10 things I hate about et cetera: a therapeutical blog chick flick starring yours truly



I’m sorry. 

I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I literally could not bring myself to write anymore on the archaic beast that used to be my beloved laptop. First of all, I’m absolutely positive it was slowly giving me cancer. At the very minimum– 3rd degree burns. Also, it sounded like a jet engine was taking off and I was legitimately afraid it was going to blow up sometimes when I was done typing. Like I was writing my last will and testament on the thing that was going to end my life when I finished writing. The sad irony is not lost on me.

In short, my fossilized computer was trying to do me in. And I am way too young, interesting and important to society to go out that easy.

So that is why I’ve been away. Biding my time. Until today.

Because today is my first day on my brand new beautiful, fast, sleek, non-jet engine sounding, non-cancer spreading (as far as I know) computer.

I kid you not, that as soon as it arrived- I opened it up and it took everything in my power to not hug it in the same fashion that Andy hugged Woody in Toy Story the first. Which sadly I couldn’t find a picture of. So, we’ll have to settle for the little girl (Bonnie?) who Andy gives Woody to in the 3rd movie below:

Yeah. Like that.

I suppose you could say that this pure unadulterated materialistic love started at a young age for me. I had a tradition at Christmas where I stacked everything I received in a pile and would hoard it like some kind of rabied coked out squirrel. My theory was as such: Even though I know I knew exactly what was in the pile, if I only really acknowledged one thing for however many consecutive days it took to make the pile disappear, it was kind of like having a miniature Christmas for 2 straight weeks. Other 8 year olds grew tired of their new possessions by New Years but in my innovative  albeit delusional little mind, I was still going strong on Christmas number 6.

I think this is also where my desire to be Jewish stems from. 8 straight days of gifts? Holla for that Menorah baby. I’m just saying the Jews do it right, gift-wise. Who doesn’t agree the saddest feeling is the last gift discovery under the tree? To this day, that sadness is right up there with Harry Potter ending and rolling over and realizing it’s Monday. Eff that shit, I’m all about making the good times–or things in this case– last for as long as physically possible.

I’m easy going. I’m chill.  I have few complaints about the cards I’m dealt. I like to complain sometimes, but mostly it’s because I like to hear myself talk because I think I’m hysterical and brilliant and mostly because, most importantly, I think I am right most of the time.  I have few requests of those around me. I know and appreciate I have to work for things. I don’t think my dreams are going to just going to be handed to me. Nor do I think they should. I think memorable stories come from interesting plot lines and interesting plot lines have to have an overcoming of crisis. So, in my opinion, all my problems are just leverage to a happier ending.

I guess in summary I believe my life should follow the plot line of a an ABC family original movie with constant splashes of the scenes that make Nicholas Sparks film adaptions R-Rated. I don’t think this is too much to ask. And I also think that so far, I’m doing alright in that regard.

I have the basis for a really good story. I’ve laid the plotline, I got a solid stock of characters, I’m like the freaking poster-child for the quirky, awkward- but in a charming way -chick flick lead (at least I tell myself this. It helps me sleep. Otherwise, I’m just really weird.) I have a constant steady flow of sometimes painful, sometimes useful, always interesting life lessons pretty consistently being thrown in my path by some higher power.

And despite the fact that most romantic comedies are 90 minute cliche yawn fests, I’ll take that last rom-com nugget if you guys don’t want it. Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen vomitateously sweet ride off into the sunset with a cute boyman Emile Hirsh on a scooter  in a Lexus, is perfectly fine by me. I don’t care if my life is a cliche if that means I get the hot guy in the end and my dream job and live out the rest of my days traveling the world as a cultured, rich, hippie sex goddess. Bring it on critics. That kind of hot air balloon fantasy is the basis for something that girls get off to more than any 50 shades sentence ever made. It’s called a happy ending. It’s the American girl dream.

And it’s my future, haters.

So bite me.

As you can tell, I’m feeling slightly feisty today. It could be that I spent last night, feeling like I lived in a fraternity on a Friday night (if you don’t know.. don’t ask.) or that I had a day filled with small talk and having surface level, non-descript, vague, uninterested conversations always put me on edge. Who wants to go through life never really knowing the people around them? I’m an open book. I genuinely want to hear about people’s lives.  I suppose it’s wrong for me to assume others will follow suit but I can only have so many “how-was-your-weekend-good-oh-thats-nice” conversations before I start considering inter-officing banana peels to complete strangers just to get a real human reaction in here.

Sigh. Being a starving social genius can be so unrewarding sometimes.

I guess I can go to bed tonight with the knowledge the sun will come out tomorrow. Right Annie?

On that note, I thought I’d get all my complaints out on the table. Have a little buffet of my life lately frustrations so I can get back to ground zen- zero and remember that I live on the beach and my life is an adventure. And it is finally Thursday. So let’s Top 10 shall we?

10 Things I hate about things

(or my biggest pet peeves, complaints, frustrations, concerns 
about A-Z life as as Meg)--

Honorable mentions go out to:

  • Unnecessary hand directions
  • micromanagement
  • that satellite radio isn’t available in parking garages
  • when radios censor my favorite parts of songs and I sing along like normal and then look like a uncivilized pirate
  • when people talk over my favorite song (ok hello, me making it louder? It’s your cue to Shut up.)
  •  Miley Cyrus’s new haircut 
  • and of course, the fact that Justin Bieber has YET to tweet me back….

(thank you all for being my priest, it has been one month since my last confession…)

10. People who own fast cars and drive like ninja turtles.

Recently, I’ve developed more road rage than in years passed. I think it’s safe to say that LA traffic has played a major role in this but regardless,there is NOTHING that pisses me off more in traffic related pet peevery than some hot little car with a driver behind the wheel that acts like they just pulled off the asian drivers ed lot. (As a female driver, who’s constantly -and occasionally rightfully- stereotyped for my driving, I feel it gives me the right to also throw stereotypes right back. Politically incorrect? I don’t care. Today is my bitch.)


Me, following a red sports car. very expensive. pretty rims, assumingly fast as shit. 40 something man with receding hairline. Douchebag vibe. As you were sir.

And you would think this left turn would be a breeze with this sweet little number in front of me. But no. Because for the love of God man, this isn’t an instant replay, could you make this turn any slower?  Hello? Earth to Charlie Sheen! I’m directly behind you and incoming traffic is going to crush me because you’re busy playing pretty boy mcgee for everyone in the left lane and Oh my god! MOVE-ASSHOLE, I’M-GOING-TO-DIE!

Who’s been there? Yeah. Terrifying. I’ve lost years of life because of these types of people.

… Listen, if you’re going to own a Lexus, a BMW, a freaking convertible Escalade, in consideration to the rest of us, please drive like you own one. Otherwise, get yourself a double wide mini-van, pull up your mom pants, and  continue driving like the little prissy bitch your current motor skills are displaying because you don’t deserve to be behind the wheel of something that cool, Mr. 5 mph Pussies-Are-Us.  Yeah, I said it. I drive an orange Honda Element. Come at me Bro.

9. People who ask for donations outside of supermarkets.

“Hello ma’am. Do you have a few minutes to listen how we can save the premature deaf sea turtle babies who live in the frozen food section?”

I’m sorry.

This is going to make me sound like a huge bitch but NO.

No, I don’t.

I never have time at the grocery store. I don’t go to grocery stores with the mindset: “Hmm. I wonder who’s standing outside of Trader Joes today who is going to attempt to trick me into giving a monthly donation of 10.99$ to save cursive from going extinct? Man, I have a whole hour to kill! I’m going to go to every grocery store in a 2 mile radius and just get effing JAZZED about signing petitions, and reciting oaths and handing out my life savings to complete strangers. Yeah! Man. I love that shit! Free bumper sticker? Where do I sign this bitch? God, I love clipboards.”


No one does that.

Well maybe some people do. But they probably are very lonely. And rich. Or really do have a lot of time. Kudos to them.

I’ll tell you what the real issue is here. It’s not the time thing. Because I’m really not a soul-less evil selfish person. At least on most days. I get that most organizations that stand outside have legitimate and reasonable and even occasionally inspiring causes to raise awareness and money for. And you know what? Sure. I do have a couple minutes to spare sometimes. BUT. I know this game. You don’t really want my time. Because I’ve fallen into these conversation “couple minute” traps. It always, always, ALWAYS ends with a donation. And then, I’m like LIAR! You don’t really want my time. You want my money. I don’t care about sea turtles anymore. You have deceived me.

And furthermore, if I want to donate to a cause? I’m not going to do it outside a grocery store. I am going to do it on my own time while watching that idiotic heartbreaking Sarah McLachlan commercial about dogs that always makes me tear up while signing zeros on my checkbook. Yeah, hear that crazy lesbian girl who stands outside the Trader Joes and assaults people about some law that I can’t even vote for because I am not a California citizen? Maybe you’d have more luck if you played Celine Dion’s greatest hits while showing pictures of puppies. Just an idea.

Anyway, in the meantime, I’m going to take this opportunity to pretend to call my Mom so I don’t have to “give you a few minutes of my time.” Because you are a misleading philanthropic trickster. And I do not trust you. Or your clipboard. Humph.

8. I hate everyone’s feet. Including my own. 

I would have been a terrible Jesus. Washing people’s feet? No freaking thank you. Disciple pledges, you’re all on foot duty. For like the entire new testament. I will put all focus on turning water into wine. And then tasting it to make sure it’s ready. Hit a messiah back up around the book of Revelation. TTYL, lolz.

Ok sacriligious joking aside—

….On a serious note,  something that plagues me old testament style is my fear that I’ll end up with someone I really love and care about but who also has a foot fetish. How absolutely terrifying. The idea of footsie with someone who is not wearing socks makes me slightly nauseous. And the word toenail gives me goosebumps. Even typing it. Ok, I can’t even write about this anymore. Moving on.

7. People who say “to state the obvious” or actually state the obvious. 

Give me some credit here. I’ve made it this far in life without being formally arrested, outright fired, or socially ostracized. I’m an intelligent person. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to some things but I also think what I lack in certain skills, I make up  for with my substantially large vocabulary and extensive grammatical repertoire. So there is nothing I abhor more (which to state the NOT obvious, means hate) than being treated like an idiot. When people say “to state the obvious” it’s pretty much the equivalent to me of someone yelling in my face that they are yelling. Stating that you’re going to state the obvious is like announcing to someone you are a pompous prick who likes to hear themselves speak. I realize sometimes people just say this and it really is no reflection of their overall personality. I’m reasonable. I forgive those who make that mistake and I know are legitimate non-prickish people.

My point is, stating the obvious, obviously, isn’t necessary. Stating you’re about to state the obvious? Double not necessary. Double idiotic. This seems obvious to me.

6. The fact that speed bumps exist. 

Wow. I don’t know where this hatred comes from but  I seriously detest speed bumps. I want to hit them going mach 5 and flatten them in the concrete. If I could punch one inanimate object in the face, it would be a speed bump. Or a fax machine. Because I think they’re archaic and unnecessary. Or gaucho pants. Because gross. Ugliest fashion trend ever. Whoever decided that pants that make it look like your crotch is sagging was trendy should probably also be punched in the face. Also, Kristen Stewart. I totally called her out for her vampwhore habits pre-cheating scandal, and not to toot my own horn but also to totally toot my own horn because I mean…


Right Robby??

Yeah. Agreed. You can call me if you want.

I don’t look like a crack baby but hey, that didn’t go so well the first time now did it?

5. People who think their shit don’t stink. 

ASkfjklwdjseru()&*(&%^#)(#()!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sorry. I can’t speak too much on this. You’ll never stop reading.

Instead, I’ll let my boy Outkast do the talking for me…

4. The awkward morning after car ride conversation

You know the one I’m talking about.

It’s the “We’re going to pretend I’m not wearing last night clothes and look (and probably smell) like vodka as I sit in the passenger side of your car and slowly will the once-in-a-lifetime chance of a lightning bolt striking my brain and turning me into a vegetable so I don’t have to endure the mental stress this 15 minute car ride is causing me”

And then? (And I love this part) it’s the “Ok… well I’ll call you later or find you on Facebook or something.”

Ok first of all, what? Please hold as I internally laugh until I can’t breathe. Yeah! PLEASE find me on Facebook or something. And then please text the number that I never gave you later. How exactly are you going to go about “calling me later” brainiac when you never asked for my number to begin with? Can you read minds? Are you going to contact me with carrier pigeons? Listen, let’s call a spade a spade here. If you aren’t going to call, have no intention of calling and/or never plan on asking for a girls number– don’t try to fill in the awkward silence by trying to be a last-minute gentleman because I think we can all agree it’s a little bit late for that.

And girls? Let’s stop referring to that guy who never called you after you took a few baseball related laps on the first night as a douchebag. Honestly, what did you expect to come from this? Real life (with the exception of my own) isn’t a rom-com. In romantic comedies, the guy calls every Carrie in the phone book (64 total) because he believes in fate and serendipity and chases down a speeding runaway tow truck just to get on one knee and beg a girl to kiss him.

In real life, no one uses a freaking phone book and the girl gets dropped off, orders a large pepperoni pizza and watches several hours of a Pregnant in Heels marathon (shameless self promotion) before passing out into a large food coma all while checking her phone like a cracked out personal assistant waiting to make a lunch reservation at an impossibly overbooked restaurant. Sorry Charlie. You aren’t the 64th Carrie. Your name isn’t even Carrie. It’s Karen, and you’re a douchebag too.You are pepperoni pizza girl.

Be a grownup and finally realize that about .002% of random hookups actually turn into full blown relationships. You should consider yourself the exception to the rule if you get a measly Facebook friend request. And honestly? He’s doing you a favor. I’m not saying your romantic comedy fantasy will come true, but I am saying you can probably do a little better than some guy who gave you 4 hickies, didn’t even bother getting your phone number and then tried to pretend he cared with a last ditch effort of making an uncomfortable situation even more awkward by lying about something he was never going to do to your face. Tell him to save his morning breath and call you maybe never.  Or you can wait for him to call.

And wait.

and wait.

and wait…

All I’m saying is you have the rare opportunity to be the player or the dealer here. Either way you’ll probably pull the same suit, so why not do it on your own terms?

Enough gambling metaphors. You get my point.

3. People who unintentionally (or intentionally!)  make the gym into a soft-core porno. 

This not only aggravating for me, but also, super uncomfortable. Especially when I am physically put in a position that I literally can not look away.

For example:

I take a rowing class on a occasion and we divide seats in half and so we face eachother. Without fail, every time I go to this class this little old lady sits across from me. As the music starts, my cheeks burn. I KID YOU NOT, This 70-something woman rows like she’s having an orgasmic heart attack. I don’t know whether I’m watching her final moments on this planet, or some really twisted elderly porno. And I can’t stop staring. It’s like a car accident. I literally can not will my eyeballs to look away. I’m both disturbed and fascinated and mostly just annoyed. Why the hell would you make a face like that at the gym? I have a hard enough time trying to look put together at the gym for myself than to also be self-conscious for someone else. Your creepy exercise facade habits are impeding on my cardiovascular experience lady. Pull yourself together.

People are always trying to sex up the gym. Stop it. Please. Don’t awkwardly grunt or pant heavily or make creepy post-coitus type facial expressions. Stop wearing next to nothing. Leave something to the imagination! Gahhhh, Just work out. This isn’t hard.

(To state the obvious, that was an easy “that’s what she said” I just threw in there)

2.  Spare wet hair. 

You know, that long string of wet hair that gets interlocked between your fingers and you’re in the shower at your gym and realize its blonde and you have brown hair and so you squeal like a small farm animal because you immediately assume it belongs to a creepy greasy lice infested homeless man even though you go to a gym that costs your first child to be a member of and it probably actually belongs to some lady with fake boobs and an awesome ass but you aren’t thinking rationally because it’s 7 am and you just ran 3 miles and you drank 3 cups of coffee and your brain is literally misfiring and so you try to remove it and somehow it gets stuck on your face and you  smack yourself trying to get it off and nearly blind your left eye with shampoo and  finally  after removing it from your body a good 30 seconds (but feels like 5 minutes) later you come to your senses start to think really how do I have friends at all?

…Is that just me?

Never mind.

And the number one thing that just drives me absolutely crazy and makes me want scream!?

1.. Refusing to consider ANY view but your own. 

I get that you’re religious.

I get that you’re political.


…And Maybe you are right.  But maybe.. (and you’ll stop listening here but can’t say I didn’t try) You aren’t.

The one thing I’ve learned in this world that I can say without absolute certainty is that people are going to believe what they want to believe and there is very little you can do either way to change that.

So, with that in mind….

Here’s what I think:

I think I don’t know anything. Maybe this religion is true, maybe that one is.

I think abortion is really sad, but I don’t think it’s anyone’s decision but the girl who’s in that position to decide what she wants to do. And then it’s her burden to bear. Not the catholic church, not the picketers outside the abortion clinic.. hers.

I think gay marriage is wonderful. I think love is love is love. And in a world filled with so much evil, I think we should do everything in our power to celebrate something as pure as two people who genuinely care about eachother, regardless of gender. I still don’t want to see two hot gay guys make out on tv. Not because I don’t think they should be able to make out. But rather because it makes me sad they aren’t straight and making out with me instead.

I think murder is wrong but I respect and appreciate beyond words those who have given their lives believing war is necessary to keep peace.

It worries me how easy people can get guns. I agree guns don’t pull their own triggers, but at the same time, I don’t think it should be so easy for certain people to be able to have the ability to do so.

I’ll try anything once. Except certain drugs (like meth. WTF people? Why would you ever….. never mind.) and things that I’m pretty sure have a high death rate percentage. Like bunge jumping. And sword swallowing.

I think the amount of political scandals we’ve had, from blowjobs in the white house to US representatives tweeting pictures of their crotch.. is solid proof that clearly the people we are electing are just 50 year old frat boys with really good hair and excellent dental work. And I think that should scare the shit out of us?

I think horrible catchy repetitive pop music is good first thing in the morning and while I’m getting ready to go out. I think on repeat at work makes me want to slowly slit my wrists. I love a good country song any time.  I also think I have an impeccable and refined musical taste.

I think long-distance relationships are a long-shot. I think love at first sight is nothing more than an first impression intense physical attraction. I think people and situations could come along in my life to change my opinions on these things. And I sincerely hope they do.

I think being a “slut” is a relative term saved for people who aren’t your friends. I think people forget that the phrase “if you keep doing what you’ve always done, you’ll keep getting what you’ve always gotten”– is especially applicable to relationships and diets.

I think people take themselves too seriously sometimes. I think there’s something to be said about the humbling experience of  singing along at decibel 2,000 to the Lion King’s Hakuna Matata (as both Timon AND Pumba) for your fellow traffic jammed neighbors.

I think a lot of things. I think all the time. But these are MY opinions. These are MY thoughts. I’m not asking you to agree or disagree or even read this. You have yours and I have mine and so, my biggest complaint in this world is the unappreciation that these are two seperate entities.

To each his own right? Where have I heard that? 


Deep breath.


I feel better.

I have given myself a blog meditational yoga cleansing.

Because you know what they say….

And I would know. 

So, back to work everyone!

May your weekend be filled with zero dead cell-zones, free shots from strangers, lots of impulsive disney sing-a-longs and no one peeing in your bed…



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