Besides a great tan and some really spiffy sandals?

That’s right, hot dogs!

When summer rolls around, Meg loves a hot dog cooked on the grill. Place that in a split top bun With chopped onions, spicy mustard and a cold beer and there you have it. OK, maybe she needs a side of chips with that. And possibly some baked beans, because if you are from Boston, baked beans are part of your DNA.

As Meg shops in various markets, she always checking out the deli, just to see how things stack up versus what she was used to at home. Sadly, the large variety of goodies she was used to isn’t there. Where is the sharp provolone? The parmesan pesto ham? More importantly, where are the hot dogs?

Meg’s husband requested hot dogs a few weeks ago. Meg confidently trooped out the store thinking there would be a large variety to choose from. And she was sadly mistaken. There were NONE at the deli, but the selection in the processed meat section (I can’t think of what else to call it…) was woefully inadequate, and heinous. She ultimately selected a brand called Nathans for her husband, and Meg promptly elected to have a cheeseburger for herself. That’s how much she hated what she had to choose from.

Meg would like to know where Texas is hiding the Deutchmaker individually wrapped hot dogs? She is going to have to hold some steaks and barbecue sauce hostage if you don’t pony them up, OK?

One more thing to add to my New England vacation list:

Thin pizza that does not taste like cardboard
Good Chinese that is spicy
Decent seafood that isn’t farm raised tilapia
Ken’s salad dressing that isn’t goddamn RANCH dressing

Meg assures you, she has been working out like a fiend to accomodate the ever growing food fest she has scheduled in August, when she returns to her beloved homeland.

Original article: What Goes With Summer?

©2013 The Members Lounge. All Rights Reserved.

It’s graduation week in Meg’s neighborhood. Every grade school kid seems to have a cap and gown, a new X-Box and they are partying down. Based on what I see at the high school next door, I’m surprised they don’t have Mercedes convertibles on reserve, but that’s another story.

Times have certainly changed, because when Meg graduated from sixth grade, she was advised to keep up the good grades, as junior high was the stepping stone to high school and then obviously to college. No parties, no cap and gown, just some sage quotes from parents and teachers.

Meg and her classmates were not about to let the lack of parties stop their natural curiosity. At eleven years old, they had lots of questions that had not been answered, and one of those mysteries was what did the boys bathroom look like?

Sure there were stories of these:

But what did it REALLY look like?

Meg went to an old-fashioned 2 story brick school. It was so old, it was named the CALVIN COOLIDGE SCHOOL. It was heated with COAL, (which was great for a coal garden! Remember those?) and it sported a rickety iron fire escape on which we routinely conducted fire drills without looking down through the grates – scary!

The rest rooms were located in a dank dark basement, which made things seem even more clandestine. The boys and girls each had a side, separated by a small door that literally had laser beams shooting from all directions should you decide to cross that divide.

As a special end of year treat, Meg and her friends Barbie, Debbie, Greta, Jane and Cheryl decided it was high time they saw what was going on back there. After dismissal, they hid out in the basement and huddled together like a bunch of magpies, racing down to glimpse a bunch of urinals and howling.

Sadly, the howling did not escape the notice of the lone make teacher in our school. He promptly invited us up to his classroom, where we received the following assignment:

I’m not sure if you know how long it takes to write that out 1000 times, but it’s a lot. It turned into a days long project, where we spent an hour after school diligently slaving over sheets of yellow lined paper. After a few days, he decided we had all had enough and released us into the afternoon.

Trust Meg, her conduct has rarely slipped since that time. And it certainly made sixth grade graduation memorable.

Original article: Pomp and Some Kinda Circumstance.

©2013 The Members Lounge. All Rights Reserved.

Where the mission equals finding a bathing suit that looks good. Need I say more about the need for secrecy?

Meg bought a variety of suits on-line; and tried them on behind several locked doors and a soundproof room so no one could hear the sound of her wailing.

First of all, don’t you wish for a more simple outfit to wear while sunning and swimming? Say, the one you wore when you were 4 years old?

Oh to be that age again and throw on a cotton onesie sunsuit!

Women of a certain age, and particularly those of us that are post menopausal, need SOOO much help. There is tummy control, love handle control, cleavage control,and butt control. There are halters, x-back, t-back, bandeaus and cami’s and on and on. There is the slender suit, the miracle suit, the tankini, the swim dress, the swim mini, the Grecian one-shoulder, and the tunic.

Where to begin?

Well, Meg began with Lands End for practicality. She is not one to bejewel herself at the beach, nor show all of her assets, which would include, as her mother would say “Kitty Murphy“. Not does she want to cover her self up like she’s 80 years old. She just wants to strike a balance of looking her age and being comfortable enough to walk in the water without anyone pointing.

The second option she went with was Miracle Suit, because one can only hope, right?

Honest to God, every time Meg checked her email and saw the tracking numbers for her packages, she broke out into a mixture of flop sweat and excitement. Would the suits perform as their description indicated? Would 10 pounds miraculously be shaved from her torso? Would her sporty look be appropriate? Are you on the edge of your seats with anticipation?

Drum roll, please?

Alas, the Miracle Suit tankini tops were a bust. And by bust, I mean no support AT ALL. There was some underwire, but the simple curve of wire did not hold up a 38D breast. The flimsy matte jersey (what the hell Miracle Suit?) in no way shape or form was able to handle the heft of this pair of ladies. It would have been a total winner if the cup had better construction. On the other hand, the zipped tank suit will be great for doing laps in the pool, so she’s keeping that one.

Out of the 10 mixed variety of suits Meg tried, she ended up with 3 that were acceptable:

The zip is the Miracle Suit, and the other 2 are Lands End. That tankini top is the MOST comfortable and flattering top she has ever worn. It had a ton of support and came to the right length, it stayed tight when swimming and covered the poochy parts perfectly. Of course, they are all sold out on-line that this point or she would have bought them out just to have in the closet. The swim mini was also the perfect length, not too long or short, and you could even pop into a beach side store and look spiffy in it.

Well, Meg has a start, because she plans on living in the pool this summer. She still has her work cut out for her, and plans on going to an actual store to continue the mission for the perfect cup and blend of spandex. Should you hear the breezes carry the sounds of “OH NO” sometime this weekend, you can be sure that voice is coming from the Dallas-Fort Worth suburbs.

Wish Meg continued luck, won’t you?

Original article: The Top Secret Mission

©2013 The Members Lounge. All Rights Reserved.

Whenever Meg cannot nail a coherent post down, she counts on blog Jeopardy to get her out of trouble. Let’s start with the easy Potpourri category and see if Meg can’t run the board this morning!

If there isn’t another reason to hate Gwyneth Paltrow more, please refer to her daily routine below:

“I wake up at 7 a.m., I get [the kids] fed, and I get them dressed in their uniforms, any bits of homework are finished,” Paltrow explained. “I take them to school. She [Apple, now 9] gets dropped off at 8:25 a.m., and he [Moses, now 7] gets dropped off at 8:45 a.m., so we have a croissant together in his school dining room and we do reading together. Then I go home and I work for one hour on all the e-mails that come in overnight from L.A. Then I exercise from about 10 a.m. to 12 p.m. Then I work on Goop [the digital media and e-commerce company she founded] pretty much the rest of the day until I pick up my kids and then they have various activities.”

I don’t know about you, but the part about the croissant annoys the living shit out of me.

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Remember how the Old Spice guy made a big splash a few years ago?

Kraft decided that kind of thing might work for salad dressing. Feast your eyes on the Kraft “Zesty Guy”:

And if you have a friend that needs cheering up, feel free to head here and send them a “Zesty Gram”. I personally would not mind receiving this in an email!

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You know how we all find the Bachelor and The Bachelorette degrading? See how Jimmy Kimmel turns that franchise on it’s ear by debuting the “Baby Bachelor“:

Somehow the dinosaur ceremony seems so much more meaningful than the rose ceremony.
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Meg can never resist the chance to throw a little Jon Stewart your way:

Plus, it’s so refreshing to see another country with screwed up politicians, right?

Consider that your “daily double” for the day!

Original article: Potpourri for $100

©2013 The Members Lounge. All Rights Reserved.

Wasn’t there some guy named Professor Backwards that used to mangle the English language?

Meg is here to tell you he is alive and well, and living under her roof. The Professor is a magna cum laude graduate of a prestigious college, and despite his stellar liberal arts education he continues to mangle the English language, puzzling Meg with his euphemisms.

For example. since we moved to Texas, he constantly wants to visit “Forth Worth“. To which Meg says,”well, let’s go forth to Fort Worth then.” Forth/Fort Tomato/Too-mato, right?

Professor, the ever helpful husband, has been busy providing Meg with the latest musical technology so she can enjoy some tunes poolside. He kindly set up a portable BOSE speaker that can talk to her phone and her laptop so she can listen to “Pandora’s Box“. Holy crap, I hope I don’t unleash a reign of terror by the pool! Who knows what will come out of the box?

When we were discussing some issue or another the other night, and he mentioned “the jury still isn’t out on that. Please see below for the correct use:

Idiom Definitions for ‘Jury’s out’
If the jury’s out on an issue, then there is no general agreement or consensus on it.

Does anyone see the word isn’t in there? I could not convince the professor he was using that phrase incorrectly. Imagine if he were on the Jodi Arias jury?

I told the professor the other day to hang some of the winter coats in the spare room (rooms, actually) closet. He said, “you mean the red room”? I’m all like “red room? Like Jack Nicholson in The Shining Red Rum“?

Despite the door, I’ve done so much better with the interior of the room:

It’s the red room!

Of course, marriage wouldn’t be as entertaining if there weren’t a lot of Professor Backward stories. Which reminds Meg, she will have to tell the story about how the Professor and his cohort Gilligan* (*Meg’s brother-in-law) were late for a dinner reservation because they were playing golf with a guy who’s hands were blown off by lightning. I know, we still have never gotten that story straight, but it’s become the tale legends are made of.

Original article: Professor Backwards

©2013 The Members Lounge. All Rights Reserved.

The Met Gala took place in New York this week, and provided Meg with a spark! She needed to examine and critique fashion trends; and who better to share with than her faithful blog readers.

Are you ready to have a little fun?

You know, it’s not so much the bathing suit Kim Kardashian, as it is the braids. Why do I see long braids and french braids everywhere? Is Pippi Longstocking back in style again?

Kim gets a double take this week for the slipcover she wore to the Met gala:

Can you imagine what crazy ass boyfriend Kanye said when she decided to sport this on the red carpet? I have seen plenty of expectant mothers look elegant on the runway, but this just looks like a sofa. Does anyone else think Kim should lay low till she has the baby? Just for the sake of our eyes?

Katie Holmes shows us her assets:

I still have to give her SOOO much credit for staging that escape from Tom Cruise.

I always feel Miley Cyrus is trying SO HARD to BE BAD. But she still seems like a little kid acting like a brat.

Oh geez, Gywnnie has been named “The Most Beautiful Woman” in the World. Did they mean “Most Annoying with the Best Publicist Ever?” Also, who’s countries flag is she flying?

Who gets it right this week?

Jennifer Lawrence! I think she is just so cute and refreshing, and handled tripping up the stairs to get her Oscar in a phenomenal way! Thank you Jennifer, for being a beacon of fashion grace in the middle of the train wrecks.

Meg wishes all of her bloggie friends a fashion forward weekend!

Original article: I Can’t Help Myself Friday. Fashion Happens.

©2013 The Members Lounge. All Rights Reserved.

Recently Slate magazine had an article on words people hate. Curiously, the word that triggered the most reaction was the word “moist”.

moist
Part of Speech: adjective
Definition of moist
1. wet, wettish
Synonyms: clammy, damp, dampish, dank, dewy, dripping, drippy, drizzly, humid, irriguous, muggy, not dry, oozy, rainy, soggy, teary, watery

Meg was a little surprised about that one, until she read all the synonyms associated with moist, because she hates to think
of herself as dank and oozy on a summer day. Think about it? Do you want to read a blog entry that’s titled “Welcome to Meg’s first oozy summer in Texas?”

mush
Part of Speech: noun
Definition of mush
1. a thick porridge made with cornmeal boiled in water or milk
2. something soft and spongy or shapeless
Synonyms: batter, dough, mash, pulp, slush

Meg not only hates food gone mushy in her vegetable bin, she hates being called a “mush brain“. Which apparently was considered a term of endearment about 30 or so years ago by an old boyfriend. Which definitely explains why he became “old” and and went from “boyfriend” status to “persona non grata. Meg assures you her brain never consisted of porridge.

pant·ie
noun \pan-t\
plural pant·ies
Definition of PANTIE
1. a woman’s or child’s undergarment covering the lower trunk and made with closed crotch —usually used in plural

Meg detests this word. It absolutely makes her cringe. It’s underwear, OK. Simply a pair of underwear. Don’t call it anything else.

nekkid
- no thesaurus results

Thank GOD there is no Thesaurus result for this word. Meg frequently hears this term in reference to the temperature of various places in Texas. Let Meg use it in a sentence, OK? “Oh my stars y’all, I’ll have to get nekkid in here if you don’t turn up the air conditioning.” To which she then prays someone *does* turn it up.

ma’am
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: a title of address
Synonyms: Frau, Mrs.., dame, ma’am, madame, madonna, marm, señora, signora

The other day Meg was called “ma’am” at least 20 times in one conversation. Whereupon she had to look at the guy straight in the eye and tell him to please STOP STOP STOP STOP. Meg is not goddamn Aunt Bea from Mayberry, so don’t talk to her like she’s in the middle of baking a pie for Sheriff Andy. Just call her Meg, OK?

Needless to say Meg’s list could go on, but like George Carlin, there are at least 7 words she can’t list here. But Meg wonders, what is the word that makes you stop in your tracks as you watch your head torque off the ceiling?

Original article: Words That Annoy Me.

©2013 The Members Lounge. All Rights Reserved.

Meg knows she hasn’t written in awhile, she has been busy trying to bond with her new town and state. Meg would like to thank Twisted Susan for encouraging her each time she ventures from the house and tries something new, because the Lone Star state can be just *that*. Lone.

Anyway, Meg was like Debbie the other day, and did Dallas!

Ha! Not really that way. But she did spend part of her day on the sixth floor of the Texas Book Repository staring out the window, in the exact spot where Lee Harvey Oswald shot JFK.

In a million years Meg would not have imagined visiting this spot, never mind living in Texas. But there she was, staring out the window and looking down at the grassy knoll.

Here’s the thing. Meg remembers November 23rd vividly. She can picture her mother and grandmother sobbing in the kitchen of the shitty apartment they lived in. She remembers the interminable four days of television, because all she wanted to do was watch Huckleberry Hound, not a funeral. Meg sat on the floor playing with her Jackie and Caroline paper dolls, dressing and undressing them in their elegant little outfits, staring at the TV.

Meg was all of five years old as she watched world events unfold. It was like watching the cheap but fascinating shards of glass in a cardboard kaleidoscope; there was a jumble of film clips, bold black newspaper headlines, and Walter Cronkite’s deep voice. She remembers the serene couple in the official inauguration plate staring down at her from the living room wall. She somberly watched little kids her own age, attending their Dad’s funeral on TV.

That day Meg stepped over a threshold, the one where she was no longer an innocent little kid, but an strangely wise pre-schooler.

In the months that ensued, there were giant color photos in LIFE magazine, and many hefty coffee table books that recounted the whole ordeal. It did seem the world would never be the same, and the event imprinted itself, becoming part of the collective unconscious of Meg’s generation.

And in one tiny corner in Dallas, the world was turned on it’s axis.

Original article: The Corner That Changed the World.

©2013 The Members Lounge. All Rights Reserved.

Well, Meg guesses she must talk as well. Jesus H. Christ, what a week. She finally is letting the f-bombs fly, showing some edginess, and done saying “oh my stars” when she means “what the fuck“? Cause really, that is what she means. My city is on lockdown as they corner a teenage terrorist. What the f?

It’s good to know Batman was on standby for Boston:

It did Meg good to see the Yankees fan’s singing “Sweet Caroline” which still confusingly proves NOT to be written about Caroline Kennedy, but soldiers on as the 7th inning rally song for the Red Sox:

It made her NHL heart even more bright to hear this:

I’m so proud I didn’t see anyone holding a beer. Usually I would be. Bet you didn’t know I as a hockey fan? I love a good check into the boards.

Thanks, fake husband JOn Stewart for well deserved kudos.

Stand by and pray for everyone this morning.

Original article: I Can’t Help Myself Friday. Where I Just Let Everyone Talk.

©2013 The Members Lounge. All Rights Reserved.

They also get pissed. F**cking pissed.

Meg missed Patriot’s Day for the first time in her life, because she was 2000 miles away in Texas. She had planned to check in on Boston.com to see what was going on with the Boston Marathon, which she religiously watched every April. Also, she needed to scope out the Red Sox score for the Monday matinee game, lastly, she needed to make sure Minutemen won again in Concord, as they re-enacted the famous 1775 battle at the Old North Bridge. (Where they kicked British ass, of course.)

Meg had the privilege of growing up in the backyard of the American Revolution. History abounded everywhere; she could drive a few short miles to see the scenes of famous Revolutionary War battles, stand where Paul Revere rode his horse, and quietly walk amongst the graves of authors like Emerson, Thoreau and Hawthorne. A few miles further an there was an entire city at her feet, abundant in culture; a melting pot of distinct and unique neighborhoods. One full of sports fanatics, college students, young families and curious tourists.

One where you could always count on a native ask you:

“Hi, howahya doin’?”

The last thing she expected to see was an explosion and the streets covered with blood.

Patriot’s Day was always a special day. It was festive because spring (if we were lucky) had just arrived. Daffodils would beckon, the Public Garden had magnolia’s in bloom, the Swan Boats would make their first appearance:

Little Red Sox fans like these two eagerly awaited Opening Day at Fenway:

The North End would be packed with people carbo loading:

And you would wander back to your car by the trusty light of the Custom House Tower:

And accidentally wind up in a fine Irish bar.

I am hard pressed to even comprehend what I am reading this morning. A pint-sized 8 year old boy, dead. You killed a little kid, asshole. The one who’s Holy First Communion photo is on-line. You blew the legs off of two BROTHERS. You left a woman lifeless in the street with a reporter looking down on her:

When the first boom shattered the bliss and the haze of white smoke washed over the finish line, I could see in the eyes of the woman what had happened. She wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t moving. Her eyes appeared lifeless as she lay beside the metal barriers on the sidewalk, where dozens of people were sprawled on the concrete, their limbs mangled, blood and broken glass everywhere.

David Abel, The Boston Globe

All I know, is Bostonians came to the rescue. Medical personnel there for the Marathon ran towards the victims, and got them to world class hospitals. Random strangers created Google spreadsheets and locators so you could track loved ones or offer up your home if you happened to be stranded in the city. Rides and money were extended, as well as food and clothing, and more importantly, hugs and support.

You go Boston. Don’t let some evil a-hole wreck the day that is our pride and joy.

And keep lighting the city up like this.

Original article: When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Get Going.

©2013 The Members Lounge. All Rights Reserved.