Mish Mash

First, the Audio File I wanted to upload with the Previous post:

Go Here to Check it Out



THIS is what I looked like for Halloween before the blue turtleneck and dragonfly hair clip.


This is the Ridiculously amazing game of Mexican Train Dominoes we played at the Cabin two weekends ago (That I Won! Booyah!)


This is my brother getting to know my dog:


This is my brother getting to know my cat (at 6:00 in the morning) :



This is my brother slowly coming to understand that he likes cats as much as dogs:


This is the new area rug we put in my craftroom. And by "we" I mean my brother and my husband. And by "craftroom" I mean "Disaster area".


This is Greg and Brendan bonding over animals and Mario Galaxy.



And This is the scarf I worked on for two weeks to enter into the Me, My Scarf, and I competition for a Serger!





Go here to find out why it represents me.


Hope you enjoyed!

Everybody In Unison: "Awwwww"

In college, I was the Musical Director of the All-Female A cappella group on campus and Greg was the Musical Director of the All-Male group. For a while, it was my life. I arranged music, invented choreography, planned rehearsals, scheduled bonding activities and tried my damnedest to knead the Drama and Cattiness out and replace it with warmth and excellence. I'm proud to say (that obviously with the help of the entire group and the talent of 15 amazing women) I made A LOT of progress. The term-in-office for a Musical Director is one year from the beginning of a Spring Semester until the end of the following Fall Semester. Come November of 2005 I was nearing the end of my final term as a Senior. I had a rhythm to how I handled events and concerts - and a Big One was approaching.

Starting the previous year, we had begun what we hoped would become an Annual event: An A cappella Extravaganza, featuring all four Lafayette College groups AND each Lafayette Group invited a Guest group from another school. We took over the entire Performing Arts Center with our matching outfits, our bits of Flair, our pitch pipes, and our vocal percussion. Each group was stationed in their own room.

Traditionally, All-Female groups invited All-Male groups and vice versa. It was like herding cats to keep the girls all in the warm-up room and get them focused. They kept slipping out to go spy on the attractive men's group from Swarthmore or the mixed group from UPenn.

I was wired and focused and no-nonsense. We warmed up. They had strict orders to report back to the room 10 minutes before the concert started. I set them loose for a while.

The concert was great. I love a cappella music - it never fails to give me goosebumps. There was a brilliant version of "Lightning Crashes" and an overly ambitious version of "Italian Restaurant" and an absolutely electric version of "Obsession". Cadence - My group - was on in the second half.

Everyone had to turn in their songs beforehand for the printed programs - but the OTHER invited All-Female group hadn't gotten around to it so it had been a complete surprise to hear them sing "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You". It was delightful to hear them suck at it. And it was intoxicatingly delightful to sing our version later in the concert (We had handed in our songs and couldn't just change our set last minute) and blow everyone away with our awesomeness - our reference to "Sunday Morning" by Maroon 5 and a short quote from Stevie Wonder's "Living in the City" AND our amazing (and simple) choreography.

To say I was in a good mood coming off the stage is an understatement.

All that time I hadn't spent any time with Greg. He was doing his thing with his guys - getting them ready and lined up and whatnot. The Chorduroys -- Their group -- was the last to go in the concert that day. For some reason all-male a cappella is pretty much always adorable. There's very little they can do to suck completely - a little enthusiasm makes up for a lack of musical talent. But the chorduroys had both Musical Talent AND enthusiasm going for them.

All the groups were standing in the wings behind the stage waiting for their set to end because we were going to do one giant cheesy finale song that we'd only learned that morning. So we cheered as loudly as we could from the dark backstage area as they sang through "Alcohol" by BNL and "Africa" by Toto amongst others.

We were only allowed a 3-4 song set so when their 4th song ended, I was just about ready to lead the charge to join them when Greg walked to the Microphone, centerstage.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming out this evening. We have one more song for you. It's a very special song"

At this point I was pissed. They totally violated the 3-4 set rule.

Standing Cold and Scared on top of the Hill
Then came the moment when I lost my Will
I prayed for mercy please Lord take me away
Give me Sunshine where I only see gray

Suddenly I realize I'm standing all alone. I HAD been surrounded by my girls - but now they are all huddled 10 feet behind me, clutching each other. I'm alone and standing closest to the stage. I remember thinking - This is extremely weird.

The past had a hold on me
It Can't be denied
And the changes didn't come easily

"Can Megan Please come out onto the stage?"

and as they sang the chorus of the song...

I've been lonely
I've been cheated
I've been misunderstood
I've been washed up
I've been put down
I've been told I'm no good
But with you I belong, cause you help me be strong
There's a change in my life since you came along.

In front of an audience of 400 people, he knelt to the ground in front of me, pulled out a small black velvet box, and opened it.

I don't remember him actually asking me to marry him. I don't remember saying yes out loud. I remember feeling like I was 10 feet off the ground. I pulled him up into a hug that didn't end till the song ended. There was a roar of applause and screams of delight. My parents were in the audience.

It was perfect.

I later learned that everyone, except me, knew about it. The girls in my group weren't sneaking away to flirt with the group we'd invited to sing with us - they were sneaking away to harass Greg into showing them the ring. The guys in the group ALL spent hours of their free time learning that song specifically so that Greg could propose while they sang it. Greg stole the arrangement off my computer in secret (One I'd been working on for some time for fun) and re-arranged it for men's voices. He went shopping for the ring with one of my close friends. He'd had it in his pocket for a few weeks before actually proposing on that stage. And he asked my parents' permission first.

Lately I've been browsing a few new blogs and I've come a cross a few adorable stories of marriage proposals, like this one. My guess is we're all biased, and barring having some kind of insensitive catastrophe of a proposal - you're going to think your moment was perfect.

In the spirit of romantic recollections, I wanted to share the moment I got engaged to Greg with you.

g-r-o-s-s

Can I just say that what is compounding my bouts of depression is the constant taste of metal in my mouth? What an absolutely AWFUL side effect. I took my last antibiotic pills this morning and GOOD RIDDANCE. I've snacked more in the last several days than I have in the last year and it's not because I've been hungry or because it tasted good. Thank Goodness the taste of old pennies will be gone soon because I'm very close to taking a disposable razor to my tongue.

I keep thinking that my next post will be sunny and cheerful and by the time I sit down to write it, I feel Meh. Or, like today, I feel down right glum.

Greg came home on Thursday night late. Although we got into a fight on the phone on his way in (I told him NOT to tell me when to expect him so that I could just be elated and excited and hopeful all night, HE called at 9:00 to tell me not to expect him till Midnight because he thought I was speaking in code for "PLEASE TELL ME"), when he walked in he kissed me and didn't stop for a long time.

I won't fill you in on the details, but thank God the Nuva Ring is history.

He took me to work friday morning and worked his magic with packing and grocery shopping and dropping Dexter off at the Kennel. We actually had the chance to sit down and watch the first episode of Desperate Housewives together before we took to the road in a caravan to the family cabin for the weekend.

The weekend was a blast. Everyone got along swimmingly and we played a ton of games and talked and laughed, etc.

We left to go home on Sunday after lunch.

On our way back we stopped to pick up some wine and browse some DVDs. We stopped several times at various Dunkin' Donuts. We held hands. We picked up Dexter.

For the last hour of the drive I buried my face in his palm and kept it pressed to my cheek till we pulled up to the house. I unloaded the car as quickly as possible, we ordered food.

We finally sat down and after eating, we clung to each other while Desperate Housewives played on. Episodes only last about 43 minutes. I would be lying if I told you I wasn't checking that number display on the DVD player.

When the credits started to roll, we started crying almost simultaneously and we begged each other to watch just one more episode so that we could maybe sit even more closely entwined for a little while longer.

When it ended, I kept my shit together while he ran and grabbed a few last minute items and took the dog out. I kept it together while he put on his coat and opened the front door. I broke when I tried to speak - just to say "Okay, Drive safely. I love you."


I don't know what you see in this - I don't know if you think of me as pathetic or immature... Co-dependent or weak. What I know in a deep way is that I am in pain with him gone.

I hate it.

The first week he left in the early morning and I didn't have a chance to cry - he kissed me while I slept. It almost flew by AND he came home a day early.

This second week caught me off guard and his departure left me empty. It was as though my innards were savagely vacuumed from my body in relation to him driving away. I thought this week would be easier because my brother was coming to be with me. Brendan's been nothing but a cool, chill guy. He let me watch Desperate Housewives, he hooked up my bluetooth and he's made my itunes music available on my Living room tv. And I still feel complete despair.

I feel like crying at very random times. I wake up every hour all night long. I get tired at 8:00 p.m.

Car rides are the worst. On my way to work there's a voice that taunts over and over in my head that the one thing that made it worth it - going home to him - is denied me for the next month.

When I called her crying a few minutes after he'd walked out the door, my mom's first question was "Did you at least wait to cry until he left?"

I tried.

Also - My husband tells me my belief that "The more fabric softener sheets you add to the dryer, the Better!" is disappointingly false.

I have some awfully strange notions about the rules of the world that have absolutely no base in reality. I'm sure we all have our weird tics. Mine include pulling the toes of my socks up over my foot before entering a shoe because my toes can NOT touch the seam of the sock and sleeping with my head sandwiched between but not upon two pillows. But I'm not talking about weird tics. I'm talking about unspoken beliefs about an action that will affect other events in life.

For example, there's a small insane part of me that believes that popping a pimple makes me lose weight - an infinitesimal amount of weight, but weight nevertheless.

I also have a deeply rooted mostly-subconscious belief that talking about the worst outcomes will prevent them from happening.

There's a thing on Slate right now about a couple of women who have given up Kvetching and complaining cold turkey. I don't know if I could do that. I'm not sure if what I do would truly be considered complaining. I see it more as my personal version of that guy on the street corner with the giant cardboard sign that says "THE END OF THE WORLD IS NEAR". He's not complaining so much as stating the obvious. So much of what I say to make the people around me laugh is based out of negativity about the future.

I think part of it comes from trying to outdo my mom. She's SERIOUSLY worried about everything. I wasn't kidding when I mentioned in a previous entry that in less than 3 seconds she went from "When will your furnace be finished?" to "Your pets will all get pneumonia and die". To be seriously concerned about that is beyond me. I don't know how she does it. If I truly believed events could transpire like that I'm pretty sure I'd remain in a fetal position all day.

Then again, I can also seriously work myself up. A little while back, when H1N1 had just started getting hyped up, Greg and I took a trip to NJ. It felt like the shortest driving trip we've ever taken because we were so preoccupied for the ENTIRE 7 hour drive.

I brought up whether or not we should have a plan for if something happens and we decide we need to get out - to flee. What would that be? Oh, I don't know. Something very similar to I Am Legend... think disease and looting, military blockades and people in giant white plastic suits keeping a panicked public in their doomed city and possibly zombies.

Greg's family has a cabin in the mountains so that's a logical place to flee to. But what about food? Clothing? Fuel? Little things like matches? Water? Flashlights? A Radio that can be powered by hand cranking? What about the pets! The dog! The cats!

It didn't take me very long to get Greg worked up, and it didn't take us very long to develop an Adrenaline high just thinking about the kind of situation that would warrant needing all of those supplies and the kind of plan we were talking about.

So I get that part of my worry-potential honestly from good ol' Mom. But the dark humor? That's just me.

To be entirely honest, I do enjoy a good amount of optimism, I've just learned to drown it out and smother it with pessimistic quips.

Should you be curious, the rule: "The More Pessimistic Quips you utter about a situation, the Fewer Bad things will happen to you" is False.

But I've also found that "The more Good things you expect, the fewer bad things will happen" is also false.


What I know?: I'd rather expect the worst and be surprised by something better than expect the best and be disappointed.

Day 2:

So, it's Day 2 of Megan: Home Alone, and it is definitely more stressful than day 1. Today, at 7:30 a.m., 5 burly HVAC guys invaded my basement in an attempt to wrangle the 50 year old towering behemoth of a furnace out of the house, and replace it with a cute little energy efficient one. Also, they came to put in an air conditioning unit and put returns throughout the second floor.

I bought them a big pack of gatorade.

When they first arrived we went over a couple of things (namely: Please don't let the cats out...) and they got to work. I left pretty soon after, more thankful than I thought I would be to be out of the house while that was going on.

I returned home for lunch at noon and... as if I were a shadow, snuck in, took the dog out, warmed up some leftover pizza and doled out some sweet baby gherkins, and I thought I was free and clear (despite the grating noises of construction progress) when in walks the Main Guy.

He's covered in black soot, stops for a moment and says "I just got extremely lucky... I came within 4 inches of cutting a water line"



What can I do with that? Nothing. Nothing!

It's like walking in to the O.R. in the middle of surgery on a one-hundred year old man while they simultaneously drill holes in all of his teeth.


I neglected to ask for a revised version of when they thought they'd be finished, and now - according to my mother - because I didn't ask, they may not finish, and when they don't finish, it'll go down to 32 degrees tonight, and because I didn't have a better quippy response than "Electric Blanket" to "How are you going to stay warm tonight?" not only am I going to freeze, but all four of my pets are going to get pneumonia and then I "won't have them anymore".


My original expectations were to go home at the end of the day to an empty and newly efficiently heated house.... they are now revised to "A house with water and pets that are alive."

you've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Greg is gone.

He left this morning at 6:45 a.m. after getting out of bed, putting my favorite shirt of his (spritzed with his cologne) on a pillow, and tucking it up against my back while I slept.

He made coffee and took Dexter for a walk and then started driving.



This week shouldn't be hard. Last night, out of paranoia and greed, I over-ordered from the pizza place and now have tons of pizza in the fridge along with plenty of other meals to last me till thursday night. He's coming back Thursday night because we're going up to the cabin with friends this weekend.

So... This is what I've been freaking out about for months. The day has finally come that he has left and I am alone. Except that when I got up this morning, I got dressed... I drank coffee... I took Dexter out and I went to work, like any other day. I guess it either hasn't sunk in yet, or it's not as universe-altering as I thought it might be.

It's going to sink in tonight when I'm alone and there's no one to check out the serial killer noises coming from downstairs (either the cats or the roomba).



This past 7 days have been inordinately challenging for me. In that, I mean it hasn't been challenging for just ANYONE. For other people this may have been no big deal - some bumps in the road, but easily managed. In conjunction with my neuroses, this was... Difficult.

On Wednesday, I went to the doctor for the first time in a while. In particular I was going to talk to her about some "Digestive Issues" I had been having... for months... ... ...

I am only going to say the word once, but YES, thank you, I now realize what an absolute idiot I must be for waiting months to see the doctor about daily diarrhea.

I must have inherited my father's attitude toward health care. And the fact that I'm making that comparison does not comfort me. This is the man who waited, laying in bed, for two days - clutching his stomach in pain - before finally agreeing that it might not just be a stomach ache. The doctors say he was insanely close to having a ruptured appendix.

Anyway, once the doctor got over the word "MONTHS" in relation to how long this had been going on... She signed me up for a SLEW of tests. And then she threw in some x-rays to examine my sciatica. Then she sent me straight next door for blood work... which came back the next day saying that my White blood cell count was high and the Doc decided to put me on the Antibiotic equivalent of nuclear warfare.

Also, I had to take stool samples. Three of them. Three times. That's nine vials of poop that I handed off to a poor innocent Quest Diagnostics woman this morning. The process of collection was more stressful than I ever thought it could be. I have a much better understanding of the sexual anxiety some men feel. I wasn't sure if I could aim it into the right place, or if it would be big enough, etc.

Totally gross... I know... Perhaps unnecessarily so. But you come here to read about crafts and my life right? This is my life. For the last 3 days I've been worshiping an evil looking white plastic bucket whose sole purpose was to constantly ruin my mood and constipate me for the first time since childhood when I pooped in the toilet by accident whilst potty-training and then refused to poop AT ALL for the next 7 days.

On Saturday I had my First X-rays ever... All I can hope for is that the diagnosis does NOT turn out to be, "Nevermind, you're fucked."

In addition there were two very large *things* that culminated at work on Thursday and Friday requiring coming to work early and leaving late.



AND THEN Greg left.

I think that's the worst part of all.