Bittersweet Melange

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

2010-07-29T15:23:00.001-04:00

“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

2009-08-14T13:12:00.003-04:00

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...

2009-02-19T16:33:00.002-05:00

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

2009-02-13T15:11:00.006-05:00

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

2009-02-11T16:23:00.002-05:00

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...

2009-02-10T16:35:00.002-05:00

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

2009-02-06T15:27:00.005-05:00

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.

Judgment Day

2009-02-02T14:47:00.005-05:00

Today is my Judgment Day. And I don’t mean the second Terminator movie, though that wasn’t much better.

(www.impawards.com)

Today, there will be no clever quips, or funny anecdotes or even any deep thoughts.

Only panic. Sheer and utter panic.

My boss just Facebook Friend-ed me.

I knew this day would come eventually. I was playing with fire when I changed my search options so that “friends of friends” could find me. I didn’t think it would come so fast. But here I am, facing my own destiny.

Don’t get me wrong. My boss is pretty cool. I like her. She’s fun to go to lunch with or to catch a few drinks with after work. Should she be seeing pictures of me with my bra on my head? Or chugging champagne out of a bottle? Absolutely not. Not that I have any pictures like that. Just saying.

So instead of putting together a well written and slightly entertaining blog, I will be detagging myself from 500ish pictures on Facebook and deleting all of the booze mail that I’ve gotten in the past how many years I’ve been on Facebook. Tomorrow, I’m sensing a bitter and angry post about how Facebook is the anti-Christ and will be the fall of mankind. Or it will just be the fall of me. If I even survive till tomorrow. Wish me luck!

It sure takes a lot to render me speechless.

2009-01-30T10:49:00.004-05:00

Not necessarily for lack of things to say... more like where do I begin...

(insert caption here...)

Happy Friday!

Nothing's better than friends...

2009-01-29T18:06:00.005-05:00

When I was younger, my summers were spent at the library. Crazy as it sounds, my mom would yell at me for reading so much – usually because I would spend nights sitting under my covers reading “trashy” books and I was “ruining my eyes”. I read just about every series book there was… Boxcar Children, the Sweet Valley Series, Nancy Drew , the Hardy Boys… and of course, the one, the only… The Babysitters Club. I loved reading those books. It all started with Kristy 's Great Idea... her, Maryanne, Claudia and Stacy started the babysitters club... the most ingenius plan of all time.

But it wasn't just about babysitting - I learned so much from those books. Life lessons came from those books when Claudia dealt with Mean Jeanine, Stacy took a stand, Maryanne broke the rules, and Dawn saved the planet. I learned that people with diabetes pee their beds during sleepovers, I learned that everyone from California is a vegetarian, I learned that eleven- and thirteen-year-olds knew everything about responsibility and can take care of children. Which made me think in my twelve-year-old mind… why can’t I start a babysitting service? So I asked my mom if I could start babysitting to make my own money. She said no. I was too young to babysit.

“But moooooooooom… the babysitters’ club gets to do it.”

So she told me what any rational and annoyed parent would say – it’s against the law for anyone under 14 to babysit.

This was back before we had the Internet (wow that makes me sound old) and while I had a sneaking suspicious she was lying to me… I to this day still don’t know if that is true or not. None-the-less, I was a rebel with a purpose now, and snuck behind my mothers’ back and took a babysitting class at the library. I’m a bad ass mofo, I know. My mom found out and told me I couldn’t babysit because if I wasn’t responsible enough to tell her the truth and if I wasn't responsible enough to keep my room clean, I wasn’t responsible enough to watch other people’s children. I’m pretty sure she grounded me. My mom was mean. I’m still bitter.

Anyway, I never did get to babysit until recently. Fast forward until about two summers ago, my mom’s friend asked me to babysit her two children, a boy and a girl both around 9 years old at the time. I was making minimum wage working at a bakery, and while at 20 I was a little past the prime babysitting age I surely didn’t mind the idea of a few extra dollars in my pocket. Now, I knew the kids pretty well from the community and they had a pretty rowdy reputation, but I’m pretty good with kids for the most part so I was convinced I could handle it.*

I come over the first day I was supposed to babysit and pull into the driveway. Their grandfather was sitting on the front stoop and greeted me quickly before jetting out of there, muttering something about an appointment. I open the front door and walk into the living room to find that the kids have pulled out the couch into a bed and they were jumping on it. Which would have been controllable. But that wasn’t all. The girl was screaming nonsense and was using a power strip to whip her brother who was curled up into a ball on the bed, cowering and crying. Here is where my flight or fight instinct steered me in the wrong direction. Instead of getting the fuck out of there ASAP, I decided that it would be the mature and grown-up thing to take control of the situation.

Melange: (very calmly) Hellion 1, please hand me the power strip and stop hitting your brother.
Hellion 1: Why should I, you’re not my mom.
Melange: No, but your mom left me in charge while she is at work. Please hand me the power strip.
Hellion 1: Show me your boobs first.
(Stunned silence for a moment before I put myself together again)
Melange: You need to stop hitting your brother right now, please hand me the power strip.
Hellion 1: What’s the problem, you’re a girl, I’m a girl, just show me your boobs.
Melange: Hellion 1, I’m not playing games, I am in charge and you need to hand me the power strip right now.
Hellion 1: SHOW ME YOUR BOOBS!
Melange: (slightly loses patience and tackles monster child, wrestling power strip from her hand.) All right now, who wants some lunch?

I guess I missed The Babysitters Club book of how to deal with a 9-year-old dominatrix “charge” who wants you to flash her. Ann M. Martin, you have failed me.

I can tell you this… it was never boring babysitting for them. The one day I took them to the park and walked the exercise course with them. Hellion 2 is a little chubster and was whining the whole time while Hellion 1 raced ahead of us. Hellion 2 wouldn’t stop crying because the course was “child labor” and he was going to call 696- KIDS on me, so I took them to McDonalds for lunch to shut him up.

Hellion 1: I want a Happy Meal with a princess toy with a pretty dress on.
McDonald 's worker: What kind of food do you want.
Hellion 1: Happy Meal.
Melange: Right, but you need to eat something too.
Hellion 1: PRINCESS!!!
Melange: Just give her the chicken nuggets.
Hellion 2: I want a large fry and a fish sandwich. With extra tarter sauce. Like, a lot.
McDonald 's worker: Do you want a drink with that?
Hellion 2: Yeah, a large coke.
Hellion 2: Oh yeah, and a Big Mac.
McDonald 's worker: (eyes bug out, looks at Melange)
Melange: (laughs, shrugs)
Man in line behind us: Are those your siblings?
Melange: No, I’m just babysitting.
Man in line: I hope you’re getting paid enough.
Melange: Me too.

This wasn’t even the least of it. I think I lasted about a week babysitting for them and I dealt with Hellion 1 trying to convince me that she was going to die if I didn’t let her make cotton candy, The Hellions trying to convince me that they needed to ride their bikes to Target because they needed to buy cat food otherwise their cat was going to starve, and Hellion 1 running away during a thunderstorm, in which I had to go trudging through their wooded backyard to her “fort” to find her. She had dry clothes to change into. I didn’t. At the end of the week, I decided I was tired and my sanity was not worth losing, so I told the mom that I started a summer class and couldn't watch them any more. She said it was too bad I couldn't babysit anymore cause the Hellions really liked me. Yeah, I thought to myself, I'm sure they love me, I always torture the people I love. Then she laughed and said that frankly, I was the best babysitter she ever had. She was impressed that I lasted as long as I did because she usually came home the first day to find the Hellions on a rampage and the babysitter in the corner crying. Sadistic children.

And thus ended my short-lived babysitting career. She asked me to watch them a few more random times, but I politely declined. I'm pretty sure that no amount of money would ever be worth babysitting those two again.

*Writers like to call this foreshadowing

"Give a little bit..."

2009-01-28T12:16:00.007-05:00

Holy snowpiles Batman! It has sure been coming down today. It took me over an hour and a half to get to work this morning, and I was slipping and sliding the whole way and bitching and moaning about how adults should get snow days too. And just my luck... I get into the office and they tell me that I can go home at 1:30pm because the city is closing due to snow. Not that I'm rubbing it into anyone's face who has to work the whole day today. Suckers.

Welcome to Cleveland ...if you can find it under all the snow

So I'm in a better mood for now. At least until I get back on the road and find out that I probably won't be home till 5 anyway because the roads aren't plowed and people drive like assholes in the snow. But for now, good mood.

Except... for one thing. I have this office issue that I've been meaning to bring up. Obviously I'm relatively new to the "real" working world and don't always know all of the rules. I'm learning and assimilating... but this particular thing I have quite the problem with. A little background...

A girl in my office who started only a few months ago is preggers. Since she has only been working here a short time, she doesn't have the full maternity/sick time benefits that the rest of the employees have because that accumulates over time. So naturally, the higher-ups asked for donations of sick time from employees who have over 100 hours. Of course I had no problems doing that, I donated anything over 100 hours (the minimum an employee must keep) that I had to her. What do I need all those hours for anyway, you know? So I felt like I did my good deed, and that was that.

A few days ago, I received another email saying that this week was Preggers last week at the office and that they were planning on having a party for her. They were asking for monetary donations to cover the costs of the party and a gift certificate that they were going to present her with on her last day. Now I'm being hounded by the employees that are organizing this party - whom I like to call "The Collectors" for monetary donations. Now wait just one darn second. I have already donated over 30 hours of my sick time. I make a decent paycheck here, but why am I required to give money for a party for someone that I don't even know that well and I don't plan on attending?

The worst part about this is that they do things like this often. They have monthly "breakfast bonanzas" and themed lunches depending on events going on within the city (i.e. a hot dog lunch for opening day in baseball, an inauguration party, Christmas parties, etc.) for which I am expected to donate money for. Once or twice is fine, but I do not appreciate spending $5 on a hot dog lunch where I get one hot dog and a dab of potato salad. I'd rather go to Johnny's Little Bar for lunch and grab a delicious burger for only a few dollars more. I'm not even talking about all of the times that I am asked to buy things from a fundraiser because So-and-So's grandchild needs new band uniforms or is raising money to go on a mission trip to Africa.

I realize I sound all grinchy, baby-hating and anti-patriotic, and I really don't mean to. Of course I want Bobo to go convert people to Christianity in the Congo. Of course I support eating massive amounts of processed composite meat to support all that is American sports. And of course I love babies, they are cute and cuddly and innocent and they should be celebrated with cake and extended lunches. But really? How much can my pocket take? I can't support this office lifestyle anymore. I will not end up living in a cardboard box (nor stop going to the bar) so my fellow employees can spend half the day making pancakes for the office. I am drawing a line right here.

So that is my gripe of the day today. It feels good to get that off my chest finally. Now excuse me, I have to go hide under my desk because "The Collectors" are coming to drain me of my ~~booze~~ utilities fund.

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” -Franklin Delano Roosevelt

2009-01-26T16:37:00.007-05:00

Everyone is afraid of something. People have a huge range of fears… everything from heights to spiders to Michael Jackson. When my brother was little, he was afraid of dogs. And cats. And any animal at the zoo. And the dark. And being alone. And thunderstorms. And the vacuum cleaner. And getting hurt. And… well he was kind of afraid of everything.

I used to be afraid of lots of things too. I used to be afraid of heights, but then went to West Virginia to go rock climbing and realized it was not so bad. I used to be afraid of falling, then I joined an all-boys soccer team and got my ass handed to me numerous times. I used to have massive stage fright, then I got up on stage my sophomore year of high school and completely forgot the words to my solo song and realized that yes, I messed up and yes, I’ll get over it and so will everyone else. I used to be afraid of losing people close to me, but once it happens more than your fair share, you realize that life will go on and the heart is resilient and strong.

So I’ve learned to get back up, to fix my mistakes, how to heal bones and egos and hearts. I’ve learned that being afraid of messing up is actually just being afraid of what other people will think of you, and the people who matter will love you no matter what and everyone else doesn’t really matter. Being afraid is not worth it, because by being afraid, you miss out on living.

Of course I still have fears. It’s the nature of the beast, all humans fear something. I have this completely irrational fear that someone is going to have a heart attack in my home so I always must have aspirin on hand even though I don’t use it. I know, random. It’s not like I hang out with many people within the typical heart attack age range. Still, I have to be prepared. I have this fear that someone is lurking in the back seat of my car and I always check through the window every time before I get in. You never know what might be creeping back there.

At some point within my life I developed a fear that has pushed me to do things that I would have never otherwise done. A fear that trumps my fears of heartbreak, my fears of being hurt, my fears of failure. I truly believe that everything I’ve done in my life thus far has been fueled by this fear. I am hugely and sometimes ridiculously afraid of being mediocre. Just being part of the crowd. I am terrified that this bittersweet life that I’m living with all of the disillusioned hardships and the triumphant successes, the blissful reminiscences and thorny memories… are all in vain. I don’t want to be another face in the crowd, another insignificant life that bides their time on this planet and then slowly drifts off to wherever it may be, unmarked, overlooked, forgotten.

For a long time, I've had many conflicts with this fear. I was being pushed forward by my fear of mediocrity but I also had many things holding me back. I was being suffocated by my own desires and my need to please everyone around me. I'm finally learning how to break through. I am grabbing the wheel of this car that has been spinning on ice for too long... and finally taking control of my own life. Now I just need to find my way - decide which direction I want to go. Figure out how I can learn to be the change that I want to see in the world and how to make my mark within it.

Weep Not For the Memories...

2009-01-21T11:23:00.003-05:00

Requiescat in Pace Baba Fila
12/8/1917 - 1/17/2009

"Think of us, as we who are left behind will surely be thinking of you."

Baby It's Cold Outside...

2009-01-16T13:35:00.009-05:00

So I went out with my sister Boozie, Cautious and Peanut Butter last night to Cornerstone Brewery in Berea. Really cute place, good beer, fun times. Afterward I dropped Boozie off at her dorm and Cautious and I ended up going to (where else?) Nicky’s for a few drinks. We met up with The Wingwoman and a few other regulars. At some point after a few shotskis the Wingwoman asked me to go to Toronto with her, because a group of people were going for a big Ukrainian event and they had an extra ticket. It was a voice on each shoulder kind of moment. Peer Pressure + Copious Amounts of Alcohol = Trouble. Always. So I said yes and got home and packed a bag and everything. Last minute, fly-by-the-seat plans are my M.O. I live for those moments. Unfortunately I didn't take the whole reality thing into consideration. I woke up this morning and realized that at some point in my life, I grew a damn conscience. You see, in a more logical state of mind, thoughts started flowing through my head – responsibilities, obligations… the whole “real job” thing. Not just for breakfast anymore. Not to mention the whole “I can’t afford to go cause I’m poor” issue. A scene flashed before my eyes and I saw myself panhandling ~~in the barren tundra~~ on Cleveland’s streets. This time two years ago, I would have been there in a moment flat. No money? Pish posh. At some point I transitioned to become something resembling an adult, and everything changed. You see, adults have to do silly things like pay bills and taxes and be punctual and have a job and actually show up for it because otherwise those silly bills don’t get paid.

So here I am, in this weird “in between” phase where I’m in the real world, working a 9-5er, getting a regular paycheck, paying bills, doing the responsible thing – yet everyone around me gets to have fun. I’m not ready to be in this place right now. Especially since – not only do I have to work 9-5 but I don’t make enough to support my luxurious lifestyle. In other words, I spend all my money right after I get my paycheck so the mid week between paychecks I’m poor as shit and I’m going to start resorting to eating Ramen noodles and drinking boxed wine on a regular basis. I like how I add drinking boxed wine as if it’s something that I don’t currently do on a regular basis. And Ramen? Ramen is actually pretty awesome shit. Don’t hate on Ramen. I really wouldn’t mind that lifestyle too much. The Ramen, not the poor as shit... that I mind. So anyway, since I am not going to Canada and I’m bored, have come up with a new undertaking for myself. It has to do with the weather, naturally… I need to stay up on my current events here. It is currently a -0.2°F in sunny Cleveland, OH right now with a balmy high of 5°F today. That’s right, -.02...is that even a real temperature?

(A picture I took outside of my kitchen window this morning.)

So my new mission is a huge problem during the cold weather. I can deal with my extremities being so cold they hurt and are possibly at the point of developing frostbite. I can deal with my car sounding like an old wheezing man when I’m starting it. I can deal with being so cold that hypothermia may be setting in. There is one thing that I cannot deal with in this freezing temperature. My newest mission is to rid the world of... (dun dun dun...) Cold Toilet Seats. I’m getting on my soapbox today to educate the greater public about the horrors of the chilly porcelain derriere throne. Girls, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Those bars/workplaces/restaurants that don’t believe in heating their bathrooms. When someone goes to sit down on the toilet seat, it’s like sticking a wet tongue on a metal pole. The Horrors, the HORRORS! Is it too much to ask for to be able to relieve myself without freezing my netherparts off? So I urge all of you out there... join me in my cause... Heat the Hoohas!

An Open Letter to the Spider Encroaching on My Personal Space

2009-01-15T15:42:00.005-05:00

Dear Spidey,

Remember the first time we met? I was in my dining room, casually surfing the net when I saw a glimpse of you. You caught my eye as you were minding your own business in the corner above my French doors, wholly unaware of me. I didn’t think much of it, you were high above my desk and sitting quietly on the wall. This was highly unexpected, especially considering your size and slight hairiness. Not to mention I have not ever had very good experiences with your kind. But you know, my Grandma always told me to be tolerant of spiders because it is bad luck to smoosh them. I let you stay in that corner in hopes that the two of us could coexist peacefully in my apartment.

This morning though, you crossed the line. I woke up from slumber to find you have infiltrated the one place that was mine and mine alone. The dining room was neutral territory, but when you crossed that threshold into my bedroom, you officially stepped into my personal-no-spider-bubble. I’ve been quite lenient with you, but even I have my boundaries. And don’t you even try to pretend that you haven’t encroached on my territory. I can see you there, sitting above my closet door – even when you’re holding very still. Due to your enormous size, I would have to be blind to not see you.

You have taken things way too far this time. I will not let you use and abuse me like that. You know, it would be one thing if you were some radioactive spider planning on giving me super powers, if that was the case, we could talk. I give you a corner for you to erect your spidey-lair and you give me the ability to fight crime and climb buildings and stuff. You see… that’s what you call give and take. But no, you just take take take…I can’t do it anymore.

So here I am, Mr. Spider. This is my last ditch effort to neutralize a relationship that has gone sour. I am giving you a window of opportunity here. I want you out, today. I need you to be out of my hair, out of my life, and out of my apartment by the time I get home today. If you’re not, I can tell you now that I will not be responsible for my actions. I will wash my hands of that situation and hand it over to The Roommate. I can’t live like this anymore. With you in the room, I can’t stop imagining bugs crawling all over my body and sleep is just not possible.

Spidey, you have to understand that I’m not just doing this for me – this is the best situation for both of us. Don’t you want to be wild and free, out on your own? Being cooped up in our little apartment isn’t a good situation for any of us. Three’s a crowd, you know. If you would have just stayed in the dining room, we could have salvaged this, but your actions have ruined this relationship. I just can’t seem to trust you to respect my boundaries, and we can’t build a healthy relationship without that trust. This is over between us. It has to be. You are dead to me, spider. I’m so sorry it had to end like this.

It's been real~~ly creepy~~,

Melange

This is a Public Service Announcement:

2009-01-14T18:02:00.005-05:00

Remember those awesome public service announcements that were popular a while back?
The scene shows a sizzling skillet
Voiceover: This is drugs.
Then… the egg is cracked onto a sizzling skillet
Voiceover: This is your brain on drugs.

Voiceover: Any questions?

Just one... where do I get a bitchin' brain omelet like that?

Anyway, that ad always sendt shivers down my spine. Every time I ended up in the schoolyard with some Shady McShadester offering me a joint, or in the bathroom of a racy club being offered a line… I thought of this commercial. Druggies eventually stopped offering when I started rambling about people eating my brain for breakfast. That egg saved me from a downward spiral into a drug infested life of being a crack whore on the streets of East Cleveland. I shudder to think what life would be like without this classic PSA.

So I think it’s time that I publish a public service announcement of my own. I will be the champion of a huge injustice of my neighborhood.

My campaign will be called: Scoop the Poop.

That’s right dog owners, this public service announcement is dedicated to you, from streetwalkers everywhere. No, not that kind of streetwalker. You have a dirty mind, you sicko.

I live in a relatively quiet neighborhood in Cleveland where many people own dogs. Which is great. I love doggies. It makes me imagine happy families with children playing in the yard with a puppy. I’m sure there are picket fences in that picture too. Which is cute.

What’s not cute is dog poo in my apartment.

Riddle me this, Batman… if one doesn’t own a dog, how does one get dog defecation in an upstairs apartment?

Oh right, when those cute puppies decide to escape outside of their picket fences and use my sidewalk as their toilet. I mean, I’m a renter. As a renter, I pay enough to not really care about the yard. But noooo… the dogs have to shit right in the middle of the damn sidewalk where I walk to and from my car. This is not just a one time thing either. And chronic doggie doodoo causes slight insanity. Probably the fumes mixing with the smell of The Roommate’s farts or something. Yesterday, I sat outside in the frigid cold to catch the pooping perp. There he was, being walked by a scraggly lady from the end of our block. And there he stopped, dumped the doo and kept right on walking.

“Thanks for the poo, I’m sure it’ll smell lovely on the bottom of my shoe!” I called after her. Wrote that myself. The next poet laureate right here. I’m sure she heard me, but didn’t acknowledge my commentary. Oh yeah? Well… well… Nothing. What is there really that I can do? I have half a mind to shovel the shit and dump it on her porch, but now that I opened my big mouth, she’ll know it’s me and one of these days I’ll wake up with a Molotov cocktail through my window. Or a flaming bag of poo.

At the very least I’ll be the star of another PSA –
She’ll come to my door and be like:
Neighbor: (angerly) Where did you learn to drop doodoo on my porch?
Melange: You, all right? I learned it by watching you!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y-Elr5K2Vuo

"People who leave poo on sidewalks have neighbors who’ll throw shit on their doorstep.”

It’s brilliant, I know.

It’s 10 PM. Do you know where your child is? Probably playing in dog poo. Ew.

Office Productivity at Its Finest

2009-01-12T16:28:00.004-05:00

Characters:
Melange
Melange’s Boss Chicka
Office IT Guy

Scene: Boss Chicka walks into Melange’s office to find her twirling around in a chair, reading the Scene Magazine and eating popcorn while IT Guy is sitting at the computer.

Boss Chicka: Outsourcing your work?

Melange: I wish. …Popcorn?

Boss Chicka: Ooh yeah…

(sits down next to Melange, both watch IT Guy for a few moments)

Boss Chicka: Is the computer ok?

Melange: No, it sucks.

Boss Chicka: Ok…

IT Guy: yadda blah yadda yadda currently has 0 MB of free memory blah mumbo jumbo yadda critically low blah blah scratch disks blah yadda.

Melange: Yeah, that’s what I said. It sucks.

--Two Hours Later--

Scene: Boss Chicka walks into her own office to find Melange sitting at Boss Chicka's desk using her computer

Boss Chicka: ummm… can I help you?

Melange: Do you know a good recipe for sangria?

Boss Chicka: uh, no.

Melange: Then, nope.

Boss Chicka: Ok. (sits down and picks up the Scene Magazine)

(a few moments pass)

Boss Chicka: Soo… are you going to be long?

Melange: Umm… I don’t know.

Melange: (shouting across whole office) IT Guy? Am I going to be here long?

IT Guy: (shouts back) Well…yadda yadda restore blah yad-

Melange: (to Boss Chicka) Yep.

Boss Chicka: (sighs) Did you forget to feed the hamster that runs your computer again?

I'm so addicted to all the things you do...

2009-01-09T15:03:00.002-05:00

My Current Addictions:

Victoria Secret “Piece of Cake” lip gloss. Tap water from my kitchen sink. The Police’s “Roxanne”. Curling my hair. My Google Reader. House/Hugh Laurie. Blackberry vodka and soda. Airborn. Salmon. The History Channel. Michael Jackson’s “The Way You Make Me Feel”. PostSecret. Brickbreaker. Quoting “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” (It’s a cake!), Lists. Pretty Woman. Not-so-secretly doing my best Axl Rose microphone dancing imitation. Posting stupid rhyming poems about nonsense on people’s facebook pages. My Blackberry. Classic Rock drum solos. Applesauce. Text Messaging. Singing Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” at the top of my lungs anytime it’s on the radio. Swenson’s Cheeseburgers and breaded mushrooms. Checking my bank account hoping that more money will magically appear. Cleveland Cavaliers. Post it notes. Writing down recipes that I will likely never use. Road trips. Tazo Blossomberry White Tea.

Busy Bees Don't Stop to Smell the Roses

2009-01-08T16:03:00.006-05:00

I came across this article a few years ago about a fascinating social experiment conducted through the Washington Post with famous violinist Joshua Bell. Basically, to make a long story short, he stood in a busy mall in D.C. during morning rush hour and played his violin. I know it is long, but it is a very interesting read, I promise. It's actually pretty sad to see what this world has come to and how people don't appreciate the moment and stop to smell the roses.

Pearls Before Breakfast
Can one of the nation's great musicians cut through the fog of a D.C. rush hour? Let's find out.
By Gene Weingarten
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, April 8, 2007; Page W10

HE EMERGED FROM THE METRO AT THE L'ENFANT PLAZA STATION AND POSITIONED HIMSELF AGAINST A WALL BESIDE A TRASH BASKET. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play.

It was 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. In the next 43 minutes, as the violinist performed six classical pieces, 1,097 people passed by. Almost all of them were on the way to work, which meant, for almost all of them, a government job. L'Enfant Plaza is at the nucleus of federal Washington, and these were mostly mid-level bureaucrats with those indeterminate, oddly fungible titles: policy analyst, project manager, budget officer, specialist, facilitator, consultant...

Postcards from the Funny Farm - Ukrainian Christmas Edition

2009-01-06T09:49:00.006-05:00

Merry Christmas!

I Can’t Make This Shit Up

Act III

Characters:

Wingwoman

Melange

Setting: Nicky’s Café, where else.

Scene: Wingwoman and Melange spending a typical night at Nicky’s Café, contemplating deep and immensely important life issues.

Wingwoman: Nicky’s is my antidrug

Melange: And your pro-alcoholism

Wingwoman: Nicky’s keeps me off the streets and keeps me from doing drugs and selling my body

Melange: …because that’s what you’d be doing tonight if you weren’t here

Wingwoman: You don’t know

Melange: -- (raises eyebrows)

Wingwoman: Shut up

Melange: Well I suppose let’s drink in thanks to baby Jesus for Nicky’s

Wingwoman: I’m going to go to church and light all the candles in thanks to baby Jesus for this bar

Melange: Because you know if baby Jesus wasn’t a baby, he’d be in this bar right now

Wingwoman: For sure, and he’d be drinking medivka with us

Melange: Shit, I’d buy Jesus a shot.

(Pause)

Melange: Maybe he’d do his Jesus miracle magic and make one shot into 10 shots.

Wingwoman: Yeah, that would be cool.

Extra, Extra, Read All About It...

2009-01-05T12:54:00.007-05:00

January 5, 2009

Bittersweet Melange
Bittersweetmelange.blogspot.com
Cleveland, Ohio

For more information contact:
Bittersweet Melange
Melange, Media and Public Relations
melangealamode@gmail.com

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

CLEVELAND, OH – This website reports that recent absence of Melange from the internet and the blog world may be directly associated with the celebrations relating to and the direct aftermath of New Year’s Eve, held on December 31, 2008. There was no immediate comment on this developing situation from Melange.

According to unidentified sources, Melange was spotted leaving her residence on December 31, around 3:00pm and was headed north to the city of Lakewood to the residence where Peanut Butter was house-sitting. The two allegedly attempted to make appetizers and failed to make Champagne sorbet for a party they were planning on attending later in the evening. The failure to make the sorbet was a direct result of a missing attachment to the mixing appliance and neither of them being ambidextrous. After the two dolled up for their event, they may or may not have lost a cat named Tea which resided in the previously stated residence.

Melange and Peanut Butter were observed leaving the Lakewood residence around 9:30pm, an hour and a half late, sans Cautious who ditched them. After arriving at A and B’s residence in Avon Lake, the party allegedly began. Also in attendance were the Meemster, The Bartender and her husband Giuliani. Due, in part, to the bartender’s exceptional shot-mixing skills, celebrations were heard emanating from the residence around 12:00am EST, as well as 3:00am EST (in celebration of the New Year in California.of course) on January 1, 2009. Sources suggested excessive drinking, some board game playing, hash browns, general conversations about the kama sutra and cocaine, as well as making fun of Dick Clark until it was realized by the impersonator that he had a stroke. A statement was issued by the partygoers that a good time was had by all.

Melange and Peanut Butter were reportedly seen leaving the next afternoon after spending the morning with the Pig Dog. The two proceeded back to Lakewood to waste away the day and well into the evening watching a “Monk” marathon. Since Office de Melange was closed on Friday, she did not report to work and has been spotted participating in festivities around town throughout the weekend.

At press time, it was reported that Melange did show her face at work this morning, but has yet to make an internet appearance. A spokesperson has issued a statement saying: “Happy 2009 to all! Melange did in fact have a great weekend and is highly disappointed to return to ‘the grind’. In an effort to continue her trend of indulgence, she will be making an appearance tonight at the Nicky’s Café Christmas Party, part deux – Ukrainian Style. It is likely that she will participate in libations and possibly take part in Christmas caroling. She invites all to join in her continuing celebration and effort to ruin her liver."

For Auld Lang Syne, my dear, For Auld Lang Syne

2008-12-30T12:51:00.003-05:00

While I’m not much of a holiday person in general, New Year’s Eve is usually my favorite holiday. It has its faults, like all holidays, for example I can’t stand when people say “I’ll see you next year!” Get it? Next year is in a few days! Ha ha. Not funny. But I love the actual holiday. It is so full of promise and change and expectation. Maybe next year will be better than this year, maybe everything will magically change at midnight, maybe I’ll be too busy chugging champagne out of the bottle to care.

But the whole resolution thing? I don’t really get it. Why do people choose New Years to change things in their lives to better themselves? People love to get on the rooftops and tell everyone how their lives are going to dramatically change. This is the year! This is the year I’m going to lose 20 pounds, this is the year that I’m going to get organized, this is the year that I’m going to find the love of my life, this is the year I’m going to teach my 10-year-old cousin to play poker so he can hustle his classmates for lunch money, this is the year that I’m going to learn to swim. I mean, I know how to swim. Like a shark. I make stupid resolutions every year. Just like I have for the past 20 years. Man have they worked well for me. NOT. This year, I’m going to outsmart the New Years Resolution monster. Now, I have to be careful when doing this, so I’ve made some resolution making guidelines.

Be realistic. It is so much more likely for me to achieve my goals if they are attainable. I’m not going to do something crazy like resolve to stop drinking. That’s just preposterous. Rather, I may resolve to quit smoking. Considering I don’t smoke, quitting smoking is a very realistic and attainable ambition.

Don’t make resolutions at 2:00am after downing an odd number of blackberry vodka and sodas. Evidence would suggest that a state of inebriation would not be a conducive environment to plan the rest of my life.

Aim low, because if the bar is set too high, I will be doomed from the start. For example, if I meet a guy at the bar who takes a liking to me, accept his offer to buy free drinks, even if he’s not my cup of tea. You never know how cute his friends are, and even if they’re not… it’s free drinks.

Reward progress. Ooooh. I lost a pound. I deserve a cookie. Or ten.

After many, many hours of consideration of these guidelines and deliberation over lists of possible New Years resolutions, I have finally made my list:

Melange’s New Year’s Resolutions

1. To not change a thing about myself.

You see what I did there. Reverse psychology, bitches. It’s a win-win situation. If I succeed at following through on the resolution, I can’t be disappointed because that’s what I resolved to do. If I fail my resolution, I will actually be succeeding at many previous years of resolutions and making myself better in the process. Did you follow? If not that’s ok, my pure genius is a bit much for some. It is a foolproof plan. And if not, there's always next New Years Eve.

How to be Ukrainian for Dummies – Chapter 2

2008-12-29T16:41:00.002-05:00

Christmas sucked. I don’t know why I even let myself go soft on the damn holiday. My great uncle, who I called dyadya, passed away on Christmas morning. It wasn’t unexpected, he had been suffering from lung cancer for a while now, but still sad. So I did not have a good Christmas at all.

You know what’s worse? I have another Christmas coming up. I know, all you Christmas lovers are all jealous and shit. I begrudgingly celebrate two Christmases. “Ukrainian Christmas” as many people call it, or old calendar Christmas is on January 7^th. So while everyone is winding down from their holidays, we Ukrainians are just getting started. Some Ukrainian Christmas traditions are actually pretty cool. There is a traditional dinner with twelve courses on Christmas Eve, or Sviat Vechir, which can’t be eaten until the first star is spotted in the sky. One of my favorite Ukrainian traditions is Christmas Caroling. Yes, caroling. As in going house to house and singing for people. Though we sing in Ukrainian and only go to Ukrainian houses. Good times.

Soo… on December 25^th, the vocal ensemble that I’m in got a group of us together to go caroling. Many of my non-Ukrainian friends don’t really understand this concept, and this is a very educational blog, so I thought I would instruct my dear readers on the ins and outs of caroling so everyone will be ready to do so on January 7^th for Ukrainian Christmas.

Without further ado:

The Ukrainian Christmas Caroling Instruction Manual

Step 1: Decide an organization that you will represent and collect donations for.

Step 2: Find a group of at least 4-5 people (you’ll look like a loser if it’s less than that) who are affiliated with the organization and who can (relatively) sing in tune.

Step 3: Make a list of houses of people that you know. Make sure you don’t warn them that you’re coming because it is likely that they will pretend to not be home.

Step 4: Identify a ~~designated~~ driver.

Step 5: Gather at a designated time and place dressed in traditional Ukrainian garb.

Step 6: Drive to first house, pile out of car like a bunch of clowns

Step 7: Ring the doorbell, ask if the family welcomes carolers and proceed to intrude on family’s Christmas dinner.

Step 8: Sing sweetly and greet the family with a traditional Ukrainian Christmas greeting.

Step 9: Stand awkwardly and wait for a reaction.

Step 10: Always, always accept any liquor that is offered.

Step 11: Make awkward small talk as random family members sign the donation book.

Step 12: Try to refuse the random piece of bakery/chocolate that is offered.

Step 13: If person insists you take dessert, stuff said dessert into pocket.

~~Step 14:~~ ~~Deposit any unwanted dessert onto person’s lawn on the way back to the car.~~

Step 14: Repeat steps 5-13 as necessary.

~~Step 15:~~ ~~Get ridiculously hammered as the day proceeds from all the liquor that was drunk.~~

Step 15: End caroling at a designated house, preferably where someone is hosting a party so the carolers can partake in holiday festivities.

~~Step 16:~~ ~~Eat all of the shrimp.~~

~~Step 16:~~ ~~Get home approximately around~~ ~~2:30am, pass out, wake up the next morning with random bits of recollection of how the night ended, next to a random friend, still dressed in Ukrainian garb with a glowstick around your neck.~~

Step 16: Remember to always keep a professional appearance as you are representing your organization.

T'was the Night Before Christmas...

2008-12-24T09:00:00.003-05:00

Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a Good Night!

An Open Letter to Rudy

2008-12-23T09:10:00.005-05:00

Dear Rudolph,

Hey, I saw you last night on TV. You looked good! You did something different this year… did you dye your coat a different color? Or maybe polish your nose? Anyway, you’ve aged well... must be that cold weather up there. Rudy, we’re good friends, right? I've been worrying about you, dear. I’m really concerned about the way that you are treated out there in the North Pole. I mean, you were a mere baby when Santa came to your parents and pretty much told them you were useless. That’s got to do something to the self-esteem, you know? Do you want to talk about it? I’m always here for you if you do. Then there was the whole reindeer games debacle. Donner shouldn’t have made you cover up your nose like that in the first place. And so what if you have a weird squealing, glowing nose? Why shouldn’t you be able to play in any reindeer games? We’ve got to write a letter to the Department of Justice or something about that. I mean yeah, it’s Santa, but the North Pole ain’t no dictatorship. Well, I guess kinda… but all I’m saying is why shouldn’t Santa have to follow the ADA guidelines too?

There you went though, running away from your problems again. I know, I know… it’s hard to have your feelings hurt and to be publicly humiliated like that. Running from your problems isn't the answer though. So on your journey you end up on this island and meet a bunch of people who are just as much if not more screwed up than you, which makes you decide that you’re going to go back home and face the music. When you get back, everyone’s gone – you’re mom, you’re dad, you’re lovely lady reindeer – just Santa’s around. A lot has changed though, since you’ve been gone. He starts nonchalantly kissing your reindeer ass, bitching that Christmas is only 2 days away and he has no reindeers to pull his sled and it’s all fucking foggy and you’re the only one that can save Christmas because you have a shiny nose. The shiny nose that he condemned you for in the first place.

I was rooting for you, homie. I thought this would finally be the year that you to tell Santa to go fuck off and guide his own sleigh. And then you gave in to the fat bastard. How frustrating. You’re too good for your own good, Rud. Don’t you see Rudolph? You’re just another player in Santa’s emotionally tangled web of deceit and exploitation! And instead of telling him to sit on your antler and rotate and giving him a swift hoof in nuts out the door like you should have, you let him take advantage of you and you signed right up for eternal servitude in the yoke of the fat man’s sleigh!

I’m telling you this as your friend. You have to break this pattern of emotional abuse, Rudy. I know, it’s hard. When he’s good to you, it’s good. You feel special when he talks to you like that. But that’s just it… you are special. Your nose is what makes you unique! It’s beautiful, and you’re beautiful just the way you are. Don’t let those people change you into something you’re not. Embrace that you’re different. Love yourself for who you are. I do. I care about you. So take my advice Rudolph. Ditch the fat man and retire somewhere on the Island of Misfit Toys with that babe Clarice. Do something good for yourself once and don’t let anyone push you around anymore.

I’m glad we had this chat. I think we both needed it. Take care of yourself Rudy, and Merry Christmas to you.

Your friend,

Drink your gin and tonic-ah and have a Feliz Navidad-ikkah

2008-12-22T09:49:00.003-05:00

First of all, I want to wish everyone a very Happy Hanukkah which began at sundown yesterday. Just to clear up any confusion, I am an equal opportunity holiday hater. I feel the same way about Hanukkah as I do about Christmas, though not nearly as strongly, since Hanukkah hasn’t sold out to capitalism as much as Christmas has. But I suppose I’ll have some latkes, listen to some Adam Sandler and spin the dreidel a few times in the spirit of holiday celebration, or something.

Anyway, while I was gone on Friday, each employee at the office received a poinsettia. The legend behind the poinsettia is actually a cute story. The plant is native to Mexico and there are many versions of folklore associated with the plant. In Mexico, it is tradition to bring flowers to a nativity scene and decorate with them. One version of the story tells of a little girl who wanted to bring flowers to the manger. She had no flowers or money to buy them, but she wanted to attend the Christmas services at the nativity scene anyway. As she walked near the church she saw many people carrying beautiful bouquets and she began crying because she had nothing to give.

An old lady appeared at her side and began comforting the little girl. She told the girl to collect a few weeds from the side of the road. The girl did, but the girl continued to cry harder because they were not a worthy gift. The old lady promised her that baby Jesus would know her great love to him, even though her gift was simple and small. The girl was still a bit weary, but felt better about the gift. She turned around to thank the old lady for comforting her, but she had disappeared. The girl proceeded to the manger to deliver her gift and praise baby Jesus. According to the legend, when the girl placed her little bouquet of weeds in the manger, the weeds burst into hundreds of beautiful, brilliantly colored red flowers that we now know as the poinsettia. In Mexico, the poinsettia is know as “la flor de Nochebuena”, or the flower of the Holy Night, for this reason.

Cute story right? Ok, enough of the silly sappy holiday spirit crap.

Poinsettias bleed. Yeah, you heard me. They bleed. Tear off a piece of a leaf or break the stem of one. See? White plant shit bleeding out. Don’t worry it scabs after a while. I work in an annoying work environment and take it out on my plants sometimes. Though even my cube mate at work is utterly disturbed by my doing this. He should be happy I don’t take it out on him.

That’s really all I have to say today. Give me a break, it’s an icy tundra of a Monday in Cleveland. I thought about calling off today again. I am a good and dedicated employee though, (I am!) so I’m here. Educating my readers about how to injure Christmas plants. Don’t judge me. I am a cruel botanical sadist. I’m completely ok with that. And you know you want to try it now.

A Few of My Favorite Things...

2008-12-18T09:35:00.007-05:00

Before I get into the cheesy Christmasy spirit, I want to take this opportunity to announce that tonight is the Nicky's Cafe Christmas Extravaganza party which I am so uber excited about that I used the word uber. What's up. Just wanted to throw that out there if anyone is up for some perogies and general debauchery.

In the Christmas spirit, I've decided that I'm going to make a list of a few of my favorite things. For some reason, this song is always associated with Christmas, even though it should just be associated with The Sound of Music. I understand though, I have issues distinguishing Christmas and the von Trapps too. It's all those nuns that get into your head. Anyway, without further ado a list of just a few of my favorite things, in no particular order.

A Few of My Favorite Things:

The laugh of little children
Sunflowers
My "spot" at the lake
Being wrapped in a big comfortable sweatshirt
Paying off bills and having money left over
Waking up under the warm covers on a winter morning and not having to get out of bed
Swinging on porch swings
Birthday cake
That butterfly feeling in the pit of my tummy
Lemonade from a fair
Chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven
The opening riff to Sweet Child O' Mine
A warm towel straight out of the dryer
Watching someone do something they love doing
Having a balcony
A good book that I just can't put down
Mashed potatoes with red skins in them
Free stuff
Laughing so hard to the point of crying
Hot chocolate with marshmallows
Cuddling up to someone
Bubbles
Getting a letter in the mail
A cotton sun dress
When someone plays with my hair
Those friends that I can do everything with... even nothing
A bowl of chicken noodle soup on a cold day
Making someone smile
Walking barefoot on soft grass
A good meaningful hug
The stars on a clear night
Champagne
The first baseball game of the season on a beautiful evening
Watching a guy who is good with kids
Getting an unexpected and unique compliment
The rush of a good close sports game
Finding money in my pocket from last winter
Warm rain in the springtime
A good conversation
A walk down memory lane
Sitting on a quiet beach on a warm, sunny day
The reggae version on Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World by IZ
Showering outdoors
The rush of performing on a stage
Getting dressed up for someone
The smell of a campfire
Meeting someone new
Fresh raspberries
A summer drive in the country with the windows down and the radio up
A good burger
Fortune Cookies
Singing in harmony
The excitement before a big trip
Apple picking on a crisp fall day
Songs that take me back to a place

Where are you Christmas?

2008-12-17T15:31:00.003-05:00

Me, the Christmas Grinch, is actually kind of getting into the season. Shh. Don’t tell anyone, especially not The Roommate. He was pretty shocked when he came home and I had hung up Christmas lights around the window and a bow and ribbons over the French doors. I think “Nice decorating for someone who hates Christmas” were his exact words. I told him that I figured if we were going to have a tree we might as well make the rest of the room look slightly festive. Not too festive though. I’m not going crazy here. So yeah, I’ve succumbed to the dreaded Christmas Season. However, I do want to clear up for those of you Christmas crazy people out there that you aren’t necessarily celebrating the birth of baby Jesus at Christmas time.

A little history lesson: While Christmas has become a more widely secular holiday in recent times with Santa and reindeer and elves, Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus on this day and the holiday is mostly associated with the Christian religion. In actuality, many of the traditions, including the timing of the holiday itself pre-dates Christianity. Mid-winter is the time when many pagan traditions celebrated festivals, including the winter solstice. Pagan Rome celebrated the festival of Saturn (the god) and Germany had their greatest festivals in mid-winter where they decorated evergreen trees and holly. As Christianity came into existence and popularity, Christian leaders began moving throughout pagan Europe and changing pagan holidays into Christian celebrations in an effort to convert people faster. The actual Christianness came later with“Santa Claus” or St. Nicholas and with the story of Jesus being born. Christmas as we know it is all of this combined, plus the commercial aspect which was influenced by the media. So that’s Christmas in a nutshell: many ancient pagan practices, a few Christian influences and stories and a large portion of secular materialistic ideals.

As I said before, when Christians began converting pagans they would use pagan festivals and celebrations and turn them into Christian related ones. While Christian leaders picked the winter holidays to celebrate the birth of Jesus, scientists actually believe that Jesus Christ was more likely born in the summer. Call me a dork if you must, but I find this actually quite fascinating. I found this article on The Telegraph website:

'Jesus was born in June', astronomers claim

Astronomers have calculated that Christmas should be in June, by charting the appearance of the 'Christmas star' which the Bible says led the three Wise Men to Jesus. They found that a bright star which appeared over Bethlehem 2,000 years ago pinpointed the date of Christ's birth as June 17 rather than December 25. The researchers claim the 'Christmas star' was most likely a magnificent conjunction of the planets Venus and Jupiter, which were so close together they would have shone unusually brightly as a single "beacon of light" which appeared suddenly.

If the team is correct, it would mean Jesus was a Gemini, not a Capricorn as previously believed.
Australian astronomer Dave Reneke used complex computer software to chart the exact positions of all celestial bodies and map the night sky as it would have appeared over the Holy Land more than 2,000 years ago. It revealed a spectacular astronomical event around the time of Jesus's birth. Mr Reneke says the wise men probably interpreted it as the sign they had been waiting for, and they followed the 'star' to Christ's birthplace in a stable in Bethlehem, as described in the Bible.

Generally accepted research has placed the nativity to somewhere between 3BC and 1AD.
Using the St Matthew's Gospel as a reference point, Mr Reneke pinpointed the planetary conjunction, which appeared in the constellation of Leo, to the exact date of June 17 in the year 2BC.
The astronomy lecturer, who is also news editor of Sky and Space magazine, said: "We have software that can recreate exactly the night sky as it was at any point in the last several thousand years. We used it to go back to the time when Jesus was born, according to the Bible.

"Venus and Jupiter became very close in the the year 2BC and they would have appeared to be one bright beacon of light.

"We are not saying this was definitely the Christmas star - but it is the strongest explanation for it of any I have seen so far.

"There's no other explanation that so closely matches the facts we have from the time.

"This could well have been what the three wise men interpreted as a sign. They could easily have mistaken it for one bright star.

"Astronomy is such a precise science, we can plot exactly where the planets were, and it certainly seems this is the fabled Christmas star."

Mr Reneke, formerly the chief lecturer at the Port Macquarie Observatory in New South Wales, added: "December is an arbitrary date we have accepted but it doesn't really mean that is when it happened.

"This is not an attempt to decry religion. It's really backing it up as it shows there really was a bright object appearing in the East at the right time.

"Often when we mix science with religion in this kind of forum, it can upset people. In this case, I think this could serve to reinforce people's faith."

Previous theories have speculated the star was a supernova - an exploding star - or even a comet. But Mr Reneke says by narrowing the date down, the technology has provided the most compelling explanation yet.

Interesting. I think the funniest part of the article is where it says: “If the team is correct, it would mean Jesus was a Gemini, not a Capricorn as previously believed”. Hey Jesus, what’s your sign? Random. Who cares what astrological sign Jesus was? Maybe I’m missing something and this is actually a significant thought, but I doubt it.

Don’t want to worry, dear readers, I know this seems kinda negative, but I’m not back to hating on Christmas. I just found all this very interesting and thought I would educate myself while also educating any readers out there as well. In actuality, this is the continuation of my 8 Days of Christmas blogging extravaganza where I will be having a Christmas related post every day until Christmas. Made that up. While I will be blogging about all that is Christmas until the 24thm there is unfortunately no extravaganza, sorry to disappoint. Though if I knew how to make this an extravaganza, I would. As a Christmas present to all. Or something. Until next time...

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas...

2008-12-16T13:09:00.006-05:00

As I have mentioned before, I very much dislike the Christmas season. Bah, Humbug. It hits you like a ton of bricks five minutes after you finish that turkey on Thanksgiving. I wake up from my tryptophan-induced coma and suddenly… I’m attacked by a Christmas Wonderland – Nightmare of sugar coated, ribbon covered, food eating, alcohol drenched, lights and glitter plastered, Hippopotamus - singing holiday overload (I hate that song with a burning passion in my loins by the way. More than Wham’s "Last Christmas". That’s a lot). I have found that the more I force myself to participate in the stress and bacchanal of the season, the more I resent it. Let’s just face it, Christmas is one big pain in the ass. It makes people crazy. All the present buying, decorating, fighting for parking spots, making sure you got something for everyone, food preparing, and being overall cheerful and friendly is exhausting. Not to mention the aftermath of credit card bills, having no money until the following Christmas and at least a month long hangover. And I can’t even watch good TV because all the shows are in re-run mode and instead networks play all the stupid Christmas specials (sorry Charlie Brown, you are so not stupid, you I love dearly).

I especially hate the hypocrisy of the whole season. Christmas is marketed as a season of all that is warm and happy and joyous and fuzzy. Yet the stores are filled with people trampling each other for that last Elmo or doll that pees herself in an orgy of materialism and unrestrained consumerism. How sad that Christmas is about who got the best gift, who Santa spend the most money on, whose yard looks better, who has the most Christmas spirit. (Speaking of yards… those of you whose yards look like Santa vomited Christmas all over, you got what was coming to you when you spiked the big man’s milk with that eggnog. You should know better that he can’t handle the bumpy ride once he gets some booze in him. We get it, you LOVE Christmas. Now I’m calling the EPA on you, using that much energy has to be illegal in at least 42 states). And how about those Salvation Army bell jinglers that make me feel guilty because I did not put any change to put in the pot. Why is this the time of year that everyone asks for money? Because we’re supposed to spread good will and care for other people? Shouldn't we be doing that all year around? "I hope for peace on Earth, but only during Christmas because Jesus was born then." He wasn't by the way, that post is coming soon. It shouldn't just be about the Christmas season. Good will should be all year round. I write and send packages to the troops, I donate to many organizations and I volunteer - ALL year round. So don’t look at me like I’m a Scrooge, Mr. Jingler Guy, I just put a whole bunch of debt on my credit card for stupid Christmas presents and don’t have any freaking change on me.

At some point this season of celebration of family and comfort and joy has turned into a new competition of “keeping up with the Jones’”. Growing up, my family was not very well off, so I know how hard the season can be. At St. Nicholas Day celebrations at our church, all the kids would be getting the latest toy or doll and I would get school shirts and socks because that is what I needed and what we could afford. Inequalities are completely exposed during this season and while it is embarrassing for the kids it is just as hard on the parents who feel bad for not being able to get more for their kids. I was a spoiled brat then and I was mad, I'll admit it. I completely understand and respect it now. I still think that those kind of events suck as they are an awful way for people with money to rub poorer people's noses into how little money they have.

With all that said and done...I have a secret that I'd like to confess.

I actually do kind of enjoy Christmas.

On my own terms though, of course. The few days leading up to Christmas and the actual holiday have a certain magic mysticism around it that I love. I love driving home from work and seeing the city lit up in Christmas lights. I love Nat King Cole’s The Christmas Song and Stevie Nicks’ Silent Night. I love Charlie Brown and “It’s a Wonderful Life” – “Do you want the moon Mary?” That line gets me every time. I love the Nutcracker. I love the smells of a fresh-cut Christmas tree and sugar cookies baking in the oven. I love giving someone a gift, not because I should but because I thought of them when I saw it and it’s meaningful. I love to watch little children decorate a Christmas tree and bake cookies and open presents – the chaste excitement, unjaded expectation and pure happiness is unparalleled. I love the stillness and serenity of Christmas Eve when all the shopping is done, there’s nobody frantically running around, everything is calm and peaceful, and I’m warm and cozy inside not worrying about anything, while a blanket of fresh white snow falls on the ground. A simple and unadulterated moment.

So how do I get away from the craziness and frenzy of the perfect commercial storm that is Christmas and back to those emotions and memories and family and friends that I actually truly love about Christmas? When will I openly admit my clandestine love affair with the true Christmas to the world? When Christmas is not about trading your spirit for the next best toy but a humble holiday of hope, cheer and purity.

So when the time comes, know that when I say Merry Christmas, it’s on MY terms… pure, sweet and hopeful wishes for the holiday season.

How to be Ukrainian for Dummies - Chapter 1

2008-12-12T11:16:00.013-05:00

So it’s Friday, and I’m a lazy piece of shit that may or may not have drank too much last night, so I’m going to take this opportunity and educate you, dear readers. On what, you ask? The loveliness that is Medivka.

Let me start at the beginning. I have previously mentioned “my favorite bar ever”. It is time for me to introduce to you a sparkling gem called Nicky’s Café that shines brightly throughout Ukrainian Village in ~~Dullville~~ Parma. I have no words to describe this place to you. It is my second home. If you are Ukrainian or ever wanted to be Ukrainian, familiarize yourself with this amazing establishment immediately. I urge all of you in the area to at least come here once for the BEST perogies and stuffed cabbage in the area. I often frequent Nicky’s with The Wingwoman and when we go, it is a necessity to drink at least 2 shots of a Ukrainian staple – Medivka (Why two shots? Because in Ukrainian tradition, you only drink one shot at a funeral. Don’t twist our arms).

Medivka is basically alcoholic honey. It’s magic. Makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Nicky’s is one of the only places we know of in the area that carries medivka which is also called by the brand name of Barenjager. Barenjager comes in a fantastic bottle that happens to have a loop on it which makes it very easy to slip on a belt and wear around. Not that I’ve ever done that before. Around the neck of a brand new bottle is a little booklet with recipes… and on the back is the Barenjager story. Before opening a new bottle, we have made it a tradition to take turns reading the Barenjager story. So today, in all my laziness, I want to read to you a story that is near and dear to my heart:

The Barenjager Story

Created in Germany, Barenjager is made with real aromatic honey. Its recipe is based on a traditional honey beverage enjoyed for centuries in Germany. The name “Barenjager” means “bear hunter”. Hundreds of years ago, hunters used the sweet concoction to lure bears. These days, Barenjager lures folks with its sweet and delicious taste.

Now that's some good bedtime story material. Read it to your children tonight. On second thought, don't, unless you want them to turn out like me. So because I am such a productive employee at my job currently, I decided to do a little more research on my shot of choice. Lo and behold… they have a website, who doesn’t.

www.barenjagerhoney.com

So how better to spend my Friday than to learn more about my favorite liquidy treat:

History

The Bear and the Bees –

Where does Barenjager Come From?

In the forests of Medieval Europe, an epic battle was waged that continues to shape modern mixology: the struggle between man and bear. Mighty woodland warriors known as “barenjagers,” or bear hunters, would leave their huts and take to the timbers in search of glory. All these adventures were valiant, but those who were also smart discovered a powerful potion to help them return to the village victorious. They lured their quarry with “meschkinnes,” mead-like moonshine made from honey by beekeepers and farmers. Each had their own secret recipe.

Based on these brews, a beverage breakthrough occurred in 15^th century East Prussia. That’s when the Teucke & Konig Bear Trap Company introduced Barenjager, the first professionally produced meschkinnes. Today, the sophisticated set continues to enjoy the time-honored taste of this brand as Schwarze & Schlicte carries on the tradition.

Barenjager is still crafted in the immemorable manner, from natural ingredients – but with better honey. Now the finest-flavor variety is imported from Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula, where the sticky substance is especially aromatic.

Next time you are enjoying this unique premium liqueur – by itself, in a delectable concoction or drizzled over dessert – we hope you will appreciate its rich ancestry. Please raise a glass to the medieval European bear hunter, pioneer of potation.

Fascinating. On that note, come visit Nicky’s Café in Parma and join us in imbibing in the sweet, delectable goodness that is Medivka.

And of course - Drink Responsibly.

"Goodbye, Cruel World..."

2008-12-11T15:07:00.008-05:00

Melange's Last Will and Testament

To my best friend Peanut Butter, I leave my collection of CDs so she can learn all that is great about Classic Rock. Also, I leave the shots that she promised to take at my funeral.

To my sister Boozie, I leave my clothes. She has them all already anyway. My shoes too, I have some awesome shoes.

To my friend Cautious, I leave the You Tube video of SNL’s “Dick in a Box”. Maybe someday she’ll be able to say the word “Dick” instead of calling the video “Surprise in a Box”. Also, I’d like to leave her some self-confidence and decision making skills cause she’s a pretty awesome girl.

To my friend The Wingwoman, I leave my barstool at Nicky’s Café and my boyfriend Jack Daniels. I’d like to ask that she name her first born Vitaly and read him the Barenjager story to him every night in memory of me.

To my friend Glowray, I leave all of my music of course… even though the majority is in a foreign language. Also, I’d like to leave her my exceptional cookie decorating abilities. Can I leave abilities?

To my friend Sparky, I leave Bosephus and my floaty/air mattress. We’ll always have LeHIGHton.

To my friend Vahoonska, I leave my booze stash. Also, I’d like to leave her all of the cabbage that Frusya has accumulated.

To D-man, I leave all of my unpaid bills. Sucker.

You may be asking why I am writing my will right now. I’m writing this because it is a cruel sad world out there and we are merely pawns in a bigger game. I learned the hard way yesterday. You see, I’ve been having these sharp pains in my abdomen for a few weeks now and they really started to concern me. I don’t like going to the doctor however. I don’t take any kind of medication unless I am absolutely sure that what they say is the problem really IS the problem. There will be no paging Dr. House for me to just do whatever treatments he wants until he gets the right one. Life isn’t a show, there is no guarantee that my doctor will find the remedy within a one hour episode. I could just croak right there from all that shit before they figure it out. Then it’ll be easy to figure it out. Chop me open. Nuh uh, no siree, not me. I decided to take matters into my own hands and I used the most valuable tool I have – the Internet. I logged onto WebMD and used the shit out of that Symptom Checker to figure out what’s really wrong with me. Who needs doctors. Diagnose me WebMD! Below is the list of one or all of the maladies that I may or may not have:

Acute Kidney Failure

Anemia

Aortic Dissection

Appendicitis

Bladder Stones

Cystic Fibrosis

Ascaris Worms

Diverticulitis

Drug Overdose

Dysmenorrhea

Ectopic Pregnancy

Endometriosis

Food Poisoning

Gall Stones

Gastroenteritis

Irritable Bowel Syndrome

Intestinal Ischemia

Kidney Stones

Muscle Strain

Pain Attack

Panic Attack

And a various slew of cancers

Worms? Eww. Drug overdose? I don't think so... unless... someone slipped something in my drink at the bar, damn my alcoholism. Dysmenorrhea? Sounds scary, means period pains. Not that time of the month. Ectopic Pregnancy? Since I have not been getting any, there's not really a good chance of that. Unless it is an ectopic pregnancy that occurred without sex, and then we have a sick Christmas Miracle on our hands. Pain attack? Way to be unambiguous. Panic attack? Duh... look at this fucking list! There it is. This is it. I can have anything from kidney failure to the Big C. Shit. Lord, have mercy on me. I know I wasn't the best Christian girl… Maybe if I had gone to church once in a while. It was time for me to bring in the big guns, the professionals. I decided to call my friend's wife The Whip, who is a nurse, for her advice.

Melange: Woe to me, I need your help.

The Whip: Hey, I’m glad you called. Have you heard from my husband today? I haven’t spoken to him in 5 hours and I’m worried.

Melange: Um, no I haven’t heard from him. Listen, I really need your opinion…

The Whip: That’s weird, I didn’t think he was working today. You don’t think he’s at the bar or anything do you? I wonder where he is and why he isn’t picking up his phone.

Melange: Yeah, I don’t know where he is. So I’ve been having this really sharp pain in my side recently…

The Whip: Aw, sorry to hear that. An Advil will probably help. Listen, I have to go, if you hear from my husband, can you have him call me? Thanks, Bye.

Melange: Listen lady, I need some serious professional medical attention here, do want your daughter to be Godmotherless??

(dial tone)

My last hope was dashed with the sound of that dial tone. I saw my fate… my destiny staring me square in the face... a one way trip to the morgue, do not pass go, do not collect $200. So naturally I decided to take up residence at the bar to drink my last days on Earth away. So there I sat there in my corner seat drowning my sorrows in a Jack and Coke, when… Hark! The door swung open and in walks (cue angels singing, bright heavenly rays) Dr. Med Student.

Doc: Hey girl, it’s so good to see you!

Melange: Yeah, yeah, miss you, love you, blah blah, enough with the formalities. Thank the Lord you’re here… I’m having a medical emergency and I need your professional opinion immediately.

Doc: You know I’m not a doctor yet, right? What’s the problem?

Melange: I’ve been having this searing pain in my abdomen so I did some research and I put together a list of what it might be. (shows list)

Doc: Seriously? Where did you get this?

Melange: WebMD.

Doc: (rolls eyes)

Melange: It’s legit… really, I put in all my symptoms and everything.

Doc: (sighs) It hurts right here? (points to abdomen)

Melange: (nods, whimpers)

Doc: Have you had any changes in your diet recently? Started taking any supplements?

Melange: I’ve just been eating healthier, lots of fruits and vegetables. No new supplements, I’m just taking the same fiber I’ve been taking for months.

Doc: Ah.

Melange: What is it Doc? Don’t worry about me, I can take it. Is it treatable?

Doc: Uh yeah. It’s just gas. Fiber makes you gassy. You are putting a lot more fiber in your diet by eating more fruits and vegetables and taking the supplements. It’ll go away once your body is used to it.

Melange: But… NO… it hurts so badly… and what about the depression symptom?

Doc: Hmm… or…. It could be…

Melange: What?

Doc: I think it might be cybercondria

Melange: Ohhhhh crrruuuuel world. Why? Why me? Why God… so what is it Doc… it sounds so serious.

Doc: It’s a hypochondriac who self diagnoses on the internet. There’s nothing wrong with you.

Melange: Yes, yes there is! I know my body, I know something isn’t right with me!

Doc: (raises eyebrows)

Melange: Give me a CAT scan or give me death!

Doc: You’re sick.

Melange: I KNOW! That’s what I’ve been trying to TELL you!

Doc: There is something seriously wrong with you.

Melange: (sighs)

"We are living in a material world..."

2008-12-10T15:39:00.013-05:00

I’m just going to come out and say it… I don’t know how to date. Nope. No clue. The whole one on one, you and I out for dinner thing? It’s just something I’ve never done. And while I’m putting it all out there, I don’t even know how to get a date. Where do I pick up guys? No, not sleazy, creepy drunkster with beer-goggles on that I always seem to come across when I go out. But a nice, decent guy. I’ve even lowered my expectations. Waaaaay down. All I’m looking for a guy who is interested in me not just sex, won't raise a hand towards me, can hold a conversation and a job, and maybe make me laugh once in a while. ... ... ...

Hello?

Are you out there?

(...crickets)

I have yet to meet such a creature. And what if I find this mystical chap? If he even exists. Which doesn't seem likely. What do I do? What do I say? What would make him want to choose me?

Right, so that's what it really comes down to. Why would he choose me. Glowray and I had a conversation a while ago. She has a theory. It’s genius if you ask me. Unfortunate… but genius. Her theory (with my own twist and interpretations) is that before you’re born, you go on a shopping spree at the General Human Traits and Genes Store. It’s like Costco, just for genetic attributes. I was never a good grocery shopper. I think my problem is that I don’t make shopping lists. So here I am at the Human Traits store… “Hmm… I think I need some brains, maybe a little bit of wittiness… trustworthiness and independence would be great!” I grabbed some energy and drive, some artsiness and writing skills... maybe a few glowrays, a talent for music and on top of that I threw a great personality in the basket. I passed on the modesty. Phew. “I think… I have everything…”

You see, the problem with the General Human Traits and Genes Store is that you can’t run back in and grab a few more things if you forgot them. There’s no Convenient Gene Mart while you’re going through life. What you picked up is what you get. I forgot something. I forgot to pick up a smokin’ hot body.

The moral of this story? Start making shopping lists.

I guess I’m being pretty down on myself. I suppose I’m not disgusting. I have great boobs. I’ll admit, the sneaky, sneaky trips to McDonald’s during my lunch break have definitely caught up to me in the past couple years, not that I was ever really skinny. I wouldn’t call myself really fat, though. I find myself relatively attractive.

I’ve just never been that girl though. You know, the one who turns heads when she walks in a bar. The one that guys flock to and buy all kinds of drinks for. Why is it that guys always flock to the same girl? Is it because they like to compete? Is there something special about her? Do I even want to be that girl? It seems that more often than not those girls don’t have a shred of intelligence or common sense. They must not have made a list for the Trait Store either. So the question that I’m putting out there… to myself – Would I trade my brains for beauty?

Nope.

As for my guy issues… I am so so so totally ok with being on my own right now waiting for that right guy. That guy who doesn't care what I look like or what I eat. That guy who likes me for my brains and my rediculously witty personality. The guy who is impressed that I can give him a run for his money on any topic from politics to sports to life in general. I really do have faith that, while it may be talking a long while, guys will begin to realize what a great catch I really am. And I am.

So there.

In the mean time, I think the best advice I’ve found was from someone who probably still believes in Santa Claus and is more than half my age, but already knows what men really want:

Shake your hips and hope for the best.” Camille Age 9

Birthday Antics

2008-12-09T09:24:00.005-05:00

I just wanted to share a moment from my grandma's 91st birthday celebration. If you consider her being pissed at us because we remembered her birthday a celebration. I came in and said Mnohaya Lita (the equivalent to Happy Birthday in Ukrainian, literally means many happy years) and she started smacking me with a wet dish rag. Yay birthday memories. Her birthday outfit is great, isn't it? She went for the layered look this year. Anyway, I snuck a picture of her on my phone because she hates pictures, so shhh.

Happy 91st Birthday Baba Fila

An Open Letter to My Computer

2008-12-04T15:06:00.005-05:00

Dear Compy,

Listen, we really need to talk. I don’t know quite how to say this… I’ve been reflecting on our relationship a lot lately and it has become clear to me that this just isn’t working out. I know this may be difficult for you to take – and believe me, it’s hard for me too. I think we’ve just lost that thing… whatever it was that brought us together so long ago. So much has happened, and we both have changed so much since then.

We’ve had so many good times together. Remember when we played Diner Dash for hours upon end? Remember the beautiful press releases we would write before my Microsoft Office 30-Day Trial ran out? How about when I introduced you to my new friend Blackberry – you two were so in sync. You even charged him up without me asking you to. I thought that was very sweet. And just a few weeks ago, when I downloaded a new song onto iTunes and we jammed to it together? But those blissful times just seem fewer and farther between. Remember that computer I used to know? Where did he go?

Those were such good times, but dear compy, I just can’t overlook the problems we’ve been having. Now that I think back, it wasn’t so sudden. You’ve been a mess for a while now, computer. I come home last week hoping to spend a few minutes of quality time with you before going to my next meeting and it took over 10 minutes to get you running. I know I’m busy and impatient, but why must you load a ridiculous amount of programs before I can even begin playing with you? You used to be ready to go whenever I was in the mood, now it takes so long that I’m not even in the mood by the time you’re ready. And once we start going, you can’t even last through our whole session without being plugged in to a power outlet. Is it something I’m doing wrong?

Those weren’t even the worst days. You remember those nights don’t you? Well I can’t forget - all those times that I came home to find the Microsoft Blue Screen of Death staring back at me instead of my cute little background picture of my Goddaughter. I would have to force a hardware shutdown. Those were long and painful nights for both of us. When we got together, you gave me the impression that you were clean. We even used virus protection and I never opened emails if I didn’t know who they were from. What happened to you?

I know we’ve had some communication problems. I know I’m not around a lot and when I am around I know I type a lot, I know. But how often do I press your keys and you don’t do anything. How many times I look back at the paragraph I wrote and letters are missing and I don’t even know what my thought was supposed to be. It’s like you’re not even listening to me, computer. And all those interruptions. That day last week where I tried opening the Internet and about 20 screens popped up. When I tried closing out, another five would pop up. I need my space when I’m working. I don’t have time for you to play games with me.

You weren’t the only one who changed, dear computer. My needs changed too. Back when I purchased you, comp, I had just graduated school, moved out on my own and all I needed was a computer with the internet so I can get on Facebook and maybe Microsoft Word once in a while. But you knew that when I took this job things would be different. I need a computer that supports me, that I can use for various functions like graphic design and photo imaging. I wanted to tell you before you found out from someone else, but I have been thinking about another computer recently. Please, don’t be mad, nothing has happened between us, I just seem him so often sitting there in my dining room. It’s The Roommate’s computer. He has a Mac that has exactly what I’ve been missing with you. Yes, he is a little younger, but you know age doesn’t matter to me. It’s his functioning – he’s fast and efficient and I’ve been told that he works amazingly well with the graphic design software that I’ve been thinking of getting. I know it’s hard to hear, but I guess it’s better that you heard it from me first. I’m so sorry to have hurt you this way.

So I guess this is it, dear compy, this is where we part our ways. I’m so sorry we didn’t work out, but it’s probably best for both of us if we just move on. Take care.

Respectfully,

Me

Postcards from the Funny Farm

2008-12-03T13:53:00.011-05:00

I Can't Make This Shit Up

Act II

Characters:

Melange

Peanut Butter

Cautious

A's Husband - B

Theme: Peanut Butter, Cautious and Melange go to A and B's house to watch the Browns game (and eat delicious food).

Setting: A and B's fancy-shmansy cookie cutter house where A's closet is bigger than my bedroom. That's unnecessary information and just me being jealous.

Scene: Cautious, A and Melange are standing in the kitchen when suddenly A's ADD kicks in.

A: Oooohh, you guys will never guess what I found when I was looking for my Indigo Girls’ CD…. Marichka!

Cautious/Melange: (blank stare)

Melange: Indigo Girls?

Cautious: Marichka?

A: Marichka!!! (Pulls Marichka from a cabinet with a flourish)

Melange: It’s actually called Matriyoshka. Why in the world did you name your nesting doll?

A: It’s Marichka. I don’t know why in the world B would have hid Marichka, these things are the most fun ever! B, why did you hide Marichka?

B: I didn’t even know we had one of those.

A: I have an idea. Let’s take Marichka apart and put out all the babies around the living room. (takes the top off the doll) Holy SHIT! (closes the doll quickly)

Melange: (laughing hysterically)

Cautious: What? … … What is it?

A: (whispers) Holy shit B… Marichka has pot inside of her!

Cautious: (gasps)

Melange: (still laughing uncontrollably)

B: (shakes his head)

A: Where are the babies?

End Scene

"Life is a Highway, I want to ride it all night long." Tom Cochrane

2008-12-02T11:58:00.004-05:00

It’s always difficult to get started. It’s like that old beater sitting in the driveway that is only driven in the winter because nobody wants to take the bright and shiny new car out in bad weather. When taken out during that first snowstorm that old lemon is rough, it has a hard time stopping then slides around on the ice a bit before catching its tracking when trying to move again. As do the uncomfortable, rocky and patchy words strung together that will hopefully be enough to begin moving an idea.

The more often it is driven, the more the gears are oiled and the words start flowing. It’s like every raw emotion begins to come through one by one, slowly picking up speed and accelerating onto the freeway ready for a long trip without a destination. Sometimes the cruise control is set for a while as a plateau is reached. Never for long, however, because soon the story must slow down to make a turn before accelerating again down a new route.

Sometimes the paths cross through topics, momentarily uniting the pleasant with the regretful through bittersweet scenery, passing by the heartbreak and the ecstasy, thoughtfully weaving between both the graceful and gawky moments in life. The sentences beautifully ebb and flow, twist and turn as they intertwine through hills and valleys, over bridges and through tunnels, between topics and ideas to form a story, a meaning, a lesson.

The destination, whether or not intended, is always home. The destination has been reached and the product has been finished, it is over. The road has come full circle to finish a story right where it began, with the beater back to the garage for another few months to be fully rested - hopefully a bit wiser, more world-weary and ready to start a new journey.

"Thanksgiving, Man! Not a good day to be my pants." Kevin James

2008-11-26T11:35:00.005-05:00

I was watching the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special yesterday. Oh, the memories. I love that show. My favorite part is towards the end when they’re all in the car going to Charlie Brown’s grandma’s house and they’re singing “Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go…”
Charlie Brown: “There’s only one problem”
Linus: “What’s that Charlie Brown?”
Charlie Brown: “My Grandmother lives in a condominium.”
I giggle every time.

So I’ve been thinking about this “Holiday Season” business. I’ve always hated it. It’s so commercial, not to mention drawn out ridiculously long. My family has never really been the lets get together and love each other kind of family. Holidays are just obligations that we have to get together and eat, then everyone starts bitching at each other, then we go home and we’re usually angry at each other until the next holiday. Don’t get me wrong. I am thankful for so much in my life. I have good and caring friends, everyone is healthy and relatively happy, I have a beautiful Goddaughter who can make me smile no matter how bad of a day I’m having. I have a place to live, food in my tummy, clothing to wear – I suppose I’m not doing too poorly. And Vodka. I'm sooo thankful for that. But there are so many things that I am just not thankful for that I need to get off my chest.

Fifteen Things I Am Not Thankful For:

The Holiday Season - Why? Why must Christmas start two months in advance? Why must I begin listening to God awful Christmas music the first day of November? I hate that people are most fake during this season. They will put money into the cans of the Salvation Army guy and spread peace and love and crying children all over the place then turn around and try to kill each other with shopping carts to get the last Elmo or Play Station game. Speaking of shopping, when did Black Friday turn into a bigger holiday than Christmas and Thanksgiving? People will get up at ungodly hours just to stand in line for hours to get so-called “deals”. It’s a ridiculous notion. Office holiday cheer is dumb too. No, I do not want to participate in a gift exchange with a bunch of people that are on average 20 years older than me. Finally, I hate stupid holiday TV specials. Fox Family, you suck with all your stupid Christmas themed movies. And I absolutely despise those movies like Rudolph and Frosty. Those things scared the shit out of me as a child. The only ones that I’ll sit through are the Charlie Brown ones. The rest of you – Bah Humbug.
Men. Actually, it’s not that I’m not thankful for men, it’s just that I don’t have one to be thankful for.
Dennis Kucinich. You are a short, weird looking, elfish man. I don’t like you. I once met him at my office. It was the day he announced his presidential candidacy for 2008. Stupid man. His wife is hot though. She used my computer to check her email. Denny came by to get her and as they walked away I swear I heard him ask her if he knew me because I looked familiar. Or maybe he said he should campaign in Montpelier…
Free food in the lunchroom. Damn you, random piece of pumpkin roll that I swiped from the lunchroom. I always knew never to trust food that is left for everyone. I shouldn’t have eaten it. I don’t feel so good.
Guns n’ Roses Chinese Democracy Album. Seventeen years. It has been seventeen years since the release of the “Use Your Illusion” albums. Fifteen since “The Spaghetti Incident” which sounds more like a bad date than a good record. That is a looong time to wait for this supposed genius of an album. A lot has happened since the two “Illusions” albums came out in 1991. And what do we get for that ridiculous wait? I suppose it’s not awful. But it’s definitely no genius. Where is my dear Guns n’ Roses of yesteryear – where are the songs that become generational classics like November Rain and Sweet Child o’ Mine? I know it’s not fair to compare – but Axl, dear, you spend fifteen years putting this album together and you couldn’t work on not slurring the words so much that all the songs mush together? Why couldn’t you have left GnR alone in the depths of history where they belong as the great Rock Gods that you once were? So no, I am not thankful for you, Chinese Democracy and Axl Rose, because you are not being the amazing work of genius that we have been waiting for. But hey, at least there’s a free Dr. Pepper out of it.
People who do not know how to drive. It is because of you that I spend hours in traffic every day on my way downtown and back home. You suck at driving, and it is very likely you suck at life too.
My Finances. Yes you bank account. You too paycheck. I am not thankful for you, because you never seem to be able to keep it up. You’re a big fat ZERO way more often than I’d like. Bills, you are an abomination to human kind. It’s because of you that my bank account refuses to perform. This depresses me. That’s why I am not thankful for my finances.
Ridiculously sociopathic parents who allow their 5-year-old children wear shirts that say “Porn Star” on them. What is it that you are thinking exactly? What. Are. You. THINKING???
Britney Spears. You are a hot mess. You were all cute back in the day on Mickey Mouse Club and that was all fine and dandy. We should have seen the warning signs when you wore a Catholic School girl outfit in that first video. Or when you danced with a snake. Then you procreated. Twice. With K-Fed. Eww. Then you shaved your head. Cool. Yet you, you crazy crazy girl, still put out a new album. Ok, so I’m really not thankful to your fans. They’re stupid.
Myspace. Eww, creepers.
Reality TV. People just don’t learn. Didn’t you see what a mess the Real World and Road Rules were? Then came Survivor, American Idol and Dancing with the Stars. Those were annoying as all get up, but at least they’re somewhat legit. Then the onslaught of ridiculousness and the snowballing effect that followed. Flavor of Love? Couldn’t we have left Flava Flav back in the ‘90s where he belonged? Farmer Wants a Wife? Paris Hilton’s My New BFF? Tyra? Stop… just stop the madness already!
Ugg Boots. Should be called Ugg-ly boots.
Fattening Food. Why must you play games? You are oh so delicious. Why shouldn’t chocolate cake possess the health benefits of brussel sprouts? It is just not fair.
The fortune cookie that I got at my parents’ house yesterday. My fortune said: “Don’t Panic”. What the fuck? Was there a reason I should be panicking that you are telling me not to panic about? I mean, I wasn’t panicking before, but now that you mention it… WORST FORTUNE EVER!
The Browns. It hurts too much to even talk about.

I am however, very much thankful to you, dear readers. All two and a half of you. You rock! Happy Thanksgiving!

"Snow is like sex, you never know how many inches you're going to get or how long it will last” Anonymous

2008-11-21T09:34:00.010-05:00

Gotta love wintertime in C-Town. Especially the first few snowfalls. It’s like… people hear the words “Lake Effect”, go crazy and totally forget how to drive. Yesterday a normally 15 minute drive took me an hour. I absolutely hate driving in crappy weather. I go a little kookoo mookoo in the head once winter starts setting in. I tend to be really moody in the winter. Especially crappy winter mornings. And when I’m in a crappy winter morning mood, nothing will change my mind. It gets dangerous sometimes. I’ll say crazy things like “Cookies are stupid”. Which is completely irrational, I really don’t think cookies are stupid. I actually like them quite a bit.

Anyway, I learned to drive in the crappiest winter-weather car ever - The Hoopdy.

Love you forever, Magic Hoopdy-mobile – 1989-2003

Don’t get me wrong, the Hoopdy was the most awesome 1989 Caprice Classic a 16 –year-old girl could as for. That car hauled so many people inside it – I’m pretty sure I fit about 12-13 people in it. More than a few times. Don’t tell my mom and dad. But damn, that thing sucked in the snow. You try controlling a rear-wheel drive boat while it is fishtailing across a main road. And it was so freaking long that the moment it moved an inch in any direction, there were about 5-6 mailbox casualties. It was like Grand Theft Auto minus the thieving and the prostitutes. At some point, my dad thought it would be a good idea to weigh down the back of the car by putting huge sandbags in the trunk. Because it didn’t guzzle enough gas in the first place. I mean, gas was a whole $1.15 back then. It helped a bit, until the day my trunk fell off. Yeah, you heard me. My best friend Peanut Butter (as in peanut butter to my jelly) and I were planning a surprise birthday party/luau for our friend The Klutz (self explanatory). The day we decided to go party shopping, The Klutz happened to stop by Peanut Butter’s house just to say hi. So we took her party shopping. For her own surprise party. We went to Home Depot to get bags of sand for the luau theme and, we being the assholes we are, made the Klutz climb up the shelving to get the bags of sand and then carry them to the car. We piled two additional bags of sand into my already overfilled trunk and made the voyage back to Parma with The Klutz riding shotgun. Somewhere on Brookpark Road…. CRASH.

Peanut Butter: “Oh my God. STOP THE CAR. Your trunk just fell off.
The Klutz: “AHHH!”
Melange (laughing): “What are you talking about?”
Peanut Butter (in all seriousness): “I’m not kidding, I don’t see it. I think your trunk just fell off. You need to stop the car. What if we lost the sand?”
The Klutz: “STOP THE CAR! AHHH!”

Which led to a lengthy discussion as to how trunks are actually very much attached to the rest of the car and don’t often just fall off of cars unprovoked. I don’t think she rode in the Hoopdy for a while after that scare. She did steal it once, though. She and I worked in a bakery together for many, many, many (many, many) years. One night we went out in the Hoopdy with a co-worker, L-Diddy. I had to drop something off at a friend’s house and I left the car running as I ran up to the door. By the time I turned around, the Hoopy was gone. I still don’t know what exactly happened, but about 10 minutes later, a very shaken up Peanut Butter and L-Diddy returned from their joyride promising never to steal the Hoopdy again. They were convinced the car was the most uncontrollable driving machine ever. But really, the Hoopdy was magic. Like Night Rider’s car, KITT. It didn’t like anyone else driving it.

I’ve had cars since the Hoopdy – there was the Fuck-You Stratus which wasn’t worth the $500 I paid my uncle for it considering it reeked of wet dog and had the eloquent phrase “fuck you” carved in the hood (hence the name).

My current car doesn’t have a great name or many crazy stories, but is a nice, conservative, reliable automobile. If you consider the fact that it has broken down every two weeks since September reliable. And the fact that nameless automobile doesn’t like to stop when there’s a bit of snow on the ground. Boo. For example, last April, when I decided on Tuesday that I was going on a road trip that Friday under any circumstances. Why? Because I wanted a fake Dolce & Gabbana bag from the crazy street vendors in NYC. And I missed NYC because it was three years since the last time I’ve been there. It was calling me. Though somehow on Friday evening/Saturday early morning Peanut Butter and I ended up stranded in a hotel in a creepy ass town near Gary, Indiana (where the closest open source of food, a Wendy's, was a 1/2 hour away and way past the Indiana/Michigan border) on our way to Chicago because the shitmobile wouldn’t drive through the skating rink/piles of snow that decided to dump on the Midwest on Easter weekend. Ok so it’s a piece of shit. Oh, what was that question, “I thought you were going to NYC, why were you on your way to Chicago?” Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to. As for my nameless car, it doesn’t even deserve a name, piece of shit. I just hope it will get me through this Cleveland winter, because it’s only the beginning. Stay warm, and Happy Winter!

Overwhelmed

2008-11-20T14:47:00.002-05:00

This is how I feel today

“Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.” Charlie Brown

2008-11-20T11:25:00.009-05:00

Will you be my girlfriend?

Circle – YES NO

Love, Billy Lima

Ah, the beauties of prepubescent love. Even though it was only fourth grade, I’m thoroughly convinced that my socks with sandals wearing lovelorn suitor (who smelled like tuna) is the absolute reason of my bad juju. Maybe it’s because I kicked him in the shins. I don’t know what the reason, but I’m convinced that is where my downward spiral toward lifelong singledom began. Basically, my “dating life” wreaks B-rated chick flick havoc on my life, minus the cheesy, smoochy happy ending thus far.

My first ever “real” boyfriend was the summer entering my freshman year of high school. He was older than me and I was just happy that he knew I existed, much less when he asked me out. He was this amazing guy who was fun to hang around with, he drove a car and he was in a band. Imagine my sheer disappointment when I found out my first boyfriend was dating another girl. At the same time. Being the exceptionally nice (and slightly masochistic) person I am, kept in touch with him for many, many years. I got over it eventually and ended up getting ridiculously shmatangaed at his wedding last year. Good times.

High school and college continued to deter my faith in the male gender. I swear Smelly Fourth Grade Kid put a curse on me or something. I became what my friends like to call a bona fide “Creeper Magnet”. I have experienced the crème de la creep. My senior year of high school my friends and I established the annual “Creepfest Awards”. Yearly, I like to sit down with a bottle of wine and review that year’s weird, lewd and stalkerish. Mr. Creepfest 2004 would sneak up behind me, stand really close and sniff my hair because “it smelled like dandelions”. Creepfest 2006 was a guy I met at my local hangout who took my number out of my phone while I was in the bathroom and followed me home just to know where I live (I’ve moved out of that apartment since). Creepfest 2007 was a guy in my office who I liked to call "The Cowboy" because he had a habit of wearing big belt buckles and cowboy boots to the office. He was all flirty flirty with me from my first day working there. Until he called me out of the blue one day (after finding my number in the employee records) and broke up with me. Just “I’m sorry, I can’t be with you anymore”. Oh really? That’s funny, because I didn’t even realize we were dating. Even funnier was when he showed up at my doorstep (again, at my old apartment) and begged me to take him back. No. I do not date men who have past imaginary relationships with me. He has since resigned from his position at my office for other reasons. Thank you baby Jesus.

I used to love someone... and let me tell you, being invisible to a person you like is not nearly as hard as being irrelevant. And while he never deserved me, I have yet to find someone that I have loved more (see: masochist, paragraph 2).

The most recent guy in my life is a big jerk (see: masochist, paragraphs 2, 4). He has the communications skills of a sofa. I tend to always find the guys with the social skills of inanimate objects... how does that happen? What bothers me is the games. I get the “Oh, sure I’ll call you.” Don't say it if you don't mean it. I guess I'm the idiot here. I will not be made a fool of. I mean, listen guy – if all you’re looking for is someone to mess around with, just say it. I'm not even looking for a relationship with him anyway. If he would have spoken to me about it, he would have known that. If I didn’t mention it before, I hate people who play games.

Anyway, this blog is dedicated to Fourth Grade Billy Lima of sock and sandal wearing, Michael Jackson loving, nose-picking fame: Fuck you. Yeah, f-bomb – what’s up. You didn’t have to make my love life a miserable mess – just talk to me, son. I could have lived with the smell of tuna and the snot rockets if you just took those damn socks off. It’s all about compromise. I even like Michael Jackson now. Hey, I heard you didn’t turn out too bad - maybe we can still work something out. Call me.

"Be yourself. The world worships the original." Ingrid Bergman

2008-11-19T10:20:00.014-05:00

So I thought I’d start my blog with the obligatory “All About Me” page. I realize it's a little cliche, but I'm ok with that. So without further ado, here is a short list of (somewhat) interesting facts about me:

I live in Cleveland, Ohio and think it is an amazing city with so much potential. Dare I say, I am a Cleveleader. Like a cheerleader but for Cleveland.... ok that's lame. I believe that your environment is what you make it and people who don't like this city are just not giving it a chance.
I am one of the biggest fan of the Cleveland Cavaliers you will ever meet.
I don't drink coffee or really any caffeine at all. I do drink vodka. Lots and lots of vodka.
I got my first of two detentions in kindergarten. During a girls’ bathroom break my friend and I hid in the men’s bathroom so we can jump out and scare a classmate. Much to our surprise, we surprised our teacher instead.

When I grow up, I want to be a MILF. Pretty self explanatory.
I identify myself through my ethic eastern European (O.K. Ukrainian) background and wouldn't have it any other way.
I hate liars and fakes.
I always make a scene when I go out in public. Well, really it’s my alter-ego that likes to make a scene. Yes, I have an alter-ego. Her name is Frusya, she speaks with a vague foreign accent and she runs a Mail Order Bride Company. She only accepts payments in cabbage.

I hate wearing socks, and I’m not particularly fond of feet.

I love to just get into my car and drive through the country for random periods of time without a destination. It’s peaceful and it gives me time to think.

I like cherries but I hate cherry flavored anything.

Music is my life. I love just about any kind of music and I love to sing and dance. I can find a song for just about every situation, and usually do.

I’m quite the random, opinionated, sarcastic butthead.

I’m a “fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants” kind of person. I’m not a big planner; I just get up and do stuff randomly all the time. On the other hand, I tend to be scared of making big decisions and commitments in my life. It’s something I’m working on.

I love to laugh more than anything in the world.

I am a great listener and a keeper of secrets. I know things about people that could get them in lots of trouble. It’s a blessing and a curse. And quite the load on my shoulders.

Teasing is my way of showing I like you.

I like to people watch. Sometimes I will just sit for hours anywhere – a café, a restaurant patio, a mall food court, my balcony – and just watch people and make up stories about their life.

I love the words adorable, gorgeous and graceful.

I enjoy meeting new people and making new friends, but am sometimes afraid to initiate conversation. I’ve been told that I can be unapproachable, but really I just need to learn to go outside of my comfort zone and get out in the world.

I adore little kids and spending time with them eases my stress.

I am so lucky to have the friends in my life that I do and I stick up for them no matter what.

My goal in life is to be happy. I’m just trying to matter in this world.

The Beginning of a Journey

2008-11-18T13:37:00.001-05:00

Webster's Dictionary defines Melange as "a mixture often of incongruous elements". The Wiki definition is that it is "the name of the fictional drug central to the Dune series of science fiction novels by Frank Herbert". I'd like to define it as an assorted collection, a potpourri, a mishmash - a vegetable medley, if you will.

Change is what brought me to start this blog. Change has been a huge buzz word recently, especially since it was the theme of the presidential campaign. All this talk about change talk has made me think about my life in general, where I want it to go and what I want to make different. I realized that I needed to do something completely out of my comfort zone, something that will help me get myself onto some kind of track. And so was born this melange that are my thoughts.

I have always been pretty bold in expressing myself creatively and artistically. I love to sing, I've been dancing since I was three, and I sure was a mighty good finger-painter back in the day. Writing is different though. It sure is a scary prospect... everything that is in my head being somewhat organized into semi-coherent sentences for the whole world to see.

I can't promise much. I can't promise that this little blog will help me change the world, or the country or even my environment. I do hope that it can help me change me. And from there, who knows where we'll go?