All I know that's true.

What better day to re-resurrect this ol' blog here than on National Dog Day?
(That was a rhetorical question; I think it's the perfect day to do this, you jerks.)

My incredibly weak attempt at reviving this thing happened three-quarters of a year ago, in the midst (but sort of towards the end) of a very trying few years--in fact, the hardest three years of my life.  The very nature of what ailed me also kept me from properly documenting everything as it occurred, though I desperately wanted to.  Scratch that: I needed to. Being on the other side of (currently un-) said ordeal now, it's difficult to really capture even in my own mind just exactly how I felt or didn't feel.  I mean, how do you go about recounting three whole years of your life?  How do I even depict yesterday?  I'm not sure, but I will try.  Well, I hope I'll try for real this time. 



But that time is not today.







One thing that's remained constant in my roller-coaster of a recent life is a phenomenon I never really understood until it happened to me: owning a dog.  Owning two very quirky but very-mine-dogs. If you're a dog owner, you get what I'm not saying here.  My dogs are so unconditionally loving, I honestly don't know what I would have done, or what I'd do without them.  They know when I'm sad, when I'm sick, when I'm happy...all of it.  Even as I type this, both of my canine companions lay by my feet in this cramped little alcove I call an "office."

They are my best friends. 
Fur-ends? Is it more meaningful if I make puns?

Sometimes when I feel like crying (because who doesn't love that?) I will think about how limited my time is with my pups. I contemplate how I'll ever go about finding new pets, knowing that you can't possibly replace the ones you've had.  I wonder how others do it and I dread the days when my boyfriend and I will have to deal with that experience.  However, there are beautiful, beautiful things to be learned from having my dogs even though they don't get to be with me forever. They teach me to truly love.  They remind me that tomorrow is a new day; that nothing comes close to being outside and feeling so free and most importantly, how mighty it is to pee on any pole and tree that stands in my way--

Okay, wait a second. That last part doesn't really apply to me. Well, in all reality it could but it wouldn't be as socially acceptable if I did it. Damn. Lucky dogs.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say in all of this is that I freaking love my dogs. They love me.  And I am so unbelievably grateful to be a "dogmom" to my Roosterdoodle (Rusty) and Snizzery Business (Diesel). 

Good dogs.  Very.  Good.  Dogs.



[Postscript.]

If you're thinking of getting a dog, please, PLEASE consider adoption.  There are so many amazing yet neglected and abandoned pups just waiting for a forever home.  Go to www.aspca.org to start your search and learn of animal shelters in your area.

To remove my splinters, Part 1.

In the spirit of the approaching new year and making resolutions, I'm blowing the dust off of this ol' thing and resurrecting my blog.  There are a thousand of reasons why I've been away (a quick glance at the archive will show this thing's older than my dog), many of which can be summed up by saying, "Well, I've had quite a year..."

Speaking of summaries, I'm going to attempt to do just that: recap my year to the best of my ability (and hopefully include pictures at some point).  Oh 2013, you naughty, naughty thing, you...

In January I:

We are clothed!  But this is still hilarious.

• rang in the new year with a cold
• threw my boyfriend a White Trash 32nd Birthday Bash
  

  

  A sneezy 2013 to you!

  
  
  

I spent my birthday at the Friendship Bell.  So pretty.

In February

• I had my first surgery (right hand, and I promise there's more about that, soon)
• I turned 25 two weeks later and had a Mardi Gras party to celebrate it, complete with a box of authentic MG beads from New Orleans, thanks to some really awesome interwebs/real life friends

Mardi Gras with my girl, Cori.

In March

My musical hero.

• I finally had recovered enough from surgery to be able to start going back to church.  I went to City Church, held at Chain Reaction (an all-ages punk-rockish music venue in Anaheim that I frequented in my teens and early 20's).  My boyfriend, Mike, had been volunteering his time and lighting design skills to the church for months already.  The moment I was there, I felt like I finally found a new place to call home again.  There's something to be said, too, about returning to a place you called "home" as a teen but for even better reasons.
• I saw Andrew McMahon (forever a thing to take note of). And, here's some pictures from St. Patrick's Day, because that happened, too:

The boyfriend, Mike, and I.

Myself and one of my favorite ladies, Shelby.

I've got friends in all the right places.

Why hello there, months-long absence!  How quickly you tend to come and go in my journaling life!

Surprise, surprise.

A couple times now I've come to blog--and even got so far as to compose something--but alas, never felt quite ready to publish.  Funny how that works, sometimes.  But to attempt to summarize the last few months would be preposterous!  So, I will:

• I moved from Utah back to California.  Suffice it to say, shit went down and said shit necessitated that I relocate and do what's best for myself.  I kind of forgot what it's like to do such a thing.
  
• As soon as I got back to Fountain Valley, I was pleasantly surrounded with love and visits from friends!  Definitely kept busy.
  
• Met a boy during one of these outings with friends, and I think I'll keep him around for a while. :)  But that's another post for another time, I believe.
  
• Visited with the family in the Washington, D.C. area--whom I hadn't seen in over 17 years.  The trip was amazing, the time spent was absolutely quality, and I haven't felt so damn loved in a really long time, if not ever.  I know that's a hefty statement, but trust me, it's warranted.  Again, another post for another time.
  
• Three days after I got back from D.C., I moved into The Waterbury House.  So far all is grand and I've felt some crazy relief as a result.  

Now, all I need is a bed, a job, and a steady flow of the faith that's gotten me through everything.   Despite the things that get me down--and down, down, down I can go--I see that life is beautiful, and that good things  DO happen.

And well, that's where I'm at.  Who knows where I'll be in three months!

Tell me what you know about dreamin'.

Salt Lake City, I want so much to love you.

I want to call you home.  I wish to scour racks and racks of books in your countless vintage and consignment stores.  I want to be friends with your inhabitants, the ones that dress like me and listen to the same pretentious bullshit that I tend to.  I want to master your transit system so that I can go to random points of architectual interest and take several hundred pictures.  I want to frequent your hole-in-the-wall treasures, taste the local brews, and become acquainted with all the venues.  And I would really enjoy to join your impressive workforce (but not your church, sorry) so I can make lots of money and contribute to Utahn (Utahn?) society.

I want to like you, really I do.  But I think you're full of shit.

I hate your weather.  Everything passes through so quickly, and I worry often about my life and the fact that a giant tree thrashes against my bedroom window throughout the night.  I have nightmares about dying by a tornado.  Death by tornado.  It's slightly worse than Moving to Utah.  (I kid.)  However, your lightning storms and hail are too close for comfort, as are your relentless heatwaves and climate changes.  Yesterday I lounged in a tank top and shorts and went to bed in leggings, socks, jammies, and a long-sleeved shirt.  I mean, honestly.  What the heck are you trying to accomplish--besides destroying my complexion?  (Also, please note that I do not yet own any snow-battling clothing and kindly request your compliance along this front.)

Utah, I loathe your buses and trains.  I would appreciate the frequency of routes, but I hate the number of hobos I have come into contact with just to go to dumb job interviews for even dumber jobs I don't even want.  The rules and regulations of the UTA are so much a nuisance that I don't see the point in trying out all the shops and cafes I see around here--5.00 just to get to and from a place I might despise?  Shit.  I can't afford that.  You crazy.

Quite honestly, I'm confused by your demographic.  Everything is clearly influenced by The Thing That Shall Not Be Named, and yet I know there's gotta be my kind of people out there (there is--I saw them at the She & Him show last week, minus the tokers).  I will have you know--in case it hasn't been made clear: I will not budge.  I might falter, but only by my own design (and only sometimes...and always with grace).  What I mean to say is I know who I am (I think) and I know what I think (I think).  I love my tattoos, my piercings, my loud mouth, and everything I believe in and stand for.  So don't go thinking you can change them.  (And don't go telling my Mom that she can, either.)  Though I am confused by you, I think we can still be friends.

If you know anything, you know that I desperately need to get out of the house.  You  know that I need a social atmosphere, in conjecture with the responsible ones and whatnot.  I need to live before I'm in mid-twenties (WHICH IS COMING SOON) and can weap at the thought that I haven't done a damn thing with my life, and I'm kind of counting on you to help me through this.  Look, I know you're a busy, bustling kind of place and so, you've got a lot on your hands.  But I need this to work out, and I need it to work out now.  I promise I won't hold the obvious against you--even though you're kind of turning my little brother into a preteen, robot prick.  I just need you to cooperate with me, please.

Basically, I'm trying to work with you.  I'm trying to figure you out, but you're such a tease and honestly, it's rather intimidating for all the wrong and right reasons.  Please, just let me love you.  Or at least enjoy you more than I am currently.

With hope and half-empty threats of vacating the premises (to Texas or maybe Tennessee--do you see a trend?),

Megan

P.S.  I know I'm being pessimistic.  Shut up.

Run in the front.

I have not posted in ages.

This is due, in part, to the fact that at home I don't have internet.  Or much phone access.  This has made it difficult to communicate with those back home and beyond, let alone make any blog posts.

Suffice it to say, this has also had a major effect on my adjustment to living so far removed from everything I know and love.  I feel a major disconnect from the world and myself as well.  I guess you can say I'm kind of taking it rough.  But that is okay, I think.  We'll see, won't we?

Another truth I'm grappling with is my inability to motivate myself to do much (like posting).  I'm hoping this changes soon.  I think it might.

I realize I'm being rather vague here--and to the four readers I have, I apologize--I'm not sure if I'm tired, lazy, bored, or just disinterested.  Perhaps it's all of them.  I'm sure at some time, I'll come back here and recount these last five (FIVE?!?) weeks.  In the meantime, I have endeavored to be pen friends with a few good-lookin' persons.  If anyone else would like painstakingly crafted letter from bumf*ck nowhere, Utah, do inform me.  I would love to write you a letter.  I will send you poor drawings of longnecks covered in polka dots.  (I know, I know, it excites me too!)

If not (and well, if so), enjoy the playlist I've made (it's located at the bottom of the page).  It's has stuff/bands I've been listening to a lot this summer, give or take a few. 

Love and Be Well,
Megan

Come, all you weary.

Well, here I am and here I've been for nearly a week now.  For notetaking purposes, let the record show that here is Salt Lake City, Utah.  The journey to get here was rough and overwhelming, and I wasn't surprised to find that the past week was rather arduous as well.  Such is life.

It's a weird to find myself in an awkward, unknown place.  It's even more weird to know that I purposefully ended up here.  It's probably the first time I've uprooted by my own accord, and while I cherish my independent nature, the adjustment has been strange.  I've found myself broken down a few times these past seven days.  It's been especially hard not having ready access to the phone/internet/transportation.  I think with all this time to myself I've let my thoughts wander to unusual concerns: will I make friends?  Will I find a job?  Will I find a proper Christian community?  Will I get along with my family?  And when on Earth will this all occur? I shouldn't fret, though:

• I'm a friendly person--albeit, odd and nerdy--and I think I've already found some potentially wonderful friendships.
• I have already applied at four places and secured an interview for Tuesday (well, it's automatic because I'm a re-hire potential for VSB).
• I believe I'll be checking out K2 on Sunday.
• I know that my family finds itself in both better circumstances and dispositions than ever before, and I already know just by interacting with my little brother that I've made the right choice in moving.

 More than anything, I know God will guide me.  I'll stumble, I'll fall, and I'll get back up again.  It's just what I do, and I need to remind myself that I have this ability.  Honestly, there are so many things beyond my control.  I know that I do and will continue to miss my "old life," but I also need to remember that there is beauty to be found in starting anew.

So it's with faith and perseverance that I'll say this: I'm sure I'll find my footing here in this mountainous, land-locked Beehive state.  I've got to...Well, I will.  It's just going to take some time.

And thankfully, I've got plenty of that.

Love and Be Well,
Megan

Zippity-Do-Dah.

Just wanted to post this picture.  I'll be posting a few more tonight, more for my own documentation and enjoyment.

This was taken recently on another trip to Disneyland, at the entrance to California Adventure.  I've been cramming in as many trips as possible--thanks to my wonderful friend/D-land buddy, Jon--seeing as how Disneyland is an Orange County, CA, exclusive.

As my time left here in California quickly diminishes (two weeks left to go!), I find myself more and more referring to experiences as my "last."  And it kills me to think that there are so many things I always put off until later...spending the whole day at Amoeba, going to San Francisco, going to Sea World, having lots and lots of bonfires at the beach, going back to Lost Valley...I'm growing increasingly attached to a lot of experiences I've never had, all because I'm not sure I ever will.  At least, not for a long while.  The prospect of leaving and never returning has had a bittersweet effect, thus far: I'm realizing what I've taken for granted here, and I'm trying to appreciate what's left to savor.

It's safe to say I'm in transition.  It's definitely odd.  It's exciting, yes; it's scary, sure; but altogether, it's simply...uncertain.  And I'm unsure how I should feel about it all.

But I love this picture, and I love how it's me--in a surprising kind of way.