Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The woman in charge of setting up my schedule for the upcoming semester has not e-mailed me back. I've still got to finish my NZ application. It seems very unlikely that I will be able to finish my schooling by the end of next summer due to a university inspired lack of available spots. The resulting unnecessary extra semester throws off many large plans. This blog has been acting freake' when opened on explorer, so I may have to go without witty pictures for a while. I haven't written on my other blogs in forever. I'm still stuck in my old job. Is my life a nightmare or what?
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
-thought that goes through Megan's head the most when hanging out with her significant other...for more reasons than one.
The realization started when a beloved high school friend decided to tag me in some photos from the illustrious Ohio senior year. At the time, I was all but romantically involved with a suitor I shall call "School." Now School and hung out all the time . When I wasn't at School's place, I was thinking about School, planning when I'd see School again, and trying desperately to stay in School's good graces. To be fair, School was pretty into me. There were weeks, months, nay....semesters, when it felt like I couldn't get School off of me. School and I were tight. My parents and a good number of my friends were very supportive of my strong relationship with School. I really invested in School my senior year though, and much to my horror, it showed. Photographically, it showed. Since I really wasn't attempting to attract other potential relationships, all the pictures of School and I featured yours truly in dreadful sweats, hair amok. The worst part though was the general increase in how...um....cuddly I looked in some of these photos. Now, nothing grotesque, and I was probably about the same size as now...it was really more of a lack of sportswomanish physique than anything. School and I used to have a very active relationship, playing sports, jogging to school...but beginning in my junior year, and culminating in the senior one, School and I resigned ourselves to more...sedentary/literary pastimes. I kindly untagged (wince).
But really, who could blame me! Such extravagant lunches. So many competition brunches, long debate trips graced with celebration dinners, and not to mention every kid with a cupcake-happy mom had a birthday...and six periods of birthday-laden classes at that!
Once I got to college I started dating gentlemen of a less metaphorical variety. This was even worse. People Relationships are the homes of the dreaded trifecta-
A: Boys are nice. Attractive boys are nicer. I would not be in a relationship with unattractive boys. Being near attractive boys fills me with fuzzy endorphins, contentment and a “smile while rolling around in the sun for hours” feeling seldom seen since the Land of the Lotus Eaters. So, after spending an afternoon or evening with a boyfriend I usually spend the next three hours draped over a couch eating chocolates and humming romantic show tunes. This is not conducive to an active, healthy lifestyle.
B. Relationships are accompanied by a bizarre, but unavoidable, desire to be with the other almost all of the time. I have a gym membership. The significant other does not. Due to dietary choices and genetic lottery winnings, he is blessed with things like “upper-body strength” and “a lean, sexy core”, naturally. Once a relationship is entered into, the gym becomes part of the “utterly undesirable activities which require separation from boyfriend” list, right between “Shoot self in thigh.” and “Go to the moon.”
C. Boyfriends reciprocally tend to find me attractive. This leads to the doubly detrimental behavior of providing me with food and telling me they find me attractive no matter what. So now, instead of my single life, plagued with with an imaginary voice forever warning me of health-depleting caloric intake and potential boy- repulsing “fluffiness”, I am now plagued with an actual voice inviting me over for cheesecake, while commenting how much he enjoys how “soft” my stomach is.