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."