Breakfast For Dinner

Is there really anything better than breakfast-for-dinner?

I'm pretty sure breakfast for dinner is the greatest thing ever. It's true. I love many kinds of food, but there is something satisfying about having eggs and toast for dinner. Sort of like you're saying "Screw You!" to meal conformity. Who says toast is for breakfast?

In other news, the monster story/novel is 348 pages long. I'm in a mild panic about this, as it is officially now way to freaking big to be printed by my sad little recreational printer. I think it would grow legs, announce that it hates me, and walk out of my apartment if I asked it to print that sucker out. It would be like mechanical childbirth. It would fry its cute little microchips.

The problem is, I have no freaking clue how to get this damn story to be finished. I have written the beginning, the end, and the middle. Everything is totally connected and neat.

And then I'll be in th shower, or in class, or trying to fall asleep, and suddenly it'll occur to me that I should really develop Phineas's (one of the characters) personality in the beginning of the story better, or that I should incorporate Serris (another character) earlier on, since she is one of the main characters. This keeps happening over, and over, and over. I can't figure out when is a good time to just tell my brain to just shut up and let me finish brushing my teeth.

Maybe I haven't reached that time yet. I mean, if I keep coming up with these ideas, they must have merit, right?

In addition to this, I feel you must know that it snowed last night. Yes, it is freezing cold, and I'm quite confident that the entire Northern Hemisphere is going to freeze, and Dennis Quaid is going to have to come and rescue me when our apartment gets covered by ice. Still. I am so excited, and I can't really explain why. I guess it stems from me living in Portland last year, where it never snows. (Okay, it snowed once, but I was in Boise as it was winter break, and it was only like an inch of snow.) I discovered I like snow way more than I like rain.

And there is something fun about having to wear leggings under your jeans and three layers under your coat. I looked like an idiot as I rode TRAX up to the school and stared at the Wasatch, which is under a nice white dusting. There's just something exciting about the really cold weather. And it's supposed to snow more tonight, and tomorrow, and Wednesday.

Of course, I'm sure I will be sick of snow when it's February and everything is under a foot of snow and the inversion is so bad the news is telling you not to go outside. But it's October, not February, and the air is crisp and clear as a little silver bell.Sure, it's cold, but after a long hot summer, I appreciate a little cold.

Oh, and breakfast for dinner, too.

Haiti

I've been pretty silly in the last few posts, but this is a slightly more serious issue.

As we all know, Haiti was struck by a devastating earthquake that killed 300,000 and made at least one and a half million people homeless. There was an enormous response from the US and other countries; celebrities raised millions to try and help this island country that sits just off our shores. Everyone seemed to pat themselves on the backs, and this crisis faded from view after several months. But the problem is not solved.

One hundred and fifty people have died from a cholera epidemic that is threatening to cripple an already-damaged country. It is believed that even more will die before this outbreak is curbed.

I, for one, am shocked. Of all the diseases that are known to wreak havoc in impoverished nations, cholera is possibly the most preventable and most treatable. This is unacceptable, that a country neighboring the United States can have an outbreak of such a ridiculous disease. Where the hell are the celebrities now? Is our collective attention span so short that we can only care about a nation so close to home and so badly damaged for a few months? Cholera is easily treated. There is a vaccine for it. We have no excuse for letting conditions down there get so bad that one hundred and fifty people would die.

We were so forthcoming and so interested in Haiti when this earthquake first occurred. Where is our interest now? They haven't had a cholera epidemic in a century. How could we be alright with simply doing a half-assed job in a country that actually wants and needs our help.

I wish that I could tell people to just go back to donating money to help the relief effort, but I can't tell people what to do with their money, not given the current economic climate. However, I would like to remind people that we don't have a cure for poverty, or HIV, or any of the other things ravaging countries that aren't as fortunate as our own, but we can eliminate cholera. We can eliminate it, and there is no reasonable explanation for why we haven't already done so.

Why eat turkey when you could have zombies?

So, I am trying to convince the Best Friend to come down for Thanksgiving. I could go up to Boise for Turkey Day, but I am lazy. More importantly, my professors think breaks are for homework and studying. However, I want the Best Friend to come down and hang out with me while I am not doing homework.

He is not giving me a straight answer, which is annoying. So I am up with a great reason for why he has to come down for the break. My roommate is going back to Boise, and I will be all alone down here. I do not like being alone at night in my apartment. There are two doors and lots of old windows that seem like they would be easy to force open. I am paranoid.

And I am paranoid because I am afraid of zombies. I'm not going to lie; if you have read my older posts, you know I am obsessed with zombies in some kind of morbid fascination. Some women worry that rapists will break into their house; I say, bring on the rapists. I am not afraid of people. People are easy to overpower. However, I am terrified of the day when I will wake up and hear that low moan that means the apocalypse has come. I'm terrified, and I kind of look forward to it.

However, I look forward to it in the event that my roommate will be here. If she is not here when it happens, I'm afraid I will wake up to this:

I informed my best friend of this, and the long conversation that followed was a discussion on whether or not it would be awful to be a zombie.

Personally, I'm insulted that he would be alright with zombies eating me. He seems to think that my fear of being zombie-food is ridiculous and irrational. I think he would not enjoy being consumed by a zombie.

"I don't want to be a zombie."

"Yes you do, don't lie."

"No I don't! I would rather be raped by Bigfoot than become a zombie!"

I was mad and ignored him for about half an hour.

"I still can't believe you want me to be eaten by zombies."

"Zombies need love, too."

"I hardly see how my being devoured would show them love."

"Trust me, it would."

"Well gee, thanks a ton. Because being eaten sounds like a great way to die."

"But you DON'T die. That's the beauty of it!"

"That is silly."

"True, though."

This also involved me telling him I was going to have to sleep under the couch because I was so terrified of being eaten. He told me to send pictures. I told him I can't take pictures from under the couch. Then I asked why he hates me. He said he hates everyone.

This is still an ongoing conversation. It will eventually end with either him coming down here for Thanksgiving, or me being eaten by zombies and added to their legion of undead.

Gum

I have a massive crisis- I am out of gum.

I love gum. I love how it gives my mouth something to do when I'm in class. I love how it makes my breath minty fresh. I've loved gum ever since I was a little kid.

When my dad owned the Upper Crust Deli, they had a little glass bowl filled with those mini-packs of gum that they kept next to the cash register. You know, the ones with only like five pieces. I used to steal the packs of gum off the counter and eat all five sticks at once. Gum is the greatest. If I had a choice between eating real food for the rest of my life or eating gum, I would pick gum. I wouldn't last long, but at least I would die happy.

My mom sent me a giant package of gum a few months ago, and I have steadily been chewing my way through it. It's that Five Gum stuff,a nd I have to say, the flavor really does last for forever. I have a piece every day, right before I go to school, and it lasts all day long.

By the way, Five Gum makers, I would love to be your spokes-chewer.

However, this morning, I reached into my bag, pulled out my last pack of gum, and realized there was only one piece. I am currently chewing it, and feeling miserable.

The problem is, buying gum is one of those things that I will remind myself to do a few times while I am at home and thinking about it, but the moment I leave to go to school, it will evacuate my cranium. I will go through my merry day, ride the TRAX home, and as I sit down on the couch I will think, "Damn! I need gum!"

And then tomorrow, I will go through the exact same process. It will never end, at least not until someone gives me a pack of gum. I do this all the time. Last year, i ran out of pills for my migraines, and it took me about two months to go and buy more. A few weeks ago, I ran out of facial soap, and it took me two weeks to remember to buy more. It happens constantly, because small things do not stick in my brain the way more important things do. For example, I remember to pay bills, take my pills, turn in my homework, et cetera. But I will forget to fill my water-bottle before I go to school. I will forget to empty the mailbox until it is nearly overflowing with junk.

So I need gum. I don't just want it, I NEED IT. If you love me, you'll give me some.

Drawings

So, it occurred to me this afternoon that I possess a touchscreen computer. And MS Paint. And reasonable doodling skills. Here's what happened:

I may or may not start adding illustrations to my posts. Is it a good idea? Do I have the patience to do it? Suggestions? Comments?

The Gold Star Incident

Sometimes, I lose my mind and my energy level goes through the roof.

Last night was one of those evenings.

It's always odd, because this usually happens on days that have been pretty horrible. Like yesterday, I was tired from lack of sleep, didn't get a grade I wanted on an essay, and my stomach was back to its usual "Let's mutiny against the bitch" self. I got home and tried to pay my tuition, but the school decided they did not, in fact, like my debit card. There wasn't even any new Glee. By the time it was about five or so, I was feeling pretty miserable.

And then my roommate changed the channel to "Come Dine with Me."

Come Dine with Me is a British show on BBC America. It's really the best contest show out there, I have to say. One person makes a dinner, and the other three eat it and judge it. Then another one of these four makes the meal the next night, and so on. At the end, the person with the highest score gets the prize. I think it's like $10,000, except in pounds, but I can't find the little symbol for that.

Well, last night's episode was filmed in Glasgow, Scotland. I love Scotland. I love the Scots. They have basically the most ridiculous accents on planet Earth, funnier even than southerners and Paula Dean. (Hi Y'all!) Even better, one of the four contestants was Asian. Now, I am going to say something horrible, and you'll have to just forgive me.

Asian Scots are the funniest people on earth. You know it, don't lie. You see someone who is Korean, and you expect them to speak with a Korean accent, but instead they sound like Mike Myers in "So I Married an Axe Murderer." It's hysterical. And it's nothing against them. It's like when you meet a really tall, muscle-covered motorcyclist and he sounds like a little girl.

So, after we started watching this, my energy level went from a dull hum to a high pitched WEEEEEEEEE. I started imitating the Scots. I was walking around and saying "cooking" over and over.

When Scots say "cooking," it sounds much more like "cououking." Love it.

I text-messaged my BFF, Matt, because I felt he would appreciate my pretending to be a Scot. He gave me a gold star. After I informed him I was incredibly hyper and might even be hovering above the surface of the couch, he revoked my gold star.

This was around eight PM or so. I spent the next two hours begging for my gold star back. I told him I missed it. I told him I was crying in a closet because I was such a fail. I told him I would have to now be a Walmart Greeter, because I did not have a gold star. He informed me that Walmart probably gives its employees gold stars. I informed him they would never give me a gold star because I was so pathetic. I told him I had been happy and excited, but he had taken my happiness and destroyed it.

Finally, I told him "I was all happy because I had a gold star, but now I feel like sleeping on the floor, under my bed, because I do not deserve a bed."

This made him laugh hysterically, and finally, he said I could have my gold star back.

Was there any point to any of this? Of course not. There rarely is. But now I have a gold star and I can imitate Scots.

Meat Jesus!

My name is Meg, and Jesus watches me watch television.

I'm not joking; last week, whilst in Boise, I bought a Jesus Bank. Because you can trust Jesus with your money.

Given the fact that I actively make fun of religion, this is admittedly an odd thing to have in my apartment. You might think it's odd, but I think it's camouflage. Here behind the Zion curtain, Jesus is our friend. Plus, he holds laundry quarters. Can't get it much better than that.

Originally, we wanted a large, bright pink, fuzzy Jesus. They were out of those. Now, however, I realize I am far happier with the Bank of Jesus.

I think it should be a new rule that all visitors to the Buckingham Palace (my apartment) must tithe. Tithing, my friends, is found in most religions to some degree, but the Sprite-Drinkers have it down in spades. Thus, we, too, shall require tithing. By the end of this year, it is my dream that we have an enormous Jesus shrine, to prove our devotion. Or to just be ridiculous. One of those two.

Our ceilings are like ten feet high. It's absurd. And it is my dream to line the walls with Jesus memorabilia. Pictures of Jesus, statues of Jesus, pens with Jesus's head on them, I want them all. If someone could find me a Jesus bobble-head, I would love them for forever and make them food.

In addition to this, I've decided I'm now collecting religious pamphlets instead of throwing them on the ground. I feel this will be more entertaining to me, and not so insulting to the sad sack handing them out. I know it must be incredibly insulting to some people to hear I find their religious HI-LARIOUS, but that's okay. I'm alright with insulting people.

Speaking of insulting people, my dear friend ADUM (not his real name, but it's damn close) has recently gone veggie. I've been a lazy veggie since seventh grade, so I think it's a fabulous idea. Meat is icky, at least to me.

But anyway, ADUM is going veggie. One of his friends commented on this update (the Book of Faces) and congratulated him on making the "ethical" decision. Going veggie isn't "ethical." In fact, the only really ethical dietary choice is to abstain from cannibalism, and even that doesn't hold to be true in some places. But ADUM's friend thinks veggies are more ethical than omnivores.

Per usual, my malicious-ness took over, and I replied that veggies are idiots. He asked why. I said veggies are stupid and they don't know what the fuck they're talking about. He asked why I thought this, and I brought up the whole "omnivore" thing. Now, this is when I came to a crossroads. I could either continue being malicious, or I could be a good person and let Mr. Ethical off the meat-hook.

As much as I wanted to continue being a bad person, I clued him in on the fact that I am, indeed, a veggie. I told him I am also a bitch sometimes. I think the sometimes bit is an understatement.

I should have told him some veggie jokes. He probably would not have enjoyed them.

"I am vegetarian. I just let the cow eat it, first."

Driving Miss Crazy.

My name is Meg, and I have a problem.

I need to get a Utah state ID, but I don't want to do it. If I had one, I'd be able to vote here, and, most importantly, I can establish residency. University of Utah is one of those rare schools that allows out-of-state students to establish residency while attending school. Residency would mean that I have to pay about half of what I'm currently paying for tuition. That is a big difference.

So it seems like a no-brainer that I would just go and get my Utah state ID. There is, however, still one massive problem. Getting a state ID makes my Idaho driver's license invalid.

I've been driving for about five years. I'll never forget how proud I was to pass both of those tests and get that little rectangle of plastic that said I could drive. I love driving, even if I don't have a car. Because I don't have a car down here, I don't really see any way for me to get my driver's license. This is why I would have to settle for a state-issued ID card. But if I get one of those, that means I am not legally allowed to drive anymore.

I have no real reason to need to drive down here. I love public transportation and I love walking. However, my need for a license is about the emotions attached to driving. Getting that bit of plastic made me feel like an adult. Having it say I was over the age of 18 was more of a validation of my adulthood than my birthday had been. Being able to carry a license around makes me feel like I am independent, like I am a real person that matters. Like I said, I don't drive much, but that's not the point. The point is that I can drive if I want to drive.

And sure, there are other factors involved. If I got a state ID, I'd be giving up my Idaho residency. I was born in Idaho, and other than last year's little adventure in Portland, Idaho is where I have spent my life. But now I live in Utah, and I love Utah. I'm just also in love with driving, and I'm in love with my home state. I'm just not quite ready to give those up quite yet.

Religion is like smallpox- I don't want it.

I am a terrible person, and I just can't help it.

It's true; when confronted with a situation where I could either a) be an ass, or b) not be an ass, I choose the former. It's like an involuntary reaction to situations I don't like.

Let me explain this a little better. Today, while walking to the TRAX station after class, there was a man handing out copies of the New Testament. One would think I'd just shake my head, or just take one and get rid of it, or whatever. Well, I did shake my head. He still insisted on giving me one, because he was a persistent little twirp. This is when I could have just taken it and gotten rid of it later. I could have made the decision to behave like a proper human being.

But, dammit, I was mad. I was mad that here, in the country of supposed separation of church and state, it was okay for someone to impose their stupid fairy tales on me. I am totally respectful of religion, as long as its followers leave me the hell alone. The moment they try and pass their crap off on me, though, I am offended. In my mind (which admittedly does not necessarily work like other minds) the act of getting in people's way and pressing your personal religion on them is arrogant, and it is wrong.

So, of course, I demonstrated my anger by throwing the book on the dirt and walking away.

This is hardly the first time I have done this. In junior high, a similar thing occurred which concluded with me skipping down Fort Street, ripping pages from the New Testament and throwing them into the road like confetti.

No, this is not how adults behave, I know. But is it wrong for me to feel upset when someone has the audacity to impose their religion on me? You don't see me standing in the middle of a walkway, forcing people to take leaflets on why if god is real, he/she/it couldn't possibly give a rat's ass about us. You don't see me walking around, telling people they'll burn in hell unless they stop believing.

So is it wrong for me to expect them to follow the same kind of decorum?

Look, I know I'm a minority in this here land of Zion, but my thoughts still count. I'm as much a citizen as everybody else here. I do not worship the Heavenly Father, this is true, but they don't worship Muhammad, and there are way more Muslims on Earth than there are Mormons. Religion is personal. Spirituality is personal. We all have our own standards, and none of us should think we have the authority to tell someone else what to worship. That's their business.

Sometimes I might not be as respectful of Christianity as I ought to be, but sometimes Christians aren't as respectful of my beliefs as they ought to be. That doesn't justify tearing up the Bible or throwing it on the ground, but sometimes, when you're as mad as I was, respect goes out the window. It's unrealistic for me to expect church and state to stay separated, because it's not really. That doesn't mean I can't still feel mad when some guy is trying to get me to take a Bible.

Sleep is Great!

Today is Monday. Normally, Mondays are somewhat of a pain in the ass. There you were, sleeping in and spending the entire day in your pajamas, and suddenly the alarm goes off and you're expected to just get up and go to school. It's cruel and unusual, not because I hate school (I love school) but because while I love school, I love sleep more. Sleep makes me not be a homicidal crazyperson. Sleep makes the world seem like a brighter place. Last Friday, I did not get any sleep. That morning I had a migraine, I was cranky, I hated the world, I could barely tie my shoes, my stomach felt as though it was actively melting its way out of my body, and I would have happily mauled anyone to death if they gave me any sass. It was hot as balls and all I wanted to do was go home, take off my shoes, put on sweatpants and pretend I was part of the couch. A homeless guy was hassling me as I tried to get to the TRAX station, and I wanted to throw him into traffic. Instead I yelled "FUCK OFF" at the top of my lungs. I was on Temple Square, and this got me some pretty somber looks. I'm sure I've sworn while walking across Temple Square more than everyone else in this city put together.

Today, it is rainy, windy, and stormy. It's like 65 degrees out, and because I got enough sleep over the weekend, I was chipper and amicable. Even as the rain sprinkled my head, I walked with a smile and thought of all the reasons I love Salt Lake. I refrained from swearing on Temple Square. I even stopped myself from berating the smelly creeper that sat down next to me on the TRAX as I was riding home.

Sleep is good. You know what else is good? Mormons. They are possibly the most entertaining group I've ever lived with in a city. This weekend, in case you live anywhere besides Utah, was Conference. Basically, it's like the Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca. The downtown corridor fills with men in crisp buttoned, collared shirts and women in knee-length, shapeless dresses with sleeves and high collars. My roommate, Genny, and I decided, ironically, to go shopping down at Gateway Mall. It's not that far from our apartment- like six or seven blocks, maybe- but we took TRAX because we're lazy. (Eight blocks = 1 mile in SLC) I knew it was Conference weekend because there was a notice at the TRAX stop that I vaguely recall noticing as I waited for the train to school on Friday, trying not to kill the obnoxious gangsters standing next to me. Being who I am, however, I instantly forgot the notice. So when we got to State street and saw swarms of momos, we were flabbergasted.

In situations like these, I have an interesting involuntary reaction. I start laughing manically, and uncontrollably, for the duration of the awkwardness. This has gotten me followed by employees in Walmart, held back after school, and all kinds of other great rewards. Naturally, people started walking as far away from me as they could, suspecting, I assume, that I was high as a kite or deranged and possibly dangerous. I continued my hysterical laughter all the way down the block and onto the TRAX. And then it got worse. They were on the train, packed like sardines.

Have you ever seen pictures of the commuter trains in India, where people are literally crammed in so tightly that they have to hang out the windows and doorways? That was what this was like, except they were all wearing collared, buttoned dress shirts in some variation of white. We did see one guy wearing a salmon-colored shirt, and we nearly died laughing. When I'm laughing that hard, it turns into a kind of infinite loop. I laugh, and can't breathe, so I laugh harder, and can't breathe. We must have looked like someone let us out of an institution, because the men getting out at the Temple stop looked pretty grateful to be leaving the train. The harder I tried to stop laughing, the harder I laughed. It was never going to end.

And then we got to the mall and went to Old Navy. Genny wanted formal clothes for the career fair. I just like throwing caution to the wind and spending money every now and then. We bought some stuff and walked back out into the hot air.

A description: Gateway Mall is an outdoor mall, and it's two whole blocks of shops. The place is two stories, and the second story is more shops connected with a network of bridges and paths. There is a cinema and a planetarium in addition to a bazillion stores and restaurants. It's a wonderful place that, like everything else in Salt Lake, was made especially for the 2002 Olympics.

We noticed the Apple Store, and fiendish delight filled me again. We went in and changed all the iPhone backgrounds to various photos of the Google logo, the Adobe Flash logo, the Android logo, et cetera. After that happy distraction, we went to Barnes and Noble and finally back to the TRAX. And there they were: more Mormons. Child Mormons, female Mormons, Mormon mothers, Mormon daughters, old Mormons, young Mormons, they were everywhere. We rode past Temple Square, and they were swarming around Deseret Books like ants on chocolate cake. We contemplated going in and asking where they kept their copies of Wicca for Dummies, but we decided against it. Genny and I enjoy living, after all.

It was great, and I can't wait for Conference next year. Actually, I can't wait for Christmas, because you just know those Momos go whole hog. Screw political correctness, we're in the land of Zion. Portland's Christmas decorations were infantile and depressing, because liberals are very politically correct. But anyway, holidays are great. Living down here in Salt Lake City is great. Sleep is great. And you knwo what else is great?

Boise. Boise is a great city. Fall Break starts on Friday, and I am going back to Boise for most of the week I get off of classes. If you're in Boise, and want to hang, give me a call, because I'll be there too!