes in my ears, and the whole kit and caboodle went crashing down. Of course, this all happened in slow motion.

The phone hit the train, then the subway platform. My hand shot up to cover my mouth. (Side note: why is this such a natural human response when bad stuff happens? It's like the international sign for "OH SHIT! FUCKKKKK! SHITITITITITTTTT FUCKETY FUCK GODDAMNIT!") I said a silent, fervent prayer. Are you there, God? It's me, Meghan. Please please please no please don't let my iPhone fall into the gap, onto the tracks. No no no please.

I watched. It fell. It was gone. Heart stopped. I peered down and saw it. The screen was still lit up from where I had opened my e-mail. It glared up at me, and I could almost hear it crying: "You bitch! How dare you?! I (sob sob) love (sob sob) you (sob sob) so (sob sob) much (SOB). I looked up, into the still open doors of the train, and all the people were looking at me. Every single person on this crowded 6 train was staring at me, this poor jaded girl who had just lost her iPhone and her earbuds in one fail swoop, with her hand over her mouth. They all looked genuinely concerned and sympathetic. The front part of my iPhone case was on the train, so I reached in to grab it, and a man reached down to help me. They all scooted in to make room for me to board. But no. I waved thank you to them, and politely declined. I knew what I had to do.

The doors closed and the train lurched forward. Chucka, chucka, chucka. I looked down into the gap and saw the reflection of my still-lit iPhone screen over and over again in the frosted silver covering each subway car. Chucka, chucka, chucka, faster now. I would have taken a photo, but alas, in a brilliant fucking twist, the only camera on my person was now sitting at the bottom of the New York City subway. Chucka, chucka, chucka, faster still. Its light was a beacon of hope, on repeat. Here I am. Here I am. Here I am. I'm still here. I'm still here. I'm still here. To the beat of the train's wheels gliding along their tracks. Chucka chucka chucka. Come and get me.

The train passed. I moved faster than I've ever moved in my life. I took off my bag and put my (yes, wet) umbrella down. I jumped down onto the tracks. I grabbed my phone and the earbuds, which were still attached. I placed them on the platform. I looked down one more time. No sign of the back of my two-part iPhone case. Oh well, casualty of war. I hoisted myself back up, which was no small feat, because those rails are pretty far down. Standing in the pit, the top of the platform came up to about my chin. So I had to do that awkward move you do whenever you're getting out of a pool. Hands up, hoist up, lift one leg to the side and hoist again.

Once back amongst the living, I grabbed my phone and cradled it in my hands like a just-born kitten I had saved from certain death. I have no way of knowing this now, but I feel like I might have actually rocked back and forth, there on my knees on the subway platform. Don't fear, baby, mama's here, everything's going to be OK now. Amazingly, the screen was no more cracked than before I had dropped it. It was responsive to touch, and the home screen button appearaed to still be working. For good measure, I turned it off. It had just had a really traumatic morning. It needed to rest.

I turned it back on a few stops into my ride. It appeared to be working fine. Fuck, how lucky. The only thing I lost in this whole experience was the back of the case, which was a $5 investment I made on the streets of Harlem. Oh, and a little bit of my dignity and cleanliness - small prices to pay for a working iPhone that has made a trip to the bottom of the NYC subway.

I was planning on asking Santa for a new one this year, but now I kind of want to stay with this one forever. You know what they say about two individuals who have been through serious trauma together: they are connected for life, forged together forever, never to be torn asunder. My iPhone and me, we got this shit. We are strong. We are resilient. We are one.

And I just realized that I never fucking read The New York Times e-mail. Typical.

*It's worth noting that I wrote a good chunk of this post on the train, on my iPhone, post-drop

Guest Blog: Coast 2 Coast Showdown

I've decided to do something a little different to kick off this (HLLWN!!!1) week. A blogging community site I'm a member of, 20 Something Bloggers, has blog swaps every now and then, where they pair you up with a blogger you don't know and you write guest blogs for each other. This week, I was paired with Linda over at Celluloid Geek, an L.A.-based blog that focuses on feminist issues. I'm an unabashed feminist, so it seems uncanny that I would get matched with her. And naturally, because of the notorious feud between L.A. and NYC, I asked her to write a post comparing the two cities. (Even though, LBO, sorry Linda, there's no comparison.) A big Southern welcome to Linda! Thanks for writing.






All right y'all, I won’t lie. I’ve only had a tiny interaction with New York City - due largely in part to a late/canceled flight - so you should just think of my relationship with the Big Apple as being in the "wandering hands, horizontal make-out sesh" phase. But what I can tell you is that I fell in love at first sight. But as we all know, being 3,000 miles away, like in any LDR, leads to no good.

Luckily, I have a new, sexy city that wines and dines me and you know what? I think L.A. > N.Y.C. Now hear me out East-coasters - this is not a conclusion I came up with because I’ve lived here for most of my life. Nope. I’ve put on my nerdy glasses, strapped on some suspenders and armed myself with a calculator in order to break it down for you in a Coast 2 Coast Showdown. Here's the breakdown.

Housing
If you’re moving to either of these big cities, you’re going to need a place to call home when you're sloshed. And I can guarantee it’s easier to find a 2-bedroom/2-bath place in L.A. than N.Y.C. Or if you can find one in the big apple, you’ll probably be too broke to afford a place with an equally large kitchen, small bathroom and enough space to house a few shelves and cabinets.
+5 Los Angeles for being chic and economically savvy

Transportation
L.A. is traffic central and everyone around the world can’t help but point it out like an eighth grade bully making fun of a hand-me-down backpack. If you love sitting on your butt and playing ‘Let’s guess which driver has had the most plastic surgery’ and avoiding freeways between 8-10 a.m. and 4-7 p.m., this place is for you. Sure, we have public transportation, but sadly it’s not as popular* as New York’s. And if you’re thinking about cabs... yeah, no one uses them either.
+2 New York, one for cabs & one for the subway

Weather
L.A. doesn’t have seasons and N.Y. seems to have extremely hot summers and hellish winters. I can wear my summer clothes all year long, always find someone next to me on the beach and never buy a sweater and survive. I’m guessing all you east-coasters can’t really do this. Na-na-na-na-na!
+7 Los Angeles, because who doesn’t love summer clothes?

21+ Scene
There are dive bars and trendy/chic spots a-plenty. Want to drink some ‘earthy-friendly’ concoctions? Try the dives in NoHo, a free-love, environment-loving area. Want to be around celebrities? Sunset Boulevard is the place to be. Want hipsters and love rockabilly? Downtown L.A. is for you. Much like the iPhone and its endless apps, we have a bar for your personal taste and price range. The big difference between L.A. and N.Y. is last call. Here, all bars close promptly at 2 a.m. and no later. Yeah. So while you see Carrie in SATC staying out all night and teasing Mr. Big , we have the cast of Melrose Place coming back after the bars have closed and killing off their land lady.
+4 New York because although it’s nice to wake refreshed after "drinking til the bar closed," it would be great to continue to party at a bar rather than someone's house

Other Entertainment
On the days when our 20-something selves aren’t out drinking, we look for other things to pass the time: book readings, concerts, etc. L.A. takes the cake when it comes to ‘secret concerts’ and TV tapings. I spent most of my high school years watching free concerts for the show Pepsi Smash and it was incredible! There’s always a hot band playing somewhere and a show that needs an audience. So if you’re looking for a cheap thrill for you and your friends, you can definitely find it. Then again, some cool things happen in New York: conferences, huge book signings, N.Y. Fashion Week and Broadway.
+6 New York, because you got us here; there’s L.A. Fashion Week and touring Broadway shows, but nothing beats the original thing.

And the winner is: oh, wait! Shit… OK it’s a freakin’ tie. New York may not be as bad as I made it out to be. Actually, like an old lover, it still has a place in my cold, black heart. But L.A. has some amazing qualities that keep me hanging on. Yeah, I can’t see Rock of Ages or Hamlet with Jude Law (BTW, WTF?!), but I have celebrity sightings and free entertainment to tide me over. Maybe all you East Coast folkies can take your summer clothes out of storage and check it out for yourselves.

*ed note: awesome

Don't you try and tell me that you never loved me

Tomorrow is Monday, which sort of sucks, so I wanted to share this video with y'all. It makes me very happy.



I discovered it on the Tumblr of my new favorite blogger, Hannah. I've never listened to much Kate Nash, but I like this song a lot, and the illustration is so cute. Siiiiiigh.

Happy end-o-weekend!

Writers, writers everywhere

I had a revelation this morning as I lay in bed checking The Weather Channel on my iPhone*. And that revelation is: Words do not write themselves. Ever. The universe is a very mysterious place, and sometimes shit happens and I'm like, "Come on, universe, WTF? Why is this happening right now?", but one thing that will always, always be true is that words do not write themselves.

Every word you come across in your daily life has been written by someone or something else. I'm sure they now have like computer programs and stuff that will write basic sentences, but I like to think that for the most part words are still written by people. The description on the back of your shampoo bottle. That somewhat pretentious monologue about recycling on the side of your Starbucks cup. The synopses on the backs of DVD cases. The classifieds. And, yes, the weather report.

As I read today's forecast (read: shitty), I noticed that it was a bit more poetic than it is normally, which is the approximate moment I had aforementioned revelation.
















"Rain... perhaps a rumble of thunder in the afternoon."

This faux-sentence is very well-written. Normally it would just say something like, "Rain, with a chance of thunderstorms this afternoon," right? But instead, whoever wrote it replaced the comma with an ellipsis and "a chance" with "perhaps" and "thunderstorms" with "a rumble of thunder."

Who are you, mysterious Weather Channel poet? What inspired you to break out of your daily work box and be, even in just the most subtle way, a little creative? A little extra caffeine in your coffee this morning? Did you fall in love with an amazing man/woman, and now your life is completely inspired, whereas before you were just some nobody working in a tiny room full of radar maps and computers and half-eaten doughnuts, where no sunlight is permitted and all you do all day is write boring forecasts? What is your story?

And, more importantly, do you have a blog?

*this is a very accurate snapshot of the life of like every 20something I know

Gagannouncement

Yesterday, Lady Gaga announced her North American tour dates for The Monster Ball. Of course I was excited to discover that she will be coming to Radio City Music Hall in NYC, because originally when she was supposed to tour with Kanye West (vom), there was no NYC stop planned at all. Which is basically heresy, because Gaga is like the physical embodiment of the Lower East Side.

Anyway, an NYC stop is exciting. More exciting? An NYC stop on January 21. Why?



















IT'S MY BIRTHDAY, Y'ALL. If I can get tickets, this promises to be the best birthday I have ever had, hands down. And last year, you might recall, I went to DC for the inauguration. Yeah, I said it: this is going to be better. First black president? Awesome. Gaga live and in person? Better.

It's also her last stop in North America before she continues her tour in like Australia or something, which means it's going to be the shit. Hello New York, hello Meghan, byebye America.



She is so epic. Hello most amazing night of my life. Sigh.

The Unabridged Blackberries to Apples Bloglossary: Addendum

I've been periodically adding some entries to the bloglossary I wrote in September, and I thought I would write a short addendum with the new entries. You know, just so y'all can upgrade your daily vocab.












Bish
Function: noun
Etymology: Harlem high schoolers
Date: 2009
Definition: Bitch. Often followed by "plz."

Def
Function: affirmation
Etymology: Hautey Toddy-based abbrevs
Date: 2007
Definition: Definitely.

Lolx
Function: verb/adjective/adverb/noun
Etymology: Can I get some lolx cream cheese on my bagel?
Date: October 2008
Definition: Lolz to the max.

Nom
Function: verb, adjective, nom
Etymology: LOLcats?
Date: 2008
Definition: Mmmmmmdeliciousfood.

Obvs
Function: adverb?
Etymology: Hautey Toddy abbrevs
Date: 2007
Definition: Obviously.

Sombish
Function: noun, indefinite
Etymology: Gchat, as per yooj
Date: 2009
Definition: Some bitch.

More TK.

Welcome to the land of Teeny

This is my best friend Christine.





















We met freshman year of college, when we lived next door to each other in the dorms. It was nothing less than fate that brought us together, as we quickly discovered that we are soul mates, in the most platonic sense of the word. We bonded over a shared love of Ludacris, Juvenile, Ginuwine and making fun of people we deemed lesser than ourselves. She lives in Chi, and I live in NYC obvs, but our friendship marches on. To the beat of a very, very different drum.

Anyway, the point of all this is that Teeny (as she is known amongst our inner circles) now has her very own blog in which she documents her life in the form of witty haikus. I am very excited about this, because she is truly one of the funniest and definitely the most unique person I know. Here's a snippet:

accessory (to murder?)

ugly belt buckle
want to melt it down, make a
bullet to shoot you

I told you. Fucking hilarious. Check it out: Land of Teeny. She is also on Twitter. Get on it.

Trey Songz: A Reverse NYC Mad Lib

Moving to New York meant I had to sacrifice my most favorite pasttime: driving around bumping terrible/amazing hip-hop and rap music. Since I bought my first CD single in the sixth grade - that's right, it was "Mo Money, Mo Problems" by Notorious B.I.G. featuring Ma$e (OMG, remember him?!?) and Puff Daddy - I've been obsessed with hip-hop and rap. I may as well come out of the closet now: I have a notoriously flippant taste in music and an inborn weakness for a bangin' beat, and I couldn't be prouder. There's nothing quite like cranking up the bass on some Beyoncé, Weezy, Gorilla Zoe or Jay-Z, putting the windows down, bouncing around like a fool and pretending like I can actually sing or, worse, rap.

No driving also means no radio listening, which is equally sad. I'm not hip on all the new bad music, y'all. I don't get my daily dose of T-Pain, Soulja Boy Tell 'Em, The-Dream or Jamie Foxx; I do, however, listen to Pandora at work, and it was there that I recently heard, well, a song by Trey Songz. Question: what exactly have I been doing with my life up until this point? Just now, I almost typed "hard" instead of "heard," which would have been an incredibly appropriate Freudian slip.

He just released a new album called "Ready," and I'm listening to it live as I blog. I feel inspired by the tracklist, which is, um, somewhat suggestive, so in honor of all the brilliant lyricists who came before him and all those who will come after - innuendo completely intended - I present Trey Songz: A Reverse NYC Mad Lib.

So last night I went to my friends' new apartment for her housewarming party, where she served pink Panty Droppas. We were talking about her new building, and she was like, "Yeah, it's so weird! Before I even had my own mailbox I realized that all my Neighbors Know My Name. Creepy."
"Yeah," I agreed. "But not as creepy as this one time when my upstairs neighbor came up to me and said, 'I Invented Sex. Holla If You Need Me.' Ha, like anyone who smokes that much could invent anything, much less sex."
She laughed a little under her breath. "Weird. But Does He Do It right? That's what really counts."
I shrugged and took a sip of my drink. I decided I needed a cig and made my way downstairs to the sidewalk. Outside, I met a charming British man, also smoking, who told me he was an astrophysicist. Or something.
"I Need A Girl," he daringly confessed. "You know, one who can share in my Jupiter Love."
"Um, what does that mean exactly?" I asked.
"You know, that One Love," he clarified. "I'm already a Successful lover of planets. I spend all my time, quite literally, in the clouds. I just want to meet someone who makes me want to be right where I am, here on Earth."
"Be Where You Are?" I asked.
"Yeah, you know. Just right here."
Despite the obvious fact that he was a bit odd, I fell for him. Our eyes locked and I was Ready To Make Luv. I forgot all my past Love Lost, and decided right then that in honor of his lust for the cosmos, we would have Black Roses at our wedding.
"I have to tell you something," I confessed.
"Oh? What?"
"I'm an ear, nose and throat doctor. Not exactly romantic for someone who studies Jupiter for a living."
He smiled, took my face in his hands and said, "That's fine, dear. As long as you stay on Yo Side Of The Bed."
I smiled. "OK then. Say Aah!"
As he opened his mouth to kiss me, a guy drove by in a Cadillac and a huge puddle splashed onto my party dress. "Hollalude!" He shouted.
Ugh. What is it with strangers in New York saying holla?! I wondered.
LOL :)

God will rush in

I have a somewhat embarrassing confession. I'm reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Yeah, that book Oprah was obsessed with for a while. I try to avoid things endorsed by Oprah; I don't know why exactly, but it just sort of makes me feel hollow inside, like I've sold a piece of my soul to partake in something endorsed by such a huge mega-diva-celebrity. In my own defense, the only reason I'm reading it is because I really liked this speech Gilbert gave to a room of budding young writers. I related to her bizarrely divine experience of creation - as most of the writers, photographers and other artists I know will probably confirm, the best ideas seem to come not from inside of us, but from out of nowhere, from some external source. I was walking through the MOMA this weekend with my parents when it dawned on me that the word for artistic inspiration is the same word for impregnation: conceive. And as you know, I don't really believe in accidents or coincidences - especially not in linguistics.

Anyway, I'm reading her book - very slowly, because I've been really busy and it's actually kind of boring, shrug - and it's been making me think a lot about art and life and relationships. I've been thinking a lot about my friends and family, and how amazing they all are, and how our lives have intersected and will continue to grow together. I have literally no doubts that the friends I have now are the people I will be friends with for years and years to come. We will see each other through good times and bad, weddings and funerals, hookups and breakups, promotions and layoffs. And this weekend, with Schmom and Schopop B. in tow, I witnessed the first of many such milestones: Jenny Anderson's first photo show.

J and I have been friends since my junior year of college. She moved to New York a year and a half before me, and is probably the most successful 25-year-old I know. She is a truly gifted artist, and the most genuinely good person a girl can hope to know. She was one of the top 20 photographers chosen from a national pool by 3rd Ward, a Brooklyn-based arts group, to show at The Group Show: The Best Emerging Photographers, which opened Friday night. We made the 45-minute trip to Brooklyn to see her photo hanging on the wall of a real-life legit gallery in NYC. Sometimes, if you are lucky, you can actually feel your life changing, and it's truly bizarre and surreal. I have never felt so blessed to be surrounded by artists, photographers, writers, actors, dancers and genuinely amazing, talented people.

Naturally, Z filmed another video of the occasion for his blog And How NYC*. You know, just to prove it really did happen. See below.



"If you clear out your mind, you'll have a vacuum, an open spot - a doorway. And guess what the universe will do with that doorway? It will rush in - God will rush in - and fill you with more love than you ever dreamed." - Liz Gilbert

*good thing some of my fellow bloggers are actually doing some work, because I mean honestly I was so busy and exhausted this weekend that I could not have written anything remotely legible or entertaining

And How NYC: Times Square is our bitch

Schmom B. and Schpop B. are in town for the weekend! They've never, ever been to NYC, so this is a big adventure for them. And, LBO, for me as well. I'm taking them to all my favorite places in addition to all the touristy standbys. Soo yeah that's tiring.

Their first night in town, I showed them around my hood, then took them to see Grand Central, followed by the shuttle (my least favorite thing ever) to Times Square. Z joined us, natch, and recorded the first of what will likely be many videos of us wandering around and being ourselves for his blog, And How NYC. It is lolz. Nay, it is lolx. Enjoy.



This is the first video of me that has ever appeared on the Internet. Things you might learn: 1. Yes, I have an accent sometimes. 2. We really do talk like this. 3. We are bitches. 4. I am sleepy or drunk.

It could be worse

I was doing some research for work recently and came across this portrait. You know, I may make a lot of snarky comments about men, relationships and dating on this blog, but it could be worse, ladies. Our men could dress like this king of England or whatever. (I confess I saved the image from the Internet without actually taking a mental note of who it is.)























I'm pretty sure I have those shoes.

Bless Gaga and bless the gays, part two

As promised, I'm here to share with you photos of the most recent in my line of epic Sundays: the National Equality March. Due to space constraints, I have decided to limit the photos to the most epic part of the day: standing ten feet away from Lady Gaga. Behold, marvel, gape. Looking back over these, I still sort of can't believe this shit happened.

This is her walking onto the Capitol Lawn after the march. She was actually there for most of the rally, which was over three hours long. Just because she's Gaga doesn't mean she won't sit her ass on an uncomfortable concrete wall for the gays.

















She stood behind the stage and waited for her turn to speak. I was behind her for the duration of her speech, probably because I was paralyzed by Gagamazement.

















OMG. She turned around and looked right. at. me.











































Another shot from behind (TWSS), with her rainbow flag.























Wider shot, with the Washington Monument in the background. The largest phallic symbol in the world swimming in a sea of gays. Appropo.

















Leaving with her rather large entourage.













And, lastly, I had to include this one. Right before the march started, we all looked up and saw a rainbow. It wasn't raining, people. As you know, I believe things happen for a reason, and I also believe in signs from the universe.

















Dear gays:
You are loved and deserve the same treatment as anyone else. I'm on your side.
Love,
The universe

Clearly, some things are just more epic than others.

Editor's note: I completely forgot to mention my favorite/the funniest quote of the day, which comes from friend and fellow blogger Polly Syllabick. As we explored Washington in search of much-needed grub, we were talking about the fact that the district is divided into four quadrants, and she said, "I fucking hate DC. Did I mention that? I don't trust a city where you can stand on the corner of Pennsylvania and 4th in more than one place. It's like being in Queens." So true, my foul-mouthed Jersey friend. So true.

Dentist, thy name is confusion

When you're looking for an unfamiliar locale in an unfamiliar area, New York can be a very confusing place. Just because you have an address doesn't mean you will find your destination with anything resembling ease, especially if that destination happens to be an office of some sort. Often, a large number of offices share a single address - you know, because buildings in New York are tall. All of this helps to explain what happened to me recently when I went to my first dentist's appointment in the city.

I had an address, cross street and the dentist's name - we'll call him Dr. Teef - so I felt prepared. I got to the neighborhood, found the address and was discouraged that I couldn't find his name on any of the building directories - lots of doctors, dermatologists and even other dentists, but no sign of Dr. Teef. I walked around to the side of the building, where another sign indicated a second entrance for the same address. Still, no Dr. Teef listed; however, I found a sign for a general dentist's office. This must be it, right? I rang the doorbell (because you can never just walk in anywhere in New York, except for maybe Duane Reade), and after a minute or so they buzzed the door open for me.

The office was really small. I mean even for New York, this office was really small: two dental rooms, a teeny bathroom, an X-ray room or something, and a waiting area with like three seats. There was no one sitting behind the reception desk, so I stood and waited, mildly annoyed. Eventually a dental hygienist emerged from one of the two rooms, removed her face mask and asked if she could help me. I told her I had an appointment at 2, and she looked utterly confused and apologized that the receptionist was out sick and that she was pulling double duty cleaning teeth and handling the phones. I said it was OK as she scrolled through the day's schedule and asked me my name. I told her, and she just continued to look more and more confused. I told her that I had received a phone call the day before confirming my appointment. More confused looks.

She apologized for not being familiar with the computer system, and after calling the receptionist at home, who contacted my insurance company to make sure I was covered, filling out some paperwork and having me wait a little while, she finally cleaned my teeth and all that. The dentist saw me, and delivered the verdict: two teeny cavities. Sad face! The universe blessed me with amazing teeth - I've had like two cavities my whole life and never had braces - so hearing I have cavities is always a disappointment. Not a shock, though, considering how much HLLWN candy I've been eating recently. But that's another post for another day.

As I was exiting, I made an appointment to get my cavities filled, and, just on a curious whim, I asked the hygienist/temp receptionist: "Is this Dr. Teef's office? This is Dr. Teef's office right?" She looked (again) utterly confused, and told me that no, it wasn't; there was only Dr. Cav, who I just saw. I lolzed to myself and realized I had just seen the completely wrong dentist at the completely right address. I felt bad, as I'm sure Dr. Teef was feeling dejected, crying into his spit sink and wishing he was examining my beautiful teeth.

Sometimes things happen in this city that are just so New York. Random nights out with friends that end in drunken cab rides home. Finding out that dude you met at the bar actually works in your building. Your new best friend knows that girl you randomly went to college with for like a year. You went to the wrong dentist, and because the receptionist happened to be sick and the hygienist happened to be covering for her, she assumed she was the one making the mistake when she didn't see your name on the day's schedule.

When it comes to seemingly random things just happening, I have to confess that living in New York has made me more of a believer in destiny/fate than ever before. In a city where every little action - sleeping in, getting up early, going out to dinner, going grocery shopping, meeting friends at a bar - can determine a lifetime of connections and experiences, it becomes increasingly clear to me that things don't just happen. Everything happens for a reason. Even dental cleanings.

Bless Gaga and bless the gays, part one

Yesterday I went to the National Equality March in DC. It was amazing, beautiful, emotional and life-changing. I don't know how I keep getting involved in these super-important things, basically on accident or because I am lucky. Life continues to amaze me.

Y'ALL. I promise there is a huge blowout "this is when I stood ten feet away from Lady Gaga and my face melted off" post coming up, but first I have to upload all my pictures and videos and stuff. For now, look at this. I found it on YouTube this morning. Oh, it's real. Oprah Winfrey whole segment for real.

















I'm the blurry person holding up the camera. All that separated Lady Gaga from myself was a bed of taxpayer flowers. I was a total fauxaway in the backstage area; J had a press pass and I literally held her hand as she pulled me through and if anyone asked me who I was, I just said, "I'm with her."

HOW IS THIS MY LIFE?!?!?!?!11111

Preview: HLLWN 2009

I got something in the mail today. It is a very exciting part of my HLLWN 2009 costume, and I'm here to share it with y'all.























Let Gagaween officially begin.

Cupcakes > Abortion

Jezebel posted this today in remembrance of National Pro-Life Cupcake Day (um, yeah, you read that correctly), and I was literally LOLZing at my desk. I mean, it's just so absurd that I still don't fully believe it's for real. Question: whether you're pro-choice or pro-life, what do cupcakes have to do with it? Oh that's right: fuckin' nothing.

So, according to the people pushing the lifecakes, when someone asks, "Whose birthday is it?," you are supposed to respond: "It's no one's birthday. These cupcakes represent the 50,000,000* children who weren't allowed to be born, who never had a birthday. If you and I were aborted we wouldn't have a birthday party either."

Way to ruin cupcakes, fucktards. In honor of these shitiots, I have come up with a list of other wildly inappropriate messages that can/shouldn't be conveyed via cupcakes.

The Layoff Celebration Cupcake: In honor of all the people who will never get to have promotion cupcakes, because, well, they fucking got fired. Topped with meringue severance checks.

The Guantanamo Bay Celebration Cupcake: In honor of all the maybe/maybe not terrorists who will never enjoy a cupcake, because if they ever had one they would die, since they can now only stomach water(boards), powdered protein and possibly dirt. Topped with sugar Geneva Conventions.

The Marriage Protection Cupcake: In honor of all the gays who will never have cupcakes at their weddings. Topped with disco sticks instead of candles, obvs.

The Gender Equality Cupcake: In honor of all the women who will never make cupcakes for their hubbies, because they are too busy making careers for themselves. Topped with Christina Hendricks.

The Fa Real, Fa Real Murderer Cupcake: In honor of all the people who have actually killed other human beings, are in prison and will thus never again enjoy delicious cupcakes. Topped with marzipan guns.

The Children In Poverty Cupcake: In honor of all the children who eat real cupcakes all the time because their parents can't afford to feed them anything other than McDonald's, Taco Bell and, yes, Entenmann's. Topped with red hots to represent birth control.

Those are just a few ideas. We can keep this going, guys. The possibilities are endless.

*a completely made-up number, y'all

Schmom B. Says

It's Friday again! I have a very busy weekend ahead of me, which includes - and I can't believe I haven't mentioned this yet - a trip down to DC early Sunday morning for the National Equality March and - oh my fucking jesus - a performance by Lady Gaga. It might just be the gayest weekend I've ever experienced, and I've had a LOT of gay weekends in my life, so that's really saying something.

I am very much looking forward to it, partially because it means I can put this shitty week behind me. I mean, I fully acknowledge that I live a charmed life and that, as such, all my so-called "problems" are charmed ones, and I am very thankful for everything in my life, but I've had a tough week, OK? And in this installment of Schmom B. Says, my mom gives me a little bit of perspective about it.




Schmom B. Says: Calm down, it's not that bad

Meghan: I'm having a really bad day. :(

Schmom B.: Sorry! I'm cleaning up cat puke! Bad is relative.






I guess Queen B. (my family cat) had a little accident. And it's true - so far this week, I haven't cleaned up anyone else's vomit, be it that of a human, cat, dog or any other creature, so really I just need to STFU and CTFD.

Happy weekend everyone!

PS. The Office wedding episode last night was perfect.

My favorite boy, my favorite city

In honor of Jim and Pam's wedding tonight, I wanted to post this adorable video of John Krasinski on The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien. If you can bear with him through the first story about his brother, he tells a hilaaaaarious story about an experience he recently had in NYC with his (hmpf) fiancé.



I can't help but be happy for him. He is so obviously happy and filled with joy because of his pending wedding that he can even tell a story about a homeless/drunk/typical New York woman urinating in the street and make my heart feel warmed.

Sigh. Ugh, OK, a confession: I want to get married. Not right now, but eventually, yes, I do. For a long time I wasn't sure if I wanted to, or if I even believed in marriage, but something has switched on (or off) in me recently and I know now that I want to. One day.

A pity party, and some encouraging words from my BeyFF

Today has not been a good day for me. It started out badly and has just continued to spiral down into a black abyss of shittiness that concluded with my earbuds cracking and the speaker part dangling out of its snug little home. I would take a photo with my phone and e-mail it to myself, but apparently my phone isn't working either.

I spent the better part of today - allow me to be dramatic - on the verge of tears, and I really needed something to cheer me up. After some brainstorming, I came up with this, which always makes me smile. Thanks, Bey.



Now, if only I could hear it.

/end pity party

Twitter freaks

Sometimes Twitter scares me. I recently said "goddamn" in one of my tweets, and I soon saw this reply in my TwitterFox.










I didn't even know bloody_elf was following me. I clicked on the account and it was just a bunch of @replies saying similar things to everyone using the word "goddamn" on Twitter: "Swearing is not appreciated." "That is not a nice thing to say." "That is not polite." And even the somewhat threatening, "Yesterday I asked you to stop swearing, but today you did it again." (You can almost hear the whip cracking in the background, no?)

However, the elf's @reply to me is the funniest and most melodramatic. It's almost as if bloody_elf knew that I enjoy few things more than a tongue-in-cheek, completely over the top and ridonkulous statement. I also think he or she might be in cohorts with my ex, who hates the word goddamn.

Also, what is Twitter4J? The only thing that pops into my mind is Twitter 4 Jesus, in which case, 1) Freak; 2) Jesus would probs not be a proponent of spanking, in any context; and 3)It's a free goddamn country and I can goddamn say "goddamn" as much as I goddamn please, goddamnit.

Megslist Part 2 > Men > COME TO ME JUSTIN

Rumors have been swirling for like a week, but we now know the truth: Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel have broken up. Or, as the celeb mag rags love to delicately put it, they are now "splitsville." Srsly, poor word choice aside, this is one breakup that I can say I am unabashedly thrilled about. Jessica is painfully vanilla, and Justin is, well, my future husband. So of course I'm happy!















Cry me a river, Jessica Vabiella

In true Southern fashion, Justin's gmaw confirmed the rumors by saying the following: "Jessica was keen* to marry, but Justin isn't ready. The girlfriends come and go, but we believe nothing has ever been serious."

You know why, Granny? Because Justin still hasn't met his soulmate. Namely, moi. I mean I can remember laying in my bed when I was 11 or 12 years old and fantasizing (in a completely innocent way, freaks) about having Justin as my boyfriend. And yes, when I was 12, Justin still looked like this. That's how you know I really, truly love him.

A textbook serial monogamist, Justin clearly hasn't listened to any of his girlfriends when they've said, pre-Beyoncé, that they want him to put a ring on it. (And I know he knows what that means, based on the fact that this actually took place.) This is all just further evidence that he's not married because he hasn't met a worthy female companion. Yet. I'm here, Justin. Just waiting for you. I'll be at Southern Hospitality every Monday night for the rest of this season of Gossip Girl. Just sayin'.

*Who says this anymore?!?!11

New York Meglist > Partners > Perfect Man Wanted

I've been thinking a lot about what I want in a manpartner recently. And by a lot I mean I spend probably like 15% of my brain power thinking about it, which is still too much. As a result, I have come up with a list of the qualities I want* in a romantic interest/relationship partner. The list follows. I have dubbed it Megslist. I know, so painfully obvious.

• Be at least 5'10". I mean this is an absolute minimum. There are too many fucking shorties in this city and I'm over it.
  
• A college degree is definitely required.
• Be extroverted, but not too extroverted. I'm kind of over dating the shy type, and I want someone who is going to entertain me for once.
• Be funny. Like fucking slap your mama hilarious.
• For the love of god, don't be pretentious. There are few things I hate more than pretense. Well, aside from when Kant tries to write in iambic pentameter. Yaaaaaawn.
• On that note, hipsters need not apply.
  
• For Christ's sake, I need a man who knows how to handle a strong woman. Let me be dramatic, then tell me when I'm being a huge bitch. Don't be jealous; let me be independent. If I tell you I'm attracted to someone else - maybe even (GASP) a woman - grow a pair and fucking deal with it. Then give me a reason not to care about my attraction to other people, if you know what I'm sayin'.
  
• On that same note, know how to put it down. Put. It. Down. The importance of this cannot be overstated.
  
• Be kind. Don't treat me like a child, but doing sweet things every so often will certainly be appreciated.
• Be honest. Don't lie to me, and don't hide things from me.
• Be ridiculously smart and interested in art and culture. Take me to museums and shows and stuff because you really want to go and not just because you know I want to.
• Have some sort of creative pursuit.
  
• Be a good writer.
• Delicately straddle that line between asshole and sweetheart: Be cocky, but don't be a douche. Be sweet, but don't be a pussy. It's true - no matter what girls say, they do want a guy who is sort of an asshole. Not one with a totally black heart, but a dark streak is a plus.
  
• Eat meat and cheese and stuff. Vegan schmegan. Ha that looks sort of like my name.
• Try to dance. Even if you can't, your attempts/humor about it will take you very, very far.
• Know how to dress and have a sense of style.
  
• Tattoos are welcomed.
• However, those with tribal tattoos need not apply.
• Must like cats and dogs and babies and children. Not because I have any of these things right now, but because - one day - I do want them.
  

Compensation is extremely generous. Namely, you get to spend time with me. Interested parties should contact me at 555-1234. Yeah, I have the same number as all those people in the movies! So awesome, right?

Also, you will notice that there is no mention of "good-looking" or even "ridiculously good-looking" on this list. I mean, I'm not shallow.


*hope for, in an imaginary world where perfect men exist

My grown-up Christmas list

Turns out, it's not that different from the shit I wanted as a child.





















I still want toys (iPhone) and extra toys to make those toys even better (earbuds), along with cute furry animals. And in case you don't know what a Maine Coon cat is, I'm here to enlighten you.

They're kind of expensive and I do have a small fear that I will turn into a crazy cat lady, but I can't help myself. They're so cool! They grow to like four times the size of a normal domestic cat. When I move into my new apartment - which I'm planning to do at the end of the year - it can protect me! Rawr.

Oh God. I just used far too many exclamation points when talking about getting a fucking cat. Help me.

I still prefer a beer and whiskey on Rivington Street

GaGa was on SNL last night. I didn't catch the show live, but basically the first thing I did when I woke up this beautiful Sunday morning was check her facebook for any video updates. Now, the latest installment in a long series called "why I'm fucking obsessed with Lady GaGa and will nigh be getting a GaGa bow tattoo and prepping my HLLWN costume and oh yeah did I mention my GaGa shrine in the corner of my room?"



For this appearance, she rewrote some of the lyrics to Pokerface to reflect her love for New York City. Here they are:

Born in New York in Lenox Hill of '86,
Cheered for the Yankees with my dad in section six,
And after traveling, just dancin' round the world,
I still prefer a beer and whiskey with my friends on Rivington Street

I miss every little thing about this city,
Subway trains, the girls are pretty,
Love the hot dogs on 72nd street, they're tasty and they're cheap,
Was just a waitress on Cornelia, now I'm living my dreams baby,
Singing bout my pokerface...

I went out last night with my new friend M to my blog idol's hubby's first photography show in Brooklyn, followed by drinks on the Lower East Side, not all that far from Rivington Street. It was one of those amazing New York nights, with new friends, new experiences and the cool fall air making everything feel fresh and beautiful. As I sat at our table in the bar next to an open window, I looked out at the taxi cabs creeping along Houston Street, the beautiful people smoking their cigarettes and the guy devouring his slice from a paper plate, and I was so filled with love and adoration for the life I now live that I nearly started crying into my whiskey sour.

It's just that I have wanted to live here since my very first visit to the city, and here I am. It surrounds me at all time and it pumps through my veins, it pisses me off and it makes me deliriously happy, it stinks and it's beautiful. There are doubts in any healthy relationship, but eventually you get to a point where you just know if the other person is the one for you - or not.

New York is the one for me.