#NerdsUnite: Minute Mingle with Meghan Brown

<editorsnote> Nerds, Meghan is going through some shizzy shiznat. She came on board to be our guru advice columnist, but life had other plans, and now she has had to endure a very unexpected break up. I asked her to write about it ... and this is her journey ... </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Meghan Brown

OMG INTERNET I HAVE MY FIRST ONLINE DATE ON SATURDAY. 

I am the most terrified. I haven't gone on a first date in five years. Five years! Let's say it again, together: 

FIVE. YEARS. 

Ridicadonkulous. 

I've never EVER been on any kind of blind date before, much less one orchestrated by the powers that be at OKCupid. I've always shied away from Internet dating because it seemed like a really easy way to get kidnapped and murdered, but I am currently rethinking my attitude. I mean... I also used to meet guys at school. And those days are loooong over.

So. What do I wear? What should I do? How do I prepare? I have this sick sad suspicion that dating at 26 (adulthood, jobs, etc) is different then dating at 21 (college, parties, etc). I mean... most conversations I've had with potential boyfriends in the past involved discussions of mutual acquaintances, shared classes and experiences, etc. What do you talk about with someone who's a complete stranger? 

Yiiiikes. 

Despite being nervous... I'm really excited to get my feet wet with a nice, normal, no pressure date. I'm not looking for a boyfriend. I'm not looking for a fling, either. I'm honestly just looking to meet nice boys to go to dinner with while I try and figure out what exactly I'm doing with my life. 

OMG SATURDAY IS GOING TO COME REALLY FAST. 

#wishmeluck

#NerdsUnite: Minute Mingle with Meghan Brown

<editorsnote> Nerds, Meghan is going through some shizzy shiznat. She came on board to be our guru advice columnist, but life had other plans, and now she has had to endure a very unexpected break up. I asked her to write about it ... this is what she same up with ... </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Meghan Brown

We're just gonna dive right in. 

Just checked Facebook. Current ads on my profile page: ad for engagement rings, ad for "unexpected pregnancy" hotline, ad for Haagen Daz. 

GUESS WHICH ONE I'M MOST EXCITED ABOUT. 

Here's the deal: I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to write about this whole thing. I don't know what sort of sense I'm supposed to making of my freaked out, uneven, freshly broken-up existence. I don't know. Maybe blogging will help? I miss blogging. I haven't been able to write a word in weeks. Every time I sit down at my laptop I've got too much to say and nothing comes out. This is something I've been trying to write for a week or three, an entry that's been on my to-do list every day, mocking me from the top of a pile of moving-related errands. 

Because blogging about this scares me. Because once I start talking I'm worried I'm never going to stop. 

It's been a rough month with twenty-million changes and I'm still reeling in ways I haven't quite figured out yet. I'm living like some crazy writer's block stereotype, coming home and staring desperately at my computer while eating yet another sandwich and trying not to cry over Six Feet Under episodes (and, uh, failing) (because that show is made of nothing but frickafrackin ridiculous quality omg). 

So yeah. I'm a single white female living alone in Los Angeles. Wait. What, me single? ...Living in a little house? ...Alone?

Yes and yes. Let me tell you: when you get out of a five-year relationship the best thing you can possibly do is move. Go. Preferably, go to the most awesome place ever. Or, don't. Because I live there, and you can't have it. 

Rim shot?

Anyway. My guest house is the only thing keeping me sane. The plumbing backed up over the weekend and filled my tub with scary sludge and the skylights make it vaguelly equivocal to living inside of an oven but you know what? I couldn't care less. There's a grown-up couch and I have access to 100% of the food in the fridge and every wall is over-decorated with pretty things I like and there you have it hello this is heaven. 

I am basically going crazy. 

Also: I need to put it out there that I had the best breakup imaginable. It was full of nothing but love and respect and dignity and kindness and blah blah blah. I will never say a bad word about him. Will not. He is good and goodness. I am good sometimes and sort of morally all right and I loved him a whole lot. So we were good to each other through the end and it never got ugly it never got mean it always stayed kind, kind, kind. 

So... if we got along so well... what happened?

Eh.

...It was just over. 

The time came to move forward and we didn't, for a variety of reasons I'm not going to go into here. Because Former Boyfriend is a private person who deserves to have that respected to the most. 

It. was. just. over. Itwasjustover. 

And I miss him but I don't want to come back. And it's hard because there's no anger, no frustration, no desire to scream at him or burn pictures or throw darts, no need to call my friends and commiserate over what an asshole he is. There's nothing fun to hide behind. There's just a deep, nagging sadness. Sad sad sad. 

Anger? Anger I can do. I can be pissed off like nobody's business. I can rant and rave and scream and write bitchy plays and spitefully delete you on Facebook. Sad? I'm not so good with sad. I don't like it. Sad makes me hungry and thirsty and raw and wracked and needy. Sad reminds me that I'm not some screamy superhero. I'm just one more sad girl making it through a long summer. Ugh. 

I alternate between crying like a crazy person at Target and feeling totally fine. The awful thing about feeling fine? Is that you don't actually feel fine. When I feel fine I feel like tearing myself to shreds. How dare I feel fine? If I'd really loved him, I'd feel something deeper. If I'd really loved him, I wouldn't be able to get up and go to work. I wouldn't be able to hang out with my friends. I wouldn't be able to go to parties and museum's and bbqs and carpools and feel happy and content. I wouldn't be able to buy groceries or get Internet hooked up or pick out pictures for my cute little house. If I'd really loved him, I'd be crying. My wings should ache. 

And then suddenly I am crying, and it's always in public always in some strange aisle of some tacky store (or, uh, at that tow-yard, but that's another story) and it's mortifying and I would do anything just anything to stop stop stop feeling this way, anything to stop this strange new world where I don't have anyone to go grocery shopping with. 

That's part of the problem I'm having. Could Jen Friel write You're Single, Now What? for Dummies instead of Personal Branding for Dummies? Because I have some major questions. Like: Who catches the spiders? How do you fall asleep? What happens if you're sick? Or if you're tired and want food but don't want to go get food and need someone to get it to you because it's Friday night and you're feeling lazy? 

What happens when you're crying and the person who rubs your back and makes you feel better is the one person in the world that you can't call? 

And beyond that... what happens to that life you had planned with that other person? What happens to those imaginary children? It all felt so real. Lucy and Violet and Austin. That house in Venice Beach. The trips we planned to take. What happens to Key West in December? The Redwoods in June? 

Does everything just disappear? 

...Yes. Yes, it does. 

(And this is me with a good breakup. Can you imagine what I'm like after a bad one? Because I can't. Or maybe just don't want to.)

So life is unrecognizable and I'm starting over. I have a new house and money in the bank and a notebook full of ideas. I have four pairs of fancy jeans that I need to be able to fit back into post haste. I have plays to write and short stories to start and that screenplay that's been lingering in the back of my mind. I've got my work cut out for me... if only I wasn't so totally incapacitated with my dull, ragged grief that I can barely string two words together. 

So. I need to pick myself up by the bootstraps. I need to write and exercise and spend time with friends and family and read a lot of sad books and get back into practicing the piano every day. Because it's going to be OK. It has to be OK. This all has to be worth it. 

...Right?

#nerdsunite

Click here to find out more about Meghan



#NerdsUnite: Minute Mingle with Meghan Brown

Meghan Brown is a comedic writer based in LA. She has no idea why but her friends always ask her for advice, and instead of letting those gems slip through the cracks, I've decided to give her an advice column. (Have no fear however, she's also going to be providing a weekly nerdy pop culture column as well. The chick has some SERIOUS cred.) Plus, she's hot. That helps ... a lot.

So. Nobody needed any advice this week. Everyone was just doing fine on their own. Well. Fine. Whatever.

No big deal. SEE IF I CARE. (...but I do.)

I realize that asking you all to submit questions before properly introducing myself may have been in slightly bad form, so weʼre going to backtrack a bit and have a nice little getting-to-know-you chat.

My name is Meghan.

I have a cat named Frankie who Iʼm totally obsessed with, whatever, I donʼt care. Call me a crazy cat lady. I dare you.

I am single for the first time in five years and I have no idea what that even means.

I am moving on Friday to the worldʼs cutest guest house in Atwater Village in LA, which is awesome because Iʼve been living in the skeleton of my old apartment after my roommate moved out June 1st and took every (and I mean every) piece of furniture with her. Then my boyfriend moved out and took the TV.
Iʼve been eating on the floor. Itʼs time to get out of here.

Before being a wild monogamist, I had many boy-related adventures. I have dated: a porn extra, a pro poker player, an OLDER MAN (gasp), a surfer dude, a guy whose English was completely unintelligible, a mathematician, a vandal, and about nine different drummers. I have seen it all and I know you have too.
I also give really good advice for a variety of reasons.

Reason #1: Iʼm noisy.

Reason #2: I have tons of opinions.

Reason #3: Iʼm not smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

Basically: I am not qualified to give advice, but Iʼm going to do it anyway. So help a woman out. Letʼs be friends! Email your questions at rantfox@gmail.com and weʼll get this party started.

<3 -m

#nerdsunite

#Eh: Musings From the Things-I-Didn't-Like-As-Much-As-I-Thought-I-Would Files

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Meghan Brown

Editor's note: Meghan is a pop culture nerd that will once a week examine the pulse of everything pop and break it down ... like she be all gettin' down on it - ya heard??? Hit it Meghan!!

As a TV, book, and movie (I can't bring myself to say "film") junkie, I approach most things with an almost embarrassing amount of excitement. I go into most artistic experiences really wanting to enjoy myself... so it's a huge bummer when something I've been eagerly anticipating fails to live up to expectation. Here are a few recent cases from the Things-I-Didn't-Like-As-Much-As-I-Thought-I-Would files.

1. Just Kids, Patti Smith

The only thing I liked was the name-dropping... and that's a really bad sign. I have issues with artists fetishizing poverty, and feel like Smith missed a great opportunity to really explore the depths of her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe. We know where they lived and who they met... but we don't ever actually get to know the characters. Patti herself remains an enigma, a gothic crow of a woman who is inexplicably appealing to just about everyone she crosses paths with. If Just Kids is a snapshot of a moment in time, it's a blurry one at best.

2. Midnight in Paris, Woody Allen

Since this movie is totally beyond up my alley, I was particularly saddened to find that it was... eh. Despite some really winning performances, a beautiful setting, and ridiculously amazing costumes, there's no real emotional core to the film. Woody Allen inserts a few big questions, but leaves us with cheap, easy answers.

3. The Bachelorette

 OK, duh, The Bachelorette is awful. But still, I always end up watching. This season, however, might end up being my last. The boys are boring, the formula's getting tired, and Ashley's constant concern that no one really likes her makes me nauseas. Also: Can we please get rid of Chris Harrison? Pretty please? Someone?

4. The Killing, AMC

Now this one broke my heart. The first few episodes of The Killing were haunting, vivid, and engaging. What happened? After a season of constant red herrings, a total lack of character development, and ridiculous coincidences WE DIDN'T EVEN FIND OUT WHO KILLED ROSIE LARSON. (I considered putting a spoiler warning... but then realized that I'm basically just clueing everyone in to the fact that THERE WAS NOTHING THERE TO SPOIL.)

What movies / tv shows / books are in your "eh" file?

#nerdsunite

Check out more from Meghan over yonder!

#NerdsUnite: Minute Mingle with Meghan Brown

Meghan Brown is a comedic writer based in LA. She has no idea why but her friends always ask her for advice, and instead of letting those gems slip through the cracks, I've decided to give her an advice column. (Have no fear however, she's also going to be providing a weekly nerdy pop culture column as well. The chick has some SERIOUS cred.) Plus, she's hot. That helps ... a lot.

Dear Meghan,

I’m really good friends with three of my ex-boyfriends, and the four of us hang out all the time... which totally freaks out any potential girlfriends they bring around. What can I do to prove to these ladies that we’re all just friends?

-Ex-Lover-Lover

Let’s be real here.

These boys are not your friends.

I can hear you now, screaming inside of my head. But we’re juuuuuust frrrrriends! Oh God, it’s killing me, my ears, they’re bleeding, this is terrible. Please, just be quiet. Please. OK, fine, you’re friends. Whatever you say. You’re so pretty.

See what you did there, ELL? It’s called manipulation, and I’m 90% sure you’re pretty damn good at it.

But maybe you’re so good at it that you’re not even aware of it, in which case you need a wake-up call. Here goes.

When accurately describing whether or not a male companion is “just a friend”, ask yourself the following question: Does this friend want to have sex with you? If the answer is yes, that person is not your friend, that person is a dude who wants to have sex with you. Which is fine! Power to you both. Hanging out with people who want to have sex with you is fun. People who want to have sex with you are great listeners. They laugh at all your jokes. Why wouldn’t you want to hang out with someone who thinks you’re amazing?

Because when wanting to stay in your strange, magnetic orbit leads to your “friends” losing the opportunity to find someone who listens to them and laughs at their jokes... it’s not cute anymore. Your letter gives the impression that this situation is pretty frequent, which means it’s not one crazy jealous girl who can’t stomach your innocent friendship with your exes... it’s a bunch of sane women with enough self-respect to stay away from a toxic situation.

So make some new friends, let the boys off your emotional leash, and see them once a month instead of twice a week. Let them want to have sex with other people. Really. It’s time.

Got a question for Ms. Meghan? Drop her a line! rantfox@gmail.com

All questions will be kept anonymous.

Click here to read more about her over yonder.

#nerdsunite