tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50253526985525975632024-03-13T11:58:15.164-06:00iwritehistoryMeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-61219446389908255842010-01-02T21:45:00.002-07:002010-01-02T22:00:21.323-07:00A New Blog for a New YearWell, it's that time. I've changed my blog title and address. I know you all must be wondering why... and will possibly lose sleep over this... and may never speak to me again—but that's a risk I'm willing to take. <div><br /><div>I wanted my blogging to have a new identity and a new sense of purpose... plus I liked the name better. But all my old posts have been moved to the new blog. Just in case you have the urge to read some <a href="http://iwritehistory.blogspot.com/2009/07/smart-boys-dumb-decisions.html">boy-hating words</a> from my single days, some <a href="http://iwritehistory.blogspot.com/2009/12/presidential-slap-in-face.html">down with big brother</a> rants, or you need to <a href="http://iwritehistory.blogspot.com/search/label/pictures">see pictures</a> of what life in my world has looked like over the past while. </div><div><br /></div><div>I will be writing every day this year. Each day I will write at least one interesting thing that happened that day. Why would I write one small thing every day? Because few exceptional things happen in my life, so I've decided to celebrate the ordinary.... every day!!</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">megsnbacon.blogspot.com</span></b></span></div></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-21274806798782080792009-12-20T23:19:00.002-07:002009-12-20T23:22:00.193-07:00Good Idea. Bad Idea.<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Good Idea:</span></b><div><br /></div><div>Making buttercream frosting to go with your sugar cookies</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Bad Idea:</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Putting 7 cups of granulated sugar in the recipe that calls for confectioner's sugar</div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-58482901731897115822009-12-16T09:57:00.003-07:002009-12-16T12:08:36.178-07:00A Cold Night and a Warm HeartLast night my husband and I were invited to see the lights at Temple Square with my sister and her family. Of course we couldn't resist an invitation to see the reactions of my sister's cute, little monkeys. They met at our house and waited patiently while I put on the layers of thermal, fleece, and cotton. Topped off with some synthetic goose down. The boys were so excited and kept asking when we were going to see baby Jesus.<div><br /></div><div>We headed for the cars and the two year-old said to me, plain as day, "You guys going to follow us to the temple?" Off we went. We parked the car and got the kidlets piled into their plastic, Graco chariot. The boys looked so silly in their puffy, marshmallow coats, hats with ear flaps, and mittens that couldn't actually come down far enough on their wrist because of their coat sleeves. The two year-old look at me and said in his excited voice, "We're going to go in the TEMPLE." I was so sad to have to break the news that he couldn't actually go in the temple. </div><div><br /></div><div>We walking around Temple Square and helped the boys reach all of the lights that they wanted to touch. They kept asking where baby Jesus was, which we were saving for the end. Finally, we began making our way to the nativity scene that lights up and has some narration and music that plays every few minutes. I was holding hands with the four year-old when we heard the music playing as we got closer to the nativity. He yelled, "Let's go see Jesus!" And he pulled me along even faster. It was at this point that I realized he might think that we were actually going to see the real baby Jesus. He kept pulling me and every now and then, he'd look up at me and ask, anxiously, "Where's Jesus!?" This pulled at my little heart strings and my eyes started to well up with tears. This little, innocent child and his brother don't know a lot of things yet in this life, but the all ready know the significance of Christ. He was so excited to see Jesus. That's all he really wanted to see the whole night. What a touching little moment. We have so much to learn from little kids. It's no wonder the scriptures urge us to be child like. I hope we can all find Jesus this Christmas season, whether it's on Temple Square or in our hearts. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">MERRY CHRISTMAS!</span></span></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-58053269063685655282009-12-14T13:18:00.004-07:002009-12-14T20:01:15.534-07:00A Presidential Slap in the FaceIn recent months I have become more involved in the happenings of federal government than usual. There are a few reasons for this change: <div><ol><li>For the past few months (though they've felt like years), I have been working on a government textbook. I have come to understand so many interesting and useless bits of information about government. I might actually know more than I'd ever care to know.</li><li>I am supremely interested in the health care debates, as I am someone who is ever dependent on my health insurance. Probably much more so than most people my age. </li><li>And during mental breaks at work, I seem to find my way to the New York Times website. </li></ol></div><div>Keeping up to date on political issues can be addicting and exhausting all at the same time.</div><div><br /></div><div>So last night as my darling and I sat down to relax and watch the tube, you can image how intrigued I was to discover that the Oprah "Christmas at the Whitehouse" Special was being aired. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oprah's tour/interview began in the oval office where president Obama presented his Christmas tree and shared thoughts on what he enjoys most about living in the Whitehouse, "The people's house," as he called it. (It's hardly the people's house, as few people get to enjoy it much more than during a quick tour.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Next, Oprah met up with the First Lady, who was all but bedazzled. She wore giant diamond earrings and a large, pearl necklace that gathered to a diamond pendant. She did look lovely, but I couldn't get past her flashy accessories. She took Oprah on a tour of the Whitehouse to show her the many, many Christmas trees, garlands, and other LAVISH decorations. Now, don't get me wrong. I know it's tradition to decorate the Whitehouse in a beautiful fashion. But during a time of such economic crisis, don't you wonder if having personal decorators work on the place for FIVE straight days is a little less than necessary?!</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not naive enough to think that if the First Family took all the money that would have been used in decorating the Whitehouse and applied it to the federal deficit, that it would make any difference. BUT at a time like this, how can the First Family sleep at night knowing that our whole nation is suffering financially, many people are without jobs, homes, food, and other means of survival, yet they have DOZENS of Christmas trees, personal decorators, and a HUGE gingerbread Whitehouse created by any number of personal chefs?</div><div><br /></div><div>As the interview went on, Barack and Michelle bantered about the cost and flashy-ness of Michelle's jewelry and her taste for fine things. When asked what would be different at the Whitehouse this year during Christmas season, Michelle responded, "We'll be having more parties." Then she went on to describe the 50,000 some odd guest list. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am floored. And a little bit angry. During a time of financial crisis, when our national unemployment rate is at 10%, our government is participating in RECORD spending (which we will pay for), we're financing a decade-long war, and the average American is going without, the "most powerful" family in the world is flaunting their lavish life style in the faces of Americans. How do you think that makes us feel? The local food bank estimated that they would be empty by the end of the month. A national food drive campaign was organized to help the needy. Friends and family members are doing more this year for needy families than ever before... and the whitehouse is hosting more parties. </div><div><br /></div><div>Shame on you.</div><div><br /></div><div>During an opportunity to inspire the American public with a heart-warming Christmas message and examples of ways to give back to the country, the First Family failed. How different would our nation be if instead of seeing clips of bragging about gift-giving, and efforts to make the Whitehouse transformed into an elaborate Christmas village, clips were shown about things the First Family was doing to give back, ways they're simplifying their lifestyle during this time, or commitments they're making to help more people? Lead by example. The impact that the "most powerful" family could have had by doing something selfless and humble, something centered around integrity, during that special is immeasurable. Think of the trend that could be set by Obama to his many loyal followers if he chose to keep things simple this year. To save some money, give back, cancel hosting a party that will cost the people millions of dollars. </div><div><br /></div><div>I guess the old adage applies to financial problems, too. "Out of sight, out of mind." Well, Obamas, I hope you have a great holiday living high on the hog this year, while us average Americans work our butts off to pay off the debt that you will leave us with for years to come. Happy holidays to you too.</div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-7701643353977799842009-12-10T12:16:00.003-07:002009-12-10T13:06:31.334-07:00It's Funny Because It's True<div>Let me preface this by saying that I do NOT endorse anything affiliated with the Twilight series.</div><div><br /></div>Anyone who has been in a single's ward anytime in the past 10 years can probably appreciate this movie... TOO FUNNY! Prepare to ROFL and stuff.<div><br /></div><div><object width="400" height="200"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8009598&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1"><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8009598&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="200"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/8009598">Twilight Years</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user2751266">Tom</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</p></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-90589214137457263572009-12-09T16:56:00.002-07:002009-12-09T17:14:11.766-07:00Don't Let Your Wives See This...... because then you're going to get an earful.<div><br /></div><div>This morning I rolled (or fell, rather) out of bed. I trudged my way downstairs to eat some Cheerios. I took time to take in the scenery. The dishwasher was full of clean dishes. Some dishes sat in the sink with remnants of last night's pudding. And random pieces of mail and other paper items were scattered from here to there. So, of course, I walked past all of the scenery and made my way to the shower. After a nice, super long, super hot shower, I felt almost ready to face the world. I walked into the bedroom. The bed was made—blankets neatly folded at the foot of the bed. I walked to the kitchen—It was clean, and the dishes were being put away as I walked by. I took a few minutes to make myself somewhat presentable for work and walked downstairs to gather my things—My car had been started, scraped off, and was waiting for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ahhhhh.... this is the life. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now some people say, "Oh, you're newlyweds. This will wear-off soon." </div><div>Nope. I've known this man for 4 years, and this is how he's always been. As friends, we went with a group of people to stay at a cabin. Guess who was up before everyone else making breakfast for the group. Guess who stood out in the pouring rain to grill the chicken for everyone for dinner. As a friend, guess who started mine and other friends' cars for them so they'd heat up for a cold, winter drive. That's right, my husband. He's just that kind of guy. Always has been. Always will be. Hate me if you want. Or find one for yourself (unless, of course, you're married.)</div><div><br /></div><div>How did I get so lucky?</div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-62716587636918465362009-12-07T21:08:00.002-07:002009-12-07T21:15:10.591-07:00Ch-ch-ch-Changes<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A few weeks into marriage and I'm noticing some big changes all ready. The biggest of which has been the switch from a "pre-marriage ward" (a.k.a. singles' ward) to a family (a.k.a. retirement ward). No, I'm not joking about the retirement. The boundaries of our current ward include a retirement community, a small neighborhood of condominiums, and a small set of townhomes.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So essentially, I will be going from this:</span></div><div><br /></div><div><object width="400" height="225"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=7785822&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1"><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=7785822&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="225"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/7785822">U32 Ward End of Year Slideshow - 2009</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user1020312">Tanner Christensen</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">To this:</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/Sx3SgYJbatI/AAAAAAAAAr8/cDM4kgL0xvw/s1600-h/2_61_Longest_ear_hair_320.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/Sx3SgYJbatI/AAAAAAAAAr8/cDM4kgL0xvw/s400/2_61_Longest_ear_hair_320.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412713780848847570" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Yikes.</b></span></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-18973691042844860272009-12-03T15:42:00.002-07:002009-12-03T15:52:59.196-07:00A Time for Sharing<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So the husby and I are looking for some new traditions to start this holiday season. We have only thought of a few so far. Those include:<br /><br /><ul><li>Exchanging new pajamas each Christmas Eve</li><li>Sleeping under the Christmas tree (he doesn't care so much for this one... especially since we have a Charlie Brown Christmas tree)</li><li>Making Dutch Babies Christmas morning (some family tradition from his father involving yummy pastries)</li></ul><br />As you can see, our list is rather lacking. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><i>What do you do?</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">What should we do?</span></i> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I can't wait to hear your ideas!</span></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-55424514551239130092009-12-02T17:17:00.010-07:002009-12-02T21:34:58.182-07:00May You Never Have to Buy Another Christmas AlbumHere it is... a masterpiece that's been years in the making: My Christmas playlist. <div>
<br /></div><div>Enjoy!</div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div>
<br /> <div style="text-align: center; margin-left: auto; visibility:visible; margin-right: auto; width:450px;"> <object width="435" height="270"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.profileplaylist.net/mc/mp3player_new.swf"></param> <param name="allowscriptaccess" value="never"></param> <param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param> <param name="flashvars" value="config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Fext%2Fpc%2Fconfig_black_noautostart_shuffle.xml&mywidth=435&myheight=270&playlist_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Floadplaylist.php%3Fplaylist%3D72646910%26t%3D1259800881&wid=os"></param> <embed style="width:375px; visibility:visible; height:270px;" allowScriptAccess="never" src="http://www.profileplaylist.net/mc/mp3player_new.swf" flashvars="config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Fext%2Fpc%2Fconfig_black_noautostart_shuffle.xml&mywidth=435&myheight=270&playlist_url=http://www.indimusic.us/loadplaylist.php?playlist=72646910&t=1259800881&wid=os" width="375" height="270" name="mp3player" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" border="0"/> </object> <br/> <a href="http://www.profileplaylist.net"><img src="http://www.profileplaylist.net/mc/images/create_black.jpg" border="0" alt="Get a playlist!"/></a> <a href="http://www.pplaylist.com/standalone/72646910" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.profileplaylist.net/mc/images/launch_black.jpg" border="0" alt="Standalone player"/></a> <a href="http://www.pplaylist.com/download/72646910"><img src="http://www.profileplaylist.net/mc/images/get_black.jpg" border="0" alt="Get Ringtones"/></a> </div>
<br /> Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-26819423431572450862009-11-20T10:20:00.002-07:002009-11-20T10:42:12.727-07:00I'd like to take this opportunity to cry.I'm sitting at my desk in my office, drinking Diet Coke, snacking on Sixlets (mostly just the orange ones) and Hot Tamales which I began eating at 9:00am, and listening to Jimmy Eat World's "Last Christmas" on repeat. My eyes are puffy from crying for almost 10 straight hours yesterday and I'm so tired.<div><br /></div><div>Last night I had a dream that a gal pal of mine was over at my parent's house visiting with me and my mom who happened to be in just her underwear. We realized we'd left the front door open and a man named Paul Bunyan, who looked eerily similar to Santa Clause, slipped in the front door while his wife who was almost 7 feet tall like her husband waited on the porch. I refused to believe that he was Paul Bunyan and I ran upstairs to call 911 on my cell phone. After a few attempts, because I couldn't remember the number, I finally got through to the dispatcher— Donny Osmand. He told me to believe in this man; if he said he was Paul Bunyan, he probably was. Then he closed the conversation with an inspiring line that I don't remember exactly. It was something like, "Chase your dreams. Which I recognized in my dream as the title of his just-released biography. I hung up on Donny, angry. I marched downstairs to find Paul Bunyan had made friends with my family. I was angry and kicked him out. He then lifted our house off the ground and set it back down on its side to prove to me he was, indeed, Paul Bunyan. I felt horrible for not believing him and ran after him as he was leaving to beg his forgiveness... he immediately transformed into Santa Clause and told me to be a good girl this year.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's about how my brain is functioning these days. I am a zombie. My whole life is changing. Everything I know and have known for years will be different. I am completely in love with T.M.I.G.T.M. and couldn't ever imagine being with anyone else or trying to live without him. But marriage is hard, and scary. I never wanted to be married until I met T.M.I.G.T.M. Never. This is a huge paradigm shift, and it came rather quickly. My logical brain isn't sure what to do with all this change and these emotions. It's really hard. And I cry a lot, which I never have before. I know how to be single, I'm good at it. I don't know how to be married— trying new things makes me uneasy. My brain is mush and I feel like I can't completely be my normal self until I've settled into this transition. I so badly want normal life. And normal dreams, for that matter. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here's to the wedding being over and hoping for a speedy mental recovery from all of the change!</div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-49434486902840039632009-11-16T19:40:00.004-07:002009-11-16T20:06:42.116-07:00The First Real DateFor those of you who have been following my story, I want to apologize for the delay and excite you for the next installment... about my first date with T.M.I.G.T.M. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you should probably call in sick to work and invest a few good hours in reading the following posts. Then we can talk. <div><br /></div><div><div><a href="http://iwritehistory.blogspot.com/2009/09/meeting.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#009900;">The Meeting</span></span></a></div><div><a href="http://iwritehistory.blogspot.com/2009/09/friendship-phase-first.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#009900;">The Friendship (Phase the First)</span></span></a></div><div><a href="http://iwritehistory.blogspot.com/2009/09/friendship-phase-second.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#009900;">The Friendship (Phase the Second</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#009900;">)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><a href="http://iwritehistory.blogspot.com/2009/09/evolution.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#009900;">The Evolution</span></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><br /></span></div></div><div>Also, if you're wondering what on earth T.M.I.G.T.M. stands for, I can clear that up as well:</div><div><b>The man I'm going to marry. </b></div><div>I'm avoiding using his name in an effort to preserve some privacy in my life. Not that sharing every intimate detail about my life on this public blog helps my case much. But it's like eating a slice of wheat bread for every five slices of white bread- it at least makes me feel like I'm trying.<div><br /></div><div>And now, to begin today's story, "The First Real Date." May the spirit of Dean Martin's music assist me as I tell my story.</div><div><br /></div><div>The night T.M.I.G.T.M. came to pick me up for our first date, I was so nervous. I had been all sorts of confused for so long about what I was feeling for him, though I knew I was feeling something. I was so excited to be going on a date, but was trying to remain level-headed in case it was just a friend date. I had been on one too many of those in my single lifetime. He picked me up and we went to dinner at a local hot spot, Mexican restaurant. I was a little apprehensive about chowing down on the chips and salsa like I really wanted to— I was nervous. I never got nervous around T.M.I.G.T.M.!! We had our usual pleasant conversations before and during dinner, but it just seemed so surreal that I was on a date with my <b>friend</b> of all these years. I wasn't sure where to place my thoughts and feelings. Then we went to his place where he said he had a surprise. My mind was racing. I was hoping that he wasn't going to do something over-ambitious like so many other boys had done in the past— something too big that assumes a relationship, when I wasn't sure what I was thinking/feeling. But I was also hoping that it was something telling; something to let me know he had interesting in dating me. </div><div><br /></div><div>We walked into his back yard as he carried a number of pillows and blankets. My mind was everywhere from, "Geeze, this is awfully bold of him to do something involving pillows and blankets on our first date," to, "I hope whatever this is will give me an opportunity to be close to him and test the waters with flirting." He laid out the blankets and set the pillows down. He was grinning from ear to ear and kept checking his watch. He reassured me that it should be happening any time now. I half expected his roommates to crawl out of the bushes in costumes or something. But, alas, after a few minutes, I heard a loud boom that shook the earth and saw any number of colors bursting in the sky. He turned to me and said, "This is to make up for the fireworks we didn't get to watch together on the 4th of July."( In case you forgot, that was the night he left me to sit with another girl.)</div><div><br /></div><div>We laid back to enjoy the show. I was careful to lay close to him, but not too close as to seem presumptuous. At one point he offered his shoulder for me to lay on. So I did, but kept my body at about a 45• angle away from his. I was not going to make a fool of myself if we were just friends! The show ended and we stayed out back to talk and check out the beautiful, clear night sky. Somehow we both ended up on our stomachs searching the sky for the little dipper, whose location we couldn't seem to agree on. He would lean in close to point out different constellations to me and I'd find myself wondering, "Is he going to kiss me?" But then he'd pull away and continue to talk... and I'd feel silly for wondering. I had decided after some time outside that it was a wonderful date, but that he was by no means going to kiss me that night. I was silly to think he might. It was, after all, the first official date he has asked me on for which I had consented to join him. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then just a few moments later, as he pointed out another possible location for the little dipper, he leaned in close to show me, then lifted my chin and kissed me. That's right, we kissed on our first <i>real</i> date. And it was wonderful. But it was four years in the making, so I think it was justified. I couldn't believe that I was kissing my friend. It was strange and wonderful all at the same time. Later, T.M.I.G.T.M. would tell me that he was waiting for me to lean back and smack him, telling him that we were just friends! Now I kind of wish I would have.... :) </div><div><br /></div><div>And that concludes my version of our first real date... or at least all what I'm going to share with you. Stay tuned for the next installment, "The Courtship (Shorter Than Most, But Long Over Due)."</div><div><br /></div><div>Until next time, Interweb. </div></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-45761719898977204362009-11-15T22:44:00.005-07:002009-11-15T23:22:26.711-07:00The More You Read, The More You Know... Sometimes.For some reason, I feel this need to try to go against the grain of what people would expect an "average" girl my age, in my circumstances to do. I don't know why. I don't know what I feel like I've had to prove. <div><br /></div><div>The Harry Potter series hit its climax while I was in college. Though it's not a "girly" series, by any means, every girl I knew was knee deep in Potter hysteria. I refused to read it— until I taught elementary school. It was a survival skill I needed to remain hip with the kiddos. And I liked the series okay, especially the third book. But I won't admit that to many people.<div><br /></div><div>Then there was the whole college scene of dating and every girl acting like she wanted only to meet boys, date, and find a boyfriend. I made sure I acted like I didn't care whether or not I dated, didn't care much about the boys I dated, and didn't hurt much when things ended badly— though I always felt more than I let on.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so this instinct of mine, to defy what people would expect of me (though I don't always want to), has stuck with me over the years. And every once in a while, there is a trend that I'm truly, honestly, okay not following. One of which would be the Twilight craze. I love to read, almost as much as I love to eat Muddy Buddies, snuggle with my nieces and nephews, or write about my droning life events on here. But I simply cannot bring myself to read that series. After growing up on books like "Babysitter's Club," and "Sweet Valley High," I made a vow to myself to only read real, enriching literature after I was finally introduced to it in my high school years. </div><div><br /></div><div>On my quest to become well-read with the classics, I was encouraged to read Orwell's "1984" by a number of people. I was told it would give me a lot to think about and that it was almost unheard of to not have read it, if I were to claim to be a fan of the classics. So, while in a book shop in Sienna this summer, I picked it up for the long, lonely journey home. (Which didn't end up being so lonely, thanks to a drunken Patrick Swayze look-alike in denim shorts and Dr. Martens boots. That's a story for another day.) Anyhow, I eventually read the book and eventually regretted it. It was a regurgitation of the many books written after it's kind. I should have re-read "Anthem" to get the same "Down with Big Brother" ideals in a much shorter page count, and with many fewer sexual references. </div><div><br /></div><div>Since completing that book, I haven't had much time for reading... until this last week since I've been sick. I needed a light read. Something full of hope and big words on the page (I had a head ache). I picked up a book I'd purchased from the notorious book orders when I was a teacher and decided to give it a whirl. I knew the author's other books were about princesses and girls coming of age, but I needed something to read, and decided to tell no one I was reading this girly book. But I read it, in under a 12 hour period. Don't be too impressed, the print is quite large. It was written by a local author, Shannon Hale. And it was a well-written book loosely based on a Grimms fairy tale. It was absolutely wonderful. So much so that I publicly recommend it to you:</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Book-Thousand-Days-Shannon-Hale/dp/1599900513"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#339999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>Book of a Thousand Days</b></span></span></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And now, before I can bring myself to return to the world of Hawthorne, Orwell, Melville, and Thoreau, I return to my beloved copy of "Emma." Because it's okay to enjoy a girly book now and then... especially if it's written by an author acclaimed for her talents in capturing human emotions, the anguish of the clash of classes, and the essence of life in her time... and not some silly romance novel based on tension between demonic icons and frivolous girls with no backbones. (I know this, for I saw the first movie... as a favor to my best friend. For which she will be forever indebted to me). </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Read on, Interweb. Read on.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">May you find yourself engrossed in good literature. The kind that expands your mind, teaches you new things, and makes you a little more interesting. Because, hey, who wouldn't want to be a little more interesting?</span></div></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-38289068881957158992009-11-11T15:35:00.003-07:002009-11-11T16:16:03.615-07:00I Have This Effect on People...<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzaJ4lJfxKRGiNaV9_gTsTj6p_izbob008sCnU3bQxw6iixn_-UdNx14M6l6POOp-f0Raaho0hxNLbOXEtlOg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And just when you think you've figured it out....</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw6YuWHQumSWBWzadWJQbaLxwisEquCGfvo1LxVEn40EyuX3cvlC9OTIIm-heGRTYfinpAK_6_QEbnJ5jkhkg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Which reminds of a similar incident in the past...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFPYeKVOI/AAAAAAAAArU/p2RBQ4cugHA/s1600-h/DSCN1272.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFPYeKVOI/AAAAAAAAArU/p2RBQ4cugHA/s400/DSCN1272.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402988308530353378" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFOyH88II/AAAAAAAAArM/VFHPve4lup8/s1600-h/DSCN1269.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFOyH88II/AAAAAAAAArM/VFHPve4lup8/s400/DSCN1269.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402988298236653698" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFOPg-CtI/AAAAAAAAArE/tzZFf6RvPiE/s1600-h/DSCN1268.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFOPg-CtI/AAAAAAAAArE/tzZFf6RvPiE/s400/DSCN1268.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402988288946342610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFN8BLVlI/AAAAAAAAAq8/1u3TjuQRS9o/s1600-h/DSCN1271.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFN8BLVlI/AAAAAAAAAq8/1u3TjuQRS9o/s400/DSCN1271.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402988283712722514" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFNn7W-II/AAAAAAAAAq0/EtG63dtMifk/s1600-h/DSCN1270.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFNn7W-II/AAAAAAAAAq0/EtG63dtMifk/s1600-h/DSCN1270.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SvtFNn7W-II/AAAAAAAAAq0/EtG63dtMifk/s1600-h/DSCN1270.JPG"></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-18811779615649740792009-11-11T13:06:00.000-07:002009-11-11T13:07:48.817-07:00My New Favorite Song...<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/MKfDwChOoHI&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MKfDwChOoHI&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-70937448369391611522009-11-03T11:33:00.003-07:002009-11-03T11:37:35.529-07:00My day just got a whole lot betterWhat a crappy morning and day so far. I feel like my head is going to spin off and I have to much to do before the wedding and not enough time to do it.<div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">BUT</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you Cadbury for making Christmas candies.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you retail chains for stocking Christmas candies at a ridiculously early time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you Albertsons for keeping your shelves fully stocked... and for answering you phone and confirming that the shelves were stocked before I made my journey.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you car for getting me to the store in a safe and timely manner.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you taste buds for working so well and recognizing delicious and creamy things.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you metabolism for burning through this entire bag of eggs quickly. (This won't actually happen... but a girl can dream....)</div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-51785292604321804832009-10-30T10:19:00.002-06:002009-10-30T10:25:08.399-06:00Good-Bye, Old FriendsToday I say good-bye to a few friends that have meant a lot to me over the years. I have been very close to them and during almost all moments of my life have been inseparable.<div><br /><div>Good-bye to the blue with yellow and pink stars, hot pink, days of the week-style, "Laughing Out Loud," boy-fit style, and my personal favorite, wide red and white stripes. You know who you are and what you've meant to me over the years. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you are confused by this post, that's probably for the best. It's meant to be cryptic. If you understand this post, you, too, have made the change. I couldn't be more excited. </div></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-58492832018136497352009-10-29T10:11:00.003-06:002009-10-29T10:28:06.888-06:00Oh, Now I'm Just AngryApparently my last post was part of a trend in my blogging circle. Some friends of mine and I have been on a similar angry wave length within just a few short days of each other. If you're feeling angry and you need to laugh at someone else who is frustrated, please go <a href="http://cambriaann.wordpress.com/2009/10/28/completely-un-original/#comment-413">here</a>, or <a href="http://whatyoutakemefor.wordpress.com/2009/10/27/ruff/">here</a>. <div><br /></div><div>I have just one more rant to add to my list of things I hate... just one more, I promise. Then I'll TRY my hardest to be un-grumpy. Though I make no promises.</div><div><br /></div><div>Imagine that you don't feel so well. You're not dying or anything, but you certainly don't feel well. And maybe you haven't for a long time because your stupid so-called "doctor" let your little problem go unattended for so long that it escalated into a full-blown issue. (I'm using a lot of hyphens lately, aren't I? I apologize ahead of time if they start to get out of hand.) </div><div><br /></div><div>So then you go see a new doctor who actually deserves his degree and his job, and who happens to have a personality, which doesn't hurt when you're working with people. Oh, and he's not creepy and doesn't have the molester vibe that the former doctor had. This new, smart doctor finds the issue and gives you lots of prescriptions to take to nip the issue in the bud (or is it butt?). </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyhow, let's say you then take your prescriptions to be filled and when you pick them up the pharmacy tech says something to you along the lines of, "Did your doctor say anything to you about the price of the blah, blah, blah medicine?" </div><div>"No, why? How much is it?" </div><div>"Well, it looks like your insurance knocked $600 off the price, so you only have to pay about $370." </div><div>At this point you can't say what you're thinking or what you really want to say. You just politely say, "I won't be picking that prescription up today, I think I'll take my chances at dying. Thank you."</div><div><br /></div><div>Would you be mad??!?!? I think you would. Because as I imagine this very thing happening to me, I get very angry! But I have a very vivid imagination.</div><div><br /></div><div>On a completely unrelated note, I just wanted to say that I think our health care system is in tip-top shape. I'm couldn't be more pleased with the services offered to me and the fairness in pricing. [Insert sarcastic tone and eye roll.]</div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-12146312290010953412009-10-24T22:48:00.004-06:002009-10-24T23:00:59.836-06:00Things I'm Learning to HateHaving my picture taken all by myself (group photos are okay)<div><br /></div><div>Photogenic people<br /><div><br /></div><div>Being the center of attention in a big group (wedding showers, etc.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Eating KFC</div><div><br /></div><div>Discovering spiders when my mom isn't there to kill it for me</div><div><br /></div><div>Planning a wedding (yep, I still hate it)</div><div><br /></div><div>Bad customer service (seriously, what is with people these days)</div><div><br /></div><div>Feeling like you had a diva moment and not knowing how to apologize for it</div><div><br /></div><div>Not being able to fall asleep at a decent hour and then being tired all the next day</div><div><br /></div><div>Diet Coke (which happens to be a necessity for remaining awake at a desk job)</div><div><br /></div><div>Under-qualified doctors who let problems go unattended to</div><div><br /></div><div>Seeing labels like "Megan and I" under pictures— It's "Me and Megan"</div><div><br /></div><div>Opening up Pandora to hear a long song list of artists I've never, ever heard of</div><div><br /></div><div>Arriving on time to a 6:15 am doctor appointment and not being seen by the doctor for almost an hour</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">And I think that's about it for my complain-amony . My next post will be entitled "Things I'm Learning to LOVE," just for you!</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-44866258461256657902009-10-22T23:18:00.003-06:002009-10-22T23:33:29.989-06:00Oh. Boy.You know those nights when you can't sleep... and you find yourself looking at an entire photo album of a friend of a very distant friend's on facebook... and you find yourself making judgement calls about the complete strangers in the album... Like, "Oh, she looks nice," "I'll bet those two are a couple," OR "I can't believe someone wore that outfit" (hey, I never claimed to be perfect)? Well, tonight, as I was doing just that, I came across a photo album of ridiculously beautiful girls in photos taken in various locations around Europe. And then I saw THIS caption under one of the photos:<div><br /></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Chateau D'iff (spelled incorrectly)- the location of one of my favorite movies."</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div>And then I had this imaginary conversation with this dolled-up girl that was full of frustration as I yelled in my head, "WHAT ABOUT THE BOOK? You know, the classic. The one with pages and words that you read... with your brain. Oh, you had no idea there was a wonderful, timeless, compelling book written before the movie? Because there was.... and it was written LONG before. Let me introduce you to what we simple folk like to call a 'library.' "</div><div><br /></div><div>And then I decided I'm ornery and I should go to bed. </div><div><br /></div><div>But seriously. You should read the book- if you haven't already.</div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-62843554319994219252009-10-21T15:18:00.004-06:002009-10-21T15:22:19.739-06:00And now you understand why...<div>A few people have asked me why I'm not wearing my mother's wedding dress.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Behold the answer....</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/St97VzugDWI/AAAAAAAAAps/Yb68RqC7JXY/s1600-h/sc0053df72_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 351px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/St97VzugDWI/AAAAAAAAAps/Yb68RqC7JXY/s400/sc0053df72_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395166493205859682" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/St97Vjvr9VI/AAAAAAAAApk/9ev6h2IyKdo/s1600-h/sc0053c64d01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 388px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/St97Vjvr9VI/AAAAAAAAApk/9ev6h2IyKdo/s400/sc0053c64d01.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395166488915866962" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/St97VajSqzI/AAAAAAAAApc/4wVkw0vhPOo/s1600-h/sc0053c64d.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 398px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/St97VajSqzI/AAAAAAAAApc/4wVkw0vhPOo/s400/sc0053c64d.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395166486447958834" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-55178545213564605192009-10-15T15:30:00.000-06:002009-10-15T15:38:43.501-06:00Survey Says....<div style="text-align: center;">Well, that's what I'm hoping to find out!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">I need YOUR help!</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Calling all music lovers. I am developing a playlist of songs to play while guests arrive at and leave the wedding dinner, and a list of songs to play for dancing after dinner. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here's the criteria: songs must have been written and recorded prior to 1970, and preferably around 1960. I need timeless, not over-played, non-cliché love songs (I know, I set the bar impossibly high sometimes). I would love your suggestions, particularly in the dancing genre (slow and fast). </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A little photo to get you in the romanticy-song mood:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SteVQuzxFkI/AAAAAAAAApU/mUwipCKajY8/s1600-h/IMG_6011.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__hiZoQbhrLM/SteVQuzxFkI/AAAAAAAAApU/mUwipCKajY8/s400/IMG_6011.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392943193475061314" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Kissy, kissy</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-3007288675587598392009-10-14T09:12:00.003-06:002009-10-15T14:57:00.432-06:00I have $1500, therefore, I am a photographer.Just because you have a nice camera, doesn't mean you are a photographer. <div><br /><div>[Disclaimer- this does not apply to people I know and associate with. Everyone I know is talented and wonderful. This is, of course, geared to the general public.]<br /><div><br /></div><div>I feel like I should just leave my post at that, but I still have lots of venting to do. This post has been months, possibly years, in the making. </div><div><br /></div><div>Everyone is a photographer these days, have you noticed? This seems to be the case particularly in the state I live. There are a lot of stay at home moms (or wives) who start up little photography businesses. This has become a HUGE trend. Some are good. A few are great. Many are terrible. Buyers beware! Don't be fooled by the fact that a "photographer" has a fancy blog, or that they seem to have taken many, many pictures. You would be surprised how many terrible photographers stay busy with work. LOOK AT THE PICTURES. I encourage you to go with photographers who have actual websites. However, there are exceptions. For example, <a href="http://lindsaykayphotography.blogspot.com/">this friend of mine</a> has a photo blog and takes wonderful pictures! Notice how clear the images are of peoples' faces and how she captures fun details of the events she photographs. LOOK AT THE PICTURES.</div><div>I have <a href="http://www.shanzphotoblog.blogspot.com/">another friend</a> who is a stay at home mom/photographer who uses a blog. LOOK AT THE PICTURES. You can see how sharp they are, how she focuses on the people in the pictures and not on the settings around them. The people should be the focal point.</div><div>These are pictures of your kids, your family, your life, your memories. You want them to be timeless. Ask yourself, would I like to look at these pictures in 50 years? 5 years? I am so done with the "cool locations," odd poses, saturated or desaturated editing. Pictures should look like the people in them. </div><div>Think of National Geographic photos. There are no people by train tracks in their photos, no funky coordinating outfits, no depressed-looking faces on people trying to look like models. Think of the timeless photos from TIME Magazine. The colors are natural, the locations are natural. Take pictures to record events. Hire people to take your pictures who will capture your moments the way that they happened. Because artsy-fartsy photos might seem like a good idea now, but on your 10th anniversary, you're going to wish you could go back in time and slap your photographer upside the head. Pictures capture memories of natural events in our lives. Please hire wisely. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you.</div><div><br /></div><div>[Steps off soap box] </div></div></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-35751095665236595812009-10-12T16:50:00.006-06:002009-10-12T17:07:21.642-06:00A Page From the Doctor's BookSometimes I can be really hard on myself for mistakes I make, flaws that I have, or problems that I'm dealing with. For some strange reason, this is a trait that women deal with to a greater degree than men. But today, TODAY I celebrate my imperfections! <div><br /></div><div>Thank heavens for my crooked teeth, my thighs, my inability to make quick decisions, and my lack of concentration at work. </div><div><br /></div><div>How boring would it be if my face were perfectly symmetrical, my body was flawless, my mind was always immediately made-up, and I worked non-stop for 8 hours a day without breaking my concentration?!? Everyone would expect me to look flawless all of the time— I would rely on <b>fleeting</b> looks and not on my brain. I wouldn't be able to take input from loved ones on important decisions. And I would be even more high-strung at work than I usually am! I would have nothing to work on, no room to improve, no building of my character to be had. How tragic! How sad for all the nearly perfect people in the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today I make a big step in building my self worth. Today I celebrate my flaws (which are many... too many to list, in fact.) Today I don't care what anyone else thinks about me. Today I am happy and content. Today I am just me, and that's good enough.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Arial, Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">"Today you are you!</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Arial, Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">That is truer than true!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">There is no one alive...</span></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Arial, Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">...who is you-er than you!</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#333333;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">Shout loud, “I am lucky </span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">to be what I am!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">Thank goodness I’m not </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">just a clam or a ham</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">Or a dusty old jar of </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">sour gooseberry jam!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">I am what I am! That’s a </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">great thing to be!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">If I say so myself, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">HAPPY </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">EVERYDAY</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"> TO ME!”</span></div></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Arial, Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">-Dr. Seuss</span></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-51448725556657822022009-10-08T09:32:00.002-06:002009-10-08T09:36:52.661-06:00Stay Tuned...Dear Interweb, <div><br /></div><div>I am sorry that I have neglected you as of late. And I'm sorry to leave you hanging without the rest of the details of my story I've been telling. Work and other things have consumed my every moment... including moments usually spent on blogging. A travesty, I know. But never fear, I will soon write the end of my story. Although, I must admit that finishing with, "... and the rest is history" did cross my mind. </div><div><br /></div><div>Also, I heard the all too familiar sound of Canadian geese flying south for the winter this morning. Which can only mean one thing, that they were flying south for the winter. I hate winter. Especially in my state, blah. Here's to hoping for a swift and mild winter!</div><div><br /></div><div>Talk to you soon,</div><div><br /></div><div>Megan</div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5025352698552597563.post-13476918036305999672009-09-27T08:00:00.001-06:002009-09-27T08:00:01.490-06:00The EvolutionPost-Europe friendship was different than our friendship had ever been. T.M.I.G.T.M. and I spent more time on the phone 'til the wee hours than ever before. We were communicating more and more during the work day (don't turn me in). I began to feel as if my day wasn't complete unless I'd talked to T.M.I.G.T.M. Then there was my super fun birthday dinner with a big group of my friends. T.M.I.G.T.M. was out of town on a project for work and I was sad the whole time that he wasn't there. I went home and spent a couple hours chatting with him at the end of the night. We talked about the girl(s) he was dating. I was still genuinely interested. And we talked about the boy(s) I was dating. He was genuinely interested. But mostly we just talked about dating and how much easier it would be if the people we dated shared our views and opinions on dating. I remember getting off the phone and thinking to myself, "It's a shame T.M.I.G.T.M. and I could never work out."<div><br /></div><div>A week or two later I realized that an event for which I had purchased tickets for months earlier, was the following weekend. T.M.I.G.T.M. helped me work up the courage to ask a boy to go with me... a boy that I didn't know well, but was a friendly acquaintance at church. I had thought the boy was a cutie for some time. I asked him to join me, but he informed me he was going to be out of town that weekend. I was almost relieved that the boy couldn't go. I approached T.M.I.G.T.M. after an Institute class and said (very smoothly, I'm sure), "Would you want to go with me? I really want to go with you. I should have asked you to begin with." At this point I was surprised by two things: the realization that I really only wanted to go with T.M.I.G.T.M., and the positive, excited response which he gave.</div><div><br /></div><div>The day of the concert came and I was so excited. I made us some treats (yes, Muddy Buddies) and got ready to go. T.M.I.G.T.M. came to pick me up and we were off. We met my sister and her boys at the concert. We sat on the lawn and enjoyed a wonderful concert. I laughed so much that night. I was impressed as T.M.I.G.T.M. took my nephews at intermission to get them hot chocolate. It felt so natural and so fun that T.M.I.G.T.M. and I should be on a date. It didn't really hit me until the ride home when I was hit with the tireds quite like I've never experienced. I rested the long drive home while he took care of me and drove us home. I felt very content.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next day, I still didn't think much of my feelings for T.M.I.G.T.M., but I knew that I wanted to see him. Just as I was thinking of him, he called my phone and made plans to go the fireworks with me that evening. He came by my house and I invited him to join my family (briefly) for some BBQ deliciousness. We left for the fireworks and met a large group of our friends. I laid our blanket out and struck up a conversation with some nearby friends. A few minutes later, I noticed that T.M.I.G.T.M. was not only gone, but seated by a cute girl (who I had been encouraging him to date). I felt weird. But I kept talking to avoid the feelings. Then the fireworks started and he came my way... just to get his jacket... then went back to sit by the cute girl. I wanted to cry and I didn't know why. I felt angry, sad, confused, all at the same time. Why did I care that my friend was sitting by a cute girl who I had been promoting to him? The fireworks ended and I gathered my things. T.M.I.G.T.M. came over to me to tell me how much fun he'd had sitting with the cute girl. My heart sank to the very bottom of my stomach. I was sure I was going to hurl. I immediately broke out in a nervous sweat. WHY DID I CARE? T.M.I.G.T.M. told me of the after party he was putting together, and I asked him if he minded taking me home first. I gave no explanation, just that I needed to go home. Then I immediately called my girl bff and freaked out!</div><div><br /></div><div>The next week T.M.I.G.T.M. and his bff were gone for a few days hiking King's Peak. The morning he returned, he called me. He asked what I was doing that night, and I made up some options. I asked what he was doing. He replied with, "I'm going on a date." That response was followed by the longest awkward pause known to man. I took a second to gather my wits and remind myself that I was his friend. I then made a bold move. I asked him who his date was with, trying to sound as interested as I could. He replied, "With you." </div>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13512273700361788012noreply@blogger.com7