Monday, December 27, 2010

Sometimes life is just the worst.

On Friday I found a pinkish puddle on our kitchen tile. I decided it was due to the red in Max's dog food. A few hours later I found a dark red puddle, and I called the vet. We sat and watched while Max was examined, while he cried when they took his temperature, and while they gave us his first dose of antibiotics to administer at home. A few hours later Max threw up. Then he stopped eating and drinking. And then he continually tried to urinate, crouching down and flexing every muscle in his body, and never succeeding. We called Urgent Care. They said it was normal. All night he tossed and turned while we hald him in our bed. Christmas day he lay listless on the carpet. We drove 90 miles an hour from Centerville to Orem and rushed into Urgent care. They put him on an IV and more antibiotics. We called that night to check on him. They said his white blood cell count was really high, which meant an infection, and that he was on the right medicine to take care of it and he was going to be ok. We were so relieved. And after church yesterday we couldn't wait to go visit Max. We expected to see our puppy sitting up and eating and nipping at fingers. I brought his stuffed raccoon so he would have something to play with. When we arrived at the clinic the nurse told us to have a seat and the doctor would be right in to talk with us. Ten minutes later a frazzled woman asked exactly what had happened to our dog. She left the room, then returned in another ten minutes with our puppy. When we said his name he cracked an ete open, then closed it again out of exhaustion. Frazzled doctor then explained that Max was leaking fluid, that they couldn't get a cathater in, that he probably has a shunt, and that if something wasn't done immediately our puppy was going to die. So we rushed to Salt Lake, where a woman who has to be the greatest dog doctor in the entire world took really great care of Max. She gave him an ultra sound, she wrapped him in a blanket, and she brought him into the room where we waited to hear her diagnosis. And then it broke our hearts when she confirmed everything we had heard an hour before. That Max had three separate and serious issues. A shunt in the liver, a tear in the urethra and urinate stones in the bladder. Each needed to be taken care of with separate surgery. And when we asked her the likelihood of Max ever being a happy puppy again, she told us what I think we really needed to hear. That God made puppies to have happy little lives. And that puppies only know the present. And that all Max would know for a long time is pain. And that if it were her puppy, she would have a really hard time moving forward with surgery. When we asked her what the humane thing to do would be, she said it would probably be to say good bye. And so we sat in a room with our perfect puppy lying on my lap, and every once in a while he would wake from his nap and stare at me with his ears perked up and wonder why I was sobbing. But then he would quickly fall back asleep and Max was gone again. We knew we would probably never have the Max we loved so dearly back. And so we cried and cried and told him how much we love him and said our good byes and then Stephen held him as they administered the euthenazia and our little sweet puppy was gone.
And now we're back in our apartment with a basketfull of puppy toys and some towels with little bite marks and remnants of puppy kibble on the floor. It's a little too much to handle and we're not really sure what to do with ourselves. And everytime I close my eyes I see his little face and hear his tiny bark and remember him crawling into my lap for an afternoon nap.

Friday, December 24, 2010

But seriously

Merry Christmas

Wednesday, December 22, 2010


Tuesday, December 21, 2010

very soon it will be Christmas Day

I hope that I love my future children as much as I love my puppy Max. it's going to be tough.

I finally figured out Home on the Range. It's been so confusing to me since I first heard it on PeeWee's playhouse oh so long ago. I could never understand these two lines:
"Where seldom is heard,
a discouraging word."
See, I thought it meant that they hear the word seldom, and it's discouraging. Which seemed weird to include in a song that is so decidedly pro home on the range. But don't worry, 19 years later, I've finally figured it out. Thanks, college.

Friday, December 17, 2010

yeah yeah

This is happening:
We are looking for name suggestions.

Also, new review.

Monday, December 13, 2010

Sometimes I get stomach aches and I feel like that guy on Alien. But it's not a creepy worm creature that's giving me fits. It's one too many Diet Dr. Peppers.

Sometimes the Morley family takes a successful picture. It's pretty rare, like, blue moons get excited about it.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Sleeping when you're tired is like eating chocolate when you're on a diet. You know that it's too good to last. All day I've been craving sleep and chocolate. It's been quite the week, what with 17 hour work days and eating every meal at my desk and sobbing uncontrollably at a family dinner and nearly crashing into a parking lot fence at 5 am and hearing the actual beginning of Morning Edition on NPR and teaching a horrible lesson at church and neglecting laundry, exercise, and proper hygiene and in the end I would just really like a nap and some cadburry eggs. Wrong season.

Monday, November 29, 2010

dog days

My socks have "No Nonsense" printed on the toes. It's like a CTR ring on my feet. Because they know how nonsensical I can get.

Sunday, November 28, 2010


Disneyland, or when Jazzies attack:
If you have an actual need for a wheel chair, as in your legs don't work, then yes, you deserve to skip the line for Pirates of the Carribean. But if you are just too lazy to walk, and I see you every once in a while scoot your Jazzy with your feet or even walk away from it and then return with an icecream in your hand, you are a menace.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

missing safari boat

I wrote another review.

It's 7:55 on Saturday morning and I'm wide awake. Even though we were out late Harry Pottering. I must be really excited for Disneyland. So excited that I just watched a nine minute youtube video of the Jungle Cruise.
So because I'll be too busy riding Tower of Terror and eating Corndogs to blog, Happy Thanksgiving. I love you all.

Friday, November 19, 2010


I was behind an oil tanker on the freeway this morning. It had "INEDIBLE" printed dead center on the the back of the enormous fuel canister.
I guess that means I should stop sneaking sips while filling up my car.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

what's a girl to do

I wish that bibs were acceptable adult accessories. My clothes would stay much cleaner.
I also wish that I were one of those postal workers who get to walk around town with a satchel.
I also wish that it were next Monday because then I would be in Disneyland. On the Jungle Cruise.

There's a church here in good ol' American Fork. Every day at lunch they are playing a familiar tune on the bells. Today it was "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas". It looks a lot like the week before Thanksgiving, you crazies.

Monday, November 15, 2010

new style

Right after our marriage ceremony and right before our reception we stopped at an In-n-Out. We were starving. And we were a bit conspicuous, what with our attire and all. It didn't take our fellow patrons and those ever-smiling In-n-Out employees to realize that were were VERY newly wed. Our cashier, glowing with excitement, said,
"You just got married?! That's awesome. I'm going to the prom next week."
Same difference.

Saturday, November 13, 2010


As promised:


Friday, November 12, 2010

Where is my mind?

A few things:

1. It's been 48 hours without a diet coke. And only 6 excedrin. Leaf. turned.
2. I need 12 people to check my blog so we hit 40,000. I'll bake you a virtual cake.
3. Look, Mom! They're letting me write reviews. TV+writing=thebestthingtoeverhappentome.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Lady killer

My latest self diagnosis (with the help of Google: hypertension. So I've decided to cut back on the sodium. It's been five hours and I'm ready to cry. I haven't had a single diet coke. That may not sound like a big deal, but it is. JUST TRUST ME OK?! During lunch I wandered around the grocery store for thirty minutes, read all kinds of nutrition labels, then purchased only carrots and excedrin. Turns out I don't know much about sodium. Is 90 grams a lot or not very much? How bad is cheese? Crackers? Salt is delicious. No salt is not delicious. I almost bought chocolate for lunch, but then decided that would probably cause other problems. Like obesity. Where does one turn for healthy eating? If you tell me a health food store, I will cry. Those places smell weird.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

to pretend

I'm not awesome with money. I'm not horrible, but I'm not great. My tendency is to spend, not save. Why? Because if you try to cross the river without paying for the ferry, you will die. And if you don't buy the medicine, it's typhoid, cholera, and dyptheria for you and your entire family. These were the lessons taught in Fourth grade computer class on Oregon Trail day. Along with the lifelong desire to kill a bunch of buffalo, even though the meat goes bad before Wyoming.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Cause you can't you won't and you don't stop

Next to Thescariestsevenelevenintheworld, which, fun fact, is two block from my house, is a pair of wranglers. They're in the right lane of the intersection. And they're having a bad day. Tire marked,squished thin as paper, they're on their last leg. No, they're not on any leg. Ha. Pants joke. But who left those pants? Are they running around pantless in So-Pro? And who has so many pants that they can just leave a pair in an intersection? I know I don't. I have three pairs, two that I wear. Don't do the laundry math.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Surfin USA

I had a really sad moment today. It was right after the moment I was elated at the thought of getting together with some of my best friends in just a few hours. Liz Lemon, Kenneth, Jim, Pam, the whole gang. Then I remembered that those aren't real people.
In related news, look for Brad and Carey Morley tonight in Letterman's audience. The guest is Tracy Morgan. If you know anything about Tracy Morgan and talk shows, you know that the parents are in for an awesome, possibly terrifying time. Terrifying: one or two F's? It's times like these that I wish I was friends with the goose from Charlotte's Web and I could call her when ever the double-consinent conundrum arises. That whole sentence may be spelled incorrectly. I need to read more.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

don't know how to act

There is a lawn not far from here with eight Morgan Philpot campaign signs. Eight. That seems like a waste of campaign funds. They also have a sign that reads Matheson=Pelosi. Which just seems like weird math. And possibly an inappropriate use of the equal sign, but it's been a while since I've had a math class. I did, however, throw out "transitive property" in conversation the other day and no one called me on it being the incorrect usage, which  means I was totally correct. So yeah, that's not what equal signs are for. Speaking of totally, I taught a Young Womens('?) lesson on Sunday and probably said "totally" thirty-seven times. Welcome back, 1995.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Around the world around the world

I ran a half marathon on Saturday. It was a bad idea. Not a bad idea to sign up and start training for the race, but a bad idea to sort of stop training and then lose my shoes and then still run 13.1 miles untrained on shoes far past their expiration date. But I knew I could finish. And I did. But what I didn't anticipate was the next 48 hours.  I'm starting to believe that I will never walk normally again. That the rest of my life will be filled with gripping stair railings, bed sides, car doors, and whatever else may be used to hoist my body from one place to another. It will be a life of Ibuprofen popping. Of "Hey Stephen, can you grab me the remote?" requests. A life of sitting in bed on Monday afternoon because the couch is too far away, let alone the office. Legs, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you run downhill for that long. I should have stopped when I felt the blisters. I should have listened. I hope you find it in your (our) heart to forgive me. I promise to never put you through that again...maybe.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

what the problem is

Stephen told me that extroverts get energy from being around other people while introverts get energy from being alone. Which explains why I get so exhausted at parties. And why I like going to lunch by myself. The thing is, the rest of the world doesn't really see my lonesome dining as awesome. They see it as sad. Accordingly, they treat me weird. Most people pretend I'm invisible. Like the two people in the restaurant, who, I kid you not, were no more than six inches away from me and gave each other a side hug, facing me. I was a part of their hug. They then proceeded to discuss what I have to assume is highly confidential information. I'd make such a great anti-social Private Eye.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

that seems so very mean

I heard a political campaign ad that used the term "Wallstreet pirates." Oh man. I wish there were pirates on Wallstreet (one word or two?). Imagine the New York Stock Exchange. Full of swash-bucklers. That's just what our economy needs.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010


Sitting in a grocery cart waiting for her mom to pay, the little girl in the WonderWoman suit bounced anxiously, making her long blonde curls fly everywhere. She's going somewhere awesome. And I'm jealous.

Monday, October 25, 2010

they can't bring me down

Dear Thief who stole my running shoes,
I have leprosy.

Dear Chicken in my soup at lunch,
I'm sorry I didn't eat you. You were really dry. I hate that you died needlessly.

Dear Needlessly,
Are you a real word?

Dear Thai Village,
Thank you for the soup. It was delicious. But next time, please baste the chicken.

Dear Utah,
Thank you for having streets that are possible to navigate without two separate GPS devices.

Dear California,
Be more like Utah (see above.)

Dear Elko, Nevada,
You don't smell great.

Dear Rain,
Really? Three states and fourteen hours? Really?

Dear Fall,
Thank you for finally letting me dress like Paddington Bear again. It's been a long summer.

Dear neighbors who have built a bed and set out food for the stray cats,
This is called perpetuating a problem. But don't listen to me. I let a chicken die needlessly.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


"911 Dispatch; what is the location of your emergency?"
"Uh, yeah, hi, Center Street in Provo."
"And the nature of your emergency?"
"One of those, um, barrier things tipped over."
"Hold please."
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Highway Patrol."
"Yeah, hey, hi, so one of the barrier thingies tipped over."
"On the freeway?"
"Off ramp or on ramp?"
"Um, the exit..."
"Is anyone injured?"
"Well, no, but you know, someone could be if it's not moved."
"The concrete barrier is destroyed?"
"Oh, no, sorry, not that barrier, the orange thing. You know, like a cone but not."
(Long pause)
"Ma'am what is your name?"
"Meg. Walter."
"And your number?"
"555-555-5555" (I gave them the real one, settle down.)

It's been a while since I've felt that dumb after a phone call. I don't know what the orange things are called. I know that it probably would have been ok if the minor obstruction went unreported. But what if? What if there was a horrible accident cause by the tipped orange not-cone? I couldn't live with that. I get that the dispatcher wasn't super responsive cause he was writing down all the important deets, but how hard would it have been to say "Thanks for being a good citizen!" or "You probably saved a life today!" or "That's ok, most people don't know what the orange thingies are called." Also, my name technically isn't Meg Walter. The government still thinks I'm Meg Morley. So who knows what sort of list I'm on now. Maybe the official "Liar" list that Obama looks over every morning at breakfast. All night I waited for he or maybe Joe Biden to call and say "Meg. Orange thingies tip over all the time. It's not an emergency. One more 911 panic dial and that's it. You'll be Canadian. And it's been five months. Change your name already you dirty liar."

Monday, October 11, 2010

The current zit to face ratio is probably the same as moon to earth. As in, sure it's not the biggest, but people are noticing. And pulling out their telescopes. And waiting for the eclipse. And dearest husband thinks it's soooo funny to tell me there is something on my face. "No, other side. Down a little. To the right. There," while I've ended trying to wipe away the blemish. And speaking of embarrassing appearances, I looked in the bathroom mirror at work and saw lettuce in my hair. This is incredible for two reasons: a) I have very short hair, and b) lunch was hours ago.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

your beauty is beyond compare with flaming locks of auburn hair

The sandwich was what one would expect of a sandwich that costs $2.99. And I wasn't surprised by the first bite of hoagie, turkey and swiss. But with the next bite my hyper-active taste recognition system processed "airplane food" and it was all over from there. With the next bite I started to smell an airplane, and then an airplane bathroom, and then I felt claustrophobic because I always sit in coach, and half sandwich I had to throw it away before reaching for the sick bag in the seat pocket. Mind you, this was all in my head. Sometimes it's really hard to be me.

Also, I was walking in an empty parking lot when a car stopped, waited for me to walk out of a spot, and then pulled in. It was an empty lot. There were spots all around. I don't understand.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

la la la la lola

Stephen is studying super hard for the LSAT. His doing so leaves me lots of free time. Free time in which I catch up on the cleaning, the sophisticated reading, and the prolific writing. Oh no, wait, sorry, that's what I should be doing. What I'm really doing is checking on my Mad Men itunes download. And rearranging my shoes. And laughing at this:

Monday, October 4, 2010


Late one night (or I guess very early one morning) we woke to the sound of yelling. Not normal yelling, insanely loud, profane, livid yelling. It was hard to tell exactly what sort of confontation was taking place, because it was only the one dude yelling, but he did repeat "WAS IT BRADY?" many times. And from there it wasn't too hard to deduce that the second person, the one speaking in a normal, too hard too hear voice had done something naughty with Brady. Well guess who showed up on our wireless network list...that's right. Brady. And he doesn't share, so I'm mad at him too.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

i.n.d.e.p.e.n.d.e.n.t. do you know what that means?

5 months of marriage. Is that a big deal? I feel like it is. I dunno.

I thought about posting that picture, you know, the one where I'm really close to the camera and look awesome and Stephen is a blur in the background. I'll save it for 6 months. For now, I made this.

It's confetti.

But really. Marriage is rad. And so is this salad I'm eating. And so are you. I mean that.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

I will never be as talented or as famous

I didn't shower. I turned on the water, it was cold, and I just couldn't do it. So I didn't. The thing about skipping the shower is that your day only gets progressively worse. It was off to a bad start as is. I woke up from a nightmare, late (alarm fail), and walked into an office that smells of pickled cabbage. I received a rejection email. I went to the grocery store to pick up three things. I walked out with two because I'm apparently incapable of remembering three flippin items.  Bad morning. And now sanshower, everytime I look in the mirror it's scarier. Everytime i smell something weird I wonder if it's me. And everytime I touch my hair it feels more disguisting.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

tastes kind of like sad

I guess it's presumptuous to run on the sidewalk. I mean, I guess it was wrong of me to presume that I could run on the sidewalk without interference. Everything was fine until that final stretch. I started to sprint, trying to finish strong. Then, I swear, I SWEAR, out of no where a stout woman in a red shirt jumped in front of me a few yards ahead. She had a banana in one hand and an apple in the other. And she was headed straight for me. She sprinted at full speed and ran me off the sidewalk. This really happened.

Monday, September 27, 2010

but if you try sometime

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps. But you will. Cause it's boring. I did, however, leave the theater with an even firmer conviction to understand the recession. I've spent three days researching it. I'm still confused. Credit swaps? Derivitives? From what I understand, money isn't money anymore. Money is numbers floating in clouds. And if anyone pokes a whole in that cloud, no one has money. Which makes me think I should carry cash. Or gold. And then I could also fend off attackers with my super heavy purse.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010


Do you think they use to have one-hit wonders? Like way back, centuries ago? Maybe Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy danced to this really got song that all of the string quartets were playing at the local balls, and it was The Greatest Song, and a refreshing break from Bach and Mozart but then it got kind of old and the composer was never heard from again. Like the Baja Men.

Monday, September 20, 2010

concrete floors

On October 30 I'm running a half marathon. Unfortunately, the run falls one day before Halloween. I have to dress up. *$?@. I have such a hard time coming up with costume ideas. Pictured above is last year's. I was a Polygamist (pregnant). It was too good. I was too convincing. I walked into a restaurant to meet friends, and literally every head turned and every jaw dropped. Which would have been great had I been wearing great jeans and red lipstick. But I wasn't and it wasn't.

Suggestions please.

Friday, September 17, 2010

cape cod

Yesterday Stephen told me he saw Jon Hamm on the Daily Show. I think he thought I was going to ask more about the Daily Show. He was wrong. Instead I asked A LOT of questions about Jon. "Was he nice?" "Was he engaging?" "Funny?" "Handsome as I believe him to be?" "Demure, soft spoken" Stephen replied, maybe a bit exasperated. So here it is. Jon Hamm is Don Draper but nice. Which doesn't seem fair.

Thursday, September 16, 2010


Wednesday, September 15, 2010

if your offer still stands

There was a bee in the car yesteday. It landed on my foot. While I was on the freeway. Rough.

Exactly what kinds of incidents does the Incident Management Vehicle manage? If I spill my drink, can I call? If my computer crashes? I've fallen and I can't get up? I said something awkward? I'm hungry?

Also, the Courtesy Vehicle. What is that? Here's what I hope it is. I hope I can flag down the Courtesy Vehicle and the driver will teach me manners. Cause I think I missed a couple lessons. Like, how to properly eat a roll. And when to stop expressing opinions. And pizza with a fork? Really?

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

helter skelter

Remember those kids that would come back to the high school after they'd graduated? They'd visit the teachers and walk in the hallways and touch their old lockers as though they held sentimental value. I remember thinking "Get a life. Move on. Can't make friends at your new school?" I was sooooooo much better than them. But wait. I'm not. Tomorrow I'm returning to campus. I'm going to act like a student. I'll attend a student-run function and read an essay for a student-run journal. Should I wear camo? Something to help me fit in? I'm afraid that I'll get too excited. I might say to the other kids "Hey guys! Want to go to the library? We can study!" Or "Who's up for some creamery ice cream?!"  Or "Please let me come back here."  Meanwhile Stephen will have to drag me out of the room, saving what's left of my dignity, and reassuring everyone that the real world is awesome and that they should all graduate soon because really, life outside of school is just the best. And then I'll yell "Liar!" as the final trace of me vanishes out of the JFSB forever. (Room 4188, 7:00 PM, if you care to be a witness).

Friday, September 10, 2010

to remind you

Because the muppets still make me laugh. And cry.

Thursday, September 9, 2010


I usually eat fairly healthy. It's one part vanity (I prefer clothes to hang, not curve) and two parts neuroticism. Say what you will about the public school system: I may not have learned math or science, but man, if I didn't learn the importance of a healthy lifestyle. Year after year we reviewed the Food guide pyramid and exercise regulations, and by the time high school graduation rolled around, I was brainwashed and believed that if I didn't run thirty miles a week and eat seven servings of green veggies a day, I would contract type II diabetes, become morbidly obese and die at age 25. Not long ago Stephen watched my naw on a raw green pepper and asked "Do you have some sort of vitamin deficiency?" Only paranoia. So anyway, often to the puzzlement of coworkers, family and friends, I'll eat cucumbers and almonds and the white part of orange peels. This works for me. I feel good. But then comes Thursday. Thursday is rough. Thursday is the day I skip the morning run. The day I roll out of bed at the last possible minute. It's the day I walk into work late, drink too much diet coke to try and kill the headache until I give in and take excedrin. And it's the day I go to In-N-Out. Because a cheeseburger animal style with fries is just what I need.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

don't punch girls and we don't punch a clock

I understand that mosquitoes need blood to survive. And with all the meat I eat, I deserve to be a victim somewhere in the food chain. So although I curse and cry and shake my fist at the heavens when bitten, I get that it's necessary.I always thought the miniature biters had some sort of understanding when it came to boundaries. If it's a muggy evening in July and I'm standing outside in shorts and a T-shirt, I'm not surprised when bitten. If I'm camping in deep woods without repellent, I'm downright asking for it. But when I'm in a buzzing metropolis, fully covered on a chilly September night and my derrier gets that familiar itch, a line has been crossed. Have you know shame, you blasted creatures? Do you not know what it's like to sit on an itch for nine hours? How am I supposed to take care of this? Scratching your arm in public, acceptable. Nose, foot, neck, acceptable. Bum, unaacceptable. It doesn't help that my skin has a freakish reaction to your nibbles. Stephen didn't believe me when I claimed mosquito allergy. Probably because I tell him that I think I have throat cancer, dramatically receding gums or polio at least once a day. But when he saw a small planet sized welt on my leg, he became a believer. Again, if it was on my arm, fine. Whatever. But it's not on my arm. I hope mosquitoes are cannibals and get mosquito bites.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

i got two turn tables and a microphone

I bought red lipstick. Not because I'm the kind of girl who looks good wearing red lipstick, but because I want to be the kind of girl who looks good wearing red lipstick. Someone once told me, if I'm going to be wrong, be wrong loudly. And even though looking back I realize this is really horrible advice, it's still engrained in my subconscious, and still causes me to make rather noticable errors. The sales girl told me it looked awesome. Maybe I shouldn't have trusted someone making a living on commission or with eyelashes longer than my thumb. I'm not giving up. I'm hoping with enough feigned confidence I will at least become the kind of girl who thinks she looks good in red lipstick, true or not.
Not how I look.

Thursday, September 2, 2010


Mean Girls taught me that making fun of other people won't get you anywhere. But... I saw a sticker on a car that said "Live to hunt, hunt to live". And that's fine. But it was written in Papyrus. Papyrus. If woodland creatures could type, they would type in Papyrus. And speaking of being hunted, (Mom stop reading) yesterday on my walk I saw a man holding some mettalic object. As I drew nearer to his lawn, I realized it was actually two metallic objects, a bow and an arrow. He stood still, aiming at what seemed to be too close to my head, and I ran. Adventures in P-town.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

wash your hands, kevin

This morning I was stopped in traffic for a long time. Next to a bag of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. I only ate two, although one of the two was extra large. I also only sent two "I'm bored, save me" texts. As though the recipients would call with a list of jokes to keep me laughing for ninety minutes because they have nothing better to do. I made it thirty minutes listening to real news before switching to celebrity news (Paris Hilton was caught with cocaine in Las Vegas). I saw the guy in front of me spill something, freak out, then spend ten minutes cleaning it up. We didn't move at all during that time. And even though we were moving at an average speed of 7mph, the old couple to my right never went over 3. I didn't swear, though I did sing off key.

Monday, August 30, 2010


We've been watching MadMen. A lot. We talk about the characters as though they were a. real, and b. our friends. Everytime Don does something naughty it breaks my heart. My heart is constantly broken. It sounds unhealthy. Obsessive. I guess it is. But what a ride.

Also, this weekend I became the first person to hold a StarWars lunchbox and kiss a cute boy.
*Not an actual fact, just a probably pretty accurate assumption.

Friday, August 27, 2010

You can drop the voice

I forget that kids aren't sipposed to talk to strangers. Sometimes I talk to kids. Kids I don't know. Making me a stranger. If you say "I like your pants" to some one your own age, they're flattered. If you say it to an eight-year old, they're scared. But her pants were super cute. Green pants. Why was I around an 8 year old? We were both waiting for the crossing quard to give us the ok before continuing across the intersection. When we parted ways she looked over her shoulder just to make sure I wasn;t following her. At least it's good to know that kids these days are cautious. Maybe I should start doing my hair before stepping outside, and lessen the fear factor.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Hey, you've got to hide your love away

My mobile telephone has died. Or is dying. I can no longer make calls, and I'm assuming I can no longer receive them, though I might just be telling myself that.
This has been a long time coming. There was the Perrier accident of Summer 2009. A cap not screwed on correctly, a full bottle of sparkling water, a wet bag, and the loss of all camera functionality. Then there was the back pocket of incident of Fall 2009. I won't get too graphic, but I will tell you that there was a body of water, some pants, some almost flushing, and that it was suspiciously similar to the hair brush incident of June, 2010. More recently was the "sat on the phone" episode wherein I discovered that the desk job has changed my body mass more than I would like to admit. There are also the innumerable droppings, mashings, and losings of the phone, each recovery more miraculous than the one before. But this cat is at the end of life 9, and it's time to find a replacement. I know that I don't do well with replacing one beloved figure with another just like it, as evidenced in my love for Steve, Hermit Crab #1, and apthy for Carl, Hermit Crab #2. (in my defense, Carl was not very friendly). I should probably not get another Sony Ericsson flip phone because I will eventually stop feeding it and cleaning it's cage until it sinks into its shell, never to emerge again.
I don't want a phone smarter than I am, though I would like to play Angry Birds. Suggestions please.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

four horsemen

I don't care for feelings. I especially don't care for blogging about feelings. But guys, I need the advice of the interwebs.
I don't know what to do with my life. Cliche, sure, but it's become my cliche.
I know I want to go to grad school. I just don't know what kind.
I might go to law school. I'll for sure take the LSAT, cause I might as well. But do I want to be a lawyer? Do I want to wear nylons everyday?
For a long time I though I wanted a creative writing MFA. But do I? Do I want to be one of those writers that no one reads because they write like they have an MFA?
Maybe I should just shoot straight for retirement and open a floral shop and spend all day with the Hollycocks and Bells of Ireland.

Interwebs, guide me.

Monday, August 23, 2010

need a bigger boat

This morning I saw a family on their way to the first day of school. There were four children yelling, one with his back pack stuck in the front door, another with a pet bird on his finger, and a very frazzled looking mother waiting in the car. I was so jealous. I want to go to school. Not necessarily the third grade, but I would like to start writing assignments in my crisp new planner I'll lose a week later, buy $425 worth of books I'll read a third of and play the name game with strangers whose names I'll forget and fail to learn all semester. I want to buy chocolate almonds from the bookstore candy counter. I want to run to campus cause I'm late.
I know that 5 monthes ago I couldn't wait to get on with my life. Damn hindsight.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Fancy Footwork

I don't have an explanation for my recent animal obsession. All I know is that I want a puppy real bad. But we live in an apartment and both work full time, so all I have are dreams. That's not to say that I don't check KSL often or read up on all sorts of breeds or argue with Stephen about which dogs are classified as boy dogs. We both finally agreed that the Bull Terrier, picture above, would be just right. Someday.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Turning 24: The Stephen Walter Story

Starring Stephen Walter. August 18, 2010.
Happy Birthday, Love.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

sha na na na

Excuse me, which cloud is this? I'm all turned around. Yes, the cloud you're sitting on. It looks a lot like my cloud. Are you sure that's your cloud? Oh ok. I must be confused. No, I'm not confused now. I believe you're on my cloud. No really. My cloud looks just like that. I'm sure yours is somewhere around here. Ok I have to insist that you give me my cloud. I have places to be. No, it's not yours. I have documentation. Please don't make me call the authorities. Ok, I'll call them. I'm going to call. On the count of three. One...Two...get off. Get off of my cloud. HEY. YOU. GET OFF OF MY CLOUD.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Stephen's a Star

Watch this.

let's go bowling

I think I'm a hypochondriac. The thought alone proves it.
The other night we watched Philadelphia and (spoiler) after watching Tom Hanks die a pale, bald, death, I lay in bed thinking "that's going to happen to me."
Everytime there's a twinge in my arm I assume it's a heart attack. My index finger hurt yesterday and I was sure it was cancer.
My diet coke habit doesn't help anything, but only fuels the runaway imagination. When I search frantically for the cause of my AIDS, heart attack or cancer I always say "It's probably the diet coke." And I swear I won't drink it anymore. It never sticks.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

you just might find

I had another baby dream. This time our offspring was a fully bearded infant.
And then I was on a game show. I had to select a loaf pan. I went with the loaf pan that was the size of the car. Because meatloaf is Stephen's favorite.
Remember how I went running with a deer? Well since then all its deer friends have been trying to kill us. Three times in the last 72 hours We've had to swerve the car to avoid a hoofed animal standing smack dab in the middle of our lane. They give us a quick glance as if to say, "next time", and then bound away into the darkness. It's like The Ring 2 except not as hilarious.

Sunday, August 8, 2010


Sure, my nose looks misshapen, sure it's more a grimace than a smile, but the point is the hair. Because it's gone. Finally.

Friday, August 6, 2010

even though you can

This morning while running my usually route, I was surprised to find a deer not too far away. Which at first was awe inspiring, but soon became awkward as I realized I would eventually come to the runner's dilemma: pass or run slower. To pass someone on the trail is to essentially flip them the fitness bird. It is to say "It's a shame you can't keep up." "I was so bored back there, waiting for you to start moving." It's deflating. I know. I've been passed. But then there's protecting their feelings, staying a safe distance behind, and slowing down significantly.I mean, it's great the deer is taking care of herself. Maybe she recently gave birth and is getting over the fawn pounds. Maybe she's noticed the ill-effects of tree bark consumption and has decided to increase her cardio. And who am I to discourage her? But I have to get to work on time. I came very close to decision time, when the dear realized I was in fact a person creeping up behind her, and she took off in the other direction. Thanks, nature.
I  have no idea why "cardio" is highlighted.
And speaking of, I think that if my 17-year-old-runs-a-million-miles-a- week version of me knew about the current-lucky-if-I-get-a-mile-in version, she might cry. She might yell, "what have you become?!" She'd probably be dramatic. But then I would laugh at her hair. Cause it's poofy. And I would probably make fun of her jeans because HOLY BELLED BOTTOM.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name

I'm usually wearing headphones at work. And sometimes when I'm wearing headphones I forget that other people are around. Sometimes I'm listening to This American Life and I smile, frown, and I've even cried. Sometimes I'm listening to music and I start singing quietly to myself. And tapping my fingers on the desk. This is especially dangerous when I have that crazy craving for Brittney's Toxic. Come on. You know that song is amazing. And the worst is watching videos of hilarious animals. Like I laugh uncontrollably. Like red in the face, wiping tears from my eyes, can't breathe. Other times coworkers come tap me on the shoulder to ask me a question, and I jump with fright.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

whatever makes you happy

In 3 days my hair will look like this.

But I won't wear that necklace, cause that's just crazy.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

As I went down to the river

There is such a thing as the International Ice Cream Association and they give lifetime achievement awards. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to receive said award.

Also, the other day i saw an advertisement for the company the Immortal Shed and the slogan read "The Last Shed You Will Ever Buy." And I know what they are trying to say is that this shed is so good you'll never have to replace it.  But it felt more like the last meal you will ever eat, the last word you will ever speak, the last breath hyou will ever take,  buy this shed and die. Maybe the shed is full of killer ninjas. Or maybe it's poorly constructed, and meant to collapse on first use. Or maybe it's full of cancer air.

And finally, would it be funny or lame to wear topical T-shirts from years gone by? Like, shirts that read "The Governator", "Hanging Chads", "Wardrobe Malfunction", etc. I can see it going either way.

Monday, July 26, 2010

tell each other fairytales

Kamas City's Fiesta Days Demolition Derby. 3 cars rolled. 1 bloody, broken nose. 1 fire. So awesome.
I also learned to shoot a bb gun.
And I just ate beef jerkey for lunch.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010


Please note: I am not pregnant. The following is nothing more than an indication of how ill prepared we would be to have a child.

I had a dream that some one gave us (The Walters) a new baby. I can't remember if it was a tester baby, or if we were tending, or really how we got the baby (which, according to Inception, is only logical). But anyway, I was going grocery shopping with the infant and it would not sit right in the shopping cart. I realize now that this was no fault of its (gender unknown), being but a week old, and yet I was so annoyed with thisu child's lack of abilty to balance while sitting, toppling over far too often for my tolerance limit.

Meanwhile, Stephen dreamed that I was pregnant, so we rushed to the hospital because apparently in Stephen's dream world gestation is about 30 seconds. I gave birth to a baby the size of a sea monkey ( his words), and then like those crazy foam toys you put in the bathtub, the baby expanded exponentially to the size of a standard new human, and said in a Brittish accent "It was rather hot in there." We named him Scott.

I would suspect these to be visions of things to come, execpt last night I dreamt of finding the ebola virus in space.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

knife fight

If one nips caramel is thirty calories, how many is too many?
If I was actually upset when Frank left the Bachelorette, how concerned should I be?
If a train moving at 70 miles an hour reaches the station at 2:51 pm and a train heading in the opposite direction arrives at 2:52, what are the chances that both whistles will blow outside my window? Likely, as it turns out.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

my name is

When I don't eat, I'm downright fussy.
This morning I had nothing more than a handful of sugar babies and a diet coke. And life was really hard. My coworker said he didn't like Modern Family. I decided to never speak to him again. I stared blankly at the error message on my computer screen, and felt tears welling. I wandered the streets aimlessly, knowing that I needed food but feeling too melancholy to want to eat anything. A car's engine roared as I tried to hear my phone converstation and I yelled "Yargh!" at the inconsiderate driver. No joke. I wound up at the grocery store, probably out of habit, bought some almonds, because they were there, made my purchase and walked out. As I chewed and swallowed one nut after the other, it was the like the rain clouds parting and the sun shining through on my previously dark and dreary day.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

hey, you, get off of my cloud

The entertainment industry has ruined me.
There was a report of the Mafia's growth through all of Italy. Am I concerned for the well-being of the Italians? No. I'm craving cannoli and doing Marlin Brando impressions.
Another report, this of George Steinbrenner's death. Am I greiving for his family? No. I'm thinking about that time George Castanza decides to act on the opposite of all his instincts and lands a job with the Yankees.
A final report of drug violence in Mexico. That's right, My Little Buttercup runs through my head.

Monday, July 12, 2010

have you seen her dressed in blue?

We may not ever be allowed back in an Urban Outfitter. But it's not our fault. The clothing gods must have determined that the Walters are simply not cool enough to set foot in hipsterville. It started while we were paying, and a frantic worker ran up to us holding a number of detached tags and asked, "Do you know anything about these?" I told him they were on the floor of the dressing room, because they were. He seemed unconvinced, but since we were in fact paying, he let us go with a glare. Slightly humiliated, we headed for the exit. But the doors beeped. Another disgruntled employee met us were we stood still, terriffied. She checked the receipt, found the magnet still on a shirt, had it removed, and we were on our way once more. But no. The doors beeped again. Stephen walked through. He was fine. I walked through. Not fine. we tried scanning my bag. It was fine. I walked through alone. Not fine. We checked everything I was wearing. There was nothing to set it off. Just me. Either I'm super magnetic and need to start captilizing on my powers by wearing a full body suit and changing my name no Meg the Magnetic, or it's a sign that I really do not belong in trendy threads.

Friday, July 9, 2010

one two jurassic crew

Is there anything more terrifying than driving behind a trailer full of port-a-potties loosely bound with rope? No. There isn't.
Speaking of...
Yesterday morning I was rushing to groom and get to work on time. I couldn't find my hair brush. It's not a large apartment. It usually takes ten seconds to find something. But the brush was no where I would have expected it to be, and with five minutes left before the essential departure time, I was panicked. Then to my relief I found it. In the bathroom trash. I assumed I had placed it there by mistake, and the bathroom trash is never gross, so I fished it out, brushed my hair and ran out the door.
Then I was talking to Stephen at lunch, because we're precious like that, and mid-sentence he stopped and said "Meg, did you use the hairbrush?". I said of course, and then he laughed. And then he laughed more. And then he said "It was in the trash." Turns out it was placed there by him. Turns out there was a reason the handle was wet. Turns out the shelf where the hairbrush sits is too close to the toilet.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Have you ever seen an In-n-Out employee not smiling? I haven't. And it's starting to make me nervous. We frequent that fine establishment more often than we should. And everytime we're met by at least three cheery employees. And they're not just holding a pleasant face. Not just looking pleased. No. They're flashing big toothy grins. When's the last time you had a toothy grin all day at work? What's going on in that kitchen of theirs? It has to be an occult brainwashing or drugs. Maybe both. Also, how often do they wash they're uniforms? Once every half hour? Because they're spotless. They work with fast food and they're white uniforms are without a single smudge. Does this not freak you out? Who are these superhumans? And why are they making hamburgers?

Sunday, July 4, 2010


Friday, July 2, 2010

gothic castle

Last night I woke up to the sound of a child crying. A child crying in our parking lot. And then it screeched. And then it hissed. And then I realized it wasn't a child. It was cats. Really loud cats. Cats that were either killing each other (which wouldn't be the worst thing) or making new cats (which would be the worst thing). I wasn't sure whether to cry, throw rocks, or laugh, so I laughed. That woke Stephen up. And in a dazed voice he said "Stupid Soviet cats."

In other news, we broke 30,000 hits. So I made us a cake.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

You want lobster. I'm thinking Burger King.

Stephen is looking more and more like Jeremiah Johnson everyday.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

scooter for you

Remember when Fabio got hit in the head by a goose? I think the geese planned it. I think they had had enough of emptyI Can't Believe It's Not Butter tubs floating in their ponds. I think it was a suicide mission. A kamikaze goose.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010


We won tickets to see Twilight. And we're so excited. Because for those of us who have not read the books, each new movie offers an array of befuddling developments, often to our besument. Some people are really into Twlight, and I think that's great. I think that even these fans can admit that the films have a nature that lends any viewer, fan and critic alike, complete entertainment. Whether you're the die-hard crying on the front row or the novice laughing in the back, it's an experience unlike any other.

As for me, I'm team quirky vampire brother who's dating his sister and tried to eat Bella in the last movie.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Body Movin'

It's too bad we can't enjoy sleep while we're sleeping. After some highly scientific analysis, I've found sleep to be a completely unsatisfactory experience. We look forward to sleeping all day. When we're done sleeping we want more. But we never actually enjoy sleeping. It's like the most delicious desert that we can't taste. I know that there is a feeling right before I drift off. I know that what's coming is good. But I don't remember the good. Instead I remember the dreams. I've gained 200 pounds. I'm living on Jupiter. I married Stephen's evil twin brother. Why can't I run? I'm back on my mission. I forgot to wear pants to work. The goldfish are taking over I-15. Sleep is relaxing like the plague is awesome. It's not.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Sitting on the dock of the bay

The other day my coworker felt something in her sleeve. She assumed it was stray hair. She assumed wrong. After repeated irriatation she stretched her sleeve and took a peek to find eight legs creeping upward. A brown recluse. A brown recluse was in her sleeve. I don't know how she lived. They don't kill apparently, but I think my heart would have stopped at first sight of the wretched creature. With the exception of used bandaids, I would rather see anything near me than see a spider. I would rather come home to find a crocodile in the bath tub, a cougar in the kitchen and an actual monster under the bed than to come home and find spiders lurking in our dwelling's secluded corners. They're too small. They're too undetectible. They're too eager to let me swallow them in my sleep which happens nine times a year according to elementary school playground lore.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

How you ever got to teach a course in anything is amazing

I'm working at a tech company. Did I tell you that? I'm working at a tech company. Consequently, I'm learning jargon. I resisted at first. But after about the 52nd time that my boss asked me to do something like "load the TRs to the CBTs" and I spent the next half hour staring blankly at my computer screen, I finally caved. Now I jarg with the best of them. It's an IFA on the sp with the doc bandwith.
So when it's lunch time, I like the silence. I like stepping out of the office and for 60 minutes not speaking to another soul. I like concentrating on food because I know what "soup" and "sandwich" mean without having to check a tech blog. So when I was deep in a tomato-basil induced trance, I was annoyed when the man next to me attempted a conversation. I gave him a one word answer, obligatory smile, and then checked my voicemail because I am obviously a very busy person with very important things to do with other very important people on the phone and I don't really need conversations with random cafe patrons. He ignored my ignoring. "You have kids?" he asked. I told him no. he told me kids are so much work. But that he loves his kids and he feels lost without them because they're spending the week at the grandparents. He said it's hard raising kids on your own, which he's been doing for twelve years. He told me to get a lab, that they're a real pain in the butt but I'll love that stupid dog like a family member until fifteen years later when it dies. He told me that a clean house makes a happy marriage and that a husband who helps clean the house is worth his weight in gold. He said if I'm a good cook all will be well, which sounds sexist but didn't feel sexist.
I walked away just that much happier to be as lucky as I am, and that much sadder that he isn't.
And then I TRed some CBTs.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

The song goes on

Sometimes I feel like we're more eager to buy foods if they don't come from America. I just ate some frozen yogurt. My options were acai, original, peach, or Madagascar vanilla. I ordered Madagascar vanilla. I might not have if it was called American Fork vanilla. I wonder if people in other countries are like that.

Monday, June 21, 2010

I wonder what your boyfriend thinks about your braces

How many cough drops does it take to overdose?
" almonds "
" diet coke cans "
" smart waters "

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Just like a Prayer

Yeah, I cried. I don't know. I mean, when the first Toy Story premiered I was still playing with toys. And now I'm 24. Sometimes I'm not sure how that happened.
When my third grade teacher Mrs. Cunningham read the final pages of the Winnie the Pooh series aloud to the class, she cried. I get that now.

Friday, June 18, 2010

manager count the churros

Everytime this guy showed up on the court, I just couldn't handle it. So funny.
Also, we live in what's essentially a newly married apartment complex. And this morning there was an awkward marriage book left stranded on the stairs. And I wonder if it will ever be claimed or if every one will pretend it isn't theirs and look away when they walk by until eventually the cats get to it, which, trust me, the cats will.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

planetary, intergalactic

Did I tell you we went to Key West on our honeymoon? We went to Key west. And it was really great. The only picture we took was of a cat at the Hemingway House, so sorry.
Anyway. That was like 6 weeks ago. And there was this bum on the beach, well there were lots of bums on the beach, not on bodies but like actual people who don't have jobs and drink a lot, k you get it, so yeah, there was this one bum in particular who was making plans for when the oil reached Florida. We laughed. "He's drunk!" we said. "The oil's hundreds of miles away" we knowingly scoffed to each other.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


The trees in the cemetary seem to mock us. There they stand, still alive after centuries, looming over the deceased. They seem to say "I've been here since before all y'all were even a twinkle in your mothers' eyes, and look. You're dead. I'm still standing strong." Trees probably look at us like we look at bugs. Short life expectancies. Easily expendable. But then again, we seem to live fuller. Sure there are risks involved in driving cars, talking on cell phones and eating hot pockets, but who wants to be made of bark and covered in bird poop. I'll take my 75 years over your 300, you tree you.

Monday, June 14, 2010

hot fuzz

As the cashier ran my groceries through the scanner, she held up the bottle of ginger beer and said "huh...does this taste anything like beer?". "Well, it's ginger beer" I replied, avoiding the question all together. "Oh. Right." It might taste like beer. I don't know. I've never had beer. It tastes like ginger. Because it's ginger beer. But then again does rootbeer taste like root? Regardless, it was awkward. And confusing. I'm usually mistaken for a twelve year old, not a heavy drinker. I think my complete inability to anwser her question let the poor cashier know that she had indeed incorrectly guessed my identity. I pulled out my phone and called time and temperature to avoid any further conversing while she focused intently on the sliced mushrooms' barcode. So, any way, I just opened the full grocery bag to find four hershey bars. I'm supposing it's apology chocolate. "Sorry for my wild assumptions about your familiarity with alcohol" Chocolate. Either that or the bag boy messed up. whatever.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Birds have started diving at my head again. Must be nest building time.

Monday, May 31, 2010

So insanse

It was rather Lucy and Ricky when we got a flat tire not more than an hour into our trip down to St George. I'm glad I married a boy. He calmly found a jack, replaced the dud, and locatedthe nearest autoshop. I ate sunchips and held the keys.

Friday, May 28, 2010


Last night while waiting in a long line of traffic, I let a jetta cut in front of me. The driver didn't wave. So I rammed the back of his car at full speed.
Fine I didn't. But I wanted too.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Ruby Tuesday

It might be a good idea for me to seek professional psychiatric help. One reason, among many others, is that I've started to think of, and referring to, the NPR crew as actual friends. Like, I'll come home and say "Ira said the funniest thing today." Or "Neil was really on one." But in my defense, they are the voices in my head. Literally. They talk to me on my way to work. They whisper in my ear through headphones from 9-5. And then they escort my ride home. I hear more from them than anyone who has a face I would actually recognize in a crowd.

Also, blueberries are delicious.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Crazy dogs

Because we're married now, we play scrabble. We play scrabble on the kitchen table, because the two night stands we've placed next to each other and call a coffee table just aren't big enough. We're serious about our scrabble. And it was just as Stephen was spelling "Xibit" (curse that new proper noun rule) that a loud crash sounded. And then another loud crash. And then another. And as the books went flying, we realized that maybe Target wasn't the best choice for purchasing bookshelves.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Fire burnin

Last night in Paris $600,000,000 wirth of art (including pieces by Matisse and Picasso) were stolen. And I feel bad because I imagined it to be Brad Pitt and George Clooney. And I smiled.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Shiny Happy People

Lately blogging has been a challenge. Partly because we don't have internet, and partly because I'm afraid I'll only write about our home improvement progress or post more wedding photos. I've found that while being out of school is lovely in that I no longer have homework consumed nights, I long for the excitement that accompanied every day on Brigham Young's campus. It's a bit strange to be in a routine without pulling all-nighters, stealing faculty parking spots or bombing exams. Is this what stable is?

Anyway, I decided to paint our door white. And then half door I decided that was a bad idea.

And ok, just one more photo.

One more...

Thursday, May 13, 2010


I think that everyone should spend 30 minutes in Williams Sonoma at least once a month. It just feels good.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

poker face

Last night I dreamt that I bought a baby sheep. Instead of a dog. And it needed diapars. And we took it swimming. And I wonder what Freud would say. Actually, I know what Freud would say. So maybe another dream interpreter. Like Joseph, of the Bible. With the coat. Technicolor dream coat. I guess I wonder what Donny Osmond would say.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

dance til you feel better

Again, Thanks Alpha

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Come Sail Away

Alpha took our pictures. Find more of her stuff at:

Monday, April 19, 2010

I see a Mansford Roof

With the hygienist sitting next to the computer, the dentist inspected each tooth and made appropriate comments to be recorded in the database. "We've got slight browning on A1, A2 looks good, and there's a whisper jet on A3."
Whisper jet.
It sounds like the friend I never had. The girl I meet on the first day of school in third grade who wears moccasins and braids in her hair and packs homemade granola for lunch. Her parents were at Woodstock. We become the best of besties despite our differences, what with my parents not having been at Woodstock and my complete lack of moccasins.

Or it sounds like Gillette's newest razor. The Mach 5 whisper jet lets you shave closer than ever before.

Or it sounds like a flatulence euphemism.

"Wasth a wisthpa jhett?" I ask with with a mouth full of dental instruments.

Turns out whisper jet means a return visit. And laughing gas.

Oh laughing gas. While large crevices were drilled into my teeth with what I understand to be a miniature sandblaster, I drifted into the sweet land of dreams. For a moment I thought "Maybe I'm dying." And then I thought "This might be worth it." But then I remembered I was getting married, so I tried my best not to die. I did fall asleep and was sorely disappointed when the procedure ended and they cut my juice.

Not dead though. So that's good.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Hello Hello


Monday, April 12, 2010

Raindrops keep fallin on my head

In seventeen days I'll be a married college grad. I feel really great about that. I'd go on about just how happy that makes me, but then it would be one of "those" blogs. The kind that eventually turn into a never-ending narration of married life, as though it were captivating to read about their shared adventures in making oatmeal and constructing ikea furniture. And some of them are a good read, but mine wouldn't be.

Thursday, April 8, 2010



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Then we wouldn't have to wait so long

This morning I woke up to find my dog taking her last bite of a ten dollar bill.
Damn dog.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Strange Angles

There's a note in the bathroom at work which reads "If you lost your ring in here, call Cassandra" followed by a phone number which I won't post because I don't really know who reads this and though I would hope you're all the kind of people who would never dream of tormenting Cassandra, better safe than sorry.
The note reminded me of how awesome I was six days ago. It being April Fools I wrote a text message essentially saying that my engagement rink fell down the drain and I couldn't retrieve it. I sent it to Stephen. He was disappointingly logical and understanding in his response. But when I sent it to my mom...oh man. She called in a panic, about to drive home. And then when I revealed the truth, that my ring still sat on my finger, she said "You little brat" about ten times. Which reminded me of the time Mom was in the bathroom and I slid a rubber snake underneath the door. Ha. Screaming. Really loud screaming. Followed by grounding.
But don't you go feeling sorry for her. Over the course of April Fools in my childhood, She's placed fake poop on the carpet and blamed her children, put plastic frogs in the shower, and baked toy cockroaches in pancakes. She's also told outrageous lies, like seeing a giraffe in Provo Canyon and our male dog having puppies. We believed her. Both times. Although to our defense, it was early in the morning.
Also, my grandparents were married on April 1. They eloped. So I wonder when they told people that day if the response they got was "very funny." "No really, we're married." "Yeah, right. April Fools. I get it." "No, Mom, WE'RE MARRIED." and then my imagination starts to get out of control and I imagine a really angry great grandma throwing a flower pot at the new couple.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Gangstah's Paradise

Last night I dreamed that the name of my blog was on the news ticker on ESPN. I don't think ESPN has a news ticker. And why am I dreaming about my blog? Does that make me obsessed? Narcisisstic? A bad speller? In the dream I was also still engaged to Stephen and still a missionary and still buying kebabs from a store on a street corner in Riga and Stephen was going to church in Mona because it's cooler there.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Annie waits

I like these kinds of emails:

"Dear Meg Morley,
I am pleased to inform you that your nonfiction piece "Trick or Treat" has been chosen for publication in the Winter 2010 Issue of Inscape. Congratulations!"

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

And farmers

I bought paper plates from the bookstore. The total was $3.99. The following is the conversation between the cashier and I.
"That's $3.99"
"Great" (hand her my credit card)
"Can I see some ID?"
"Didn't I sign the back of the card?"
"Yes, but sometimes I just like to check."
Yeah. Check my id. Because I'm trying to steal paper plates. I'm waiting in line to buy paper plates with a stolen credit card. Do you even know who I am? I am BYU Bookstore's February 2007 Employee of the Month. The audacity. Get me your supervisor.

I didn't say that. I bought a mint truffle instead.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

you and i know

Even though we're about to graduate and planning a wedding, and full to the brim with things that need to get done in a rather timely manner, Stephen and I are still making time for the most important thing. Monopoly. And I'm winning, 4 games to his 3.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Dievs Sveti Latviju

I'm not one for sports. Watching or playing. I once spent an entire football game counting my dad's fillings. Really. I made him open his mouth wide so I could see all the silver and gold in his teeth. I think he complied to keep me quiet and occupied. And golf. Seriously. Who watches that? And how is it possible to remember to keep your legs bent, eye on the ball, swing back straight then focus on where you want the ball to land? I run because that's all I have to do. Just run.
But oh em gee March Madness is rad. We went to the Syracuse v. Butler game and then the Kansas State v. Xavier. So many emotions. So much yelling. Double overtime. I think exhilarating might be the most appropriate adjective.

In other news, for some reason art history is always nap time. But even though I'm asleep, what the professor says still registers, and manifests itself in my dreams. This wasn't too bad in the Renaissance unit. But now we're in Dada and surrealism. Whacked. Today I dreamt of a little boy with measles making ice cream from an upside down bicycle. I use to do that. I've always been obsessed with food, and for some reason I thought that my upside down tricycle was just right for making the perfect pretend ice-cream blend. I later started Cafe Flambe out of Grandma Morley's backyard, serving sand out of the sand box to my relatives. Yeah.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

shred the cello

Sometimes planning a wedding feels like splitting an atom in the dark.


Silly, Silly, Tuesday. You should have been Friday.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Cave Jump

The fire alarm should be alarming. But it's not. It's exciting. I've been programmed since kindergarten to rejoice in the ear-splitting siren signaling that all those in the building might dies a flamey death within minutes because it means we don't have to do five more minutes of subtraction problems. The alarm sounded during class today and my knee-jerk reaction (after waking abruptly from a rather heavy nap) was yes! no more class! I'm 24.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Again, it's fiction

Meg Morley
Professor Stephen Tuttle
English 318
17 March 2010
I slide the potato wedge to the other side of the plate in an exaggerated gesture of dismay. It’s not so much that my appetite has diminished as I think that my appetite should probably diminish. In times of uncertainty people usually can’t eat, right? But Sam’s fervent love for food seems undeterred, and he fails to be too consumed with worry to be hungry. Or maybe he’s the politer sibling, dutifully eating the grilled cheese and fries that grandma and grandpa have generously bought at our favorite cafe. It’s just that Annie’s pre-op doesn’t feel like a time for favorites. We should be eating cold, pickled beats or dry bran or at the very least the hospital green beans and jello Annie has to stomach while we sit luxuriously in a booth for four chatting about college football, the only thing left to talk about after malignant versus benign, recovery time, anesthesia what-if’s and Doctor Lee’s qualifications.
Annie’s room on the third floor is private. It belongs to her the hours before and the days after the operation. Already wearing the pale blue gown, her body lies still on the inclined bed as her head rests against the stiff pillow. The teddy bears on the wallpaper are pastel and faceless, like teddy bear ghosts. Mom and Dad have gone to chat with Dr. Lee, and I wish they hadn’t.
“How are you?” Grandpa asks Annie as the four of us enter the room.
“What’s a catheter?” Annie asks in response.
“Annie, you look good” says Grandma. Weird and not an answer to her question, but better than “Annie we love you” or “Annie don’t die”,” or “It pees for you,” the only things I can think to say.
“Anne I had a grilled cheese,” says Sam.
“I bet it wasn’t as good as my jello.” Good. She still has a sense of humor. Dying people don’t make jokes.
Mom and Dad and Dr. Lee finally return.
“You ready Annie?”
“Ready Freddy.”
Dr. Lee smiles. Obligatory.
Blue’s Clues is playing on the TV. Anywhere but here Blue’s Clues is fun and charming and perfect for occupying a young, healthy mind while babysitting. But in the rec-room of a children’s hospital the innocence of Blue’s Clues becomes tragic. The hairless little girl in the pink pajamas sits on the floor and stares up at the screen. She will probably only ever watch Blues Clues and Barney and Mr. Roger’s. She’ll probably never watch the shows her parents tell her not to watch or buy a restricted movie ticket. I wish we were watching Friends or Pulp Fiction. I solve Blue’s clues. It’s under the chair, Blue. Steve’s missing sweater is under the chair. Mom reads Newsweek on a couch across the room and Dad stands by the window, fiddling with his watch and periodically staring out at the freeway traffic. Grandma and Grandpa promised to be back in an hour an hour ago, and I secretly hope with snacks. Sam returns from the downstairs cafeteria holding a can of Dr. Pepper. He sits next to me on the vinyl loveseat.
“Remember when Annie threw a rock at my head?”
“Why would you bring that up?”
“Only the good die young.”
“Only the good die young.”
“The Eagles?
“Billy Joel.”
“Right. Billy Joel.”
It’s been two hours. The specialists call the operation exploratory, and it would seem that every possible nook and cranny in Annie’s tiny abdomen would be well explored by now. Any new territory would have an American flag planted in it and the its currency already switched to the dollar. But it’s not appropriate to think of funny imagery with a sister in surgery. Maybe they’d found what they hoped they wouldn’t find.
I turn to Sam.
“Remember when she called Dad a jackass?”
“Or when she said Mom’s chicken casserole tasted like poop?”
Grandma and Grandpa return with donuts. I’ve forgotten to feign “not hungry”.
“Still in there?” Asks Grandpa and mom nods.
With mouths full of chocolate sprinkles and maple glaze Sam and I continue to reassure ourselves of Devil’s sure grasp on Annie’s soul evidenced in her wicked deeds.
“Remember when she asked Aunt Lil why she was fat?”
With every recalled memory we know that she’s not near pure enough to die at age 11. The girl in the pink pajamas sitting on the floor staring at the screen practically has a halo. I can tell that she only says the nicest things to people and loves her family and quotes inspirational stories from a book of inspirational stories when the going gets tough. Annie throws rocks at heads. Or she did in her younger years. But then on my birthday this year she wrote this great note about how special it is to have a sister. And she drew a picture. Of me. Here I am remembering only the worst in her. Me, the child who purposely starved Freckles the pet bunny because I was tired of filling his tin with pellets once a day. And Sam, who dismembered every doll in the house and set the Barbie Corvette on fire within the thirty minutes Mom was at the grocery store.
“But Annie’s pretty great” I say because I should.
“Only the good die young.”
Sam walks away.
Aunt Lil buys us a chocolate Haagen Daz bar. Annie lies in bed, serene, recovering. Six hours and they successfully removed the benign growth the size of a grapefruit. Only after they taught the natives English and the Star-Spangled Banner. That’s okay now, right? And it’s ok to eat favorites, too I think. And Aunt Lil offered. So Sam and I chip the outer layer of chocolate off with our teeth, and smile. But it’s not enough really. It feels more like we should burn a sacrifice in gratitude or donate three million dollars to the oncology ward. Mom and Dad probably don’t have three million dollars. Sam and I definitely don’t. Maybe the charred Barbie corvette is sacrifice enough.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Monday, March 15, 2010

With big red

I know that I should mind my own business. But then I'd be bored.
The girl next to me pulled four international envelopes from her back pack. She showed them to the girls sitting to her right and they all giggled. She then examined a five page letter written in rather small handwriting. So there are a couple scenario options here right? Either she's writing four different elders in four different places, all responding with lengthy details of the hard work they're doing, or she has four letters from the same elder, to whom she is totally dedicated and will remain so for about 3 months until the muscular home teacher who happens to not be on a mission asks her out and then poor 5page letter writing elder gets her announcement in the mail. But at least he'll have more time on Pday.

Friday, March 12, 2010

This is not all that dog's dream

I keep almost sneezing. Which is good for my coworkers, but kind of disappointing. Over and over my expectations are left unmet as my face crinkles, my nose twitches and my mouth opens slightly, only to experience a passing tickle. But when I do sneeze it's epic. It thunders. It actually sounds like "achoo." And afterward I feel like I've lost five pounds in my head.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

You've had too much to think

Nature is pretty rad.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

if i wasn't so happy i wouldn't be afraid to die

Someday I might write a book.
Possible titles:
Nutrasweet Only Makes You Stronger
30 Sourpatch Watermelons In Five Minutes And Other Amazing Feats
My Existence Peaked When the Vending Machine Returned My Change With 3 Saqajuia Coins. No, Really
Glad I Brought The Galoshes
Sometimes Amazing Things Happen to Other People
But I Pretend They Happened To Me
Because That Makes For A Much Better Autobiography
Dancing? I Thought That Was A Seizure
Legos And The Thirst For Power
Kickin' It New School: The Tale Of A Young Rockette

What do you think?

Friday, March 5, 2010


On the way to school today I asked Stephen if I smelled bad. So I guess we're in that phase of our relationship.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Debbie, the men are talking

I'm ill. And when I'm ill everything is just a little off. Like the unopened can of diet coke sitting next to me. Unopened. Diet Coke. I know right? Also, a sitcom just made me cry. Also, I watched a sitcom at 10:30 am. There's the constant "Is it really worth it?" game. "Is it really worth it to get out of bed just to use the restroom? i can definitely hold it." "Is it really worth it to go get some water? I'll just have to use the restroom again." "Is it really worth it to shower? No. It's not."
It's too bad that the only time you get a day's break is when you're too sick to enjoy it.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

welcome to the show

My class hated this piece. My professor hated this piece.

This is not autobiographical. It is written from a man's perspective. My coming marriage is not in peril.

Disclaimer end.

I sat in the car parked in the driveway. I mean shoot, I couldn’t turn the ignition off or get out until I heard the end of the story. It was one of those soft stories on the program sandwiched between market reports and world news. Human interest or what have you. So there’s this dog right? It’s a Japanese dog, a bigger breed, the gentle type. And this dog’s owner is a businessman. A Japanese businessman, obviously. No family or anything, just this dog. This really great dog named Hachiko. Every morning Hachiko sees Mr. Ueno, the owner, off at the train station. And every evening he greets Mr. Ueno as he steps off his train home. Then, out of nowhere, Mr. Ueno has a stroke and drops dead at the office. Can you imagine? It’s all over, just like that. But of course Hachiko doesn’t know. All Hachiko knows is that Mr. Ueno leaves the house in the morning, and comes home on a train. So these good people, close family, bless their hearts, try to give a Hachiko a good home, but Hachiko runs away. He heads back to his old house so he can see Mr. Ueno off in the morning, he’s not there, but Hachiko doesn’t know why. And he waits for Mr. Ueno to get off the train in the evening. He waits until all the passengers unload and he searches the crowd, doesn’t find Mr. Ueno, and walks home alone. And then he does the same thing the next day. And every day for ten years. Neighbors left food and water for Hochiko cause it was all they could do to help you know? You can’t sit a dog down and explain death and loss and mourning and all that. So ten years Hochiko waits for Mr. Ueno to get off the train at the end of the day. And then eventually Hochiko dies at the train station, waiting. Shoot. I’m a grown man and I sat in my running car crying.
This one night my wife rented Romeo and Juliet. It was alright I guess. But then all I heard about for days was how romantic it was and how passionate they were and how it was such a beautiful story. Such a sacrifice, she said, that they would kill each other for love. I don’t know about that. Sometimes I feel like it’s more of a sacrifice to live for someone than to die for them, you know? Anyway, we see lots of things differently. And I guess that’s why she couldn’t take it anymore. Three years and then it was over. No more spark, she wrote. Looking for something more exciting, or something not me.
I knew it was too good to be true from the start. She was way out of my league, just like my friends told me. I’m not bad, you know. My looks aren’t bad, and sometimes even handsome. And I mean I work hard and am fairly smart. But nothing compared to her. She’s tall and thin and has this long dark hair that curls at the bottom. And these eyes. Green and piercing. They take your breath away. We had college calculus together. She walked in late one day and sat next to me in the back. She just got it. I watched her take notes and solve problems and then smile cause it matched what the professor had written on the board. It would take me two hours in the library after class to solve what she did in five minutes. Class ended and she gathered her things. To say something to her would have been creepy, so I sat and slowly close my notebook, capped my pen and reached for my backpack, until surprisingly she leaned over to me and said “Hey, I’m Rachel.” “Tom,” I said and reached out my hand to meet hers in a shake. She’d seen me around she said, asked how I liked the class, then said goodbye and she’d see me next class period. Sure, I thought, not likely. But then by what must have been divine grace, next class she wasn‘t even late and she chose to sit right next to me. After she asked if I liked Humphry Bogart movies. I don’t really, but I said I did. We saw African Queen and we held hands and then we kissed. And I felt like the most fortunate fool the world has ever known.
She made a beautiful bride. Hell, she made a beautiful wife. And we were happy. We did all those happy couple things. The walks at sunset, the meals made together in our tiny kitchen, and laughed just because we were alive and young and in love.
We were excited for a baby. A little us, we thought it would be. But then it just didn’t work out. Well she was pregnant once, but then her body just couldn’t take it. We lost the baby. And things were different after that. I told her I still loved her and that it didn’t matter. She never really said the same thing to me. She sort of stopped smiling. Her green eyes that had once just lit up looked haunting and hallow. We tried more walks at sunset and more meals in our tiny kitchen, but things felt sad.
I picked up more hours at the office, and she started taking pictures. She said she wanted to travel to Egypt and New Zealand and Japan. I promised her we would someday when we could afford it. That didn’t seem to be enough for her. It was gradual I guess, our deterioration. We said less to each other every day, she was away with friends until late, and I was at work until I fell asleep at my desk. So I wasn’t terribly surprised to come home and find her things missing and a note left on my pillow. She’d gone to Egypt, I guess. And I couldn’t hold on to too much hope that she’d come back. Not too much hope but a little. I closed my eyes at night in my big, lonely bed, and I saw her walking through the front door smiling.