The True Foundation of Liberty, or my Sixth Grade Lesson in Civil Disobedience.

Meg can always count on Henry David Thoreau when searching for the right topic!

Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty. The obedient must be slaves.

In searching for the next thing she could possibly write that did not contain a lurid headline about a Fox News anchor, or blatant lies about wiretaps (or tapps, as someone likes to call them) she came across this photo on Twitter:

empower2 The story behind this photo was a teacher found it in her classroom, and shared it with a friend. I am guessing the students were about 5th grade or so. Some complained and said girls that age would not be very tuned into social issues, or politically savvy, but Meg begs to differ.

It is totally in the realm of possibility for young ladies of that age to have a backbone and a brain, especially in 2017. Meg took a trip into her wayback machine, and landed in the year 1970, where as a young 6th grader, she and her classmates took on the establishment. And by establishment, she means her school principal Miss Sheridan.

Some of you young ones might not realize this, but it was an rule that girls wore dresses to school. This my friends, was even before the days of PANTYHOSE. I believe they had barely just been invented, so imagine all the gear we girls had to wear under our polyester jumpers with fake pleather pockets. The hardware alone to hold up stockings was MONUMENTAL. That year we had a particularly hard winter, and we girls just about had it trying to wear dresses to school. So with careful thought and attention to detail, we put together a petition stating we thought slacks were perfectly appropriate for snow days, and could we please not have red chapped legs each and every day we walked to school?

Caveat: We did choose to get dressed up for the class photo.

Because we were so polite and thought out our cause, our request was granted by Miss Sheridan. The only rule was no frayed jeans, and that was that.

Meg was kind of disappointed because she dearly wanted to make a protest sign, the kind she saw on TV every night, that said “MAKE LOVE NOT WAR”!  It would have been so incredible to see a pile of dresses, in the previously mentioned polyester, going up in a toxic cloud over the Calvin Coolidge School playground! News stations would break with in with reporters descending on our little town, covering the 6th grade girls protest! Take that school administration!

Alas, all it took was simple negotiation. There is something to be said for the art of being straightforward, honest, and clear minded when negotiating a cause. It’s a lesson she learned in 6th grade, and Meg wishes some of our elected officials could learn a lesson from the intrepid band of girls who just wanted to stay warm on a cold winter’s day.














It’s Just Surreal!

It turns out there were several “words of the year” in 2016, one of them being “surreal”. Apparently Meg has been living in a suspended state of surrealism where the world spins on it’s axis and elects an egomaniacal sociopath to the highest office in the land.


There were a few runners up as well:


Shall we use all of them in a sentence now?

It’s a conundrum that Donald Trump got elected. That day in November will live in infamy for the surreal circumstances, and all Meg can say is “Godspeed and good f**king luck”.

Well, that felt good. What is surreal, is that she predicted that this could possibly happen several years ago:


Yeah, apparently Twitter has an excellent memory, and remembered Meg tweeted out an “Agent Orange” joke FIVE years ago. You can read about her chat with the Philly Voice and see how Meg’s prediction went from a joke, to horribly true.

Meg literally has not been able to post this blog for the past month, as she can’t keep up with the shit that is going on. Today she saw a plea from our POTUS to “pray for the ratings of the “Apprentice“. Surely those in attendance at the National Prayer Breakfast dropped right to their knees to give him an “Amen”! Or at least a holy crap?

Meg feels like a lot unfolds each and every day, and none of it very good. When someone says Frederick Douglass’ contributions are becoming more and more well known, it does make me think that *someone* in the administration do not know Douglass has been dead since 1895. Is it that hard to get a fact straight for Black History Month? Is it too much to ask a world leader to study history, philosophy and religion for a more nuanced and balanced world view, and not focus on the Nielsen ratings?

In the meantime we can always rely on this to make our day a little brighter and less stressful:


That’s right, it may not be unicorns and glitter, but downloading this handy app to replace Trumpsters likeness with a kitten can truly get us through a tough day!

Honestly, this reminds Meg never to put anything in writing for fear it could come true. She cannot jinx our country like this again. Wait, wait? What if she says he’ll probably be impeached? Meg can live with that. Totally.

No, You Can’t Grab Anything, Donald.

It’s the blog post you never wanted to read, and the one Meg never wanted to write. She has finally got to the point in the election season that something needs to be said. Normally, Meg would have counted on Jon Stewart to frame those thoughts in a well paced video, but he had to go and retire. Sigh.

So let’s unleash the elephant called Donald Trump. Oh wait, he has already unleashed himself on America for the last 18 months, baffling many, pleasing untold others. It would not surprise anyone to know I put him, to put it gently, in the baffling category. But here’s where the rubber met the road for Meg:


Who would have guessed Billy Bush could bring a presidential campaign to its knees? But Billy and Donald’s little behind-the-scenes bro-fest apparently has done just that. I wish I knew where to begin! Is it the sound of Donald dumping Tic-Tac’s in his sweaty hand, thinking of kissing “Days of Our Lives” star Arianne Zucker? Is it Billy Bush cackling and shouting “and the Donald has scored!“? Is it the forced hugging? Oh not wait, it’s this:

I can just grab them by the P___Y.

That pretty much sent Meg off the ceiling, out the door and into some dimension that hadn’t even been discovered yet. After all the months Trump that has denigrated women, calling them, pigs, slobs, describing a network anchor with “blood coming out of her whatever“. The P___Y statement went far, far beyond the pale.

This “locker room” discussion had Meg flash back to a moment during her college days; she was walking back to her car after her last class of the day was over. It was a sunny fall afternoon; the parking lot was close to the student center, seemingly safe and where she always parked. She headed to her car and remembers seeing a white van cruising by.

(Pardon me as I switch from my usual funny third person vernacular, to first person for this paragraph:)

As I opened my door and entered the car, one of the occupants from that van was quickly making a beeline across the lot. Towards me. I managed to slam my door shut, but not before this asshole grabbed my crotch. That’s right, some stranger, someone I never had met, assaulted me in broad daylight. And just as quick as that, the person sprinted away leaving me shaking, thinking what I could have done to prevent that from happening? What made someone think they could touch me like that? By the way, I was dressed in grey wool slacks, a white blouse with a lace collar, and a black jacket. How provocative could that have been?

I could not help being brought back to my 20 year old self in 1978, and feeling completely defenseless as Donald Trump and Billy Bush bantered about touching women, grabbing them and kissing them, and thinking the whole thing was “in good fun“. I guess it took a light-hearted entertainment show to show the true colors of both of these men. One is now suspended from his network TV show, and the other continues to run for President of the United States.

I hope women vote their conscience this coming election. I know who I am casting my vote for, and it won’t be someone that says they can grab my P___Y.

Fixer Upper. Kinda Sorta.

Hi everyone! Meg has been enjoying a spectacular summer in New England logging many beach hours, walking and hiking with the family, and hunting for the forever house.

Did she mention hunting for the forever house? Hunt as in finding a needle in a HAYSTACK? Meg certainly forgot what is was like to go house hunting in New England. She got caught up in those first world problems of her former community in Texas, where not having a double oven or a secondary laundry room for your children were reason to shoot down a house deal. Bwahahaha! How Meg wishes those were her quandaries these days!

Would you like to take a real estate tour with me? Come, let Meg show you some of the things she has seen over the past several months:


Please note the absolute sh**storm of clutter. Could there possibly be more magnets on the fridge? Could we sign these people up for an episode of Hoarders?


And from the SAME house, I guess we could call this the living room/wet bar area, where I imagine many a shaken, not stirred martini is made. Cause I would need like 5 martinis a day to deal with this set-up.

Let’s look at another fine property:


This is what you call a DIY floor, clearly oriented (at least in my mind) in the wrong direction. And I did hear the tiny screams of hundreds of Beanie Babies from that cabinet, begging to be set free so they could breathe again. I am still crushed I could not help them.

Here’s the kitchen, same property:


You go figure this one out. I just saw every leftover in the Home Depot bargain bin was used to advantage, the advantage being it must have cost NOTHING.

Want to see the retro house?


There was more of that tile, too. Much, much, more.

Here’s the story, of a lovely lady, she was bringing up three girls of her own:


The Brady Bunch kitchen!

There have been many interesting open houses, like the one where there was a full catering kitchen in the basement, which what the HELL unless you cater food? Do I become Ina Garten with that deal? How about the one with the ladder into the laundry area of the basement? Do I lower the clothes down with a pulley like I’m a wench in medieval England?

Meg’s favorite was the house with the singer/agent. He came complete with guitar and as we toured the house, we could hear the groovy sounds of “Jessie’s Girl” coming from the back deck. We quickly bolted as Rick Springfield wanna be was chasing us down the path asking for feedback on the house and attempting another guitar riff.

The family has considered several fixer uppers, and rest assured, nothing goes as easily as Chip and Joanna’s renovations on “Fixer Upper“. Several properties have fallen through, and Meg certainly knows her way around an inspection report, if nothing else. Wish her the best in finding a new home, and maybe if she’s really lucky the “Property Brothers” will land on her potential doorstep!

Where Meg Channels a Davey and Goliath Episode

Meg has moved back from Texas to Boston! It’s a long story, but she is happy to be back with her family and living near the ocean. This move has also precipitated a newfound longing to write on her blog again! Lucky you guys!

Meg and her husband found an adorable rental house, which includes a chicken coop in the backyard. Currently she only knows one chicken by name, the delightful Sylvia. The other members of the gang include a peacock and peahen pair named George and Martha, who like to irritate handsome dog Jack by displaying their magnificent feathers and disobeying his considerable herding skills.


Rest assured Meg does not take care of this flock, she is just the lucky recipient of their eggs and entertainment value, where entertainment equals staring at them while she drinks wine on the patio. But one fine day, the hens were were out free ranging in the field, and a straggler did not make it back to the coop by dusk. Concerned, Meg headed out back to open the coop and shoo it in, whereupon she got her boot stuck in a wood pallet and she could not pull it out. It was in fact, a Davey and Goliath moment, where one needs serious rescuing before they break their ankle and the mountain patrol has to come in with a cask of vodka brandy to calm the nerves.

Meg remembers feeling Catholic guilt watching a Lutheran show.

Luckily for Meg, her husband was looking out the picture window, concerned laughing his ass off and came out to pull her boot out of the slat. She regaled her husband for his heroics, declaring it was like when”Goliath when rescued Davey from the dangerous rocket launching pad by pulling his foot out of the metal grate“.*

Meg’s husband laughed, and then she became obsessed with finding that episode; could it really have been a figment of her imagination? Maybe she was thinking of the time Davey got trapped in a mine or fell overboard in the lake? Either way, she was a winner that day getting rescued, and most of all, for being back in New England.

(*Meg discovered it was Davey’s sister that got all tangled up with a rocket. She knew her imagination wasn’t playing tricks on her.)

Meg would not have thought the spineless Jane had enough nerve to get into trouble.

Can Men Dress Themselves?

Or is it really because they are colorblind?

Meg often wonders which is really the case. Recently, she has noticed her husband coming home from work wearing all sorts of weirdly matched clothing. Green khakis with a purple hued shirt, and the ever problematic “I thought this was navy blue but I guess it’s black, right honey?“, which can result in what Meg considers the deadliest fashion sin of all, black pants with brown shoes. Add the brown belt to that, and let’s call it a full fledged disaster.

Meg has considered that colorblindness might be the problem so she did some research.

It turns out that 8 percent of men are considered color blind, whereas women only weigh in at .05 percent, or 1 in 200.

According to the Atlantic Monthly:

“It’s treated as a joke, even among the celebrity colorblind. Didn’t you know Mark Zuckerberg made Facebook blue because it’s the easiest color for him to see? If Van Gogh had normal color vision, would his paintings have looked more or less intense? Is defective vision the reason why Bill Clinton has trouble seeing stains? Colorblind men clash ties when they dress, buy unripe bananas for breakfast, and mix up subway lines on their way to work. They get confused by line graphs during meetings, and try to push through the red “occupied” signs on bathroom doors. To a colorblind man, the red lipstick you’re wearing might not be that impressive, but neither will your blemishes.”

Well, that part about the blemishes and good skin is a relief! Does this mean I might never need Botox or Restalyne, either?

Meg decided to test herself for colorblindness just to see how on top of her game she was. Needless to say, she passed with flying colors? Get it?

Her husband, not so much.

It seems these kinds of colors are problematic for him:


You guys know you’re supposed to see a number 2, right?

Well, it strengthened the fact Meg just needs to be more proactive in the morning to ensure her husband is not actually applying for an internship at the Barnum & Bailey circus ringmaster school.

While she was reading all the fun facts about color blindness, she came across a few that were interesting:

#44 Many colorblind people have problems with matching clothes and buying ripe bananas.

Which is OK, because we hate bananas in this household, unless they have been pulverized into submission in a banana bread.

#13 Dogs are not colorblind.

Well, clearly, I’m going to have to get Jack to start his new job as a valet starting tomorrow.


Good boy Jack! Bark if your owner picks out the wrong shirt. There’s a treat in it for you.