Battered & Bruised

My diet is such that I am frequently determined to be anemic during my quasi-regular medical check-ups. Anemia is a condition in which blood is deficient in quantity, in red blood cells or in hemoglobin (according to "U.S." medical standards - the same country that won't recognize my medical degree from the University of Cancun that I earned during the week of Spring Break '02, so, you know, whatevs). I often feel weak and lack the vitality one needs to walk to the fridge for an ice cream sandwich. Thus, I bruise easily. Really easily. I can't recall a day where I haven't given myself a nice bruise, knocked my hip on my bedpost when walking by, goose-egged my leg against the hardwood frame of my desk, or some other similar spastic action. My bruises are my hard-earned and well-deserved boy-scout-badges of mediocrity, marking a life of ham-handed clumsiness and benzodiazepine-induced bumbling.

Now that summer is upon us and I have brought out the sun dresses and skirts and tanks, I imagine I'll be getting those pitiful looks from random strangers again. And I know what they're thinking. They see me and they see the bruises and they see how graceful I am and they think, "Now there goes one good-looking, battered woman." Ha! You're half-right. I'm feel more abused by the assumption that I must have a person in my life who beats me, leaving my body black, blue, bruised and marked. (note: at this point, I usually trip over an crack only visible by an electron microscope in the sidewalk and all assumptions of abuse evaporate from the minds of those once pity-filled pedestrians).

Let me just say, for the record, the only people who beat me are Kelley (at Scrabble) and Nick (at Golf). The only thing 'battered' about me are the fried chicken crumbs stuck to my cleavage from dinner last night.

One of the many bruises currently covering Melly's pale, anemic, sexy body

Of All the Things I've Collected

I'm a collector. I collect a variety of things, from rare books to Pez dispensers. I've got a decent collection of baseball cards and a complete collection of Garbage Pale Kid cards (early 80's, popular parody of the Cabbage Patch Kid craze...I'll post pix in another blog). I collect(ed) Unicorns but only because I was 11 years old and didn't know any better, and still receive a ceramic statue or pack of super awesome stickers of the beloved (and real) Unicorn on occasion from my Auntie Crazy, who seems to have forgotten that I, too, have grown up and, as she puts it every time I see her, "got my boobies." I've been collecting all-things-elephant since college but don't dare let Auntie Crazy know because she's just crazy enough to buy me one for my birthday. My biggest and most well-rounded collection by far is my Stolen Office Supply collection, though it's nothing to brag about because, c'mon, who doesn't have one of those.

Last week, while perusing through the SALE basket of children's books at Pendragon's New & Used Literature, searching for books with more words and less pictures for my smartypants five-year-old niece, Bugz, who is starting kindergarten at a private school in the fall, I came across what I believe to be the rarest and most priceless "book" I've ever known. And when I saw the green "Reduced to Sell" sticker with the unbelievable price of $1.99, I knew someone at Pendragon Books had made a terrible mistake, and that I must purchase the item in cash to remain an untraceable, anonymous customer, and run home immediately.

I randomly picked up other books for purchase in an effort to divert attention away from the real gem in the stack. Gore Vidal's "Messiah". "A Woman's Guide to Finding Her Inner French Girl," by Debra Olliver. "The Journals of Sylvia Plath." (Why not? My recent ex thinks I'm clinically depressed so I might as well read the journals of one of the most tragically famous and get some pointers - and by the way, having someone break up with you right after a painful surgery followed by getting fired from your job actually is depressing - ironic).

I cautiously made my way towards the cashier, eyeballing the other patrons with a wave of paranoia creeping up on me. "They know," I thought. They know I've found the holy grail. The golden ticket. The winning Monopoly piece freshly pulled from my extra-large McDonald's fries. I nervously placed my stack of books on the counter, like a man renting, "You've Got Mail" and "Rainman" to hide his intended objective, "Penis of the Caribbean."

"Hey! Melly," said Carolyn, in her unusually loud, enthusiastic greeting. I mean, I'm all for enthusiastic greetings and happiness in a coffee shop or even at a funeral. But a bookstore? Have some respect, lady! People are trying to read!

"Hey, " I replied quietly, forgetting that anonymity would be out of the question for a book nerd like me, who spent hours upon hours each week in Pendragon searching for rare finds like the good-as-new, first edition paperback of William Burroughs' "Naked Lunch" the amount penciled in at only $4, clearly overlooked and incorrectly priced by one with no knowledge of literature or value of particular authors. Carolyn scanned my books while making small talk with me. Nice to see you, too. I'm fine, thanks for asking. "Oh my GOD! You found this! Sam! Come over here. Look what Melly is buying!"

Sam, another cashier familiar with my nerdness, but with a much lower voice, came to the counter and said, "Oh, I wondered who would buy that when I priced it. Isn't that the most amazing thing." I just gave her a smile, willing her with all my non-psychic power to walk away. Surprisingly, she did just that. I knew at that moment that I had just gotten the deal of the century by the skin of my teeth and I vowed that I would look up the phrase "by the skin of my teeth," on the Internet as soon as I got home because I've never understood what the hell that phrase even meant.

Thus, it is with great pleasure I share with you now a photographic montage of the unbelievable work of Mr. Tom Tierney, in my newly acquired first edition copy of "John Wayne: Paper Dolls."

Organized & Kicking Butt

I can't believe that I've been here in California for almost a year now. Seriously, I have no idea where the time went. I spent the majority of the past year here working my butt off. Between the day job and the writing/TV & film work, life has been crazy busy. ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzz boring.

The good news is I've finally got my $#!t together and I'm back to working normal hours and I've got a couple of super rad road trips coming up. I'm getting a new digital camera in a few days and heading out & about NorCal to see places that I've always wanted to see. Yosemite, Napa, Tahoe, and other top secret places. I've bought this amazing, gigantic Atlas, more for my love of maps than anything, but it has proven useful in planning my roadtrips.

Work is going great. The writing is going pretty well. I'm officially an environmentalist vegetarian bad speller outdoors adventurer in need of a car wash. Roadtrip #1 is coming up this weekend so pix and stories to be posted soon.

xoxo
Melly

Work-a-Round

I'm not going to lie, people. It's been hard out here in sunny California. New state, new co-workers, new house, new frequent-shopper grocery card. It's been a lot to take in and has required some serious adaptation in the way I behave, the way I dress, the way I shop and communicate and travel...in fact, it has changed the entire way I look at, and deal with life. (*pause for dramatic sigh). I am happy to say that as a resident here for 1.5 months now, I am finally settled in and ready to take this city by storm.

Not a full-on thunder storm. Just a light sprinkle. Maybe some clouds. No lightening though. I don't want anyone to get hurt.

Working for our Oakland office has been great. We have a third the amount of staff of our Las Vegas office but we are equally as busy. And I still laugh in my head every time I write the word "staff" in a proposal. Or "manhole". That one kills me. The only negative thing I can say about the Oakland office is that for whatever reason this office blocks access to Myspace. I can watch rated-R/near-porn video clips on Youtube (not that I do, but I've seen it done) or illegally download songs from Limewire (and I would never even think about doing that...my assistant maintains my iTunes folder in a "need-to-know" manner), or listen to BBC radio (that's in England, people) but I can't get past our super fancy 'wall-of-evil' software that blocks my old love, my habit, my darling, my Myspace.

Thus, I shall now waste valuable work hours blogging and communicating via this bland, still-confusing website and then, link it to Myspace when I get home for all to read. Ha HAaaa! Take that, evil web-surfing software blocking my access to Myspace during work hours! In your face.

I'm just recovering from the super flu. I could feel it coming on the day after Halloween...aka November 1. Last week it knocked me out but I'm back now with a vengeance, and a horrible cough that will not go away. And a shit-ton of mucus and phlegm. It's pretty rad.

I miss my LV peeps a ton. You know that song, "Don't Know What You Got Til It's Gone?" It's true. I wish I would have had the chance to spend more time with ya'll before I flew the coop. It was just one of those things that happened so fast I didn't even have time to think about it, let alone tell anyone else about it. I look back three months ago at how different things were. Casper was still un-engaged. Sheri was keeping me fit-in-four. Craig was still waiting for the baby to pop out. Jen was getting ready for her new school. I was most likely drunk. Everything is different now. And three months from now I hope that things will be even more different.

I hope that I continue to meet new people and make new friends, maybe make some new girlfriends that I can go shopping with, girls who shave their legs and know Jimmy Choo is a shoe, not a Chinese restaurant in Berkeley, maybe meet a cute boy with a scooter or a sailboat called "scooter", and I hope that I find a way to work around the software blocking Myspace so I can read your blogs and get back in the loop. But most of all I hope that President Bush passes some legislation ASAP that calls for a serious reduction in green-house gas emissions because if we don't do something soon, we will soon be facing the risk of some serious disruptions to economic activity on a scale similar to the economic depression of the first half of the 20th century. If only there were some way to use boobs and liquor to convince the President that his alleged-God is not going to solve this crisis. If only we could somehow use boobs and liquor in place of scientific evidence, like using pictures of apples instead of numbers to teach children to count...then maybe, just maybe we could get our government to deal with the fact that our emissions affect the lives of others, everywhere, everyday.

And now I must go and recycle my soapbox! So long party people!

I do love the blogging

I've been blogging on myspace for the past 6 months and have neglected to update my blogger page. I'm still trying to figure out how to make this work and haven't met anyone else who uses this that might offer me advice. Have any?

The biggest thing going on right now is my movie script. I shouldn't say MY movie script because the bulk of it was written by Robby and Nick. I've provided input and I am working on the treatment. I will be producing the film and will have a cameo role as well. Until I figure out how to make this blogger page work more to my advantage it may continue to take a backseat to myspace. You can find me at http://www.myspace.com/mellyrules