Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Always...

So I have this problem. When it comes to stuff, things, material objects, I am always in the market. I mean always. When N would clean out her closet I would take almost any cast off (keep in mind she is a good six inches shorter then I). It made no difference how old the articles of clothing were, or how ill fitting, I had to have them. Now even though N is my idol, this was not limited to her closet. I was always in the market for any free thing, anywhere. Whatever other people would pay for, I accept. I have to hit up all the booths after road races so I won't miss any of the swag. It doesn't matter that I end up throwing all this crap away, I would pick it up regardless.

I have also been fairly successful at conning A into buying me stuff, or giving up things she didn't really want to give up. For instance, we were at Target together once upon a time, and I ended up with 60 bucks worth of crap, all courtesy of A's wallet. I think it included at least one pair of pajamas, probably a book or dvd, and the requisite candy.

Now as you all know, A is leaving us, on a jet plane, tomorrow. For the big Island. Naturally she can't possibly take most of her stuff with her, it would be impractical. And being the kind and generous sister I am, I have agreed to take her small flatscreen TV off her hands. This brings the total number of TV's in my apartment to three. Three TV's, two bedrooms, two people. Seems excessive, no?

Like I said, I am always in the market.



A? I hope you weren't hoping to get the TV back..........




Sorry for the bad posting. As I am sure anyone in the area is aware, it is f'ing hot and the last thing I want to do is sit in my boiling apartment with a hot computer on my lap.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Birthday


Yes, that is my hand preparing to take the first bite

Since A is moving to Hawaii in a few days (supposedly for studies, but I think we all know better) she was quite lax in getting the dysfunctional family together for a celebration. We were all wondering what took her so long.

A?

We know you love to have parties for yourself, you have thrown yourself a goodbye party for your work, one for your friends, and a birthday party.

What's the deal? Family is fourth on the list of parties one must throw oneself before a departure from the mainland?

We went to eat here, and to see this movie, per A's request (I wanted to see it too, duh). Naturally Madre had her fair share of white cosmos (what, no lemon drops Madre?). We also were talked into having another cocktail here by Tardie Artie, who btw, does not drink but apparently wants us to indulge. I think we are more entertaining to him when socially lubricated.

M treated us to our cocktails (thanks M, sorry I am so poor and can't contribute) while Madre took care of everything else. She sent A and I in the theater to get seats while she waited for Tardie to park the car (or smoke). She forced a twenty on me to buy snacks even though I assured her that I was not too poor to pay for movie popcorn (I am unable to see a movie without it, no matter how full I am). When I gave Madre the change, she looked at me, in a very confused manner and said:



What is this?



I should have just kept the change.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

A Lesson in Spelling

Meet M:

She is quite the character. One Halloween instead of dressing up in her cute witch outfit she wore this:Yes, that is a one piece velvet unitard with shoulder cutouts and fake pearl embellishments at the mock turtleneck. What you are missing out on is the unibrow she drew on herself, and the red feather boa she tied in her hair.

She also prides herself on winning any and all eating contests, including this donut eating contest one 4th of July (She cheated, naturally):
When we were younger, M and I shared a bedroom. One night we had joined forces to write what must have been a Very Important Letter. We huddled around the nightlight on the floor together and M was the scribe, I helped dictate. Now keep in mind that M is almost a year older then myself, and was naturally a grade above me. Our conversation went a little something like this:

M: Megan, how do you spell 'I'?

Me: (in my head thinking YES! Finally a chance to show my spelling prowess!) it's e-y-e.

M: No, the other 'I'

Me: (getting a little confused) I...

M: Yeah, but how do you spell it?

Me: M.... it's just the letter, I!!

M: Ooohhhhh...ok.

When I read over our masterpiece I noticed that she spelled 'of' o-v.




M? Glad you didn't become an english teacher.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

An Open Letter to my Neighbor

Dear Bien,

Thank you for the popsicles you gave to Roommate for us to share. You told her you used to live in our unit? That makes four of us on this floor who have lived in this apartment, you, me and Roommate, and Dennis. You said you knew how hot it gets in here. It does Bien, it gets very hot. It has only now cooled down to a mere 80 inside. It's almost 10pm. It was very kind of you to think of me and Roommate suffocating in here with the heat. I ate the orange strawberry one, it really hit the spot. Roommate fell asleep so she can enjoy the lemon strawberry one tomorrow.

Let me know if you ever have a craving for some baked goods (judging by the scent that radiates out of your apartment I have a feeling you get those cravings often) because I make a mean cookie.

Sincerely yours,

Megan, and Roommate

Monday, July 20, 2009

A Study Abroad, or, the Time I Got Sun Poisoning



Almost exactly two years ago I had the opportunity to study in Florence at SACI for their four week summer program (thanks paternal grandfather!). It was overwhelming. Mostly because there is so much to see and do in Italy and very little time, seeing as how the shorter of my two classes was a mere seven hours (don't be impressed, these were art classes people, mostly studio time to do your work).

I stayed here:we stayed on the third floor



Literally across the street from this:
the Duomo


It was our living room view. Amazing, no? I wasn't even that bothered by the bells that rang (and because of the proximity practically vibrated the apartment) every half hour.

On a free weekend my roommates and I took the train to visit here:
Cinque Terra

We spent the day hanging out on the beach (not so much a beach as large uncomfortable rocks), walking around town, and naturally, eating.

Being such a fair skinned person, one who burns after ten minutes outside, I put on a ton of sunscreen. SPF 45 all the way. Turns out, that the sun in the mediterranean is a whole lot different then the sun in Seattle, or even California (where the summers of my youth were spent). As we took the train back to Florence I was feeling burned, but nothing that hasn't happened to me before.

When I woke up to my alarm the next day (waking me to make it to the Uffizi early) I felt nothing but pain. My whole body was visibly swollen.

Swollen from sunburn.

I am talking bright bright neon lobster red here. It was bad. Real bad. I barely managed to hobble to the bathroom, and sitting down to pee was even more challenging, for if it's one thing sunburned skin doesn't like, it's bending.

Anyways, I make it on the toilet and do my thing. All the while the pain is getting worse and my eyes are having trouble focusing.

I stand up and next thing I know I am opening my eyes again, only this time I am on the floor, pants around my ankles. I didn't even get a chance to pull my pants up before I passed out.

Simply brilliant.

Needless to say I never made it to the Uffizi that day. I was also shortly covered in blisters everywhere but my face (for some reason this is the only place the sunscreen actually protected from the sun). Five days after this incident was when I returned home. I have to say, there is little in my life that has made me feel more gross then taking four flights over a span of 24 hours (and spending the night on the floor of JFK during a layover) with skin that is peeling off in sheets.

Note to self: When in the mediterranean, you must reapply sunscreen. Constantly.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Med Fest, Part 1

So Madre, giver of life, target of my adolescent rage, has this hobby. Well to be fair to her, it's more of a passion. She devotes countless waking hours to it, I would even make so bold a statement as to say that her hobby (passion) is on par with her love of all things Spanish. The hobby in question? Belly Dancing. Traditional Arab dancing also known as raqs sharqi (oriental dance), or raqs baladi (dance of country), originally from ancient Babylon in southern Iraq and passed down from generation to generation.

Enough of that history lesson, point is, mi Madre has undergone quite a transformation in her life, from this:

age 11? 10?


to this:



The latter taken at Med Fest this weekend. Her Belly Dancing Troupe decided they would make their own costumes and of all the colors they had to choose from they picked orange. A ghastly color in my opinion, flattering to very few, but I think it turned out pretty well. Everything is hand sewn on.

Madre?

Are you out there?

You looked very blingy, and although I am disappointed your fake ponytail didn't fall off in one of your performances I still enjoyed myself.



Sort of.

My camera is MIA, so you will have to wait until A emails me the rest of the pictures, and at her natural pace, it could be awhile.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

About Incurably Awkward




Welcome to Incurably Awkward where I will attempt to tell the story of my life, as it occurs. I'm Megan, a 20 something living and working in Seattle with a BAVA from the University of San Francisco (that has amounted to nothing so far). I have a medium large sized family that gets along well enough in pairs but deteriorates quickly (usually in less than an hour) when we are all together as a group.


The cast of characters:


Madre
: my mom, who so desperately wishes to be Spanish


N: the oldest sister, adopted from Korea (so stop saying we look alike Brittany D. from high school!!)

M: the other older sister, also adopted from Korea

A: the youngest sister, who is not Korean

G-Tyne
: maternal grandma, formerly known as Tine (more on that later)


Tardie Artie: Madre's live in, much younger boyfriend