Jesus Christ(mas)

Dear Mrs. Claus,

I just got done taking a Women and Gender Studies class, and it made me look at this patriarchal world with a fresh set of eyes. Therefore, I'm not going to write that controlling bearded bastard any more letters telling him what I want for Christmas.

Plus, I've been pissed at him ever since I asked for a skateboard in 3rd grade and instead he gave me an Easy Bake Oven that said:

To Maggie,
     Women belong in the kitchen.
                    Love, Santa

And besides, we all know you, Mrs. Claus, are the real brains of the operation on deciding who has been naughty and who has been nice. Believe me, when my mom would be gone for the night and just my dad was in charge, shit would get crazy. Ice cream for dinner, no bedtime, the works. If it was just Santa calling the shots, no one would get coal and he probably would be delivering presents unwrapped and only wearing his boxers.

So please, please, please, from one broad to another, take my Christmas List to heart. Just once. For me. For women everywhere.

Maggie's Christmas List:

1. More things made out of Doritos. The Doritos Locos Tacos were a gift from God. Tacos...wrapped in shells...made of Doritos?!

I'm pretty sure Taco Bell's marketing team made a focus group of a bunch of stoners and asked them what sounded good to them. Thank you stoners. It was step in the right direction, but why stop now? The options are limitless. America may not be able to agree on gun control, but we all can sure agree that everything is better with a healthy tasting of Nacho Cheese.

2. Some pepper spray so I can regift it to the girl in "Baby It's Cold Outside." I'm not quite sure what makes "Baby It's Cold Outside a Christmas song? Is it because it's snowing? Bing Crosby's smooth vocals?  There's no mention of a Christmas tree (or menorah for all you Jews out there).

 I can't lie, I love that song. But that dude is really creepy. She keeps saying she needs to go, but he keeps coming at her. He probably was in a fraternity in college because I'm pretty sure he slips her a roofie at some point. Nothing says Christmas like a little eggnog and Rufilin!

3. Better luck at Dirty Santa. Nothing quite gets me in the Christmas spirit more than stealing presents from my friends and family! I mean, does my grandma reallllly need that electric blanket? Recently, I played a whopping game of Dirty Santa with some friends. The presents were good, I mean really good. A pack of classic DVDs. Some champagne. Nerf guns. I mean the options were limitless.

This is what I ended up with:

What luck!  Brushing my teeth is so much more enjoyable when its with a phallic object! Perhaps I shall regift this in my family's Dirty Santa to make up for stealing my grandma's electric blanket.

4. Some sticky boobs that don't look like raw chicken cutlets. For you men that read my blog (all two of you) "sticky boobs" (which I'm sure are the official name of the brand) are a magical bra bewitched by some sort of sorcerer or wizard. That's all you need to know. But magic always has it's downside. (Just look at Harry Potter 3 when Harry and Hermione used the time turner to go save Buckbeak. I mean, if such a thing exists in the world, why wouldn't you use it to save a giant ostrich-horse? It's not like Harry could have used that in any other situation when someone important to him died.)

But...anyway... The downside of this bra magic is that it has to look like you just bought it from the meat section in Walmart.

5. At least 3 extra paper towel dispensers and/or hand dryers in girls' bathrooms I'm pretty sure that seconds before I enter girls' bathrooms, there is a slip and slide contest that I wasn't invited to. That's the only reason that every surface in the bathroom--floors, counters, toilets, you name it--should be COMPLETELY SOAKING WET.

I know we go to bathrooms in packs, but is it really necessary to have water fights so intense that I literally have to hold my iPhone in my mouth while I'm washing my hands for fear of getting water damage.


So that's it Mrs. Claus. That's all I ask. And don't worry, instead of setting out cookies for Santa, I'll lay out a cute pair of earrings from Forever 21 and some face moisturizer. GIRL POWER!

Love,

Maggie

Until next time.

The Stuff I Hear Through My Walls

You know that old saying "if walls could talk?"

Well, mine do.

Or at least, any and every person outside who may be in a 200 yard radius talks. Loudly.

If my walls were a celebrity, they'd be Kate Moss. Or Nichole Richie. Or Perez Hilton after the diet and drugs. Paper. Freaking. Thin. (PFT)

I have a great house location. I can leave my house at 8:53 and make it to my class by 9:00. People would pay tons of money to live in our location. (Oh wait, we already do..thanks Bob).

However, there are some drawbacks.
My PTF walls seem to do the opposite of noise cancellation and instead help outside sounds reverberate around my room. It would seem to be a cool spy technique; if only I were Harriet the Spy and discovered secret meetings in the Chi-O parking lot next to my window where assassins plot a professor's pending murder. Their hushed whispers would be then picked up by my PFT walls, each word of their plan echoing through my room as I furiously transcribe their plot in one of those spotted cow-looking notebooks. I would save the day. People would chant my name. All thanks to my PFT walls.

But instead. All I hear is crap.

The Crap I Learn Through My Walls:

The surrounding frats really do live up to their stereotypes: Who needs Pandora, Spotify or I-tunes when you have fraternities nearby? It must be in their code of brotherhood to blast music outside of their windows for all the surrounding houses to hear. Perhaps its their proverbial way of marking their territory the way dogs pee on bushes. I don't necessary like to play into stereotypes, but the surrounding music choice of the three (yes count them THREE) fraternities fit perfectly into their Greekrank stereotypes. Sig Ep usually has some Rastafarean number blaring while they play frisbee in Kappa's front yard. The sound of country music coming from Beta weekly honestly makes me want to take a line out of one of the songs  and "put a boot in their ass" to make it stop and well, I'm not sure if it is technically music, but the private boys of SAE just listen to the Rush Limbaugh show on the radio while they count their daddy's money. That is almost as bad as Justin Bieber.

Chi-O's really love Phillip Phillips and loud noises: There are only a couple things I can count on daily: the likelihood of my iPhone's autocorrect to make me sound silly and the consistency of the Chi-O's parking lot. Have no fear, every day a certain SUV's car alarm will sound, piercing the sweet sanctuary of my room. We have pinned down the car, now we are just pinning down the reason. Could it be that her car is just a hot commodity for car burglars? Could it be that rather large acorns from the nearby tree are setting it off? Or could it be that she just really has a habit of accidentally hitting her panic button? We may never know.
There is also one Chi O that loves song "Home" by Phillip Phillips. She really does have a wonderful voice as she pulls into the parking lot, blasting it at at least volume 86 and singing her lungs out. I really don't blame her; it's a great song. I just want to know her name so I can refer her to Chi O's Scandals directors and make sure she doesn't slip through the cracks and accidentally make the show.

Kappa must be feeding a small nation in their basement: There is no other explanation than this one for the trash truck to come to Kappa EVERY. DAY. at 7am in the morning to empty out the giant dumpster. Either the basement filled with thousands of hungry village people who consume hundreds of pizzas a day, therefore resulting in hundreds of pizza boxes or Kappa is just punishing me via audio torture because I disregarded the rules and hammered nails in their walls sophomore year.

The outcome of the OU game, before I know the outcome of the OU game: I can't lie. I love watching football from the comfort of my couch. Sure, I will put on my game day attire, attend the tailgates and join the celebration once its over, but when most people are getting out their student IDs and tickets and heading to the stadium early, I like to turn on heel, grab a blanket and yell at my television. However, because my house is so close and my walls are PFT, I highly considered the alternative: paying the money to go uncomfortable stand in the student section next to a dude that smells like whiskey and curses too much.  So you know that big game we just played called "Bedlam"? I was praying for a win just like every other OU Fan. Except they knew 10 seconds before me. You see, television is a little behind live action. There I was, on the edge of (my very comfy) couch seat during overtime, with 10 seconds left. The ball gets snapped. And boom. The cannons from the field and an uproar of voices fill our room. I guess we won. So much for the suspense of the game. But then again, I guess the 10 second delay did save me from biting off my fingernails as I usually do while watching a suspenseful sporting event.

So readers, next time you walk by my house, just whisper a small "hello." Don't worry, I'll hear you through my PFTs.

10 Reasons I'm Seceding from the Union

This whole election business has got me thinking.

If something doesn't make me happy, I can just leave. It's genius.

One time when I was 8, my mom wouldn't let me watch Jerry Springer. I was furious. I grabbed my Teddy, packed my My Little Pony suitcase and started walking. I was going to show that bitch who was boss. But then I got hungry about 15 minutes later and turned home, so that didn't really work out too well.

But hey, if Oklahoma and many other states are seceding from the Union after this recent presidential election, then by God, I can too.

Now, I don't really care too much for politics. But there are plenty of things that piss me the hell off. AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANYMORE.

10 Reasons I'm Seceding From The Union:

1. When I see a picture of Justin Bieber I can't tell if it's him or a lesbian. 

Which is which?

2. The Pad Industry thinks we're stupid. 

Really people, BLUE? You confused about 60% of 5th graders.

3. Nickelodean allowed the doctor in Rugrats to be named Lipshitz.

YOU THINK WE REALLY WOULDN'T NOTICE?

4. It's socially acceptable whenever someone loses something for people to respond by "Well, it's always in the last place you look." OF COURSE IT IS. Why would I still be looking AFTER I've already found it?

5. People actually wear this shirt...seriously. Screw the Whales. Who cares about Kony anymore anyway? Let's free the rapper that ACCIDENTALLY SHOT HIMSELF one time and DRINKS A MIXTURE OF COUGH SYRUP AND VODKA TO GET HIGH. 

There's no other cause you can stand behind?

6. Winning beer pong is absolutely pointless, yet people still play. People play drinking games to drink. But if you win beer pong, you technically drink less and the loser drink more. So are the losers actually the winners in the long run? Trying to figure it out hurts my brain the same way watching time-travel movies does. 

It's just plain confusing.

7. Taco Bell only gives me 2 packets of hot sauce when it's obvious that I need more. Really, TB, do you think 2 packets of FIRE Sauce are enough for my 3 soft tacos, fiesta nachos, 2 chimichangas order? There's no way me and my friends are going to ration that FIRE Sauce like it's the last canteen in the Gobi Desert. 

The messages should just go ahead and say WE'RE CHEAP.

8. The fact that the Texas flag and the Chile flag are so damn similar. Could we not be a little more unique guys? It confused the hell out of me when I studied abroad there and now everyone thinks that my Chile flag sticker means I'm from Texas. 

Such creativity.

9. Hostess went out of business. There's only one person I can blame for this. OBAMA. First he takes my Twinkies then he's taking my money. 

America without Twinkies is pretty much North Korea.

10. That Google is being taking over by communists. There's really no other reason I can think of besides communism that would prevent my recent Googles to not show the results I want.

Could I have been any clearer? Obviously the government is controlling Google to not allow me to ask about these damn stickers I'm trying to remember. If anyone remembers the name of those stickers that we all had plastered over our binders as children let me know.

TAKE THAT OBAMA.

Next time you read this blog, readers, I will be posting from my own nation. It's about darn time. 

Until next time

The Years I Wish I Could Forget

I don't know why my parents didn't ground me for the entirety of middle school.

Not because I was bad: I didn't sneak out after they went to bed (my window wouldn't open), I didn't steal beer from the fridge (it tasted like pee) and I never skipped class to go hang out at the Braum's next door (don't like ice cream).

But I was freaking embarrassing. 

It wasn't just me guys, you were embarrassing too. 

We all were. There must be some chemical unbalance that happens when you're in middle school that makes you say/do/like the most embarrassing things. (I suppose it's called puberty) 

Why I would never be friends with my 8th grade self:

1. I loved Good Charlotte. 

Lifestyles of the Rich and the...Stupid.

I like to think of myself as someone who has a good taste in music. These were the dark days of my life. When I say I loved them, I mean, I loveddddd them. And what does someone do to show their love for someone? AIM Screen name: XvGC_Evil_QueenvX. My friends parents even drove us to Denver to see one of their concerts. I bought a shirt at the concert and immediately put it on. (I threw up in my mouth of embarrassment after I typed that).

2. I was an avid Xanga-updater. 

I suppose my blogging days started early. Technically, this is exactly a Xanga, I'm just not abusing it which the emo musings of an 8th grader. Some of my Xanga names (not exact, because they are still online) Beautiful Despair. Another Emo Pirate. and The Raven Nevermore. Just to embarrass myself farther, here are actual screen shots of my Xanga.

3. I took my Buddy Info way too seriously.

I treated my AIM Buddy Info like a resume. It changed sometimes daily, with different colors and quotes reflecting my mood. Sequoyah Middle School had a trend of posting your "Top 5's" on your Buddy Info, or, the top 5 people you liked most that week (I rarely made it on anyone's Top 5s)

Mine usually went as follows:

tOp FiVe <333 p="p">

1. John

2. Garret

3. *****

4. ?

5. Chase

Now, #3, I was obviously too embarrassed to type the name, but I did give the correct amount of stars for each letter! 

And of course, I don't like Chase enough for a number 4 spot, so that remains a question mark.

4. I shopped in a cave.

I'm pretty sure the designer of Hollister made it so dark in there so that when you bought their clothes, you didn't realize how shitty they were until you got home.

5. I legitimately used THIS link:

Away messages were definitely the first Tweets. You had to be concise. 

You could be funny:

You could be coy:

Or you could be deep:

So remember readers, next time you complain about seeing your 8th grade cousin post a selfie of her biting her lip with a caption that says "ughh no makeup :/ all natural!" Just remember:

We all were there once.

Live simply..as an 8th grader.

My Life: Law and Order SVU

My dad is a Murderer Hunter.

Think of The Crocodile Hunter, but replace the crocs with rapists, murderers and drug lords. He doesn't wear all khaki like Steve either, although I'm sure he would if he could.

My father's actual title isn't as flashy--"Fugitive Investigator and SWAT Team Captain" doesn't quite roll off the tongue.

You know that guy who's on the Dos Equis commercial? The Most Interesting Man in the World? A'int got nothin' on Scott Cannon. Who else has Cop and Cupcake Bakery Owner on their resume? I swear he could be a comic book super hero. Cupcake Cop: catching criminals by day and making cupcakes by night.

Talk about contrasting Facebook posts.

What I've Learned Living with a Cop:

1. His life is like Law and Order SVU episode: Growing up, my bed time stories consisted of two things: Monster Stories where I saved the day (and my brother peed himself from fear) and Bad Guy Stories. I was so interested in my dad's day-to-day life that I would ask him what bad guys he caught that day. It varied anywhere from hostage situations to tear gassing a wanted rapist. Now that I have moved out and grown up, I get the majority of my stories from his Facebook or text messages.

2. I still hold on to the fact that I could be in witness protection program: When I was in 4th grade, I read a book about a girl who was put in the Witness Protection because of her dad's job. From then on, I honestly thought that I was going to be Mary-Kate and Ashley in Our Lips Are Sealed. I even had my alias name picked out...Whisper. Yes, Whisper. (Why, young Maggie? WHY?)

3. I have a plan for any situation: My dad's job scares the shit out of me. It makes me believe that at any point of time, on any day, in any place I could and/or will be murdered/kidnapped/beatenup/soldintoprostitution. It happens people. But don't worry, I've been trained. I look for the Emergency Exits everywhere I go and consistently map out escape plans for the most ridiculous of situations. One time in class, a guy walked in during the middle of lecture and I was convinced he was a campus shooter. I legitimately scooted my chair back and began getting under my desk. He was the IT Guy there to fix the projector.. 

4. Catching murderers makes you really just a little bit overprotective: My bus stop was 6 houses down from my house one year and my dad called the Department of Transportation to have them drop me off at my driveway. I called my dad each day after school. One time I got lost driving in Guthrie and 20 minutes later I see my dad's cop car, red and blue lights flashing, on the side of the highway ready to escort me home. 

5. If I was Taken, everything would be okay: My dad would go Liam Neeson on a foreigners ass if they ever attempted to sell me into a European sex trade. Then after he was done, he would go bake a dozen Red Velvet cupcakes. 

6. Murderer Hunters are real people too: My dad doesn't just live for tazoring drunk Indians. He loves the little things in life. Like nature: 

Just goes to show you readers, just because you've shot and killed someone doesn't mean you can't 

Live simply. 

OU, what were you thinking?

I tried cheerleading once.

It was more of a social thing--my friends were doing it, and wanting to seem cool, I signed up . And yes, readers... if they would have jumped off a bridge, I would have followed.

I think the moment I realized it wasn't for me was about 13.7 seconds into the first warm-up exercise: stretching. I'm not sure where my development went wrong biologically, but I must be missing some sort of ligament or tendon or brain cell that doesn't allow me to touch my toes. It just won't happen.

So cheerleading didn't work out.

But don't worry readers, I found my niche somewhere--it just wasn't on the sidelines of the football field.

So last weekend when I found myself on the sidelines of OU's stadium in front of 82,000 people with a crown on my head and a sash across my dress, I was a little confused.

And frankly OU, I was a little disappointed. Dorky girl wins Homecoming Queen was soooo 1990s. I mean, the least you could have done was had Freddie Prince Jr. make an appearance and say it was all a bet, but he actually learned to care for me during the process. You can't start the stereotype and then not follow all the way through.

I like to chalk it up to good luck and good friends.

So thank you, voters. Thank you for choosing to ignore these qualities in me:

The fact that this is my current background on my phone.

 That even with our heads cut off, it's obvious which one I am based on melanin content.

1. That I put panty hose on my face. 2. That I allowed someone to photograph it. 3. That I allowed them to post it to social media and 4. That I just posted it to my blog. 

Honestly, I find it very hilarious comforting that someone like me can be chosen to represent the university and I am very confused honored. I thought the crown would change me, but obviously not...because I apparently grabbed my boobs on national television. 

I didn't know, okay?

Some things never change. 

Why I Can't Leave Facebook Behind

You know that friend that you really don't like that much? They may be rude or annoying or just plain mean, but for some reason you just can't stop being friends with them? Maybe it's because they've been around for a long time. They've seen you grow from an awkward 15 year old all the way to an awkward 21 year old. You want to move on to bigger and better things, but there's something holding you back.


That friend is Facebook.

I know there are better friends in store for me than Facebook--friends that will treat me better, friends that are way cooler, more socially relevant and a hell of a lot less annoying. But. I. Just. Can't. Leave.

Facebook teaches me things and without it, well, I would be a lot less knowledgable of the important issues in life.

Without my friend Facebook:

How would I know which high school friends finally came out of the closet?

Some do it secretly. One day I'll be scrolling through my newsfeed and suddenly the quiet girl that sat behind me in English is kissing a girl in her photos. You sly fox.

Some do it openly. You know, the whole status update or the very ceremonial switch from interested in "Women" to interested in "Men." We all act like we are surprised, like the status and post the appropriate SO PROUD OF YOU!!!! comment. But really dude... you played with Barbies when we were in elementary school and I blatantly remember you one time you "jokingly" wearing my flapper dress in 8th grade.


How could I possibly know which candidate to support in the upcoming election?

Forget the news. I get my information from the most credible source on this planet. My Facebook friends. Preferably the ones without a college education and with the statuses containing the most grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. They're the true Americans.

How could I know what exactly my dad is up to at that very second?

My dad's Facebook has also given me an insight into what his interests and likes are..because he often uses them as his profile picture. Just to name a show a few of his recent profile pictures:

How could I possibly find my soul mate?

The old method of "love at first sight" is outdated. I think it should be changed to "love at first creepy Facebook message"

How could I realize that I will probably die alone?

Now as I'm getting older, I have seen numerous of my Facebook friends make the commitment of eternal love. These newly changed relationship status to Engaged has taught me one thing. The only thing I can be committed to at the current time is the Thursday night ritual of Vampire Diaries.



So you're welcome, Facebook. You are holding on to my friendship merely by a thread. And thank you in return. Thank you for the hours of endless entertainment (and self-confidence boosting material).