About Meg
It seems funny to do an “About Me” page since, well… the blog is “About Me.”
But what is the Internet for, if not redundancy?
I was born in 1974, along with People Magazine, Dungeons and Dragons, the Volkswagen Rabbit (my parents had an orangey-red one shortly thereafter), and UPC labels.
Despite this, I am not a celebrity, a wizard, as compact as I wish to be, or digitally scannable.
My actual birthday, April 19th, would later see many newsworthy events, among them the end of the Branch Davidian Standoff, the tragedy of the Oklahoma City Bombings, and the election of Pope Benedict XVI. Just to name a few.
Other baby girls born that year? Kate Moss, Posh Spice, Alanis Morrissette, Jenna Jameson, Natasha Henstridge, and Andrea Corr. Good heavens.
The boys? Steve Nash, Derek Jeter, Jose Vidro, Tim Henman, and Leonardo DiCaprio.
I don’t think I have anything in common with any of those people. I’ve certainly never dated Gisele Bundchen.
I have a BA in English and Political Science, partly because I meant to go to law school, but mostly because both subjects allowed me to be incredibly vague and meandering.
I’ve worked as a nanny, a barista, a camp counselor, a program director, an election official, and a freelance writer. Now I write a lot of different things for a living. Most of which you likely have not read — and if you have, you probably don’t know I wrote it. I’m okay with that.
I’ve never: been on a reality show; thrown a firecracker at anyone; been arrested; thrown a fit at anyone in customer service; caused a car accident; written a book; or killed a man just to watch him die.
I spend way too much money on organic ANYTHING, and would rather be outside, given the option. Unless there are bees. Granted, bees are organic, too… but you have to draw the line somewhere.
I have: jumped off a cliff; been suspended from a bible school; eaten a spider; thrown a javelin into the sidelines of a track meet by accident; and consumed 35 shots of espresso in one day.
I have taught: windsurfing; snorkeling; basic grammar; kindergarten art; and how to administer epinephrine to a navel orange.
I am: in a relationship with the world’s most patient man; klutzy; emphatic; email-addicted; a hand-talker; prone to wheezing laughter; and vehemently opposed to a lack of cowbell.
I know how to: make a really good pie; grill the tastiest lemon chicken known to man; swear in eight languages; convince almost any baby to stop crying; break multiple bones (of my own) in a single mishap; and do convincing accents over the phone, if need be.
I refuse to: call any man “Daddy” except my father; cheer for the Broncos or the Cowboys; eat anything banana-flavoured that isn’t a banana; wear pants with more than three zippers; run naked through the streets of Bountiful, Utah; or put on shoes unless I have to.
I might try to: write a novel; go kiteboarding; live in Prague, appear on a billboard in Times Square; buy a pair of shoes I actually like; and stop doing that weird thing with my nose. Or not. Anything is possible (though I don’t see my nose changing anytime soon.)
I’m better at laughing than crying. Logical, abstract, measured, and messy, all at once.
I probably like hockey more than you do.
I love my mom and dad.
This blog isn’t about anything; it just is.
As soon as it manages to be about something, I’ll let you know.
