Photoshop Class Creations.

For the Spring 2018 semester, I took a Photoshop class because I like taking 15 credit hour semesters and I'm glutton for punishment.  Honestly, overall, I hate the class.  The instructor was extremely subjective in his grading, there were no project requirement specifically defined (as in, check these boxes to get the best grade), and instruction was mostly the instructor posting YouTube tutorials to the class forum and telling us to have at it.  He would occasionally make comments about work he'd see us doing or try to answer questions that students had (which he often couldn't answer because the tutorials he posted wasn't the way he would have completed the assignment himself).

First we learned to correct photos. 

From this....

To this...

 

Then we correct 5 of our own photos.

Next up, we did panoramics.  Fortunately, I have been shooting for panormas for many, many years, so I was prepared.

Then we did double exposure images.

Our next project was cinemagraphs.. aka GIFS BITCHES.

Our final project was a movie poster for a movie that didn't exist.  I had super beginners constipation on this project for about a week before I finally had a break through on how to incorporate "all" the elements that we had learned in class to the poster on a level that was something I could actually do after the instructor used a Lord of the Rings as an example of what we should aim for....

PS.  The incorrect grammar was purposeful.  Teh German helped me come up with the tagline and he got bonus points for it being OUR "saying" (aka, the quote that was our cake topper).  THIS IS the original, so yes, it has "Teh Megan" and "Teh German" as our names.  #NotSorry

If you can name those skylines, I'll send you a small present!  But you have to name BOTH skylines correctly to win. 



And now, you're reading the worst of an official Photoshop "master" hahahahahaha.

Once, I drove a van into a house.

I've referred to this event a few times and I will finally tell you all about it.  So grab your popcorn and take a seat because in true Teh Megan form, this story is riiiiiiidiculous.  I collaborated with Teh Sister to provide you the complete story.  I'm sure Teh Mom's version would be slightly less hilarious in a OMG-my-kids-are-going-to-die-maybe type way.

So back in the day, Teh Mom, Teh Sister, and I lived in a house we called The Box. 

The Box was this older house that originally didn't even have a bathroom, they had to add it on later.  It was the first place we lived after my parents separated.  It would have been a perfect house for a newly married couple, but it was cramped with Teh Mom, kid Teh Sister, and teenage Teh Megan.  We called it The Box because without the bathroom, it was a perfect square. 

During the summer, sometimes Teh Sister and I went into work with Teh Mom, who's job was to coordinate volunteer activities for juveniles and deliver them these places to complete their court mandated community service.  We were returning home after one of these sessions when the van incident took place.


Almost the same as Teh Mom's work van.. it's just missing the side stickers.



The driveway to the box was downhill, then it leveled out where Teh Mom parked Teh Ghetto Mobile and her work van, a Ford Aerostar.  On this day, Teh Ghetto Mobile was somewhere else for some reason, prob getting maintenance or something, idk, I was teenager and didn't care.  Ghetto wasn't my favorite mode of transportation.  Ghetto wasn't anyone's favorite method of transportation.

  

On this particular day, Teh Mom decided to check the mail before going home, so she parked the van at the top of the hill and got out to check the mail. When she returned to the van a few seconds later, I looked over at her and she had this HUGE bug on her shirt. I screamed and pointed it out to her and she set down the mail (Teh Sister: There was no putting or placing the mail down she threw that shit everywhere which is why she had a few pieces in her hand when coming down the driveway) and backed up and started brushing the bug off her chest.

Teh Sister: I am not sure that I would call it brushing her shirt.. more of really BAD white girl break dancing almost... and her screaming GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!!

At which point, Teh Mom started moving backwards...  Which was actually the entire van moving forward.

Yeah, apparently the van wasn't as serious about being in "park" as we were.  The van started rolling down the hill with the driver door open and NO DRIVER IN THE DRIVER'S SEAT. I was in the passenger seat and Teh Sister was laying on the middle row of seats taking a nap. She wasn't asleep for very long. (Teh Sister: I was actually awake when mom checked the mail and you screamed about the bug.) As we start to pick up speed, I knew it was on me to decide our destiny.

Teh Sister: You also left out the part of mom yelling, “Where are you going? Wait for me!” as we were rolling away... as if we had the choice of our final destination.

We had 3 options. Keep going straight down the driveway and we'd run into a field and hit a pregnant cow. If I veered us to the right, we'd hit a tree head on (and at a pretty good speed since we were going downhill). If I veered us to the left, we'd hit the big ditch and stop.

Now, please consider these facts, Gentle Readers:
-I was maybe 14.5.
-I was unlicensed.
-I was IN THE PASSENGER SEAT.
-I was buckled up.
-The emergency brake was a floor push one, so it wasn't easily accessible.
-I had just read Hatchet where the kid rips out his finger nails trying to unbuckle himself when the plane crashed and the concept of the pain while reading it was enough to make me quiver, so the option to unbuckle handicapped me.
-Normally in a situation like this, I'd have just frozen completely and been unable to act at all.
-We weren't slowly rolling down the hill. No, no. We were FLYING down the hill, so I had to make a quick decision.

Teh Sister: You left out: Your yelling, “[Teh Sister] we cannot hit the cow that will be too big of a mess.”  And I asked about the flower bed, you said, “No, Mom would be upset.”
(Me: I don’t recall this conversation about the flower bed happening, but if you say so.)

I decided to go for the ditch. Then I wouldn't hurt the neighbor's cow and I wouldn't get my legs crushed from taking on a tree.

Teh Sister: You decided the ditch, yelled, “Hang on for your life..” bam ditch

I turned the steering wheel to the left a bit and we left the road and started the bumpy ride of going down into the ditch. We hit the ditch.. and we did.not.stop. That was not the plan. At that point, I was at a loss and just held the steering wheel to have something to hang on to. At some point, there was a screeching registering in my brain. I was later informed that screeching had been occurring the entire time the van was rolling down the driveway driverless, it was Teh Mom screaming, "HIT THE BRAKES!! HIT THE BRAKES!!!"

Once we hit the ditch, we popped right out of it and continued going. I was just hanging on to the steering wheel when the van rolled right up the front steps to the house and stopped when it slammed into the house. I don't remember hitting myself on anything, just being jiggled around a lot. Teh Sister and I had been buckled in, which probably saved us from demise. Teh Sister definitely woke up from her nap.

Teh Sister: You yelled, “OH SHIT WE ARE STILL GOING WHAT DO WE DO?” and I said, “ooh Hello house!  (Pause, crash)  Well that was the fastest way up the stairs everrrrrr.”

I just stayed in the van when we stopped. I wasn't sure what to do next. The nose of the van was in our living room. That was my fault. Oops. I was a clumsy kid, but this was probably going to piss someone off. Teh Mom was quickly at the scene after we stopped. She opened the doors and pulled us out.  She wasn't wearing shoes, she told me later she had ran out of them (they were slip-ons).  I think she might have had to unbuckle me, because I'd finally frozen up and wasn't functioning. She sat me down in a lawn chair (that I'd missed) and got Teh Sister out of the back of the van.

Teh Sister: Mom got us out of the van and you said, “OOPS.” and I said, “Well would you look at that.”

Apparently, all the people at the store at the top of the hill had gotten to witness the commotion since Teh Mom was screaming, "HIT THE BRAKES!!" people started to come to the edge of the hill to see what was happening. Someone had called emergency services that eventually showed up. It wasn't until the tow truck arrived that they moved the gear shifter from park to neutral so they could pull the van off the porch.

Eventually, they removed the van from the house and they covered the gaping hole with a tarp to keep out the weather until it could be repaired. Classy.

Teh Sister: After it was over and we could see the hole you and I sang Wide Open Spaces.

Later, Teh Mom inquired why I didn't just steer the van into the flower garden, since the soil was soft, we would have just sank right in.  With no hesistation I explained, "It wasn't a possibilty.  You had always told me to stay out of your flower bed.  I was just following the rules."  She was speechless.



And that, Gentle Readers, is the story of when I ran a van into a house.
/bow.


 

The Box no longer exists because it burnt to the ground (several years after we'd moved out).



Ways my parents scarred me... FOR LIFE.. 3

So, at some point, we've all had to loose those baby teeth... so this story applies to all the Gentle Readers.

I hated loosing teeth.  Loathed it.  The tooth would wiggle and wiggle and wiggle and the pain of actually removing it and the blood just made me dread the entire process.  THEN, there'd be a very non-cute hole in my mouth for an undetermined amount of time.  Just a dreadful process all around.

Teh Parents, particularly Teh Dad, were always bubbling reservoirs of suggestions on how to get those stubborn teeth out.

Of course the first suggestion was tie a string to it an pull.  Which NEVER worked.
Then there was more wiggling the tooth.
Then there was yanking.
Then there was letting someone else pull the string or yank it.
Then there was eating hard foods (apples, carrots).
Then there was chewing gum.

Apparently, I had the world's most stubborn teeth.  So Teh Dad suggested on a really loose tooth that we take a string and tie it around the tooth and then tie the other end of the string to a door knob so that the door being pushed shut would pull the tooth out. 

You remember being a kid and being like, "Ok, well Dad said it was a good idea, so why not?"  Yeah, that was dumb.  I'm not sure how this parent approach works so well since kids are generally smart, but yeah, it still works.

So, of course, I let Teh Dad tie my tooth up and then tie the string to the door knob.  And I'm already nervous and uncomfortable, but add to that looking completely ridiculous standing on the back porch with the door open, bent over (since the string wasn't long enough to reach the knob when I was standing), and trying to talk (because Kid Teh Megan rarely ever shut up). 

Teh Dad asked me if I was ready and I kept saying no.  Who is EVER ready to have a door slam yank a tooth out of your mouth?  Truly?  No one.  Eventually, I gave a not-at-all-confident, extremely weak, yes.  He gave the door a push.. and my face just went with the door.  Yeah, not ready.  I didn't actually hit the wall with my head, so there was that positive.

Teh Dad grilled me again, "You have to stand still for this to work!  Are you ready?"  At this point, I'm just tired.  I think that's actually how this trick is supposed to work, the kid gets tired, and gives up fighting, mean while, the parent has been thoroughly amused the entire time.

I'm still tied to the door knob and hunched over, so I backed up and Teh Dad made me step back 2 extra steps as he opened the door.  Scared I'm going to loose more than one tooth, but exhausted at this entire situation over pulling a stupid tooth, I decide I'm just going to stand there.  Teh Dad asks if I'm ready, and I just shrug.

"1... 2.... 3!"  And again, I move with the door, because no sane person uses a door to pull their tooth out!  Tired and frustrated I tell Teh Dad that I give up, I'll just keep wiggling it until it falls out.  He somehow manages to talk me into "just one more time..." at least 3 more times.  Each time, I move with the closing door.

Extremely tired, extremely irritated, and extremely sore from bending over all this time, I tell him that its the last time.  I can only imagine the joy Teh Mom was getting from hearing the door slam over and over.  The mabillionth final door slam happened and I actually stayed put in my hunched over state and despite the door slam and the string.. I was still attached to the door knob and there was still an attached tooth in my mouth.

I gave up at that point.  There was no getting this tooth out.  I'd just be miserable.  I made Teh Dad untie me and went inside, wiggling my even looser tooth with my tongue.

I didn't even realize I had a perm this young.
Teh Parents = Awesome.

We might have forgotten it was school picture day....

PS. Before the night was over the damn tooth finally came out.  Uggggghhhhh.


Even more scarring than the door slamming experience?
Teh Dad still has all our baby teeth.  I've already expressed to him how excited I am for him to die so I can go through all his stuff and find some creepy ass teeth.......  NOT.

ANDDDD not only does he have mine and Teh Sister's teeth, he also has his own!  ANDDDD he would have asked for the tooth that was removed prior to my braces, "but the dentist shattered it to pieces trying to get it out, so I didn't bother."  I can't even make this stuff up, Gentle Readers.

You are welcome.

18 May: Owning the World.

Day 18, Saturday: Tell a story from your childhood. Dig deep and try to be descriptive about what you remember and how you felt.

It was the middle of summer.  Days were long, so it wasn't dark after dinner, so we got to go back outside and play.  We all met up behind the garage, figuring out what we were going to do until our parents started calling us in, set by set.  The world was at our fingertips.  The lightening bugs glowed in the dusk, the smell of fresh cut grass permeated the air.  We whispered like someone might catch us and ruin our fun.

We decided that we were going to play hide and seek.  We left someone to count and we all scattered off in pairs in different directions.  We had a hard time keeping our whispers and giggles down.  My sister ran off with a cousin to someone else's house.  My neighbor and I ran off to our fort in the woods.  We could still hear Charlie counting, loudly, so we could all hear from far away.  There was no limit to how far we could go.  Down to the barn, up to the fields, in the woods, to someone's house, even in the garage where all the big dump trucks were kept.  The world was our playground, the katydids and crickets played a concert for us.

The smell of earth and leaves enveloped us as we ran to the fort, hearing Charlie finish his count down from 100.  We were out of breath as we hopped over the back logs and landed on our butts in the freshly dug earth.  We had just finished clearing out the dead leaves earlier that day.  We wanted our fort to be clean.  Our 3 fallen trees that made 3 sides of a square were perfect.  We just needed to find another tree that we could drag to finish the square.  Another day.

We waited for the sound of crunching leaves and sticks.  Nothing.  We heard shrieks of cousins being found.  That urge to pee came and went, came and went.  I always had to pee when I hid.  It was like contagious yawning, it always happened.  Then we heard a crunch, over the sound of the giggles from far away, over the katydids, over the sounds of the neighboring houses finishing up dinner and preparing to end the day.  There were more crunches and we could hear whispers.  We crouched down in the fort, behind the biggest log.  There wasn't enough light in the woods to see who was coming, but we knew.  We didn't want to be caught, so we held our breaths until the anxiety was almost unbearable.  Our eyes shone as the moon started to illuminate patches between the trees.  We whispered our plan.  Do we make a run for it?  Do we scare whoever it is?  Do we stay and just be caught?

The crunches stopped.  There was chatter and we identified who it was.  The babies of the group.  Immediately we knew what our plan was.  The crunching footsteps continued, getting louder and louder.  Coupled with the huffs and puffs of small children making it uphill in the dark.  They knew they were going to the fort.  We stayed hidden behind the largest log, barely peeping our heads over to watch their approach.  The urge to pee was almost unbearable.

Then we heard the sound of freedom ending.  The sound of an adult from the back porch, summoning their children home.  We heard the yelled responses of the 2 crunchers trudging up the hill, "COMING!"  Yet, they continued their ascent.  The game wasn't over until everyone was caught.  They were almost upon the fort when my neighbor patted my arm.  I looked at her and she nudged her head towards them.  I nodded and released my breath.  I held up my hand, dark against the night, and counted 1... 2.... 3.......

We jumped up with a scream, shattering the silence!
Our scream was echoed by the screams of the 2 making their way up to the fort.
We all doubled over in giggles, quickly jumping into the fort, to hide ourselves.  We still had yet to be caught.

Our whispers turned to chatter and our chatter gave us away.  Soon the seeker and his found companions made their way to the fort.  We heard them coming the same way we'd heard the other 2 approach.  Crunchily, with uneven breaths.  We let them find us.  It was dark and more parents had come out to give the signal yell, "COME HOME!"  We all made our way back to the light, filling the night with chatter and laughter, adding to the song of the katydids and crickets.  From our starting point, we all split up and went in our own direction towards home.

We arrived home with breathless excitement over how fun our game had been, at the exhilaration of being out past normal hours, at the freedom we were allowed.  One by one, the porch lights turned off as each child returned home.

That night was the last night we got to stay out past dark.  That night was the loudest the katydids ever were.  That night the grass smelled the sweetest.  There was nothing we couldn't do.

Ways my parents scarred me... FOR LIFE.. 1

It's a holiday in America (Labor Day (for all the other days we labor, ya know?)) and so I'm sitting here enjoying a morning bowl of cereal and I'm almost done and I question myself, "Have you been slurping from your spoon?"

Seriously, who questions themselves with such weird shit?  Also, you might be curious why I would even bother to question myself like that since 1) I live alone, kinda 2) I know the dog doesn't care 3) I don't care.

Let me tell you Gentle Readers, let me tell you.

After my parents split up, I lived with Teh Dad for a few years.  Till we had a big fight and I was like, I QUIT! and moved to Teh Mom's where I wanted to quit even more, but college wasn't coming soon enough, so I just stuck it out.  DRAMAAAA!

Anyways, living with Teh Dad.  I'm not even sure what we were doing but either I was on the computer (hrm, not much has changed since 8th grade (when we got the computer), at least I'm consistent) and he was in the living room watching TV or we were both watching TV (which I think is what was going on).  I had a bowl of  Frosted Mini Wheat that I was really enjoying.  Sometimes, cereal is really just a simple pleasure for me.

We were doing whatever it was, then Teh Dad scared the bejesus out of me with, "WOULD YOU STOP SLURPING??"

Not only did I spill some milk because he scared me and I jumped out of my skin, but I had no idea what he was talking about.  So I gave him the deer-in-headlights look and continued eating my cereal.

Again, "Stop slurping!"  Again, deer-in-headlights.

So now, I'm trying to listen to myself eat my cereal, but I was really distracted by something (which is what makes me think that we were watching TV, since I can't focus on literally anything else when I'm watching TV).  I can't hear what he's talking about.  Cereal doesn't make a loud noise (unless its Rice Krispies) like potato chips, and I'm always conscious of how loud potato chips are.  Nothing.  I couldn't figure out what he was talking about.

Another bite.  I'm pretty sure Teh Dad growled at me.  I looked at him and finally said, "I have no idea what you're talking about.  I'm listening and I'm not hearing anything."

Teh Dad responded, "Every time you take a bite, you slurp the milk out of the spoon!  It's driving me crazy!  Take smaller bites or something."

I tried.  I tried 1 mini wheat at a time on my spoon.  He still was glaring at me with flames in his eyes.

It took me two or three more bites to finally hear what he was talking about.  I'm a spoon slurper.  It's the truth.  Since I was 15, I've been extremely conscious of my spoon slurping.  I'm scarred for life, y'all.

Worst part is, I'm still a spoon slurper.  Apparently, spoons are very hard for me to eat from without making noise... FOREVER.


Let it not ever be said that I'm above blackmail.

This is Teh Dad.  I was visiting NC and he found my phone and figured out how to use the camera (I thought old people were supposed to be bad at technology??), effectively draining the battery so my phone died within a few hours of his glamour shots session.

Yeah, now he knows that no photos are safe.  This is payback for killing my battery that day.  Payback for scarring me for life has yet to begin.  I haven't been able to eat from a spoon since I was 15 without listening if I'm slurping...  payback for something like that has to be substantial.

PS.  This is the same man who claims to be half deaf in one ear and can't hear me when I'm right beside him..  but he heard me slurping from a spoon across the room.  Riiiiiiiight.

What I learned this week..

Growing up, my family almost always sat at the dining room table for dinner/supper/the last meal of the day.  Rarely were we ever caught in front of the tv at dinner time.  The tv was turned off and everyone (that was home) came to the table to eat.  The radio was almost always turned off.  There were no elbows allowed on the table (Teh Sister's rule), there was no talking with your mouth full (my rule), no singing (or humming or anything musically related) allowed at the table (Teh Mom's rule), and no reading at the table (Teh Mom's rule).  There might have been other rules, but I've probably blocked them out.  We weren't allowed to eat in our bedrooms either.

Since we had such strict guidelines to follow at dinner, all that was left to do at the table was to talk to each other (which was hard to do with your mouth full of food).  So Teh Mom started this thing where she'd ask us about our day.  It was a series of questions that everyone had to answer.  Everyone.  Even the friend that spend the night, the friend who lived with us for the summer, no one was exempt, including Teh Parents.

The questions were:

1.  What was the best part of your day?

2.  What was the worst part of your day?

3.  What did you learn today?

(this is usually as far as we got)

4.  Something that made you sad today?

I think once or twice we got past 4 questions each.  I don't recall what the other questions were though.

And each person had to answer each questions before we could move on to the next question.  Being skipped wasn't an option.  We waited until you thought of something good that happened to you that day, even if you had the shittiest day ever.

So questions 1 and 2 were the easy questions.  Question 3 was only difficult for Teh Parents who weren't in school having to learn stuff.  Rarely did we get to question 4, but it was usually pretty easy too.

What does any of this have to do with anything?  I'll tell you, Gentle Reader, I'll tell you.

This week, I learned something.  Actually, this week I learned several somethings.  It was pretty awesome.

When I went to Worldwide Jesus Lover's wedding (WwJL) (omg) 2 weeks ago, I felt like I might have been putting the paid for photographer out.  I was there beside her for all the standard shots (except for the ones I was in).  I even let her take my "good angle/spot" a few times.  I took over 350 photos, which isn't a lot, except for the fact that, I was in the wedding.  

I don't consider myself a pro photographer.  I'm often really lucky and wind up at least a few awesome shots.  Often, I try to put some thought into my photography like, is the lighting good on this, do I need a faster shutter speed, etc?  But mostly its acquire target, point, focus, shoot.  Whatever happens, happens.  And I'll take 10 photos of the same thing just to make sure I "got it right".  

I started out shooting flowers.  Which is where my love of macro photography blossomed.  I bought my DSLR with my bonus money from the Navy while I was in GTMO.  Most of my friends in GTMO were actually Public Affairs guys and gals who did the camera/video camera/journalism thing for the Army or Navy, they were trained in the ways of being awesome (as far as I know).  They knew Adobe Suite and Final Cut Pro and whatever else they used to make the media happen on the island.  I had a basic understanding of Final Cut Pro and video cameras from my bachelor's degree, but that knowledge faded quickly.

Way back when, while I was still in college (sooo long ago), Teh BFF needed Adobe Suite for her degree program.  I'd wanted to buy it, but I wasn't interested in paying $600 for it, because even with the student discount, that was about $600 more than I could afford.  Then I had a good idea.  Teh BFF and I could split the cost!  $300 each wasn't nearly as painful as $600.  So, I bought the license from NCSU bookstore and I installed the program on my computer and mailed Teh BFF the discs so she could install it on her computer.  We were badasses with our CS2?  CS3.  I don't even remember now.

I originally got it for the video editing software, but Photoshop was also a pretty common word being tossed around by that point.  I knew Photoshop could do awesome things, but I didn't know how to make it do those awesome things.  The most masterful thing I could do in Photoshop was take away zits, and even that was a long time to learn.  Photoshop just overwhelmed me.  I never tried to learn much about it other than how to use the RAW editor once I got my DSLR.

Well, this week, Gentle Readers, I popped a few of my Adobe cherries.  I learned how to make a graphic to use as my signature for the GEGR forums.  I downloaded Lightroom (as a 30 day trial) and used it to edit most of the photos from WwJL's wedding.  I popped a few photos into Photoshop to do some fancy stuff, like focus the subjects and blur the background.  

Lightroom has been a challenge to learn because, while I've used Photoshop before (at least in minimal ways)...  I've never used Lightroom before now.  But now that I've removed the red eye from over 300 photos, I probably wouldn't have ever gotten through all the photos if I had to use Photoshop.  I would have selected what I thought were the best photos and fixed those and sent a whole bunch of red eyed photos to WwJL and said, "Have fun fixing all your red eyes, Demon!"  (Demon is the new nickname she acquired due to the fact that she was the person with red eye in almost every single photo.  And considering she was the bride, she was in almost every. single. photo.)

So today I learned that with the internet, I can learn Photoshop and Lightroom, with just a few simple google searches.  And to the Adobe elitists who reamed the poor guy who asked how to save his RAW files as JPEGs from Lightroom..  you're all jerks and you don't know anything about being a good friend!  Export is how you save as JPEGs in Lightroom.  Although if you're reading this, you probably a) don't care, or b) already know.

This original image included fly away hairs and bobby pins!  But no more!  

1. The Story of My Most Serious Injury

I was a tom boy growing up.  I did the same things the boys did, except for standing up to pee.  I got the same brier scratches on my legs and arms, mosquito bites from endless hours outside during the summer, I got to build forts and make paths through the brush with tree clippers, I got to play in the creek, I got to listen to the boys cuss while the girls weren't allowed, I got to sweat my ass off while the boys got to take off their shirts (I got caught the one time I took my shirt off because I was hot and got yelled at for it).  I semi-endured them making fun of me because I was a girl and because I was left handed, until I decided that I'd had enough and was going home, so they couldn't ball anymore because you needed more than 2 people to play (and they probably don't remember that, but I do).

For the most part, I had little fear.  Some would have even called me fearless when it came to doing certain things.  Except if Teh Mom told me there was a fire and I needed to put on pants... then I just freak out and stand there, and when I do decide to put on clothes, I put on Teh Mom's pants.  True story.

Teh Megan, Doug, and Teh Sister

When I was in the 6th grade, we got an exchange student, through church.  His name was Doug.  He was from Brazil.  He was pretty cool, but he called Teh Mom a punta (bitch) once in Portuguese and some how she ended up finding out what it meant AND talking to his mom the same day.  He wore a ridiculous amount of Calvin Klein Eternity, especially when he woke up late and didn't have time to shower because I was already in it, stealing all the hot water.  He didn't like to put his clothes in the hamper, which meant that he often wore dirty clothes.  He was used to having a maid at home, and well, we didn't have one of those.  He loved cheesy rice, and we could go through a block of Velveeta cheese in about a week.  He also love lee-mon juice, or lime juice.  He didn't really have a preference.  He introduced me to Roxette and what a discman was (its a portable cd player for those of you who have only ever had an ipod).  Doug also knew either Jiu-Jitsu or Capoeira, not sure which it was.

One day, Doug was tasked with raking the leaves in the yard.  It wasn't something he really wanted to do, so he bitched and complained and eventually went outside to do it.  Eventually, it was almost dinner time, so Teh Mom sent me outside to tell Doug it was time to come in.  He had done most of the raking and was in the lower part of the yard, where he didn't have to rake, making a pile.  I yelled for him, and he didn't hear me, so I walked down to where he was.  He didn't hear me come up to him because he was listening to his discman, so I ran up and pretend I was going to jump in his pile.

Doug:  Meg-ann, NOOOOO!
Me: I was just kidding, its time for supper.
Doug:  Ok.

I was standing there, waiting on him, so we could walk back to the house together and he started doing martial arts moves with the rake.  He had just been going side to side, and I was feeling particularly fearless that day, so I stepped up to him... as he brought the rake down in front of him...  hitting me on the head/upper forehead.  I said, OWW! and put my hand up to my forehead and started walking back to the house.

Then Doug started chasing me.  "Meg-ann, stop!  Stop!"
Me: Stop chasing me, Doug, I'm going inside.
Doug: I'm sorry, Meg-ann, stop.  Come back.
Me: DOUG, STOP CHASING ME!

By this point I had almost reached the house, but since he was bigger than me, he'd caught up with me.  He grabbed my arm, and pulled my hand away from my head...  There was blood.  I screamed.  Teh Mom and Dad came running outside, because it was that scream.

Doug started trying to explain what happened, at the same time, I'm trying to explain that it doesn't hurt that I just want to go inside and I wanted Doug to stop chasing me.
Doug: I was only chasing her because she was bleeding, it was an accident, I didn't mean to hit her, I didn't know she was going to step up.
Me: I'm hungry.

Then Teh parents got to have the great debate over if I had to go to the ER or not.  Teh Dad said no, I'd be fine.  Teh Mom said, yes, she is going, otherwise she'll have a huge scar on her head.  Teh Mom won out.  I was still starving and Teh Dad brought me to the ER.  I ended up with a tetnus shot, 2 stitches in my head, some bootie things to go over my shoes, and a huge blue bowl that we later used to soak laundry in..  AND I got to ride back to the car in a wheelchair.

Doug felt pretty bad.  I told him not to worry about it, it was my fault for stepping up while he was swinging around a rake, which he probably shouldn't have been doing.

Sometimes, the scar (but not as big as it could have been, says Teh Mom) itches.  I've still never seen the damn thing, and Teh Mom always has to show me where its at.  I can sometimes feel out where it is, but I can't point it out in a photo.

The estimated location of scar, which I'm determining from the lack of hair in that area, don't judge the face I'm making.

The only other more serious injury than this was when I fractured the growth plate in my left wrist, but its definitely not as fun to tell...  Which was yet another time that Teh Mom won me going to the doc over Teh Dad's not going to the doc...



 

Bert & Ernie

Old School Muppets!
(http://muppet.wikia.com/wiki/Sesame_Street)

I am an 80s baby.  And for a majority of my childhood, I watched Sesame Street religiously.  If I didn't already know a fairly well sized vocabularly, how to count, the ability do some complex math, and had more interest in currently popular people, I'd probably still watch it... and if being overseas didn't interfere.  You have the humans and the muppets, crazy world, but Jim Henson was a master.  

Eventually, Teh Sister became old enough to voice her television preferences which meant that we always had to watch Barney (UGH), in addition to Sesame Street, which she barely tolerated (meaning if I hadn't already established such a strong relationship to Sesame Street, Teh Mom probably would have made me change the channel to something Teh Sister liked, because thats how our house rolled.  Being the oldest child had no little value).  Big Bird just wasn't purple enough for her, I guess?  She might argue that she didn't dislike Sesame Street, but the truth is, in her world, Barney > Sesame Street.  She dropped a few coolness levels over that.

Hurh? (Google Images)

Fast forward to recently.  I was reading my Google Reader feed (God bless it and the person that introduced it to me and saved The Nuggets) and someone commented somewhere that maybe Bert and Ernie really weren't gay.  WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!?!  Gay?  Since when were Bert and Ernie gay?  They are non-sexual muppets, how the hell would the be gay?  Why would that even matter?  

My core was shaken.  Bert and Ernie were only my favorite characters on Sesame Street..  They were brothers, not gay.  For a quarter of a century, I have believed, in FULL faith, that Bert and Ernie were brothers.  I mean, why else would Bert tolerate Ernie?  Family does that, duh.  In the same way I tolerated Barney, and the 2nd Titanic VHS, then the 1st Titanic VHS, and Erin Brockavich, and a plethora of Disney movies (that I can pretty much repeat word for word).  And why, oh why, would Ernie ever tolerate Bert?  Family does that, duh.  In the same way Teh Sister tolerated it when I would say, "No, it has to be this way," then let out a long sigh as she would run to Teh Mom because she wasn't getting her way.  Siiiiigh.  

In my child-mind, people that lived together were family.  And in my adult-mind, I still see it the same.  When I lived with Teh BFF, we were like sisters.  We were like sisters before moving in together and even still now that I'm far, far away, and sisters are family.. ask Teh Sister who always got her way..

Need the Count here to make zombies, then we're set.

Maybe it was because I was young and naive that I had no figment of thought about Bert and Ernie being gay or even just roommates.  In my unquestioned, unwaivering, childhood oblivion, I was satisfied with the way I had constructed things in my mind.  But in that same light, I didn't completely understand the term girl-on-girl until at least halfway through the 7th grade, although I'd heard in 6th grade when people were talking about the gym teacher being a lesbian (not really sure on that, but she did have a crazy bleached blond mullet with a wave in the back, woah).  I thought it was a cool term for something I had no idea about, so I didn't question it as being a "bad" thing.  I understood that they were making fun of her for it, but middle schoolers are ruthless, and I didn't want to be involved, nor did I know what it meant, so I was even less inclined to participate.  I didn't really understand until at least high school when guys were calling each other "fags" (not to be confused with a cigarette in the UK) and the other would take offense to it, or that there was even an alternative to being heterosexual (or "normal" in my mind).

Never would I have associated or connected something so deeply rooted in my childhood, like Sesame Street, to projecting an agenda.  An entire Communication Media bachelor's later, I see that maybe I was blind, which is a fair argument for a child.  I realize now a lot of things in the media, especially towards children are subtle.  "Normal" relationships being a very prominent one.  

I can turn on the tv (in anywhere other than Arabia) and see 2 people of the same sex kissing, or even goin' at it (hello, Rome?  Spartacus?  porn?)  Pretty sure the first time Teh Mom saw Scotty and Kevin kiss on Brothers & Sisters her comment was, with full disdain dripping from her voice, "That. Is. Disgusting."  Yet, she didn't get up and walk away... that time.  I wanted to question if it would be just as disgusting if it was 2 women, and I'm sure she would have said yes, if for no other reason than principle alone. 

In reality though, the idea of 2 men kissing is more disgusting to us than 2 women kissing.  For 2 women, its sexy, hot, erotic, teasing.. no matter who you are, when you see 2 women kiss on screen, you're "supposed to think" that you should be one of them.  For 2 men, it usually looks (imo) awkward and maybe sometimes even clumsy, but rarely ever suave and sexy..  Never have I watched anything where 2 men kissed that I wanted to partake in.. unless they turned out to be straight, but then why would they be kissing?  Soooo complicated!  But in the end, what's the difference in who's doing the kissing?

Off my soapbox, about gays kissing on TV and more about Bert & Ernie not being gay, although who cares if they are?  Does the fact that they've been "roommates" for 30+ years make them any more gay than it makes Big Bird homeless for living in a nest (substitute a cardboard box for a better image) in an alley off the street?  Better yet, instead of Big Bird, how about Oscar the Grouch.. he lives in a trash can.  Thats like sleepin' in a dumpster in my book.  Its an imaginary world, where reality is left to the person constructing it, however they please (that I just wrote an entire blog about and loved every minute of it).  For me, as a child, that was as siblings.  

This is Bert & Ernie clip is definitely something that siblings do to each other....  You probably wouldn't be roommates or lovers for very long if your partner/partner in crime did this often....  Example: Teh Sister has some vivid memories of me locking her out of the house, but she really likes the one where she locked me out the best.

Bottom line: Do I think that Bert and Ernie are gay?  No, I still maintain they are brothers.  Some might argue that they don't look alike, but siblings are like that sometimes, and they are freakin' muppets, they don't have to look alike!  But just in case, Wikipedia says they are just roommates, a mirrored relationship that Jim Henson had while he was alive.  

And a tribute to my 2nd fav Sesame Street character, the Cookie Monster:  

If these lit up w/ blue lights, they would have
 been the the end all be all shoes!
(nicekicks.com)

<-- This Barney > this Barney -->