RIP Rocky Raccoon

I always get upset when I see roadkill, unless it is a snake or armadillo.  Those animals are disgusting and I feel better knowing there are less of them (so run over all you want, especially near my apartment).  I know that raccoons are mischievous and infested with rabies, but they're so cute (in my mind the cuter the animal the more sympathy it gets).  How can you look at that face and not feel bad you just ran over it? (Unless you are Steve and then I already know how you feel.)

Steve took me to the airport last Tuesday early in the morning when it was still dark outside and while changing lanes I heard him hit a huge rock that sounded like an explosion. I may have shouted a little bit, but in my defense it was only because I thought he blew out our tire (on my side of the car, of course).  I told Steve he should have been paying attention to a huge rock and then he said it wasn't a rock, but that was all he said.  I asked him if it was a raccoon and he said, "Yes."  So then I asked, "Were you not going to tell me it was a raccoon until I specifically asked if it was so that you wouldn't have to tell me and you wouldn't technically be lying?"  And this was his response: "Yes, but in my defense it was already dead.  I just hit it again."  What a sicko.  He has escaped my murder charges this time, but he may not be so lucky in the future.

She Was Right

I often take shortcuts or ignore things Megan says because I'm efficient (not because I'm either too lazy or I just want to do things my own way). The most recent case was one night when I was preparing the next days lunch for myself, part of which included cheese, meat, and crackers ("big boy Lunchables", yeah I'm that mature). I decided I was going to just throw the crackers, cheese, and meat all into one baggy (to save the environment, because I care.) Megan told me it was going to make the crackers soggy, a risk that I told her I was willing to accept.

The next day I pulled out my lunch to discover I was not prepared for the nastiness that is soggy Triscuits. I did not expect such a relatively minor loss in crunchiness to result in such a dramatic change in taste. I forced the first one or two crackers down. I thought to myself, "I can just throw these away, I brought other stuff in my lunch, and Megan will never have to know." Then another part of me thought,"No, she will know. I don't know how she will, but she just will. She always does." I spent the next 15 or so minutes choking down every last morsel, determined to live with the fate I had chosen. And then she never ended up asking about it, but I confessed anyway.

Here are some unrelated pictures of our trip to San Antonio yesterday.

Top: view of the Riverwalk. Left Bottom: an old church. Mid Bottom: Us in front of the Alamo.  Right Bottom: the slight step above mall cop: Park Police for the Riverwalk.

Put Your Big Boy Pants On

For those of you who are easily offended, this is not the blog post for you.  To those of you who may have been expecting a humorous or entertaining post, you will be disappointed.  And if you find yourself getting offended while reading, you'll recover so walk it off and suck it up.  My stance on your offense lines up with Rhett Butler's feelings, so don't expect sympathy from me because you will get none.

Generally when I vent, it is to Steve in the privacy of our own home, but I would like to be perfectly clear and honest with those of you who constantly bitch and berate those that were born and raised in Utah like you are somehow better or more "enlightened" than those of us that did.  You're probably wondering what may have influenced this post.  I generally enjoy my ward here in Texas, but this week was not the first time people (teaching the lessons, no less) have felt the need speak with derision towards "Utah" Mormons simply because we grew up differently.  Please note that I did not say easier or harder, as it was neither.  It was simply different.

If I told you that when devil gets to the borders of Utah he stops and says, "Well.  I'm not allowed in there, so I'll just have to turn around" you would call me an idiot.  And I would be if I believed it, but that is more or less what you are implying when you say that it was somehow easier for us that grew up in Utah.  I can assure that it was not and none of my siblings would contest my stance.  We were no more immune to pain and suffering than the rest of you. When you say, "Oh, those Utah Mormons" like we somehow have a monopoly on "that" type of people, you're wrong.  In fact, I have never been to church in another state, or country for that matter, where I didn't see those very Mormons you are so quick to identifying as being "from Utah."

Ignorance is a choice you make REGARDLESS of your geographic home, not because of it.  Nor does growing up outside of Utah make you tolerant.  Tolerance is something that you learn; it is not an gift that God bestowed on you simply because you arbitrarily were not born in Utah.  

I find that one of the most common complaints is about how Utah drivers "are the worst drivers ever." I am uninterested in your anecdotal opinions and it is worth noting that our car insurance went up when we moved to Texas. Truthfully, Steve and I have found that the ones that complain the most often have less than stellar driving skills and records themselves (I'm trying to be generous here, but don't test me. I will name names).  If you were so foolish as to insult me while I am driving you may find yourself suddenly walking home.  I don't make threats I am not fully prepared to keep (Steve can vouch for that). If you are interested in actually finding out how your state as a whole ranks, do some research (or you can keep living in willful ignorance because it's easier than taking back your unfounded accusations).  In fact, for you lazy ones at there, I've already done some for you:
http://www.thedailybeast.com/galleries/2010/09/22/the-worst-drivers-in-america.html#slide1
http://www.insurancenetworking.com/news/Auto-insurance-state-rates-rankings-30054-1.html
http://www-fars.nhtsa.dot.gov/States/StatesCrashesAndAllVictims.aspx
http://www.usnews.com/news/slideshows/the-10-best-states-for-teen-drivers/3
http://www.usnews.com/news/slideshows/the-10-worst-states-for-teen-drivers/11
http://www.allstatenewsroom.com/channels/News-Releases/releases/where-do-american-cities-rank-in-eighth-annual-allstate-america-s-best-drivers-report

And my favorite of all is when people continue to demean Utah and its residents even after they go to school, work, and marry people from there.  It's not like BYU is twisting your arm saying you have to go there.  There are other members of the church at other schools in other states, so it's not like you have zero chance of ever getting married if *blasphemy* you go somewhere else.  If you hate Utah so much, DON'T GO THERE AND STOP WHINING ABOUT IT, because, surprise, surprise, we don't care.  If you don't like it, stay in your own state.  No one is forcing you to be miserable, so stop victimizing yourself and blaming your misery on a state.

Do not be fooled into thinking that I feel any obligation to be nice to you while you berate my home state and talk to me like you are somehow better than me simply because you grew up in a different geographic location.  Stereotyping, while sometimes true, is always incomplete.  Church is NEVER an appropriate place demean and berate others period.  If you really are interested in creating unity within the church, you should start by checking your over-generalizations at the door.

When you are ready to talk about an individual's actions or behavior, then I will listen to what you have to say.  But if you insist on making assumptions without any data of substance to back it up, I will probably rip you a new one.

Something Wicked This Way Comes....

Growing up I was a little bit of a scary movie junkie and now it seems as if all those movies are catching up with me.  I finally got Steve to watch "The Birds" this year and for as cheesy as a movie made in the 60's is, it could really happen.  I have been telling people that the birds are coming to peck our eyes out for years and here's my proof that I only speak the truth (threw that line in there for you, Lys).  We came out from Wal-Mart two weeks ago and the parking lot was COVERED in birds.  Since they crapped on our car in at least ten different places a few months ago and Steve thought this was his moment of vengeance.  Steve decided to drive all over the parking lot honking at them.  It wouldn't be untrue if I told you he was laughing a little maniacally and probably having too much fun doing it.  You know it's a sad day when I have to be the voice of reason telling him that although there were two other cars doing the same thing, we should probably leave before someone reports our license plate number to PETA.

I made Steve drive slowly so that they didn't break through our windshield.

See, THEY'RE HERE (5 points to whoever gets that reference that is not my dad). You should all consider wearing goggles to your car from now on.

Steve TPed the cat to make him a mummy against my wishes, even if he was using our toilet paper from Costco.  I'm sure you can tell by Charlie's eyes that he is not happy.  Steve just feels the need to humble him every now and then.

I have to show you the back end so you can see how committed Steve was to  wrapping up Charlie.  I still think we should have him stuffed when he dies and pull him out every Halloween as part of our decorations.  If for no other reason than to gross my mom out.

Fuzzy Slipper Sign

As Megan and I were at the drive thru at Taco Bell on Saturday we watched and listened as the person in front of us yelled and berated the people through the intercom because they were not putting her order on the screen by the speaker. Watching someone explode like this over 99 cent tacos made me think of something I learned on my psychiatry rotation.

In medicine there are certain signs that go hand in hand with certain diseases. For example, Murphy's sign is positive when the examiner puts pressure under the patients liver and as the patient is inspiring they suddenly stop. It is associate with Cholecystitis, or inflammation of the gallbladder.

When I was on my Psychiatry rotation, I read a lot about a condition called Borderline Personality Disorder. It is characterized by a set of dysfunctional personality traits including unstable personal relationships, black and white thinking, problems with self image, self cutting, mood instability, and impulsiveness. This disorder is fairly common and you may know people with it: they tend to be manipulative, overly dramatic, sometimes overly hostile, and hate you one second love you the next second kind of people. It is exhausting and at times enraging to deal with them.

One of the residents on my psych rotation told me about the "Fuzzy Slipper Sign". She said that if a patient presents to the psych hospital and she is wearing fuzzy slippers, then they have Borderline Personality Disorder. Turned out the first patient I met with this was wearing pink fuzzy slippers and leopard print pants. I guess the Fuzzy slipper sign is true.

Confessions of the Glenn Household

1. To whoever decides to steal my wedding ring one day: HA HA (in Nelson-like manner).  Joke is on you, sucker.  That's how much it's worth.

2. I still watch my dad's movies that are recorded on VHS tapes.  Mostly from the 80's.

3. I have tried to get Steve to sit through episodes of "Charles In Charge."  He didn't even make it through one. (When I typed "Charles" the first time I wrote Charlie-Freudian slip.  That happens to be the name of my cat who thinks he is the boss.  Speaking of boss, does anyone that is not my sibling remember "Who's the Boss?"  What ever happened to Tony Danza?)  I thought he was a real babysitter for longer than I should have.  Random side note, he was also in "Diagnosis Murder," which I watched religiously for years after TGIF was over.

4. Steve wants me to bury him in the cheapest casket they sell at Costco.

5. Steve rickrolls me on a regular basis (out of all the 80's songs to know all the lyrics to that is the one he chooses).  He even does the voice.  But unlike the computer, I can't turn him off.

6. We probably eat our bodies' weight in treats every year.  It is a little sad, but I think I may still choose death over diet.  So maybe Steve will choose my casket instead.

7. When people appear shady to me usually my first thought is "I hope this guy isn't the next Norman Bates." In fact, I regularly use Hitchcock and King movies/stories to judge everything.  I know that birds will probably not peck my eyes out, but I feel the need to prepare myself just in case that clown is here to kill us all (FYI, this is a totally rational phobia).

8. Steve thought I made up the DSM-IV early on in our dating relationship.  Even after I proved that it was a real book I am still proving that I'm not making stuff up on a regular basis 3 years later.  Using APA citation guidelines is nothing after documenting my sources all this time.

9. I thought Steve was a dork in high school.  When I told him that he said, "Well, so were you."  Proof that Steve occasionally sinks to my level.

10. Steve said that he would consider letting me have a pig one day.  I feel the need to document this in case he tries to go back on it.  HERE'S MY PROOF.  I may need to get this blog post notarized. He also said that we could get a chocolate labradoodle (when we have money, so maybe never).

11. I love Twinkies (plain, frozen, roasted, and fried).  Who cares if I'm eating sweetened whipped lard?!  The breakfast of champions.

Wait For It (said in Shawn Spencer-like manner)

A couple years ago my little sister kept pestering me about watching "Psych."  I told her that I did not have any more room in my schedule for new shows.  She then tried to convince me that if I would just give it a chance that I would love it.  She brought it up for at least a year and then a few months after Steve and I got married I finally watched it....and then thought it was hilarious.  It took me a month to get Steve to watch it.  And now two years later I find myself not making plans for Saturday evening so that I can watch Psych re-runs on Ion Television.

So, the thing I love about Psych is the references to 80s movies and shows.  Also the occasional music video (as seen here).  Why you ask?  Because I have seen more of these movies than Steve might be comfortable letting me admit. There was this episode where Shawn and Gus are on a military base and Shawn says "I feel just like Michael Dudikoff."  I could not stop laughing.  Steve didn't really laugh, so I said, "Steve, it's so funny because it's just like American Ninja.  Didn't you want that movie with me?  It's an 80s ninja movie that my dad recorded on VHS."  This was followed by, "No Megan.  I never watched that with you."  I was concerned about being judged by Steve, so I felt obligated to defend the fact that I knew who Michael Dudikoff was even though I think it might be just me and the cast of Psych.  This is actually a normal occurrence and I make a case for why I know the things I know during at least half of the episodes (Random side note: one of the bad guys in American Ninja is also the neighbor Mr. Ochmonek from the series ALF, which I still watch courtesy of Hulu).

Now why am I telling you about the 80s?  Because I loved this movie called "Legend" (with Tom Cruise in his younger buck teeth years) when I was a kid and used to always say, "This reminds me of Legend" when I watched something else.  And then my sisters would tell me that I always thought that everything looked or sounded like it was from the movie and that it really didn't.  BUT this week I was vindicated.  We went to Snow White and the Huntsman this weekend (I'm not going to lie, I was rooting a little bit for the evil queen).  There is this part where Snow White pets this white deer and then it gets shot JUST LIKE IN LEGEND.  NO JOKE.  So I leaned over to Steve and said, "That was just like Legend."  And Steve agreed.  YES!!!  He initially thought I was talking about I Am Legend and thought that I crazy until I set the record straight. A little disclaimer here, if you did not see the movie early on in your life you should probably not watch it now.  It will be a little weird.  I know this because I made Steve watch it with me (also on a VHS tape), but before he watched he asked me what it was about.  My response when something like this: "It's about these magic unicorns and these evil goblins chop off the horn so they can have power to rule the world."  About the time I said "unicorn" Steve's face looked a little like I should be glad that we were already married so that he couldn't change his mind.  He says he wasn't judging me, but we both know he was.

Limitless Ways to Get Embarrassed

So, I am well aware of how embarrassed I get in awkward situations, but so is Steve.  And, unlike a compassionate person, Steve chooses to find opportunities to make me feel ridiculous (Thereby justifying me singing Forever Young or something from Beyonce late at night when we should be sleeping.  It is only fair.) While at Wal-Mart the other day I was trying to decide on which blow dryer to buy.  I spent awhile staring at them even though I know nothing about which one would be best to buy.  I finally decided to give up, but not before Steve said, "Well, I better go put this back."  Then of course I assumed that it was something he needed and I told him to put it back in the cart.  Not so.  What was it you ask?  A do-rag. Yep, Steve put in the cart to see how long it would take me to realize it was there.  So while I turned red he laughed his butt off.

Unfortunately, that was not the most awkward thing to have happen this week.  Steve and I like watching Burn Notice (Probably too much because I have the whole beginning memorized.  And I sometimes just say it to Steve.)  Fiona (no surprise) is my favorite.  While talking to my doctor's secretary the other day I was trying to say MRI, but instead said IRA.  I tried to cover it up and then she asked me, "Are you okay?"  When I told Steve about it later he laughed and said that at least I didn't say "Fiona" when she asked for my name.

Drum roll please....

So, for those of you that haven't heard I got into the Master's of Social Work program here at UT at Austin (a.k.a. A&M's rival school).  After a little over 5 months I was finally off the wait-list and accepted.  I didn't tell people at first because I was worried that they would have accepted the wrong person and then tell me I really didn't get in, but now it's legit because I paid my fee and received my welcome packet.  To celebrate, Steve bought me these shorts.  So enjoy this picture of my pasty white legs (FYI, you don't get tan during the summer because it's too hot to be outside, so this is normal).  Also, I will finally attend a school whose color is my favorite.  In the words of Tenacious D, it was destiny.

The Longhorn mascot is really small on the bottom right of the shorts.

Megan's Arch Enemy

Megan's dreams/nightmares always entertain me. The only problem is that for some reason I am always the bad guy in them. The story usually follows a conglomerate of a dramatic scenario coupled with a dastardly villain that I inevitably end up aiding in his efforts to destroy Megan. The latest happened on Memorial day. Megan spent a while that day making a dessert she grew up eating and affectionately calls, "The Good Dessert". We had some friends over for dinner and dessert that day. The next morning Megan woke up frantic and distressed that "there was only one piece of dessert left". Apparently in the dream I invited over droves of people to eat all of her dessert and only left her one piece. It took quite a bit of assurance on my part to convince her that 3/4 of the dessert was still in the fridge. I almost went over to the fridge to pull out the dessert and bring it too her in bed to prove it. So there you have it people. In the deepest darkest abyss of Megan's mind her deepest fears coming to fruition: only having one piece of dessert left.

Here are some pics from a month or two ago when we went to the Texas A&M Vet School Open House which included a fistulated cow (hole in its stomach), petting zoo complete with kangaroo with a baby kangaroo in its pouch and a lama shaved like a poodle, creepy operating rooms for large animals that looked like something out of a horror movie, and much more.

Fistulated Cow. Pretty much a cow with a cork in its stomach and you can pull the cork and stick your hand in there (with gloves of course). 

Megan and some goats. They also had a llamas, kangaroo, a deer, and these weird ducks that looked like they had mohawks that you could pet.

This is not the greatest post in the world...This is just a tribute

Last night Steve and I were laughing about the things we got away with as kids, but our parents probably aren't aware of.  Sometimes parents catch you in the act and occasionally appear to in fact have two eyes in the back of their head.  But sometimes those eyes are legally blind.  Here are two stories to illustrate my point.

One day I got really angry at my mom.  I don't remember why, but I sure remember what I did.  I got into the coat closet by the staircase and stood straight up inside my dad's trench coat.  Because it was so long you couldn't see my legs.  The point was to make my mom worry enough to think she was a bad mom, but not long enough to warrant calling the cops.  So, I hear my mom asking my siblings where I was and then telling them to look.  One of my sisters opened the closet and said, "No, she's not in here."  I almost burst out laughing.  After a good 10 minutes or so when I could tell no one was nearby I slipped out of the closet and pretended like I had been there the whole time.

Growing up my parents would literally lock the TV up if we were watching too much or if we all got into trouble.  The entertainment center had two small handles that they slipped a chain through and put a padlock on.  But we were motivated to figure out to bypass this system.  At some point we realized that if we pulled the handles out there was enough give for me to slip my arm up and turn on the TV.  Eventually, we got tired of having to hold open the doors while watching through the small crack and we soon discovered that we could push the entertainment system away from the wall and flip the TV around as there was no back to it.  This maneuver required more time as it was heavy.  We would wait until my mom would leave and then listen for the car to pull up so we could quickly push it back into place against the wall.  To my knowledge she was not aware of it...until now.

And so to all you moms out there, Happy Mother's Day.

Dream Hunters

It's been awhile since I wrote anything.  I've been trying to get motivated to do a post for about 3 weeks and every time I sit down to do it I think, "Awww, screw it.  I'm going to watch Cupcake Wars."  True story.  That exact scenario has happened at least three times and the only reason it did not come to pass this week is because there were no new episodes of Cupcake Wars on Hulu as I have now seen them all.  And there's still another two days until Psych comes to Hulu.  Boo.  So here I am.

When I married Steve I knew he wasn't super into old movies.  And by "not super into" I mean not at all.  I really thought I could change Steve of his ways, but no such luck (you would think that if I was going to try and change Steve that I would choose something more worthwhile, but no).  More recently I've been getting Hitchcock movies from the library and Indiana Jones (Not an old movie, but Steve had never seen Raiders or the Temple of Doom all the way through.  I still can't believe we'd been married almost two years before I found that out).  Last weekend's feature was "Rear Window."  So I am sitting there reminiscing about how much I liked this movie way back when and Steve has to make one of his comments (that, FYI, make everyone but his wife laugh and I think you would all agree if you had to live with it 24/7).  It went something like this: "So, this movie is basically about Peeping Toms."  Thanks for killing a good childhood memory.

So, here's the thing.  I am a dream-killer.  I rain on people's ridiculous and far-fetched parades all the time (not to their faces, but in the privacy of my own home).  And this was no surprise to Steve when we got married because he had heard me do this long before we actually got married.  Plus, I had already informed him that I would probably kill our children's dreams (Let's just stop telling people to shoot for the moon when we all know they have no realistic shot).  But did you all know that Steve is a closet dream-killer? (I should be more specific.  It's my dreams he kills.)  Yes, it's hard to believe, but it is in fact true.  He doesn't do it on purpose, but that doesn't make it any less effective.  I keep telling him that there is only room for one dream-killer in this marriage and I already called dibs.  This did not keep him from almost ruining a perfectly good movie (even if we all know that what he said is true).

But the one dream he can't kill is being a chili cook-off champion two years in a row because it has already happened.

P.S. Steve was not offended by the publishing of this post.

Dancing with the Dead

The cake was made by two first year med students

Last Friday Steve and I attended the "Cadaver Ball" that was hosted by the medical school.  It was a magical evening where we danced with dead bodies dressed in prom dresses and tuxedos.  Psych.  That was not true.  But we really did go to the "Cadaver Ball."  It was a James Bond theme, so during my brief pit-stop in Utah on my way to North Carolina I picked up Steve's tux from the abyss known as his parents' basement (thankfully, they got it for me so I didn't have to actually sift through all of that stuff by myself).  I was originally going to dress up as James Bond's secretary (Miss Moneypenny), but as it turns out there was nothing distinctive about her clothing so no one would have know who I was.  Actually, as it turns out none of the James Bond ladies are distinct or have memorable dresses.  So, for the sake of saying we stuck with the theme, I am Vesper (which works out because Casino Royale is my favorite).

Steve trying to bring sexy back by wearing a tux

After we arrived I realized that Steve should have tried to dress up like a villain.  Think of how awesome it would have been if he wore an eye patch or carried around a stuffed white cat (the cat would have embarrassed me, but I would have been slightly supportive).  Or he could have worn a white suit coat or brought a gold spray painted water gun.  There was so much potential here and Steve dropped the ball on embarrassing me (which he is normally right on top of).

Steve selected our dinner seats right next to this lovely bar

Steve's favorite part of the evening (other than the nice free meal we got) was the candy bar.  You really should know that Steve is addicted to candy.  He puts my Corn Nut addiction to shame and that is saying something.  He filled up my bag about halfway and then filled up his ALL the way.  He ate almost all of it during Conference the last two days and I had to take it away because he was filling up on Hot Tamales and not real food.  They also had some fake casino games where you could trade in your chips for tickets and enter them in some drawings at the end, but of course Steve and I just couldn't make it to midnight so he tried to go waste all our "money" in Roulette (which he in not good at, he just broke even).  I wanted to play Poker because as it turns out I'm not too bad at it and I once made it through 5 or 6 rounds in a Texas Hold 'Em tournament at the "U."  Steve didn't really want to be supportive and sit by me while I played and I didn't want to sit by myself at a table full of men that I do not know.  So, as punishment, Steve will learn to play at  home with me so he can see that I was telling the truth.

Auntie Day Care

On Wednesday I got back from visiting/helping out family for the last two and a half weeks.  Five children under the age of six in the same one-story house wasn't our best idea.  What I learned: having children of my own is not even remotely close on my horizon.  Also, my gag reflex is bad enough that changing my own child's poopy diaper would probably constitute me hosing them down outside while they sit in the gutter.  Everyone tells me it's different when they are your own, but to me poop is still poop.  I do, however, have some funny stories.

My niece Sara is almost 2 years old and she's too smart for her own good.  But her personality makes her entertaining to babysit.  One afternoon when she was particularly grouchy we decided to put her down for a nap.  This did not sit well with her and when she realized where she was headed she kept screaming out, "I DONE!!!  I DONE!!!"  While I found this hilarious, it did not convince me that she was in fact done.

She also loved driving the Powerwheels Escalade around my sister's yard once she figured out how the gas pedal worked.  I quickly learned that she would required constant supervision as she tried to tear through the daffodils (she did this more than once and thought it was so funny) and reversed it into Kristin's car (don't worry, I checked and there were no scratches).

I have another niece, Mary, who is a goofball.  Some of her favorite things included singing "The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow," driving Sara around in the Powerwheels car and hiding from us when she may have not made it to the bathroom in time.  My sisters and I happen to enjoy doing puzzles and Mary happened to be will us while working on one.  Mary repeatedly passed gas, but since a puzzle is one of those things that is hard to move we were stuck with the smell.  My sister Emily looked up and noticed that even Mary thought it stunk because she was covering her nose with her hand.

Oh, Come on Charlene

Seeing as how I am sick at home with laryngitis and I did a whole lot of nothing yesterday, I figure that it's time to blog.  As some of you have heard Steve and I SORT OF have another cat.  I say that only because we don't officially own her (we don't even know if it is actually a girl as she wouldn't cooperate when Steve tried to check, but she came with a hot pink collar so I made a Sherlock deduction).  She showed up one day curled up in my flower pot on our porch when it was a very cold windy night (I assume she is the culprit for why my lily won't grow this year).  I know it sounds like I made the weather part up, but it does occasionally get cold and that night the temperature was going to drop into the 30s.  I felt so bad for the cat because she was obviously very cold, so I made Steve create a small warm house using Charlie's cat carrier.  We thought that she would be gone the next day, but no.  She was sitting on our porch the next morning waiting for Steve.  Our neighbor happened to mention later that she sometimes feeds the cat because she thinks the previous owners moved and LEFT THE CAT BEHIND.  Who does that to a pet?!

So I told Steve I would try to figure out where we could take her.  She is such a sweet cat and is VERY affectionate (deep down we think Charlie feels threatened by the new cat on the block).  We have also seen her scale the tree outside our apartment in pursuit of a squirrel and was about 15 feet up.  I was impressed and wished that she had been hanging out at our house last spring when all those pesky birds came back.  Maybe this year...Anyway, it appears that either her tail was run over or maybe slammed in a door.  The end result is a broken tail that healed in an L-shape or sometimes a question mark when she curls it up.  All  that did was make me feel even more bad for her.  Here is a picture to prove that I am not making this up.

Steve keeps claiming that we don't own the cat and she doesn't live here, but guess what?  She waits for Steve to come home EVERYDAY and she follows him to the car when he leaves.  He named her Charlene (against my wishes), bought her a food dish and feeds her twice a day, but then he says we are not keeping her.  Also, he has made no effort to call a shelter.  So whatever Steve tells you, he is LYING!!!!  Here is some video footage of our cat getting mad at the one outside.  Steve now thinks it's funny to put him in the window just so he can hear Charlie's pitiful growls and hisses.

Happy Birthday to Me!

My birthday was almost two weeks ago and I turned the big 2-6.  Steve asked me for months what I would like to do and we ended up deciding to see the Harlem Globetrotters.  We considered a Monster Truck rally, but the other one was closer to my birthday.  We had a lot of fun, but I will admit that it probably would be more awesome if you had children.  Now that I think about it, we were some of the few who didn't.  My favorite part about my birthday was a toss-up between eating the large box of doughnuts or eating deep fried wings.  I know that these things are a heart attack in a box, but I think I earned them.  I have survived the last 26 years.

Enjoying the Holy Grail of doughnuts

Just hanging out on the fifth row

Murder She Wrote...

YOU SHOULD PROBABLY STOP READING IF YOU DON'T WANT A GLIMPSE INTO OUR REAL LIVES (A.K.A. Those that are easily offended or judgy, yep judgy is a real word).

The interesting thing about having a conversation with Steve is that regardless of how ridiculous or inappropriate the subject matter is, he continues having it in his normal tone of voice thereby encouraging its current route.  This is a real conversation, but you need to keep in mind that I was still recovering from a migraine after having taken a lot of medicine.  Even I acknowledge that many things sounded ridiculous after I thought about them.

Megan:  Steve, I can never serve a mission with you as an old person.  I would end up killing you.
Steve:  I know.
Megan:  And you know that it will be really slow because it'll take me forever to do anything at that point.
Steve:  Slow might not be so bad.  How would you kill me?
Megan:  I don't know.  It would depend on what's available at the time.  Maybe a shovel or a rolling pin.
Steve:  Ewww.  What about just increasing my medication dosage over time?
Megan:  Ummm, like Viagra?
Steve:  Actually, that might work.  It might cause systemic hypotension and cerebral ischemia.
Megan:  Well, then maybe I'll do that instead.  Less messy.
Steve:  But I don't want to die right now.
Megan:  I wasn't going to kill you right now.  I would get hardly any insurance money.  I was thinking when you retire because then you'll have lots of money saved up.  You have at least another 40-50 years before I do that.
Steve:  I can live with that.

                                                    ***DISCLAIMER***
I would never actually kill Steve.  I feel bad when I lock the cat in timeout in the bathroom even when he destroys something.  If you're going to judge anyone, it should be Steve.  He continued having this conversation regardless of the fact that his wife was heavily medicated.