I jumped out of bed with a smile on my face
Took a big stretch and yelled 'Hello' to my day
Then Hubby said 'shh' cuz I'd all but forgot
He was up late protecting Gotham from a Bot
So I crept to the kitchen to make up some brekkie
When Jilly Bean let out a squeaking 'yep-yeppy'
So I tickled her armpits, took her for a walk
And saw all the vomit people left on my block
I was full of a rhyme, a rhythm and step
So I trotted to work- it's Fri-Yay don't forget.
While sitting aboard a stop and start bus
I saw that a baby was making a fuss
Thinking to myself about what that might mean
I missed my own stop and was stuck in between
Walking back from the north I caught my toe on the curb
And would you believe it could actually get worse?
Spilling my drink down the front of my shirt
Too far to go home and too close to work
So I hummed and I hawed and I wished for a stick
Of orange Tide clean liquid to vanish it quick
Alas I had nothing not even a Kleenex
That's when I saw wardrobe who offered a fix
She gave me an oversized shirt made for a man
But it was clean so I wore it, thanked her and then
Across from my boss I tripped once again
This time I fell, oh the pain I was in.
When I finally got my work Friday to start
My glad Friday feeling was gone from my heart
Sometime around lunch, way deep down in my soul
I knew no matter what I was on a roll
So I rolled along with it and momentum grew
And before I knew it, you know what I knew
The weekend was coming and could not be stopped
By a spill or a trip or a fall on the rocks
So hurry up weekend I might not survive
This Friday is long and I'm barely alive
Long weekend I want to eat hot dogs and swim
So I decided to twirl on a marvelous whim
It was not a good plan I must agree
Because I fell once again on my same old sore knee:)
The moral I guess is that sometimes life sucks
But if you're happy and know it then who gives a... duck?
Happy Fri-yay!
When I first met Hubby I thought he was cute. He was a dude with a Hobbit haircut and a full beard. But his coffee habit had him drinking 6 cups a day. He was an aspiring actor that worked at a video store. Lived in 390 sq ft with a cat- to whom I was allergic. What was I getting myself into? But the Magic 8 ball said 'Signs point to yes '.
The first time we met was Halloween. Him: Borat Me: Robert Goulet. Now, there were a lot of sexy ladies at this party. Sexy librarian, Sexy Red Riding Hood, Sexy cat and a Kissing booth to name a few. I on the other hand was dressed in a brown polyester leisure suit with a pink buttoned up ruffle tuxedo shirt , brown comb over wig and bushy mustache. Neither of us broke character all night. Him: I like-ah do it to a sexy lady Me: Ladadi Dada. As he was leaving he asked the host about me, who didn't give up any details. I guess I made an impression because it was 2 months until I saw him again...but he liked me right away-again.
On the night we really met; he played footsie with me under the table. Walking with me out in the glimmering snowflakes and kissing me in the blue light in front of the Travel Lodge. I like having a romantic sweet story. When we first started dating Hubby would stare at me with a goofy, pie eyed grin on his face. Almost like he was surprised that we were spending time together. I would tell him "There are days.." and he would smile not knowing what I meant. Well, I meant, there are days that I loved him right from the start. And my love keeps growing. He was cute then...But he keeps getting cuter. It's ridiculous. He was a fuzzy mountain man with a full beard and poofy hair. Now he has a dapper short tight hair cut- greased up and rocking his ears. Almost kiss curl style. His baby smooth face is great for kissing. He's become a rock star who cooks and cleans and takes care of me the way a real man takes care of the woman he loves. And the one day he's not home I am. And I am laying on the couch wishing he was here, but he's not. So instead I am forcing my Puppa-Tink to snuggle with me while watching Rock Hudson kiss Mary Poppins. I was excited to be getting married. But I never expected to be this happily married to Danny DeVito, the Commissioner and my Hubby. It's like Threes Company- but I think I'm Mrs. Roper:)
Dear Life,
I feel like you're passing me by. I was so looking forward to my first summer married to my Hubby. No planning, no parties just us. Going to the beach and sitting on patios and living it up and now I am stuck with this full time job. Don't get me wrong it's a great opportunity; at least I thought it was. But now I think that it was Opportunity's evil twin; Greed. I was offered a full-time job and instead of realizing that I don't do my Joe job because I love it, because I don't. I do my Joe job to pay the rent and give me the flexibility to do the work I love. Right now, I have 5 labours of love waiting in various stages that I don't have time to work on because of this schedule. I went from having 3 days off a week to having 1.5 days off... My creative brain is shriveling, and it makes me sad.
Also let's talk Earhair, a topic we haven't explored for a while. A few months ago I got into some hot water over the casual plucking of an acquaintance. Needless to say it did not go over well. And since then I have been a little bit pluck shy. But now I am starting to think that the universe is punishing me for ignoring my true calling: Heir to the Plucker dynasty. Rogue hairs have been cropping up all around me. On and in co-workers ears. Women with wild blonde and black chin hairs. Coarse hair poking out of neck moles. Long hooked eyebrow hairs refusing to lie down. And all I can do is stare. It's sooo hard. Like being a werewolf but having a dog allergy. It might be driving me closer to the harried edge, if you get my drift.
As for the rest of it, Life; I miss my Puppa-roo and the tip-toe Sushi. I am worried about being left by my BFF. I am getting pressure from girlfriends to premeditate baby plans. As soon as I started enjoying the heat, it slapped my face by dropping 10 degrees. I want to put up my shelves, unpack my books and get the Roddamn boxes out of my hallway. Life, I just feel like your racing past me and no matter how hard I try you won't just pull over for a rest stop, just to stretch my legs. Pretty please Life, I would like to feel like I am driving just for a while. I'd even accept you being a backseat driver or a co-pilot who complains about my driving skills.
Anyhoo, I just felt like it had been a while since we really caught up.
I miss you,
Melicious
P.S. Tell my BFF there are no F's in Arizona, only B's
Judges, Teachers and fellow students: today I would like to talk to you about speeches. There was a time not so long ago when everyone your age participated in public speaking. An oral presentation of information to a classroom of your peers. With a great topic, strong talking points and your fingers crossed; you might move forward to represent your class. Present to the school and then represent your school at regionals. As anyone who watches Glee knows, regionals are pretty much what you work for each season. I didn't dare imagine a level above regionals, could there be nationals? Internationals? Publicly broadcast like the National Spelling Bee...what a dream come true. For a talker like me anyway it's still a dream. In my memory there were 3 major speaking moments.
First grade 5 when my topic was Unicorns. A topic close to my heart and one that filled my imagination. My childhood bedroom covered in the beautiful white beasts. Dreams of mystical proportion always included me riding off into the rainbow lit evening, champion of the day. At this point in my speech writing life I was unsure of what was allowed to be talked about. So instead of filling my 2.5 mins of cue cards with all this passion I felt, it was jammed with facts and history. Things that I didn't relate to. Things that I didn't know how to inspire others with. The speech I was so excited about transformed into cold mythology. My first lesson in speech writing: be passionate about your topic if you want others to be inspired.
The second was grade 8, when my topic was my family. My family's quirks, quips and catastrophes. I knew this topic forwards-backwards and thoroughly. My speech creating imagery of a quiet family life displayed in strange vignettes. Talk of soup cans and multiple sneezes making my classmates laugh. When it came time for my class to vote on who would represent them in the school finals; my teacher read off our names and the topics of our speeches. Having a last name in the middle of the alphabet, I waited for my name to be called. The thunderous applause- which is how popularity was measured- ensured that I would represent the class. And I did almost my best, but I was nervous and got off track, losing myself. It's a good thing I knew so much about my topic and could Hansel and Gretel myself back to the breadcrumb path. Knowledge truly is power.
Thirdly I remember the monologue I choose as my audition piece for theatre school. A comedic rant about not being in love with a man who loved me. At the time Hubby was still far off and my idea of love mirrored that of the heroine. But this was not a speech I wrote, it was not in my rhythm, it wasn't even in my own dialect...she was southern and I don't drawl. Drool perhaps but not drawl. For me to make this speech believable I needed to believe it myself. Build a backstory; be that southern lady, love the words and figure out their meaning. A playwright doesn't just use words. The play is carefully crafted and designed to pull certain heartstrings or hit certain funny bones. It's important to use their words as they wrote them. Speaking in their pattern and striking those same notes. A play is like a song, but instead of notes it's language.
With all my experience in speaking and writing and spinning yarns. There are simple rules: Know your subject, know yourself & believe in what you're saying. I wish that I could have learned that my voice was a strong one earlier in my childhood, I would've loved to go to the National Speak off. Would they accept a mature student like me? Probably not, if there's anything I learned from Glee it's that after 6 years in high school people start to wonder why you're still there.
Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the incomparable, the delightful, the diligent Melicious Mona!*insert Kermit the frog arm waving scream. Alright, alright that may be a bit of an exaggeration. But I heard through the grapevine there were folks reading this blog to whom I may not have been formally introduced. To them: welcome. To the rest: please, please stay.
This blog has become an infatuation. I write between 250 and 750 words 5 days a week. Most of which are about random events in my life and the nutty day players therein. So, I thought I would do their character breakdowns:
1. Jilly Bean- aka Cutest pup, My Pupparoo, pooh bum stinkeroo. These are all accepted names. Though her response time leaves something to be desired in general. She is stubborn and smarter than she lets on. No matter how often or for how long she is brushed she continues to shed. Her stiff hooked fur crocheting itself into your clothing.
2. Hubby- aka the Commissioner. A quirky handsome dude with a passion for policing the universe. Generous and kind, I love him all days. He is Danny DeVito and Clark Kent, the underdog- but worth the bet. He is getting better with age and time and a little direction.
3. Lucy- aka Sushi-goose. Our bedazzled kitty with the tap shoes. Clicking and stretching. Her days are filled with chasing the sun across the floor and giving herself lengthy tongue baths. BFF claims she is the forgotten baby, but that's how she prefers it. She is a chubby bellied sprite with a tendency to swipe.
4. Momma- a true lady with class and a caring touch. She is the blog's biggest supporter; as proven by her near-daily blog comments. Loved by those who know her and envied by strangers. Her smile is contagious. Her enthusiasm is unending.
5. Papa B- the strong silent grump. A soul leader, goading all to attempt bigger and better things. Pushing himself to change the world. Trying to zero in on the next big thing. A step ahead, but a dollar behind. He alters everything to fit. His clear blue eyes expressing his thoughts; which at times can be horrifying.
6. Bro- a brave life fighter with bigger potential than he credits himself... slowly being convinced otherwise;) very very slowly. His head is above the game, because he likes watching all the action.
7. BFF- the fire to my gasoline. My pretty soul twin who wins every race. Because she is smarter, faster and stronger than everyone else in the whole wide world. Also a high maintenance lady, who will disagree with that statement. But this gift can't be returned, the tags are long gone.
And last but not least; this blog's headliner:
8. Melicious- a strange and clumsy optimist with an IDA (I deserve attention) problem . I mean she blogs 5 days a week for free because she needs the "credit". That's nuts. Interests include the first 7 cast members, her stubborn uke, mojitos, brunch and this blog. Her identity has become tied to this website. Her life is filled with snapshots of the things that people take for granted. She hopes you like it too...
So, that's the main stage 8 for this online variety show. Not everyone plays their instrument well, but together they sound like the high school garage band who's gonna win the 2nd term talent show. Though I am sure there are days they wish they didn't appear as often. And there are many other players with walk on parts, but we'll get to them eventually. I can't tell you how much fun these past 3 months have been. The countless hours I've spent with you, and the support you've been sending my way. I will keep up this break neck speed all the while pretending I am doing it for you. But we all know it's really just my Melicious attempt at creative sanity.
This week I spent a lot of time traveling. Time in airports; where every suitcase has a squeaky wheel. A symphony of out of tune squealing leading people to strange places and back home again. The televisions squawking equally in French and English. People tired from long journeys and others excited for their 's to begin. The sound of planes at touchdown. The smooth dulcet tones of landed attendants inviting their new passengers to board. The constant click of the baggage claim, telling you youre almost home.
Time on the highway; with lane closures slowing everyone and speed demons racing against an unseen timer. Six lanes of blacktop taking people long distances in a short time. Cars with lonely drivers singing along in voices louder than they typically dare. Cigarettes hanging out windows, for the first drag of the day or the last butt before home. Headlights brightening up dashed center lines and shining in my eyes.
Time on the subway; with snoring sun-stroked beach goers leaning against plexiglas partitions. Buses with inebriated minors acting out. Overdressed office women in uncomfortable shoes pretending to read their romance novels. The unidentifiable stain on the red almost velvet seat. Crowded bus stations with impatient commuters reading free daily newpapers.
People coming and going, the only thing they share is me. I sit and stare as people around me fill their commute with all the tools they've grown accustom to. Sleeping and waking at the right stop. Earbuds plugged into music mixed with the sense of solitude. I like being a traveller in the galaxy without leaving the planet. Each cosmos holding their own secrets and all of them revolving around the same sun. It is truly an awesome thought to sit as people flood out folding doors to offices, people on top of people, all working towards a different goal.
They say that life isn't about the destination it's about the journey. And this is a good one. Each day I hope to see something new, run into someone old and get to work on time. This weekend I want to sit in Victoria (a regal vehicle) with my BFF and sing with the sunroof open. Daylight coaxing more freckles out of winter hibernation. Coasting along to our favourite corny pop song. Her on lead vocals, Me Garfunkeling the harmony. Laughing all the way. Traveling together for more than just a ride. I am happy that this journey is filled with the sights, sounds and the sometimes awful smells that go along with it. Dear readers: Keep on trucking! And as always be prepared to merge:)
Have you ever wanted anything so badly you started day dreaming about it? Fantasizing and creating the perfect moment. Hello, my name is Melicious and I an anticipation addict. When something exciting is planned or an important date is in the near future, I can't help myself. I start thinking about all the possibilities that special moment holds. Building up the moment until it becomes the best, most memorable and mind-blowing event of all time.
As you may have guessed, it's not the easiest of addictions. An adrenaline junkie gets his fix by doing something dangerous, careless even. Pyromaniacs light things on fire. Nyphos- like to do it. Little old me? I blow things out of proportion. Re-imagining the possibilities and pushing the boundaries of the probable. Which always leads to disappointment. Try being 7 year old me waiting what felt like 3 years between birthdays. Or a weekend slumber party, which was only days away being built into the world's greatest adventure, it was tough to keep me engaged:$ The plans happening in my head were so much more interesting. I think that my addiction prevented me from enjoying the some really special days of our lives. In waiting and planning and dreaming about the bestest-most-perfect day, I never realized that something special is often unplanned. I build up an occasion to the level that no matter what, I will be disappointed.
When I was growing up there were huge advancements in technology. We went from walk-mans to disc-mans. Dual tape decks to 5 CD changers. And invented surround sound and widescreen TVs. Poppa was keen to stay on the cutting edge. But it means I now expect that of myself. With new apps, devices and upgrades every 3 months; it's getting expensive. I remember growing up and the excruciating wait from movie box office to VHS, which became faster with the DVD and even faster now with MP4s. Anticipation quashed by the next big thing, just as you've learned the ins and outs of the current model. How could I ever be happy if I am always a step behind?
One of the best birthdays I had was a surprise party. I knew my big one-seven was coming up, but everyone was busy. Nobody making plans with me, everyone avoiding all talk of it. I didn't have time to build up the event. I had no idea it was happening. Plus I was too busy concocting a far- fetched story about a lonely girl, stuck between the world of children and the universe of grown ups; left all alone and celebrating my birthday with a lone candle on a lonely cupcake. So, when I walked through the door to a dark house, only to have the lights snapped on and people screaming, I almost wet my pants. Same thing happened when Hubby proposed. He told me he'd be one place, he showed up in another and I was certain that he was a future version of himself come back to the past to warn me of some distant snagged our life had hit, trying to correct the past to perfect the future... Okay, wait, wait, wait, hold the phone and all the horses. I may have just identified another problem: exaggeration imagination.
What I thought was one affliction; I have now identified as many. What's the clinical name for my disease, you ask? How about- Anticipation Imagination exacerbation Marathonitis, for short. That's quite a handle but they say knowing is half the battle. So I'll keep fighting for the best-brightest and most memorable life, and try to keep it closer to reality. Thanks for the online diagnosis Doctor Blog:)
Isn't it amazing how quickly vacation ends and real life begins again? A few days away and just as I start relaxing; it's over. On my mini break I met a new double-fab try hard like me. It's odd my try hard Hubby thinks that trying hard is a downfall. I keep thinking that a try hard is who I am, so I might as well try hard to be good at it. I try to get people to like me. I try hard to get people participating. I am a try hard. I never thought anything of it. I just like to be the top of every list. Scholarly, athletics, social- I try to be the best. I try hard. And those people are the people I gravitate to. Surprise! Try hards are the people who are the most fun, the smartest the most athletic and the most social. Hubby says he hates try hards, but most of his favs are try hards. Par example- that's French for; for example- Danny DeVito, Fred Savage and moi- that's more French; for me! Okay, I mean, I hope I'm one of his favourites? Sometimes though I know I kick myself outta the top 3 by being a dink...as one occasionally does. My new top 3 includes a hat enthusiast, a hat obsessionist, and though not in attendance still the world's best BFF.
So 2 out of my top 3 favs and I spent the day:
1. In deep space with me having to pee so badly, I pulled the escape pod.
2. Underneath 80 years of hats.
3. In our own Montreal brewery with $10 onion rings.
Toss in tequila, lox and bagels and you've got our day. Pretty much the best afternoon ever.
So on my last afternoon in Montreal, we ended up drunker than I'd hoped to be after going on 2 brewery tours followed by a pulled duck poutine. What Hubby referred to as the perfect french meal. I was worried about losing said poutine on the plane and still having to get up in time for my way too early shuttle to the work in 1900. My worried sweats were encouraged by humidity and polyester. In trying to achieve a certain fashionable status in Montreal, I brought my expensive looking cheap stuff, instead of what they wear there; which is expensive fabrics, in cheap designs. Cottons and linens vs polyethalene, stryrene or any other rene- I think we know who wins. For all my trying, I still failed. Epic-ly. Sad pathetic, little country-via-Toronto girl. You looked nice when you left your air conditioned b&b, but your hair has since melted, you sweat off all your makeup and broke out before you got to your first destination. Good luck to Montreal. I don't know how the french do it, cuz its too Rich for me- in every sense of the word. But I tried,oh Rod, I tried. What someone should have told me upon hearing that I was heading to Montreal was: pack 1 cotton sundress that you can wring out at the end of the day- cuz it's hot as baldy- I am not sure what that means but my Momma has said it forever.
As for Montreal itself? What's strange is:
1. Most Montrealers speak 2 languages, but you can tell they only want to speak one. And its not the one I speak.
2. The airport is 3/4 of a journey from downtown and when you get there you still have to ask directions. It can cost you $8- 40.
3. The amount of children under 8 attending Star Wars Identities.
4. All of Old Montreal is new businesses.
What a strange and fabulous place. I would recommend it, if you're going for something specific, like the Jazz festival or Just for Laughs. But have a plan. That will ensure the Commissioner can have a good time. And if not- ask for Le Latino, a tequila infused beer and no matter who you're with you'll have a great time. Montreal: I had to double shampoo the humidity out of my hair and brush my teeth twice, but I finally felt like I was home again. Hazzah, comfy pants await.
Travel can be stressful. It doesn't have to be, but the Commish doesn't know how to or even like having fun. He's too busy correcting the world. The tone of which sounds like a far older and grumpier man. Dear commissioner, you suck. You knew my shoes hurt my feet, but you insisted on walking across hell's half acre. Even after I started limping. You ignored my pain. Even when i put on a blister pad and begged to stop walking. After promising me a beer and patio, we still had to walk 10,000 miles. When I finally convinced you to stop for a brief respite, you thanked me. A beer and a discussion can go a long way to saving a marriage:) So the fun part of our vacation could start.
Strangely enough in Montreal Hubby and I ended up on a patio where everyone was speaking English. I am not sure if we were drawn together by the siren call of fondue, or of it was the encouraging smiles of our almost bilingual servers, but Montreal started growing on us.
I am convinced that Toronto is the Canadian equivalent of a snobby grown up cousin, just home for summer holidays. Thinking she's smarter than everyone and wearing designer clothes-borrowed from her roommate but none the less cool.
If that's the case though, Montreal is the girl who transfers into 8th grade with the exotic French accent. She walks with a swagger more mature than you are and all the boys think she's the fairest girl in the land. Which is true. Montreal holds a certain- Je don't know what for an Anglo like me. Old Montreal encourages the masses to eat ice cream and maple syrup at the old port. Keeping hidden the little villages that make her so fancy. But I found them, you tricky vixen. And if I didn't have so many destinations on my list I would go back again next weekend:)
Montreal-Cheri, thank you for beating the Commissioner out of my Hubby & giving us a few windy wonderful food filled days.
I am a homebody. It's not a surprise, my parents are homebodies like their parents before them. Not to mean we're hermits, we're just more comfortable being at home, entertaining at home, and just plain living there. When we're not rushing, planning and executing tasks; we're resting at home in comfy pants- regenerating for the next excursion. But by the time you read this I will be on vacation. Finally. It's great. It has been a long time since I went somewhere with my Hubby. And it's amazing what packing for a change of physical location can do to your personal perspective. I don't mean in an "Ohhh it's so amazing there" way, though it is. I mean it in an "oooh I can't let anybody see me like that" type way. I realized half-way through my pack that I was only bringing the things I save for fancy time. I was packing that new dress I haven't worn and the emergency Spanx to ensure maximum new dress output. I was packing nicest jinkies, best under-ware, cutest shoes. I wanted Montreal to see me at my best, not what I would wear on a Staycation....
With this though, as with everything else; it snowballs. So new dress, means matching shoes, tiny clutch purse, jewellery and complimentary earrings. Cute shoes mean blister pads and in the worst case scenario; muscle cream. Also best undies, doesn't necessarily mean most comfy. This exercise encourages me to take stock of the items going into the suitcase; it also allows for quiet reflection upon the reasons to leave certain others behind. I didn't choose those undies, cuz the elastic sucks and they fall down...Wait, since realizing that before putting them on in the dark, why don't I just end this uncomfortable relationship now. So, I did...And it felt great. *insert 20 min whirlwind wardrobe culling. Feeling a grand sense of accomplishment rush over me; I went the the lavatory to pack my toiletries and had the same situation. So I rinsed and sterilized my makeup brushes, married up my part bottles of creams, washes and spritzes, threw out the deodorant that only had enough stick left to scratch my armpit. But I wasn't satisfied there. New toothbrushes and razors were tagged in. Almost empty containers that were WAY too old and expired makeup was also thrown out. It's amazing how far you can see when you're not blocked by piles of old crap.
This brings me to paragraph the third entitled; I intervened myself and didn't have to go on Hoaders. As bad as I ever really got, I didn't have to worry about that. Though there are times when it's not that hard to see crazy from here. I joke, but people really can be so consumed by things that they forget all the little pretty moments that happen everyday. Like getting to wear your cute shoes and going on a mini break. Taking a deep breath and letting it out and maybe it smells like garbage, but maybe it smells like honeysuckle or fresh baked bread. So, on this vacation, I am going to enjoy my under flaunted fancy things and breathe. Celebrating a wonderful change of location, a chance to hang with my Hubby and not just the Commish, wearing my top shelf clothes and going for a walk to who knows where in a city that doesn't speak my language. I might get a blister or two, but those will just act as reminders of my trip when I get home and have to be plain-old-home-body me again. I tell you though, I am looking forward to those comfy pants:)
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