i scream

Blogger? But I don't even know her!

This will be a wild ride, buckle up.

Kidding.

This Will Be a Wild Ride, Buckle Up: The True Story of an Anemic and Neurotic Hippie Simply Named "Meg": Now a Major Motion Picture Starring YOUR MOM

Hi, everyone! I feel like I am thawing out and returning to human status. Human status? Could/should I have phrased that in a better way? Could/should I have purchased regular ice cream at the grocery store tonight instead of the tasteless sugar-free/fat-free kind? Yes to both questions. Progress, though! I am making progress! I will get there. I want to get there, so I know I will get there. Soon I'll be chasing down that damn ice cream truck which circles our block a gabillion times a day and I'll yell, "STOP, YOU BASTARD!" And the bastard will stop and I will stop and we will lock eyes and he will know -- KNOW -- right away that I want absolutely every damn bastard ass thing on the menu. The menu! The ice cream truck menu. We won't even exchange words, just glances. And I will hand him a few thousand bucks and he will hand over the keys to the truck and off I go, into the sunset with nothing but a helluva lot of ice cream sitting three feet behind me in a freakin' freezer. Oh good lord! What did I just do?! I just impulsively purchased an ice cream truck! And with what money?! I don't have a few thousand dollars to just impulsively purchase an ice cream truck! What am I going to do?! Try to sell it on craigslist? Ask if any of my Facebook friends want a free waffle cone? Psssh. Not free. That waffle cone is going to cost them at least two grand. And that choco taco? Yeah, cough over forty-five hundred dollars and it's yours, punk.

That was fun! That was so so so much fun to write.

See, I am thawing out! I am less of a robot and more of a human. Less of a human, more of a hippie. Less of a hippie, more of a super buddha who craves bloody meat. I sincerely crave a raw slab of steak right now and you can go ahead and tsk tsk at how unethical and environmentally devastating that is, but I can only do so much to save this dying planet. I first must save my dying blood cells and then I can go on to save mama earth. OKAY?!

That was less fun and more urgent. I had to urgently confess my wish for meat. I have a few other wishes that, hell, I'll just tell you. "Don't say your wish out loud or it won't come true!" False. True? False!

I wish I could be Paul Simon's wife. Not Edie Brickell -- still me. Just me legally wed to Mr. Simon.

I wish I could be an out and proud Wiccan. I love witches, I love herbs, I love goddesses, I love spells, I love dancing naked in a forest under the full moon. And I really love brooms except for when hair gets tangled up in the bottom of the bristles and you have to pull it out. GAG. Gag gag gag gag.

I wish I could feel my fingers.

I wish I could have a medical marijuana card and buy some "MARY JANE" (wink wink! that means pot!) for anxiety and anorexia and anemia. I have no clue if it helps with anemia, but I like that all of my disorders start with "an." Isn't that just so fuggin' neat? I say "fuggin'" when I really really really want to say another word, but I don't! I censor myself for the sake of my mother. You are fuckin' welcome, sweetie! Mwah!

I need to go tape some television shows right now that I can watch later tonight while eating cottage cheese out of the tub alone on my couch. Uh, I mean, I need to go read Ulysses while somehow composing a symphony at the same time while donating lots of money to super worthy causes while meditating/doing yoga/freaking out the establishment. Yeah. Totally.

Welcome back, Meg!!!