Keegs

Keeg$' Roundup

Okay, confession time.  A co-worker at one of the many retail outfits I shuffled around in told me that the best year of your life would be the age that corresponds with the date of your birth.  So, being born on June 25^th would ensure that my 25^th year was spectacular.  Her evidence?  She graduated from college and got married.  That’s a pretty good year.  Now, I realize the only people who are likely to believe in this insanity are those born in the last week and a half of any given month.  Who is going to say, “Yeah, two was fun.  I mean, I got teeth.  That was pretty aces.  Totally got to piss my pants all the time without judgment…yeah, looking back, I really had it all.”? 

And I think it was a good year.  This isn’t a blog where I get emotional (I have IRL 24/7 for that) so I won’t get into all the fears that I overcame, the major moves, the friendships rekindled and the happiness found.   I think the round up will speak for itself:

I purchased and managed to hold onto an iPhone, I’m using more expensive mousse (the can specifically says “ballers only”), LOST ended, I got a new, real job I enjoy and I’m off the schnapps.  (Schnappslessness is purely coincidental, even as I’m typing this I’m considering picking some up on the way home.)  I left the country.  I had my teeth cleaned once and am now officially ineligible to receive that last Gardasil shot.  I guess I’ll be 2/3 less.  Ha! Seriously though, according to research from the medical community, I am now at the age where I’m such a used-up bag of bones that I’ve statistically contracted HPV.  I experienced a salary increase of 166% and despite the fact that I was on unemployment for six months of the year, I still got a tax return.  The government paid me for the pleasure of my company this year.  Thank you, USA.  Good luck at the World Cup.   

I lived in three cities.  I spent the jobless summer wandering through the city and going to visit my partner in wandering on Martha’s Vineyard.   I learned that while I cannot tell you the time in minutes to take the ferry to the Vineyard, it’s exactly how long it takes for Ashley and I to drink two beers and for her to eat one hotdog.  I saw Madagascar 2.  I went to the Harry Potter premier, I had an iffy relationship, I volunteered at the zoo, yo-yoed on an off Diet Coke, tried shrimp, swam in the ocean, and finally FINALLY got to enjoy the wonders of a swim up bar.

The power of suggestion could make you look at any year as the best year of your life.  But overall, this one was pretty great.  

And guys…I have a 401K.      

2000 - 2009: I hope they don't serve papers in hell.

On New Year's Eve 1999, I was hanging out at a sort-of-friend's house drinking soda and waiting for Y2K to hit.  I think that friend was recently released from jail.  Word has it that she stole a pregnant woman's purse, but no one has been able to confirm or deny.  I don't remember enjoying myself a whole lot, but I'm sure I was having an okay time in an awkward, pubescent girl-with-a-boy's-haircut kind of way. 

 

In the decade since, I've graduated from the illustrious Boston College and the not-so-illustrious Everett High School.  I grew my hair out and no longer worry about being mistaken for a dude, which is what made that typographical error on my New York State ID so hurtful.  I've gone from Everett to Newton to Chestnut Hill to London to Chestnut Hill to Everett to Boston to Everett to Manhattan and finally back to Everett again.  I've also enjoyed some overnights in other cities, but a lady never passes out on your couch midway through the evening and tells.  I've loved and lost, because the phrase "loved and won" doesn't even exist.  (Deep.)  I eat 1000% more foods now, including many things that reside in the ocean.  On a related note, I developed a fear of the ocean so deep that I have trouble looking at PAINTINGS of water.  Looking at the blue part of a Google map gives me the heebie jeebies.  This is becoming crippling and I'm only 25.  By the time I'm 33 I'm going to have to move to a land-locked state and get one of those showers without a bathtub. 

 

I got to travel a lot this decade.  I highly recommend Mexico City and Santorini.  I do not recommend Prague, unless you want to get into a screaming match with some gypsies.  Which, hey, live your life.  I watched a lot of television, but I also left my house.  All in all, good times.

When I think about the decade ahead, I immediately cross my legs and check for crows feet.  By 2020, I could be a MOTHER.  I mean, if it's going to happen it's probably going to happen in the twenty-tens.  I wonder if your biological clock stops ticking once you actually give birth.  Can you imagine?  Lying there in that hospital with a screaming baby, a butchered abdomen (or WORSE) and then, what?  My clock effing broke?  Of course, this is all assuming that biological clocks and the clock inside the alligator in Peter Pan work in a similar, if not identical, way.

I should probably take a biology class. 

They definitely don't market to 25 year olds...I'm finally free!

I turned 25 recently.  Last birthday, I did a round up of the previous year, and I’m happy to say that I was in many ways more successful as a 24 year old.

I’m up one cellular phone (found one that I lost the prior year), same amount of mousse, 1 Twilight ending, 2 jobs, and undetermined bottles of peppermint schnapps.  I haven’t left the country.  I had 2 teeth cleanings, 1 physical and 2 of the 3 doses of Guardasil before I lost my insurance.   (I guess I’ll be the One More.)  I experienced a salary increase of 36% and a subsequent 58% decrease when I became a victim of the economy.  Luckily, I remained cracker-jack with percentages and fractions. 

I’ve lived in 3 cities and 2 states.  I’ve seen more episodes of Ellen’s talk show and been to more blackout brunches than any other year.  Subsequently, I’ve had some pretty weird booze-fueled dreams about Ellen during afternoon naps.  I was mistaken for a man once, which hasn’t happened since junior high.  Now I rarely wear pants. 

Still no plans for retirement, but I’m thinking of sending some old earrings and Catholic knickknacks to those CASH FOR GOLD people. 

Thanks for all of the support throughout the year.  It is a great comfort that my words reach nearly a dozen people from all corners of the state of Massachusetts.  If you’re reading this, I probably love you.  I’m just too shy to say it to your face. 

25 Extremely Important Life Nuggets (The Conclusion)

14. When seated next to a man within a decade of your age on the bus, treat it like a first date
15. Always have sex on the first date
16. If you have a younger brother, I have hit on him with varying levels of success.  I apologize.  This goes double for Tess. (Big family.)
Is being a cougar just about the age of the cougar or the age difference?  If a highschooler takes a baby to prom, are they a cougar?
17. "Prosciutto is a sometimes food." - My Heart
18. I haven't put any money into an IRA or a 401K because I crunched the numbers, and I get way better returns if I have three sons and turn them into the next Hanson or Jonas Brothers.  Why play the stock market when you have a functioning uterus?
19.  I'm pretty sure "spring fever" is just a nicer way to phrase the fact that girls get sluttier when the weather forces them to shave their legs.
20. Since I started this a few months ago, I got into twitter.  These would make pretty good tweets, but potential employers/dinner dates are more likely to find me on there.  And I can't risk any possible jobs or hamburgers.
21. Follow me on twitter at @keegslouise.  It's supposed to be like "Jeez Louise!" which is what I yelled the day before when I narrowly avoided being hit by a truck.  I'm moved to curse when describing a decent episode of Samantha Who? but when faced with death, I respond like Hugh Grant in Notting Hill.
22. I woke up after a night of boozing to find I had put on a second pair or underpants.  I am really the least slutty person in the world.  I'm pretty sure doubling up your underwear is the equivalent of a medieval chastity belt.
23. I feel like Kristin and I should wear buttons that say "ASK ME ABOUT THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE!"
24. I'm not too proud to pay for candy bars with nickels from a paper cup.  No, I wasn't at a casino when this happened.
25. Whenever I drink a diet soda, I add it to the "tumor bank."  It's really morbid and has ruined some otherwise delightful beverages.

No one believed I'd make it to 25.  This is a very clever thing to say because I've both lived to 25 and completed 25 useless one liners for my thinly-read blog.

Since I won't ever be on Inside the Actors Studio...

1. What is your favorite word? Comedienne
   
2. What is your least favorite word? Slattern
   
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Hangovers and rejections...that's when I'm the most creative/funny.
   
4. What turns you off? The oldest Jonas brother.
   
5. What is your favorite curse word? Cunt...I'm taking it back like the n-word.
   
6. What sound or noise do you love? The opening of an aluminum can.  It either means beer or Diet Coke.
   
7. What sound or noise do you hate? Insects buzzing.
   
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? n/a (ha!) But, seriously, Alex Trebek is going to die eventually...
   
9. What profession would you not like to do? Someone who takes people on shark-diving expeditions.
   
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? Keegs!  You look damn good for 134!  Wasn't it rad passing away in your sleep after four orgasms and that fantastic sandwich?  Feel like a game of Scattergories?
    

Funemployment diaries...

I got laid off yesterday.  Yesternight I got rip roaringly wasted at my apartment/local Indian restaurant.  It was BYOB so I suggested we bring our vodka in an old wine bottle, tint it yellow with food coloring and then ask for soda water and ice to make "spritzers."  (I know - how could they let a thinker like me go!)  We ended up finishing it before we left the apartment.  I forgot how to use silverware, so I ate with my fingers.  Then I shoplifted eight tiny bags of kettle chips. 

It happened on Administrative Professionals/Earth day, kind of a bummer.  Suffice to say it soured me towards these holidays forever.  I am now anti-secretaries/the planet.  Should make me a lot of friends at my next job.

I plan on making the most of my paid time-off, so obviously the first thing I Googled was "When is Ellen on?"

(3:00PM)

On the walk home, I saw a woman using her dog to propel her wheelchair forward, much like a dog sled.  With ingenuity like that wandering up 14th street at 10:30 in the morning, who's going to hire me?

Things learned today: Tomato on a bagel is delicious.
Things forgot today:  What exactly I did at my old job.  Resume description is surprisingly meager considering I worked 55 hours a week.  Help?

 

Me.

Ladies Night with My Boys

Mike from my boys

Mairead and I stumbled upon "Ladies Night" at the Hop Devil Grill last night.  When I joined her outside while she smoked a cigarette, there was this guy talking on the phone.  I leaned over and said, "Mairead, this guy totally sounds like that dude from My Boys."

It was the dude from My Boys.

As he got closer, we called him over and though the event is fuzzy, the following things happened:

"I don't want to offend your coworkers, but you are like the best one.  Also Jim Gaffigan is funny."

"Do you want to take a picture with me?"  "Oh sir, we are way too low rent to own cameras."

"Do the Matthew McConaughey thing!"  (He did.)

"Mike, Mike!"  "You know, my name is Jamie."

I patted him on the arm like a nephew and wished him well.

He headed back to the bar to meet his girlfriend.  Mairead tried to follow him, but I played it cool and walked in the other direction.

This was so exciting that instead of heading home after the seven "Ladies Night" margaritas we consumed, we went out and got some more beers at another bar.  To celebrate meeting Mike from My Boys.  There was Trivial Pursuit on the table but Mairead kept getting mad that all of the questions were from the 80s.  We switched to Scrabble, but I would only spell the word tarp, and I spelled it "taup" every time, so we decided we should head home.

In short, he was really nice and clearly pleased to meet some fans.

Good to know that I am not cool with celebrities.

Kicked Out Of and/or Banned From (A Keegs Tale)

Believe it or not, they denied my application to be poster child for good behavior.  Seriously.  Check the dictionary - that's not my picture!  Here are a few of the reasons they highlighted on my rejection letter:

The Tap/Sing-A-Long

Once a week, Bostonians get to see a red-band trailer of Heaven during Sing-A-Long at The Tap.   A wonderful man takes the small stage and plays a three part set, complete with wigs and cross-dressing.  He plays songs everybody knows and the audience sings along.  I know.  And unlike at a concert, where people paid money to hear someone famous (not you), this is the entire point.  And everyone gets that point at the top of their lungs.  I don't know if they do this sort of thing anywhere else, but it is brilliant.  People get along.  Hugs are exchanged.  Drinks are paid for by strangers who want you to have the kind of good time that doesn't even require sleeping with them (usually).  It's like everyone pre-gamed with a serious dose of Care Bear Stare.

Back to the drinks.  From...uh...time to time, I overimbibe.  Sue me.  (Actually, please don't.  The damages were rather extensive and I'm pretty sure I'd be held accountable in a court of law.)  This night was one of those nights.  Luckily, it's easy to blend your drunk ass in when everyone is hugging, crying and belting out "Vaseline."   Or so you would think.  I sat (okay, okay, was placed) on a stool at a table where I quietly remained, drinking a pint of ale (ginger).  The bouncer, apparently applying the "it's always the quiet ones" school of  thought, came up to a member of my party and declared, "Yeah, you're friend's gotta go."  "Really?  This time?" she said incredulously, all too familiar with my usual antics.  "Yeah," he repeated, "But you can stay."  And so I walked the five blocks home with a pleased look on my face and bad assedness on my mind.

eBay

I started messing around on eBay during my freshman year at BC.  We would drink the vodka my roommate smuggled in via Tropicana cartons and I would bid.  And bid.  And bid.  Funny thing, that eBay, but when you win auctions they expect you to pony up the dough.  Funnier thing, once you violate their "three strikes" policy, you get a strongly written email from the team banning you from their site fo' lyf.  I'm paraphrasing here, but it went something like "If we find out you have re-joined under another account, we will break your little sister's heart, follow you around but not actually do anything just to freak you out, and show you pictures of sharks right before bed."  They were really able to glean a lot about my fears from my bidding history.

Well guess what eBay?  I'm back.  This time, with cash money in my PayPal account.  And I wish I could tell you I'm not nursing so much damage from your email that sometimes, late into the night, I read my feedback.  Here's a taste:

"A perfect ebay transaction - thank you so much!"
"Thank you for an easy, pleasant transaction. Excellent buyer. A++++++"
"perfect perfect in every way. YAY!"

I repeat, "Perfect, perfect in every way.  Yay!"  Suck it, eBay.

EHS Crimson Tide Marching Band

From 1996 - 2001, I was a member of my high school marching band.  I joined in junior high because they were rebuilding the music program and they only had about seven high schoolers who knew how to play instruments.  To put it lightly, it was absolute hell.  Practice three nights a week and football games and competitions every Saturday and Sunday for five and a half seasons.  Yes.  Half. 

I loathed everything about the band - the commitment, the futility of marching around while playing music instead of honing your craft in an orchestra setting, and especially the leadership.  I mean, it was run by a drunk asshole who wandered into the girls' cabin in his boxers at band camp.  However, I was one of only two alto saxophone players, talented, and fairly well-liked  They needed a good reason to throw me out, and I was so determined to get it on my college application that I refused to give it to them.

Hating being there and refusing to quit is pretty miserable, so I would be there as little as humanly possible.  I was also in the school's drama club (am I painting a clear enough picture of my high school self?) and when practices overlapped, my choice was obvious.  So, after six years a letter was delivered to drama practice in the auditorium from the band room down the hall informing me of my dismissal, citing "attendance issues."  What bull!  I comfort myself with the thought that they probably just didn't know how to spell "subversive anti-establishment behavior."  A battle commenced between my parents, the superintendent and the band director.  (Small school.)  They agreed to let me return, but college applications were in so I ever-so-politely declined.   

In later years, I learned that during interviews for the position of drum major, the crux question was "What would you have done about the Keegs situation?"  I cannot remember this nugget without quietly humming, "How do you solve a problem like Maria?"

Say Anything Concert

I was drunk, they were emo.  I don't really want to go into this one.  Apologies Kristin, other attendants.  

Tip O'Neill Library at Boston College

While everyone technically gets "kicked out" once they press a diploma into your shaky, hungover hands, I consider myself a special case.

Senior year of college I enjoyed a weekly nap called "Challenge of Justice."  I had to take this to fulfill my philosophy requirement, and I found Survey of Philosophy to be so boring that I couldn't handle another semester.  I honestly don't try to be disrespectful, but I have a hard time staying awake when I'm being talked at as part of a group.  I also fall asleep on public transportation, but that's a story for another day.  The professor actually emailed me suggesting coffee and asked a friend of mine in the class if I was "going through something."  Yikes.  The class could get pretty heated and at one point I awoke to a young man asking (read: shouting) that if he shot my friend with a gun, wouldn't she want people to help her?  And if so, they why wasn't she giving all of her time to charity?  (Justice - challenging!) 

The class consisted of three papers, so I chose to do mine on abortion or birth control or something else to do with the prevention of irksome babies.  "A plight on society!" I often cried whilst crossing the quad.  As a result, I checked out a number of books about the subject from the trusty library.  I will swear up and down that I returned them all (super late, but hey - there was drinking to be done) but I allegedly kept one titled something like "Catholicism, Abortion, Mommy & Me."  They sent letter after letter with this embarrassing title, claiming I owed them $140!  Why are library books one hundred times more expensive than regular books?  Do they think monks still copy them by hand?  I refused to pay, so it was written off to bad debt.  Dickens novel - here I come!  And I shant return you.

2005 Boston College Homecoming Dance

This one is a bit of a hybrid, so you'll have to wait for "Dancing with the Fuzz."  Stay tuned!

Keegs out! (This time, voluntarily.)

25 Extremely Important Life Nuggets (Part Uno - oh, that was a fun game! Skip, Reverse, Draw Four!)

A lot of people have tagged me on Facebook to tell 25 random things about myself.   I can’t imagine coming up with 25 facts about me that won’t foray into questionable hygiene practices or sexual defeats, so I’ve decided to compile 25 nonsensical facts/pieces of advice.  Even I find nonsense more appealing than Jenna, and I’m a card-carrying narcissist and a Who’s Who: Unapologetic Egomaniacs.

1.       I always tell the girls never wear pigtails.  It attracts the wrong kind of man.
2.       If you liked it, then you should’ve pinned a broach on it.
3.       At Christmas time, all the colored lights make the whole world look like a dive bar.  Drink accordingly.
4.       When you get to the fourth item of a list about yourself and realize you cannot think another thought that doesn’t involve yo’self, the tongue-in-cheek intro you wrote about being a narcissist is probably pretty self-aware.  Give it up and get personal.
5.       We have enough words. 
6.       It is healthy and normal to be sexually attracted to whoever hands you the Metro.
7.       Without me, it’s just the ‘Tro.
8.       Sarah, Plain & Tall would’ve probably made it through a couple rounds on America’s Next Top Model.
9.       Aspartame doesn't get less dangerous in the afternoon sun.  Crack a DC in the AM.
10.   We're all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the top shelf liquor.
11.   Forget James, Ladies Love Cool Ranch Doritos
12.   When locked in disagreement with friends over where to go to dinner or what television program to watch, write each option on a tiny piece of paper, insert in balloon* and inflate.  Toss balloons skyward, batting around a bit for fun.  When done, grab one at random.  This becomes the "decision balloon" and the decree entombed in its latex walls, law. 
Added bonus: the loss of oxygen from blowing up balloons lends itself to speedy dispute resolution.
*balloons must be the same color to prevent cheating.  Red and green can be used together if all parties suffer from protanopia.
Note: Also effective for exploring new sexual positions and divvying up household chores.
13 ipooponrape.tumblr.com Trust me.

Nuggets 14 - 25 to be continued...

Why Being a J.J. Abrams Fan Has Rendered Me Unable to Watch His Shows (Or Any Shows at All)

On last night’s episode of Fringe, a moment occurred when a grieving agent held the hand of his deceased partner.  I immediately sat bolt upright and yelled (to no one) “He is taking something out of her skin!”  Although this later turned out to be the case, I still found my outburst disturbing.  Whose life experiences lead them to view all actions as disingenuous and to question every motive?  At first I thought this might warrant a trip to the therapist, but the answer is far simpler.  J.J. Abrams has ruined the way I watch TV.

As an avid fan of Alias and LOST, I’ve dedicated weeks of my life to consuming the frustratingly short 44 minute segments.  But I don’t watch them like most people watch TV, enjoying the snappy dialogue, the obvious plot points and the attractive cast.  No, no, I spend all of my time staring through the trees in the jungle, trying to decipher whispers, cataloging every number, letter, and symbol.  But this pattern has leaked into my normal television viewing.  And believe me, the man washing windows on Lipstick Jungle is not Jacob, or anyone even remotely related to the story.  He’s an extra, and he will not warrant his own Lostpedia page in the morning. 

This kind of rabidly misdirected watching actually make me feel patronized when the director felt the need to replay the scene where the item was removed from the deceased’s skin.  Of course it was!  Do they think I can’t infer?  This isn’t exactly my first rodeo, J.J.  Strictly speaking, it's my third.  And least favorite.

But a realization is still a realization, and I suppose I have Fringe to thank for that.  Maybe now the only thing that will make me suspicious about the new 90210 is how Silver’s tiny, tiny legs are supporting the rest of her frame.   

Fringe