Archive for March, 2009

Drag Race

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No, I am not referring to the dangerous, illegal pastime that is seemingly loved by the Hogan family. I am talking (writing?) about RuPaul’s reality television show: Drag Race.

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You know RuPaul, right?

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I am 100% confident that RuPaul makes a better woman than I do. If RuPaul and I were placed in a line-up and strangers were asked to determine which one of us was born a man, they would choose me. And RuPaul is 6’7″. That says a lot.

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Don’t tell anyone this, but RuPaul inspires me (late at night, perhaps after indulging in one or ten alcoholic beverages) to experiment with eyeshadow and false lashes in an attempt to look as womanly as a female impersonator does. In university, one of my roommates partook in this activity with me, and we lovingly referred to it as “Transvestite Dress-up.” Of course, being as worldly as I am now, I recognize that this title was totally inappropriate. Transvestites and Drag Queens are not necessarily the same thing.

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It is my life dream to become best friends with RuPaul. Actually, that is not entirely true. My life dream is to own a mechanical bull. I have never ridden a mechanical bull, but I feel like it is something that I would excel at. Regardless, becoming best friends with RuPaul fits somewhere into my life plan. Maybe I will say that my new life dream is to ride a mechanical bull with my best friend RuPaul.

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Singing (to myself)

When driving, I like to play my music so loud that I can feel the vibration in my chest.

My car is where I do my best singing.
The shower is where I do my second best work.

Ask anyone in my family, they will confirm both of the prior statements to be fact. Well, maybe not that my singing is of any real quality, but that my car and shower are where my operatic performances most frequently take place.

My brother gets embarrassed when I sing while we are in the car together. Maybe this is because I slow the vehicle, roll down all of the windows and put the song “Tell Him” by Celine Dion and Barbara Streisand on repeat and sing for all I am worth to any pedestrians we happen upon. I do not play Celine Dion and Barbara Streisand because I enjoy the song, rather I enjoy the way my brother’s face slowly turns red and how he tries to melt into the passengers seat in an attempt to ensure that no one he knows will see him in such an embarrassing situation.

I make sure they see him though. That is why I sing extra loud. My voice is as enchanting as a siren’s call. At least, that’s what I tell myself when everyone stops and looks at me.

Babies

I like babies.
Other people’s babies.
Some of them at least.
There are plenty of babies I do not like as well. Well, maybe it is not the baby I dislike so much as it is the baby’s actions. I understand that the actions of a baby are not malicious, but it is hard not to take it personally when something pees on you.
Nearly one year ago, one of my close friends became a father. Since that day, I have stolen his child any time my biological clock begins to tick just a little too loud for my liking. It is the perfect situation. I take my friend’s offspring (I often refer to the baby in question as such) whenever the mood strikes me (and the baby is content), and I return the infant before any of the less fun stuff is required of me. My friend’s baby will turn a year old in seven days, and I am pleased to say that I have yet to change a diaper containing excrement. Sure, the baby has soiled itself in my presence, but I am smooth and pass the child off before anyone realizes what has occurred.

Stuff Megan Does not Like

This week, I decided to stir things up on my blog. Instead of mentioning something I enjoy, I thought it would be fun to write entirely about something I do not enjoy. So here it goes.

Dolphins.

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I know, you are probably wondering how it is that anyone could dislike dolphins. “But dolphins are so magical,” you may be saying to yourself. I disagree.

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Dolphins are scary sea creatures – maybe even the scariest sea creature of them all. And that’s including sharks and those giant squids, with eyes the size of dinner plates, that occasionally wash up onto the shore. Thinking about their sharp little teeth and their permanent, condescending smiles, I am relieved that the domain of the dolphin is limited to saltwater.

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Now, do not get me wrong. I am not saying that dolphins are evil, but I am heavily implying it.

I was once forced to swim with dolphins while on a vacation in Mexico. Not only did I get water up my nose when the dolphins pushed me around their enclosure, but I also developed impressive bruises on my shins from where one of the dolphins hit me with its tail. I do not have any proof to back this up, but I am 93% sure that it was intentional. To make matters worse, this whole traumatic experience was videotaped and put to inspirational music so that I could relive the nightmare again and again from the comfort of my own home.