A picture is worth a thousand words (#ALoveStory)

It occurred to me about 5 minutes ago that today is Friday the 13th.

And with the luck I’ve been having lately, I feel it’s probably best for me to hide under my bed with a 24 hour supply of franzia, grilled cheese sandwiches (some brownie batter if things get really desperate) and just call it a day.

Because… I’m probably going to get hit by a bus.

or get pooped on by a bird.


Anyway. I thought I might do something a little fun today. A little different than my normal blog post.

I spend a fair large embarrassing amount of time on social media. Mostly because I have nothing else to do, also because I’m addicted to facebook and I should be in therapy and finally because I like to think my obsession is relevant to what I want to do someday. Which is of course, be a professional rich person with no responsibilities other than to check Facebook and lay on the beach. I’m half way to that right now, as I have discovered unemployment is kind of like being really really rich.

Except you have no money.

And if you think about that the right way really hard, it totally makes sense.

Ok, whatever. I’m only saying.

So anyway, having spent an exhorbinent amount of time frequenting social media as of late, I have discovered (along with that of my peers) an exciting (and likewise, time-consuming) site that has brought me some serious joy. And what’s it called? Well if you don’t know about whatweshouldcallme.tumblr.com by now then you’re probably:

A) my mom.

b) my mom’s friends

or C) COME ON! Get with it people.

#whatweshouldcallme is a site where small 3 second clips are used to describe an entire experience.

For instance:




This site is awesome. Mostly because there aren’t always words to describe an entire situation. Sometimes, someone else’s reaction can sum up your predicament more perfectly than your description ever could. Enter #whatweshouldcallme. or as I like to call it #whydidntIthinkofthat

So in honor of this neat new way to waste time, I have decided to share a story with all of you using the brilliant idea of little GIFs to describe something that happened to me recently.

As many of you who know me know, I love giving random men I meet little nicknames. If I meet a new guy and get his number, it’s typically more fun for me to put him in as how I met him or what I associate him with as opposed to his actual name. There are several reasons behind this.

1) A lot of the time, a long term relationship is not in the cards with me and this new friend. It’s a sad but true reality and I get a lot less attached to some guy in my phone when we stop talking who I’ve named “biology boy” than I would if I had let him go by his real name of Andrew. Admittedly, it’s a defense mechanism. 

Just love me ok!

Anyway, this leads me to point number

2) It’s fun. It’s a fun defense mechanism. And 90 percent of the time…it leads to a good story. And if there is anything I like more than boys and having fun… it’s if I can include both with a good story attached.

So when I found this little gem in my phone from two weeks ago (circa approx. 3:30 AM-ish?)…

I knew this was a promising relationship waiting to happen.

And sadly, this is not the first time I have named a guy after drunk food. A few months ago I had several missed calls (circa 2:35 AM) from someone I appropriately(??) named “Nacho Man”. I honestly don’t know what this says about me but we’re not going to give it too much thought today. Oh and don’t worry. I never called Nacho man back. Jesus guys! I have standards. Come on.

.. At the same time….. Burrito guy?!? Um, just how many ways can my drunk self tell my sober self that this is a winner? Hello! I love burritos. It was like inebriated code for “Meg, this is your future husband! Call him back asap girlfriend!”

Which obviously, I did.

So, I decide to shoot him a little text.

The conversation is what follows:

Me: “Hey! We met last weekend. I think we ate burritos together. That’s fun. Did you pay for mine?

Him: “Ha sorry, no I don’t think so. What are you doing tonight?”

Me: “Oh. That’s too bad. That would have been a great first date.”

(Which I 100% whole-heartedly mean. I probably would have fallen in love. And if he bought guac? Yeah. Where do I sign up to bear your first child Mr. Guy?)

Him: “I’m going out in Hollywood tonight. What are you doing?”

Me: “Oh yeah? Me too!”

(Lies.. I had no intention of going out in Hollywood. Unless I’m feeling like feeling up a creepy euro-trash spandex wearing pleather-ized FREAKAZOID, I’m staying the hell out of Holly-weird.)

.. but ok. Maybe he’s cute.

Me: “Come over and pre-game at my place beforehand!”

(nothing like diving right in right?)

Him: “Ok. I’ll bring some friends if that’s cool.”

Me: (I am so super cool.)


In reality:

It occurred to me after this conversation was over that I could be inviting a potential creep and his three (4, 5?) amigos to come chill with me at “my” (thanks for letting me have parties at your place Vanessa) casa. So, logically I armed myself with the only ammo I had.

…Facebook. Duh.

Turns out Mr. Burrito Guy (and no guys, I am NOT going to tell you his real name so don’t even bother asking) is a law student at a distinguished university in the area

(I told you drunk Meg was good).

And I remembered he was cute. So. Law student, cute, likes burritos..


wrong. so so wrong. 


So he was fun. The friends were fun.

Fun, fun fun.


Note to all men everywhere. Fun does not equal a golden ticket to any girls bedroom. NOR does it give you the green light to whisper the weird, creepy shit into my ear.

The following conversation.. is real*.

(*excuse me while I go throw up thinking about it.)

Him: “censored censored censored” wink 😉

Me: ….


Him: “Do you want to censored censored censored?”

Me: …

Him: “Do you want to come back to my place?”

Me: DRAMATIC YAWN. “…I think I might go back to mine.”

Him: “Can I come?”



Me: “I’m going to make pizza.” 


Him: “censored censored censored. Are you sure?”

Me:… Yes. 


Burrito Guy, I’m sorry I let you down. If it’s any consolation.. you kind of let me down too. So much promise, so much potential. But alas, just another common creep. 

Anyway, the weekend is upon us yet again. I’m not going to Coachella, and if you’re reading this right now… my guess is you aren’t either. Wah, wah. oh well. It’s still flyday.

And as they say on #whatshouldwecallme….



One thought on “A picture is worth a thousand words (#ALoveStory)

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