Phone call shmone call

"Hello, thank you for calling Half Price Books Tacoma, how may I help you?"
"Yeah, do you guys do vaccinations there?"
"No... this is a bookstore."

Sometimes I cannot explain my job.






In other news I got an angry Batman for Christmas. He's SO ANGRY. I want to take pictures and make him say horrible things to Robin.

My latest sewing victory:

I made a horrible plush of The Warden from Superjail.

I used Shrinky Dinks for the glasses, even though Erik was certain I was making it up and there is no such thing as Shrinky Dinks. My mom knew what they were.

This shot better shows off his suit. I was very proud of being able to sew a coat with tails from the memory of what my choir teacher's looked like. Not like I was constantly admiring his backside, or anything.

And as for proof that he's supposed to look terrible, this is a shot from the show:

The Great Storm...

I'm as snowed in as one can be in Washington, last night I made shortbread cookies shaped like gingerbread men and snow flakes, and I've got a full pot of coffee. Blizzards aint so bad. I just wish Erik were here instead of attempting to deliver papers. I swear he'd have better luck on a snowbord.



Also last night I found the most amazing christmas story ever, courtasy of some girl named Lindsay:


Every whore down in New York liked christmas alot,
But Rorschach, who lived in a rundown apartment,
Did Not!

Rorshach Hated Christmas, the whole Christmas season!
Now, please don't ask why, no one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his fedora wasn't screwed on quite right.
It could be, perhaps, that his trench was too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
may have been that his heart was two sizes too small.
But whatever the reason,
his heart or his trench,
he stood there on Christmas Eve, emitting a stench,
staring down from his window with a sour blotted frown
at the coked out pimp with a drug deal going down.
For he knew every New Yorker in the city below
would shout up to him "Save us!"
and he'd whisper "no."

Halleluja.

So last night I got to go on stage as an allumni (for high shcool.) Choir was a super big deal in high school, and each year at the winter concerts they have two pieces during which they ask the attending allumni to come up and sing with the current choir. The last piece was The Halleluja Chorus which is actually a lot of fun to sing. And I vaugly remembered my part, but it was nice to see that the soprano I was standing next to had music to share. Until about three bars into the song and I realized this girl does not know how to read music, she is mouthing the words next to me, and that she keeps flipping the pages at whatever she thinks might be the right time to turn the page. Which means while I'm trying to read my part she's flipped the page over to the base line. GAAAAH!

So I was trying to figure out which would be more rude, to yoink the music from her, and show her that really a blind monkey could follow choral music, honestly the words are RIGHT THERE, or to just let her flounder as I sang Handel to the best of my memory?

Well as it turns out I remember more of Halleluja than I thought i did.

Stupid decisions

I should know better than to pick up sequals. When I worked in a library after school I found a wonderful book, and just recently I picked up a sequal written probably ten years later? I think. It's terrible. It's like the author completely forgot what made his character so interesting in the first place, and moulded her into that lump of whatever he thinks will most appeal to the average teenager of today.

This is almost as bad a betrayal as that time I finally decided to read the Jan Brett version of Puss In Boots instead of marvel at the pictures. I still can't really like that story.

Anyway, in completely unrelated news, my tree's been trimmed, presants bought, there's a nativity on the mantle (for posterity's sake), and I'm nearly finished making a scary plush doll of the warden from superjail. And tonight I think I'm even singing the Halleluja chorus! If I can make it safely across the bridge. Oh yeah, christmas, it's on. I'm gunnin for ya.

Turkey Attained, Thanks Has Been Given.

And there weren't even any fist fights over the table! I had two thanksgivings today, rushing over to gig harbor for my family, and then back at about four to help with the things at my house. I nearly fell asleep on the road. Damnable turkey. Regardless, I was able to chat with erik's grandma and only feel about 30% more awkward than usual, as opposed to the anticipated 185%. I think she even liked my pies.

In the spirit of the day, I'd like to say I am eternally thankful for my house not becoming a warzone of terror and shouting this evening. But even more than that, I'm thankful that the house is now empty, and clean, and I get to share the rest of the evening in quiet with my favorite person in the world.


Now on to the next task: oh shit. I don't even want to think about christmas.

As with most things I take any interest in, my recent innaguration into the world of comics has made me want to write one on my own. But something actually may come out of this... too early to tell if it's anything good, or if I'll even finish it.

I think what I'd really like to do is to create a magnificent opus of all the crazy ideas i've got swimming in my head. That way I'd touch on everything, get it all out in one go, and then get to become a hermit and never see or speak to anyone again. I think i could do it. Worked for Harper Lee. Unfortunately I doubt I could be quite as sussinct as Harper Lee. And I'm too concerned with other people's opinions of me to become an actual hermit. And how's a girl with no credentials and a portfolio that the criptkeeper would find a bit too eerie to get published with the Big Six all concerned over the next Twilight Saga? I'm clinging to the hope that somebody over at McSweenys will like me.

Why does the seemingly noble idea of writing a novel make me feel like such a whore?





In other news I found out that my favorite Flying Neutrinos song "Violent Love" is actually a cover of an Oingo Boingo song. Listen to both of these, and you will know how hard I tripped over this.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfofNUzzTrI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCcPzaaSvqQ

this is worse than that time I realized the song at the beginning of Wonder Years is actually a Beatles song

The Greatest Purchase of my life.

Thus far. I'm sure it will be surpassed when I finally buy a corvair monza. But this for thirty five bucks is pretty hard to top:





Isn't she just the prettiest thing? No idea on the vintage, but antiques roadshow is supposed to be in puallup in november...

Now I just have to learn to play it. Judging my hand eye coordination by my skill on Rockband, this could take a while.

Story Club: Sci Fi

Normally I don't write sci fi, but I happened to really like this one.



It was a curious condition being a cereal box with thought. The humans never considered the feelings of their lesser creations when they developed a self aware AI. The Captain certainly considered it. Aside from the nightly chat with Jared, the janitor bot, reflections on his own perilous faux humanity took up the whole of his time. Situated at the back of the shelf, behind his cardboard comrades, The Captain would furrow his holographic brow and twitch his moustache in a manner he thought most dignified, and think.

"How is it that I came about, knowing all the things I know, and feeling all the things I feel, only to one day be bought by some hyperactive eleven year old, my box opened, and my circuitry torn, all my thoughts and feelings cut short in an instant? Surely, being a creature of intelligence there is a higher cause for me. It cannot all go out like a light, my program being spent the second I've advertised enough to be worth my technology. The humans are convinced of their own immortality, certainly they've passed some of that on to me!"

Jared often told The Captain of his folly in believing that a program could ever be anything more than a program. Each night while mopping aisle eight The Captain would tell Jared of his latest theory, Jared would slowly shake his optical units and refute him. It wasn't hard. Their creators weren't a mystery: they could be seen each day milling about the supermarket. Occasionally the issue would be so pressing and their battles would become so heated that both parties would raise their synthetic voices and shout across the aisles:

"Our lives are meaningless! We have no higher purpose than the purpose we assume now!"

"This cannot be the end! How could we be able to think if there's nothing more! Even our argument is a testament to our endurance!"

But the argument never lasted long. Jared would finish with aisle eight and have to leave for seven, and he'd say goodbye to his friend, tucking his box in behind the others so that no sticky little child would find him.

This carried on for quite some time, but all cereals have expiration dates, and The Captain knew of his. His programing made him more desperate to be bought the nearer he got to the date, and he was forced to call out to anyone passing by his shelf.

"Why hello there! Did you know I am fortified with over fifteen necessary vitamins and minerals? And I stay crunchy in milk!"

It became quite humiliating, and he would account all of these affronts to his dignity to Jared each night, sometimes even shouting out over the shelves long after Jared moved on to aisle six and aisle five to tell him of all the indecency he's had to endure.

"And they wouldn't even look at me, Jared! After all I've been through! I'm no longer a young box, Jared, and I've served this shelf well, brightening the aisle from my post at back! You'd think I could at least get a smile! It's enough to make a cereal want to go to breakfast."

On the last night before his expiration date, The Captain called Jared over to his shelf. He wished to leave this world having served his purpose: he wished to be bought.

"I have nothing to give you, Jared, to remember me by. You are my finest, albeit only, friend, and our evening discussions have made this cold world a much warmer place. Please, if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like you to put me at the forefront of this shelf tonight, and tomorrow I'll go off to a better world, and don't you dare tell me I won't."

"Of course I won't. I've heard human houses are lovely."

The Captain narrowed his eyes, judging whether to begin an argument with his finest, albeit only, friend. "Not tonight, Jared. I just don't feel it tonight."

The next day, at two pm, The Captain's circuitry went out. His holographic face dimmed, and the brightly colored cereal box faded to a blank white. The box was swept unceremoniously into a rubbish bin by a janitor bot unknown to The Captain. That evening Jared restocked the shelf with a new shipment of Captain Crunch and activated their AI. The boxes came to life with a chorus of coughs and grunts and moustache twitching, and Jared picked out the one he felt had a more interesting grunt and set him at the back of the shelf.

"Hello, Captain. So what do you think of Nietzsche?"

"Absolute Rubbish!"

Great show, or greatest show?

Charlotte teaches cannibal veggies to sing. All this and More! at http://www.makingfiends.com

Go there. Watch all of them. It's hilarious!

History repeats itself

Regardless of whether we learn from it. So we're facing a crisis! My bank has folded in on itself, the corperate bailout has been overturned, and the whole economy has gone down the toilet. It's okay. I'm sure we'll find some old goldfish friends down there we've forgotten about.

It's curious, being young and poor, to witness a very important aspect of our society it itself and not really have any hand in the crisis. I feel like an alien who can just get back in the space ship and hang out on Mars until this blows over. But I can't. Hm. I can, however, delve into my history documentaries and string up little color coded threads indicating what has been and what is and what will be. Anyone up for another depression? I sure am! We don't have a choice! We're experiancing a major shift in wealth, and although our country will eventually get out of it, we won't ever be the same.

I'm curious to see how this will pan out. I feel like sitting out on the corner with a "The End is Nigh" sign to perpetuate the absurdity of the situation. Only in jest, though. The end isn't nigh. It's never the end. But the change is nigh. Should be fun.

Some woman nearly cried today as she was asking me how to fix her VHS player. The phrase "I have such beautiful tapes" came up several times and I had to go over adjusting the tracking to get rid of that funny line at least four times. Nothing stuck. Even after I told her for the fifth time that I'm not in the business of repairing tape players and she decided to peruse the clearence she yelled back at me "What if this doesn't work?" I responded that she should talk to a professional who would actually be able to fix it for her. "But I don't have the MONEY FOR THAAAAAAAAT" whaaaaaaaaaambulance.

Honestly, I felt bad for her. I really did! She's old, she obviously can't handle the advent of new technology and is grasping at straws. I'm not even sure how she made the leap to VHS back in the eighties to begin with. I'm sure it was very hard. But I am not the answer to all her problems in VHS. Nor is the bookstore. Because we're a fucking Bookstore.

Is it just me, or do we have a giant neon sign only visible to the craziest of the nutsos pointing through our door? I'll bet it says "Hey, make friends with the nerds here! They'd love to hear how the president is really a cockroach in a person suit and you got a new high score in donkey kong."

the sign lies.

So...

I'm starting to get the idea that everyone ahead of me in life has only got there through absolute idiocy and the only thing holding me back is my refusal to give up my brain, and my inability to be openly mean to others.

Everyone being our lovely district manager, by the way.

It's just disheartening when two years with a company gets you jack shit of respect, oh and any attempt to help out by opening your mouth only warrents a "Who the fuck asked you to talk" look.

In other news, I have a funeral to attend on Saturday, for friend's parent. I've been avoiding this friend for a while, after she sort of tried to screw over her family and any friends she hadn't completely pushed away before that point, and I'm not even sure if she'll be at the funeral. If she is, I expect to be hit. I don't really want to be hit, but I suppose I owe her at least one for avoiding her.

Hm. I thought I was in a good mood, but this seems to be a pretty depressing post. I should solve that...

AHA!

The day the music died.

"Yeah... I just didn't like it as much as her other stuff. I guess I should have looked at the date. She got way better with age."
-One of our customers, on returning No Doubt's Tragic Kingdom.





And, as promised: The sorts of people who make me proud to belong to this species.

-The people behind the National Geographic channel, The History Channel, and PBS.

-The people who restore Corvairs. (seriously the nicest car people in the world)

-Volunteer history museum curators (even nicer than corvair people.)

-BOB ROSS. Dead, and still the best man on television.

-Nerds.

-Taxidermists. (whom I consider an equivilant to vegitarians, only about a billion times cooler)

-People who make obscure literary and or Arrested Development jokes.

The sorts of people who piss me off.

A semi comprehensive list.

>People who use the word crazy as a substitute for "kooky" "wacky" or "silly" as in "Megan you're so craaaaazy! eheheheheheheheheheh." No I'm not. Crazy is trying to cut of your own finger because that's where the bad thoughts are hiding, or dropping out of school because you've run out of paths to take to class where people can't see you, or you stop eating because all the food is contaminated. Crazy is not "lol wacky."

>People who use "cute" phrases like "Spank you!"

>People who say Danka or Gratzi! for thank you when they speak neither language those words belong to. Because they think it's cute. Are we sensing a pattern?

>People who ask questions so they can make obnoxious dissaproving faces regardless of how valid your answer might be. Fucking buy counter.

>People who drive SUVs with rediculoud soundsystems so they can pound their shitty music into your skull from behind.

>Ricer douchebags who don't know how to put on a hat.

>Ricer douchebags who aren't exactly sure what an engine is, other than it gets in the way of their body kit.

>RICER DOUCHEBAGS

>The people who run oil companys who've bought the patents that would have allowed for fule economy in the 100 mpg range as far back as the seventies only to sit on them as their wallets get fatter off our exceedingly wasteful methods for powering cars.

>People who can't control their children. It's called a spanking. It works.



Soon to come: the sorts of people who overcompensate for this shit gallery.

Social butterfly

So last night Erik and I spent time with the two most silent people on the planet. Take all of my awkward social retardation, times it by a million, then split it between two people and that's about it. They're very nice, and actually quite enjoyable, but well... a party for them involves sitting on the couch and staring at the floor with other people in the room. That sounds mean, but I promise it's not.

Anyway, Erik usually compensates for this because he's the social superstar and can usually make friends and conversation with anyone, but he left me alone for two minutes to get his phone out of the car.

Two minutes.

For two whole minutes.

I realized I was going to have to fill that void for TWO WHOLE MINUTES

The fact that I was gearing up for it just shows how retarded my social skills are. But! I did it. I spread my social wings and made some dumb joke and we talked about video games for Two Whole Minutes. I was very proud of myself that when erik came back 120 seconds later we were still talking and nary a silent awkward moment descended on the table.

Just thought I'd share my rediculous victory.

I am twenty three today.

That's pretty much all, except that now I've only two years to go with a clean bill of mental health before I can scratch Schizophrenia off my list of worries. And now I can say twenty three instead of twenty two, which is awesome because I really don't like saying twentytwo. It's such a goofy number. Twentythree seems so much more respectable.

Epic Win.

So, after two years, I finally printed off another hard copy of my book. Aaaaand I discovered that once I included the three chapters accidentally omitted I have over 56000 words, placing me well over the general 40k minimum for first time YA authors. I'm so fucking stoked over this, because despite going on long in story club I'm a fairly succinct person.

However, because I write in a non ms word type program because I hate all the squiggles, I ran a spell check on these 56 thousand words and Holy Shit why didn't anyone tell me my spelling was so bad. It's SO BAD. So bad.





Thought for the night:

Don't you just hate walking around the house naked only to realize the windows were open? Fuuuck.

The Messiah of Teh Intarblag

I feel as though I am looking at the answer to all of mankind's problems, but the answer is so magnificent that if I were to comprehend even a tiny portion of it my mind would collapse in on itself.

You're breakin my balls, ford.

Dear Ford motor company,

Did you really just tout 27 mpg or better on all your automobiles as a major accomplishment? Really? Twenty seven? Ford, a 1970's volkwagen could get twenty seven if tuned properly. Are you really telling me that in 38 years of good ol' american enginuity and know how, we still can't do any better than that... and we're going to celebrate it through a commercial?

Fuck you, Ford Motor Company. And quit breakin' my balls.

Love and Kisses,
Megan







In other news, I need therapy. But only so I can write a therapy session without feeling like a great big fat Holden Caulfield PHONY.

realizations.

So apparently I can refit a fitted shirt with relative ease, dispite having never messed with anything more complex than a tee shirt before, but when it comes to finding my bra to try the shirt on, I am hopeless. Fuuuuuuuck.

Also, erik can refit a carburator to run on 40% water, so that means 40% less gas going into the car *ca-ching!* and 40% of my emmisions being oxygyn. Suck my dick, Prius!

You know... if I had one...




It does infuriate me that with all of the inovations in fuel all we've got now is some stupid slow ass battery driven car that gets just as much gas milage as a geo metro (srsly) and totally fuckers any enviroment that has to handle the battery. Especially when some dude can drive an old chevy truck across this state the long ways and never have to stop for gas, just by using the gas the way it ought to be used. And some hippie back in the seventies already got his volkswagen running on rain water.

if erik converts the type three squareback I'll have a HydroVagen. Sweeeet.

Funk yeah Socal

So of course awesome trip was awesome. Some of the finer points:

The Richard Nixon Presidential Library. Fuck yeah history! We saw a piece of the berlin wall, and I got my picture taken next to it, even though I really really shouldn't have. Damn flash. Even better: I got a picture of a sign that says "Please Do Not Touch the Berlin Wall." Heh heh. Yeeeah. I also learned that I am about as tall as Winston Churchill. He had a little bit on me for that bowler though. There was a lady watching us so I didn't hug it.

Fullerton Arboretum. Trees! Lotsa them. Well, for the area. The best was the desert part of the arboretum though. So many enormous cacti (gotta love them succulants) and there was a burrow of adorable little rabbits that populated the cactus garden, so they were running all over the place. SO FUKKEN CUTE.

Jewish District of Los Angeles. First we went to Amoeba, which was rad (i now have a flogging molly picture disk. Eeee!) then tried walking to this one famous Jewish deli because kah-wang-guh was supposed to be like two streets from Fairfax. I want to put all of the LA population into a directional training course. "Dear L.A. If the location is in nevada, it is not TWO BLOCKS AWAY." Forget that, though. Jenn found this awesome teeny tiny bookstore across from the deli that had pretty much everything McSweeny's put out, as well as a pretty durn near complete line of Fantagraphics press (Jenn got Buddy Does Seattle written in the mid ninties and is calling it research. I fully approve) and a collection of Chabon essays that I did not realize existed. Yes I paid full price. Proceeds go to 826 which is my favorite charity. Woot! And the three part dust jacket was drawn by a guy who actually lives above the bookshop I was in! Superneat. He wasn't in or I'd have pestered him to sign it and then we'd drive to berkley to stalk Mr. Chabon until he signed it and let me brush his hair. Heh heh... he's so dreamy.

That was wierd.

Frankensons. Massive collectable place where I found five seasons of daria plus two movies for forty bucks. Unfortunately there was no Pete and Pete season three there, but I did get their card and they deliver all of your favorite childhood shows that no one will ever care to reproduce, and even those you don't care to reproduce. Can we say Maxx Hedroom?! Yes we can!

And and and... well of course getting to spend the week with Jenn. Damn I love that girl. Saying good bye was so hard. And totally gay. Like... really gay. I'm gonna miss her. I think I'll have to start planning the Alaska trip so as not to get all depressed and such.

Clubs I wish really existed so that I may join them:

Future Corpses of America.
-- It'd be totally all inclusive! Everybody's a member! Cept those damn Canadians (who in the immortal words of Margarat Mahy "are really just Americans with no Disneyland")


The League of the Golden Key
-- The logo is rad, and I'd get to hang out with Brian K. Vaughn and Michael Chabon *he's so dreamy. Sure, being a hero to all who "toil in the chains of tyrrany" would be great, but I'd be all about hangin out at the clubhouse under the temple theater.


The Historical Preenactment Society
-- I want this to exist so bad I've actually considered starting one. I could write some preenactment scrpits! Maybe scrounge up some foam swords... Come on guys, who doesn't want to preenact the historical Primate Robot moon battles of 2318? We could even do an 80's version of the future and take over wright park Mad Max style. Bring your own deadly boomerangs!

Idjits

So Erik and i went for pizza today and had the misfortune of sitting next to a table of super stupid teenage girls (one looked like George from Dead Like Me so I hoped they'd be cool... they weren't).

They were loud but I can usually ignore that, but then Erik pointed out an absolutely gorgeous mid thirties champaign colored coup (full fenders, chrome, the goddamn WORKS) and one girl said behind us "What's he pointing at" like a little snot. Okay. Then another girl said "Oh that stupid looking old fashioned car."


GOD FUCKING DAMMIT I hate people.

Listen up kids, Just because you have yet to see it on fukken Gossip Girl does not immediately equate it to "dissmissable." In fact, near abouts every god damn time, the opposite is true.


Why!? Why hast the youth forsaken its potential!?




In other news I cut mah hair. I feel like Carol Brady.

Doppelgangers

Have you ever heard how in German lore you'll see your own doppelganger shortly before you die?

I have a doppelganger in Tacoma. She drives a moss green and tan VW beetle. 70's vintage, possibly a super, but I've never been close enough to tell. Other people have seen her, and she's even come into the bookstore, but I was on lunch at the time. Possibly I dodged a bullet. Erik's even delivered pizza to her house and once I followed her car a little ways, but I never saw her face.

I've been asked if I have a sister with a volkswagen a couple times.



I don't honestly believe that if I see her I'm going to bite it, but it is something fun to think about. It could be that I'm actually her doppelganger, and I'm just her death waiting around until the time I've got to harbing. Or maybe we doppel eachother and the second we see eachother face to face, we will blink out of existance.

I hope not though. Who would take care of her radmobile?


I wonder if maybe she is out there blogging about the doppel in the 89 subaru...









things I like:
witch hazel trees that turn bright shocking red in the fall

things I don't particularly enjoy quite so much:
waiting for vacation time.

Hells yes science.

Ugly Day

the sun is shining...

I really think I might secretly be reptillian and my doctors and parents have been lying to me all these years. Why else would I have to keep my hands under water every so often or confine myself to the one room with air conditioning so as not to perish of heat stroke? And it's only in the mid eighties!

Damn, broken sweat glands.


I don't know how I'll survive California next month. Ho man. Next month. I'm so freakin stoked. Fo real real.

Despite the last week being hellish, it's actually been a fucking awesome summer so far. Sasquatch festival at the gorge was super sweet, as was Taste of Tacoma yesterday, and I get to see my favorite girl in all the world in one short month. Damn I miss her.

Oh the absurdity of living in the future, but not the distant future. Meeting your best friend on the internet, and still having to sit through a three hour plane ride that costs a cool three hundred bucks to see her. Can't someone utilize the wormhole theory already?! Beam me down scotty, I wanna see the O.C. (don't call it that) without "punching the sky in the big banana."


Fuck yeah three random references in a single sentence. Win.







Things I like:
that the suggested labels for this post are "scooters, vacation, fall"

Things I'm not so keen on:
Actually I'm in a pretty good mood. Everything's peachy!

Today:

My brain has exploded up into the sides of my skull and the pieces are stringed out in a way I'm not familiar with.

that's a lie. I know the pattern, but I don't know if I like it.

I've been recently reading a lot on humanism and posthumanism, and the two theorys, although seemingly conflicting in their titles, actually make a lot of sense together. It all comes down to science (if you are willing to condense it so far to it's essentials that you ignore almost all) and it's application to bettering humanity. And hey, I'm all for it! Granted, posthumanism is way more for the science than humanists...

You know what? Fuck.

what I'm basically getting down to is the question: Can I be either with that teeny tiny fenagiling thought that hey there might still be a god? I was raised on it. And ignoring it just seems wrong.

My mind is out of sorts. And I'm in the drunks. Dammit.





Things I like:
Cold

Things I don't like:
Hot.

new things

I now have a blog. I suddenly feel less cool. This coming from the girl in the Historical Preenactment Society tee shirt. Ah well.

Mission statement for Blog:
to record thoughts, theorys, grevences, and occasionally dreams in order to better understand and therefor better myself and the world I live in. And it's on the internet because I'm a shameless attention hogging whore who ought to be locked up and rehabilitated before ever being set free to terrorize the world.

I escaped high school regardless.





Things I like:
The time of evening when the sky is still grayish blue, but all the trees look black.

Things I don't like:
Imbalenced brain chemicals