Throw a dinner party - soup to nuts
Visit the Makers Mark Distillery (Kentucky)
Go camping
Ride the NYC Subway
Ride horses in Montana
See the Aurora Borealis (Northern Lights)
Buy Original Artwork of an artist I meet
Boat Cruise on Lake Michigan
Water taxi down the Chicago River
Have BBQ in Louisiana
Go to New Orleans, New York, Boston, Austin, Amsterdam, Valencia, Italy, Ireland, Vancouver..........
Ride in a Hot Air Balloon
Take a burlesque lesson
Perform burlesque lesson
Makeout in a pool
Skinny dip in a lake
Night Canoeing
Canoeing down the Chicago river
Prom re-do
Be painted on like canvas
Go back for Masters degree
A career position in the Nutrition field
Learn to play a Theremin
Paint my own original artwork
Make tamales
Ride in a convertible
Learn to drive a stick shift
Go to a shooting range and practice
Laser Tag
Make Freezer Jam
Volunteer to rock babies at the hospital
Attend the Symphony
Go to Ravinia
See Keith Carter's photos
Go to a Masquerade Ball
Learn Italian or Spanish
Adopt a dog
Seattle Space Needle
Tattoo
Underground Dining
xx - Take a tour on the other elevated trains of Chicago
xx - Belly Dancing Classes
xx - L.A.T.E. Ride (July)
xx - Night Swimming
xx - Ride the brown line from Rockwell to the loop to Kimball station (loop)
xx - Bike The Drive (Chicago)
xx - try 100% true Sushi (not fake veggie maki)
xx - Wake up to play in a night rainstorm
xx - Sing in public -- karaoke not included
xx - Watch the sunrise on Lake Michigan (Chicago)
xx - Ferris Wheel at Navy Pier
April 27, 2009
The List
April 23, 2009
Tinkle Tinkle Little Star
There are 33 quick steps from my desk to the ladies room at my office. I know. I counted.
What? I'm a thirsty girl. Thirsty girls have to pee. All day long.
Good Golly Damn Criminey, I must make more trips to the bathroom than the guy who smokes* goes outside.
I wonder what smoker guy thinks of my frequent dashes past his office (on step 25) and if he keeps count. First of all, if he is keeping count that's just creepy. He should stick to surfing his kid's friend's Facebook profiles (this too is creepy, it just doesn't involve me so creep on smoker man). Secondly, I hope he's timing me. I'm super fast.
I'm so fast that I once had a line of guys chip in and buy me a drink because of my super fast ability.
Ok, that sounds superbly dirty. But honestly, this is one of the innocent stories.
Here's what happened....It was Mardi Gras at the Venice Cafe in St. Louis a few years back. Myself and about 200 other close drinking buddies had been celebrating for about a half a day (seriously a good time was being had) and there were two bathroom locations: one down a flight of rickety stairs and another up a wide staircase to the second floor. The downstairs toilets were separate boy/girl rooms with a few stalls each. The one upstairs was a single unisex bathroom. As any of you half-day celebrators know, falling up stairs is a lot less painful than the opposite. I headed up.
When I got to the top there was a decent size line outside the ONE STALL UNISEX TOILET. So I took a spot behind some of my fellow half-day drunk friends and waited.
And waited. And then waited some more. Oh, and guess what? More waiting. The line was moving pretty damn slow. Then I realized that standing in front of me was a group girls. Giggly, drunk girls. With large purses.
About the same time this situation became apparent to me, it also dawned on the guys lined up behind me. When the door opened, the giggly drunk girls (with purses the size of overnight bags) slid right in...all together as if they were carpooling to work.
I kid you not, seven minutes went by. Seven painful, bladder-close-to-erupting minutes shared between me and my new friends in guy-club. Ok, actually they didn't really start off as friends, they were more like angry enemies looking at me with disgust. They thought I was another one of those giggly drunk purse carrying bitches who was going to take another painful seven minutes of their lives with my turn. Except I don't travel in a pack to the bathroom and I only bring a purse to places that my backpack is out of place.
I had to clear my name before I cleared my bladder. So I turned to the guys and said, "Do you see me carrying anything? I guarantee there's no makeup hiding in these pockets...no cell phone for texting while I'm supposed to be drying my hands....and no gossip drama I have to share. I'm here to do one thing and do it fast."
A few of them looked quite hopeful. One guy who might have been their club President did not and said, "How can we believe that you won't fuck around in there like the others?" Who by the by, still have NOT come out of the bathroom yet--I get why the girl/bathroom stereotype exists. The bet became that I could do the thing, wash and dry my hands and be out of the bathroom in under three minutes. They were doubtful and said they'd buy me a drink if I succeeded. I did.
I think I set a record that night, at least that's what it seemed like from the responses of guy-club members who consequently bought me a beer and a shot for my excellent, super fast ability.
*Yep, just one smoker in our office. We're a healthy bunch.
What? I'm a thirsty girl. Thirsty girls have to pee. All day long.
Good Golly Damn Criminey, I must make more trips to the bathroom than the guy who smokes* goes outside.
I wonder what smoker guy thinks of my frequent dashes past his office (on step 25) and if he keeps count. First of all, if he is keeping count that's just creepy. He should stick to surfing his kid's friend's Facebook profiles (this too is creepy, it just doesn't involve me so creep on smoker man). Secondly, I hope he's timing me. I'm super fast.
I'm so fast that I once had a line of guys chip in and buy me a drink because of my super fast ability.
Ok, that sounds superbly dirty. But honestly, this is one of the innocent stories.
Here's what happened....It was Mardi Gras at the Venice Cafe in St. Louis a few years back. Myself and about 200 other close drinking buddies had been celebrating for about a half a day (seriously a good time was being had) and there were two bathroom locations: one down a flight of rickety stairs and another up a wide staircase to the second floor. The downstairs toilets were separate boy/girl rooms with a few stalls each. The one upstairs was a single unisex bathroom. As any of you half-day celebrators know, falling up stairs is a lot less painful than the opposite. I headed up.
When I got to the top there was a decent size line outside the ONE STALL UNISEX TOILET. So I took a spot behind some of my fellow half-day drunk friends and waited.
And waited. And then waited some more. Oh, and guess what? More waiting. The line was moving pretty damn slow. Then I realized that standing in front of me was a group girls. Giggly, drunk girls. With large purses.
About the same time this situation became apparent to me, it also dawned on the guys lined up behind me. When the door opened, the giggly drunk girls (with purses the size of overnight bags) slid right in...all together as if they were carpooling to work.
I kid you not, seven minutes went by. Seven painful, bladder-close-to-erupting minutes shared between me and my new friends in guy-club. Ok, actually they didn't really start off as friends, they were more like angry enemies looking at me with disgust. They thought I was another one of those giggly drunk purse carrying bitches who was going to take another painful seven minutes of their lives with my turn. Except I don't travel in a pack to the bathroom and I only bring a purse to places that my backpack is out of place.
I had to clear my name before I cleared my bladder. So I turned to the guys and said, "Do you see me carrying anything? I guarantee there's no makeup hiding in these pockets...no cell phone for texting while I'm supposed to be drying my hands....and no gossip drama I have to share. I'm here to do one thing and do it fast."
A few of them looked quite hopeful. One guy who might have been their club President did not and said, "How can we believe that you won't fuck around in there like the others?" Who by the by, still have NOT come out of the bathroom yet--I get why the girl/bathroom stereotype exists. The bet became that I could do the thing, wash and dry my hands and be out of the bathroom in under three minutes. They were doubtful and said they'd buy me a drink if I succeeded. I did.
I think I set a record that night, at least that's what it seemed like from the responses of guy-club members who consequently bought me a beer and a shot for my excellent, super fast ability.
*Yep, just one smoker in our office. We're a healthy bunch.
April 16, 2009
Staycation -- who's genius was this?
I sat there reassuring myself, "This IS exactly what you should be doing."
I sat there feeling, "Megan, you are reeeally late for work."
It's Thursday. I took two days off for me. My coworkers asked where I was headed and what I was doing and my reply became, "Nowhere. Nothing." And that was really the plan. Just the way I had wanted it.
That is, until I find myself here. Feeling guilty, like I'm playing hookie. Listing things in my head that I should be doing. Beating myself up for still being in my pajamas at 9am. "Take a chill pill!" I hear myself say. "You are on vacation."
I have trouble with the execution of a "Staycation." In theory, it sounds marvelous.....no money spent on transportation to another city, where you'll sleep in a hotel room and try to find the cool places to eat and shop and take souvenier photos. Wouldn't it be a privilege to stay in the town that you've lived in for so many years yet taken for granted? All the special things that made you fall in love and stay this long happily together? As if it was my 14th anniversary and I rediscovered the hidden treasures of my relationship. Yet, in practice.....much more difficult to get started. Somewhere along the way I have convinced myself that when I'm laying around watching movies, putzing around window shopping, napping, taking a bath, or walking the lake that I am truly avoiding my real life's responsibilities. Unless you do these things with someone, in which case they become "plans," or activities and that's much more acceptable.
Maybe I'll just log into my work email for a mi----I'm not supposed to do that!
I decide to pack up and head out into the beautiful day; see where my feet take me. That's when my luck changed. I walked right into Wrigleyville and realized the Cubs had home field advantage. Work....Shmerk! I can't tell you how in love with Chicago I was when standing in front of Wrigley Field, on the corner of Clark and Addison, blue sky sun shine and a "Staycation" as my legitimate excuse.
Play Ball!
I sat there feeling, "Megan, you are reeeally late for work."
It's Thursday. I took two days off for me. My coworkers asked where I was headed and what I was doing and my reply became, "Nowhere. Nothing." And that was really the plan. Just the way I had wanted it.
That is, until I find myself here. Feeling guilty, like I'm playing hookie. Listing things in my head that I should be doing. Beating myself up for still being in my pajamas at 9am. "Take a chill pill!" I hear myself say. "You are on vacation."
I have trouble with the execution of a "Staycation." In theory, it sounds marvelous.....no money spent on transportation to another city, where you'll sleep in a hotel room and try to find the cool places to eat and shop and take souvenier photos. Wouldn't it be a privilege to stay in the town that you've lived in for so many years yet taken for granted? All the special things that made you fall in love and stay this long happily together? As if it was my 14th anniversary and I rediscovered the hidden treasures of my relationship. Yet, in practice.....much more difficult to get started. Somewhere along the way I have convinced myself that when I'm laying around watching movies, putzing around window shopping, napping, taking a bath, or walking the lake that I am truly avoiding my real life's responsibilities. Unless you do these things with someone, in which case they become "plans," or activities and that's much more acceptable.
Maybe I'll just log into my work email for a mi----I'm not supposed to do that!
I decide to pack up and head out into the beautiful day; see where my feet take me. That's when my luck changed. I walked right into Wrigleyville and realized the Cubs had home field advantage. Work....Shmerk! I can't tell you how in love with Chicago I was when standing in front of Wrigley Field, on the corner of Clark and Addison, blue sky sun shine and a "Staycation" as my legitimate excuse.
Play Ball!
April 14, 2009
Megan Jeanne's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day Award
We all have bad days. Don't fool yourself that you are alone in that parking lot. Look around....there's a shitload of cars parked out there with occupants sitting inside screaming obscenities and accepting their own award for Most Craptacular Day.
It became so frequent an occurrence that I was personally nominating myself and accepting the award for having a T.H.N.G.V.B.D. that I had to purchase a whole storage locker to hold my collection. But then things leveled out and I quickly became the second-runner up many times over. I even retired the rant that was my acceptance speech.
While this is most always a self-nominated category, I am making an exception. In light of recent events, I am nominating and also choosing the recipient. The winner of this T.H.N.G.V.B.D. title is being presented with a sash and a crapcake crown all his own. Hands down he wins. Unanimously.
I'm regretfully accepting this award tonight on his behalf. I'd like to believe if he were here he'd have a mouthful of obscenities which would make us laugh uncomfortably and possibly cry and most definitely applaud his ability to stand up and say, "This award sucks giant blue monkey ass and I hate having been nominated but moreover hate winning. "
I'll sadly give him his envelope and crown and then offer to be the on-going winner in this category if it meant his days would be free of T.H.N.G.V.B news. I'm just so sorry.
It became so frequent an occurrence that I was personally nominating myself and accepting the award for having a T.H.N.G.V.B.D. that I had to purchase a whole storage locker to hold my collection. But then things leveled out and I quickly became the second-runner up many times over. I even retired the rant that was my acceptance speech.
While this is most always a self-nominated category, I am making an exception. In light of recent events, I am nominating and also choosing the recipient. The winner of this T.H.N.G.V.B.D. title is being presented with a sash and a crapcake crown all his own. Hands down he wins. Unanimously.
I'm regretfully accepting this award tonight on his behalf. I'd like to believe if he were here he'd have a mouthful of obscenities which would make us laugh uncomfortably and possibly cry and most definitely applaud his ability to stand up and say, "This award sucks giant blue monkey ass and I hate having been nominated but moreover hate winning. "
I'll sadly give him his envelope and crown and then offer to be the on-going winner in this category if it meant his days would be free of T.H.N.G.V.B news. I'm just so sorry.
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