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.