Heaven or Mel

You Belong With Me

2010-08-02T19:45:00.000-07:00

There is something about traveling to your hometown after losing a considerable amount of weight that makes you feel like you are in a rom com. Or a Jennifer Weiner novel.

I recently lost a little more weight and toned up a little more thanks to marathon training, so I look pretty similar to my high school weight, even though I am not there yet. I went back home this weekend for my sister's graduation.

On the plus side: everyone tells you that you are gorgeous, that you look amazing and skinny. My sister wouldn't let die the incident where a fellow I went to high school with recognized me in a pizza parlor, and when I told him he looked great, as he had lost a lot of weight, he said, "You still look...amazing." Of course, if rom coms happened in real life, a Taylor Swift song would start playing and I would have fallen in love and stayed in my hometown forever. As they are movies and not real, I left with my pizza and flew back to Chicago.

On the negative side, there are also things that happen in rom coms that are supposed to be funny, but not to the heroine of the piece. Such as your three-year-old cousin informing you out of the blue that you belong with your ex-boyfriend. And this happened even after I bought him a sweet Buzz Lightyear backpack and played basketball with him. Also, it's hard to explain the logistics of relationships to someone who is not fully potty trained. Three-year-olds know little about romantic love (outside of being able to regurgitate Lady Antebellum lyrics. And the vague understanding of the concept of coupling.) Yet this three-year-old is also mystified that I don't belong to anyone. This inevitably will lead me to rom com late night paranoia.

Well...I am not cuing the Taylor Swift song just yet.

Day Ten: Boston Again

2010-07-14T16:44:00.000-07:00

My plane was overbooked. They were offering $400 in vouchers for people to fly out the next day, but I couldn't hear any details because a man was talking too loudly on his Razr about Bear Week and heading back to Gainesville. Of course.

This has been a travel sandwich of reminders of how much better off I am.

Day Nine: Last Day

2010-07-13T16:43:00.000-07:00

I had my last day in Maine today, and I tried to soak up as many things as I could. I had blueberry soda, blueberry ice cream, and a lobster roll. I was not a huge fan of lobster rolls last year and found a whole lobster to be much more enjoyable, but this year was much, much better for some reason. But then, everything was much better this year. For some reason.

I ran one last run - seven miles, today - along the Union River Watershed, which I just loved and found so peaceful. I will certainly not miss running hills, especially the last one along Main Street that would almost make me cry daily, but I will miss seeing the water, the lupine, the horses, and the occasional white tail deer dart out in front of me. They just don't have that on my Chicago runs. Especially the hills.

The 8 PM show was great, and the 10 PM show was fine. I got some fudge and candles to bring back. Back to Chicago!

Day Eight: Ups and Downs

2010-07-12T16:42:00.000-07:00

Today was a weird day of extremes.

It started with my toenail finally falling off. It had been threatening to do so for at least a month now, thanks to running so much, but today it just came quickly and painlessly off when I poked at it. I feel like a real runner. I hope it comes back.

Also, The Downgrade was made public today. Even though I had known for some time and no one seems to approve or even care, it was still saddening.

On the bright side though, I finally got a call from an agency asking me to come in for an interview. Several improvisers I respect are signed with this agency, and it's not Vinny's Talent Shack in the suburbs or anything, so I have allowed myself some cautious excitement. We will see what happens.

I also had a triumphant return, after our day off, to being a slut in the 10 PM game of Hesitation. This time Mike graciously gave the gift of looseness rather than the audience, but the streak is still alive and well. Just one more 10 PM show and it's a solid run of sluts. I can do it!

Day Seven: Day Off

2010-07-11T16:40:00.000-07:00

There are no shows on Sundays (right now) so everyone gets a day to relax. I only spent one Sunday in Maine, and unfortunately, it rained the entire day. (In fact, the rain began in earnest about two miles into my run. My run lasted another hour and forty minutes, so I was pretty well aware of how it was raining by the end.) I ate in a bug in the course of this run -- a huge bug flew straight down my throat as I propelled myself in the opposite direction. I gagged on the side of the Union River for a while, and the bug and my throat had an epic battle, but ultimately, I won. I needed protein anyway? How awful.

The plan had been to go hiking and then go back to Echo Lake, but since hiking and swimming, like running, are unpleasant in the rain, we saw a movie instead. As such, after my experience in Echo Lake, I have no choice but to become terrified of water, since I didn't get right back on that metaphorical horse as promised.

That night was the traditional Nacho Night, and as Larrance defines a nacho as "something crispy with sauce and a thing" I contributed a blueberry pie. Sadly, my lattice crust turned out to be the very ugliest lattice crust I have ever made in the history of pies, and I was very much ashamed to present it to people. I would not get points for plating and presentation. However, everyone said they liked it, and I was positively charmed to make a pie with real Maine blueberries. More blueberries!

Day Six: More Shows

2010-07-10T16:38:00.000-07:00

Tonight a very lovely woman who comes up every year told me that my singing in Gibberish Opera was just beautiful. And she was too sweet to be anything but sincere. It was very nice, albeit shocking.

Meanwhile, a little boy wanted pictures... with just the men of the cast.

Day Five: Shows

2010-07-09T16:36:00.000-07:00

10 PM show audiences have fallen into the habit of endowing me with "slut" during Hesitation.

Day Three: Echo Lake

2010-07-07T16:49:00.000-07:00

My parents got me swimming lessons at the YMCA when I was little. Basically, a teacher would drag you out into the middle of the pool. I did not care for this and spent the majority of my time screaming.

When I was a little older, I taught myself how to swim during Little League picnics. I was no Michael Phelps, and I certainly lacked technique and grace, but I did pretty okay for myself. The Jersey Shore provides a lot of opportunities to swim, so I swam a lot growing up.
However, Chicago does not offer the same opportunities, even if your gym has a dirty pool completely occupied by old men.

I realized how terrible a swimmer I actually am about twenty feet out in Echo Lake.

I had been easing myself in for much longer than everyone else - Mike had jumped right in, and Jen and Larrance were heading straight out to the middle of the lake. Obsessed with avoiding cold, I had tried to adjust to the temperature of the water by submerging six additional inches of myself over time. Finally, after watching tiny fishes for a while, I just went for it and swam.

Swimming in real water with wind and waves is not easy for someone who hasn't swam at all in five years, nevermind someone who taught herself to swim. I struggled about twenty feet out, turned around and looked at the shoreline, and my lungs immediately closed in panic. I struggled, alternately doggy-paddling and doing my graceless breast stroke, thinking I was going to drown twenty feet out while accompanied by three people with ocean survival training. It seemed to take a long time, but I made it back to the rocks, where I pulled myself up next to four middle-aged women sunbathing in one pieces, gasping and shaking, and blurted to Mike that I realized I am not the swimmer I thought I was.

Sunday, it's back to the lake again, to prove that I am stronger than a huge mass of glacial fresh water. This time, however, I'll be armed with a Noodle.

Day Two: The Return of Blueberry Ice Cream

2010-07-06T16:46:00.000-07:00

I made it a point to consume as much blueberry ice cream as humanly possible while in Bar Harbor this year. After every night's shows, I would have Mt. Desert Island blueberry ice cream as my shift drink. I would also supplement with CJ's wild Maine blueberry ice cream. All told, after nine days in Maine, I consumed 15 servings of blueberry ice cream.

Sadly, I discovered with three days left of my time that they sold it in the supermarkets as well.

Fortunately for my target weight, I was relentless with my running while there.

Day One: Boston

2010-07-05T16:43:00.000-07:00

Today I started my journey up from Chicago to Improv Acadia in Maine. I left Chicago at 6:25 flight to Boston, where I caught the Greyhound bus from Boston to Bangor (home of Stephen King.)

I have discovered in my past experience that Greyhound is truly the transportation of choice for teenage runaways and grizzled alcoholics for a reason. On my way up to Maine last year, I sat for the majority of my ride next to a charming gentleman chewing tobacco and using a Mountain Dew bottle as his spittoon. This year, I was equally delighted.

The bus driver, as it was, turned up twenty minutes after the set departure time. No explanation was given for this. I killed some time doing steps outside the bus station, because my mother is adamant that I should do whatever I can to increase blood flow on days I am sitting for long periods (i.e. everyday.) I joined the line at a half an hour before our scheduled time of departure, only to discover I was stuck behind my own personal hell.

Two toddlers, running rampant amongst those on the neighboring line, unleashing the rope dividers to watch them snap, mysteriously throwing lottery scratch off tickets at people, and making their best effort to release the cat their mother carried. Oh, yes, their mother had a cat in a travel bag with her. The cat, knowing what kind of home life it would be returning to, was understandably screaming. The mother, as any good mother should be, was on her phone. She did not even notice when the girl child, Ilana (I am not making this up) set the cat free and the beefy college student behind me and I had to wrestle it back into the carrier for her. The cat thanked us for returning it to its miserable fate by immediately shitting. The odor filled the terminal completely. The mother remained on the phone. The bus driver remained unaccounted for.

Eventually, the mother got off the phone and realized something was up when the boy child, Isiah, indicated "poopie." She did what any good mom would do and pushed the child out of the way so he could not poke at the cat (but could fall to the ground and scream.) She took a baby wipe and swiped out the inside of the cat carrier and stalked off to the garbage, abandoning her two children under the age of three but maintaining her conversation. The cat repaid her by crapping again.

Luck, however, was mine as when the bus driver finally showed up and we were loading the bus, the attendant asked what that smell was and what she had in the bag. When she answered simply, "My cat," he told her she would not be able to bring that on the bus due to "the odor." She stated it was not a problem on the way up, but disappeared and did not reappear when the bus finally departed 45 minutes past schedule.

I spent the rest of my bus ride shoved between another college kid wearing too much cologne who giggled at "Wang Optometry" and promptly fell asleep and a little girl playing with her flashing necklace. A welcome relief.

33. See the Nutcracker ballet

2010-04-15T22:24:00.000-07:00

I will typically cop a line from Curt and say that something has been my lifelong dream since November 2008 or since February 2006. I don't, however, remember a time when I didn't want to see a live version of the Nutcracker. It is my favorite Christmas music. I listen to it every morning from the day after Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve. It's not something I recall my family particularly liking; I just picked it. I love nutcrackers, and I love the music to the ballet.

I had seen several different productions of the ballet on TV, but never live. I had never, in fact, seen a live ballet.

On December 11, 2009, I saw the Joffery ballet perform the Nutcracker.

It was perfect and beautiful, everything a little girl wants a ballet to be. It was full of snowflakes and flower petals falling from the sky and lush costumes.

Afterwards, I got treated to a salted caramel ice cream on a chocolate tart and a mint chocolate pot de creme, some of the best things I have ever eaten. I slept in a magnificiently comfortable, huge bed with feather pillows. I fell asleep just in pure bliss.

It was truly one of the most wonderful nights of my life.

3. Try yoga

2010-04-15T17:40:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Groupon, I tried some yoga at Spring Wellness Studio. The very first yoga I did was hot yoga, which is not as hot as bikram, apparently. I am going to misspell all over the place on this one.

I got five yoga classes at Spring Wellness, and I believe I have one more to use, but I loved hot yoga. It feels cleansing. After an hour and a half in a ninety degree room balancing on one leg, I felt as though I truly deserved any brunch I may eat immediately afterwards because I am a young urban professional.

I also did several yoga classes when I had a free month at David Barton gym. I took two different classes, a regular class and Yoga for Jocks. Yoga was recommended to me again when I worked with a trainer -- she told me I wasn't very flexible or coordinated and yoga would help. Unfortunately, when I went to the regular class, the instructor reiterated that I am not very flexible or coordinated. Later, she chastised me when I was hesitant to flip over into a shoulder stand. Call me crazy. Oh, I can use the wall to help? Still not going to happen. I guess we forgot ten minutes ago earlier in the class when I was not flexible or coordinated.

I haven't done yoga since, although I am at Bally's now, and they offer several classes throughout the week to members. I like yoga, and would like to keep doing it, especially because I am so tight with the running. However, I just don't go, and there is a specific reason why: I have to bring my own mat to Bally's. And I don't feel like buying one. Yes, Amy has one, but I don't want to use hers. I would also probably need a cute yoga mat carrier. I can't invest in all that stuff. I have food stuffs to buy.

1. Run the marathon

2010-04-13T18:20:00.000-07:00

I have signed up to run the marathon with PAWS Chicago. It's not until October, but I haven't updated my blog since almost October, so I don't care that I'm being a little pre-emptive here. This is about the journey to the journey.

The problem with running a marathon is that everyone wants to do it, and often people travel from other states to run a distance that is beyond reasonable to take a car. Naturally, the marathon sold out before I gathered up the strength to actually sign up. Naturally, seeing it was full sent me into a panic, and I immediately signed up to raise $1000 for PAWS Chicago and run the marathon with Team PAWS.

There are perks to this, outside of running 26.2 miles and helping puppies and kitties. For example, on Sunday, I get to go on a run WITH PUPPIES. I also get a bunch of fan t-shirts for my friends and loved ones.

There are, however, downsides. As soon as I signed up, I was struck by the thought that people die running marathons all the time. Death is pretty terrifying. I have also decided to start going into what my friend Derrick has casually diagnosed as hypoglycemic shock during runs over 12 miles. This makes me feel like death is imminent. I am going to die running a marathon, and before I get to get married or have children or go to Europe or throw my underwear at John Mayer. The logical thing to do would be to get down with Goo and Power Bars. I am, however, afraid of cramping. I guess I should be more afraid of death.

If you feel like donating money to back my run for PAWS, you can do that by clicking on this link.

101 Things in 1001 Days: So it begins

2009-09-30T11:02:00.000-07:00

Here we go:

The Mission:

Complete 101 preset tasks in a period of 1001 days.

The Criteria:

Tasks must be specific (ie. no ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Tasks must also be realistic and stretching (ie. represent some amount of work on my part).

Why 1001 Days?

Many people have created lists in the past - frequently simple goals such as New Year's resolutions. The key to beating procrastination is to set a deadline that is realistic. 1001 Days (about 2.75 years) is a better period of time than a year, because it allows you several seasons to complete the tasks, which is better for organising and timing some tasks such as overseas trips or outdoor activities.

Some common goal setting tips:

1. Be decisive. Know exactly what you want, why you want it, and how you plan to achieve it.

2. Stay Focussed. Any goal requires sustained focus from beginning to end. Constantly evaluate your progress.

3. Welcome Failure. Frequently, very little is learned from a venture that did not experience failure in some form. Failure presents the opportunity to learn and makes the success more worthy.

4. Write down your goals. It clarifies your thinking and reinforces your commitment.5. Keep your goals in sight. Review them frequently, and ensure that they are always at the forefront of your thinking.

MY START DATE: October 1, 2009

MY END DATE: June 28, 2012

MY LIST:

FEATS OF STRENGTH
1. Run the marathon
2. Drink only water for a month
3. Try yoga
4. Work out everyday for a full month
5. Learn entirety of "Single Ladies" dance
6. Lose 20 pounds
7. Go 30 days without any sweets
8. Try a spin class

ADVENTURELAND
9. Go to West Coast
10. Look out the window when I fly
11. Get a psychic reading
12. Go whale watching
13. Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center
14. Milk a cow
15. Go a week without buying anything
16. Go to a Bingo night
17. Learn to do a cartwheel
18. Try a Hot Toddy
19. Do a 1000 piece puzzle
20. Climb Charles Mound (highest natural point in Illinois)
21. Climb a mountain
22. Swim in the ocean again
23. Buy scalped tickets to a ridiculous concert
24. Go to Sonic
25. Attend a burlesque show
26. Go to Field Museum
27. Sing karaoke
28. Go to a different country
29. See an opera
30. Go to 3 new states
31. Watch all of James Stewart's movies
32. Watch all Best Picture winners
33. See the Nutcracker ballet
34. Go to a football game

I'M VERY LITERARY ANYHOW
35. Read and finish a book I know I will hate
36. Read Faulkner
37. Read all the books I own but haven't read yet
38. Read Lord of the Rings books

I THINK NORMAL PEOPLE DO THESE THINGS ANYWAY
39. Go to the dentist twice a year
40. Get a massage
41. Learn to cook five meat dishes
42. Learn to tie a tie
43. Go to a Blackhawks game
44. Take pictures in front of ten major Chicago landmarks
45. Have dinner in Pilsen or Bridgeport
46. Watch an entire series on DVD
47. Go apple picking
48. Open a savings account
49. Catch up with all the work in my inbox
50. Get my passport
51. Make a basic will
52. Pay off a credit card
53. Get a pedicure
54. Get fitted for running shoes
55. Buy a bathing suit

I'M KIND OF AN ARTIST
56. Take Annoyance classes.
57. Audition for three things a year
58. Play Freeze
59. Be an extra
60. Take and frame a photgraph (not of people)
61. Get headshots done
62. Print out all important pictures
63. Make a wedding cake (wedding optional)
64. Learn an authentic Regency dance
65. Finish Britney show
66. Sell a cake
67. Make a pumpkin pie from fresh pumpkin
68. Make bread from my mother's recipe
69. Coach

I'LL MAKE SOME MAN VERY HAPPY SOME DAY
70. Complete a separate list of ten items
71. Organize closet
72. Paint dining room chairs
73. Learn to knit
74. Make a sweater
75. Try 101 new recipes
76. Make my own Christmas cards
77. Purchase a Kitchen Aid mixer
78. Sew something wearable
79. Learn to grill

YOU MAKE ME WANT TO BE A BETTER MAN
80. Send my mother flowers
81. Send my sister a surprise
82. Give five "just because" gifts
83. Send 25 cards/postcards
84. Tell someone who deserves it to f off
85. See a sing-a-long movie
86. See an old movie in the theatre
87. Learn to play poker
88. Donate toys for Christmas
89. Grant someone a wish
90. Take a baby I know on a baby date
91. Tip the cost of a meal
92. Call one old friend a month
93. Donate blood
94. Volunteer for Obama campaign in 2012
95. Volunteer 40 hours
96. Make scarves and hats for the homeless
97. Jet ski
98. Organize papers/memory crap but not into like a scrapbook, ick
99. Paint something
100. Save $5 for every task completed
101. Donate five dollars for each item on list not completed

101 Things in 1001 days, or "My Own Bucket List"

2009-09-21T10:59:00.000-07:00

Kara and I have decided to do 101 Things in 1001 days.

Basically, as Kara explains this, you have a list of 101 things you want to accomplish in the next 1001 days. These things range from small to big things. She said the last time she did it, she had "return library books" on it but also "travel to Europe." Makes sense.

I think this is a good idea, as I have no goals and could probably use something motivational in my life. So I have jumped right on this idea. I also decided to reactivate my blog in order to document this process, because that is what the internet is for.

So, list is forthcoming as we will begin work on October 1st. We're also open to others who'd like to join in. Rock.

An Open Letter to John Mayer

2009-02-04T08:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Grammy Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer,

I hope this Twittering about welding a ring for your girlfriend is a publicity stunt for your highly anticipated (by me and Molly) variety show, or better yet, not even you. How many John C. Mayers are there in the world? Probably more than one. I can't even get any kind of variation on Mel Evans as an e-mail address, never mind mevans, so I kind of doubt the famous John Mayer got the Twitter account of their own name. Or maybe they hold it for famous people, what do I know.

The point is: you don't want to get into this marriage thing, and we've talked a lot about your taste in women, and I think you particularly don't want to get into this marriage thing with someone who, chances are, might possibly have some marriage issues. I am just saying. Not telling you how to live your life. Because really, you're just going to go straight from her to some twit on the new "90210," am I right?

I hope you haven't gotten far enough in your self-Googling to read my blog,
Melissa Kate Elaine Evans

The Basic Eight Challenge Days 1 - 5: You're lucky to be alive

2009-01-06T10:45:00.001-08:00

My dear Dice and I were lamenting one day in late December how we would like to cut out some of our vices. Dicey wanted to cut back on the drinking, and I said I would like to quit smoking. If only, we said, someone would pay us to do that! We decided to have a contest with each other: we'd quit our respective vice and whoever gave in first would have to buy the other one dinner. We asked the rest of the Basic Eight to join in, and The Basic Eight Challenge was born.

If you're keeping score at home, Curt is challenging himself to run 25 miles a week, Kara is challenging herself to do six hours of cardio a week, and Amy is challenging herself to work out five times a week. This is all on the honor system. I have already cried over it once. Don't worry about it.

So, we started the Challenge on January 2nd. I smoked my last cigarette on January 1st at about 11 PM. And it was probably sometime around 7 PM on Saturday that I started plotting murders.

Friday was okay. It's easy enough not to smoke for a few hours, and I was doing stuff all day, so that was fine. I ate nine cupcakes over the course of the day, but I was still okay.

Saturday not so much. I cut it down to only five cupcakes, but I was still a little testy.

Sunday, shit went down. People got yelled at for no reason. I cried for about ten minutes before Jane Austen rehearsal, for no reason, but realizing the entire time that I had to get it in before rehearsal actually started, because when we cry in rehearsal, our coach gets very "League of Their Own" about it. He doesn't yell at us, but I mean, come on, the coach isn't going to like ladies crying during rehearsal any way you slice it. I cut it down to two cupcakes, and thanks to Improvised Jane Austen, that was the end of my cupcakes, but I did eat a piece and a half of cheesecake. The nicotine is, by the way, officially out of my system on this day.

Monday was just as bad. I cried at work thanks to some confusion with the rules of the Challenge (I did NOT smoke a cigarette though), I had a psychosomatic heart attack (common occurrence when I quit smoking) and I started openly threatening to hit people. I go home, find the elliptical occupied when working out is the only thing that makes me feel normal for a few minutes, and go to my room, cry, and work out to a Billy Blanks video instead. Note: Billy Blanks sucks now that he is all Zen. I want to punch some shit. Also, it's hard to do Tae Bo when you have exactly four square feet available to you. I spend the day hazy and cotton-brained, and go to sleep as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

That brings us to Tuesday, today, I think. I am still full of blood lust, and I still want to punch. I have not eaten any cupcakes. I have also not smoked a cigarette. I am starting to think I deserve more than some Pad Thai for this torture though. And that is coming from someone who is going to weigh 500 pounds by the end of the month.

2008: A Year of Tears in Review

2008-12-31T11:34:00.000-08:00

I figure I should probably do this. It is not very interesting. OBAMA!

January

This month is notable because Dice and I spent the bulk of it singing Timbaland’s “The Way I Are” to each other.

February

What a month! Tucker Max had a bachelorette auction, and shockingly, someone paid money for me. Also, I wore a really awesome dress. It involved fringe. Tucker Max was doing so specifically to raise money for DSIF, which we closed out the month by attending. It was fun. We had good barbeque and political discussions. And Basic Eight did a show that included scenes involving a Mystery Flavored Dum-Dum and a gay club that Mary Beth still talks about. The Movie finishes its run at iO, sadly. Shit goes down at work, and I cry a lot.

March

My Harold team Swoon is cut and then, I am cut. I cry in the box office while eating a Power Bar. I am put on the Rabble. Birthdays were celebrated this month, including Amy’s, which was marked by Christopher making the biggest pot of chili known to man. I run the Shamrock Shuffle, after never having run more than two miles continuously in my life. And my time is nothing to sneeze at either.

April

I am sure something exciting happened this month, but I cannot remember what that could possibly be. I don't go home for Easter; my mother and I cry copiously over this. I spend the holiday with the Basic Eight instead. We enjoy Celebrity.

May

I traveled for the first time ever for work. I went to scenic Virginia. It was boring. I aced my Manville training and test though, I will tell you. I am glad I traveled approximately 800 miles to do so. Also, my mama has her birthday and Baby Daniel turns the big 1.

June

I am sure something interesting happened this month, but it’s mostly been edited for content.

July

The 4th of July! The Riot has a fun party at the Playground for which the Basic Eight recreates The Crucible. I see John Mayer in concert for the third time, and I think I walk away a better human being for having seen him play Van Halen’s “Panama” sans shirt.

August

A busy month. I go home for a week before and after the Del Close marathon, which results in me getting pictures with Baby Daniel in my Mythbusters shirt. Also, my mom and sister get to see me improvise. Tigers tear it up at Del Close. Michael Phelps, who I have followed for the past eight years, wins eight gold medals, and I think I can die happy. Alexander de Pate, on the other hand, does not win gold. But is still my favorite diver. I run Race Judicata just to prove I still can run. I also watch the Democratic National Convention and weep with pride for New Jersey, and for Barack Obama, and even Hillary Clinton.

September

Shit gets real this month. Lauren gets into her accident. Other crap that has been edited for content happens. I exit the month of September ten pounds lighter, more than slightly sleep deprived, and prone to tears.

October

The Halloween show opens and it gives me great joy to share the stage with Dice and all five of his polo shirts every week. And I sing! A line! On stage! That never happened before – they cut my solo in my high school production of “Bye Bye Birdie.” (Seriously. They made it an ensemble piece.) I also begin volunteering for Barack Obama’s campaign, canvassing in Indiana and Michigan and phone banking whenever possible. I have never volunteered for an individual politician before. And I come from a political family. [of Republicans.] That is how firmly I believe.

November

Obviously, I am proud to vote and see Obama elected and spend Election Night in Grant Park. I can say without hyperbole that it is one of the most amazing days of my life. Everyone is talking about it; we know. It’s history. We saw it. It is the most special thing to happen all year.
Unrelated to that magic though: The Rabble is cut. It is very sad. I am put on a new team. I go home for Thanksgiving; dinner is transported in a red wagon.

December

We stepped into Christmas and Basic Eight started working on our first written show. My sister celebrates her birthday. Baby Tommy Hennessy was born and Auntie Rose passed away at 92. Mike Click was finally absolved of the Justin Timberlake incident. RBG has an amazing first show, through no fault of my own. And overall? Things are looking better. Much better.

Incidentally, my horoscope this week said that "2009 will be more joyful and less tearful than 2008." I am not making that up. And I think it will be.

2009 will be just fine. Fingers crossed.

Christmas Comedy of Errors (parts five through ten)

2008-12-25T18:10:00.000-08:00

Christmas is a completely different experience when there is a child involved. I don't have a baby, and yeah, Christmas is always about the Baby Jesus away in a manger with no crib for a bed, but I am talking an actual child. Physically with you. Taking your hand in his little paw and leading you to his playroom so he can throw balls at your head.

As you may have already gleamed, I know a baby. He is the most precious angel baby ever in the whole wide world. (And tomorrow, he will be a big brother.)

Also, this baby is eighteen months old, and so, naturally, he is terrified of Santa.

Now, this baby belongs to my cousin. My aunt and other cousin are on the first aid squad in town. My town has a tradition -- the families of the volunteers receive a personal visit from Santa on Christmas Eve. So, as a result, the most precious baby ever came face to face with his worst fear.

When Santa arrived in an ambulance.

Keep in mind, please, my cousin's wife fell down the stairs and broke her ankle not a week ago. So my aunt ran right away and got the ambulance. I am sure there is a bad association somewhere here.

Fortunately, Baby Daniel did not see Santa arrive in the ambulance -- he just saw him coming up the steps and tried to make a run for it. Luckily, his mommy got a pretty good grip on him from her wheelchair. Poor little guy screamed his way through Santa's visit, until presented with a Wow Wow Wubbzy, which he proceeded to cling to throughout dinner. Things brightened up when the entire family sang Christmas carols solely for the baby's amusement, and he was further presented with a) Jell-O and b) several other Wow Wow Wubbzys, a tent and ball crawl combination, and a pile of foam balls. He was in hog heaven. So much so that it became a debacle actually trying to put him to bed.

Children. They're what Christmas is all about, am I right?

On Christmas Day, we do not have the luxury of a baby to drive conversation and create jolly sing-a-longs. Said baby has to go to his other grandma's house. So it is just my mom and sister and I, and my aunt, uncle, and other cousin. This is fine too, because it gave an opening for the political discussion I have been hankerin' for since November 4th.

Luckily, I got it. (I might have been asking for it when I listed our new president amongst the things I am grateful for during grace.) Unfortunately, because my extended family are all very conservative Republicans, this conversation really leaned more towards how children in urban areas do not deserve an equal education and how people who are not born in America do not deserve jobs in America. (These thoughts are not reflective of my own.) My uncle, being really a fair and just man (who admitted several times to watching MSNBC, which, really, I consider to be one of my Christmas gifts) said repeatedly that he hopes the best for the Obama administration, because the country is in a heap of trouble and someone has to get us out. My cousin, on the other hand, announced to the table that she knows Sarah Palin will be the one to fix all the country's troubles in 2012. Oh, how I laughed. And ran out of the room to relay this message via text to all my friends. (Curt's response: "How, with her talk show?")

Of course, the conversation wasn't really given to singing the praises of Barack Obama, because whenever his name was mentioned, my cousin immediately brought up Blagojevich and how he has marred Chicago politicians. My cousin also wanted to talk primarily about how we need to work to get our own education and no one ever got anywhere from receiving handouts. I introduced her to the kettle. (Kara's response: "Throw a drink in her face. Your family will talk about it for years.") I personally found it difficult to have a conversation when I was simply being preached at, but found it generally delightful to have the firsthand opportunity to see something I thought only existed in stories. Like a unicorn!

The conversation soon turned to the possibility of our neighbors poisoning all the neighborhood cats, and my mother and sister and I soon got the house to ourselves to watch the best of General Hospitals past. I am looking forward to tomorrow, when I will have two babies to spoil, and to hope that they will get every possible opportunity due to them. Because they are white middle-class American-born boys. (Maybe. It could be a girl. We don't know.)

Merry Christmas, everyone. And Whatever Higher Power You Choose To Believe In bless us, everyone.

Christmas Comedy of Errors (Parts 2 through 4)

2008-12-22T11:45:00.000-08:00

I am annoyed at United. I have to check a bag, which is going to cost me 12 bones. I did not want to do this, but I have been forced to thanks to a Christmas miracle involving the refund for my company Christmas present being exactly the same amount as what my cousin asked for in the Christmas grab bag. Exactly. Thus, I am hauling home something that rhymes with Firt Fevil (do not open till December 25th!) and as a result, have to bring home my HUGE suitcase, because it is the only one it fits into.

I was considering bringing a smaller bag in my HUGE suitcase and using that to go back to Chicago, since I do not expect any large gifts this year, since everyone knows I travel and buys me gift cards. Then I remembered I am using my HUGE suitcase as a makeshift dresser, since the untimely demise of my own. On a side note, it is impossible to buy a new dresser if you don't have a car. So, you know...that happened.

My mother keeps telling me to bring the Firt Fevil (shhh!) on as a carry-on, but then I still have to check a bag, or otherwise I don't, you know, bring clothes with me. Any solutions to this would be appreciated. Actually, no, since I already paid the twelve dollars to check the stupid Dirt Devil.

* * *

My co-workers and I all got our supervisor a Starbucks gift card. The woman drinks a huge cup of non-fat chai tea everyday. It is the only thing we see her consume. It is actually a thoughtful gift.

We decided to present the gift card collectively after our morning meeting. One co-worker sent out an e-mail to meet at her cubicle, so we all headed over there. Except for one. Who was on a personal call. So we waited. And waited. And stood around and chatted. Finally, my supervisor came out of her office and said, "Why is everyone standing around and talking?" One co-worker said with a sigh, "Just give it to her now." Some presentation.

* * *

I made a million cookies for Tucker Max and Reggie, our concierge, who told me not to waste my time on boys who are no good for me. Reggie is healing. Unfortunately, Tucker Max cancelled rehearsal and Reggie is on vacation this week. So I have a million cookies.

Christmas Comedy of Errors (part 1)

2008-12-22T10:50:00.000-08:00

My cousin's wife will be bearing the new Hennessy child in a couple weeks (I keep hoping that child will decide s/he would rather meet me than be born on his/her due date, seeing as how Tina was the size of 36 weeks when she was 32 weeks.)

That all said, my cousin's wife decided the best possible thing for her to do on a Saturday afternoon two weeks before her due date would be to fall down a flight of stairs.

THE BABY IS FINE. EVERYONE CALM DOWN.

My cousin acted on instinct, and did the obvious thing for one to do when your massively pregnant wife falls down the stairs -- and he called his parents and asked them what he should do. Fortunately for him, my aunt is a member of the first aid squad.

My aunt said, "Hold on!" and ran and got the town's ambulance and drove it right over to my cousin's. My mother said she saw my aunt driving the ambulance on the way to the hospital, sirens blaring. My mom said it was obvious it was my aunt -- you can't miss the white hair. My aunt proudly said she made it to the hospital in no time.

My cousin's wife is fine, except for being cranky that they don't really give you painkillers when you're nine months pregnant. Also, that she'll be having a newborn while she has a broken ankle for four weeks minimum (and that's if she doesn't go into labor early.) And also that she is frequently trapped in the recliner when my family surrounds her for town political discussions.

Thanksgiving Recap, Three Weeks Later.

2008-12-18T11:27:00.000-08:00

I went home for Thanksgiving. (See below.)

I have been looking forward to Thanksgiving for quite some time, as I come from a family of Republicans. My mother and sister aren't, but the extended family -- aunt and uncles and cousins -- are extremely right-wing. I have sat through many a political "discussion" that basically boiled down to a list of what the Democrats were doing to ruin this country, and which Republicans could help.

Naturally, given our triumphant victory with Obama's election, I was excited to finally having something to gloat about. My aunt had been grumbling for some time prior to the election about my volunteer work, and my mother was obviously not repeating all the really wonderful stuff she had to say. So, elevated by Obama's win, I cracked my knuckles and packed all my Obama paraphernalia.

My aunt, however, had different plans. She immediately changed plans so that Thanksgiving was held at my cousin's house instead, using the Best Baby on the Planet as an excuse. My cousin's very pregnant wife would not be responsible for cooking -- my aunt would do all that. (It should be noted here that my cousin lives across the street from my aunt and uncle.) It was simply safer for the Best Baby on the Planet. Okay. Fine.

We arrived to Thanksgiving to find my uncle pulling the feast across the street in the Best Baby on the Planet's little red wagon.

Seriously.

Words don't really do this justice, and unfortunately, I am at work, so I will upload pictures later. Trust me: there was a great discussion as to how to best set the turkey in a wagon.

Once dinner had been transported across the street, my aunt set to work reheating and organizing and serving. My aunt, it should be noted, was a little ill coming into this. So by the time dinner was set out on the table, my aunt was exhausted, and acting a little off. This made me feel guilty about starting a political discussion -- you can't really declare victory when your opponent is feigning insanity to avoid you, it's just not fair -- so I talked with my uncle about the Pilgrims' original settlement. Of course, the bulk of my information came from the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special.

And then my sister and I played ball with the Best Baby on the Planet. What a handsome guy! Again, words do this no justice.

Politically, it was a disappointing holiday though. But I am still holding out hope for Christmas.

Thanksgiving travel

2008-11-26T08:16:00.000-08:00

I flew in from Chicago to the great Garden State yesterday morning. I woke up at the fine hour of four AM to do so. Kara, of course, was up and on Gchat.

I took a cab to the airport because it was a special day, and expecting the typical Chicago cab delay, I called and ordered one and then set off to dry my hair. It being 4 AM, the cab came immediately. So I set off to O'Hare with a wet head, which made smoking a cigarette incredibly difficult.

I blew through security, despite having just put Gold Bond foot powder in my shoes, because you never can be too careful, but I realized as I was going through the line that I should probably not have too much of a white powder on my person when going through airport security. Fortunately, the lady at the metal detector did not seem concerned with my feet. I hope she noted the fresh scent though.

I have never flown American Airlines before, so I couldn't help but note the charming Christmas decorations in their terminal. I also couldn't help but note that is was pretty dead. I got my Egg McMuffin to kick off the weekend of eating, and sat in my assigned area only to see a handful of other travelers heading to Neward. Weird. With the exception of two business travelers and a real-life Kath and Kim (the Kath was wearing the most garish green sneakers and matching argyle sweater I had ever seen), the place was deserted. This was all relayed to Kara via text.

Naturally, my thoughts went to the statistic that most planes that crash are not full.

I figured things must improve as we boarded the plane, so I got my Us Weekly (I found out how Angelina tortures Jen AND all about Brandy faking her marriage! I relayed that, as well as how plain and big faced all the girls on "Bad Girls Club" are to Kara.) and hoped for the best. And yet, when we boarded the plane, I found literally ten empty rows of seats in front of me.

And still, I was the only one with someone sitting next to me.

As the pilot announced they were shutting the doors in preparation for take off, I said to the girl next to me that I was going to move up and give her the whole row to herself. She looked up from her Blackberry for a heartbeat to say that she could handle that. I moved up several rows and enjoyed the flight by crocheting and listening to David Archuleta and Beyonce. It is amazing how quickly a flight will go by if you listen to the same three songs over and over.

I will say, I always miss United when I fly, because I enjoy that they show me "The Office" and give me breakfast cookies. Don't get me wrong, I liked American's water. But still.

I hopped on the AirTrain (which is a monorail! And it didn't make me answer riddles!) to go the train station, where I tried to hide from NJTransit officials so that I could smoke a cigarette. The train, of course, came before I could get in two drags. I think the moral here is that transit is trying to tell me to quit smoking.

I text messaged Michael Twigg in anticipation of something exciting happening, because we have a running joke about what we refer to as "Amtrak hookers." Fortunately for Michael Twigg, since it was probably 5 AM in Los Angeles, I did not see any teenage girls riding the rails. To be fair, it was pretty early to be returning from a Jonas Brothers concert.

My sister picked me up at the Long Branch station, and we figured our way back to Point Pleasant, in the course of which I got to see the ocean on a lovely, grey day, and catch up with my sister about restaurant stalkers. And now I have settled in to bask in the love of my family for a few days.

Obviously, that involves blogging.

Election Night 2008

2008-11-05T18:24:00.000-08:00

We got our tickets to Grant Park; we waited to see who would need to be our guests, who would be wait listed. We walked with crowds of people through four security checkpoints before going through metal detectors. We found our friends in the field; we stood and watched the election results come in, a state at a time. We were tricked -- we were expecting the West Coast results, to wait for hours more, and instead we were told Obama had won the election.

We watched McCain concede; we danced in Grant Park when he was done. We heard a sound technician say into a microphone, "Sound check...one two three...final sound check for the new President of the United States, Barack Obama."

We bowed our heads during a prayer, and put our hands over our hearts for the Pledge and National Anthem. And then...we saw history.

We walked out of the park and onto Michigan Ave., as all the streets were closed. We walked with thousands of others cheering, never feeling unsafe or scared, just cheering and smiling.

I can't recap the evening without sounding trite. I am too excited about it, about what all of it means, and what I got to see. I have become increasingly cheesy, but I don't care. I keep going back to the text sent to volunteers, sent after they called it for Obama but before the speech, like it is a love letter. I cry very time I read it. It simply says, "We just made history. All of this happened because you gave your time, talent, and passion to this campaign. All of this happened because of you. Thanks, Barack."

Live Blogging The Great Pumpkin

2008-10-28T17:19:00.001-07:00

Kara and I Gchatted our way through "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" Here is our hilarious transcipt:

Kara: It's on!

me: Oh man! Notary joke!

Kara: Heh.

Hodge had better be watching this to study up for his character.

I love Snoopy.

me: I love that "There are three things I have learned never to discuss with people: religion, politics, and the Great Pumpkin."

Kara: Heh.

It's perfect.

me: BOLT!

That hamster is amazing.

Kara: We should doubleheader it w/ Twilight.

me: Oh, Christ on a bike. I will be so happy.

Kara: Are you going to see HSM3 tonight?

me: I don't know. I am broke. I will have to go to the Coin Star.

Kara: No way, just pay for your ticket w/ coins.

They have to accept the currency plus you don't lose the 9% fee or whatever it is.

me: Oh man. $9 in coins?

Kara: Yup

Put 'em in a Ziploc

Heh, Pigpen.

You should be a WWI flying ace.

me: I would be Charlie Brown with the holes in the sheet if I felt I could sacrifice my white sheet.

Kara: haha

me: But I need that for my wedding night.

Kara: HA!

So your husband can see if you bleed?

me: Right.

Little girls are innocent and trusting!

Wah!

Kara: WTF just happened to Linus's eyes?

me: He was demonstrating that she would see with her own eyes.

me: Wait, the Great Pumpkin only visits those most sincere?

Kara: Wait, really? No wonder he's never come here.

me: How does he know?

What about actors?

Kara: Ha

Hahaha

I like how Linus knows what "sincere" means but his girlfriend was just last year too little to go trick-or-treating.

me: I think it puts Linus' sincerity in question if he is that in to younger women.

Kara: Well this is the 50s, right?

It's like Mad Men.

Or something.

me: True story.

me: I really know the plight of Charlie Brown.
Put on a list mistakenly...only getting rocks...But no one seems sorry to see him when he is actually there...

Kara: You are getting drunk this weekend, yes? Or we are getting brunch or something...let's turn this around for you.

Kara: Who is that one super stupid bitch with Lucy?

me: Oh, Sally. Don't start bitching about your reputation when you've already been in the pumpkin patch for hours.

I don't like the WWII fighting ace stuff.

Kara: Ha, weird.I was just going to say I could watch a full hour of it

me: You aren't going to get laid at a party if you stick your head in a bucket of water, Lucy.
You just like it because Murphy Lee slinks like that.

Kara: Heh. He totally does.

Then if you give him a cheese roll-up from Taco Bell he dances like this.

me: We all end up in places we don't expect on Halloween night, Sally.

me: And if he thinks about his feral brothers and sisters, he cries like this.

Kara: A "woman."

These kids are such sages.

Aw, just like how one slip of one of the presidential candidates in the opposite if/when can cause them problems, too.

This is so topical.

me: I hope Linus doesn't get a cold.
And Lucy shares some candy.

I know, Charlie Brown. I went "trick or treating" and all I got was "a bag of rocks" too.

Kara: Wait I thought this was an hour long!

me: The election one is next.

Wait, so the pumpkin patch has to be sincere, or the people in it?

I don't like the tone of disappointment already.

Even for Charlie Brown.

Kara: Oh Charlie Brown.

His short life.

me: Don't trust the polls, Charlie Brown.
Why does Charlie Brown continue in this toxic relationship with Lucy?

Kara: They're both pretty toxic to each other.

It can't be good for her to hang around him either.

me: This poll seems very informal.

Kara: I really hate Charlie Brown's shirt.

I think it makes him look like an idiot.

me: I don't remember student body president being this involved.

Kara: me either

me: Linus is surprisingly authoritative.

Kara: I know, right?

For being a little kid.

me: For being such a sensitive little pussy ten minutes ago.

Kara: haha

I've never seen this one before.

Is he going to end up all Manchurian or something?

me: Me neither. It is very 60's.

I hope there is a twist!

Lucy is brainwashing Linus!

Kara: Honestly, I don't know why he doesn't hit her back.

me: I am glad no one is actually listening to this radio program.

Kara: No kidding.

Linus screams like Snoopy.

me: Probably voiced by the same actor.

Kara: Nancy Cartwright?

me: Or they had a "Lucy punch" button much like the Timbaland "Hey" button.

Kara: hahaha

I want to say I had a Lucy punching bag when I was a kid?

But maybe it was a clown.

me: Jonny Lee Miller is smoking hot. I have thought this since Mansfield Park.

Kara: Oh he really is.

me: I think I had something similiar. And it makes sense.

But I might be confusing it with the Snoopy Snow Cone machine, a source of huge contention in my house.

Kara: Oh I had one of those too.

me: Linus has an Obama size lead in the popular vote.
If Linus doesn't win, I blame chads.

Kara: Russell Anderson looks like a complete douchebag.What a shitty speech.

me: He is also a stiff speaker, and I really didn't get a sense of his personality or leadership abilities.

Kara: OMG Linus is acting like Mussolini.

me: Linus is projecting crazy good without a microphone.

Kara: They let the dog in the school...

me: I agree with doing away with the caps and gowns for kindergarten graduation.

Kara: Me too.

I didn't even have a kindergarten graduation.

me: Me neither. But I think I had a preschool one.

But I don't remember it.

Kara: Aw, they have the liberal elite media.

me: I am just waiting for Linus to make this about abortion and Iraq.

me: HAHAHAHA!

His religious agenda comes out!

The Great Pumpkin!

Kara: This is pretty awesome.

me: This show suddenly became AMAZING.

Kara: Let's get DanceCam and hook it up to some 50 Cent.

me: Oh, yes

Missy Elliot is going to be on "Dancing With the Stars"?!

Kara: OMG

me: Your religious agenda ALWAYS does you in, Linus.

Kara: I think I might hate Sally.

me: Amy just came in to preach at me about Roe v. Wade.

Oh, and you always have to answer to someone, Linus.

The principal is your Cheney.

Kara: I didn't realize you'd become anti-choice.

me: I apparently just did.

That's it? It just ends?

Kara: I guess...I kind of want to watch this now

me: I do too. I like all the dancer men.

I think I am into gay looking men.

Kara: Are you going to say Lance is hot or something?

me: No, the dancers.

Kara: I do not care for Brooke Burke.

Whoa.

That shirt!

Of course he doesn't know what a box is.

me: They were dancing to John Mayer!

Kara: This show is nuts.

How are we not watching it every week?

An Open Letter to El Mariachi

2008-10-26T20:23:00.000-07:00

Dear El Mariachi Mexican Restaurant on Broadway and Irving Park,

Every time I eat at your restaurant, I get fucked. For some reason, something in my order gets messed up, or it doesn't get put in at all, or the omlette station breaks if I am the last one to go up there. I have been boycotting going to your restaurant at all, but some people insist on trying it again. And we go back, and I sit there eating more chips and salsa while everyone else eats their meals, until someone brings out my food fifteen minutes later.

Don't get me wrong, the food is good. But I am consistently punished servicewise. I do not think I have ever had a positive experience there. You cannot win me over with those doughnut things with honey. I will not give in.

I am never going back to you again, regardless of your Vegetarian Skillet.

Ole,

Melissa Kate Elaine Evans

An Open Letter to Stephenie Meyer

2008-10-16T10:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Best-Selling Author or Young Adult Vampire Novels Stephenie Meyer,

I am shocked that someone allowed you to publish Breaking Dawn.

Yes, I have cruised my way through all your (four) books in two weeks, and yes, I keep saying that I don't like them, but I enjoy them. That all changed when I got to this piece of drivel you call Breaking Dawn. Never have I read such outright masturbatory fast car/pretty clothes fantasy combined with right wing preachiness. I am truly sorry that I gave Borders $18 for this piece of crap, and I am so sorry for the millions of teenage girls who are going to walk away from this with a romanticized view of things.

Yeah, I get that, like, People magazine loves you, but you know what? My 18-month-old cousin can finish the People crossword puzzle in five minutes without help. Yeah, I get that you have millions of dollars. But so does Britney Spears. Don't mean she finished high school.

I am reading Pride and Prejudice over and over until I feel clean again,
Melissa Kate Elaine Evans

An Open Letter to John Mayer

2008-10-08T10:29:00.001-07:00

Dear Grammy Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer,

Look, we all knew I wouldn't stay mad at you forever. Especially since you're not the problem. I mean, certain songs are still off limits, but fortunately for all of us, when you're not whining about how you fuck things up with women, you're swearing that you are going to prove the nay-sayers wrong. That's very relatable at this moment in time. So let's not make this any more embarrassing than it already is and just come out with a new album already so we can reconcile completely.

I am listening to "Vultures" on repeat. If that's not making up, I don't know what is.

And now I am resolving not to write an open letter until you do something dumb, Grammy Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer.

Melissa Kate Elaine Evans

An Open Letter to Gmail Content Sensitive Advertising

2008-10-08T09:45:00.000-07:00

Dear Gmail Content Sensitive Advertising,

It's one thing for my content sensitive advertising to be all singles websites for cougars. But today? When I got the headline "Does nothing seem to be going your way?" You crossed the line.

Sincerely,
Melissa Kate Elaine Evans

Canvassing in Michigan

2008-10-08T08:46:00.000-07:00

This weekend I had the opportunity to canvass for Obama in Grand Rapids, MI. I cannot give very much money to the campaign, seeing as how the economy is in crisis and what not, but I can give my time, so I have phone banked and signed up for Michigan. Of course, two days before we are set to go, McCain pulls out. That doesn't change the ground game though; the final push to register voters in the state was still imperative. I like parroting e-mails from the campaign.

We set off for Michigan very bright and early for a Saturday morning, especially for someone who doesn't sleep very well. We arrived in Grand rapids somewhere around 1, I want to say, had a lunch and debriefing session, and then set off. Amy and I partnered up for a street in Wyoming, which is just south? some direction? of Grand Rapids.

I have only been to Michigan once for more than a drive through, and I had never been in that area. I had mostly apartment buildings to canvass, and I was rather reminded of "8 Mile," which I am kind of ashamed to say. Not that I don't trust Eminem's artistic representation of his upbringing, it's just that you hope that's what it's not really like. Or at least I do.

Anyhow, I knocked on a little over 50 doors during my time in Michigan. I probably only got responses on 20% of those doors. The majority of people were overwhelmingly supportive -- they at the very least told me they were voting for Obama. More often than not, I was met with a cloud of pot smoke and the sound of giggling as soon as the door closed, but hey, if they said they were voting (if they were of age to do so.) I hope they remember. I only met with two houses of McCain supporters; one seemed hesitant to tell me who they were supporting, but I could tell. The other was a family -- the husband was doing some yard work and yelled at me as I approached. He didn't come near me though, and his wife at least listened to what I had to say before telling me that her husband was definitely voting for McCain, and she was leaning that way. But if that was the most horrible encounter of my day, I'd gladly take it.

The best part of my day, the part where I felt like I was doing something (for America!) was when I registered people to vote. I knocked on one door, and the younger brother answered. I did my "Hi! My name is Mel and I am canvassing as a part of Obama's Campaign for Change" spiel anyhow, and I heard someone say, "Let me call you back, I want to hear this!" A young pregnant girl came to the door, and we ended up talking for quite some time. We registered her to vote; she asked lots of questions; I tried my best to explain the Bailout to her (and many thanks to Kat Gotsick for explaining it to me a couple of hours beforehand.) This girl was excited, and interested, and even though it seemed like the most cliche women's voting moment ever, it made me happy. I cried and cried as soon as I walked away.

The Obama campaign sent out a text reminding people to watch the debates, and also instructing people to reply if they wanted to volunteer. I will phone bank these next couple Saturdays, and I will gladly give another day. I hate to say it, but my motives are purely selfish -- I don't want to be crying on November 5th again.

An Open Letter to John Mayer

2008-10-02T10:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Grammy Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer,

You have been temporarily replaced by the New Kids on the Block reunion CD "The Block." I hope any royalties you are seeing from your stupid live cover of "Free Fallin'" are helping you get through the night, because I know that one hurts.

Sincerely,
Melissa Kate Elaine Evans

An Open Letter to Mark Zuckerberg

2008-10-02T10:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Mark Zuckerberg,

I would really appreciate it if you could add a "lick" function a la "poke" on Facebook. I really think it would help me socially, and that's the point of your little site, right? I am not too clear on what the point of poking is, or the motivation behind it, or who social decorum dictates that you can do it to. But I am pretty sure I have got the grasp of the connotation of licking someone.

Thanks in advance!
Melissa Kate Elaine Evans

The Bright Side

2008-09-26T10:45:00.000-07:00

Amy advises when the going gets tough, one should focus on the positive things. She says think of anything that is still glass half full and focus on that. (Amy also thinks that a twenty minute massage should have redeemed my entire day yesterday, a day of running and crying and stress, but we'll look at all of Amy's points for their individual merit.) She said they can be anything. So here is a list of things that are still pretty good:

The Thompson Twins recorded “Hold Me Now.”
There is free filtered water in my office.
You have caller ID on cell phones.
Amy and Kara still love me, and listen to me bitch and cry, and haven’t shunned me, and are wonderful friends.
My mommy.
“Chuck” comes back on next week. Even though I missed the last five episodes. And I can't watch it. And I don't have a DVR.

Yeah, that's pretty much all I've got right now.

Thanks for ruining my life, Clay Aiken.

2008-09-23T14:36:00.000-07:00

It is not something I talk about very much any more, because I have grown and changed, bu I used to be crazy into Clay Aiken. As in, I have seen him fourteen times in concert. (To be fair to me, several of those concerts were free.) Despite this fact, I was not into him enough to be considered a "Claymate." There are people a little more diehard than me, believe it or not. Still, I enjoyed the music, found him to be extremely charismatic in performance, and had a lot of disposable income at the time. That was before, you know, people started saying we were headed towards another Great Depression sometime around March 2009. (Just in time for my birthday!)

The point is: Clay Aiken has come out of the closet.

I am not really concerned for myself romantically; I mean, we all saw this one coming, I have had several confirmations of this fact through the grapevine, and I personally have moved on to men who will ignore me and/or misuse me on a more firsthand basis, so it's not like I was scribbling "Mel Aiken" on my geometry notebook when I got this news. Rather, what I am worried about is the ribbing I will be taking from many people about being extremely attracted to a gay dude. (He's pretty! And he sings so pretty! And he's so non-threatening!) I know several of my friends will e-mail me immediately upon seeing next week's cover of People, and all I am going to get is hell, hell, hell.

Look, there is no shame in wanting a piece of a gay dude. Have you seen Neil Patrick Harris? I have. I loved Doogie Howser, and I won't watch sitcoms anymore, but I still think he is supes cute. (And non-threatening!) I am not ashamed to say it. So what's the problem here? Again: I can think of several people off the top of my head who are going to be real mean to me. And I will cry.

I am going to pour some of my cosmo out on the ground and listen to "Measure of a Man" for you, though, Clay Aiken. You are so brave.

An Open Letter to John Mayer

2008-09-22T10:33:00.000-07:00

Dear Grammy Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer,

I have bad news.

Look, Grammy Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer, we have been through quite a bit. I mean, I have seen you live three times now, which places you second in my personal rankings of musicians I have seen live (by the numbers. As far as rankings over all, I am probably still going to say that Poison was the best concert I have ever seen. That is not an invitation for a Jersey joke.) Your songs are probably the top five on my most-placed list on my iPod, and I probably have a reputation for loving John Mayer that is close to Jennifer Aniston's (although she is so over you now, and is really being successful at just waking up. Good for you, Jennifer Aniston.)

However, things may have hit a slight stumbling block in our extremely one-sided relationship, Grammy Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer. And it's not your fault, so don't, you know, blame yourself and write a song about it and make millions more, because that seemed like the obvious thing for you to do. You didn't bring this on yourself by say, dating Jessica Simpson or something. This is mostly my fault.

Thanks to recent events, I just can't listen to your music right now, Grammy Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer. It's my fault. It's me being too open about how I enjoy your music, and people using that. So now, thanks to association, it just makes me cry. I am that girl right now. Maybe you should write a song about me after all.

I know I'll be back eventually, Grammy Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer. But it probably won't be until you have some new material, and don't just release concert footage of you covering "Free Fallin'" or something off a movie soundtrack as a single. So consider that a request: make a new CD. So I can ruin that one too.

Sincerely,
Melissa Kate Elaine Evans

Breakin' up is hard to do

2008-09-18T09:10:00.000-07:00

Well, I suppose we all knew things had to take a turn eventually.

All this week, Jose has really stepped up his game. He has been making sure the coffee I like is fresh when I walk in the door in addition to giving me free cups. He's always smiling and telling me good morning and asking how I am. And he lost the mysterious neck Band-Aid to boot.

This morning, I also got a message relayed by the girl at the cash register. As she gave me my change, she told me, "He thinks you're very pretty. The other guy that works here."

Now, we can't assume it is Jose, because we also have to keep in mind the four and a half foot tall Indian man who works the other cash register and always tries to give me bananas. I mean, if a banana isn't a sign a guy is totally into you, I have no idea what is. But, honestly, I think it's pretty safe to say it is in fact Jose who is singing my praises to the rest of the 7-Eleven staff in between wiping up the sugar spills on the counter.

So, I suppose the time has come to finally say something: Look, Jose. I know you probably don't have this website, and if you did, it would be really weird, since you think my name is Jenny. But I am saying it here, since I am probably going to suck it up and start going to Starbucks in the morning starting tomorrow, even though it will cost me $3 more a day. It will never work between us. I know you give me what I need, that being coffee, and you think I am pretty, so it seems like this would be mutually advantageous to the both of us. It's just not though, dude. I'm no good. I'm not as into this as you are. I wouldn't treat you right, and you'd get sick of me in a couple months anyway. I realize I am probably throwing away my last shot to have children through natural means, but I'm sorry, Jose -- this is just moving too fast for me. I am going to avoid you and transfer to the Red Line at Belmont so I can go to the other 7-Eleven. I'm sorry it had to end this way; it's better that you got out now before you fell too much in love with me.

Man, that was rough. But it's for the best.

Even though I will miss the free coffee.

I thought my luck was changing.

2008-09-17T06:50:00.000-07:00

Ever have one of those days...

Where you make a poor underwear choice, because you finally did almost two weeks' worth of laundry last night and went and left it all in the dryer before you took some Tylenol PM and went to bed, because the dryer is on for like an hour and why sit up and wait for it when you can go to sleep and multitask? So you throw on a thong with a dress, figuring it'll be fine, because you sit down most of the day anyway? Only for this to result in you flashing the northbound side of Western Ave. when an unfortunate gust of wind caused by the El blasts your way? Ever do that?

I bought tights on my way to work.

Small comforts

2008-09-12T14:10:00.000-07:00

It has been a rough week. I was having a bad week to begin with, just personal crap, you know how it goes. People are dumb, and that makes me cry. Constantly.

But then a friend of mine got into an accident, and things got very rough. It's been hectic; we're all trying to help, we're all trying to figure out what is going on, and we're all sad. Things will be okay eventually though.

The past few days, I have found one solid thing I can depend on as a comfort, and I am almost ashamed of it. I mean, I wish I could say I found comfort in improv, even though the Rabble has been a blast, but I am so out of it and disconnected that if I am doing something good, I am completely unaware, and if anyone else is doing something good, I will catch onto it ten minutes late. My job certainly isn't comforting, since my boss found me crying at my desk today, asked me what was wrong, and then gave me a new case to work on. I am getting to the point, as I typically do, where what I really want is someone to hold me and pet my hair and say, "There, there," but again, no one is spooning me at present. [Relatedly: I thought about putting up a Craigslist ad looking for someone to do this, but I was advised against it for some reason.]

No, the only thing that I really find comforting is a tall non-fat no whipped Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks. I don't typically go to Starbucks [what up, Jose!] but the second seasonal beverages roll in, the second I get flexible with my coffee principles. So I have been having the equivalent of warm pumpkin milk (with a shot of espresso in it) for the past four days, just to feel better. I think it's just like warm milk with some spices, so it makes sense. Isn't there some kind of calming hormone in milk? Or is it just estrogen?

Regardless, I hope I don't gain weight, either from drinking a latte everyday or because stress makes women gain weight and I should get Lipitor. Because I have to do what I have to do right now. And what I have to do is drink an overpriced cup of pumpkin milk everyday. Maybe even two.

I am your Pisces queen.

2008-09-09T10:37:00.000-07:00

This week, my horoscope says, "At last, there are signs of hope on the horizon. The moon is bringing improvement to your romantic situation. A relationship that was on the rocks is showing some fresh signs of life. Or if you've been alone for ages, you could finally encounter someone wonderful and available."

Now, I am a girl who will run when presented with the "Mitzvah Tank," but put complete stock in a horoscope that some woman makes up.

Last week my horoscope said, "With Saturn still opposite your sign, you could feel like everything certain, stable, and secure is crumbling to bits. A relationship might undergo a major change, and your living situation might also be different. Take a deep breath. You will make it through this OK." That was pretty disgustingly accurate, and I am still spending the bulk of my time crying and listening to sad John Mayer songs, much to the dismay of people who, you know, want to talk about something else or expect me to train them at filing claims. (Seriously. I thought I was done crying today, but then I decided it would be really healthy for me to put on my sad playlist at work. I am glad I bought tissues yesterday.) But hey, whoever wrote that was still pretty on-target with the prediction, so I will put my stock in that for now.

So when my current horoscope promises a sunnier, more hopeful future, I will embrace it and hold on to that until next Monday morning. But the question arises: what exactly is going to happen? I mean, last week, I did a pretty thorough job of making sure everything certain, stable, and secure crumbled. Seriously, everything. But I fixed...most of it? So when do I get this hopeful turn-around? When do I find out everything is not broken?

This morning, Jose was back at giving me free coffee, and we had a fight as to whether I would get a free muffin as well. Again, seeing as how Jose is the most stable male relationship in my life, and how I thought he was dead last week, I really hope he is not what my horoscope is referring to. Because that? Would be depressing.

L'chaim

2008-09-09T09:57:00.000-07:00

I was walking to the train this morning, smoking my second cigarette of the day, trying to decide whether I could feasibly call out of work on a day that I was supposed to work overtime because all I really want to do is watch "Love Actually" and weep, when somethin I have honestly never seen before pulled up in front of me.

It was a neon green truck, like a delivery truck. At first I thought it was Peapod -- it was that color green. I realized it wasn't Peapod when I discovered it was blaring spoken word through speakers on the outside -- not music, but a firm man giving you what-for.

The front of the truck bore the legend, "THE MITZVAH TANK."

As I walked around the side, the driver got out (the speaking didn't stop) and I saw that the "Mitzvah Tank"s purpose was "illuminating Illinois...one soul at a time."

It was not yet 8 AM. This was quite a spectacle, even for a day when I was on a second cigarette by the time I had crossed Welles Park. And frankly, it was too much for me and my poor heart to handle.

I scurried, but in just enough time to be almost sure that the Mitzvah driver was going into the Tai Chi dojo.

An angel brings good news!

2008-09-03T06:54:00.000-07:00

Jose is alive, everyone!

I saw him at the 7-Eleven this morning. At first, he was in the back, so I resigned myself to the certainty that he had either died or been fired. But, suddenly, I hear someone say either, "Oh, man" or something in Spanish upon seeing me, and then he came right over and said, "Good morning!" He has a blonde streak in his hair now. I noticed. Jose is alive!

Is it a coincidence that this should occur the happy day Michael Phelps is in Chicago? Probably. But with all the other garbage going on, it makes me happy (for about two seconds) to know the Mexican who is enough in love with me to gift me with free coffee and the man with the body of my dreams are both alive and well and in the same city.

Maybe everything else will work out too. Maybe.

She Looks Like One of Those Rap Guy's Girlfriends

2008-08-29T10:34:00.000-07:00

I read today in the RedEye that the one thing Sarah Silverman will not do is make fat jokes about women. She said, "We live in a society where fat women don't deserve love."

I am pretty indifferent to Sarah Silverman in general. I think she is funny when I see her, but I don't actively seek out her comedy. That is probably the problem with her career in general. However, she gained my respect with this comment.

This comes fresh on the heels of my being called a "fat ass" twice by a drunk girl last night, simply because I had the audacity to walk around her. To be fair to her, she just could not manage to walk in her heels, despite her boyfriend/guy friend repeatedly telling her to just take them off. She refused to do so, or even take the hem of her pants out of her one shoe, and really, I should have just waited patiently for her to get where she was going, walking ten steps behind, not marring her vision with my huge exposed calves marching along, unhindered by three inch heels or long pants. She probably didn't think I could move that fast and was startled by me walking around her at such a rate, especially when she was teetering to begin with. I should resume my reclusive lifestyle, hiding in my room watching Sandra Bullock films and eating Muncho's, because when I go out, man, do I fuck with skinny women's lifestyles.

Of course, this is not the first time I have been called fat by a stranger on the street -- the most notable instance happened when a teenager on a bike catcalled at me, and then without missing a beat said, "Nevermind, you fat." It made me particularly angry, however, that a woman did it. Sometimes women make me sad with their treatment of other women -- and then John McCain goes and essentially tells America that he is using a woman simply as a vessel by making her his VP, and I wonder when we will ever win.

The funny thing about this is that I am probably not really fat -- I am smaller than the average American woman, even though I am thick. But still, apparently there is a girl even thinner than you waiting to call you a lard, despite how hard you work, despite how much you do, despite how you may feel about yourself. That's great for the sisterhood. But you know, I could have pointed out that compared to that lady who hasn't eaten in 14 years, the drunk trixie is a fat ass. I also could have pointed out that there are TONS of calories in alcohol. But she seemed busy trying to teach herself to walk, so I didn't want to distract her.

But at least Sarah Silverman has our back. Our rolly, rolly backs.

Tramps Like Us

2008-08-28T10:46:00.000-07:00

I managed to watch some of the delegates actually casting their votes (I suppose that is what it is referred to? Does it have a technical name?) at the Democratic National Convention yesterday. I was using the elliptical while I did this, which will be good to note in a minute.

I turned the television on with more than enough time to see New Jersey's delegation do their bits. And let's face it -- most of this casting was two to four minutes of telling everyone just why one's respective state was just so rad, and then casting 10% of their delegation's votes for Hillary, and the majority to Obama. I thought about seeing if "Mythbusters" was on (because the other day, before Amy made me change it to the DNC!), but then we got to the N's.

Of course, I hadn't watched the whole thing up till this point, and New Mexico kind of stole a bit of the thunder for me. Regardless, Governor Corvine got on up there and spoke loudly about what a grand state Jersey is, home of the Boss and Bon Jovi, the Garden State, where the sun rises on the shore and sets over the mountains. This all got me very emotional as it was. And then? Then John Corzine, noted Hillary supporter, gave all of New Jersey's 127 votes to Barack Obama.

And that is when I started weeping on the elliptical machine.

I have been dealing with Amy watching the DNC for the past three days. Amy is overcome with the spirit of the democratic process, and will weep whenever she hears the words "America," "change," "future," or a Clinton or an Obama says anything at all. I scoffed at her initially -- until I found myself in a sports bra and yoga pants weeping while I pretend ski-stepped.

Thanks to the Olympics, I have been crying on the elliptical a lot lately. It is pretty easy to place blame: the elliptical is where I do the bulk of my television viewing, and the Olympics love to feature heart-tugging human interest stories. (Honestly, I mostly cry whenever I watch a relay of the men's 4x100 swimming relay. As soon as Michael Phelps starts screaming, I sound like Claire Danes trying to bring one of her works to an emotional conclusion.) Colleen has suggested I take a new twist on http://www.cryingwhileeating.com and start filming myself Crying While Exercising. I am considering it.

This moment was broken when New York came up soon after and Hillary made her grand entrance only to proclaim she was asking Obama be accepted as the nominee through acclamation. This was wonderful and gracious, but I was only eerily reminded of Stephen King's The Stand where Harold Lauder marches into the Boulder Free Zone Committee meeting to move the ad hoc committee be elected en toto -- only to serve his own nefarious purposes. And we all know what happened to Harold.

But Hillary is in the past now, regardless of what my mother and the die-hards maintain. We are watching history, we are moved by possibilities, and we are crying on home exercise equipment about it. Some of us are ready to canvass.

Bitch bitch bitch

2008-08-27T11:50:00.000-07:00

I had a rough week last week, and I thought this week would be better, but the week started to me thinking Jose could possibly be dead. Yesterday seemed to show improvement, but we're back to where we started today, as Jose continues to be missing and I am back to crying at work.

Jose was not at the 7-Eleven today either, which means he has not been in all week. This is unsettling for many reasons, most of which involve the fact that whoever is covering the coffee area for him is doing a real shit job of it, as they ignored the button marked "French Vanilla Cappuccino" yesterday and filled it with Vanilla Chai, which, as luck would have it, is disgusting when mixed with half a cup of ginseng-infused coffee. I mean, I drank it though. I need caffeine. Today it poured straight-up water, which left me extremely unhappy. Also, there is the fact that the only man who may ever love me has not been seen for days after a crime scene clean up van was parked outside his place of employ, but that doesn't keep me up at night.

Or does it? I haven't been sleeping very well lately. I wonder if it is my subconscious worrying over the Mexican guy who gives me free coffee.

Filled with this sense of unrest, I went into work only to discover that my inbox can no longer be contained by the physical wire basket. As such, my supervisor has begun stacking my work up on the floor next to my desk. To recycle a metaphor I like to use, my inbox is tall enough to ride roller coasters without a parent. Now, my inbox has a friend that is tall enough as well, so my work's parents can sit on the bench and relax for a while.

I made the smart mistake of asking if I could have overtime so I can catch up. I am not sure when I will actually do this overtime, seeing as it is a holiday weekend, so I have no intention of going into the office Saturday or Sunday. I have to work box office on Thursday and Friday, and since my co-workers there would not cover me when I had $200 Justin Timberlake tickets, I don't see any of them jumping at the chance to work over Labor Day weekend. So...I get to come in from celebrating the work force to even more work. Hurrah.

I'd love for something to redeem this week, but seeing as how this weekend looks unpromising, my hope is dashed.

Maybe Jose will be back on Tuesday.

Morning Jolt

2008-08-25T11:01:00.000-07:00

This morning, I was walking into the 7-Eleven by work to get my usual cup of coffee when I was met with an unsettling sight.

Parked directly in front of the store was a white mini-van with the incredibly comforting logo "AFTERMATH: Tragedy and Crime Scene Cleaning Service." Two men wearing those bright blue rubber gloves walked to and from the doorway, loading stuff into the van.

Obviously, something tragic or criminal had happened in my 7-Eleven. My immediate concern, of course, was whether they were still open, because I hate drinking the Flavia at work. But as I managed to get in the door and get my half cappucino/half ginseng energy coffee, my worries turned to Jose.

You will recognize Jose if you have followed from my old blog. Jose is the coffee guy at the store -- the one who works exclusively in the mornings, making sure all the coffees are full and fresh and wiping Splenda off the counter and putting more delicious powder in the machines. At my former 7-Eleven in my hometown of Point Pleasant, a miniature man who I think is Italian does it. Jose is the guy on the corner of Washington and Wells.

I usually deny accusations like this, but Jose is kind of in love with me. And let's face it: Jose is pretty much the most stable male relationship I have right now. I know exactly when I am going to see him next. He is always happy to see me. He gives me presents in the form of free coffee. And hey, that means he clearly knows what I like. Sure, nothing will ever actually happen, as we're from two different worlds. Sure, I told him my name is Jenny. But still, it's always nice to be wanted, right?

Jose was not at the 7-Eleven this morning. The logical part of me believes this is because he probably works weekends, and everybody has to have a day off, right? But still, the unnerving Aftermath truck makes me worry about him.

So maybe we are a little in love after all.

Weird.

Brandy new

2008-08-25T10:56:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my new blog. I figured I have joined 2008 and signed up for the Facebook, I should probably go to blogspot too.

I hope I will be inspired to update this more frequently now.