Mood:  happy

So here's some more pictures....

Here is close up detail of Church of the Rant. Some of you have asked if it's a religious piece. No, it's not. I would say rather it's more irreverent as it's made up of random bits of detritus AKA recycled culture like beer caps, bullet casings and a Crown Royal cap.

Here is 'Me, Myself & I' hanging on the wall at Casa de Megster...

And here is the new piece 'Words' I started on last night....

And closer up detail....

Mood:  cheeky

Several of you have asked for the latest Google searches that brought the unwashed mass of disappointed bastards to Meg-O-Rama so as not to find what they were sooooo hoping they would. My only comment? Not nearly as freaky as usual. In fact, I'm rather disappointed at the banality. Boo that! Step it up! Make me proud! Bring on your freak! *giggle*

So here are the latest....

Tattoo of Chester cheetah (Why?)
Dunk tank strip cold wet nipple (Can you win a goldfish after?)
George Padron excavating Yuma (that man makes a fine tequila!)
Megs big titti from Family Guy (demented)
Small dick (typical)
Movie quotes Brad frothy beverage (Brad?)
Pictures of midget penises (brought to you by...Meg-O-Rama)
Steering with her knees/breast (talented)
Tetanus shot pain story (Been there, done that, got the t-shirt)
Paltrow Great Expectations panty (Old lady knickers? EWWWWW!)
Penises (Nice!)
What is a Triskelian (a tattoo on my backside...somewhere)
Keanu message La Jolla (WTF?)

Notice lots of penis searches. Again, in light of that, I think my decision not to shake hands....for the best.

Mood:  chillin'

I was totally jamming on a new piece the other night when my neighbor knocked on the door. My hot neighbor. My hot cool neighbor. My hot cool….very married neighbor. It’s not quite as good as if Harry Dean Morgan moved in now that he’s single, but hey, my neighbor’s a super cool guy.

So I swung open to greet.

“Hey neighbor wazzup?”

And he said hey and then it all went down hill from there. He won’t meet my eyes. And when he managed to, he’d just stare at me like I was speaking monkeynese or something. Rather like when I observe Maury and realize that I still can’t speak trailer park in spite of repeated low brow watchings…

Then I realized it’s not that he won’t meet my eyes, it’s that he’s apparently having a hard time looking up from the girls. Yup. He’s just staring at the ta-tas. Come in Tokyo!

“Soooo….wassup”

He can barely drag his eyes up to mine. I raise a brow….just one. You know the look.

He starts stammering.

“Meg, I’m really sorry but I just can’t look away! It’s soooo distracting!”

Erm….what?!

He just stared pointedly at my chest.

Whiskey! Tango! Foxtrot! So I looked down only to realize that I had apparently leaned in just that bit too close to the current piece I’m working on and I had turquoise nipples. Nice iridescent turquoise nipples. Yeah. I was in an ancient white AC/DC wife beater and sporting wet paint splotted boobage. Nice.

Casa de Megster….Making the ghetto more colourful since 2006

Mood:  energetic

I'm sooooo jamming though art!!! LOVING IT!!! Doing a collection called 'Meg-O-Rama' (go figure right?!). The first piece is the one in the previous entry called 'Church of the Rant' now this one 'Me, Myself & I) and I started a 3rd canvas last night called "Part of the Solution or Part of the Problem'. WAHOO!!! WAHOO!!! Creative juices are pumping!!!!God I hope they don't stain the carpet....*giggle*

Mood:  surprised

Why is it that some folks always seem to think everything is about them? They can know me and read something contained herein and assume it's about them even though it's not. The names are changed for many reasons many of which are from a long time ago and I no longer remember exactly but I digres....

So just in case you think something is about you a la Carly Simon, here's your disclaimer:

Content on Meg-O-Rama....the blog, contains truth, fact, fiction and out and out lies. Depictions of public figures are for satirical and humor value only and are not intended to slander or insult. The aim is to amuse and poke fun, not publish libel. All other figures, unless specifically noted as real, are fictional characters or composites of several people or fictional composites of several people. Any likeness or similarity that they may have to persons living or dead is just simply a hinky coincidence. Really.

Additionally, some things are massaged and manipulated like a container of Silly Putty and are used for satirical effect. Any similarity of fictional quotations to actual statements is accidental and coincidental but does the job.

We now return to our regular programming...

Mood:  cheeky

These are the things that are currently making my heart go *giggity, giggity*....

Crush: Hell Boy
Read: A Star Called Henry
Concert Experience: Death Cab For Cutie
Awesome Old Movie Re-Watch: Tank Girl
New Art: Church of the Rant (below)

Mood:  happy

One of the things I rather enjoy about Casa de Megster is the seasonal urban wildlife.

I love seeing what comes through town on winter and summer migrations. The Great Horned Owls arrive in the fall and depart in late March. The Starlings take over the Mulberry tree from January to late June. Rainy season brings boatloads of geckos. And every Spring, 'Bumble' arrives.

Yes, as in a bee.

He's huge and cool looking but runs into things. It's kind of like watching a blimp flown by drunken midgets. All over the place!

So I nicknamed him 'Bumble' very original, I know. But it turns out 'Bumble' is not a Bumble bee. He's a Carpenter bee.

I now call him 'Jaysus'....

Mood:  mischievious

So mom tracks me down at work. Whenever she calls the office, it’s just never good. I know it’s going to be 12 shades of drama….at least! And have I mentioned how much I despise drama? Exactly. I am not down with the drama! Especially right now….just say noooooooooooo!

“Hi sweetie. I won’t keep you long because I know how busy you are so I promise I’ll just keep you a minute. I just wanted to let you know that I’m out of the hospital and I’m okay.”

Wait. What?

“Mom, I didn’t know you were in the hospital.”

“Well, I didn’t want to worry you dear.”

Hmmmmm….sure you didn’t that’s why you’re calling me now.

I know I sound horrid, but you have no idea! Even Peter never cried wolf this often! Rule of thumb? All stories will be greatly embellished, not based on fact or outright and rather outlandish lies. It makes for better drama don’t you know. You always have to take it worth a grain of salt, do a couple of ‘poor babies’, cluck and sympathize….all while trying not to chuckle. Humor is the only way to deal as I refuse to be dragged into drama whether real or fig newton….

So long dramatic story short? She’s anemic so Pops got her some iron chew toys and apparently, all is well. Hurrah!

Mood:  not sure

Why is it when the last thing you can even imagine is flirting with anyone it seems that everyone is all flirty-flirty with you? It rains, it pours and all I want to do is go stomp in my puddles in peace….alone.

Don’t get me wrong, some of them are intriguing. Oh so intriguing. But I just don’t have the energy, desire or heart to deal right now. I got nothing. Zilcho (which is a brazillion times more than zilch).

I mean seriously. I’m still sweeping up the pieces here. Just found a piece I missed under the dining room table the other day. Hope the dogs haven’t made off with random bits as that’s always problematic….and rather gross.

Going to put all the pieces I manage to find into a jar and stick it on the top shelf and forget about it for a while. At some point, I’ll take it down and put the pieces back together again with some Bond-o and epoxy.

It’s going to be a long while before I offer up the imperfect reconstruction…..

Copyright ©2005-2008 kisore

Mood:  lucky

Well it's a good thing I was feeling rather puny and skipped out on a 3-day weekend at the lakehouse.

Apparently the cold snap Arizona suffered last week which took Phoenix to an oh so balmy 65 degrees dropped 6-8" of snow in Pinetop/Lakeside.

Nothing like snow....in Arizona....in late May!

Mood:  d'oh

I've been feeling like total snarg lately. Finally started feeling better Monday and went out for a little bit of fresh air.

I think I might have overdone it just a tad, as this morning I was feeling rather puny again. Took a lukewarm shower and still had to hang out under the fan to cool down. Definitely still running a wee bit of a fever but made it to work to pound through some stuff. Yeah me! Just had to crank the air in the car to the ‘ludiculously cold' level in order to get there without dying en route. Set my office to 70 degrees, turned on my fan and dug in-MELTING! Managed to make it through to almost 2pm but lunch did me in.

Lunch being fresh clam chowder from The Fish Market. It's sooooo good! Yummy! But I know. No, really I know. What a total maroon I am! What kind of fucktard sucks down clam chowder when a) feverish; b) chock full of grape Gatorade; and c) it's your first meal of the day Well, that would be me.

Funny that it wasn't the chills or the low grade fever that did me in. It was the chowder. She was done in by chowder...dun, dun, duhhhhhh (dramatic music) Only me.

I seriously got the ‘urps', burps and rumble gut.

Never good signs as I'm just not a good vomiter. I know that some people make an art of it but seriously, I wig out. I always think that I'll choke to death while vomiting....ending up like a so-less-famous-non-drunken-white-female-Hendrix or something. Shudder. I always panic when I throw up so I really try to avoid it at all costs hence why I don't listen to Nickleback.

It's rather hilarious as I am great in most crisis. I don't panic. Solid as a rock. In the four years I lived in helLA I went through all kinds of wacky crap.

-I was downtown when the LA riots broke out
-I missed the Sepulveda Dam Basin flood by a few feet (Hurrah for gut instinct that)
-I was held up at gun point
-I was in the 2nd hardest hit neighborhood outside of the epicenter of the Northridge quake
-I was attacked by a dog and got a wad of stitches in my ass-it's not like the cartoons where the dog is hanging off you; teeth kind of go through flesh like....butter.

I was in a car accident while dropping a co worker off and he was completely freaked out by how calm I was. He thought I was in shock-hilarious! He couldn't believe how matter of fact I was, but it was an accident. It happens you know? All the time recently or so it seems but as usual, I digress.

So anywho, let's just say if your intestines fall out, I'm your gal. Alien pops out of your chest? I'll get the shotgun and the gauze. You crap your pants in the home? I'm there buying you bigger Depends. You vomit-you are SO on your own no matter how much I love you! Sorry!

Otherwise, we're both vomiting and where's the fun in that really?

I can't deal with my vomit....or yours....or anyone else's. Much like the ‘Vomelet' skit in Jackass, nasty that, I vomit when others do.

So I almost made it all the way home today. Almost being the optimal word in that sentence.

I got about 15 minutes from home when I lost my battle against the Technicolor yawn. I managed to pull into a Cricket store and yorked my guts out in their shrubbery. Sorry about the parking lot chum folks but better your hedges than my car say I.

I was so freaked out! Not only the actual choking portion of the program but the ‘I'm going to choke and die' paranoia and then add in public barfing close to home. Hell of a triple play!

Needless to say, I haven't been that freaked since a mouse dropped off of my sun visor falling past my eyes onto my mini skirted lap while I was driving and I almost rolled my Jeep. (Long story for another time)

I made it home and immediately rinsed and brushed and rinsed and brushed and....you get the idea.

Why is it that's it's never as good coming up as it was going down?

Mood:  don't ask

Sometimes for fun, 'Dolomite Deb' and I like to cruise the desperately seeking sick shit ads on Craigslist.

Once again, after reading some of these, it makes me reluctant to shake hands with strangers, Hell, even some of my friends. You just never know what secret proclivities someone is hiding.

In my flu weakened state, I could ony come up with the naked handyman who will come to your house to do handyman jobs but only if he's naked and you watch. If it gets my sliding glass door fixed, I might consider him.

This one is wrong on so very many levels I don't even know where to start. And don't blame me, blame Deb.

All I can say is EWWWWWWWWWWW! Imitation crab?!

Mood:  hug me

ARGH!

It never fails! Whenever I get overly stressed (usually when I fly but recently a daily event), I tend to get sick. Makes sense as my immune system takes a header and BOOM! Down I go hard like I’ve tripped over a squirming dog or a corner of the rug which is an all too regular occurrence.

So long and short of it, I should have seen this coming but no, of course not! I am feeling like warmed over arse times three.…hundred kabillion or so. Been on the couch or in bed all day. Feeling all shades of achy and alternating between chills and sweats. Pounding headache and an overall weakness like Hillary Clinton's campaign. Good times I tell you!

So I sent out mayday and distress signals and the Civil Flu Patrol responded, swooping in with Gatorade, Naked Green Machine juice, ice cream and beer. All equally important components to my recovery.

Worst part? It just had to happen over a 3-day holiday weekend! Had to! So much for sneaking off to the lake house this weekend for some s’mores and drunken shenanigans to blow off some stress..

Sigh! On the bright side, I’ll catch up on some much needed sleep….speaking of which I’ve been sitting up typing this and am alllll shades of space monkey now. Need to be horizontal and fast….back to the bat cave!

Mood:  on fire

Time to take a stand. Enough is enough. I’ve never been a stressy person. I’ve always been don’t sweat the small stuff and it’s all small stuff. Live and let live. Kum-fucking-by-ya, etc. I’m abnormally happy by nature. It’s all good. Do unto others. Golden fucking Rule. Do no harm. Blah, blah, blah.

Last fall I decided to quit smoking and make some other life changes. Work out more. Eat better. Travel more--I have a timeshare that I can use anywhere in the world and I haven’t had the time to use it in years. Spend more time with friends and family. Volunteer again. Create more art. Blog more. Lots of things.

Everything started out with a bang this year! All amazing! WOOHOO!!! Then major work stress, the unbelievable and heartbreaking betrayal by a close friend and co-worker, and then more and more and more piled on and on and on. I started not being able to sleep, getting nauseous, heart palpitations, constant migraines, sky high blood pressure, and all kinds of other fun shit.

So I’ve been fighting general anxiety disorder AKA massive stress for the last few months. I thought I was making strides forward and then BAM! Another major betrayal and heartbreak. Nothing like being kicked when you are already down. Especially when you apparently lack the coping skills to deal with it all as you have always been the happy go-lucky silly easygoing goofball.

So here I sit, wanting desperately to go buy a pack of smokes for the first time in more than 6 months and you know what? I’ve decided to take a lesson from my complete and utter freakout Friday at the local quickie mart.

I was on my way to the quickie mart for some beer (go figure) when I saw some fucktard in a Cavalier try to repeatedly run down a motorcyclist for no apparent reason. I watched him dog this guy on the BMW bike even tapping his tire at one point all while the biker tried desperately to get away in rather heavy traffic. The biker came close to wiping out and I just knew that the fucktard in the car was going to kill him if it didn’t stop.

The biker pulled into the quickie mart, so did the fucktard and me. The biker jumped off his bike and was standing there with his hands in the air when fucktard jumped out of his car with a collapsible baton. I had pulled in after them and I completely flipped out when I saw the fucktard advancing on the biker with the weapon. Who the fuck carries a collapsible baton in his car? Exactly! So I slammed my car into park and jumped out screaming “Do we have a fucking problem here?” Both guys were so startled that they turned to look at me. I started marching up, pepper spray in hand literally screaming at the top of my lungs “I have no fucking problem pepper spraying you and then running your fucking ass over so I suggest that you get your fucking ass back into your fucking car and get the fuck out of here. Now.” Both of them just stood there staring at me for a minute then fucktard apparently thought better of going up against years of my non-violent and non-aggressive tendencies and left. I asked biker guy (50 something executive looking guy) if he was okay. He said he was scared shiteless the guy was going to kill him and thanked me for what I did. I said “Be safe out there” and proceeded in to buy beer, really not giving it another thought. Don't ask me why I didn't just call 9-1-1 or why I went all shades of Dirty Harry. I really don't know.

Let’s just say everyone who heard that story, including my doctor, has stared at me in disbelief that I, Megan, actually did that. To say it’s completely out of character for me is a massive understatement. I can’t remember the last time I even raised my voice to another person. My ex-husband was a screamer and my attitude is there is no reason to raise your voice to me in order to get your point across.

So the lesson I’m taking from my extremely bizarre outburst is to just say fuck all you fucking fucks! I’m done. Enough is enough.

Hopefully this will be my last ranty bit for a while and I'll get back to the inane random silliness you all enjoy for some bizarre reason.

Mood:  cool

This needs some back story to really set the mood: My sig-o, AKA girlfriend Neeqs, has always dreamed of the golden utopia that is, to her, Canada. Socialized medicine, a government that REALLY cares, not to mention legal gay marriage.

Over the years, she has built up this idea that Canada is the perfect place to live kind of like the Land of Oz. Seriously. She has a shelf filled with books on the many and varied wonders of Canada; as well as an arm band tattoo of poorly drawn rather anemic maple leaves that kind of resemble bird tracks. I love her to death, don’t get me wrong, but somewhere one must find reality in his/her idea of utopia. I once found mine for 3 hours on a broken down San Francisco Muni train while in an underground tunnel….uh, nevermind.

So Neeqs also is a very politically correct uber liberal D. She drives a Prius, votes a straight (pun intended) gay Democratic ticket, does yoga, refuses to shop at Walmart or JC Penny and also is a vegetarian. Again, we are quite different, as I loved my Dodge half ton truck more than my sister (sorry Meg), I shop wherever paper towels are cheapest and I love meat. In spite of our differences, we have found a life together that works very well.

She had been in grad school for about a year and a half and graduation was upon us. She was getting her advanced degree in some sort of super secret digerati-hi-tech-info-security-dealybob from some university back East. Basically, she knows how to keep wireless networks secure and is a triple black belt Yoda jedi master of email and other assorted technologies. I, on the other hand, know how to lock myself out of the house and can write a fairly legible letter.

She decided to combine her trip for graduation with a trip to the Heaven on Earth that is Toronto to meet an online chat buddy. I just smiled and said, “Wow, sounds like fun! No, you go ahead; I’ll just meet you for graduation”. Mind you, said chat buddy is an aspiring female boxer, who hangs around with other boxers who are apparently big time sadomasochists and like to beat on each other both in, and out, of the ring. But, much like my sister, I digress….

So, off she heads to glorious Toronto and all goes according to her blissful master plan! There is a Starbucks close to her downtown Marriott, just off of the gay district! Everything is soooo clean and wonderful! Utopia! Yeah, right!

Neeqs' last night was spent at a house party where one of the guests decided that she wanted to be spanked. And it’s one of the boxers. Oh, and she wants to be spanked….sans pants….in mixed company READ: gay and straight girls. Having experienced the sublime and decadent offerings of San Francisco in my oh so very unholy younger years, I know that one does not usually indulge in nude spanking at a rather low key house party. In a sex club, yes. Not at a house party.

I found this out from a call….

“Hey”

“Hey, yourself. So, how’s the party going?”

“Well, Nadia is being spanked in one room while the other boxers all stand around watching and cheering. The straight and the African American gay women are all horrified and are camped out in the other room.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m hiding in the kitchen and trying not to listen. I’m tired, I don’t know how to get to my hotel and I have a 40 minute connection in O’Hare tomorrow.”

I was trying soooo hard not to laugh. Mind you, she booked her own tickets and gave herself just 40 minutes to make an international connection….at Chicago’s O’Hare airport. Yeah, exactly.

I decided not to be bossy just and instead, just lovingly reminded her to get to the airport early and let them know of her connection. Not wanting to be a nagging harpy, I left out the usual airline brat voice of experience reminder to take a change of clothes, the toiletries from the hotel and something to sleep in, just in case, part. I should have been a nag.

After several more hours of the ‘spanking the boxer’ show, she finally gets back to her hotel at 3 am.

NOTE: Amazingly, after that trip, Canada is now no longer the liberal and oh so PC Disneyland of the North AKA the magic land of rainbow skies, endless happiness, rivers of chocolate, equal rights for all and flying pink ponies. Apparently, it has funny smells, the people are indifferent, it’s too humid, the winters are too cold and Toronto is just too big….” (Whew! I dodged a bullet and having to learn the words to O Canada with that one!)

And so we proceed to graduation. Cue dramatic music….

I got my morning call and other than being really tired, all was well. She’d checked in and let Air Canada know about the connection issues. They assured her that her bags would make it and she has decided that all she needs to take with her is her laptop bag and her wallet. Smart choices, eh?

Let’s just skip ahead 6 hours or so to ‘the call’.…

“My bags didn’t make it.”

“They didn’t?” (Wonder why?)

 “I ran through O’Hare and made my flight, but they couldn’t get my bags to it. They aren’t sure where they are and the next flight isn’t until late tonight. What am I going to do?”

“Where are you?”

“Driving to the school to check in and have dinner with my group. It starts at 6pm, so I have an hour to get checked in and be there. At least its not dressy dinner. And it's pouring rain. And I don’t know where I am going. “

 “Well, drive carefully and I love you…”

Now, it’s a couple of hours later… Sounds of sniffling greet me when I answer the phone. Not Good.

“Hi”

“What happened?”

“I’m on my way to Walmart to buy things that I need.”

“WALMART?! Isn’t there something else? You hate Walmart! You refuse to shop there and berate me when I go there to get paper towels.”

“It’s the only place within an hour’s drive and I have to have something to wear tomorrow.”

“So, how did it go with dinner and checking in?”

“I couldn’t check in as somebody already checked in under my name. And they gave away my dorm room, so I am in some strange dorm. And I don’t have any clothes, or a toothbrush, or anything to sleep in.”

“Wait, isn’t this whole thing about security? And they didn’t even check ID’s?” (I know, stop with the logic)

“Don’t even get me going. Shit, it’s 6:45 and Walmart closes at 7pm….I’ve got to go.”

Apparently, some nimrod decided to play a practical joke and carried it out all the way and even wore her name tag to dinner….and this at a university that does a lot of advanced security degrees for our government employees. Can you say lots of threat level red heading our way?

The Walmart trip was a success! Scratchy polyester undies, an American flag tshirt, lots of Suave products, and flip flops. All made by underpaid and oppressed Third World workers.

The only dorm room they had to put her in had no ventilation, no Internet and no a/c. Mind you, the nighttime temp was 85 with about 85% humidity. Kind of like trying to sleep in a rice maker.

Every hotel in town was booked for this graduation but fortunately, for both of us, her dripping tears worked on the staff at the Days Inn and they miraculously found her a room for the next few days.

Can I even tell you how glad I was that I opted to show up for the ceremony and skip the week before? I had insisted on a hotel from the get go, as like our mother, my idea of camping is Holiday Inn so we had reservations….for the ‘Executive Suite’ at said Days Inn…. I’m not sure where they came up with the name ‘Executive Suite’ as if anything, it was the ‘Executive Transvestite Suite' a la Eddie Izzard. Imagine a giant room leftover from the 80’s in various shades of lavender and gray with an enormous meeting table in the middle of the room….with a black hot tub right next to the meeting table. Seriously. Complete the image with a steam shower, also in the middle of the room, and various hideous Nagle pictures and you get the idea.

So let me tell you, the rest of the trip was great! No, seriously, it was!

And we may just end up buying an old farmhouse and turning it into a bed and breakfast some day. Somewhere near the University, so that we can provide emergency rooms and supplies to those graduates experiencing Canadian travel woes. Now, we just have to find somewhere to shop other than dreaded Walmart….

Mood:  surprised

Wow! Who’d have thought that a simple ranting post would garner such comments?!

I received several emails about my shitty day post. All of them regarding the part about my quasi relationship. One of which, I felt compelled to answer.

A ‘Diamond Dan’ sent me the following email:

“Did you ever think that maybe your relationships don’t work out because you’re not engaged emotionally? If you can just walk away that easily, you must be a pretty cold bitch.”

OUCH! No wait, double OUCH!

Well D.D., that’s nowhere near on point. I approach every relationship or the possibility of one like stepping off the cliff full bore. I look at it as yes, I can get hurt, but if I’m not willing to take that chance, then I won’t have something truly great. You have to give it your all to get it all. Capice? Much like poker, I am always all in. I’d rather take the gamble for the motherload than settle.

What I was trying to say and apparently failed to, was that if someone decides that he/she isn't that into you or vice versa, that you cut your losses and walk away. I can’t make you love me if you don't. I can’t make your heart feel something it won’t. Oh shit, you know it’s bad when I start to quote cheesy Bette Midler lyrics, but you know what I mean. When is it time to walk away then? After the restraining order?

My attitude is move on! Sure, I'm hurt but I’ll get past it even if I think I'll never get over it. That’s life. I will survive, hey, hey! I mean really, what else do you do? Become a pathetic whiney stalker? Please love me? It could just be my ego or the fact that I believe I deserve more, but also I’ve been on the receiving end of that far too often and have the restraining orders against exes to prove it. What is the point? If someone doesn’t want you, he/she doesn’t want you. You can't change that so stop wasting time and energy and just move the fuck on already! Or at least save the courts some paperwork!

I would have loved to have at least remained friends with this last one as I truly thought he was amazing, but he made it very clear that he didn't want that. That I had a distorted and unreal view of him based on what he, himself, had told me. Therefore, how could we even be friends? In his own words he said that I don’t know the real him….unfortunately, there's really nowhere to go from there. I apparently was crazy about a guy who never really existed.

So D.D., no, I am not some heartless bitch riding roughshod on people’s emotions. I'm hurt but I am someone who’s been the subject of unwelcome and unwanted stalker attention from folks I’ve dated and I’ve made the decision to never act that way myself no matter what the situation. Especially as the other thing I despise as much as liars are hypocrites so I can’t be one.

Anyone else wanting to weigh in on whether I am a "pretty cold bitch" or a realist, feel free to email me at: megorama_theblog@yahoo.com as I've always been told that I'm a very warm and loving person but maybe it's just those $5 bils I hand out to everyone....

Mood:  chillin'

After the relentless drama of last week, the original thought for the weekend was a much needed low key Couch Potato Theater AKA Beers of the World Weekend. Watch a bunch of indie and foreign films and get completely tanked on random foreign beers.

All that changed after I realized this weekend was the Arizona Tattoo & Piercing Show. How could I have forgotten? I love the Expo! Count me in! The people watching is extraordinary! Every year I have met the coolest people! It’s always entertaining as you just never know who you’ll see, who you’ll meet and the art is really amazing as are the piercings! Some of the stories behind them are even better and you know how I love to yak with random strangers!

So I call Cat and, of course, she’s down for it so off we go for the two day pass to a killer show.

Day one was mostly people watching, making new friends and checking out which shops and artists were there. People tend to stop Cat a lot with comments and questions as she has an insanely cool full back branding.

Day two, I decide that some physical pain will be a good thing. Nothing like indulging in some new ink and steel to make me forget about emotional pain for a while.

Cat and I both got some new piercings. Thanks to the gang at Divinity for the new metal! I’d post a picture of mine, but a) my sister so doesn’t need to see that and b) nobody rides for free! I’ll just leave it to your imagination as that could be even better than the real deal.

They also designed the new ink for me. Got the design I’ve been mulling over for the last two years or so. It’s a Celtic design of a triskelian made of fire surrounded by a woven circle pattern. It’s pretty damn sweet! There were other components I had recently considered, but as things changed in my life, I dumped those additional design ideas. After the goo is off, I’ll post pics for you as right now the flash is arcing hard off the goop and making it look rather like a daisy chain of drunken Sea Monkeys.

Overall, a much needed relaxing weekend of people watching, meeting new peeps, pain, steel, show tunes (I sing them during tat work), ink and of course, beers of the world! You didn’t actually think I’d passed on the beers of the world portion of the weekend did you? PUHLEEZE!

The indie and foreign film fest can wait until next weekend!

Mood:  sad

Ah Wednesday! What a day! What a shitty, shitty day!

My friend called to tell me his mom died. I loved her like my own mom, perhaps more so at times. He told me that she wanted me to know how much she loved me. We both cried like babies.

Then I got the fun task of having to call my own mom to tell her the sad news. She was already crying as apparently my dad's remaining brother had a severe heart attack and was refusing treatment--mainly a rather severe bypass surgery (all eight) so wow, my night got even better!

Then to add insult to injury, I found out that the guy I was quasi-dating and rather intrigued by wasn't at all who he claimed to be. Lovely. Can I get some lube here please as I'm taking a dry one for the team?!

Someone once said that men are rather like trains. If you miss one, another one will come along soon enough and I rather believe this is true as it always happens that way for me. Otherwise known as "You're not that into me/I'm not that into you/We're not that into each other" whichever fits the situation.

My attitude no matter what the situation is and who does or doesn't give a flying fuck all is "Whatever-Next!" Or perhaps it's just that my ego is that large or well developed. I'm a total rockstar and I deserve the same. So if it's not working for whoever, oh well, who cares. Next! Seriously. Let's all move on to bigger and better things. I'm not about wasting my time or energy on dead ends nor do I do that to others.

What I do care about and despise more than anything are liars. In my mind, only children or immature people lie. It's so childish and there's nothing more insulting to me than having another adult lie to my face. Especially men who lie about themselves because otherwise they don't think I will like them as they truly are.

You know the ones--they lie about addictions of one kind or another, they lie about their past, their lie about what they want in the future, they still revel in the 'glory' days of their past (NOTE: If you work an 8 hour day at a major corporation and rent an apartment, pay bills on a regular basis, etc. you're not a rebel anymore living outside the box--get over it already! The past is done, it's all been said), they basically present a fake person because they like you and they worry you wouldn't be interested in the 'real' them. It's sad that they are so insecure that they feel the need to lie about themselves and create some false persona some twisted more flattering image of their true self.

Liars are pathetic. In fact, the definition of pathetic should be: A guy who has to lie about himself in order to get a girl to like him. Sad and pathetic.

Makes it all sooo much easier as  the guy I thought I was crazy about never existed so really, who cares?

Next!

Mood:  don't ask

So as many of you know, recently I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and came perilously close to being hospitalized due to stress and high blood pressure. Well, last weekend after several days of totally uncalled for and completely unnecessary bullshit and stress, I was hospitalized. As when I stress, I tend to get stomach cramps, nausea and other fun things like diarrhea. Or as my gran always said, ‘Don’t get your bowels in an uproar.” Oops, too late!

Nothing like waking up vomiting uncontrollably in the middle of the night. Add on top of that the chocolate Gatling gun and wow! What fun! NOT! And nothing tells you who your real friends are like when you call them at 3:30am, blow them out of bed and ask them to take you to the hospital—preferably with a bucket…or two.

I was admitted and they gave me a shot of Torpidal to try to calm me down. My BP was up to 180 over 100. A number I’ve never hit before in my life and hope to never again. To make matters worse, I couldn’t stop the vomiting. Options? Well I was ‘lucky’ enough that they had to give me a suppository for the vomiting. Wow! I am a lucky, lucky girl!

So Nurse Ratchet, who already didn’t love me as it was as I tend to deal with stress with humor, asks me if I could be knocked up.

“Yeah, I don’t see me as being the vessel for the second coming of Christ.”

Apparently that was not the answer she was looking for. “Miss, you need to be serious. Could you be pregnant?”

“Trust me lady, my unholy womb is not harboring a stealth baby.”

Again, apparently, the wrong answer.

“I just need a simple yes or no answer Miss. Or are you unsure?”

“I’m as sure that I’m not preggers as I am that you’re a humorless bitch.” Okay, I didn't really say that, I just wanted to but knew better than to throw that out there (pun intended) when it would soon be her sausage like fingers inserting my suppository.

I actually asked her if she had her whole arm in as I felt rather like Chevy Chase in Fletch and wanted to sing Moon River as she fisted me along the shades of Caligula. At that point, I was beyond misery and could have cared less. I just wanted to die. Seriously. I can handle blood, guts and other assorted things. I can’t handle vomiting. Especially vomiting until it is dry heaves and spittle. Throw me in front of a public bus…please! Add in unwanted anal from Nurse Ratchet and voila—I’m done!

I was finally released but went to my second stress test last week and failed it. BP was 146 over 90. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood…I’d rather like to run away...and soon.

Mood:  incredulous

What is up with guys who seem to have to brag about their oral ‘prowess'? Don’t they have any idea how annoying it is to hear about how other chicks say they excel in the oral department? It’s rather like Phoenix Sheriff Joe Arpaio—it’s not sexy or believable when you feel you have to pat yourself on the back....repeatedly.

But it always makes me laugh especially when, and trust me it’s happened several times with different boyfriends, they go on and on about how they slept with a lesbian/bisexual/bi-curious, etc. chick and “she said I was amazing at oral.”

Yeah, babe. Keep telling yourself that. Hate to break it to you, but if I wanted to be licked by a chick, I’d be….well, I’d be my sister.

It’s no different than me saying that I dated a gay/bisexual/bi-curious guy and he told me I was amazing at oral-- just like a guy...right?

Hello! Here’s $5—buy yourself a clue!