My Pops

I just want to say that my father is the greatest man alive! When I’m lost or scared or penny-less, he is right there to pick me up. Even when I least expect it. He just made my day and my life so much better. I’m always afraid he’s going to let me down and I’m scared to let him down, but I don’t think either has ever happened. Thank you Daddy. Thank you so much. And thank you to Trent for trying to pick me up off the floor and showing me that I don’t have to turn to people who I don’t want to turn to. Thank you for offering to pay for my tires. And thank you for understanding that I’m a stubborn girl who will never ask for what she really wants. I swear, I’m trying to be better, but I will probably always be this way. Maybe just a little more subdued and less dramatic. I hear this comes with age, although looking at the family tree, we may be in trouble!


Give way to Scooby Doo (very cool) and underdogs (cooler when I wasn’t the one giving them). Welcome to babysitting my sister’s 4-year-old triplets for a weekend. We encountered one large insect (a wasp in Dylan’s room), about seven temper tantrums and 675 episodes of Scooby Doo. I’d label this one a success. And Sloan (aka Her Macness) learned of the joy that is my beautiful Mac and Photoshop. I am the coolest babysitter EVER!!!

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The CEO of QVC and why I’m nuts.

My mother started her obsession with Shop-At-Home television when I was quite young. I can remember coming home from school, going into her bedroom and seeing her with the remote in one hand and the phone in the other. Maybe this is why I hate shopping so very much. You see, my mother is the type of person that wants everyone around her to believe she’s a high class woman. Quote: “Megan, put on some pantyhose for church. Your bare legs look low class” or “Megan, don’t say fuck in public, it sounds low class.” Yes mother, I will only say fuck in the presence of family.

Anyway, yesterday I was talking to The Mary-Rita (I prefer to refer to my mom as The Mary-Rita, it sounds higher class than just Mom)as she drove from her double-wide to the UPS store. Yes, the high class Mary-Rita chooses to live in a double wide trailor in Florida rather then live in a normal house in Kansas. She likes to look tan. It’s high class. So, she gets to the UPS store to return some packages, which she then explains she’s ordered from QVC and had sent to Florida so my Dad won’t know. She used to send the packages home as “gifts” so the price wasn’t on them, but then she could never remember how much she spent. The “faux gold” tiarras weren’t quite what she thought they’d be, so she’s returning them.

The Mary-Rita explains to the UPS guy that she HATES it when people talk on their phones while in the store, but she’s talking to her daughter from Kansas who never calls.

“She’s beautiful and 22, how old are you?”
**The only time my mother ever says I’m beautiful is when she’s either trying to find me a husband or show someone how high class she is, for only high class people have beautiful daughters**

“I’m 22.”

“Megan, did you hear that. He’s 22! You should come down and meet him!”

Yes mother, I’ll just jump a plane down there tomorrow to meet your friend the UPS guy.

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