Baggage Claim

I was re-watching 30 Rock for the fifth time last week, and Tina Fey said one of those profound things that she says.

“l just wish people would tell you immediately when you meet them, ‘Hi, l am so-and-so. Here is all the weird stuff about me.”’

I had to pause Netflix (WHAT NO) to think about that statement for a moment. Think about it. What if people wore lists of their weird stuff on their shirts? What if everyone in the world had an honest dating profile? Then I started to get into this whole theoretical debate with myself on if that would work for our society. Arguing with yourself is not fun, guys. You can’t get anywhere. You make no progress.

How many times have you seen a story on the news about a husband or wife’s double life? Like “Married Woman of 40 Years Finds Out Her Husband is Prolific Serial Killer ‘The Hammer'” and the like. Most people’s double lives are more tame than that, but I wanted to make an impact. Doesn’t that freak you out? No, not the serial killer part. The fact that it doesn’t even matter how long you’ve known someone, you still may have no idea who they are. And honestly, the ones who live their whole life married to a ‘double-lifer’ and never find out are the lucky ones. It’s the people that find our a year, five years, ten years, fifty years in that have to deal with the emotional toll it takes.

Okay, this went in a very different direction than I’d originally intended. This was supposed to me about me. This whole blog is supposed to be about me.

I’ve got some baggage. You all know that term, I’m assuming. It’s stuff that’s happened to a person (perhaps in a past relationship) and personal attributes that combine to make up the seemingly undesirable “weird stuff” about them. Get it? It’s like all the stuff that comes with you when you go anywhere. And guess what? ~*~*we all have some baggage*~*~

Granted, my baggage isn’t incredibly large. I think it’s just been on my mind recently. Side note, it’s totally cool to understand what your baggage may be (GO TO THERAPY I’M SERIOUS EVEN IF YOU DON’T THINK YOU NEED TO, SOMETIMES IT HELPS WITH PROBLEMS YOU DON’T KNOW YOU HAD) but it shouldn’t be a deterrent or a reason not to be out in the world. Seriously, the population of people with baggage and the world’s population is the same.

My own baggage has made me incredibly skeptical about everyone else’s. This is true when it comes to every new person I meet. I feel so bad for my friends, they can’t even make recommendations to me about people I should meet because I will not take their advice (Ha! Throwback to last post!) I must experience their supposed “awesomeness” for myself. I trust my friends, but I don’t trust that other rando. Who the hell is this guy? How is it that he’s supposedly been at Chapman the whole time that I’ve been at Chapman, but we’ve never met? I’ve never even heard of him. He’s probably a sleeper agent for the KGB.

“Megan, let the KGB stuff go.”


“The Berlin Wall was destroyed, part of it is at Chapman–”


Whoops, sorry, forgot to eat a Snickers today. I’m good now, though. I have an emergency stash for jus such occasion. Anyway, you may be asking “Why do you even trust your friends? What about your whole opening statement about being married to a serial killer? How do you know your friends aren’t serial killers?” Good question, curious fan of a twenty-two year old’s blog, and it is because it is literally impossible to get through life without blindly trusting someone. I have tried: it doesn’t work. You’ve just got to take that leap of faith with those losers you spend all of your time with and pray to whatever God you believe in that they won’t turn out to be a serial killer. Or a Plushie. Mom, do NOT look up the term Plushie. I’m serious.

My point: You have baggage. Your stupid friends have baggage. You both need help carrying said baggage. The TSA agents of of real life are shit–they will not help you, even though they have those fast little carts with plenty of room… they will not let you sit there with your baggage. Your friends have to help you and you have to help your friends. It’s how we get through life.

And maybe someday, if I’m lucky, I’ll meet an attractive, caring, intelligent guy with a great sense of humor that’ll love me, marry me, and won’t get caught until I’m dead.

As Maya Rudolph once said, “I have an equal opportunity womb!”