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.