Goodbye Ole Virginny!

This will be my last post from the great state (or should I say commonwealth?) of Virginia, as Matt and I are starting our cross country trek today. Having proved ourselves in all ways credit worthy, we got a loan to pay for our moving expenses, so now we're all but off. I have packed my bags, and said goodbye to my mother, who is moving to Harrisonburg, VA to teach at JMU and thus, had to go up there today. I am even wearing my most comfortable jeans, Birkis, two layered t-shirts that have been washed a plethora of times in order to retain maximum softness, and my signature jangly earrings. I have two new cd's, and we are stopping for more. Tonight I will spend the night in Evansville, Indiana.

So yeah. I am moving. Ho hum. To tell you the truth, I never really thought that this day would come. So now I don't really know what to think. I mean, I guess I'm excited, but I'm also a bit nervous about the whole California thing, and a little apprehensive about leaving here and not knowing what it ever meant to me. Isn't that wierd? I just feel like a big mishmash of emotions have taken over my central nervous system, and are now hellbent on driving me completely and totally nuts. But, overall, it's not a bad feeling. And I am excited. I really am.

So anyway, in a sorry attempt to make sense of these feelings, and to put abstract thoughts into very concrete list-like things, I give you my 10--oh nevermind, I'm not going to think of 10--let's just see how many I come up with--best and worst things about Virginia.

Best Things About VA:
1. The College of William and Mary. The home of Darth Vader, the Wren Building, and Tony Anemone, who is a landmark in his own right.
2. Sweet tea. Or, ordering "tea" and hearing some angeling voice say, "You want that sweet or unsweet, hon?"
3. Summer nights, which I guess are pretty great anywhere, but I have to say, VA's are pretty special.
4. Alison's Restaurant in Abingdon, VA. The place of my first job, and the best blue cheese dressing on the east coast.
5. All the history. It's pretty neat to live somewhere where so much shit hit the fan.
6. The Appalachian Mountains. They just run through here, but ours are the prettiest, the biggest, and the bluest.
7. Relatively cheap rent in most parts of the state.
8. Katie, Kathleen and Bob, the only people who read this, and thus, the bestest things about VA.

Worst Things About VA:
1. The humidity. That shit has the power to make me, a gentile woman, have the Hasidic Jewish man curls. Seriously.
2. Williamsburg, VA, which if you live there, you know is totally divorced of the College and full of nothing but self-righteous SUV drivers and retired curmudgeons from the Planet Nasty.
3. Old people. There's a lot of them in VA. Tis the home of the newlywed and the nearly dead.
4. Bureaucrats who work in the govt, and most often, live in NOVA. I actually never met any of these people personally, but I met their kids at school, and that, my friends, was all I needed to see. When you meet a 20 year old Reagan Republican who wears suits to class, and uses the words "Gross National Product" in everyday conversation, you have a pretty good idea of what his parents are like. And sadly, this is not a one-time thing.
5. As a matter of fact, let's just add "NOVA" to the list. The traffic is wretched, the people are worse, and...really, do I need to go on?

Ok, that's all I can think of, and since there are 8 good things and just 5 bad, I think we can reason that VA is a pretty awesome state. I am sad to leave it, and I hope CA equals it in sheer coolness. Have a good un, my little pones of cornbread, and I will post when we get to Berkeley (probably around Saturdayish) to give you the lowdown on the trip.

Love you more than I love my luggage,
Morgan

On Religion and the Smashing Pumpkins

So I successfully evaded going to church this morning by playing comatose. Even I don't think it was very convincing. I just laid incredibly still in bed and just barely grunted when mom asked if I wanted to go. I was really burning up under all the covers, but I stayed there until she was completely gone, and well, it worked.

I really have nothing against going to church with my mom, even though she goes to this huge church where everybody is so high on Jesus that they're probably about 3/4 of the way to heaven already. When I go, I always tell myself that I am doing it for my writing, because what's a southern writer without stories about religious crazies? But they're not crazies, really, overall they are nice people. However, there's just something about that place that makes me feel like I'm in some kind of circus, and I don't like it. I don't know why. It's not a yearning for conversion--in fact, I think it's quite the opposite. I always feel wierd because when I go there, because I don't feel anything but that circus feeling. No yearning for God or religion or anything. I always just feel really secure in my un-Christian state, with no desire to change anything. Which I guess is a good thing. I don't know.

I think that the thing that bothers me the most about church is that for all that talk that Christians do about family, they don't really adhere to it very much because they are always at church. I grew up in an area where everyone went to church and most people's families were heavily involved in something or another. And it always seemed to me that if we all spent our time together, as a family, instead of sitting in some building doing stuff for other people who may or may not appreciate it, our lives would benefit. Both Matt and I came from this type of overly-involved family, and I think that could be the reason why we are not religious now. That, and we have discovered the outright beauty of Sunday morning together. To me, there is absolutely nothing better than Sunday morning with Matt. We sleep, we read the paper, we eat doughnuts--it's perfect. And it makes me feel sad that other people don't do that. And since Matt is going to church with his family this morning, I really, really miss him. Does anyone ever stop to figure up how many divorces are caused by too much religion, rather than not enough? Probably not.

Well, since I rather dislike talking about religion, I am going to drop it, and talk about the Smashing Pumpkins, whose greatest hits collection I purchased last night. The Smashing Pumpkins were my favorite band when I was about 13-14 (I loved Billie Joe for his body, but Billy Corgan for his tortured little mind). And so I bestow on you this handy dandy list of why the Smashing Pumpkins still rock:

Six Reasons Why I Still Love the Smashing Pumpkins
1. Because now I actually understand what the lyrics mean.
2. Because one of the first gifts Matt ever gave me was the Adore cd, even though he had never heard them before.
3. Because the song 1979 still manages to make me feel like I am sitting in someone's backseat, riding through town, looking for the boy I have a crush on.
4. Because I would love to introduce the word "smashing" into my everyday conversation (as in, 'This Smashing Pumpkins cd really is smashing.')
5. Because I was having a really shitty day yesterday, and then I bought this cd and I felt like I was 13 again with no real worries in the world.
6. Because if you had told me when I was 13 that I would still be listening to the Smashing Pumpkins at 22, I would have thought I had turned out ok.

A Survey That Will Touch You

x.... spell your name backwards: Nagrom--he he, that's cute
x.... have you ever had a song written about you: no, but Iroutinely imagine that Billie Joe wrote Extraordinary Girl for me
x.... what song makes you cry: actually, no song makes me cry. I have a heart of ash, you see.
x.... what song makes you happy: Heroes by David Bowie, because it makes me think of my wedding
x.... what's your all time fav. song?: Suffragette City by David Bowie
x.... what do you listen to before you go to sleep: usually Matt's voice prattling on about grad school
x.... height: 5'4"
x.... hair color: dark brown
x.... piercings: just the standard ear one
x.... tattoos: nil
x.... what color pants are you wearing: chino colored shorts (I am going to be working for my uncle today)
x.... what song are you listening to: I'm not listening to anything
x.... what taste is in your mouth?: bad breath/morning taste--my mom is in the bathroom washing her hair so I haven't gotten to brush my teeth yet
x.... whats the weather like?: hot and humid but not as humid as Williamsburg, praise Bob
x.... how are you?: alright, but searching for a home
x.... get motion sickness?: nope
x.... have a bad habit?: Yes. I watch too much bad tv, and I eat too much bread.
x....get along with your parents?: when I'm not around them
x.... boyfriend/girlfriend: one big fat husband
x.... have a current crush: not really a crush...I am married after all, but I have to have someone to talk to Katie about in a dramatic type way
x.... have a big regret: not actually getting a minor in something
Favorite . . .
x.... tv show: Law and Order Vanilla and Law and Order: SVU
x.... conditioner: Dove Intense Moisture
x.... book: McTeague by Frank Norris (it's set in San Fran and it's about an overweight dentist...how could I not love it?)
x.... non alchohol drink: sweet tea
x.... alchohol drink: A good old G&T usually hits the spot, but an orange martini is good when I'm feeling girly.
x.... things to do on the weekend: drive around aimlessly talking and watching movies after cooking a big meal
Have You Ever . . .
x.... broken the law: yup, but only traffic style (unless you are asking about all the sex acts that are illegal in VA. In that case, I laugh in your face for even posing the question.)
x.... ran away from home: Nope, always too chicken...but I did keep a bag packed just in case.
x.... snuck out of the house: once during a slumber party, just to prove that I could
x.... ever gone skinny dipping: yup
x.... made a prank phone call: Too many times to count (I grew up in rural VA--what else did I have to do?)
x.... tipped over a portapotty: unfortunately, no
x.... use your parents credit card: I used my dad's credit account at a furniture store recently, but I'm not sure that counts.
x.... skipped school before: not really no. St. Paul (where I went to high school) is a very small town, and believe me, if I had tried it, my parents would have found out and the proverbial shit would have flown.
x.... fell asleep in the shower/bath: yup, in the bath (how does one fall asleep in the shower? I mean, god.)
x.... been in a school play: yup, you're looking at The Region D Best Actress from 1998.
x.... had a boyfriend/girlfriend: I'm married, so I'll leave that up to you to figure out.
x...been in love: again, that one's up to you to figure out
x.... been hurt? Who hasn't?
x.... gone out with someone you only knew for 3 days? no, I don't think so
x.... have a job: have one, but I haven't started it yet
x.... your cd player has what in it right now: I have a changer: 1) Iron and Wine--Woman King 2) Modest Mouse--The Moon and Antartica 3) Kasey Chambers--Wayward Angel 4) The Donnas--Spend the Night 5) The Garden State Soundtrack 6) Green Day--International Superhits
x.... if you were a crayon, what color would you be?: jungle green
x.... what makes you happy?: good wine, good food, laziness, Law and Order reruns
x.... the next CD you're going to buy: the new White Stripes and The Shout Out Louds
When/What Was the Last . . .
x.... you got a real letter: a couple of days ago from my crazy aunt who summers in Boca
x.... got an email: from a real person? Who isn't trying to sale me Cialis? Wow...I don't know...
x.... thing you purchased: a cheese danish from The Wildflour Bakery
!x.... Tv program you watched: Bridezillas with my mother last night at midnight, and we are still talking about it
x.... movie you saw in the theaters: Wedding Crashers, which really wasn't that bad
x.... hugged: probably my grandmother
x.... song heard: the last song on the Garden State soundtrack, whatever it is, because I am obsessed with it
x.... place you were [ besides home ]: my uncle Ivan's photography studio
x.... phonecall: Matt
x.... you were depressed: Wednesday
x.... you were in the hospital: almost two years ago
When/What Comes to Mind When You Hear . . .
x.... car: my beetle
x.... murder: she wrote
x.... cape: this picture of my husband when he was four and had an obsession with superheroes
x.... penis: betweenus
x.... cell: white blood
x.... shoe: Where are they?
x.... fun: roller coaster (no idea why)
x.... crush: Katie, not because I have a crush on her but just because
x.... music: makes the people come together
x.... chalk: dust

Searching for Abstract Notions of "Home" and Realizing that You're Addicted to Wine

Well, since no one is sending me questions any more, it is time for a good, old-fashioned heartfelt post. And it's a good time for one, as I am quickly realizing what a sad sack of strangeness that I am.

I've got no home. At least not now anyway. I came here expecting to feel some sense of kinship with the motherland, to be able to feel like I am part of these mountains for some godawful reason that escapes me now. I don't. I love it here, but I feel estranged and sad, and OH MY GOD MY MOTHER IS DRIVING ME INSANE! I love my family, but seriously, in all honesty, it's probably a good thing that I am moving across the freaking country. I don't know. I just feel different. And unresolved. And all of the other things that you find in a Faulker novel. I am very Sound and the Fury-esque.

So Matt and I are leaving Monday if we can get a loan and driving off to CA so that we can secure a house and get used to the whole thing. Then we're going to fly one way back and help Matt's dad move our stuff out there. So we're going to drive out there again (2 times in a 2-3 week period). My whole life is just one big library shelf, and this time I'm channeling Kerouac.

I don't know. I just feel so blah. I want to go to CA, but I also want to stick around here and see if I can get the mountains to feel like the same things again. It's like I'm married to the damn things, and they've lost interest, but I'm still holding on, for the kids or whatever, trying to make things work. But really, they're just in bed with the secretary, having the time of their life and laughing at my expense. Le sigh.

And I am dying for a nice big pinot noir. And my mother be damned if she'd let me have it. However...she is gone today...

I keep reminding myself that someday I will have a home that I love and that loves me. It sure as hell wasn't Williamsburg, and it sure as hell ain't here. But there are a lot of places left to look, I guess, which is pretty nice if you really think about it. I find it to be a huge shame that we as a culture seem to never look for our homes, rather, we let our lives dictate where we will live. I think if we all spent our time just looking, we might be a bit more conflicted, but happier in the long run.

In totally unrelated news, Britney has cut off her hair and now manages to look like a harried soccer mom having an affair with the gardener. It's bad. Real bad. And they're selling Curious at Wal-Mart now, which makes me, well, curious. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Yesterday I baked a blueberry cheesecake. It rocked. So there's that.

Do you think I'm having a quarter-life crisis? While I think that's a bit too dramatic for my taste, if you define "crisis" by an unlimited searching for one's place in life, then I've got it going on. Totally.

Well, I should go. I haven't gotten many days away from my mother, so I might as well take full advantage and get drunk off my ass or something. And I think I might write, as being in this funk lends itself to some pretty powerful ideas. Have a good un!

Mayhem, Madness and Stupid Shit

I am logging on rather quickly in order to answer these questions from the Great Bobdini before I watch Family Guy. Matt and I had a great night last night--we went to a nice restaurant, ate huge quantities of beef, and saw two movies, one of which was good and the other of which was...well...lacking. The lacking one was Dark Water, which really should have been called The Attack of the High Rent, because that was basically what it was about. This led to a long, fun conversation about horror movies and how they have gone horribly, horribly wrong, which is where my title comes from. Matt took the time to elucidate the very things that make a good horror movie, and then went on to say that pretentiousness, overthinking, and freaky children are the downfall of the horror flick. He says this like he is teaching a class. This, my little chocolate cupcakes, is why I love my husband.

So, Bob my love, here are your answers.

Why are we still in a war that was decleared over two years ago? This answer is easy: it's profitable. Our proud soldiers are making a lot of money over there for rich bastards who need it for their yachts and their trophy wives. And little Bambi needs new boobs. Doesn't that make it all worthwhile?

Wouldn't it just be easier to shoot them as they enlist? It would save the government on a lot of that terrible expensive gas flying bodies to and frow. I think so, yes. Or we could just show them pictures of a bunch of disembodied Iraqi children, play the Star Spangled Banner, hack off an arm and reintroduce them to society. They would have accomplished the same thing pretty much.

Why and how in the hell does His Holiness the Dalai Lama and his retardedness George Duuuuhwya Bsh share the same birth day? Cosmic prank? That God, he gets his kicks in the strangest manners. And yes, this is a cosmic prank.

Why do I have a weird, crack like, addiction to the Weekly World News? The same reason I am addicted to Pink is the New Blog. Just because. VH1 can't be counted on to satisfy 24 hours a day.

Why doesn't everybody believe in reincarnation, when it is one of the only versions of the after life that has scientific evidence? It's not like the Lamas just pull a name out of a hat. Being from the Bible Belt, I consider myself an expert on this question. Here's how it breaks down: Science: stoopid. Believing in a God (and everything the preacher who talks about that god says you should) who Hates You and Wants to Beat You Down (you filthy sinner) at Any Turn: Totally Smart and holy too.

It has now been 4 days since I have had oral surgery. Why the halibut does my whole face still feel like I tweaked Tyson's nipples and called him a sissy mary? Oh Bob...because you, like me, have absolutely no luck in life. I'm sorry.

Lastly, but most important, will you stay a part of my life forever? It is a wholey dismal thought when my mind turns to losing you from the ennui of distance. Oh, you know I will. As long as there is a Britney, I will be there to comment on her, and as long as there are midgets, you'll be there to send me pictures of them. And life will be oh so good despite absence of luck, enlightenment, and best-selling novels.

Have a good un! And feel free to send me more questions.

And now--stay tuned for a wretched imitation of Dr. Phil...

Today I will be a good girl and keep my promise to the two people who posted their (many) questions for me and I will answer those questions with much glee. Yes, you read correctly. Much glee. Because I think I have found my calling in life: advice columnist. It could be Ask Morgan!, running in 522 newspapers nationwide, and feature a picture of me with my hand under my chin, looking demure yet knowledgeable. And I would live in upstate New York in a small cabin where I would receive torrents of emails a day from Harrowed Housewife in Hollywood and Sad Sack in Sheboygan. And I would publish books too, with everything from weight loss tips to sexual positions (How to Save Your Marriage in 10 Easy Steps!), and I would be quietly wealthy. Ahhh, yes. All because I was lonely in Sweva and posted a request for questions on my humble, unread blog. Ahhh, yes.

So without further adieu, here they are.

Shadojaq's Questions (which he doesn't really need answered as he is a knowledgeable, enlightened, near bodhisattva being):
My question is simple. Why the hell hasn't some one beat Bam Mangera to death? I have two possible solutions for this, but I must start by saying that this question is not very Buddhist of you, Shado. Nonetheless, here are my two answers: 1) His name is Bam, and so he intimdates people. I would not beat someone named Bam, just as I would not beat someone named Smack, Hurt, or Slam. 2) He is surrounded by big people that his parents have hired, merely because they know that they created the spawn of Satan, but having that parent/child relationship thing, don't want to see him killed before he can buy them a bigger house.
Wait I have another. Why hasn't the one joke Will And Grace been cancelled yet but the genius Carnival has been? I have to say that I have never seen Carnival, mostly because I only watch things that being with the words "In the criminal justice system..." or are featured on VH1. That said, I don't understand why Will and Grace is still on, as in my mind, it jumped the shark with that Harry Connick Jr thing. I will also say that tv executives are evil, unless they are that guy who decided putting Da Brat and Jane Wiedlin in the same house would be cool. That guy is a genius.
Oops, gotta another. Why isn't everyone a buddhist? It would make everything so much better. This I don't know. Mostly I would say that it is because as a race, we humans love strife. That's the reason behind professional wrestling, Survivor and any movie starring Wesley Snipes. We're a bunch of bastards, and it takes people like you, Bob, to change us.
When will it end? Tomorrow, according to some dude wearing a sign board that I saw in Kingsport, TN today.
Why does my mouth still taste like burning teeth? Because your insides burn with the desire for saving us from ourselves.
Why are my wounds still bleeding? I'm guessing that you didn't apply the tourniquet correctly.
When will we start realizing that we are all connected to one another? Right before the bomb/asteroid/fat guy in overalls hits. Which, you know, could be tomorrow.

And my lovely lovepot Katie asked:
hmmm...you do know you have just opened a can of worms, right? yes, I do, but I love worms and well, opening cans for that matter.
Why do I like unattainable guys? The same reason I have a deep desire for Billie Joe Armstrong: just because. Because it's fun, because you love being embroiled in drama, because you and I need something to laugh at. Just because.
What is this fascination with midget priests who like the sauce? 1. Midgets are cool. 2. Priests are always appropriately dressed. 3. The sauce automatically makes anyone better looking, even The Ramones interestingly enough.
Why do I want to finish college? Because you want to have a life that doesn't involve wearing a nametag.
Why do we have little hairs all over our body if we just shave them off? It is just God taunting you. That dude has some sense of humor, huh?
Why is Bam Margera such an asshole? His name is Bam. He doesn't have a choice. If your name was Splat, you'd be an asshole too.
Why do his parents put up with that little shit head? They want a bigger house/new car/introduction to Jessica Simpson.
Will I ever get to meet and woo my lovely Jake Gyllenhaal? Most likely. He wants you Katie. I saw him the other day in a picture, and his eyes just spoke to me. And they said, "I need Katie as much as Kirsten Dunst needs a philly cheesesteak injection. And, in case you haven't seen Kirsten lately, that's pretty bad."
Will I walk down the aisle to a David Bowie song like my mentor Morgan? First off, I am not a good mentor, so you should find someone better, like Jenna Jameson or that woman that sells Snapple. And yes, you will. Unless you marry Alex. In that case, you'll walk down the aisle while listening to power ballads and old Maury Povich episodes.
Could I pull off the bed sheet look? Honey, no one can pull of that look unless they a) have just had sex, and then it only works while in the friendly confines of the bedroom or b) are Angelina Jolie, who would look good in a Pringles can if we could find one big enough for her.
Why have all of my friends gone away? I don't know, but we all miss you incredibly.
Why do I continue to work at BAM even though I hate it? Because deep down you are in love with Joe Muggs and want to sire his babies. That, and you want to keep track of midget man for me.
Why are there like 50 different blog sites? Because people like this interweb of greatness, and they like it a lot. And they also like typing pseudo-personal things and thinking that someone in Latvia could read them and then steal their credit card information.
Why is it not all of my friends can decide on one, so I have to open up accounts on blogs I will never write in to comment on their blogs? Again, God's just having a little laugh at your expense.
What is the deal with pink polo shirts? I mean, c'mon. And what's the deal with airline food?
I will never be able to accept a man who wears a pink polo. This is not a question, but I will say that I will never accept him either unless a) He's Ewan McGregor or b) He's Billie Joe Armstrong just trying to be ironic. I would even smack my husband (in public) if he tried wearing that shit.
When will David Bowie rock out the hits again? Probably as soon he is up to it. I feel for the guy: he's old and he has a 5 year old. I'm willing to forgive him for not pumping them out as quickly as I need them.
Why does the new Real World suck hardcore, but I still watch it? I ask myself this question nearly everyday--I don't watch the Real World, but I have many, many more vices. And this is the answer I come up with everyday: It's on.
Why is it I can't seem to turn the volume of my voice down? Because you're lovable Katie-poopkins, and it's part of your charm. Not good for funerals, but charming none the less.
Will you buy me a laptop? No.
Pretty please? No.
How about an IPod? Only if you buy me one too.

Keep em coming. I seriously could make a career of this. Well, maybe not, but it's fun nonetheless.

Question Time, Question Time!

I was having quite the shitty day, despite the best efforts of my lovable husband who managed to make me shoot tea out of my nose at dinner because of his comments about a fat man in denim overalls. Yes, it has sucked, and if I were a more melodramatic, bitchy human being, I might tell you about it. But I'm not, I actually consider myself to be sane, so I'm going to tell you about the other good thing that happened.

A blog that I regularly read had a question session, where you could send in questions that you wanted answered and the guy would answer them. I never thought that my question would be answered--I have never been lucky, except for this one time when Matt took me to see The Princess Bride and I won the $26 door prize. But anyway, he did, so here is his stellar answer.

Why are midgets and really short men so attractive to me? Can you find me a midget or really short man to have as my very own?morgan

Well Morgan, I think you like really short guys because you enjoy dominating men. That, and because you have a really shallow vagina and you know that chances are short men won't be able to hurt you like bigger men can. Secondly, I would gladly help you try to find a midget of your very own, but I don't think I'll be able to. When you walk around New York you really don't look down. 99% of the time you don't want to know what you're stepping on. I could walk through a pile of money and not know because I don't want to risk looking down and seeing a pile of dog shit under my shoe, or a dead baby. Here in NY, there's a good chance it could be either of those.

Isn't that awesome? Except where he makes unheeded observations about my goodies, but still--doesn't that rock? I think he's right--I am a dominatrix in disguise. Or maybe I am. I don't know. But it's cool none the less.

So in the spirit of solving problems, I am taking questions, mostly because I just like hearing from people. Ask me as many as you want--I will answer them all and post them here. Just post them as comments. And don't forget to answer my questions in the post immediately after this one. When I last checked, Cap'n K was my only brave answering soul. C'mon guys! Let's all get close and learn things about each other!!! Yea!!! Doesn't that make you feel all good inside!!!!

Excuse me, but I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. I haven't heard anyone talk like that since Freshman Orientation. Gee whiz.

When I say Mash, I don't mean Potato

Remember Mash? If you are male, probably not. If you are female and you don't, you missed out on what was quite possibly the highlight of my prepubescent years. For those of you not in the know, it's a game where you, using the highly accurate method of numbers and counting to determine who someone will marry, where they will live, what their job will be, etc. etc. It's fun, and it used to kill the time for me during all of my forays into Sunday morning church. We used to do it with paper and pencil, but now they have a whole game that one can use to do it, and has cards where you can find out such must-know information as what your wedding colors will be and how many pairs of shoes you will own.

So, having access to this game now, I played and here's what I found out. I am going to live in a shack in California and have a bulldog. I am going to be a writer, my husband will be a punk rocker, and we will have a silver car.

And I didn't cheat not one bit.

I swear.

Not even that punk rocker thing--sooo not my idea. But it came up anyway.

What if it's true?

Oh dear lord...moving on...Given that I adore getting all these comments that you petite sirloins are bestowing upon my lucky little head, I am once again going to initiate some questions. Keep up the good work! It was lovely last time.

Tina, you fat lard! Come and answer these questions!
1. Does Axel make you feel welcome in the/his jungle?
2. You have been given the opportunity to assemble the ugliest band in music history. Who would you choose, using living or dead musicians?
3. What about the hottest? Again, living or dead musicians please.
4. Why didn't God make bacon healthy?
5. What is your favorite line from a song?

Have fun, and post those comments. (By the way, I love the control I have here. How weird is that?)

An Open Letter to My Generation:

Hello all. I hope this letter finds you in good health and happy and as sober as possible because it is important. By now, we have managed to graduate college/impregnate someone/give birth to someone/buy that Camaro we've always wanted with money from the the Oxycontin. Congratulations. We've achieved stuff. We're doing well as a generation I think. We're smart/hard working/fun/always drunk. And, in my humble opinion, that's pretty good for a group who is maligned as much as we are.

But here's the thing. I believe we're asking a bit too much. We all think that we're just going to get stuff--you know, money, great job that involves drinking coffee and talking, love, sex, etc. etc. And we don't really think about what it takes to get those things. We just assume that it will appear, like that freaky king in the Burger King commericals, and give us all that we desire. And to tell you the truth, that's not going to happen. Sometimes you have to work for stuff, and sadly, that's not always fun. As the young guys on the totem pole, we all have to take jobs that just aren't what we are looking for at the moment, and hope that we work our way up someday. We just have to. And we shouldn't expect a whole hell of a lot more. Sorry, but that's just the way it is.

So, to the person on LiveJournal who shall remain nameless I give you this advice (not that you will listen to it, since you are staying away from the hard, cruel internet for a few days): Shut the hell up. No one cares. Yes, I understand that you have a right to go on an online forum and bitch about your life. That's fine. But when it goes on for 6 months--I mean, seriously. You need to get your life together. You go to an office job for one day and decide that it is hell and that you're never going back? What the fuck? Are you on crack? Answer these questions: 1)Will it honestly kill you? 2) Will it pay your rent? If the answers are "no" and "yes," shut up. Could you please? We would all appreciate it. Welcome to the real world, bitch. It sucks. You're going to love it.

And yes, I could just quit reading your livejournal, but the thing is, I kind of need it. It reminds me of just how good my life is. So while I sort of need for you to make bad choices and have a wretched life, even I want you to get out of this funk. Seriously. It's gotten that bad.

Oh, and that thing about academia, and how you belong there: I hate to point this out, but being married to academia personified I think I can say it. Academia is work. Lots of work. And, honey, you couldn't cut it if someone spotted you the books and the smarts. You'd weep after the first day, and then we'd all have to hear about that too. Geez.

So the moral of the story is this: Suck it up. Go on. Develop an alcohol problem. And someday things will be better, and you'll thank me.

Love,
Morg

Lonliness+boredom/presence of depressed husband=lots of Blogger posts

Yo yo yo, my cheese blintzes!!! Guess what? I am bored. Really, really bored. My mother is out with her boyfriend, my husband is rotting in a pool of his own depression (actually, he's playing SimCity, but isn't that about the same?), and my 12 year old neice is flirting with an older man who has an above ground swimming pool. I am reading the Best of on Craigslist (or was reading) and trying to keep myself from turning on VH1. Please keep me away from the VH1. It's about to cost me my marriage and probably some major legal bills. Because I would imagine some short men don't take to stalking as well as others, if you know what I am saying.

So here's what you can do. I'm going to ask some questions of my lovely readers (yes, all three of you). Please answer them in the comments. These are very important questions that I desperately need answered. I am serious. You can even email me your answers: emrudd@wm.edu.

Questions for you:
1. What is a Hollaback Girl? Are you one?
2. What do you think of Jason Mraz?
3. If I put eyeliner on Jay Leno, would he be sexy?
4. What about doctors? Can they wear white after Labor Day?
5. What's the wierdest place you ever had sex?

Hope to hear from you soon, my lovelies!

I remain your bored, obsessive friend.

Random Thoughts on a Sunday Morn

Since I was told by one of my favoritest people that I should update lots, even if it is just a "going out for pads" message, I henceforth unload a bunch of randomness on you. Have fun, my little sausage biscuits!

It is not a good idea to watch a Green Day biopic before you go to bed. If you do, be forewarned that you will have strange dreams involving irritating music that you could of somehow like although not consciously, short men wearing eyeliner, and vegetarian black bean chili. And you also wake up thinking about someone other than your husband, which is bad. Very bad. Smack smack.

My father seems to have forgotten just how old I really am. I called him last night to see if he wanted to hang out today (and by "hang out," I meant "take Morgan shopping"), and he informed me that I was invited to my 12 year old cousin's pool party for her softball team and that "it should be fun." What do I look like, Michael Jackson? The last time I checked, doing underwater handstands with a bunch of prepubescent girls was not "fun." But I am going anyway--for what reason, I totally do not know (maybe to keep from watching anymore Green Day biopics). I know that I am going to need about five G&T's just to get through the day, a pleasure that will be withheld and replaced by Hawaiian Punch. Le sigh.

Five Ways to Answer the Question, "Are you excited about moving to CA?," a question that I am asked about 643 times daily and cannot truly answer without delving into conflicted stuff concerning existential quandries and many hours spent listening to Ralph Stanley:
1. "Oh my god, yes!!!!!!!!"
2. "You know it!!!!" (insert giggling)
3. "Oh yeah, it should be fun" (take sip of highly sugared beverage, try to be cool).
4. Nod head, smile, disappear.
5. "What?"

And a question: Why are midgets so cool? Can you find me a midget to keep as my very own and that will fix me gin and tonics on command? Best answer to these questions posted in the comments wins a free trip to Southwest Virginia to eschew Morgan's immense boredom/life questioning!!! Have fun!!!

Lessons Garnered From VH1, No. 423

So I just finished watching Driven: Green Day, featuring Billie Joe's current wife. Here's what I learned:

Ways in Which I Am Very Obviously Superior:
1. I do not own a leapard print tank top.
2. I do not have dread locks, which even I, with my hipness quotient of -34, know are sooo 1994.
3. I have a larger vocabulary (for example, I would describe my husband's winning of a Grammy with a different word than "good").
4. She's not from the South.

I'm not going to go into this any further...I choose to sit back and watch City Confidential and eat cheese and imagine that my English cucumber moment is not far off.

Oh, my darling uneducated drunkard, you're not going to know what hit you.

Shit fire and save on the matches...

This is my 140th post. I need to find something to do. You know, that doesn't involve computers or Sam Waterston.

Le sigh.

So I'm at home. Well, actually, I am currently without home, as I gave up my apt., so now I am at this place in Sweva that used to be my home, but that is something else entirely now. Yes, Thomas Wolfe, your oft repeated maxim is correct. You can never go home again. Although your most famous work is not read that much now and you've kind of faded into genius oblivion, you hit that nail square on the head. Congratulations.

But alas, I am trying to ready myself for the big CA, and by "ready myself" I mean seeing family and drinking inordinate amounts of sweet tea. It is actually very fun to drive around here, if not a bit Faulkneresque. I keep getting these weird feelings where I feel like I'd do anything short of axe murder in order to stay here, but then I shake my head a few good times and talk myself out of it. Of course I want to go to a place that I have been to once and have gained most of my knowledge about from The Graduate and Kerouac. Of course!

So it's an odd time for me. I am trying to cure myself and my errant thoughts by listening to loads of Green Day (which is probably the most depressing thing of all) and imagining my first meeting with Billie Joe, the one where our eyes lock over an English cucumber at the Berkeley Bowl and in which we bite our lips and read each other's minds, knowing that we are both married and cannot have each other...but, oh fuck it, this is a fantasy...of course I will have that bottle of port with you tonight Billie Joe. You bring the eyeliner, I'll bring the chocolate-hazelnut fondue.

Ho hum. I miss the Burg in a strange way that has more to do with the people there than the actual Burg, and by people, I mean about five people. I esp. miss Bob, whom I haven't seen in ages and can only hope the best for. And I miss stalking short people with Katie, as she indulges me in my weakness, and laughs at all my jokes, no matter how lame.

I should go. My mom is sitting right behind me--she probably thinks that it is odd that I am typing on her computer in my jammies and laughing at the words "English cucumber."

Alarming News

I just read that contrary to popular belief, Mrs. Federline will not be gracing the cover of Vanity Fair naked and in full pregnant glory. And to this I say: is life truly worth living anymore?

Movin' On Up

So I moved out of my apartment. Very quickly. I got a lead on a (good) job on Friday, and they told me if I wanted it, I would have to be out there by the 20th, so instead of wasting the money on another month's rent, we packed up and moved out. We are still in Williamsburg though--Matt is finishing out the week at work and I am staying with him to get a few last things done. So officially, we have moved from shitty apartment to shitty hotel. Very, very sad. However, it is progress.

So now we are trying to secure loan money to put the security deposit down on our new place in Berkeley, and we are getting ready to go. Hence the new name of the ole blog. Let me know if you, my little croquembouche, have any other ideas that might not be so long and wordy.

So I spent my Fourth of July packing up my shit, of which there was a lot, let me tell you. I have somehow acquired a huge, huge amount of stuff. Matt rented us this storage building to put it all in before we leave, and I'm thinking that we will have plenty of room, but as it turns out, the building is packed. Totally. And this is without all the new furniture that my dad bought us. It is amazing how much stuff one accrues in a life. I could go all philosophical here, but I won't, as I am much, much too tired. But to finish out my Fourth of July thing I will say this--we packed, then we went to Nawab, which was weird, because seriously, it should be a crime to eat Indian food on the Fourth. And then we went to see the fireworks in the Sunken Gardens, which was lovely I might add.

I will end by saying this: I am going to miss this place, believe it or not. I cried like a baby when locking up my shitty apartment this morning, which, for anyone who has seen it, should shock and awe. And last night Matt and I walked around campus for a while after the fireworks, and I just felt like the air had been let out of me. This school is where I graduated from. This is where I lived for the first time on my own. This is where I got married. It's going to be hard to leave when it comes right down to it.

But I will go. I really am totally exhausted--we started packing on Friday night, and didn't stop until this morning, so I have reason to be. I am going to literally haunt Swem for the next few days, as I don't want to sit around the shitty hotel room all day. So, book in tow, I go off once again to find a quiet place to sleep.

Dear Jennifer Garner--Married Woman to Married Woman

Dear Jennifer,
I know I've never written you a letter before, nor have I ever seen your show, now did I see that movie where you were a 13 year old placed in a stacked, wretchedly dressed body. But you are entitled to take my advice because I am taking the time away from Spongebob and picking the Ritz chips out of the carpet in order to write this to you. So sit down, get comfortable, fix yourself a virgin daquiri and shut up because here comes the best advice you're going to get all day:

Stay away from the Affleck. Gently put it down and walk away. Quickly.

Because Jennifer, even though I don't know one dad-blame thing about you other than that you have the Benbryo safely residing in your uterus and that, I think, you are from West Virginia, I know that your parents raised you better than this. They wanted more from you, Miss Garner, more than to be half Bennifer 2.0. They wanted you to succeed, to be a loose cannon CIA agent or whatever the hell you are. Because if they wanted you to marry a bloated man who hasn't seen the good side of a razor since early 2004 and who suffers from a gambling addiction that rivals that of Dorothy Zbornak on that one episode of the Golden Girls where she lost her job because of the ponies, they wouldn't have sent you to that acting class, or that dance class. They would have just taken you to the nearest trailer park, slapped some Aqua Net on you, and told you to go play nice with the little boys, and by "play nice," they would mean "get knocked up and marry that unemployable bastard." Which is basically what you did, without the Aqua Net.

So Jennifer, I plead to you: run away. It's not going to last anyway. It's only weeks before he runs off with an Atlantic City waitress named Flo who can get him free chips and knows that guy at the blackjack table who says he just might be able to slip you a few, if you know what I'm saying. So run as fast as your bloated ankles will allow you.

Britney says cowboy boots are good for that.

Love,
Morg