Let Us Go, Let Us Go, Let Us Run Away to Edisto.

Today I closed my eyes and when I opened them, I was on Edisto. 

At low tide. In the early morning summer sun. 

I walk down the back steps of the beach house. Each step is sandier than the last. At the bottom of the stairs haphazardly hangs the outdoor shower spigot to wash off the sand of beach goers past. On the ground below the spigot is a rainbow of dry, cemented sand particles and tiny bits of broken shells. 

I  take a wide step out onto the the first stepping stone. I am careful to not let my feet fall into the sand surrounding the small stone octagon. Sand burrs are hard to spot in the sand but there is no mistaking the needle sensation in the soles of your feet. Carefully I step from stone to stone. My pace quickens. Even in this early sun the pavers are already heating up. In an hour or two, my feet will have to be wet to cross them without burning. 

The stepping stones end at the crest of the dune. The dune doesn't gently slope down to the beach. Rather it abruptly cuts off. High tide has eaten away at  this side. I hop down to the beach and run to meet the ocean.  

We greet each other affectionately. It has been too long. The ocean plays at my feet . Rubs against my ankles. Like the rare affectionate cat, winding in and out between my feet and purring before it quietly slinks back away from the shore.  I stand for a moment and let my feet sink into the soft, wet sand before I rush after the water. Let's Play. 

At first I am running and then I am swimming. I swim until I can just barely reach the bottom. I bob in the water, grinning from ear to ear. Oh! What was that? Something brushed against my foot! A shark? A jellyfish!? Just seaweed. And judging by the porpoises jumping by some yards away, I am safe from the sharks for now. The jellyfish…… I must hope for the best. 

The tide must be rising. The waves are getting bigger, stronger. With each swell I propel my body upward just before the peak reaches me so that I bob easily over each wave.

The waves are starting to break just where I am. This is my favorite part. The reason my love affair with the ocean began. I let myself bounce over the next few waves. I am waiting for a big one. And there. Just a few yards out. I see it coming towards me. I turn so my body is no longer parallel to the beach, instead I face towards it. 

I feel the wave come up behind me and as it starts to lift me up I kick my legs out from under me and lie on top of the swell. The wave is now carrying me with impressive speed towards the beach. A few seconds of elation. Of power. Of lightness. Of perfection. And now as I am pushed onto the shore by the breaking wave,  my whole body is now being rubbed raw by the sandy beach. The sand and shells are being clawed back into the ocean by the undertow.


Again?
Again!
Again!
Again!


Now I am ready for a rest. I  sit just close enough to the ocean that the soft sand will mold a seat for me when I sit down. I watch the tide carve tiny canyons and channels around me. Listen to the waves. Watch the sand wash away. Grab shells from the foamy whitewater bits of wave still left on the shore. Rake my hands through the wet sand. Wash them off with the next wave. Reach behind me and dig into the now hot dry sand and watch it slip through my fingers. I do this for hours. All the while looking for charming little shells and cool little black shark teeth that I may keep as mementos. 


The waves have exhausted me. The sun has tranquilized me. It is time for an afternoon nap. Back to the beach house. Make use of the old rickety shower. Leave a trail of wet sandy foot prints up the steps and through the house. In bed I can still feel the motion of the waves coursing through me. I fall asleep as if adrift on the open sea.


I awake across the country in the dry Sonoran desert.

When In Tucson....

Eat as the Tusconans do. Although I always go for minus the onions.

Would you like to take a survey?

So yesterday my sister Margaux sent me a survey for a music research project she is working on. A chance for me to drone on and on about my love of music? I am so there! I decided to share my responses with you. Aren't you blessed? This is also known as totally "phoning it in" with the blogging because all of my "real" posts are not ready. Because I have a life. Sort of. And it keeps me busy. Sort of.

Do you have any 1st experience you remember of music? If yes, what was it?
My earliest memory would be mom singing me lullabies. Sometimes Kingdom Melodies but mostly a song that I didn't realize was a Beatles song until years and years later. The song was "Good Night."


When do you most often listen to or want to listen to music?
In the car. Well all the time. But my favorite time is in the car. I sometimes will drive around randomly just to listen to the music in the car.


Do you have memories tied to or involving specific songs or artists? How does it make you feel when you listen to that music again? (Tell me some stories!!:))
Too many! Seriously. I have SO many strong memories tied to music. Sometimes I just associate a certain song or artist with a person. Sometimes a moment in time. Sometimes a long period of time. For instance, "My Boo" by Usher/Alicia Keys will always be every happy moment of my relationship with Julius. The song "Hanging By A Moment" by Lifehouse is Ben Laubscher. (not in a romantic way-he just introduced me to the song). The Pixies, "Where Is My Mind" and Pearl Jam's album 10 make my mind flit to Jason Huot. "Sugar Pie Honey Bunch" is all you(Margaux) of course. "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John belongs to Chase. The band The Fray belongs to Kaylan. "American Honey" by Lady A and any Prince song will always and forever be Jessica.  I could go on and on and on.


What do you feel makes a great song?
Two things and not necessarily together. 1. Honesty.  Example: Paul Simon. He talks about small real moments in human life. It feels authentic. Is that too Oprah? Oprah has totally ruined the word authentic hasn't she?  2. A dance my butt off beat.

Do you believe music has the ability to heal? Why or why not?
Yes but only if you are using music wisely. For instance, sad break up songs have their time and place but too much and you are going to seriously be down in the doldrums. I have found not so much that music heals me, but rather that a kick butt beat can drive away my crazies. The beat bounces the negativity, frustration, and desperation out of my mind. It's probably giving me brain damage. I like brain damage. It's why I constantly mourn the loss of my "system" in my car. I was actually just discussing this with Jerry, but he says we are grown now and "systems" are for young people. I might have shed a tear.

What inspires you about listening to music?
That it is transporting. And transcendent. Great example of this: Nina Simone's version of "Feeling Good." The first time I heard that song, the world stopped. It gives me chills. Makes me want to weep. And smile. It's a song about freedom. If you have ever been trapped(in a mine, or a cave, or a bad situation, or in prison, or you know.....whatever), you can tangibly, physically feel that song. It's not just the words or her voice or the music. It's all of it together. It's an experience. A moment.
Does any of that make any sense? Probably not.


What do you enjoy about live music more so than on the radio/ipod, or do you?
So I hate to admit this because it makes me feel completely uncool but I vastly prefer recorded music as opposed to live music. I find that live music is generally about the artist/band rather than the music. I have blogged before about how John Mayer as a person has sort of ruined John Mayer music for me. I really hate that!

I enjoy live music for the experience. Generally you go with people. There's food and alcohol and fun memories. All good things. But I want my music to be as pure and undefiled as possible.


How does music affect your life if at all?
Well today is one of those days where my thoughts threaten to destroy me. I have been obsessing for the last two hours about lying and liars and how no one can be trusted and I am going to turn into Gregory House (from the Fox show House) and become addicted to Vicodin and have as my mantra that "Everybody lies." Except that just now I put my iPod on my WAKE UP! play list which is all upbeat happy fun music. And now I am just want to dance like an idiot to The Gap Band's "You Dropped a Bomb On Me." Does "You Dropped a Bomb On Me" offer some kind of life altering message of eternal hope? No. It's just a mood switch that I desperately needed. It's perspective.  I think that a lot of people get trapped inside their own heads and music is a really, really great way to get out of the ugly ruts we create in our minds.


How would you respond? I have this awesome little comment feature right below this post and you could totally tell me all about it! Jus' Sayin'

Chicken Love? The saga continues!

This little gem just showed up in my Google Reader:

Chicken Bag Via the NeatoShop

Since it showed up AFTER my Chicken Love? post, I have decided to believe that I TOTALLY created this trend with my mind.

HEY BECCA AND BRIE! Remember how we said my blog was prophetic and Jen's dreams were prophetic and if I blogged about what she dreamed it would DESTROY the world?

Well, this Chicken Bag sort of makes me feel like I destroyed the world all by myself. 

I feel really bad about it. 

Any suggestions on how to make it stop? 

LIttle Mango

Dearest Little Mango,

Do you remember when we used to call you "Kairi-Bai, Little Mango?" Yes,  your pet name as a baby was longer than your actual name. And your actual name is long. I am counting your middle names young lady! Don't get smart! Yes, I can feel you getting smart from 1500 miles away. Mad aunt skillz. That's what I have.

I am writing this letter to once again address the issue of your continued hard-hearted disobedience. I have demanded on numerous occasions that you age no more. Grow no more. And still you age and grow! It cuts me to my core. I see now that trying to hold you back from this is like trying to staple a wave to the shore. Not possible.

But seriously Jules! LOOK AT YOU:

This picture was after THE haircut. Let's not talk about that haircut. Now or ever.  It saddens your mother. 

That is a lampshade on your head. Jus' sayin'

How could I not want that kind of cuteness forever?

And oh! you have always been such a funny little person!

Here is what stands out to me from your early years:

1. An obsessive frustrating love of the movie Bug's Life.

2. An abnormal dislike for Winnie the Pooh and his cohorts.

3. Me teaching you to say, "I suspose" all mournfully when you were told to do something you didn't want to do.

4. The stage where you called your parents "Em" and "Hon" instead of mom and dad. Hey! That's what they called each other. I get it!

5. How hilariously funny you found peoples' physical pain to be. The word "Ow" sent you into hysterics especially if it was followed with pained facial expressions.

6. The time you broke your elbow and wound up in the hospital. And then when I brought you a Barbie as a feel better present you were all, "I wish YOU would break your elbow!" And I was all, "Hey! Not nice!" And you were all, "Dude! This place gives you POPSICLES! I am just looking out for you!"
Also please note that I am pretty sure that you only played with Barbies for like a month. I played with Barbies for oh.......a decade(and a half)?

7. The first time you met Timler, you drew a picture of him being eaten by a dinosaur. And you drew a Budweiser sign in the background. "Nice to meet you Tim! Your dead. Here's a beer. " That's my baby girl! Jessica loves to tell people that story by the way.

8. How much you have always loved music. And before you comprehended lyrics, you comprehended moods. So Ray of Light was the "crazy song." And some songs were sad. "Why is he sad?"You would ask. It's complicated Juli Bear. Very, very complicated.

9. You have always been a person of specifics. I don't know how to explain this fully. I can only give examples. Example 1: You knew that you needed to be buckled in when in the car. If the car engine was even turned on before you were buckled, you would instantly start screaming: I AM NOT BUCKLED! I AM NOT BUCKLED! Example 2: When you needed your sunglasses in the car,  you NEEDED your sunglasses. Or we would suffer the consequences.  Example 3: Your eating habits. Don't worry, I am not gonna go there. But you know. And I know. And anybody who knows you knows. Example 4: What music was played in the car. I have always liked the song, "Fall Like Rain" by Eric Clapton. Thanks to you, I have heard it a million times. Along with, "Hope of Deliverance" by Paul McCartney. You liked the happy sounding songs. So do I. It's all good.

10. Smarts. Such a smart kid! People always think their beloved babies are smart. You actually were (and are).

11. Miss Juli, our song is "Once Upon A December." That was my lullaby to you. And I sang to you pretty frequently (sorry about that). The last time I was home, I sang that song to Levi and I thought, "I think Levi and I need a different song. This is my Juli Bear song." It just doesn't belong to anyone but you and I.

I could go on and on and on and on with all that I do know. Truly. But what I have been thinking about lately is all that I don't know. In such a short time, you will be 16. SIXTEEN. Insert cliched joke about how I am not getting any older and so this makes no sense. I don't know teenage Juli almost at all. It's more than heartbreaking. I get so jealous when Rita talks about you. Rita knows and gets and loves teenage Juli. I don't.

This Juli is something of a mystery to me:

Loving Big Sister

Wildlife Center Volunteer

And all around beautiful, happy girl 

Generally when my people from back home come to visit, my goal is to introduce them to as many of my Tucson people as possible. If you came to visit, I think I would jealously keep you all to myself. Just you and I and a day at the Desert Museum. You and I exploring Mt. Lemmon. You and I hiking at Sabino Canyon. And maybe one day if I was feeling especially generous, I would introduce to the adorable Madison who daily laments her lack of cell phone and bemoans the unfairness of not getting one until she can drive (I am thinking you will relate). Or to the beyond sweet Alyssa who also has much younger siblings and loves and adores them as you do Levi, but can probably relate to feeling a little lost in the shuffle sometimes. And if you came in the summer, we could go swimming and I could pretend to drown and you could save me with all your new lifeguard skillz and then laugh hysterically at my pain.
Because some things never change.

Love
Aunt Megs

Chicken Love?

Wow! This is...awkward.  But we have to do it. We have to go there. And I do mean "we." This is a group trip. I am taking you there with me.

Here's the deal: It is possible that in May a bunch of my Tucson friends will be travelling to St. Louis. And I have this fear. This fear that as a group, we will run into Tiffany and she will see me and be like, "Wow, why is this blond girl smiling and staring?" And then she will recognize me and scream, "CHICKEN LOVE!!!!!!!" Because that is what she calls me.  She calls me Chicken Love.
And I know deep inside my heart that Jesse the Esse will look at me and say, "Did she just call you Chicken Love?" And that will be it. I will forever be Chicken Love.

This post is probably going to seal my fate but at least I am owning it, right? When you hear the story, you will see that it is kind of entirely my fault from the word "go."

And without further ado: The Tale of Chicken Love

I have this friend Tiffany. I call her my friend because even though we didn't hang out much or talk much back in Illinois, we were both always happy to run into one another and she is happy and funny and smart and awesome. Basically, I claim her as my friend because I like to bathe in the sunshine of her personality whether she wants me to or not. I  met her through my friend Jaime, whom I call my friend because she actually is my friend.

So one day Tiffany, Jaime, another person (maybe Kim-also awesome), and I were in a ministry work way out in the country. We pulled into the driveway of one house and the yard was full of what had to have been hundreds of fowl and poultry type creatures (ducks, geese, chickens, and.......I shudder just typing this.....turkeys). As I was pulling into the long driveway, I was on high alert for turkey attacks. Oh man I hate/deeply fear turkeys.

As I was preparing to back out of the driveway when our visit was completed, I was distracted by a sight in my rear view window.

A sight I had never seen before.

It was...well.....uh.....ummm.....chickens.....or I guess more accurately a hen and a rooster and they were......see.......when a man loves a woman.......or wait I mean birds and bees and..........what I am trying to say is: THEY WERE GETTING BUSY!

And what do I say upon seeing this sight? What thoughtful, mature, intelligent phrasing did I use to alert the other girls in the car that such activities were taking place directly behind the vehicle?

CHICKEN LOVE! CHICKEN LOVE!

Yup, I screamed it. Just like that.

And that, dear friends, is why she calls me Chicken Love.

The Other One

I like to look at my analytics report and see where all my readers are.
One reader is from a city I know you lived (live?) in.
I wonder if it is you.

I think a lot of what you would think if you read this blog.
I imagine you as critical.
"She must think I am so stupid."
Not because I am stupid.
Just in comparison to you.
Smarter than most by far.

And you and I have shared the most complicated friendship I have ever known.

I reflect on the state of "us" now and realize that it is next to nothingness.
It's like we never watched all those foreign films.
Or read Angela's Ashes.
That I never said, "If you are anything like me, you will need a napkin."
And then I accidentally dumped all of my food in my lap.
That was the first time we hung out.

I say all this because I want you to know two things:

If you are reading, and I highly doubt you are,
I consider this to be a high honor.
Even if you read in derision.

And I have been thinking a lot about why we are the way we are.
And I have come to a conclusion.
I think we just always found each other on opposite sides of important issues.
Never on purpose.
We just always chose the side that fit us right,
only to look up and see the other across, not beside.

Sometimes our sides were chosen for us.
By birth really.
And we defended our side outwardly with fierce devotion.
Inwardly we may have struggled with it.

And that is my defense.
My excuse.
I was struggling on my side of the battlefield.
And I had not the heart to see you suffering on yours.

This is my feeble offer of kind thoughts and best wishes.

If this finds you, I hope it finds you happy.

Megs

Purse Fetish

I have purse issues.

Red by Marc Ecko

I am a serial purse monogamist.

Nine West

I know women who will buy one purse and stay faithful to that purse and that purse alone until the day that purse dies. It is with sadness and trepidation that they go forth in search of a new soul purse. They search carefully and practically for a purse they can call their own. When they find that purse, they again commit themselves wholly just as they did the last time around.

Calvin Klein

I am not one of those women.

Completely awesome little vintage purse. 

I get itchy and antsy from using the same purse too long. Too long can range anywhere from a day to a few months. I don't stop loving my purses, I just switch around frequently. Maybe serial monogamist is the wrong term. Purse polygamist. That seems more fitting. Lots of purses. Love them all equally. Use all of them fairly equally.

The other day I was wearing one of my purses as I walked by the big mirror in my dining room. Seeing the purse in the mirror was like falling in love all over again. I forgot how much I liked this purse.

Here, I took a picture for you:

And now here's the close up: 

This is my Big Buddha purse. 

I have seen a lot of posts concerning what people have in their purses. I have yet to have a day where the amount/type of stuff in my purse wasn't too appalling or disconcerting to post. I have a reputation for a few things in regards to my purses. 1. Having a lot of purses and switching them constantly. 2. Having a wide variety and large volume of over the counter medications in my purse. 3. Nonsensical miscellany randomly stuffed in my purse that I can pull out like Mary Poppins.  Like the time I pulled a set of speakers out of my purse in Russian class and offered them up for use with the teacher's laptop. It wasn't planned. I just happened to have a set of speakers in my purse. 

What's your purse profile? Do you stick with the same one until it wears out? Buy a new one and cast aside the old one every so often? Buy a bunch and switch back and forth constantly? 

Do you have size, shape, and color requirements? I like a variety. Here let me show you: 

Also in case you are interested, here are some links to people who ARE willing to share the contents of their purse: 

WebUrbanist: Our Secret Selves: Identities in pockets and purses. 

English Muse: Things inside purses. 

How many times do I have to click my heels?

This post was originally scheduled to post over a week ago. So when it says today, it really means NOT today. 

There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home. 

Also there's nothing like this super cute pair of red shoes from Target. 

Shortly after I wrote my post about Maxwell and the awesome girl who introduced me to him, I got hit with a wave of homesickness. When you move, it is a social necessity that you make friends in your new location. New friends are fantastic. New friends should never be taken for granted. But oh the old friends.......how you wish that you were better about keeping in touch. How you long for their company. You begin to dream of an alternate reality where you can collect all of your favorite people together in one place and never let go of them. Alas, no such utopia exists. You have to make do with email, texting, phone calls, bloggy exchanges, word of mouth (tell so and so I said hi!), all of which are pathetic replacements for being with them.

Most of the time, it's okay. Times like today, it is not. All I wanted today was the group of friends I spent my time with before I moved  here. All of us just had a vibe. A way of being with each other. A way of joking. We were really a family. A lot of us actually were family by marriage or blood. It was rare for a week to go by without a big dinner at my house. International Taco Nights and Rummikub. Baked Spaghetti and Spades. It was even rarer for a few days to go by without us all going bowling together. Or movies. Or out to eat. Or to play pool.  And don't forget things like the annual Chicken and Margarita Night. But mostly bowling.

The thing is a lot of my friends here in Tucson have other friends and other groups that they do things with on a regular basis. Back in Illinois, some of us really didn't. It was all us, all the time. We didn't go hang out with other people, other people came to hang out with us. Did we get on each others' nerves? You better believe it. Did we stick together anyway?  You shouldn't even have to ask.

For the past year or so, I have considered myself extremely blessed to have one of my Illinois "family" members out here with me. And recently, Tucson received two more Illinois recruits. And so when the wave of homesickness swept over me today, I knew that tonight I would be spending time with them and the homesickness wouldn't be so strong. I was right. Illinois people, baked spaghetti, and a good long talk goes a long way for me. I hope it did for them too.

Why Am I Paying You Again?

Why am I paying you again? Oh that's right. I am not.


I have a post. It's all done. Waiting to be posted. And waiting. And waiting.  For a picture. A picture from someone else.


What you need to know: b1 and b2 are sisters. b1 borrowed my red shoes for an event.


Here is a rundown of recent interactions in regards to the picture.


February 7, 2011 3:34 PM, Text message from me.
Crazy weird favor to ask!! Can y'all please take a pic of my red shoes on b1's feet. Make it look like u r clicking heels like Dorothy from wiz of oz. Email to me. Anytime tonight or tomorrow. Blog post.


Responses:
b1: LOl lol if i didn't know you that would be EXTRA CREEPY. Can I have a picture of your feet? hahahaha
me: I knew u would appreciate this request! LOL!
b1: Awesome : ) yes we will do that.


b2: ok : )




So from the outset the whole situation seems rather promising, does it not?  Request made. Request accepted. All very cut and dry.


Alas dear readers, I was about to discover that things are seldom as simple as they seem.


Feb 8, 2011, 9:54 AM, Text message from b2:
I just wanted to tell you the reason I haven't sent a pic yet is because b1 went to bed almost immediately last night when she got home from work. And this morning I stayed in when she left. We are both fighting that cold thing.  (please note her weasel-ly play for sympathy. She is crafty like a fox. A weasel fox.)


My response: FIRED! Just kidding. I have a post waitin on it but it is no big deal.
(Do you see my charity people? My magnanimity, if you will. I am all kindness and patience.)


b2: Yeah I figured you had one all ready to go. I will take one this evening when b1 is home. I don't think either of us are going tonight. : (


me: oh I didn't realize u were that sick! Don't worry about it! Need anything? (understanding, charitable and generous to my core.)  


Feb 8, 2011 9:05 PM, Text message
me: Shoe pic ain't happening tonite huh? Tell b1 not to die.


b2: I have it! I just need to send it!


9:17 PM
b2: Noooooo! I somehow corrupted all the pictures I took. They don't open or work. Curse you, technology!


me: Oh no! Honestly it's no big deal. : )  (Note how I exercise self-control. She is sick. I do not want to seem horrid.)


For the sake of brevity (and possible troubling legal issues involving contract haggling over purple jelly beans and Excedrin), I will skip to February 9th, 2011 when I received the following email from b2: 


"Ok so I admit it. I am a procrastinator and a "I'll get around to it -- eventually -- oh crap I forgot for days and every time I remember I am in a situation which prevents me from fulfilling my assigned task!" =O

Do not think for even one second that I have truly fulfilled my task. Rather, I am plagued with guilt over said non-fulfillingness and decided to give you something in the interim.

I really wanted to make it sparkly but Paint.NETv3.5.6 just doesn't have that capability.

Sorry."


Attached to the email was the following graphic: 

Readers, does this graphic seem like the kind of high quality multi-media that Meg's Mind regularly offers?

Well.....okay yes it totally does. Who am I kidding? I provide totally awful pictures that I have haphazardly taken with my flash less semi-broken iPhone 3GS. So there is an argument to be made for beggars can't be choosers. 


But it is not what I want! I want the picture that I requested. When I get it, I will post the post that has now become totally irrelevant. Unlike all of my other posts, which are consistently relevant and succinct. 


Lest you start to feel sympathetic towards b2 and her complete and total incompetence, I present you with her most recent communication in response to yet another query about the status of my picture: 


b2: Yes, well, uh....You don't realize how much time Stargate takes out of a person's life! Also I would send you one now but b1 is, again, at work. 

Stargate, readers? Really? STARGATE! As it happens, Stargate has never taken one moment of my life.
More's the pity.

It's important to note that b1 and b2 are not numbered in order of importance but rather in order of who contacted me first on the subject. Although b1 would assuredly tell you differently.

It is also of merit to note that b1 and b2 are entirely awesome regardless of non-receipt of the photo. I post all this because the two of them will find it humorous. Whether or not anyone else will is debatable.

2011 Grammy Awards Show

Back in the day, I used to always watch award shows with at least one of my sisters. Usually Emma. Last night I watched alone. I was very tired.

So the opening Grammy tribute was a tribute to Aretha Franklin and the women singing brought it. I was inordinately annoyed by Xtina's red mike stand.  So much of what she does annoys me. I just want her to just sing. That's it. Dress normal. Act normal. Sing. She has enough talent to cover everything else. No more attention grabbing antics needed.

Pop Duo:
Winner I want: PARAMORE. THE ONLY EXCEPTION! PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE!!!
Actual Winner: Train, Soul Sister. There are few songs I hate more than that song.

Here comes Lady Gaga........hold onto your hats ladies and gentlemen. Who knows what the heck is about to happen...A few minutes later I am officially underwhelmed.


Muse takes the stage. I checked with Rita and she thinks Muse is kind of weird. Just in case you were wondering. I am always wondering about Rita's opinion of rock music. Why wouldn't you?

Every time I see Ryan Seacrest, I wish he was Joel McHale instead.  Joel McHale is so much funnier.

Ryan is introducing a Bruno Mars, B.O.B, and Janelle Monae performance.

Do I even want to address the fact that B.O.B. is wearing a monocle? No. There is no response to that kind of weirdo nonsense. And now he has removed it. Phew. "Nothin' On You" is boring the heck out of me! Re-imagined "Grenade" is better except that he ain't hittin' notes the way he should be. Janelle Monae is a unique one. I dig her. I am impressed with Bruno Mars on drums. Okay why doesn't Janelle Monae know that girls must crowd surf on their backs??

Female Country Vocal:
Winner: House That Built Me, Miranda Lambert! Yay!

So 1 hour in, I have seen two awards given out. Pathetic!

Dear Grammy people,
You took my Usher off the stage and left me with Justin Bieber and a Smith kid in LEOPARD pants or some junk. The only reason I am not changing the channel is because occasionally the camera pans to proud papa Will Smith. And he is lookin' fine.

Oh here's Usher. Okay. All is forgiven.

Love Megs

Oh hey! I just realized maybe Grammy planners are also Superbowl halftime planners. Lots of really bad Black Eyed Peas performance and two really good minutes of Usher.
Wait! Who let the kid back on stage?? Boo!


Best Rock Album:
Winner: The Resistance, Muse
They would have been my second pick so it's all good. Acceptance speech review: I love accents. That is all.

Selena Gomez and Donny Wahlberg introduce something. Who let him wear those glasses? Ugh.

Best Pop Vocal Album
Winner: The Fame Monster, Lady Gaga

I would like to insert a plea to the camera men to not show John Mayer anymore. He looks creepy. And gross.

I think Lady Gaga just got edited. Haha! Don't even bother talking about what she is wearing. No point anymore. Her speech seems pretty heartfelt. Lovely shout out to Whitney Houston.

We know about my love for Avett Brothers right? I like Mumford and Sons in tiny doses. Okay, actually they sound pretty dang good.  How fun would it be to see them live in some little rowdy pub?
Love. Avett. Brothers. Love. Love. Love. In an abstract and odd way, they are what all of my melancholy sounds like. I know, I am so weird.

Weren't there any lackeys to get Bob Dylan a glass of water before he went on stage? Here's the thing, I like old Bob Dylan stuff.  "Tangled Up in Blue" is pure genius. This is just sad. And painful. I am downing water for him and his poor throat at this point.  Get the man a lozenge!

Pan to the audience: J.Lo looks like she wants to put Bob Dylan out of his and her misery.

Lifetime Achievement List: Totally Boring.
Teddy Pendergrass tribute by Lady Antebellum? Odd. But okay. I am a big Lady Antebellum fan, so I am game. I saw them in concert with Tim McGraw. Fantastic! "American Honey" is one of my favorite songs.

Miley Cyrus and Kings of Leon? STAY AWAY FROM HER! She is evil! Don't let her taint you!

Best Country Album:
Winner: Need You Now, Lady A!!!!

Jaime Foxx, whose new album was a HUGE disappointment, introduces Cee-Lo Green.Cee-Lo is so weird. Shake your head and smile kind of weird. Not derisive snort weird. Paltrow's presence seems pointless. She needs to up her weirdness factor. Her normal look is killing his vibe.

No more John Mayer! Yuck! But I am loving the little "Jolene" moment with Norah Jones and Keith Urban. Keith Urban sounds and looks fantastic. So does Norah Jones. I like the hair cut on her. She looks very different though. Keith Urban should announce everything. Yay to Australian accent.

Song of the Year
Winner: Need You Now, Lady A. I totally did NOT think they would win. I seriously have goosebumps watching Hilary freak out with amazement that they won. Aw! She is crying. Okay I am tearing up. Pull it together Megs. This is embarrassing!

Seth Rogen. Miley Cyrus joke. Love it!

Rihanna looks gorgeous. Her performance dress is to die for! She is starting out with her version from her album, Loud, of "Love the Way You Lie." I can't get past her dress. I can't think of the last time I liked a celebrity fashion moment so much. I found pictures at www.beautyisdiverse.com. Here



In Memoriam. Little Feat Drummer? I love Little Feat's song "Dixie Chicken!" Solomon Burke? And a Mick Jagger tribute to him? Huh. Mick Jagger's twitchy dance moves are so......something. I have to think about this. It will come to me.

Chris Kattan! That's it.


YouTube Link

Nicki Minaj looks exactly how I would expect her to, but with less pink leather.

Best Rap Album:
Winner: Recovery, Eminem

Eminem's speech is so standard. Slim Shady may officially have grown up. I guess we all have to grow up sometime.

Did Diddy just get introduced as Puff Daddy? I am so confused! He sounds stupid. But here's Rihanna and Drake. She is wearing a new outfit that is significantly less awesome than the previous dress. Everything is significantly less awesome then that previous dress.  Poor sound quality is super irritating.

Record of the Year:
Winner: Need You Now, Lady A.
They are whooping butt! I am so proud. Like I know them personally proud.
I am done. Goodnight.

Grammy Awards are not done. I am just done.

You Can't Win ~ Michael Jackson

I have seven posts in draft status right now. And no drive to finish them. One is finished but it is waiting on a picture.

I have a second post in "draft" status about why the first post is waiting on a picture. That one is waiting on me.

And me is currently unable to finish a post.

Except this one.

Today I was channel surfing and BET was showing "The Wiz." I happened across it just as Michael Jackson was singing, "You Can't Win."


YouTube Link

This song gives me major flashbacks from driving to and from my job when I lived in Illinois and worked in St. Louis.

Having my marriage fall apart was rough. To put it mildly. And on that drive when I was stressed or upset, nothing made it all seem okay quite like, "You Can't Win" blaring through my car speakers. I blared it a lot.

How twisted is it that a song entitled, "You Can't Win" cheers me up?

It has a happy beat, but more than that it is the message.  Bizarre right?

To me, the song said, this is your life now. And you can't win. Can't beat it, can't change it. So just accept it. Now sing at the top of your lungs and dance.

Sidenote: I can't watch The Wiz because it gives me the heebie jeebies but I love "You Can't Win" and "Ease On Down the Road."

Confessions ~ Usher (Volume 8)

Thing I would like to confess:

So Maxwell has a Twitter account and I follow it in my Google Reader and then pretend his tweets are directed only towards me. One morning he twittered or tweeted (whichever): "Good Morning." And I was all: "He said good morning to me!!!!!!!!!!!!" It is a lot like the time Jim Edmonds (former STL Cards player) waved at the BFF n I cuz we kept screaming at him from the bleachers. We both kinda were aware that the "wave" was more of a SHUT UP ALREADY gesture, but we still looked at each other and screamed: JIM EDMONDS WAVED AT US!!!

Experimental Brownies: 99 Bananas

Before I get to the point, THANK YOU SO MUCH for all of your comments on my last post. They made me laugh and cry and I loved every single one! If you haven't commented yet, it's not too late. 

I am a big fan of doing new and experimental things to brownie mixes and seeing how it turns out.

My most recent experiment was so delicious and I wanted to share.

The brownie mix I use calls for 3 tablespoons water, 1/4 cup oil, and 1 egg. I was making a double batch. I had just seen Ina Garten on Food Network make brownies from scratch and she was advocating adding instant coffee crystals to the batter to enhance the chocolate flavor.

I added some instant coffee and instant espresso crystals - maybe about 1 tbsp all told and about 1 tsp of cinnamon to the dry brownie mix. Then I added the oil and eggs. But instead of 6 tbsp of water, I used 3 tbsp water and 3 tbsp of 99 Bananas (you could probably add any kind of banana liqueur).

By far my favorite brownies ever!

Youth and Young Womanhood.

My blog is not a big producer of comments. I try really hard to keep any insecurities I have about this on lock down. But for this post people, I am begging for some comments. I genuinely want to know your stories on this subject.

I was having a conversation with a man who has only daughters and we ended up talking about how he handled his daughters having boyfriends. And I mentioned that my dad never did the whole "cleaning his shotgun" routine to intimidate potential romantic prospects.

This made me think about time I spent with my dad as a girl.

I am fairly certain that our interactions were on par with other fathers and daughters. Building furniture for my Barbies, playing with the vice grip in the garage while he built "stuff,"  learning how to drive tractors, removing old rusty nails from old rotted boards, helping him catch piglets so he could castrate them, playing fox and the hound in the snow, cleaning and filing at his office, and hiking, lots of hiking. That's what y'all did.... right?  What I am thinking is......maybe not. My experiences might be a little different.

So I am asking, that you go down to my little comment section and tell me:

What did you do with your dad (or step dad or grandpa or uncle or whatever)?

SPECIAL NOTE TO MY SISTERS: YOU ARE NOT EXEMPT FROM THIS REQUEST!

Ten On Tuesday: Maxwell Edition

Hey you know how sometimes when you are singing along with a song, you get all into it and you are doing gestures to match the lyrics? Do you do that? I totally do that! I now would like to present my sing a long soulmate:



I really, really, really, really love this man. I was introduced by my friend Jaime. (Hey Jaime! What's up? I MISS YOU!)  She even loaned me her Maxwell CDs. That is some serious love, generosity, and trusting friendship. I have all of his albums on my iPod, but if I had them in CD form, I am not sure I would be willing to share. That's one kindness I am not sure I could pay forward. What if they got scratched? Or were never returned? I mean, Jaime kinda had to nag me to get hers back.

I know that Maxwell's next album is going to drop any day now(I pray) and this entire list of favorites will be changed, but here is my at the moment top ten:

• Sumthin'Sumthin'
• Stop The World
• Love You
•  Lifetime
• Get To Know Ya
• Fortunate
• Changed
• Ascension (Don't Ever Wonder)
• Pretty Wings
• W/As My Girl

You Think My Tractor's Sexy?

Oh My Goodness! I am so psyched. I am in no way, shape, or form a Green Bay Packers fan. At. All. I am, however, a farm girl. And a John Deere fan. I am considering wearing this to the Super Bowl party just because it would be so completely hilarious. And if I got totally irritated with Green Bay I could just switch to a black jacket and scream, "Go Steelers!" Black n Yellow y'all!

This outfit is so ridiculous that I am not sure it matters what jeans I wear. I am kind of leaning towards the first pair though. Thoughts? 

Get Lifted ~ John Legend

I am still feeling under the weather and could use a pick me up. Here's pictures from the annual Balloon Fiesta in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I attended back in 2009.  The Mass Ascension is surprisingly joyful. You just can't help but grin and feel upbeat and lighthearted as all the hot air balloons begin their ascent.