Friday, June 21, 2013

finding the yolk

I usually fall in love with the tall, silent type. The tall, married type tend to fall in love with me (or how they perceive me).

Maybe I'll find a short person to love one of these days. I mean, I WAS in love with Paul Simon (5'6" of talent, people!) in high school, so it could happen again.

My new "trick" is to do something really really really kind (or at least really kind) for someone else whenever I begin to feel trapped/anxious/angry/gloomy/horny. The last one is a joke. When I feel horny I do other things.

Here's the thing: I make a lot of parenthetical statements (and that's just fine).

Today at the Arts Fest when I am surrounded by a bunch of people that frustrated me and make me feel trapped/anxious/angry/gloomy/horny, I will try to counteract that by pretending that they at one time saved my life. I will wish for them to have all the treasures in the world. I will try not to think "fuck 'em" in my head. I will sneak off and write them a love letter.

I ate one of those new "healthy" Egg McMuffins today that was all egg whites, no yolk. What a joke with no yolk! Yolks are goddang delicious and should always be included in a breakfast sandwich. I plan on opening up a Portland food truck called "Goddammit Yolk" or maybe "YOLO YOLK." Parenthetical statement: (My therapist told me to have TWO eggs at breakfast, with the yolks. She is going to be so royally pissed off that I had an egg white McMuffin! She is going to have me arrested and taken into jail and then put into solitary confinement where I am force-fed yolks and also waterboarded.)

This morning a smarmy lawyer hit on me. He's, like, "I'm almost divorced." And I'm, like, "You're not Rachel Maddow, so I'm not interested." And then he was, like, "Oh cool, so you want to study Environmental Science to make money?" And I was, like, "No, I actually like the planet. Cool Ray Bans, man." And then he went home to his almost ex-wife and took a shower before heading off to the booooooring law firm where he works. Hey, maybe in the past he saved my life. I should write him a love letter.

Time to brave the crowds. Who wants to meet me at the Arts Fest and buy me a hot dog and beer? I'll give you three love letters if you do. Three love letters and a yolk.


Patrick Weeks said...

I'm home. You could stop by to see the the apartment (not the film with Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine, Fred MacMurray, but you'd make an excellent, yolkning impression of Miss MacLaine) and then the reciprocation of Hot Dog & Beer for Love Letters, can commence...

meg said...

I wish to see this place in the near future! I hope I am not too late in seeing it if I see it next week. More like next Patrick WEEKs.

Matt said...

While I don't comment very often on blogs, I do read your posts and have two comments:

1.) You're a great writer.
2.) You're a great person.

That's all. :)

meg said...

Matt Walker! Thank you. :) You will always be one of my favorites. I mean, unless you do something so super rotten to me in the future like punch my soon-to-be-adopted kitten in the face. But you probably wouldn't do that. Matt! You are wonderful.