Toddler Identity Crisis.

I nanny part-time.  But I don't pick the kids up from school, or drive them around anywhere.  And I'm only there when they get home, until dinner. And their Mom is usually home, but she runs her own business.  Okay, so I'm a freaking babysitter, alright.  I am in my mid-to-late-twenties and I babysit.  But I get paid well.

Now, the youngest one, 3 1/2 years old, he is really into garbage.  Like REALLY into it. No, not the actual, real trash in the garbage can, but... well, okay, yes, yes the actual trash in the actual garbage can, but he doesn't reach in and play with it, 'cause that is disgusting and as the "nanny/too-old-to-be-babysitting-babysitter" I would never let him do that, BUT he is FASCINATED with trash trucks and garbage cans.  He has about fifty tiny trash cans, in all the appropriate colors; green(for yard debris, duh), black(for old food and gross stuff like puppy-poo), blue(for recycling, duh again).  And dumpsters(for...big stuff, like rowing machines, I don't know).  Along with the trash cans, he also has about twenty trash trucks.  This kid can literally entertain himself for hours by setting up the rows of cans, and pretending to pick them up and empty the trash into the trucks.  Over and over again.  I'm not kidding.  When he enthusiastically asks me to play with him, it means I just watch him do this.  For a long time.  And when I try to pick up the cans myself, I get in trouble, because I don't do it right.  And if you EVER mess up his rows, HE WILL KNOW!  And he will not be happy about it.  I read once that childhood obsession with organizing and arranging things in rows, and certain orders/patterns, is a sign of intelligence.  Like genius stuff.  So, he's probably a crazy genius and more intelligent at 3 years old, than I will ever be.

I'm not going to use his real name, but the little one WAS given a REAL NAME by his parents.  However, for the past year and a half, he has insisted on being called different names.  First it was "Little Don" the trash truck driver.  Then it was "Soapy", which I have no idea where that came from.  And now it is "Nicey, the Mommy garbage truck".  Yep.  You think it ends with the name?  You are very wrong.  He does not answer to his real name, anymore.  If you call him by his real name, you are in for a real treat.  And by "real treat" I mean a fit of repetition that is almost enough to drive you clinically insane, "I'm Nicey!  I'm Nicey the Mommy garbage truck!  I'm Nicey!"  It's amazing.  Alright, so there is this name thing....but it doesn't end there.  He IS a garbage truck, so if you call him a boy, he gets upset.  If you refer to his eyes, he gets upset "I don't have eyes!  I have blinking lights!  They're not eyes!  They're my blinking lights!"  If you refer to his feet, uh oh "I don't have FEET!  I have WHEELS!"  His hands?  "They're not hands, they're GARBAGE TRUCK ARMS!" And if you mention his clothes, any of them, he gets REALLY upset and reminds you "No!  I'm not a boy!  I don't wear clothes!  I'm Nicey the Mommy garbage truck and I have COVERS!"  Oh yeah, and his nose is his "machine" and his mouth is his "hopper" where he chops up the "trash."  His food is "trash" btw.  Get it RIGHT!  Jesus.

Gym, you're awkward.

Here's the deal...I live in a rather large apartment community that has a lovely, smallish gym, equipped with enough cardio, and some weight stuff. I call it "weight stuff" because I don't "do weights."  I should "do weights," because my arms have the strength of a feeble cat, but I don't. ANYWAY, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, etiquette in the gym. People are weird. People are SO WEIRD! Okay, so when I go in the gym and no one is there, liiiiike, I'm alone...as in THE ONLY PERSON IN THE ROOM, I will take the channel changer and keep it on my treadmill, so whoever comes in next, knows I am watching the TV. Easy enough. I would never ask someone to change the channel, if they were clearly there before me and obviously watching something. If they happen to come in after me, well they just have to deal with the fact I'm watching "Real Housewives of Atlanta" or "Say Yes to the Dress Atlanta" or "Little People" or "E! News" or maybe even some "House Hunters International". If they're lucky. Sure, I recognize that not everyone likes these shows, but that's too bad. I got here first. Poo-poo on you. You can have the changer when I am finished. Seems fair, right? First come, first serve. Simple. Fair. Done. But nooooooo, NOT DONE! Sometimes, I will get asked "Are you watching this?" In which case I will smile and say "Yes." The conversation ends there...usually. Unless the person asking me this is an unstable, anorexic, self-absorbed, socially inappropriate BIOTCH!

 Ooooookay, so this one time I was minding my business, running along, and this woman comes in, stands behind my treadmill, and I can see her in the mirror looking at the TV and I can sense her frustration with the fact I have the channel changer. So, I wait for the passive aggressive "Oh, are you...are you watching this?" Which happens. And I answer "Yes, I am." Does it end there? Oooohh, nooooo. She stands by my machine, almost in shock that I did not give in to her passive aggressive attempt at taking control of the TV. I can almost see steam coming out of her ears. She's going to try again. This lady is going to try again?!

*Perhaps I should mention this was during the Olympics. And yes, a lot of people want to watch the Olympics. I, however, happened to be heavily engrossed in the E! True Hollywood Story of Hugh Hefner, as was the woman running on the machine next to mine. Moving on...

This biotch lady then approaches me and says "Well, can I switch to the Olympics?" WTF?! I JUST TOLD YOU I WAS WATCHING THE TV! YOU CAN HAVE IT WHEN I'M DONE! SERIOUSLY?! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY?! I didn't want to get into a fight about it, so I just(maaaaybe with more than a bit of attitude) said "Uh, sure. Yeah, you can watch whatever you want." And handed over the channel changer. The woman on the machine next to me had my back. She leaned over and whispered to me"You know what I do? I just say 'You can have it when I'm done.' That'll do it." Damn. I totally should have said that. Next time! NEXT TIME!

*And then she turned it to the Olympics and it was CURLING! Who watches curling?!

Riveting.

TragiSLIM! And TragiSLIM Outtakes! BAM!

TragiSLIM!


TragiSLIM Outtakes!

I know. I need to update.

Sorry, but I was on vacation for ten days and it was AWESOME!

My cousin got married and it was beautiful.  Nothing sarcastic to say about it.

I got to wear an awesome, vintage dress that fit like a glove.  And whoa.  There was no 2% spandex in clothes back then.  Yeeeeeeah...

I did a circuit workout class with one of my best friends from college, and it was INSANE!  The trainer was pretty hot,  but I walked like I was about to give birth, for the next two days.

Got to see some ridiculously cute babies.  But managed to avoid changing any diapers.  And come on, we all know baby poop is really bad.  Like REALLY bad.

K, this isn't really funny and I am tired.  So I'll think of something tomorrow.

PEACE OUT!

Mo

I like it when people say messed up stuff to me.

I was in a cab in NYC, headed home after a long evening out with friends.  I was exhausted and practically asleep, in the backseat.  When we got to my apartment, the cabby turned around, gave me a huge smile(which is never a good sign) and said the following to me:

"You have a nice, BIG, Indian nose!"

And to correct him, it is not an Indian nose, it is simply "A nice, big, American schnoz."   And it should also be noted, all I really took from this "compliment" was the fact in his country I might be considered a near goddess, with this fantastic profile, but where I'm from?  I'm just a white girl with a big nose.  And no, my sense of smell is not heightened.

Look, I Made an Outfit!

*Top and skirt at ModCloth.com

*Earrings, bracelet and shoes from Anthropologie.com

More Tweets from Mo...

-I LOVE getting Viagra emails!!!!!!

-Oh wow. This Barefoot Zinfandel is...not good

-When I drink caffeine free Diet Coke, I have the most INSANE dreams. Liiiiike a baby telling me "Leave me the f*ck alone, I'm sleeping."

-I love pork buns.

-Goddamn Sit n Sleep commercial, with all the dust mite talk really ruined my dinner. Come ON!

-I'm totally getting smog tested tomorrow. That's hot.

-Omg I totally forgot to mention I had a dream I was a cast member on The Jersey Shore! It was crazy. I didn't have a tan, though.

1. -I love taking a shower, but I can't stand getting out of it.3:52 PM Sep 13th via web-I'm Tweeting from inside my shower right now.September 13, 2010 4:53:08 PM PDT via web
   -No, I'm not. Just kidding. That would be ruin my computer. And my phone.
   September 13, 2010 4:53:56 PM PDT via web
   
   

ModCloth Styling of the Day!

*All items from ModCloth.com

Wait, was that a joke?

          Many years ago, while I was a student at Santa Clara University, I attended my very first open mic, as an audience member.  A voyeur, if you will.  One of my good friends at the time, we'll just call him Boe Jrady, you know, to protect his identity.  He wanted to test out some of his material.  Why not, right?  I love supporting my friends, especially my funny friends and Boe was funny.  So Boe, his girlfriend Slissa Etebbins(to protect her identity) and myself all headed out to a bar near Stanford University.  Little did I know I was about to have the most awkward and painful experience of my life.  And I wasn't even on stage.
          It was a tiny room, in a tiny bar, with a tiny stage.  The entire audience was basically in the performer's lap, which is just unsanitary, if you ask me.  You know how comedians are.  Dirty.  Boe did his set, and it was funny.  To be honest, quite a bit of it went right over my head, but I do recall laughing at least once.  After Boe went, we kind of had to stick around, because the place was so small it would have been too obvious and rude to just leave.  Even though that's what I really wanted to do, and probably should have done.  So, a very skinny, Middle-Eastern looking man gets up on stage, and he was clearly handicapped, which is HILARIOUS!  Okay, no, it's not hilarious, so stop judging me, but it made us all go "Hmmm...something is wrong with him.  What is it?  What is wrong with this guy?  Because something is definitely wrong with this guy."  Then he proceeds to lean against the back wall, because he literally could not stand without any support, and I am dying, I am so uncomfortable and distracted and I just NEED him to tell us what's wrong so I can stop feeling so awkward.  And thank God he did.  He had Cerebral Palsy, I think.  Okay, I actually can't remember.  But the point is he told us, which relieved some of the tension.  But then he started his "set."  And it was...not good.  In fact, it was so unfunny, I got really angry.  And then I felt guilty that I was angry at this handicapped man.   And there was so much silence.  And you know it's bad when the silence is painful, but then the man who breaks the silence makes it even worse.  He did this thing where he would  look out at the room, realize a joke didn't work(which was all of them), and then he would say "Mmmm, segue.  Traaaaansition."  Over and over and over again.  At one point he even turned all the way around and stared at the wall while he said it.  It was strange.
          Naturally, because I had no idea what to do, I started passing notes to Boe's girlfriend, and we started giggling, which is terrible, but I just didn't know what to do with all my ANGER.  Alright, fine, so it was not the most mature thing to do, but give me a break.  So, this guy, the one on stage, who may or may not have had Cerebral Palsy, saw this.  He saw me passing a note.  He SAW me!  And he had a mic, so he started asking my friend and I about said note.  And I was mortified.  I felt like the biggest piece of crap on the planet.  All this guy wanted to do was get up on that stage and perform.  It was his DREAM!  I mean, it shouldn't have been, but it WAS.  And there I was, passing notes. Crapping all over his dream.  It finally ended and we got out of there real fast.  Not that we had to run away, because let's be honest, a handicapped man probably wouldn't be able to catch up.  And even if he somehow DID, I am pretty sure we would have won the fight.  But I am almost positive I saw Wes Bentley, the beautiful neighbor boy from American Beauty, sitting at the bar.  And he asked me for my number.  And we fell in love.  And I'm lying.  Again.  But I really think I saw him at the bar.  That part is true.

Who wants to go to IKEA and leave with a Hot Dog?!

Okay, so I'm a little weird.  I get this.  When I have a day completely free, what do you think I do with it?  Go for a hike?  Wrong.  Read a good book?  Nope.  Spend time browsing various Targets and Malls in the LA area, and maybe taking a trip to the Burbank IKEA, just to walk around the showroom, marketplace, and maybe leave with a hot dog and Diet Pepsi?  You got it.  BINGO!  I could(and do) spend hours browsing.  Not shopping.  I can't spend hours shopping, because I don't have the uh, oh you knoooow, whaddya call it?  Oh yeah.  Money.  Sometimes I will go to Nordstrom, and just try on clothes, and dream about what it would be like to actually buy a complete outfit, or even just one shirt, without it completing depleting my bank account.  What a day that would be!  I'll do this at Anthroplogie, too.  Grab a pile of beautiful clothes, sometimes from the "Sale!" rack(fooling myself into thinking I might actually walk out with something), take them to the dressing room and try them on.  I am the dressing room girl's nightmare.  I walk in with all these clothes, only to hand them all back to her when I'm done.  She'll sometimes look at me in amazement, surely thinking "My GOD!  Seriously?!  You're telling me NONE of these worked for you?! Wtf?!"  But what she actually says to me, with a perfectly patronizing tone, is "Aww, none of these worked out?  I'm sorry." Of course, I smile, and say "Not really.  Thank you."  When what I really want to say is "YES!  Almost ALL of them worked out, and they are so beautiful and I would look AMAZING in ALL of these clothes, but I cannot afford ANY of them!!!  DO YOU HEAR ME?!  I HAVE NO MONEY!!!  WHY, GOD?!  WHYYYYYY CAN'T I JUST BUY ONE OUTFIT FROM ANTHROPOLOGIE?!"  Wow.  I went really far with that, didn't I?  Eh, not far enough.  I'm still censoring myself, because my Mom reads this and she is wary about me putting things out there for all the world to read.  Anyway, I guess it is a bit torturous to try on clothes you can't have, but a bigger part of me(not my ass) likes imagining what I will one day be able to have.  That's the optimist in me.  Thankfully, no matter how dark or depressing times can get, the optimist in me always wins.  And yes, I do think of non-material things, just not as much as I think about clothes.

My ModCloth Pick of the Day!

This is my ModCloth pick of the day!

Pretty, pretty, pretty:)

Mo' Tweets.

-It's so funny when the Facebook users of acertaingeneration sign their wall posts like a letter; "Good to see you last night, Doug."


            -Oh, Viagra emails, I wish you knew how to quit me.


-Paris Hilton is an idiot


            -Sometimes I get weird abdominal pangs, and think "Oh, no. My appendix!" Then I remember I don't have one anymore.


-I eat like a pregnant woman.


            -So, am I the only one who finds it funny that IHOP has valet parking?


-Oops...but this credit card is not mine.


             -New study shows a possible link between chocolate consumption and depression. Uh YEAH. If you can't find any chocolate, that's depressing.


-I LOVE it when I get excited about a text message alert and then I realize it's from Verizon.


             -Not as into this documentary about plastic surgery gone wrong, as I thought I would be.

1. -Uh oh. Dentist time. Ugh...9:05 AM Jun 21st via web-The dentist was really nice!12:17 PM Jun 21st via web-Maybe I should date a dentist...12:17 PM Jun 21st via web

Ramen Noodles

I love food.  Food is so good.  It comes in all different flavors, textures, colors, shapes and sizes...food is a lot like PEOPLE!  IT'S PEOPLE!  SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!  Sorry, I really got carried away there.  Food is not a lot like people, but what I mean is...I have no idea what I mean.  Forget it.  Not important.  I did just have a bowl of chicken flavored ramen noodles and I will say, even though the nutritional value of this dish is next to nothing, and maybe even harmful, because of the high amount of sodium involved, this does not keep me from enjoying the deliciousness of RAMEN!  It brings me back to my childhood.  I'm not sure why, because my Mom was/is actually very health conscious and did not serve us ramen, but I must have had it once and that is all it took to CHANGE MY LIFE!  Did I mention I also love bologna and salami?  Not together, but separately I find them delightful.

Morgan's Coping Mechanisms

Okay, look.  I'll admit it, when a guy breaks-up with me(keep in mind, the longest relationship I've had, over the past four years is a few three monthers.  And a lot of dating.  Too much dating.) I get sad, then I get mad, and then I decide he MUST be gay, otherwise he would not be able to resist my charms;  wit, beauty, alabaster skin, strikingly blue eyes(albeit thanks to tinted contacts.  My eyes are blue, just not super-human-goddess-blue), intelligence, a dazzling smile, nodaddyissues, I mean COME ON!  But sometimes people just don't fall in love with you. Or me.  And there is no point in wallowing or playing the whole "poor me" game, because that is just lame. And I am not lame.  So, naturally, my coping mechanism is deciding they must not like sleeping with women.  Seriously, if sleeping with me did not get them, hook, line and sinker, it's the only explanation.  And this TOTALLY works...until they start a new relationship.  With a woman.  And then they fall in love with said woman.  And I am left thinking "Oh, she is quiet and sweet, and has bigger boobs than me."  Oh yeah, and he's not gay.

Hi, I'm Morgan and I have bangs.

Okay, so in Los Angeles everyone is pretty obsessed with their image.  I'll admit, I am obsessed with my image, in my own way.  I love getting my picture taken.  I always tell the Paparazzi where I'm going, but then I remember I'm not famous, so they could care less.  And I know I shouldn't buy all those gossip magazines, but without them my time in the gym would be incredibly painful.   I love shopping.  I love it when people think I'm pretty, well dressed, and thin.  But with that said, I do not get up every morning and spend two hours doing my hair and make-up...believe it or not, I actually think that is a waste of time. But maybe the only reason I think it is a waste of time is because my "day job" is nannying.  Two boys, ages six and three, could care less about your hair and make-up.  Although, they will tell you "You're not fat, Morgan.  You just have big thighs."  Okay, so the boys I take care of did not say this to me, but my cousin Tristan did, when he was about six years old.  Honesty starts early, folks.   And then we learn how to lie, because people have this thing called "insecurity."  I digress.  Also, I don't really think it's a waste of time, because top o' the mornin' the only other thing I'm doing is sleeping.  I'm just too lazy, really.