My house is alarmed. I’m talkin’ every window and door with a sensor, people. Why? Because I’m a chicken, that’s why.

It took the ADT guy a bit longer than I thought it would, so I had to spend another night with my desk propped up against my bedroom door – but finally, after 2 days of seeing ADT man and wondering if he wanted to move in with me…I have a security system.

Sure, it cost me more money than I care to admit, but as I lay my head down tonight and drift off to sleep with ease (thanks to the window sensors, door sensors, attic sensor, smoke sensors and panic button and whatnot), it will be worth every penny.

Side note: Someone remind me of this when I complain about not being able to buy new clothes and get pedicures.

Well you go through life
So sure of where you’re headed
And you wind up lost
And it’s the best thing that could have happened
Sometimes when you lose your way, it’s really just as well
Because you find yourself,
That’s when you find yourself

From “Find Yourself” performed by Brad Paisley

I hope you had a nice long holiday weekend. I know I did, and I didn’t do much of anything at all. I made lounging a priority on Sunday, and thus, I did what people do whilst they lounge. I watched reality television…Jon and Kate Plus 8, to be specific. Props for the marathon, TLC. I mean, what else was a girl to do on a rainy Sunday?

Having never watched this show before, I’m still in the dark about some things. I don’t live in a hole, so I knew who Jon and Kate were and why they had so many childrens running around. I also knew of the rumored affairs, and how most people think Kate is an overbearing, berating wife (thanks, Joel McHale – he watches it all for us, after all). However, what I am fuzzy on is how this couple went from renewing their vows in Hawaii to not even sitting on the same couch in the newest episode last night. What gives, Gosselins? What happened between then and now?

Did the money and fame that came along with being “Jon and Kate Plus 8” ruin their relationship, or was it headed for failure on its own? Jon seemed very bitter about the show and even having to talk on camera in last night’s season premiere. Has he always had this attitude? It didn’t seem like it while I watched the marathon, but I did see every season. Help me out here, people. Comment or email me your thoughts. And yes, I know I need to get a life. So don’t post that.

And, as if the “Plus 8” drama didn’t depress me enough, I wandered over to MTV last night for The Hills. (Y’all know I love me some Hills, right?) My spirits weren’t lifted by this show, either. Whitney Port has long been gone, Lo hasn’t been seen very much at all, Justin Bobby isn’t there for me to wince at/make constant fun of, and now, Lauren Conrad is leaving. It’s too much. I swear, if Tori and Dean get a divorce, or if the Real Housewives leave NYC, I will need Prozac.

This month’s issue of Skirt! Magazine is titled, “The Nest” and is all about home. In thinking about that word, I realized that home brings up more positive feelings than most words do. “Love” can bring up hurtful memories, and “family” can bring up all kinds of mess, but “home” is one of those words that has few negative associations. Being the huge dork that I am, I looked up the definition of home and found this one: an environment offering affection and security.

Not a building with a grand entrance and perfect decor. An environment offering affection and security. Indeed.

As I’ve shared with those of you who read this blog (Hi, Mom!), I’ve recently gotten a house of my very own. I’m working on making it my home, and I identified with one of the essays so much that I had to share the last part of it with you. I hope you’ll pick up a copy of Skirt! and read it in its entirety (or simply click here). It is well worth your time, and I don’t do it justice by only giving you a section of it.

“There may be guidebooks to help single women buy a house, but there’s no manual for living alone in your own home. My house soon became a visible record of all my limitations: the dining room window I couldn’t close; the exposed electrical switch I hadn’t been able to install; the secondhand mower I couldn’t shut off without a sledgehammer. When the weird smell in the basement turned out to be backed-up sewage, it dawned on me how much I’d relied on men to take care of things for me. Growing up, my father had been the one to stoke the woodstove and shovel the driveway. In college, a boyfriend had changed the light bulb in my dark refrigerator. When I saw a mouse in my apartment, the landlord dutifully arrived with a mousetrap. But now there was no one to call. For the first time ever, I was on my own.

Before I bought my house I used to think that the biggest social divide was between single and married people. But it turns out that it’s between renters and homeowners. One night not too long ago I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the dark curtainless window. Gone were my strappy gold sandals and French manicured nails. Instead I was wearing a paint-splattered white undershirt, cut-off Levis and a purple bandana over my hair. My shoulders were ropy from wielding paint rollers and hoisting the aluminum ladder, and my thumbs were spotted with blisters. I was drinking a Labatt’s Blue and eating a slice of cold pizza. For a split second, I didn’t recognize myself. And then I realized that I’d become my own handyman.

Sometimes it’s hard to recognize the defining moments in our lives when they’re happening. I understand now what I couldn’t have known that cold day in February: that by entering the house I was not only crossing the invisible border between being a renter and being a homeowner, but also expanding the territory of who I was and what I thought I could do. Renting may have given me the illusion of dwelling in the present moment free from attachments, but deep down I was waiting for my “real life” to begin. Buying a house is a declarative act of intentional living; instead of hoping someone else will make my future for me, my house taught me to claim it for myself. In my mind’s eye I see myself hover over that windowsill threshold with one foot on the porch and one foot in the house, poised between two worlds. Then I take a deep breath and jump in with both feet, ready to explore all that waits within.”
-Megan Fulwiler

Megan Fulwiler teaches English at the College of Saint Rose in Albany, New York. When she’s not working on her house, she walks her dog, reads food blogs and practices yoga.

Oh lawdy, am I in a mood today. Watch out, Georgians – I’m on a rampage.

Heel broken, flat tire, diet coke spillage to the point that I need to change my pants but have no pants to change into, cell phone battery dead, missed work event due to flat tire, neck crick has made a comeback and is stronger than ever.

As Luanne on the movie Shag would say, “Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn! Every damned thing has to happen when you’re in a damned hurry!”

And, please don’t tell me “it could be worse” because you’re boring me. Just let me be angry.

Thank you. As you were.

Every time. Every single time.

They say, “Tell me what you can see.”

I say, “The big E.”

They ask, “No, really?”

I say, “Yes, really.”

Annual eye exams make me feel like a failure. Fabulous.

Side note: I know it’s a big E because it always is. If they changed it up on me, I wouldn’t know.

yay for:
lunch from Nacho Mama’s
a very straight hair day
checking things off my work to-do list
this song by zac brown band (it’s an instant mood lifter)
old school cheerleading pictures and weekend pictures being on facebook
kellogg’s special k protein plus cereal
finding an old necklace while moving and wearing it today
warm weather that isn’t oppressive
someone telling me i’m funny
living near my family, and seeing my cousins sing a duet at their school last night
having no weekend plans
pretty polish on my toes that cost $1.50
smart water
not dodging a guy i knew while running errands
lime green sticky notes
still laughing about the previous weekend
seeing someone donating books and movies to a children’s charity
buying nude colored hair bands so i don’t always have a brown “bracelet” on
plans to change into my pjs as soon as i get home

My friends Nancy Margaret and Bob got hitched last Saturday, and boy oh boy – we celebrated. Is it just me, or does anyone else think it should be mandatory that wedding weekends be followed by Monday off?

Yesterday I was tired. Tired of looking cute, tired of being polite, tired of drinking (yes, I said it) and tired of traveling. But…it was totally worth it. Nancy Margaret was the most beautiful bride, the ceremony was sweet (and short, hey-hey) and the reception was great fun.

Now, as the title states, I am typically a really good bridesmaid. No, really. I’m sure you don’t think it is hard to be a bridesmaid, but I’ve seen some sucky ones in my day. It takes a little effort. I hold my flowers in just the right spot, I walk slowly, I stand properly, and I smile, laugh and cry where appropriate. It is one of the few things I’m actually good at. At the reception, I do what any good bridesmaid should – I have fun, and I show it (so other guests will want to have fun, too) – I dance, keep my energy up, ask the bride if she needs anything, etc. I also try not to become over served, as a sloppy bridesmaid is not fitting.

Well. While I wouldn’t describe my performance the other night as “sloppy” – I would say that I was a bit hyper. Think Jack Russell Terrier on crack. And, I’m not so sure NM will be speaking to me upon her return from Mexico. I may or may not have gotten on stage to “help” her husband sing (I wasn’t the only one, thankyouverymuch) and talked to her bosses loudly, annoyingly and ad nauseam. I also might’ve asked if I could get in the car with them before they left. Inappropriate.

So, I had a busy weekend (see next post), but I wanted to quickly write a little something about my mom…in honor of Mother’s Day.

My mom – she’s the best friend I’ve got, and I can remember telling her all the things I shouldn’t have from a young age. She’s done the same with me, don’t worry. We’ve leaned on each other for support in life’s challenges, both good and bad. No one can make me happier or more crazy than my mama.

She does things that are totally ridiculous, for example – backing out of the garage with the door down, or buying in to anything a sales person tells her, but that is what makes her, her. She’s always been pretty, and she’s always been on a diet. Kind of. She always cheats on them. Her face turns red if she breaks a sweat (and I mean really red), and she can never find her keys. I used to be able to locate her in the school building because of how loud her laugh is. She loves animals, always has, and treats them like humans. She is my biggest cheerleader. Sometimes she adds an “er” to the end of a word when it shouldn’t be there. She denies this. She loves to take a bath, and has every kind of bath oil or bath accessory invented. She loves planting and tending to flowers, but has given it up because she hates snakes. She absolutely cannot text message, and she has no will power. Like, less than none. She’s the best cook in the world (sorry Paula Deen, you ain’t got nothin’ on my mom) and when she cooks, she cooks. We’re talking three meats and 8 vegetables. She has the best hair. I didn’t get her hair. She doodles and draws when she’s on the phone for a long period of time. She’s a first grade teacher, and despite what she tells you, she loves it. She is excellent at her job (she teaches them to read, how cool is that?), but would never ever accept any public credit or award for it. She’s the most helpful person I know. She is a shopaholic, and not just for herself. She buys a little for everyone, so we don’t mind it so much. She speaks her mind, so if you don’t want to hear it – don’t ask. You do not want to be on her bad side because it’s hard to get off. She is not fond of aging, and refuses to grow old gracefully. She loves her children (including the doggie ones) and will defend us no matter what.

My mom has always told me to do this or not do that, “so you won’t turn out like me” – but has never realized that turning out like her would be just fine. In fact, it’s what I’m going for.

If you were a bridesmaid in a wedding this weekend, the following would be a nightmare.
p.s. She is.

G-chatter:

Meigs: It’s so weird. My light blonde highlights turned blue….
Me: It’s very Gwen Stefani, if that makes you feel better.
Meigs: I am not punk.
Me: No, who are we kiddin’? You are not punk.
Meigs: I am about as punk as Celine Dion.