Whomp, whomp, whomp.

Here we go...

I got a call from my promotions director last night. She said that our sales manager had submitted me for a possible endorsement and that they needed some information from me before the deadline (which was last night) so that's why she had to call me after hours. Well of course I got excited...there's no shame in this game...I'd endorse almost anything. Endorsements mean you get free stuff and they send you an extra paycheck every month just for saying that you like their products/services/etc.

Anyways, I was all amped up about a new endorsement...until she said that I probably wouldn't get it because the company is looking for someone over the age of 40. Ok, now I'm no mathematician but last time I checked, there was a big difference between being 27 and being 40. Am I right? I mean, we're talking a good 13 years (which is basically half of my life span up until this point). So why would they even call me and ask me if I'd endorse some kind of new joint-juice-daily-supplement-stuff? Don't get me wrong, I'd drink that shit everyday and tell everyone I knew how great I thought it was...Mmmmm, tastes just like the nectar of the Gods! I never start my day without it and you're gonna LOVE it too! But the point is, if I'm not what they're looking for and we all know I'm not what they're looking for then why call me and ask me 50 questions about my joint health and how many aches and pains I feel after completing streuous activities?

Got me all excited for nothing. Whomp, whomp, whomp.

Adding insult to injury...this morning we were giving away free buy-ins for this big poker tournament we've got coming up. To give the buy-in away we play a game called "Who's Bluffing Something" where we go around the room and each of the 5 members of our morning show says a statement about ourselves. The first person to get through who guesses which of us is bluffing wins. Simple enough.

Side note about me: I was salutatorian in high school...second place...which most people think is a significant accomplishment...excluding my mom who told me that if I had really wanted to be valedictorian (I lost by one one-thousandth of a point) I could have been, and that I obviously didn't want it badly enough. That was almost 10 years ago and no, I will probably never let that one go.

Anyways, this morning was my morning to bluff.

Jay went first: This is Jay and I am related to Bruce Springsteen.

Then me: This is Reagan and I was valedictorian in high school.

Next up, Wayne: This is Wayne and I once delivered a baby in a hospital parking lot.

Charlie: This is Charlie and I've never had coffee in my entire life.

Juan: This is Juan and I cried like I little girl when I met Magic Johnson.

The callers start calling. Keep in mind, only one of us is lying but all of our statements are kinda hard to believe. Right off the bat, someone calls in and instantly starts accusing me of bluffing. So I say, "why do you think I'm the one who's not telling the truth?" To which he replies, "Girl you're doing your thing and all but valedictorians actually go on to make something of their lives...you know what I mean...they're like doctors and lawyers and no disrespect but if you were that smart you wouldn't be doing what you're doing." Ouch. Stung a little but I'm alright. I was a little bitter so I snapped back, "That's funny because I make more money than my good friend who is a practicing attorney." (No offense, T).

I know most people think we're morons with big mouths and even bigger egos...idiots who are called obnoxious and annoying behind our backs...but to hear it put like that, I'm not gonna lie, it bummed me out a little. After I snapped at him I realized how defensive I must have sounded so I started laughing to play it off like I was joking when in reality, I was being dead serious. Granted, he was right...in more ways than one...I wasn't technically the valedictorian in high school but I came really close. If you were to ask my mom she would tell you that I could have been #1 if I had really wanted it. And after taking a brief moment this morning to lick my wound, I've spent the rest of the day wondering if I really am that much of an underachiever. I mean, really? You would believe that Wayne delivered a baby in a hospital parking lot before you would believe that I am a smart person? Really? No seriously, really?

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

Ready for more? Ok, so after we play "Who's Bluffing Something" we had this psychic come on our show. His name is Gary Spivey and my boss thinks he's ridiculous so he's only on once per month. I took the opportunity to ask him, while I had the chance, if I have a ghost in my house. I'm not saying that I'm definitely a believer in the super-natural but I'm also not a non-believer...I kinda feel like "I can't prove they do exist and I can't prove they don't exist." It might sound silly to some but until I see something with my own two eyes or have concrete scientific proof, I remain skeptical...however, I also don't think that people who have experienced paranormal events are lying. Anyways, my house is old. It was built in the 1920's. I love all of the vintage charm...it has real plaster walls, not sheetrock. It has an ironing board built into a kitchen cabinet. It has a mail slot instead of a mailbox that drops my mail straight into my living room and my garage is almost like a mini-farmhouse. I love it. But weird things happen sometimes. For instance, this a pretty decent-sized three bedroom house. The bedroom at the front of the house (facing the street) is a guest room and I keep the door closed so that the dogs don't go in there and crap on the floor. Well, on multiple occasions that door has opened itself and I'm always very careful to pull it tightly shut so that it won't open again...even if something were to push against it...yet somehow it winds up open. The thing is, it never freaks me out or anything. I just kinda figured that if there were a ghost in my house that perhaps he or she was a friendly ghost and didn't like that door being closed.

When I asked Gary about the ghost today I expected him to say, "Oh yeah...there's a ghost in your house but he/she is glad that you're there and wants you to know that you're welcome to stay." Is that what he told me? Oh no, no, no. He said that I have a Linda Blair panic-attack demon ghost in my house who lays down with me in my bed at night!!!!!!!!! WHAT???????? I was like, ummmmm that's really not funny and he said he wasn't joking. For the second time in one day I wasn't really sure how to react so I made a joke...I said, "I thought my room smelled like pea soup the other night." Everyone laughed, but deep down I was more than a little freaked out. I don't think I want to live here anymore...oh well, one more reason to move home.

Whomp, whomp, whomp...again.

Creepy Steve.

I have to tell you...

I've been following this 'Skanks in NYC' debacle and it's got me more than a little freaked out. If you don't know what I'm talking about, here's the basic gist: some chick named Rosemary Port started an online blog called Skanks in NYC. On her blog, she wrote about this other chick named Liskula Cohen, whom she obviously didn't like. Liskula found out about the blog (probably from Googling herself) and demanded that Google tell her the name of the person writing the blog. At first Google said no...then Kiskula took it to the NY Supreme Court and they made Google give up the bloggers identity. Now, there's an all out cat fight between the blogger and the defamed and it's getting ugly!

As I've been following this story, I can't help but think about my own blog...that which you are reading right now...and what would happen if my coworkers found out about it. That being said, I'm seriously considering putting an end to my online confessions and behind-the-scenes commentary because the last thing I would ever want, is to get fired over some stupid blog...I come here to vent...not to put my job in jeopardy.

Listen, I'm not stupid...this is the WORLD WIDE WEB. It's not the 'only viewable by a select group of people' web. Anyone can read this, and by anyone I mean the people who are directly named as well as the rest of the human population (not that I'm arrogant or presumptuous enough to think that that many people care about what I have to say) but still...in theory...it could happen.

Maybe I should go back to the days of writing it all down, by hand, in a diary...tucked under my mattress or kept in my night stand like I did when I was a teenager. Or maybe I should censor myself more...only talk about things that happen to me outside of work...but then I think, if I did that then this blog wouldn't be what it is...a comprehensive look at my life from my perspective. I'm having a tough time navigating the waters on this one.

While I contemplate what to do...I might as well stay true to who I am and continue to write as I have been...at least for now.

Have I told you about my alcoholic neighbor yet? Didn't think so...

His name is Steve and lives across the street from me. Keep in mind that I've only lived in my new house for 9 days. Steve was the first person I met when I moved in. He told me that he's lived in this neighborhood his whole life (I'd guess he's in his 60's) and he owns an auto-detailing business that he's semi-retired from now. Today when I came home from work I walked my dogs down to the park, which is only a block from my house. When I came back Steve was standing in his front yard with a glass of orange juice. He walked over to meet my dogs and as he approached I could smell the vodka from about 10 feet away. Steve was downing screwdrivers at 1:30 in the afternoon!

He mumbled through most of the conversation, though he was trying to sound coherent, and I found myself inching closer and closer to my front door. I smiled and nodded along for about 15 minutes and after several failed attempts to gracefully excuse myself from the exchange he finally just started walking away from me...mid-sentence. It was very strange. I'm only telling you this because I want you to know where to look first if I go missing. Tell the authorities to check creepy Steve's house...closets, attic, garage, etc.

I've had some interetsing neighbors throughout the years...some have been very nice, some have been quiet, some have been loud and some have been anti-social...but I've never really had the creepy neighbor until now. On second thought, maybe I should be less worried about my coworkers reading this and more concerned with Steve finding out about it!!!

Oh, and before I forget...I've got to tell you the latest and the greatest goings-on with The Reusables. George (from Monkeyfeather Books) is going to have his company make a series of short workbooks (aka: supplemental matierals) based on my outlines and characters that we're going to test in school systems to see if the teachers/kids find them entertaining and educational. Based on the results, we might pursue a slightly different course with The Reusables...where the workbooks will be integrated into the school systems curriculum as part of the "going green" initiative in public schools. These workbooks will be way more interactive than a series of picture books and the kids who use them will do activities in the classroom and at home to reinforce the lessons being taught at school. I can't wait to see the finished product...

At this point, I feel like I have to be open-minded to other ideas even if they are slightly different than what I had originally envisioned. George said that the problem with children's books has always been (and will always be) that they're expensive to print, hard to get shelf space for (espcecially in the big retailers like Borders and Barnes & Noble) and extremely difficult to market. I think that considering all of the possibilities is the quickest way to build a successful brand. His company is putting together the test workbooks this week and we're supposed to have another meeting next week...wish me luck!!!

Two card ritual.

Today is my dad's birthday. My parents started this ridiculous tradition when I was younger, where each year you have to buy two cards for someone's birthday...one is funny and the other is serious. For as long as I can remember this has been "the rule." Actually, this is my mom's rule...she's the only person I know who can spend an entire afternoon in the Hallmark store, reading card after card, in search of the perfect one (or two). I, on the other hand, am not a believer in spending $4.00 on a piece of paper that I am going to write my name on so that you can then, in turn, throw it away 5 minutes after I give it to you...it's wasteful and unnecessary. And then to double it up...two cards...plus tax...that's almost $10.00 that you might as well flush down the crapper. No thanks. I'd rather donate the money to a charity or buy myself two triple grande non-fat no-whip mochas from Starbucks or put $8.50 worth of gas in my car...I can't help it, I was an economics major in college and I still think of everything in terms of opportunity cost. But the two card tradition means a lot to my mom so I oblige...and let me state for the record, that my mom and dad are the only two people on the face of the planet that I'd participate in this silly ritual for. (Yes, I just ended a sentence with a preposition...deal with it).


So anyways, I got two cards this past week...threw a gift card in that he can use towards the new set of gold clubs that he wants...sent them priority mail to ensure they'd get to Lake Wylie on time...woke up this morning...and called my dad first thing to wish him a happy birthday. He was in the yard doing yard work with my mom when I called. He said that when they finished working outside they were getting cleaned up, going to a fabric store and then to go see Julie and Julia. My poor dad. He is 59 today and my mom has him pulling weeds and fabric shopping and watching lame movies on his birthday! When I got off the phone with him I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for not being there. My brother and his wife (who live in Wilmington) didn't come up for his birthday because they had company in town for the weekend. I wasn't there. And so, of course, I've spent most of the day today thinking about moving back to the east coast.


It comes and goes in waves. On days like today I realize that I can't get any of the time back. I realize that the people who matter most to me are the ones who I should be spending the day with...not talking to on the phone from across the country.


I have a plan.


The wheels are in motion and even though it's not happening as quickly as I'd like it to, I've learned that the universe always has a way of unfolding exactly as it should. For now, I live in Sacramento.


My boss told me last week that he's sending me to New York for the MTV Video Music Awards in September. That should be fun, right? Here's the kicker...Jay and I are supposed to go together since Wayne and Juan went to the Grammy's earlier this year but Jay is terrified of flying AND the VMA's are two weeks before his wedding. So, he said he doesn't want to go which means I have to fly to NY and spend the weekend with Wayne. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this yet. On the one hand, it might do us some good to spend time together outside of work. We've never really so much as attempted to "hang out" or get to know one another because for the most part, we're like oil and water. On the other hand, we don't have the best track record. He once told me he had a "swastika tattooed on his dick" (direct quote) and then he sent me Bible scripture which referred to non-believers as those "headed on a path of destruction." Can you blame me for not wanting to spend a weekend with him?


Here's how I look at it. Last year I went to the Grammy's with the person I was madly in love with. I know this is self-inflicted torture...but I still have the pictures from the Saturday night we spent on the beach in Malibu, drinking wine and watching the sun set. He wrote messages in the sand and I took pictures of them which I had planned on still having someday at our 50th wedding anniversary.

Less than a week after the above pictures were taken, he walked out on me without any explanation.

So this year, maybe I'll go to the VMA's with someone I'm less than thrilled about spending time with and who knows...maybe we'll come back with a newfound respect for one another??? And if not, then I'd be an idiot to let someone (anyone) ruin a cool weekend in NYC.



Other than that, not much else is going on. I'm all moved into my new house. My favorite part, by far, is the sun room:

Other than that, I can't think of much else to tell you. I'm still trying to get The Reusables up and running. I've been playing phone tag with the guy from Monkeyfeather Books for the past couple of weeks now. Patience is the key. Either that, or he's avoiding me like the plague.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Sweet Southern Pearls.

One of the first things I learned when I moved to California is that a little Southern hospitality goes a long way...especially out here...because people don't expect it. When I get asked what the biggest difference is between Northern Caolifornia and North Carolina, I always tell them that while I love the palm trees out here the people aren't as friendly as where I'm from. I was taught to say yes ma'am and no sir, I went to Cotillion which is kind of like finishing school (for those of you who have never heard of it), I had a shirt that said GRITS: Girls Raised in the South and I learned to shag to "Carolina Girls" by General Johnson and the Chairmen of the Board.

People in my office eat it up when I throw out a "y'all" or a "bless your heart" or a "what in tarnation" and they go ape shit it when I say, "I reckon." As much as I joke about being a sharp-tongued super-bitch who stomps around spewing insults and cutting people down with my razor sharp rhetoric...it's all a facade...an alter ego...it's Reagan...because in reality, Megan is a polite, shy, sweet and well-mannered young woman. (So, that's a little bit of a stretch but I'm trying to make a point here). And don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about...we're all multi-dimensional. I just happen to go by a different name at work so I can get away with calling myself Reagan and not have to worry about my family institutionalizing me for it.

Anyways, the point of all of this is that I'm friendly. I talk to everyone at work...everyone from the receptionist to the big, big, big boss. Well last week we got a memo that this Thursday (tomorrow) there is going to be a little forced corporate bonding so we can all "get to know each other a little better." Keep in mind that we just moved into our new studios and there have been some growing pains between us (the new ones) and the people who have been working in that building for years. So I understand why they're making us do this. It's at a bowling alley. It starts at 3 p.m. and the memo from our big, big, big boss was signed, "Thanks in advance for your participation" which I took to mean, "Get your asses to the bowling alley and make nice."

Fine, I'll go...whatever.

Now this is where the story goes from, "Where is she going with this?" to "Whoa, TMI." I'm warning you in advance, you might not want to read any further.

You've been cautioned.

So, as a female, I've gotten really good at being inconspicuous when I need to take a tampon to the bathroom with me. I wear a long-sleeved shirt. I put my hand in my purse and I slide it up my sleeve so that I can excuse myself to the restroom without anyone knowing what I'm doing. It's way sneakier than if I were to take my entire purse with me...that would be too obvious. This little trick has always worked for me without any problems...until today.

With tampon up sleeve, I was on my way to the bathroom today when my big, big, big boss passed me in the hallway. Of course, I said hello to him and while I should have just kept going I decided to be my overly-friendly self and throw in, "I'm really looking forward to bowling tomorrow!" Criminy Christmas, holy Lord have mercy, why did I just do that? The big, big, big boss then stopped and started up a little conversation about the impetus behind the bowling party...why he thought it was necessary...what he hopes it will accomplish...etc, etc, etc.

I nodded along and agreed with everything he said.

Here's a little side note about me. I talk with my hands quite a bit. I make lots of gestures and motions...especially in the work environment...it's instinctual...although I'm not exactly sure why I do it.

Anyways, as I was making a broad sweeping motion with my hand (because I had apparently forgotten that I had a tampon stuffed up my sleeve) it came flying out...right in front of my big, big, big boss. At first he didn't know what it was...an ink pen maybe? As if this story couldn't get any worse, he bent down to pick it up for me!!!!! I had never moved so fast in my whole life. I practically dove for it. The panic-stricken expression on my face must have completely given it away because he definitely figured out very quickly that it wasn't, in fact, an ink pen...but a big 'ol hunk of cotton that I was getting ready to put up my vag.

Sweet Jesus. Hail Mary.

We both just kind of froze and as he jumped back (probably out of disgust) I snatched it up and took off running down the hallway...calling back over my shoulder, "Yeah so I'll...uhhhh...see you tomorrow at Country Club Lanes!"

Once inside the bathroom, I wanted to DIE. I had all but pegged my big, big, big boss in the face with my tampon! I had just let him know that I'm currently bleeding like a dead animal...I told you this was going to be TMI...but more importantly, I don't know how I'm ever going to face him again.

I can't think of a time when trying to be a polite southern belle has ever been more of an inconvenience (and utter disaster) than it was today. Please, someone save me from myself...bless my heart.

"Carolina Girls...Sweet Southern Pearls."

This side of normal.

I had a minor freak-out yesterday. As you know by now, I have to move out of my house by Sept. 10th because the owner foreclosed on it. I've also been wrestling with the idea of moving home for quite some time now and I was hoping that, perhaps, the two happenings would coincide with one another but it doesn't look like that's going to work out. I'm not ready to make the move home yet...but I have to move. The problem is that every place I've found so far requires a one-year lease. Well that leaves me with no other option but to sign a one-year lease.

Crap.

Yesterday I bit the bullet and went with a house that's only 1 mile from our studios. I signed a one year lease and coughed up a $2400 deposit. Cue freak-out. As I was driving home it all hit me. I felt so trapped and locked-in. Granted, my contract here is through November of 2010...but still, I hadn't actually planned on staying that long. And while most people are searching for commitment and stability right now, I find the prospect of being here for another year...daunting.

I came to work this morning and told Jay that I had rented another house and how nervous I was about it when he made an interesting revelation. He said, "You don't like to be tied-down to anything do you?"

I was very quick to shoot him down with, "No it's not that. It's just that the house is really old and I've never lived in an older house and what if something happens and I'm in this lease that I can't get out of...what if the people who move into the guest house in my backyard are the neighbors from hell..."

"Exactly," he said. "You want to have the freedom to leave at any time without anything holding you back."

Again I told him that he was wrong, that it was just the house that makes me nervous...that I was having second thoughts about getting a place that was built in the 1920's. There are two houses on the property. The front house (the one I rented) is the main house but the back house is a 2 br/1 ba guest cottage and I don't have any say in who moves into it. Whoever takes it will be living in my backyard. What if it's a disaster? Jay said I'd have reservations about any house I found...and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he might be right about me. I have so many big ideas and visions of what I want my future to be like. Unfortunately Sacramento isn't part of the equation so knowing, now, that I might have to invest another year here makes me feel uncomfortable.

Not to mention, I'm going to be on my own...living by myself...for the first time ever, really. I've had 19 roommates in the past 10 years. This is where I get a little finicky because as much as I need my space and know it's time to do my own thing, I also don't know if I can handle being all by myself. What if I get lonely? What if I get scared?

And more importantly, what in the hell is the matter with me?

Why can't I just be glad that I have a great job and a super cool new house to live in?

Please don't think I'm completely crazy...I'm not 100% gone yet...there's hope that I'll make it back to this side of normal at some point. I just can't help second guessing everything. Did I pick the wrong house or is there something inherent in my personality causing me to feel uneasy about my decision?

Anyways, enough about that. I went and saw G.I. Joe over the weekend (not by choice) and I have to be honest, I was entertained. I felt like a complete dumb ass when I said...out loud...that I thought G.I. Joe was the name of the main character Army dude. Apparently that's a huge faux pas because the G.I. Joe-ites were offended. While the people in my group were laughing at me, some guy sitting in front of me turned around and schooled me on the history of the Real American Heroes.

I'm now an expert in all things Joe.

We also had Tim Meadows on the show last week. I used to love his Ladies Man character on SNL...so I was excited to hang out with him for the morning. Unfortunately, Tim was upstaged by one of his improv apprentices from Second City...I don't remember his name but he was wearing a shmedium Jazzercise t-shirt and I got a good laugh out of it.

Jay ruined the picture, but you get the idea:

My Tahoe Epiphany

So nobody likes the bedding I picked out. TJ hates them all and Jenny B said #2 was ok but that the others looked like something you'd see at your grandmother's house. That being said, the search continues.

Today is Wednesday. It has taken me almost three whole days to find the time to sit down and write this. This past week was interesting. First there was the trip to Tahoe...and don't worry...I've got plenty to say about that, then we have the Monkeyfeather update (which is starting to make me nervous) and last, but certainly not least, there's the huge milestone in my life that I've got to tell you all about.

TAHOE: The plan was for everyone to meet in Fair Oaks at 3:00 p.m. Friday afternoon so that we could beat rush hour traffic. I left work at 1:00 and went straight home to pack/let the dogs out. I had the house/pet sitter lined-up, I had my car cleaned out (so I could drive through the mountains with the top down) and I had approximately one hour to get the rest done. I figured that if I left at 2:30, I would make it with a few minutes to spare. Keep in mind, that I only knew one of the other six girls going on this trip so I didn't want to be late because I didn't want them to be sitting around waiting for me...it's not a good first impression. I wound up leaving at 2:40 and was already stressed because my GPS kept giving me an ETA of 3:07.

Like I said, I HATE being late. It doesn't matter if it's work or a movie or anything else...my mom was ALWAYS late to everything when I was growing up so now I make it a point to be on-time, if not early, to wherever I'm going.

I got to Fair Oaks and nobody was at the meeting place except for Katie's sister Jenny P. What? I thought I was a couple of minutes late but apparently, I had somehow arrived first. As I was sitting at Jenny's in-law's house (they were watching Jenny's son Carson so that's why we all met there) I watched the clock tick by...3:30 came and went...3:45 came and went...I started getting slightly annoyed because I realized that I could have taken my time but it wasn't the end of the world. The rest of the group arrived over the next few minutes and we hit the road around 4:15.

To get to Lake Tahoe from Sacramento, you take Hwy 50 east. It's a straight shot. However, Hot August Nights was going on in Reno the same weekend we were going to Tahoe and because of all the road construction on I-80 (which is how you'd get to Reno), there was double the normal amount of traffic on 50. Wonderful.

I drove my car separately because I knew I was going to have to get up Saturday morning and go to Bank of America to get all of my debit card crap taken care of...plus the idea of being stuck with a group of girls in a hotel suite for the weekend without an escape plan made me nervous...like I said before, I only knew one of the prior to the trip.

We finally made it to Tahoe around 6:45 which really wasn't too bad. It was still light outside and the weather was amazing. Once we checked-in, we decided to let Katie open all of her presents before heading to dinner. We were all told to bring Katie lingerie (it was a bachelorette party, afterall) and what I bought for her was...by far...the hottest. All of the other girls bought cotton tank tops with things like "Soon to be Mrs." written on them or some other lame stuff...which is all well and good as I respect the practicality angle...but I decided to get her something that she'll wear for 2.2 seconds before winding up on the bedroom floor and for that reason, I didn't think comfort and/or practicality were all that important.

After the panty party we went to dinner at The Naked Fish...a very trendy sushi restaurant in South Lake Tahoe. It wasn't until we were sitting at dinner, and everyone was talking about the weekend of events, that I started asking myself: When did I become so un-fun? No seriously, what the fuck happened to me? None of what they were talking about sounded remotely entertaining to me but I had to keep reminding myself that this was Katie's weekend, not mine. As we sat there I gave myself a quiet little pep-talk. I said, "Just go with the flow and try to enjoy yourself. If Katie's having a good time, that's all that matters."

Here's a fun fact about me...I'm allergic to avocado...which really sucks because I think it's super delicious...but when I eat it my chest gets tight, I can't breathe and I feel like I'm dying. Sushi restaurants put avocado on almost everything. So when I order sushi, I always have to specifically ask for "no avocado." Well, the group of girls thought it would be easier for us to order as a table instead of individually. I was trying to be a good sport so when the girl ordering asked if there was anything anyone didn't like, I said that I couldn't have avocado but that it wasn't a huge deal for me to just pick it off. I thought she would say, "Oh in that case, why don't you just order your own because everything I'm about to order comes with avocado." That didn't happen.

The sushi came. I picked out as much avocado as I could and thought, perhaps, I'd be ok. WRONG. I ate two pieces of sushi and almost instantly my chest started getting tight and because I felt like I was going into cardiac arrest, I passed on the sake bombs and other alcoholic beverages.

Then the bill came. Listen, I don't think I'm a cheap person...but...I wasn't too keen on paying $50 (my part of the bill) for two pieces of sushi that almost killed me and alcohol I didn't drink. Whatever, it's Katie's weekend.

After dinner, the group wanted to go to Cabo Wabo...my worst nightmare. When I was 19 I would have thought that Cabo Wabo was God's gift to the world. Now that I'm almost 30 I'd rather get a pap smear than spend my Friday night in a cheap well-drink serving, loud and crowded bar full of drunk, horny idiots. Keep in mind, too, my chest is still tight and I'm having trouble breathing...not emergency room worthy or anything...because I only ate a little bit...but I definitely should have gone back to the room and layed down so that I could be still and breathe slowly and deeply. So we're all standing in Cabo Wabo when a group of young(ish) guys decide they are going to "grind" up against us. The girls in my group seemed to be enjoying them so I tried really hard to tolerate it while subtly making my way to the perimeter of the circle. Too bad I backed right into one of them, which he mistook as a cue to start thrusting his pelvis at me. I tried to get around him, but he wasn't having it. Finally, through the pain of my avocado allergy attack and his obscene thrusting, I looked at him and said, "If you jab me in the hip with your hard-on one more time I am going to stab you in the jugular."

That's my sense of humor. I was, very sarcastically, letting him know to back the fuck off. Would you like to guess what he said in response? Go ahead, you'll never guess....

He said, "If you stab me I'll rape you."

WHAT???? I was speechless. Ummm, I know that what I said wasn't that funny (even though in my mind it was) but you threatening to rape me is even not funnier than what I said. I thought, "No, this fucker did not just give me a dose of my own medicine!?!?" I didn't stick around long enough to find out what the outcome of that situation would have been. I excused myself from Cabo Wabo to use the restroom...conveniently located on the casino floor...and while in the bathroom I texted Katie to let her know that I'd be at a Craps table and to come find me when they were ready to leave.

Saturday morning the girls wanted to go to Zephyr Cove but they wanted to leave early because it gets so crowded by 10:00. Well I had to go to Bank of America so I told them I'd meet them down there. For the first (and probably only) time in my life I was relieved when I got to the bank and found that there was only one customer service rep working. I was sixth in line...fine...great...take your time. No hurry. The guy in front of my had a similar story about his card getting stolen so we sat and talked about how annoying it was for almost an hour while the one person working helped the other people in line before us. Despite the night I had had before, I looked around the bank Saturday morning and realized, so this is where all of the good looking men in Northern California are hiding. They were everywhere!

Those who know me, know that I like 'em a little bit older and there was a straight up JFK Jr. who had me drooling...henceforth, I will be hanging out at the Bank of America in South Lake Tahoe every weekend...jk.

I left the bank and went to meet my group at Zephyr Cove but once I got there I called three times, left a message and sent a text, which all went unreturned, so I just hung out by myself for the morning. It was so crowded that there was no way I was ever going to find them. I wound up meeting some really nice people from the Bay area and took a little nap on the beach bfore heading to Harrah's to play some blackjack.

I won over $200. I was happy.

At 5:00 in the afternoon the girls called to let me know that they didn't have any cell reception at the cove and that they were so sorry they had missed my calls. Secretly, I was glad that I had gotten to have some "me time" without them. We all started to get ready in the one bathroom we were sharing among the 7 of us...which was not fun...Katie's weekend...deal with it. The problem is that I didn't grow up with sisters. I had an older brother and I never had to share anything with him. I always had my own bedroom, bathroom, wing of the house, etc...so sharing is not my strong point. But I did my best to be quick and stay out of everyone's way. I am proud to report that I was ready...start to finish...in less than 45 minutes while the other girls took over 3 hours to shower and get dressed.

Anyways, Saturday night the plan was to go to Club Vex. I wanted to go see the Chicago and Earth, Wind & Fire concert...I know, I'm an animal...Katie's weekend...Club Vex it is. We got to the club and I found myself thoroughly amused by the people in attendance. I did some people watching...and while I was distracted by some tool in an Ed Hardy shirt trying to flirt with one of the go-go dancers, my group left me! I turned around and they were gone. I looked in the bathroom...and when I didn't see them I went back to play more blackjack where I won another $100.

Sunday morning we checked out of the hotel and headed home. Katie rode back with her sister so it was just me, the gorgeous scenery and more amazing weather. I drove home with my top down and my music up...it might just have been my favorite part of the whole weekend. I find so much comfort in being alone with my thoughts...it gave me time to just think.

You know, as I've gotten older my life has become more boring...and I'm ok with that. I've mellowed-out. I'm more low-key and who cares if I don't enjoy loud nightclubs anymore...things change, people change and this weekend I realized how much I've changed...my Tahoe epiphany. I just hope this is where I plateau, otherwise I'll be playing chess with myself, in my living room, on the weekends by the time I'm 35.

The rest of the stuff I was going to tell you about will have to wait. This has gotten entirely too long and I've got to call it a night.