2008: A Year of Tears in Review

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)

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)

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)

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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.