"Land of the Free, Home of the Brave." #1

“Four things support the world: the learning of the wise, the justice of the great, the prayers of the good and the valor of the brave.” Muhammad.

October 7, 2001 - just another day in the life of most Americans. As one joint nation that was still reeling from the September 11th attacks, we patriotically watched our televisions as the United States invaded Afghanistan. So began Operation Enduring Freedom.

Since then, we’ve cheered for our country’s teams at three FIFA World Cups, three Winter Olympic Games and two Summer Olympic Games. We’ve encountered nine World Series games, the New England Patriots win three Superbowls and the LA Lakers and the San Antonio Spurs each win three NBA Championships.

We mourned the deaths of George Harrison, Queen Elizabeth, Katherine Hepburn, Bob Hope, Johnny Cash, Ray Charles, Marlon Brando, Julia Child, Pope John Paul II, Johnny Carson, Peter Jennings, Rosa Parks, Steve Irwin, Luciano Pavarotti, Heath Ledger, Sydney Pollack, George Carlin, Michael Jackson, Teddy Kennedy, JD Salinger, two former Presidents - Gerald Ford and Ronald Reagan, and three of the four Golden Girls – Estelle Getty, Bea Arthur and Rue McClanahan.

We’ve watched Enron and Lehman Brothers file for Chapter 11, Martha Stewart go to jail for insider trading and the stock market plunge fueled by the subprime mortgage crisis. We’ve feared anthrax, SARS, and the swine flu pandemic and marveled at the medical wonders of the first human face transplant, the completion of the Human Genome Project and the first person proven to have been “cured” of HIV.

We voted in George W. Bush for his second term and Barak Obama as the first African-American President of the United States. We waited for the smoke to clear to see Pope Benedict XVI succeed Pope John Paul II as the 265th pope. We saw No Child Left Behind and the USA PATRIOT Act go into effect, the creation of the new US Dept. of Homeland Security and the legalization of same-sex marriages in Massachusetts. We heard about North Korea’s nuclear tests, the War in Darfur, and global protests against the Iraq War.

We wept with the world after the mass tragedies of the Indian Ocean earthquakes and tsunamis, Hurricane Katrina, the Australian brushfires, the Haitian Earthquake and the explosion of Deepwater Horizon in the Gulf of Mexico.

We experienced the founding of Facebook, the last Oldsmobile off the assembly line, the groundbreaking of the Freedom Tower at Ground Zero, the pilot and ending of Lost, the final book of the Harry Potter series and lingered as a leap second was added to end the year 2005. It has been almost nine years since the beginning of Operation Enduring Freedom. The world population has topped 6.8 billion people.

As of July 25, 2010, 5,589 U.S. Servicemen have died representing our country in support of Operation Enduring Freedom.

We are so lucky here to live in this pretty, padded world, shielded from the realities of what's going on around us and outside the United States. Even what's reported on the news is behind a screen in this little box that shows us only what someone else wants us to see. Eight years ago, we watched on those same screens our country being attacked. We supported our friends, family members, brothers and sisters as they jumped into action, enlisted and shipped across the world. We tied yellow ribbons on our houses, cars, trees, waiting for the day until they come home. We patriotically hung flags in front of our houses, sang God Bless America in our churches, sent care packages and letters overseas and held parades and parties to welcome service members coming home from their tours.

As years passed, we forgot. Forgot about our flags, forgot about our ribbons and patriotic songs and we went on with our lives. Which is understandable, it’s human nature for the pain to fade. We needed to move on and live our lives. What is most unfortunate about us moving on is that we forgot about the service members overseas. The reality is that 5,589 deaths are only a small tragedy in the grand scheme of things. But those 5,589 deaths were among the people who, day in and day out, are out there fighting to keep us wrapped up in our bubble here in the U.S.

So while I sat at work, at home, at the coffee shop on my street... safe and sound, I couldn’t continue leaving those people forgotten. A few months ago, I read a Connie Schultz article in the Plain Dealer and found out that the Department of Defense has an email sign up with notifications and press releases updating those who sign up on what's going on. (The article can be found here: Connie Schultz Article)

So, I signed up to start receiving the DOD emails. What's poignant about these alerts is that every so often I receive an alert announcing U.S. service member casualties. My little, tiny, insignificant gesture became a slight weight that I carry in memory of those who serve. It's amazing how much of a sincerely heart wrenching effect it has when I scroll through the hundreds of daily emails - meeting reminders, sappy forwards, funny jokes, bills and spam - to stop at the one that reads: DOD Announces Navy Casualty and Identifies Sailor Listed as Whereabouts Unknown. That was the one I received on July 27.

Petty Officer 2nd Class Justin McNeley, from Wheatridge, Colorado was 30 years old. He died from wounds sustained in an incident in Logar province, Afghanistan on July 23 while he was supporting Operation Enduring Freedom. Coalition Forces recovered his body on July 25 after an extensive search. He was a father of two and was planning to return to Colorado from Afghanistan in August.

Today, the DOD announced the death of Lance Cpl. Abram L. Howard, a 21 year-old Marine of Williamsport, Pennsylvania. He was scheduled to come home in late August and was killed on July 27 in Helmand province, Afghanistan while supporting combat operations. Howard, who was survived by his parents and two siblings, enlisted in the Marines in 2007 straight out of high school where he played football, wrestled and was in the orchestra.

Of course I have my opinions about the Iraqi/Afghan conflict, but those don’t matter. Positive or negative opinions on the war aside, what matters is that those men and women that are overseas fighting are not just another number to add to the count. They are mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters that grew up in towns just like ours with families that care about them and that will mourn their death much longer than a random post on someone’s Facebook or blog page. So maybe, instead of checking our Facebook page one more time or refreshing the Google Reader to see what’s new, we can take one minute. One minute out of the 1440 that we have to spend today, then one more from the hopefully many days we have after that – to remember. Remember those men and women who are out there representing our country and fighting for our freedom. I think that’s a minute worth spending.

Requiescat in Pace
Petty Officer 2nd Class Justin McNeley and Lance Cpl. Abram L. Howard

Return of the Mac

So I obviously went on a little blogging sabbatical. I know, I know… you missed me, the kids missed me. It wasn’t you, it was me. I needed time. I’m a free spirit, I don’t know how to stay on schedule or follow routines. I started writing this blog because I had so much on my mind and I needed to get it all out. I don’t know whether I ran out of things to say, or I felt like I couldn’t say certain things, or I felt like I had to impress people by writing a certain way, but I stopped writing. Maybe I just was overwhelmed with work or by life. Maybe I was over the novelty of having a blog. I do shit like that. When I was 10, I was convinced I wanted to play the violin. I couldn’t even read music. I was not good at the violin. So I stopped after 6 months. Then I started playing the clarinet. That was about a year. The piano and a Ukrainian instrument, the bandura, followed in the same suit. There was a six month period when I was 20 where I would come home from work/school and just make jewelry. All day long. Just bead shit together. All that stuff is just sitting somewhere in a closet in my parents’ house. I was a pog collector. Don’t hate. I follow trends as I see them or get into them. Was blogging different for me? I’m still not sure. I don’t know how often I’ll post, I don’t know how long it will go on. I’m going with the flow, flying by the seat of my pants. Which would be kinda cool if I could really do that, except I would feel slightly self-conscious since my dupa would be all accentuated and high up in the air. Minor details.

Much has changed since I wrote last. I’m in the same job, same apartment (for the time being), same life… but with new stories, new characters and a new outlook. This summer has brought be more joy and more sorrow than I could ever imagine. I have lost people, met new people, partied, danced, traveled, sang, drank, laughed, cried, fallen, gotten back up. I have loved. Loved my family, loved my friends. Loved a song, loved a food, loved a moment. Loved many moments.

I have learned. Learned from my mistakes and from my successes. Learned to have patience. Learned to stand up for myself. Learned to make the most amazing butternut squash soup I’ve ever tasted. I have learned that I am soft, yet I am strong. Like toilet paper. Charmin toilet paper, not the generic, affordable kind. I have not matured much, but I’ve definitely had more fun. I have grown. I have lived. It was good. Life is good. It’s good to be back.

Dum vita est, spes est. ~ Cicero

They're coming to take me away...

I am currently sitting in my office cold and crabby and feeling slightly poopy. More than slightly. I have overdosed on Airborne and Yogi Immunity tea and the only thing I have to show for it is that sloshy feeling in my stomach when I drink too much liquid too quickly. I have been so busy the last week planning a Mardi Gras party for an organization I volunteer for… preparing the menu, getting stuff donated, making sure the liquor was ordered, making hundreds of cornbread muffins and jambalaya… I’m so Mardi Gras-ed out that come the party tomorrow night, I just plan on finding a corner to sleep in until it is over. Except I have to bartend. Ok… so I’ll just drown my pained body in vodka until it just stops hurting. Hmm… I think I have a problem.

At one point last week I thought I went koo-koo in the head because of this Mardi Gras. Probably for other reasons too. But this crazy in the head moment was brought to me by the Mardi Gras. About a week ago, I was putting together a list of stuff that I still had to do for this party and I realized that the beads and masks that I ordered from Oriental Trading Company still haven’t come in. So I went through my credit card statement, and I realized that I had absolutely no charges from Oriental Trading Company. So I go onto their website and log in to my account. They don’t have my username in the system. I try again. Still don’t. I try again. Yep, still not in the system. I go into my email account to find the confirmation email. Not there. Not in my deleted emails box either. I sit back in my chair and think back. I swore to myself I remembered ordering those damn chachkis. I distinctly remember ordering them. Like, I could picture the whole process in my head. What was wrong with me? Did I forget to press a button? Did I imagine it? Did I dream it? Have I gone insane in the membrane?

So what do I do? Lie. No, lie is such a harsh word. Decieve the Oriental Trading Company. I came up with a plan to call up the company to check on my order because it hasn’t come in yet. When they couldn’t find it… since obviously I never put it in… I would pitch a fit and make me send the merch express mail. Ha ha. I know, I know… this is a horrible thing to do… but come on… I actually did put the order in, whether it was in my head or not is not the question. So I dial the customer service number.

Customer Service Rep: Oriental Trading Company, how can I help you?

Melange: Yes, I put in an order with your company back in January and I still haven’t received my merchandise.

CSR: I’m sorry to hear that, let’s check on that for you. Do you have your confirmation number?

Melange: No I don’t have it on hand right now.

CSR: That’s fine, can I have your name?

Melange: (gives name and other required information)

CSR: You’re order has been shipped, it should arrive at your house in a day or so.

(silence)

CSR: Hello?

Melange: Seriously?

CSR: Um, yes, we’re sorry for the delay but the beads that were ordered were out of stock and we had to wait on a new shipment.

Melange: Thank God. I’m not crazy.

CSR: I’m sorry?

Melange: Ok, thanks, have a good day!

CSR: Thank you for calling the Oriental Trading Company.

Why didn’t they give me a confirmation email when I ordered? I don’t know. Why there were no charges put on my credit card? I don’t know. Why I couldn’t find all this out over the internet like any other respectable company? I don’t know. All I know… is I’m not completely crazy making shit up in my head. One point for Melange. It was a good day.

Love is a Battlefield

So my usually pathetic, lonely self made me some plans for the stupidest holiday ever St. Valentine’s Day. I am attending a Christening instead of ending up like I have for the past few years – sitting at home watching stupid slasher flicks while drinking my weight in Franzia and crying in my Cheerios in an ironic expression that is my life. Well not really crying, because I don’t really cry. But the Cheerios and Franzia part, fo sho.

I don’t even like Cheerios. They are not cheery. Cheerios are rubbish. I once had a friend try to convince me that they were not in fact rubbish because people give their babies Cheerios and therefore Cheerios are a source of life. Hogwash. Don’t be pulling any baby cards with me. If I have children, they will not under any circumstances eat Cheerios. They taste like sawdust and look like doggie kibble and it is my duty as a parent to shelter my child from such atrocities. It’s in the rules. You don’t know. And don’t try to liven that doo-doo with all that flavor bullshit. The honey nut ones taste like someone smooshed a bee with a piece of cardboard and the yogurt ones taste like baby vomit smells. Rubbish I tell you.

You know what else is rubbish? Valentine’s Day. Who didn’t see that one coming? You need a V8. Valentine’s Day kind of makes me want to drown fuzzy kittens. Sorry, that’s morbid. I know, I know…another perpetually single girl bitching about being alone on Valentine’s Day. What else is new. I’m just annoyed that I actually have to go out and be amongst happy shiny people with their cute little brand-spanking new babies and kissy kissy faces. I mean, it’s a Christening and everyone will be paying attention to the baby. If everyone’s paying attention to the itty bitty cutsie boo… who is going to point me in the direction of the tequila?

I’m not even sure if my disdain for Valentine’s Day is strictly correlated with the fact that I am single. Maybe I’m just a bitter bitch, but I don’t need a special day to show someone that I love them. People should be doing that all year around. I think I would be slightly miffed at the idea that my (currently imaginary) boyfriend thinks I am so materialistic and part of the drove that I need to participate in Valentine’s Day celebrations.

On a (slightly) related note, I once did have an imaginary boyfriend. We dated for a few months in 3^rd grade and his name was Bono Joe Barker (Bono after… uh Bono, Joe as in Michael Landon on Bonanza and Barker after Bob Barker of Price is Right fame. Come on down!). I have only fond memories of Bono Joe Barker. He came into my life just after a bitter real-kid breakup over white chedder popcorn. BJB wouldn't flip out and dump me because I snatched a piece of popcorn for goodness sake. We would only have dates while I was at school because I wasn’t allowed to have boys in my room and I didn’t want him seeing my big posters of Rider Strong on my walls. Then one day we had a fight because he saw me playing soccer with the boys and misread a soccer ball to the groin as me flirting with another boy and that was the end of my relationship with Bono Joe Barker. I wonder whatever happened to him.

Man, I’m messed up. Why don’t I have a boyfriend again? It's too bad about Michael Landon... Lil Joe was a hottie.

Life in the Fast Lane

People who have ever spoken on the phone with me while I’m driving know very well that I have a pretty bad case of road rage. I am convinced that I am one of very, very few good drivers out there. For the most part, I don’t do much suburban driving. I live a few blocks from a highway entrance and I get off the highway less than a block from my parking garage. Sometimes I drive downtown, but very seldom because I can just walk everywhere. So when I do drive through the suburbs – whether it is to visit my parents or go to the mall… I am just plain irritated. So many things about suburban drivers makes me angry. They are just so inefficient about getting from one place to another.

• Do not slow down before getting into the left turning lane – you are making everyone behind you slow down too therefore creating traffic.

• Pull up to the end of the street to set off the damn sensors, don’t sit 20 feet back and wonder why you’ve been sitting at the light for a ½ hour.

• If the speed limit is 35 – drive AT LEAST 35 MPH… do not drive 25. Are you just driving for fun? Do you not have to be anywhere right now? And for the sake of my sanity, if you are going to drive under the speed limit, the left lane is NOT for you.

• If we are at a four way stop and you got there first, it’s your right of way, champ. Do not sit and stare at me. I know I’m pretty, I know it is very likely that I am much smarter than you, but just drive already.
What makes me really irate is that suburban drivers never seem to know exactly where they are driving. Is it this driveway? No, no… maybe it’s the next… oh wait… a few more, oh well, I’m just going to drive 20 MPH until I find the right one. I haven’t even gotten to the worst and most annoying offense of them all. It is so bad, a whole vignette of horribleness needs to be written out to portray the audacity of certain suburban drivers.

Melange is casually driving down the main drag in Parma, Ohio. She is approaching a main intersection where the light is red. She slows to a stop with nobody in front of her. Minding her own business, she might be singing along to the song on the radio. Suddenly, the car next to her beeps.

Hmm…” Melange thinks to herself while avoiding contact with the driver next to her. “I wonder who they’re beeping at.”

Then, the driver beeps again. Out of the corner of her eye, Melange sees the driver motioning towards her. This time Melange cautiously and slowly turns her head towards the car. The driver waves at her, then motions for Melange to let him/her in front of Melange so they can turn. Melange reluctantly obliges. But what Melange really wants to do is yell: “What are you DOING?!?!? Don’t you know where you’re going? You didn’t see that main street coming up before you stopped at the light? How about you start paying attention to the world around you. Or don’t leave your house until you have a route and a plan of action. Who let you behind the wheel of a moving vehicle anyway?

So there it is, drivers of suburban areas. You have created a new cause for me to champion for. Please start having respect for me drivers that actually know what they’re doing and where they’re going. And umm… buckle up, it’s the law… or something.

My attention is elsewhere...

I am the ultimate procrastinator. I mean, most people consider themselves procrastinators… but I am just beyond help. I would rather do ANYTHING than what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ll be sitting at work, ready to put together a newsletter suddenly feel the dire need to play brick breaker. Brick breaker will be the fall of me. I’ll begin reading my emails then decide that my plant really needs watering so I go all the way across the office to the lunch room, trek back, water the plant, then decide I want some tea, walk all the way back to the lunch room, make some tea, come back forget what I was doing….

I’ll try writing a press release and then “Hmm… what should I have for dinner today…” and I spend four hours looking up “easy quiche with feta” on Google search. I made one on Sunday and it was delicious. Just take a pie crust, crumble some feta at the bottom, lightly fry some green peppers, garlic and spinach and throw that on top, dice up some tomatoes throw that in, take 4 eggs, a dash of cayenne pepper, salt and 2/3 cup of milk, mix that shit and pour it on top of your mess then bake at 350 degrees for about 30-40 minutes.

When I have deadlines, I’m actually very punctual, but I love to make myself crazy by waiting until the ABSOLUTE last minute. Oh, you wanted that flyer by 10am? I bust out that design program at 9:45am. Eh, maybe 9:55… I should probably check my Google Reader for the 10th time that morning before I start.

Most may think that this means my work is sloppy and incomplete. In actuality, my work is it’s shittiest when I do it in advance. One time I wrote a paper on some psychology mumbo jumbo and I was soooo proud of myself that I finished it a week early. A whole week, that was unheard of. So I had it sitting on my desk, ready to go for seven whole days. Each day I would read it over and change things that I didn’t like. I ended up scrapping it and rewriting it an hour before it was due.

I just work well under pressure. Kinda like that one song that sounds like Vanilla Ice but is really Queen. Mm ba ba de, Um bum ba de, Um bu bu bum da de. Not sure if it has real lyrics though. Ah the life lessons to be learned from Freddie Mercury.

So here I am, 4:30pm… time for me to go home (usually) and I have four phone cards to finish before 9:00am tomorrow… but who’s worried here? Not me. Just don’t bother trying to talk to me tomorrow morning cause I’ll be busy spending it freaking out and being mad at my own procrastination.

So... what to have for dinner today....

Avoiding Awkward Moments

All I can say is… TGIF. Wow, I’m a nerd. Anyway, below are interesting snippets of conversation that I had today that made me laugh. My disclaimer is that these conversations may either make people come to the slightly skewed conclusion that I am a rockstar and a baller or they’ll just feel bad for my patheticness. I’m hoping for neither, just enjoy the rediculousness of the moment.

My dear sister texts me out of nowhere:

Boozie: Are you in charge of the disco party?

Melange: What disco party?

Boozie: On Valentine’s Day

Melange: No I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Boozie: I got an email about it.

Boozie: It’s weird. You can win a phone.

Boozie: It invites anyone who is in love.

Melange: I’m glad you thought that I was organizing it.

Boozie: Apparently the organizers didn’t though.

Melange: Didn’t what?

Boozie: Think you were worthy of being invited because you aren’t in love.

Melange: Word. Sad day.

Boozie: Unless you count vodka…

Melange: I’m just having a tryst with vodka, it’s not a long term thing. My one true love is Jack Daniels.

Boozie: How did I mistake such a thing?

Melange: You don’t know me.

Conversation at 9:00am after a night at Parma Tavern:

Wingwoman: Those shots last night were tricky. I’m feeling them now! You know, slow release.

Melange: I’m pretty sure they are. I umm… ran into [redacted] last night. I’m pretty sure it would have been awkward if I wasn’t shmatangaed.

Melange: Well maybe it was awkward, but I’m not sure what was said, so I don’t care.

Wingwoman: Ha ha. That’s classy! I have no idea why we are still single.

Melange: I know, what’s the problem here boys?

Wingwoman: I think guys are intimidated by our drinking skills.

Melange: Yes, we are very skilled in that field. It must make them feel inadequate.

Wingwoman: Girls want to be us and guys want to be with us… or something.

Melange: Word.

Melange: People just can’t handle our awesomeness.