So I never realized until about two years ago how lucky I am.

I've always been inclined toward "girl" things. My favorite color has been pink for as long as I can remember. I love stuffed animals. I wanted to be a ballerina once upon a time. I played dress up, wearing princess outfits and ballerina tutus.

I also had a younger brother, and we were really super close growing up. Because of this, we shared a lot of interests. We took karate together, we swapped action figures. I remember one day when I was about eleven or twelve that we spent literally climbing through a giant mud pile behind our house for fun.

And my mom and dad were always cool with that.

They supported me when I wanted to take ballet. They supported me when I wanted to take karate. They bought me stuffed animals and cars. As long as I wanted to, my mom would doll me up in frilly dresses and with fancy hair. But if I didn't, then she would go let me wade through a mud pile. I've had more skinned knees than I can count. And I totally kicked ass in my karate class.

No matter what I've wanted to do, I've had my parents' support. They never cared when I wanted to play with action figures instead of dolls. They never told me I was being stupid or predictable for wanting a fluffy pink room. If it was within their means, I wanted it, then I got it. Not just the girl things. Not just the boy things. All the things. A costume chest full of sparkly dresses, but also containing a Batman cape. A room full of stuffed animals and My Little Pony, but also with action figures and cars and K'nex and Legos.

And the thought of it honestly makes me cry because I thought all parents were like this. And over the last few years, I've realized they aren't. They tell their kids they can't do this or that. Because you're a girl. Because you're a boy. Because that isn't constructive. Because you won't learn from it. Because it's pointless. But my parents always let me explore my interests and desires no matter what direction that took me. Even when it meant I spent a year studying serial killers. Even when it meant I practiced my screechy violin for two hours a day and had to have no sound in the house during that time.

And I saw a post on tumblr earlier today that reminded me that not all parents are like that. That some parents won't let their kids do and feel and explore. But my parents did and I am so fucking lucky for that.

I don't really know what the point of this post is, but it's just my feelings. And I wanted to share.

One of the things I remember most about my dad is his stories. He always had a story to tell, sometimes lengthy but usually quite short.

For example, he told me that if I ate while lying on my stomach I would turn into a crocodile. It was true, he insisted. He had seen with his own eyes children who ate on their bellies and then transformed into crocodiles and crawled into the sewers to hide from their parents.

Some of his stories were a bit more believable. He was born in Cambodia, and lived most of his life in and around Phnom Penh. He said his uncle lived in the countryside and had an elephant farm that he would visit. Growing up, he would go there and play with the baby elephants. They liked playing with beach balls, he said.

Other stories, were completely fucking ridiculous.

His family had a dog, he told me. At one point, his family had to leave their home because some sort of guerrilla fighters (he never specified exactly how they were aligned) was launching an attack nearby. The family left in a hurry, and accidentally left the dog locked in the house. They returned twelve days later. My dad claimed that the dog had not relieved itself in the house during that time and that as soon as they opened the door, the little pooch ran out and pooped to his heart's content.

He also apparently owned a motorcycle and this made him quite the stud.

My mom has also told me a few stories about my dad. Most of them involve him going behind her back to buy things. Their first apartment was in downtown Houston. They walked and took the bus everywhere because they didn't have a car. My mother adamantly argued against it, because they were still young and broke. One day, my dad came home from work and asked my mom once again if she wanted a car as they were on their way out of their building for dinner. She said she would consider it. He pointed across the street at a green car parked int the lot across from their building, and asked if she would like a car like that one. He had gone out and bought a car on his way home from work. Mom thought it was ugly, but she still drove it.

When I was about nine years old, my family owned a Toyota Plymouth. It was a kind of purple-y grey color and pretty awesome. One night, my dad called the family over because he wanted to get milkshakes. (He liked to get milkshakes late at night.) We all agreed and walked into the garage. There was a shiny new blue minivan sitting there. Mom was fucking pissed, but my brother and I had fun smelling it.

At one point, my dad got the idea that he would renovate our attic space to be a playroom for my brother and I. That plan was quickly nixed when one misplaced step saw him plummeting through the ceiling and down to the garage floor.

The first movie I ever saw in a theater was Toy Story. My dad took both my brother and I to the old dollar theater by Panchos. It was the first time that we had ever gone out to do something without Mom, so during the entire movie I was scared that I was going to get in trouble.

One time, I asked him to buy me a new pair of sneakers. He insisted that he was only going to buy me one shoe and I got so upset that one of my feet was going to be shoe-less that I started crying.

I learned to drive sitting on his lap and I cried when he told me he was going to give me his truck because I thought trucks were for boys.

My dad loved to learn. If something broke, he'd find out how to fix it. If he wanted something, he'd figure out how to build it. He liked working with his hands. On weekends he would wake up in the morning, cut the grass, water the lawn, fix the broken things, cook a meal for us, and then take us out to a movie. He made such fucking delicious food.

He always said he hated the stupid cats, but he was always the first one to bring a new one home.

Whenever our friends needed help with something, he was the first one there.

There isn't really a point to this, but I just wanted to share.

( under this cut is what Bernie typed when I got up to get a glass of water )

( this is more that bernie typed )

Okay. Last night ROCKED. It was a pretty good crowd, too. Mom and brother were there, as well as Cash and Darwin. Noske was a no-show, but I pretty much was expecting him to flake out. He forgets everything.

Personally, I performed better at the night show, but as a whole, we did best at the afternoon one. Meghan's dress looked really beautiful. I completely want it. The soloists were amazing. I did drop my program order off my stand in the middle of "Il bianco e dolce cigno"....hehe, I am always the one having awkward moments when everyone can see them. XD Oh, and Erica forgot to come in on the second verse of "Under the Boardwalk," and I got really spooked hearing only my voice there, since we're the only two altos in Pop Singers. BUT I think we had an impressive performance.

Oh, and I almost left my purse backstage. That would have been very, very bad. Luckily, I remembered it was there at the last minute.

So for the past few days, I've been really missing my dad and I have no idea why. Well, obviously I miss him because he's not here anymore, but I have no clue as to why there was this sudden rise of emotion. So I've been in a pretty shitty mood for a while. The culmination of the whole thing was me bursting into tears while driving to school on Wednesday. I ended up being really late to choir, and I even started crying while I was singing. Ugh. But I guess I needed it because by yesterday I was fine.

Now I have to go to work (gross) but whatever. Geez....I just want to stay home and sleep. I think I'm coming down with something. I just really hope I'm not sick all through spring break. :\

(Also known as "The Huge Wall of Text" post)


Il est bel et bon

Il est bel et bon, bon, bon, commère, mon mari,
Il ètait deux femmes toutes d'un pays,
Disant l'une à l'autre avez bon mari?
Il ne me courrouce ne me bat aussi.
Il fait le ménage, il donne aux poulailles,
Et je prends mes plaisirs.
Commère c'est pour rire
Quand les poulailles crient:
Co, co, co, co, de, petite coquette, qu'est ceci?



So we are singing this song, "Il est bel et bon," in concert choir and it's (obviously) in French. And you know what? I really, really, really miss being in French class. I mean, I rocked the French honors students with my amazingly mad French skills. And you know how much French I can speak now? None. Well, practically none. I think the most complex thing I can say is est-ce que je peux aller au toilette s'il vous plait? That's right. I can ask if I can go potty. And that's basically it.

Well, okay. I can talk about weather, too. Par example, aujourd'hui, le 7 de février, il fait très froid. Mais, il ne fait pas pleut aujourd'hui. Je déteste le pleut. But that's it. That is pathetic. I was a French honors student for two years. I was in French for three years. I attended French Symposium three years in a row. I was asked to be in the French Honor Society. I rocked at French like Tom Paris rocks the holosuite. But now I don't. That is just pathetic.

I really want to take some French classes now and pick back up what I've forgotten. I don't like that I've forgotten so much of it. It really bothers me.

But since I'm on the subject of les toilettes...

The stupid women's potty keeps breaking at Party City. So I can never use it. It literally only works when I have no use for a toilet. And, yes, I have been saying potty for the vast majority of this post. Yes I am in college. Yes I still use the word "potty." It is one of my many charms. Potty. Gawd...just saying it makes me feel so juvenile.....


Je suis très fatigué maintenant. I don't know why though....


OH AND IN ASTRONOMY TODAY I GOT TO BE MARS. THAT WAS THE EPITOME OF COOL.


Haha...every time I hear someone say "That's not P.C." (as in "politically correct"), I think they mean "That's not Party City," because that's how we abbreviate Party City at, well, Party City.

Gawd I am in such a weird mood today.



For some reason, on the way to Party City from school, I was reminded of the train wreck that was graduation day. I really think that that whole day was absolutely disgusting. I cried once Keri, Trav, and I got there because I was really sad my dad would not be there and I remember specifically telling Keri not to tell anyone I had been crying, and yet as soon I climbed up on the risers for the seniors to rehearse SSB what do I hear but, "Hey Megan? Are you okay? Why were you crying?" What?!?! After the whole ceremony (which was long and boring and could have used some excitement) and eating a really late lunch with the family (Gene counts as family in my head, fyi) I was waiting and waiting and waiting at home for either Keri or Travis to call me to let me know whether or not they were going over to Whitney's party so I could get a ride, since I wasn't sure where she lived. By the time I FINALLY got in touch with one of them (Keri, because Lurch never answers his phone), I found out that they were both there and had FORGOTTEN to call me. Oh, and could I get a ride to Amy's that night because of some lame reason that meant they couldn't get me? Gee....thanks guys.

Really though, I'm glad all that shit happened and I was able to spend the night with Alex and Ben, because those two are the most amazing guys I have EVER known. Alex is so sweet and funny and Ben is.....Ben. 'nuff said.

But still....I wonder what warranted me being constantly "forgotten" all throughout middle and high school? I always felt like the last one to be included. And I know I wasn't the only one. There's another person, an absolutely brilliant and amazing person who was also left out a bunch and I honestly want to know why we weren't good enough to get invited everywhere. No, scratch that. I don't think I want to know. It would probably just be some lame-ass excuse anyways.

But you know what? Now I'm in college and I have at least two completely NEW people who think that I am kind of a big deal and fierce. And I like that. I just want to know why it took so long for anyone to notice.


Hehe...since I'm on the subject of Dad, I'm sure he'll be disgusted to know that Mommy got me an Elvis shirt for Christmas. He hated Elvis. Oh, and I've been blaring the King in the truck too. His truck. Elvis blaring in his truck. XD OH AND I AM PWNING EVERYONE AT CALCULUS DADDY!!!!!!! WOOO!