Mood:  don't ask

As you know, my mom had a brain tumor and underwent 5 ½ hours of brain surgery—successfully. However, my sister and I were really hoping that perhaps the surgery would effect her in a long term way and maybe she might end up being not so….well, fucking mean! So much for hope!

So my sister calls me the Monday evening….

“Meg, mom’s back to same ol’, same ol’—major bitch! She TOTALLY flipped out on me today!”

“What happened?”

“Well, I called her to fill her in on my way whacked weekend.…” and then, my sister starts telling me the story….

So let’s all hold hands, whilst singing Kum-Ba-Yah, and step into the way back machine and here’s Lind’s story….

Saturday evening. Her Black Lab mix, Belle, is having serious respiratory problems. Nasal passages swollen. Dog having problems breathing, etc. I ask her “Did you give her Benadryl?” (For those of you without pets, Benadryl is the end all be all for allergies, allergic reactions, etc.) “No. I was worried that she had an obstruction and that if I gave her Benadryl and waited, it would be too late.” Understandable. They are our furry babies and such.

So Linds takes her to the emergency room—after hours $$$$ Cha-Ching! They had 3 other high priority trauma cases---an obstruction, a dog who had been hit by a car and a dog that was poisoned. Needless to say, they told Linds that they wouldn’t be able to see Belle any time soon, but that she should leave Belle with them as they would be better able to observe her. So Linds leaves at 2:30am and goes home. At 7:30 am, the vet calls to say Belle is fine. Apparently, the new aromatherapy collar Lind’s had gotten her to keep her from barking (nuisance barking like nobody’s biz) had irritated Belle’s sinuses and sent her into a massive allergic reaction.

WHEW! Ok, an emergency vet visit, but still—nothing serious---so WHEW!

Sunday evening. Linds has gone to bed. And let me tell you, the broad sleeps like a freight train and snores like one too—trust me. She suddenly wakes up to the sound of two coughs. Two odd coughs. Panicked, she sits up and looks around. She sees Janelle’s 14 yr old Chihuahua, Ginger. Before she can even move, she hears a horrible scream emanating from the dog. “Meg, it was like a thousand lobsters being thrown into boiling water”- and she does the impression- a high pitched EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

So she races over and picks Ginger up. The dog proceeds to cough and then dies in her arms. “Dies Meg!!!! Her bowels and anal fluid evacuate, her bladder lets go, etc. I am standing there with this dead dog, tongue hanging out, glazed over eyes, covered in crap and urine. Janelle, who also is standing there, says ‘Linds you have to do something! You have to do something!’ So I take two fingers and start chest compressions and mouth to mouth, errr…muzzle resuscitation.”

Now imagine, Linds, with total bed head, covered in crap, urine, etc. using two fingers to do chest compressions on the dead Chihuahua and then---mouth to muzzle resuscitation!!!  Stab, stab—blow! Stab, stab—blow! Linds goes down for one more breath and Ginger suddenly coughs up a hug blob of mucus into Lind’s mouth and….comes back to life! Seriously!

Halleluiah! Can I get a witness?!

I start giving my sister shit—immediately! “Who are you? Lindsay Jesus? Did you make the sign of the Holy dog bone over her? Hey dog whisperer, etc., etc.”

So they rush Ginger to the emergency vet and when the vets ask, after saying ‘Hey you were just here last night’, Linds proceeds to explain to the vet that Ginger….died. For reals. She died in Lind’s arms. And then, much like Lazarus, she came back. The vets did tons of tests, came back and said “Ginger’s fine—we ran every test and she’s…well, alive.”

So they take Ginger home Sunday night and all is good with the world. (On a side note, I asked Linds if she was going to wash her outfit. She responded, “Sometimes, the collateral damage is such, you just have to walk away.” Sounds like me and my rabid flu experience...those sweatpants went into the garbage immediately!)

It’s now Monday. Linds calls my mom to fill her in on the unbelievable trauma from the weekend. Cuz’ that’s what you do with your mom right? Yeah no. Not so much with Den-Den. Linds finished the above traumatic and yet hilarious retelling of her weekend and Den’s response?

“Oh, once again, you get yourself into trouble and I have to step in and save you. It’s always about me rescuing you kids from the situations you find yourselves in!”

Uh. What?! Okay, freak. Whatevs!!

Here my poor sister is just trying to ‘share’ her horribly traumatic weekend with mom and instead gets the massive smack down that she was just trying to hit mom up for some chump change coin!

The lesson to remember here? If it’s not about mom--it will be! It’s alllll about the Den-Den!!!! Well, that or never count your Chihuahua until it’s dead or something like that….

Mood:  hug me

Riddle me this. When does a third date go from really cool to sucks ass? How about when you come back from dinner and the two of you decide to watch a movie at your house. After some discussion, the nod goes to Team America. You tell him “I’m going to go change into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt for the movie—I’ll be right back.”

You come back less than 5 minutes later and he’s naked on your couch. Naked. On. Your. Couch.  

W to the T to the F homeslice!?! I didn’t say I was going to go ‘get more comfortable’. There was no ‘Hey let’s get naked’ euphemism! There wasn’t even a slight hint of one!!!

I’m shocked! A rarity I know but it does occasionally happen. A thousand thoughts are running through my mind from EWWWWWWWWWW! to how much it’s going to cost me to get the couch steam cleaned and get his junk residue off of it.

So the question begs to be asked and as long as my jaw is hanging open to my knees, I go for it.

“What the FUCK!?!” Short. Concise. To the point.

His reponse? “Well, I figured if you were going to change into something more comfortable, I would too.”

Ok. Taking off your shoes is one thing. Stripping to your less than impressive birthday suit without any sort of invitation? Something completely different!

I haven't shoved a guy out of the house that fast since one evening in high school when my parents came home early from dinner.

New land speed record with this one!

Mood:  a-ok

2. A hungover broad operating on a whopping four hours of sleep can successfully install a new Energy Star rated digital thermostat.

3. Toe nail clippers work nicely when you can't find your wire strippers it just takes slightly longer....slightly.

4. Even though I have never purchased a pair of toe nail clippers, I have apparently either stolen 25 of them from random friends and family members over the years or toe nail clippers are prolific breeders.

5. When you know that the electricity is off in your house to keep you from zapping the holy crap out of yourself while installing a thermostat, you will automatically open the fridge that one time too many.

Mood:  sad

This was written by someone I used to know. Read it and see what you think….beyond the typos and misspellings.

To be…Or not to be…A GROWN UP!!!!

“You go through life seemingly being groomed to be a grown up. If you act out your told, "grow up"! If you are having too much fun acting a little unruly it's "your acting childish"! All the while you are being programmed to believe that we as a society need to act like little dilataunts just to be heard or to even be thought of as a responsible member of society. What is it that makes us grown up's? Is it a serious outlook on everything from work to play? Is it living up to our ears in debt, having a job we hate, but paying our bills on time and just kind of trudging through life? I don't know. I have always been and more than likely will always be the "guy who never grew up" in some people's eye's. A child at heart... Oh yeah and body and soul. This outlook on life has cost me money, time,  and most of all relationship's. Family and personal.  Those are the one's that hurt the most. Do I have regrets? Who doesn't? Do they get to me, hell every waking day of my life. Do I wish I could just chill out and bear down into a stable career. Hell yeah!!! I have tried a few times and even though the money was great at those time's I was F*#!&n miserable. More likely than not this what causes so much of my hurt. I wish I could change alot of the pathes I've chosen but I can't. Brutal but that's how life work's. Have I learned anything from my previous choices. Yeah some of them. some of them I am still waiting for the lesson. Overall I don't think thatit is all bad who I am and how I do thing's but there are a few of those decision's that I may  always wonder about. Im not saying that my way has always been the best way to live, but my friend's know where they stand in my life, my family know's where thet stand and hopefully anything unresolved will someday be resolved. As for me I think everbody in the world should be forced to act or look at the world through a childs eye's and heart atleast a few times a year. Maybe that passion for living might be renewed in our lives if we tried.”

Hmmmm….sounds like someone being a brat. Stomping his feet and kicking the dirt.

What seems to be lacking here is the reality and understanding of the difference between refusing or not wanting to grow up versus being responsible. HUGE difference. Welcome to the book of life!

To me, and the majority of people in the world, this is the shit you go through in your late teens and early 20s not at 31. You know when you still lived at home with the ‘rents and your job wouldn’t give you time off to go to Mexico for Spring Break so you just quit so you could do what you want to do? It was all about being pissy about having to conform –it’s sooooo unfair! How come I can’t stay the way I am and have everyone around me love me the way I am? Blaming everyone around you for not allowing you to have your cake and eat it too. That juvenile shit.

You are admitting that your actions have cost you relationships with friends and family and are causing you pain and yet still you refuse to change your behaviors. Well good! Get rid of those folks so you don’t have to change! That says that you aren’t even willing to meet anyone half way. It’s your way or the highway! Well guess what? It boils down to you get what’s coming to you—kind of like karma. The people who care about you are not trying to control you or tell you what to do. They are trying to cheer you on to find a life purpose and you’re resisting because you think they are pushing you to grow up. To me that means that somewhere within yourself you realize that at some level, you are wrong....

Apparently you still don’t know the distinction between ‘childlike’ and ‘childish’. Again, HUGE difference. No one has to grow up but they do have to become responsible. The two are not irreconcilable. I have a serious well paying job. I am responsible. I am still a total goofball--a child trapped in a big person suit.

Your job or lack of career choice does not define you and your outlook on life—you do. You are choosing not to be happy. The question is why. Are the demons from your childhood still controlling you and defining you as a person? It’s beyond just the job—it’s an unhealthy outlook on life.

So become responsible and realize that you can be successful and still view things through the eyes of a child, have passion and enjoy life. It’s your decision. If we all sat around and bitched about working for ‘the man’ we’d all be a bunch of dirty fucking hippies stinking of patchouli traveling the country in our VW bus.

Take the leader of the free world for example. George W. Bush can’t speak literately, can’t spell, has a great sense of humor, never grew up and yet has a serious, well paying job and still sees the world through the eyes of a child….a dyslexic child but still.

What it all boils down to is if nothing ever changes….nothing ever changes.

The world isn’t going to change the rotation of its axis for you babe Your life, your choice.

POST SCRIPT: And let's remember that not everyone tried to force you to grow up. Some people supported your decision to quit a good paying job and instead go back to doing what you loved. Not that it mattered....

Mood:  mischievious

When I see the searches that lead folks to my random site, there are times when I feel like they must have been greatly disappointed. Why? Because most searches pull a singlet here and there from Meg-O-Rama and match up their search even though it’s nowhere close!

All of those poor pervs out there looking for bizarre sexy stuff and getting freakishly funny humor instead. They were robbed!!!! Talk about your disillusionment with the Internet! Damn Al Gore for inventing it!!! You’re sitting there, nekkid, in your grandma’s basement hoping for a hit on a ‘tub girl’ site and instead you end up with a random chuckle about a monkey on the verge of committing murder because of an overdose of marshmallows! Talk about your let down!!!

So here are some of the random searches that led folks to Meg-O-Rama:

• Bondage vids and Mr. Hyde
• Matthew McConaughey hair restoration
• Quacker Factory
• Midgets (my favs)
• nipple clamps
• Supposibley (3 searches)—almost as many searches overall as Butterfly Mall
• Jason Clapper, my dad (huh?)
• Cum target
• Freaky Nipples (not mine)
• Strength of bear, speed of Puma, Napoleon Dynamite
• Banana scented car air freshener
• You are my sunshine
• Meandering coastline of the Americas
• Muppets muppet music
• Rosebutt picture
• Men getting French pedicure
• Tub girl
• Walk Away! Just walk away! Mad Max
• P. Diddy 

I hope that in spite of the misdirection Meg-O-Rama hopefully at least brought a smile to your lips if not the hoped for tug of the groin!

Mood:  down

So follow up on the bizarre hereditary whitish-bluish-yellowish in 2 hours I'm blind disease mom claimed….

I told pop to get a second opinion—ASAP!!! So mom went to another eye doctor who she made fun of—he was a New Yorker—wearing black silk pants, matching shirt, gold chains…basically bling abounding.

He told her he would be remiss if he didn’t look behind her eye with her vision problems. He did and it’s a tumor. The CAT scan confirmed that Den-Den has a brain tumor that is pressing on her optical nerve hence the vision issues.

She was hoping for radiation treatment—6 weeks of 5 days a week—as her 50^th high school reunion is coming up and she wants to look good. No such luck. The tumor is buried in the 3 outer layers of her brain and behind the occular cavity. She is now looking at brain surgery complete with we keep you awake to check if you know who the President is, what year it is and what the square root of 9600 is. It’s going to be quite invasive as they will not only have to shave her head, but remove one of the skull plates and dig in. We're hoping it's found to be a benign meningioma....hoping. 

She’s looking at a week in the hospital and 4-6 weeks of recovery. Wow. I will be spending quite a lot of time in the little hovel I call Tucson trying to spell pop and give him a break as well as being there for Den-Den.

I am rarely serious but I guess this is a rather unwelcome case of serious….

Mood:  incredulous

Sometimes I am beyond shocked at the crazy shit I see every day on my commute to and from work. Seriously what the Holy Fricking Hell are people thinking as they drive?!! Apparently by the number of second nuckle snot excavators that no one can see them!!

It never ceases to amaze me the traveling freak show I see every day—and when I say freakshow, not in the good way like your basic pin-head, midget, fat lady-filled carney sideshow.

Let me give you a brief overview of the insanity….

*Thursday-on my way to work, look over to see a Mexican gal with a brand new Tahoe full of children. At least 5 are under the age of 8 and one is in the front seat. None of them with seat belts or car seats. And what is ‘mom’ doing? She is curling her eyelashes as she drives…with a soup spoon!!!! Seriously! She is pushing her lashes against the spoon as she checks her efforts in the rear view mirror all the while unconcerned as she is swerving into other lanes of traffic.

*Saturday morning-on my way to Sunflower Market. I look over at an Escalade that has smoke POURING out of it a la Cheech & Chong or Spicolli’s van from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. For reals! I pull up next to it and there are two gangster looking black guys sharing a massive spleef which they proceeded to finish off and throw the roach out the window.

*Monday-on my way home from work. A gal driving an Intrepid pulls up to me at a light and I look over and she’s BREAST FEEDING!!!!! BREAST FEEDING as she drives!!! Nothing says love like having your unrestrained infant breastfeeding between you and the airbag filled steering wheel as you zip along at 45 miles per hour in rush hour traffic!!!

*Today on my way home from work I glance over and see a gal who is smoking with her right hand and with her left hand, madly texting someone on her phone. I guess she was steering with her knees or that inconvenient third arm that pops up when you’re cuddling with someone!

Am I out of line to think this is insane? With this kind of craziness what next? Leggings for men? And I’m not talking Baryshnikov!

Mood:  d'oh

So the other night my mom calls.

“Oh Meg, I have something I have to tell you (sob).”

Me, kind of stressing, “Mom, what is it?”

“Well, you can’t tell your father but…”

OK. Right there—issueville! AKA READ: “I am full of shit so don’t tell your dad.” 

“What is it mom?”

“Well, you know I went to the doctor today about the problems I’ve been having with my eyes.”

Well, no I didn’t but okay.

“Well, according to the doctor, I have a hereditary eye disease. I don’t remember what it’s called but if I see a whitish, bluish, yellowish line I will go blind if I don’t get to the doctor within 2 hours.”

WHAT?!!!!

So I say “Holy crap mom, it’s hereditary?”

Sniff, sniff, “Yes.”

“Well who else in the family has had it?”

“Well, I looked back on grandma’s genealogy chart and apparently my great, great somebody or other, I can’t remember exactly, was in a civil war battle and saw the whitish, bluish, yellowish line and was blind within 2 hours!”

Uh, huh. And pop, the trapped care taker, basically isn’t to know about our ‘I could go blind in 2 hours’ conversation? Yeah.

Welcome to my world....

Mood:  not sure

Only six of the many weirdly cool things about me. So get sniggering, folks. Gleds tagged me with this one….

1. I AM DEATHLY AFRAID OF GRASSHOPPERS. I am terrified of the little fuckers I tell you! Ever since one got tangled in my hair when I was a kid—shudder!!! Pop had to cut it out of my hair!!!! I will walk way out of the way to avoid the beady-eyed little bastards!

2. MY THUMBS ARE DOUBLE-JOINTED. Not really useful for anything and far more impressive as a party trick than stuffing my entire fist into my mouth….depending on the audience.

3. I WEEP LIKE A LITTLE BITCH WHENEVER I HEAR ‘YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE’ AND ‘PUFF THE MAGIC DRAGON’. And yes, I know the one is a metaphor for drugs…. now. What can I say? I’m a softie for animals, I cry for the dragon outside of the drug context. I used to sing ‘You are my Sunshine’ with my grandfather after Alzheimers took the light of life out of his eyes.

4. I CAN’T FOLLOW SPORTS ON THE RADIO. I am a visual person. I just can’t seem to follow an active sports event on the radio. I can’t visualize the play. I absolutely love hockey, but I can’t follow it on the radio. It annoys me so I don’t like to listen to it.

5. I'M ADDICTED TO BOOKS. Seriously. I am a junkie for the written word. I can get a notice from the library that a book I want is in and I will get all shades of worked up—breathless and psyched. The anticipation before I go pick it up is almost more than I can stand. I jones for new material.

6. I AM A MASTER OF THE ART OF THE SHADOW PUPPET. I am crazy good with the shadow puppets. From the “angry ant” to the “happy bunny”, just give me a flashlight and a dark room and watch me go wild.  

Mood:  silly

Ok, these questions are weird and in real life none of this would probably ever happen no matter how hard I wish, so I’m just doing it ‘cuz it’s fun...here are my answers—feel free to post yours too!

You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?
Osama bin Laden or Kim Jong Il—those fuckers just needs to die!

You can flip a switch that will wipe any band or musical artist out of existence. Which one will it be?
The Beatles. Just kidding, that would be sacrilege. I would have to say Nickleback. Those guys are a total waste of breath. Nice Dr. Suess lyrical styling--NOT!!

Now that you've slept with two different people in a row, you seem to be having an excellent day because you just came across a hundred dollar bill on the sidewalk. Holy Moley, a hundred bucks! How are you gonna’ spend it? On more condoms—‘cuz with all the action I’ve been getting in my recent slutfest, I’ve probably used all the ones I had. And, as I have been well screwed by 2 hot guys and found $100, I’m definitely buying Powerball tickets ‘cuz I am feeling beyond lucky!!!!!
 
You just got a free first class plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go? To Hell in a hand basket! Oops, already done that! Ahhhh…New Zealand—it’s summer there and I can kick it on the beach after touring the wineries!
 
Upon arrival to the aforementioned location, you get off the plane and discover another hundred-dollar bill. Now that you are in the new location, where are you gonna go to spend that? Is it an American $100 or Kiwi? Makes a HUGE difference with the exchange and all…I’m going to tour their fantabulous vineyards and buy a few bottles to bring back to you poor slobs who aren’t having such a fuck all lucky week!
 
An angel (must look like me J ) appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. What do you choose? Crap, these questions are definitely getting harder!!! I’ll have to go with that classic choice--Grey Goose….or Padron….or….
 
Rufus appears out of nowhere with a time-traveling phone booth. You can go anytime in the PAST. What time are you traveling to and what are you going to do when you get there? I’m going back to August 1^st, 2001, and I’m stopping my friend John from committing suicide and having me find his body.
 
You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?
No clothing of course J
 
You have been given the opportunity to create the half-hour TV show of your own design. What is it called and what's the premise?  It’s called Meg-O-Rama and it’s based loosely upon the random events and happenings in my life and my quirky ‘could be stand up’ humor…or it could be about me having back-to-back glazed donut sex with 2 stars, finding a $100 bill, taking off for a last minute vacation to New Zealand, finding another $100 bill and winning a lifetime supply of the booze of my choice…

What is your favorite expletive? Both “Fucktard!” and “Mother of Ass” are all time favs.
 
One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren't really doing anything; they're just standing around your bed. What do you do?  How did this go from a total wet fantasy dream to ‘You’re having a sleepover and your friends start to disappear one-by-one accompanied by eerie music’?! I’d get the Hell out of the room but stop to grab a stray end of wrapping to see if they really do spin around in a circle when you unwind them like on Scooby Doo.
  
The Angel of Death has descended upon you. Fortunately, the Angel of Death is pretty cool and in a good mood, and it offers you a half-hour to do whatever you want before you bite it. Whatcha gonna do in that half-hour?I’m going to have to do Jensen Ackles 12 ways to Tuesday again even though the bastard never did call me!

You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What's it gonna be? Buns of Steel…barring that, mind reading/telepathy like Professor X although invisibility would be pretty cool too—endless possibilities there!

You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check this out... you can move to anywhere else in the world! I’m going to Canada! It’s exactly like the U.S. but different....Like America’s red headed bastard step child. Kind of like the Mexico of the North without all of the Mexicans….

You have been eternally banned from every single bar in the world except for ONE. Which one is it gonna be?Frasher’s Smokehouse & Lounge in Scottsdale, AZ, or World’s End Pub on Camden High Street, London.  

Hopefully you didn't mention this in the super-powers question.... If you did, then we'll just expand on that. Check it out... Suddenly, you have gained the ability to FLOAT!!! Whose house are you going to float to first, and be like "Dude look at me I can float!"Jensen Ackles to ask him why he didn’t call and then over to Heather’s so I could  freak her out by being all shades of spooky and such doing the back stroke outside her 2^nd floor bedroom window.
 
The constant absorption of magical moonbeams mixed with the radioactive vegetables you consumed earlier has given you the ability to resurrect the dead famous-person of your choice. So which late celebrity will you bring back to life? Princess Diana. She seemed like a Hell of a broad and it would be a total kick in the slats to watch the Queen crap tacks upon Diana’s most unwelcome return.
 
The Celestial Gates of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn't think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity (even cooler than the Angel of Death, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?My friend John

What's your theme song?

I am far too random to be pegged by a theme song but if I had to choose something to represent me? Mahna, Mahna by the Muppets ‘cuz it’s all about the fun and silliness!

Mood:  silly

What can I say about my choices in animals? Well, probably that they’re not really my choices. Pop has often told me that somewhere up in the cosmos is a neon sign that points to me and says “SUCKER!” Hence why animals are always showing up at my door or putting themselves in my path.

I can’t say no. I have placed tons of dogs and cats over the years and even a peach faced love bird (took me 3 days to trap that little bastard—I called him ‘Budgy Man’ as I had no idea what kind of bird he was—just knew little electric green & pink birds shouldn’t hang outside in the desert in July). Anyone I can’t place, I keep. My sister has this ‘disease’ too so apparently it’s a genetic thing….

My menagerie is actually ‘down’ to 2 dogs, 2 cats, 10 overgrown goldfish masquerading as low rent Koi and a 1,350 lb off the track Thoroughbred—all rescues.

One of my dogs is a total nutjob. He’s beyond retarded in the ‘window-licking-short bus-riding-it’s me Bobby’ kind of way. Seriously. The vet can’t tell if it was birth canal trauma or if it was neurological trauma from being hit by a car or beaten. Either way, little man has some issues. He can’t hold himself up as his legs give out under the weight of his own body. He flails. He leaps. He runs into cabinets on a regular basis. He throws his front legs up in front of him when he walks so that he appears to be gaited—like a horse. He spins like a gator to get away from you during play. He has no concept of personal space—mine or anything or anyone else’s. He barks for me to let him in the house in when I am outside looking at him from across the yard. He gets so excited when petted that he rolls off the couch and doesn’t try to catch himself. Basically, he’s a loveable sweet little idiot who provides countless hours of comic relief.

I wanted to name him ‘Porkchop’ as he’s fat, brown and would probably taste good grilled but my sister informed me that I couldn’t name my dog after a pork product so I figured ‘Scrapple’ was definitely out of the equation as well. I ended up going with a variation of ‘Porkchop’ and named him Chopper.

I am one of those annoying pet parents who make weird noises and insipid baby talk to my animals. I make weird noises and talk to myself anyway so it’s not much of a reach. I also have nicknames for my animals. Chopper has several.

• Choppaquiddick
• Choppity do dah, Choppity eh
• Choppaloppadingdong
• Craaaaaaazy dog
• Bounder
• Choppalicious
• Porkchoppy
• Chopmeister
• Popo Gigio
• Choppyding
• Chuppacabra (like the goats blood sucking alien creature in South America)
• Beebeebeebeebeebeebeebeebeeeee
• Punky Brewster
• And last, but not least- Chocolate Thunder (his pornstar name)

It’s probably all of these freaky baby names that confuse him and make him even more insane than he is already. Maybe that’s why he has random fears like ‘fear of the water bowl’ and the ever arbitrary ‘fear of the kitchen’.

The first one is constant and he will lean over as far as he can and stretch his tongue out as far as it reaches to lap the water and still escape the clutches of the dreaded puppy killing water bowl!

The kitchen fear is actually pretty funny. That one comes and goes much like my attention span. Sometimes he will bark incessantly and then race across the linoleum not realizing that the faster he goes, the more his legs slip out from under him as his claws can’t get traction at his frantic pace.  Other times, he will not cross the floor and will stand in doorway to the family room barking like a maniac until I carry him across to ‘safety’. I always wonder if he’s having an acid flashback and the walls are breathing or if he knows that the evil alien linoleum is waiting to swallow him whole and just belch back up his red fleece collar with its little heart shaped dog tag that says “I’m Chopper-I’m not very smart”.

Nothing says vicious attack dog like ding dong Chopper….admit it-you're scared to death just seeing his picture!!!!

Oh My God! I just figured it out, he’s a shaved mutant Ewok!

Mood:  mischievious

That Demi Moore has the IQ of a gnat but knows how to market herself to the brainless masses. That she looks so amazing because she had more than $400,000 of plastic surgery prior to Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle including a knee lift (can't have saggy old broad knees!) That one reason the movie didn't do better at the box office was that Demi's offscreen romance with Ashton eclipsed her onscreen comeback.

That Ashton Kutcher is not much brighter than his tv character but is getting such good head that he doesn't mind the plasticene feel of Demi's fake breasts.

And that as Brittney Murphy said "I suppose the crux of their relationship basically means to him that age doesn't matter and to her that size doesn't matter." Not at all bitter there is she....?!

Mood:  mischievious

Well, I hate to be an un-PC beotch....well, not really and yet....

But is it just me or does Dr. APJ Abdul Kalam, India’s President, look like the ultimate Mike Myers character?

Mood:  mischievious

Ever go into work or to a meeting where someone is wearing something so a) totally inappropriate for a business office and so b) closet whore that your mind goes places it never had before into the endless possibilities of just what is her inner freak exactly?

I walk into work and one of our customers, a borderline 50 yr old, is wearing her typical day gear. A rather severe and uninspired wool suit from what I swear must be the Barbara Walters collection—you know, subdued plaid jacket and straight black skirt that ends just a tad above the knees. And at her knees is where everything changes and I mean everything!

Below the tres serious and boring work skirt lay a pair of smoking hot black leather boots fit for a high class call girl! Grrrrrr baby! Seriously! Stunning whorish style there! To say 'Dominatrix spending the weekend in Nantucket' would be a classic understatement! Serious wow factor boots!

So, you know me, I have to say something. I SO can not let it go! It’s like seeing your mother in a leather garter and matching thong. It’s absolutely horrific and appalling and yet you just can’t look away because it is just a total waste!

So I say “Hey suh-weet boots hot mama! Way to work it! Ya! Ya!” She must have blushed 12 shades of pink right to the top of her overly shiny forehead. She kind of giggled and thanked me. I have to push it so I said “Seriously—nice! I don’t even want to know where those boots were last night!”

Ok, can I just tell you? I'm jokingly teasing her (the boots were way hot although beyond wasted on her and her outfit and SO totally wrong for the office) when I notice that she has this rather self satisfied 'don't you wish you knew' smirk on her face. It was funny and yet again, like seeing dear old mum, just all shades of icky.

I quickly moved away from her lest I catch something a little dirty and disturbing....like whatever old broad inner freak visions that were dancing like sugarplums in her botched brassy blonde highlighted head….

And you wonder why I try to avoid shaking hands with people.....Shudder!

Mood:  hug me

So I was channel surfing the other night and stopped on QVC to see them selling this: The Glory of Jesus tunic by Quacker Factory. Yes, quacker---like a duck. My first thought was it had to be a typo—Quaker not Quacker, but I was tres wrong!

The horror!

The only reason I stopped was the vision of the ginormous broad in the sparkly headband hocking the schlocky clothing line! OH DEAR GOD! It was like seeing Rip Torn in bad drag! As opposed to good drag which we likey…I mean who doesn’t? But just what is that in her head anyway? It looks like a LaToya Jackson headband on sparkly steroids! Or a Harry Potter hat that was ripped asunder or eaten away by her ginormous cranium! Shudder!

So just what everyone one needs--another stumpy matron clothing line! The Midwesterners must be moist in anticipation! All of those bratwurst sucking heinamackafrau (housekeepers see Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid) weeping with joy over a sweater embellished with appliqués, beaded stars, embroidery, and sequins that celebrates the birth of Jesus. <shudder!>

Besides, I think I would break out in hives and weeping sores if I put it on! I haven’t had something like that close to my skin since I was too young to argue against it! Appliques and Glitter! UGH!!! Just say NO!!!! The horror!

Mood:  surprised

Getting Ready AKA 'Cocaine Meets Heroin'

Hung Cowgirl

Beer me dead cowgirl! Beer me!

Mood:  not sure

Once again I present some of the searches that brought folks to Meg-O-Rama...the blog. These never fail to amuse and/or freak me out. 

So speaking of freak, do you notice the heavy propensity towards what I consider ‘freak’ searches? The more I see what random and kind of um 'interesting' shit folks are looking for over the anonymous world of the Internet, the more I am rethinking every person I know wondering what their freak is. This in mind, I am avoiding complete strangers all together. 

I don't know why I am surprised by some of these searches. The truth is I can't fault folks for them. We all have a little freak inside of us (and no, I’m not talking about pregnant broads). I have a friend who loves to show off her stainless steel nipple clamps. I have another friend who likes to have sex in public, a lot. And a friend who enjoys feet…to the point that most folks would consider abnormal obsession/fetish.

Knowing this I don't eschew their company. But, I must say I am a little more particular about drinking from their glasses. Kidding! If the vodka was top shelf say Grey Goose, chances are I'd swallow after a leper. But, in all honesty, it has given me pause now and then. I mean do I really want to shake your hand?

However, seeing some of these searches make me rethink my own freak and my freaky friends. Suddenly they just don't seem so out there anymore. I mean when compared to say a woman screwing a donkey in Mexico, they are relatively normal.

Mood:  accident prone

So I told you that I took a header off the top of a ladder. Yeah, I wasn't kidding. Accident-prone moi on a ladder. Accident prone but not real bright is more like it as I should know betterby now.

My big ‘ol yard umbrella had executed an attempt to go AWOL from the yard but only managed to make it to what it thought was the relative safety of the roof. My mission? To mount a rescue mission and bring that bad boy home!

Out comes by ‘big boy’ ladder (as opposed to my usual ladder AKA a small fold over step ladder) all 6 impressive feet of it. The better to reach the roof with and all that jazz. I roll my sleeves up (no clean muscle shirts available for the project), start climbing (although I use that word loosely as most folks would have interpreted my movements as a seizure or a series of small strokes with my innate total lack of nimbleness and grace) and then CUT!

Forward to a montage of semi-action shots of me hurtling alarmingly quickly to the ground. I did, in fact, execute a rather fabulous triple firkin if I do say so myself and BAM! SO did not stick the landing! I crashed to the ground in the classic swan dirt dive formation bouncing a few times before skidding to an ugly, ugly stop.

First things first—check status/damage review. I managed to slam into the only patch of rocks in my backyard. Many of which are now imbedded into my shredded elbow. Otherwise, I’m ok. My hips and lower back hurt, but nothing’s broken and I didn’t lose conscience. I also haven’t knocked out my teeth for an unprecedented 3^rd time.

I gingerly get up and trudge slowly into the house. I have the skills of a seasoned first responder when it comes to common and not so common household injuries. I have an immediate Meg-O-Rama response plan and full on urban triage kit. Yes, I am extremely accident prone.

• Strip off clothes. Bend over to pick them up and toss in hamper. WHOA! That’s not good! Moan loudly. Opt to leave them on the floor until the houseboy can get to them (hallucinating and yet, no concussion).
• Run scalding, peel your skin off in sheets like a leper, bath chock full of Epson salts
• Hobble back out to kitchen while tub running to gather other supplies
• Gather other supplies: frozen peas (ice packs), tweezers (nothing like excavating for gravel in flesh!); large bottle of water (hydration important whilst sweating like a straight man in a leather bar); 2 Stella Artois (hey, it’s a cheap and natural pain killer and I deserved one..or two!)
• Stumble back to tub.
• Insert self in tub. MOTHER TRUCKER!!!!! BAD! Moan again.
• Self-medicate/treat
• Try to get the blood off of the white cat who rubbed on the gravel infested elbow as I was sweeping it for imbedded bits.
• Dunk elbow in tub. OH HOLY MOTHER OF ASS! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Moan yet again.
• Alternate bloody hot tub ‘juice’ and frozen pea ice packs to treat rapidly swelling elbow.
• Soak in tub until water is cool
• Hey! I feel hella good better!
• Wander slowly, but happily, to bedroom
• Take (2) 600 MG anti-inflammatories (I do not suggest beer & anti-inflamatories on a regular basis)
• Pass out naked onto the bed
• Wake up freezing my fricking twippy off!!!

So it’s Saturday morning. I wake up. I’m naked. I’m cold. I hurt like FUCK ALL! The body that seemed better last night seized as I blissfully slept. WOW! I feel like ass! You could bounce a quarter, or for that matter a Russian Kopek coin, off my back it was so tight! Seriously.

I am a toughie. I am used to being injured and I can tough out most pain decently and I do. I tooled around with a freshly broken arm. I have hobbled around with sprained ankles for years. I have sliced the top of my thumb off cutting limes for tequila shots. Cutting limes. Do you have ANY earthly concept of how much that burned?

TO BE CONTINUED... (give me a break. It's late--I'm beat!)