dear fair weather asshole....

You know the ones I mean, we have all met them, whether in dating or relationships, or friendships and family members, nothing is more infuriating than the fair weather assholes.
Not sure what I mean? Here is how to tell if you might be dealing with or might be one yourself:

1. Any initiation on your part is met with vague non answers, wanna hang out? Maybe. Wanna hook up this week? We'll see. Interested in seeing this show with me? I'm not sure

2. texts, calls, emails, facebook messages go unanswered for days, weeks, or months, and I don't mean a person going through things or with a generally busy life, because these same fair weather assholes will have a mini stroke if their messages go unanswered in a timely (or immediate) fashion, it is only THEY who can "answer texts whenever they feel like" because "its rude to expect an immediate answer".

3. Following the need for an immediate answer, the fair weather asshole will be genuinely upset, to the point of anger, if their request for attention (usually last minute or minimum of a day in advance) are not met. You MUST rearrange your schedule for them, immediately, or you don't care.

4. They will cancel, but forget to tell you, either until you contact them or at the very last possible moment, after you have already showered. The excuse will be standard, sickness, work, etc. It will usually be used multiple times by the same fair weather asshole, as though you are brainless and you don't remember that they also claimed a stomach bug last time too (girl, that's not healthy, get that shit looked at before you shit yourself).

5. When they can fit you into their very special lives, they will slather you with compliments, about how wonderful you are, to keep you coming back, I think? Or maybe its just because they are so used to bullshitting they can't actually have a normal conversation. Don't attempt anything deeper with the fair weather asshole, they only want to share THEIR emotions, yours will be scoffed at and dismissed.

I genuinely used to think I was the only person who knew people like this, turns out, I'm not, and despite my blunt nature, I hate ending any kind of relationship, friends or more, as much as anyone else does. But, and I say this especially to the ladies, because I think we are more likely to take these things personally, its not you, its them, and your time, life, and attention are worth more than any fair weather douchbags who can't respect them,

Consider this my farewell, assholes, my time is too valuable for friends or lovers who can't be bothered to respect my time. Au revoir mother fuckers!

To my grandmother

To my grandmother,

It has been two weeks, three days, and seven hours since you left.
It has been two weeks, four days, and 18 hours since you whispered "love you" to me last.
In that two weeks I have learned my first hard lesson in grief. In these weeks and days I have learned what it is to exist in a world without the woman who held my peaceful place, my home in her heart and her smile and her endless and unconditional devotion.
I know it was time to say goodbye, and I won't lie, my first feeling was one of relief that you were no longer suffering, because I thought to see you in pain was the worst possible feeling in the world, I told myself, that you were already gone in so many ways that I was prepared for the loss.
I was wrong.
Even when you could no longer tell us all the things you wanted to say, you showed us, you laughed with us, you lit up with visible joy when we visited, you were still trying to feed me, even when you couldn't walk without assistance, you were still trying to care for US when it was our time to care for you. You were still very much here, until the very end, even if your stories were only in our memories, your living room, your smile, was still my favorite home.
In these weeks I have had time to relive every time I disappointed you, time to relive every time I may have hurt you, I can only hope I made up for those times. I have had time to wonder if we told you we loved you and appreciated you often enough, if I told you how much you really taught us, how much of who I am would not be, if not for you.
When I went to see you that last night, I had driven home with all of these things I felt a burning need to tell you, but when I was finally in that room, all I could think to tell you was that I loved you and it was ok for you to go.
I thought that I knew grief when Poppy went, but I didn't, because as long as I had you, I still had part of Poppy too.
It comes in waves, I can be ok for moments, and then it will hit me, again. A chapter of my life, your life, our time together, is over, forever. You won't be in that chair with a smile for me, you won't insist I eat before I leave, you won't tell me how much Noah looks like my dad again, you won't ask where my mother is, or who made me boss, again.
In all of our years together, I only saw you cry the day that Poppy died, so I can only imagine how you'd shush us and tell us to stop carrying on, so I'll do my best not to cry too much, and drink a highball in your honor while I bake the best cookies the world has ever known.
I hope, wherever you are, you can see how much we miss you and know the impact you had in all of our lives. The hole you left will never be filled, but we will do our best to make you proud.
Rest well, balmy, you deserve it.

Your kid said what...

I nursed, co-slept (out of sheer necessity), fed him jarred baby food, licked his paci before sticking it back in his mouth, bottle fed, used formula too, gave him happy meals, failed to see the need to freak out when he ate dirt, I didn't baby wear because I didn't even know about it back then, he goes to public school, and organic is expensive...so yeah.

Why am I telling you all of this? Because before I continue I want you to know that I am not a perfect parent, I am not the mom sitting in the playground nursing her second grader while wearing her ten year old and snacking on organic crackers and vegan cheese after driving there with her two still rear facing seats. I am just a mom, doing her best, and I honestly thought, until a few weeks ago, if you loved your kiddo and you did your best, you couldn't fail, then someone relayed to me a story that left me speechless (yeah, me, I had NOTHING to say, wait till you hear it).

Picture it, speaking with a "friend" and this person turns to me and says, "I have to tell you this story, you're going to hate it but its so funny"---because lets be honest, if it starts like that, its obviously going to be...uh...great?
"so I was with my daughter," this person continues, "and we saw a black family at this event and our friends spoke to them and she looks at me and says, we don't have to go over there its ok, we don't talk to them kinds of people"

Ladies and gentleman, she is NINE. NINE FUCKING YEARS OLD, and somewhere along the way she has picked up this idea that another human being's skin color sets them apart into a group of people you "don't talk to". NINE years old and she has been taught that the pigment in someone's skin is an indication of what kind of human lies inside. They don't make words in the English language to express my horror as I sat there in complete silence trying to wrap my brain around the idea that in 2015 this could be "funny" to a parent. I would lose my MIND if my child said that, he wouldn't because he wasn't taught ignorance, but if he some how picked that up at school and found it funny, as children sometimes do, we would be having the longest history lesson and conversation of our LIVES while I cried on the inside and wondered where I had gone wrong. Luckily, I seem to have done this one thing right, my child is so far from prejudice he sometimes reminds ME to look deeper than the obvious in another person.

And suddenly, sitting my silent shock, I realized, you CAN be a shitty parent, even if you are providing the basics, you CAN love your child (and I truly believe this parent loves this child, in his own misguided way) and still be a terrible parent. You can provide, try, and love and still fail your child and cripple them for life. If bring them up in ignorance, whether it is racism, sexism, homophobia, whatever, they will spend the rest of their lives trying to relearn that or they will spend the rest of their lives in ignorance and stupidity damaging those around them with their hate, and it will be YOUR fault.

The next time you think racism is dead, come back and read this, remind yourself that if you're parenting its your job to help eliminate the racism that some assholes are still teaching. Don't be a shitty parent....be the part of reason that my child and his children will be able to say, racism is truly dead.

The great porn debate....

I follow several women's groups online, and in these groups, inevitably the topic of men and porn comes up.

Now, let me just say, any behavior that begins to effect your ability to function and connect with other people is BAD, that includes, WoW, crack, food, porn or whatever your addiction is, so OBVIOUSLY this is not about those people, I say this so you can spare me your, "my husband stopped fucking me and started only wanking it to porn" story, this isn't for you, K?

Now, back to porn and jerking off, I am going to assume you don't want to drop what you're doing every time your better half gets a tingle in their down under, right? Yeah? Now, assuming you are not into cock cages and chastity belts (but hey, if you are, more power to you, you do you!) why do you care if your partner is touching themselves? Do you enjoy walking about being the orgasm police? Are you so insecure that every orgasm he has without you is a threat to your relationship? Because you can't sit here and tell me that is healthy.

Its not jerking you say! He is looking at someone else! I should be the only person he is sexually attracted to! How DARE he get turned on by another human body besides my own! Allow me to be a (bigger) asshole for a moment, get the fuck over yourself. Your partner is committed, not dead. I assume you still notice, movie stars, musicians, random people on the street, that cutie who was pumping gas, walking down the street or walked by you in the mall, right? If you don't YOU are the weird one, not your partner. What goes on in someone's head, is truly their own private place, especially in terms of sexual fantasy and love and commitment does NOT entitle you to domain over their thoughts.

AH! But porn is unrealistic! No one looks like that! Women don't really moan/scream/bend/squirt/talk/fuck like that. Well, you are of course, correct, most of us do not. But, sadly, I have had to come to terms with the fact that there are no brad pit look alike immortal vampires living in New Orleans, stalking the cemetery late at night drinking rat blood, and richard gere will NOT rescue me if I go sell myself in the streets of LA. Why? Because I can differentiate between reality and fantasy. Give your partner a little credit, I am sure he knows you can't niagra falls his face on cue....and if he thinks you can, get a new goddamn partner.

Lastly, I understand female exploitation occurs within the porn industry, male exploitation also occurs. However, there are plenty of adults choosing to work in porn, plenty of amateurs voluntarily uploading their own videos, and plenty of legit porn you can watch, so can that argument too, I am not advocating for endorsing teen, child, or abusive porn. But if consenting adults want to fuck on film, especially for money, more power to them.

At the end of all these conversations what I see, are a bunch of ladies with unreal expectations for their men, most of the time, they haven't discussed them with them, or they changed the rules after a commitment was made. I am all for letting your crazy fly before the commitment is made, sex and sexuality are things you need to be in-sync with, in my opinion and if he loves his redtube, and you think its cheating...you're setting yourself up for issues.

Now, stop being mad, and go watch some porn or read some fifty shades and flick the bean....I promise, he won't be mad ;)

broken, you're all broken

My mother is a saint. Seriously. A saint. She has two wild child daughters with a love of vodka and make up who probably confuse her at every turn. But she takes her vow to always be open to talk to us about ANYTHING very seriously. Getting sappy for a minute, my mom is my best friend. She is also my favorite person to shock (no I have not grown out of that)

On my nights off I like to go over and sit in her room and talk to her, last night, I had all kinds of news for her. I had just finished talking to my cousin T, about a weird as fuck dude who was all about her. Turns out, weird as fuck dude, was all about ME about a year ago and sent me, the ONLY unsolicited dick pic, I have ever received, to date. It went well for him, I only laughed and showed it to an online group of 4000 women, and a dozen or so of my friends, before eventually sending it to my cousin, so she could send it to him. (judge me if you must, but unless I asked to see your dick, I will put that shit on blast, if I asked, I will hold it sacredly in my phone forever and only for my own personal use, that is my moral code, deal with it).

Here is were it got good:

"HE SENT YOU A PICTURE OF HIS PENIS?"
uh yes.
*at this point my father pops in and says, "are you telling her about randy?"
yes.
"YOU KNEW THIS?"
yeah, sure she hung him out to dry, it was a pretty big joke for a while. He's a loser, even I made fun of him.

She sits quietly for a moment and then looks at me, and says: I want to see it.
After collecting my eyeballs and jaw from the floor, I hand her the phone and she says: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? THAT IS ONE SKINNY PENIS AND HE IS WEARING A COWBOY HAT? Why is he leaning forward like that? it looks like he is trying to hold in a poop while he takes pictures of his dick? What is WRONG with him? Why would he ever think a woman would want to see this? Instead of taking a girl to dinner he sends you a naked picture of himself looking like he has diarrhea. Your generation is broken. BROKEN.

I left while she was asking my father if he knew "dick pics" were a "thing".

be a fucking lady

Don't swear.

Don't be rude.
Never drink too much.
Be respectful.
Use a moderate tone of voice.
Be neat and tidy.

Be nurturing.
Be forgiving.
Be sympathetic.
Be sweet.

Be a fucking doormat.

I am not a huge feminist. I don't want to stop shaving my legs to prove a point. I don't want to burn my bra (have you seen my tits? someone would lose a mother fucking eye). I like high heels, make up, the color pink and crying with S Mclachlan about all the poor puppies. 

But I read a comment today, from a woman not much older than me: I am so embarrassed because nice girls just don't talk like that, they don't even know those words.

And for the millionth time in my nearly thirty years I thought, we are still teaching our daughter's that. We are still teaching our daughter's that they have to conform to be nice. They have to conform to be respected.

I won't sit here and lie, I can't write this from the perspective of a girl who worries about being a nice girl. I write this from the perspective of a girl who was born with her fucks broken. I write this from the perspective of a girl who's done some shit, said some shit, been judged for all that shit. I write this from the perspective of a girl who's made more mistakes in thirty years than some people will make in seventy. I write this from the perspective of a girl who will accept you just as you are, messy, loud, weird, broken, and crude. I write this from the perspective of a girl who has lived.

I don't have a daughter, but the son I have, I am trying to raise to find a girl who lives. I hope someday he brings me home a badass bitch with a potty mouth who makes a good dick joke and laughs at farts while she's drinking vodka sodas with her tattooed mother in law. 

We do our daughter's a disservice when we put them in a box. Break out, bitches, we have cookies and vodka on the dark side and all the fun.

I went away....

I went away for a while, I don't think I was ready to commit to a blog, not full time anyway. Though if you ask most of the dudes I have dated they would tell you I can't commit to shit (though if I could commit to shit, I'd still be with one of them).

I am ready to start writing, mostly because I think my brain might implode if I don't get some of this shit out. It has been building up for nearly thirty years, and at this point its like an internet browser with 700 tabs open, you know, like the one where you got a virus and it just kept opening windows because you were watching porn on your parent's computer, when you were 15, and then your dad walked in. Oh, that was just me? Well anyway, I digress, what I was getting at is that I hope this blog will serve to help me close some of those windows.

I basically have something to say on like every topic on the planet so there won't be a theme, unless, the terrifying inside of Megan's brain, including but not limited to unicorns (both the horse ones and those dudes you never see in real life but on every dating sight), glitter, rainbows (especially the rainbow flag because I love to piss off the bigots), slide shows, shiny things, random words, disjointed sentences, and crafts I really want to do, but can't because they will end up half done and cluttering my kitchen table.

So, if you are still with me, join me, please, on this magical journey (without the school bus, I am still working on finding one that flies). There will be beer, booze, sex, profanity, tangents, some name changing to protect the innocent, and political opinions that would make most republicans shake their heads.