Why My Nana Hates Me

Ok. My Nana doesn’t actually hate me. I’m just a pain in her ass.

We had a conversation back in October that went something like this:

Me: “Nana, what are you going to be for Halloween this year?!”Nana: “Ooooh, probably nothing. What are you going to be?”Me: “You.”

My Nana made a pretty hilarious face and laugh after that.

Well, Halloween rolled around, and I never dressed like my Nana. So what do I do? Dress like my Nana for Christmas of course.

Normally stealing from your grandparents is frowned upon, but I figured just this one time would be acceptable. While they were at deer camp with no chance of catching me in the act, I snuck into their house and stole a very fancy cardigan that belongs to my Nana. When I say fancy, I mean fancy. Take your average black cardigan, throw on a few poinsettias and gold beads and there you have it – my Nana’s Christmas cardigan.

I rolled up to their house for our family Christmas but had a coat on over the surprise of the season. I walked in the kitchen and proceeded to remind my Nana of the Halloween costume conversation, as well as inform the rest of the family of why they were about to see me in, literally, a grandma sweater. My grandma turned about as red as the poinsettias I was wearing and I lost count of the tears of laughter that were rolling down her rosy cheeks.

Long story short, I’d say it was a pretty eventful Christmas.

-M

From the Depths of Megan's Mind: How can there be so many leftovers in my kitchen but I still don't have anything to eat for lunch? Turkey, chicken spaghetti, sweet potatoes.. Grilled cheese it is.

Is There a Murderer Behind You?

Sometimes I like to enjoy a morning jog.

Rephrase: Sometimes I like to jog in the morning.

ReRephrase: Sometimes I jog in the morning.

Truthfully: I have to rip myself out of my bed and fight some gruesome internal battles in order to jog in the morning.

Cardio and I in general are not BFF. Unless it is some fun, high powered dance routine, forcing myself to get my heart pumping is no easy task. What’s that you say? I could power walk instead of run? You don’t understand. Everyone of a certain age in my neighborhood power walks. They wear some sort of revolting orthopedic shoes with extra padding on the bottom so their bunions don’t act up. They swing their arms at alarming rates and heights. They duck their head down and stare at the road like they’re ready to pound it to death with their hefty shoes. To avoid the risk of someday turning into this, I think I’ll jog.  

To add fuel to the fire, I got a new pair of running shoes a couple weeks ago- Reebok RunTones. Their claims aren’t lies. Now, not only do my lungs burn while I’m struggling for air, but my ass and calves have to chime in too. Ok, it’s not a crazy burn, but you can really tell a difference between running in these babies and normal shoes.  I thought about a pair of EasyTones before RunTones. I tried them on in Academy once and learned that this wouldn’t be a great idea. I am prone to sprained ankles and the instability that EasyTones provided in just a few seconds had me picturing myself back on my bedazzled crutches. That’s right- bedazzled crutches. The last time I sprained my ankle so bad I was stuck on crutches for a week, I decided to make them fancy.

Now I won’t lie; I do walk more often than I jog. I’m usually stuck with the task of taking our 7 pound Yorkie for a walk around her kingdom (also known as the neighborhood). The amount of exercise I get from this, however, is limited. You know the saying “stop and smell the roses”? Well Maddie (the 7 pound Yorkie) stops and smells more than just Roses. Blades of grass, telephone poles, other dog’s leftovers.. She’ll give just about anything a good sniff. That 7 pound little brat can stop dead in her tracks and jerk me backwards when she plants her little paws into asphalt. You’d think she was an anchor the way she can jerk you around. Humans always win though; when she would rather spend her day inhaling outdoor scents, I really annoy and pick her up. I always wonder what someone driving by thinks when they see my dog attached to a leash yet she’s in my arms. Now that I think about it, that’s probably the reason she sniffs so much. She knows if she does it just enough I’ll carry her for a few yards and she won’t have to trot along beside me. Well then. I thought the humans always won.

What does the murderer have to do with anything you ask? Maybe I will turn into one of those crazy power walkers one of these days. That way, I’ll have just enough endurance to run only when I’m being chased.. Like by a murderer.

-M

From the Depths of Megan's Mind: I've been thinking about stop animation. Don't ask why, just accept it. Who in the hell decided that was a good idea? "Let's take months and months out of our lives to play with clay and hope it looks cool after we take a billion pictures". Kudos to those clay tweakers who have the attention span to deal with that. As for me, I'll stick to Play Doh snakes.

Insert Creative Title Here

I like cake. Yes I do. I like cake. How ‘bout you?

After reading my sister’s new blog, I’ve decided to jump on the bandwagon. Will my posts be as epic as hers? Probably not. She’s been to three colleges, will have three degrees, and can pass the bar exam. She obviously knows way more words than I do, let’s take that into consideration folks.

For my inaugural post I could start by telling tales about myself like an “about me” section of a profile that everyone lies in. “I’m 5’7, long blonde hair, slim body, and I love working out and long walks on the beach”.  Yeah right. You’re 5’2, you have black roots chasing that blonde hair, you have muffin tops, and the only work out you get is a run to the kitchen when your macaroni boils over. Instead I will blog about what I know best: cake. Not just any cake though, I’m talking holy cake here.

In my 20 years of life, I’m not sure why I never thought of making a birthday cake for Jesus on Christmas. HELLO, it is THE birthday of the year. Shouldn’t we celebrate it with a delicious treat? As far as I’m concerned, Duff Goldman should be making and delivering cakes to all in honor of the baby Jesus. (The baby Jesus? Yes, the baby Jesus. That’s my favorite form of Jesus so that’s what I prefer to refer to him as) I also believe that Christmas birthday cake should be consumed with cake’s brother from another mother: ice cream. The combination of the two would mingle in your mouth to make Christmas fireworks and the highest form of respect for the birth of the baby Jesus.

I would like to place the blame for 20 Christmases with no birthday cake on my mother. She spent Christmas Eve making goodies for all of our consumption and then toted us off to the grandparent’s house for dinner and gifts. Hours in a hot kitchen and few minutes to pretty herself up.. No time for a cake for Jesus? Seems selfish to me, mom. (Just kidding Mona, thanks for the dinosaur food, magic cookie bars, and other Christmas favorites that our kitchen cranks out!)

Well. That’s about it for now. I’m a newbie to this whole blogging thing so now I’ll just say “The End” (or “Fin” if you prefer) and go about the rest of my day planning a birthday cake so epic that is makes up for 20 lost years.

-M

From the Depths of Megan’s Mind: Who decided red and green were to be the colors of Christmas? I don’t like red. I don’t look good in red. Whoever this person is needs to take this color choice up with me.