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:)
When I was young and my Bro was younger, my family went on a trip to Florida. The typical Canadian escape over March Break to a place filled with other Canadians off for March Break. My Papa being the efficiency expert he is, forced a 3 day drive into a 2 day window. Which would of course be the best way to start our vacation. My father pushing through Michigan and racing through Georgia, and the 3 of us sleeping for almost everything in between. In a race against an unknown timekeeper, challenging him to stay up all night; stopping only for vending machine coffee and rest stop bathroom breaks. When we arrived in Florida he was tired and grumpy. That much I recall. And what could make a grown man even grumpier? How's about Disney, Epcot and Universal with 2 kids complaining about standing in line and too young to really appreciate the value of a family trip...Ya I think that would do it.
One of the reasons my Parents chose Florida, was the free stay at a timeshare resort, 40 mins from all tourist destinations, a great location with quality amenities and guaranteed property amelioration. After the last few years in the US economy, I guess they are happy they declined, even though they sat through (with us) 2 long winded slideshow presentations and 5 different pushy sales tactics in increasingly smaller rooms. Including: Bribing the children, free tickets to local attractions and lots more exciting and incredible offers. But they obviously didn't know: my family doesn't feel guilty for taking the free shit. That's how they trap those other poor buggers*insert thumb point at the rube next to you.
The most memorable parts about this vacation though was the cheap- side of the highway Croc farm that we went to... Not quite a zoo, not a petting farm, it was a strange mix of domestic and exotic animals. With a GIANT concrete crocodile out front, acting as the doorway to this not so foreign land. It's huge teeth rounded down from the probable sharp points they used to be, before people got all worked up over things like that. The crocodile show was every 15 mins, not very exciting though a burly man in blue coveralls did put his head into the mouth of a small crocodile. The croc was the size of a chocolate lab with a longer snout and tail. Though the safari expedition host empathically assured us, it was very dangerous. He was later selling souvenirs in the gift shop.
On our visit to this park, my Papa's mood improved drastically. We were 6 hours from starting back towards home and he was finally smiling. Starring at a screaming monkey. You know the kind with the pink bums, that have clearly been using rough toilet paper. Papa had put a quater into the turn machines filled with food pellets for the caged animals and was holding a handful of those dried out nuggets. And that monkey was reaching as far as he could while still hanging from his rope, screaming for all that food. Papa throws a pellet. Monkey makes a lame attempt at catching, misses, pellet falls to the floor, monkey shrieks, and holds his hand out for another. Papa laughs, throws another pellet. Another lame grab at the air and another missed pellet. More screaming and angry bouncing- monkey begging for another try to catch another pellet. And so it goes, throw, swat, scream, laugh, throw; until my Papa is on his very last pellet. Making eye contact with this high hanging Monkey, Papa says: "It's the last one, you better catch it." With an exaggerated lob my Papa sends that last pellet high into the air, Monkey extends his hand like God to Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, catches it triumphantly lobs it into his mouth, blows a raspberry then sveltely slides down the rope to collect the handful he's missed. Starring at this, it dawns on me, even at that young age. That monkey has tricked my Papa out of his handful of pellets. Pretending the whole time that he was trying desperately to catch those pieces, knowing he could, but if he did, that was the end of the game. That monkey was smarter than all those timeshare sales people put together.
On our way back out the crocs mouth the safari expedition host tells me to pick any souvenirs I want for a dollar. I choose a tiny message in a bottle filled with sand: Beachfront Property. Then clutching it closely, I climb back into the Winstar, saying goodbye to Florida and Papa aims us Norh, towards home. We made it back in 1.75 days, a record for even my driven Papa. But what's the point of a record if you don't keep trying to break it.
Interesting side note. While researching this blog, I learned that southern Florida is the only place Alligators and Crocodiles live side by side. This little Monkey says: who's teaching who?
I am a 30+ year old. It took me 3/4 of a year to become alright with that. Getting older and becoming the person I never thought I'd be old enough to be; for example a Mme, changes things. I don't mean that in the dramatic I am getting old way. But at 23 I was convinced that I would never actually be mature. Twenty-three Whoa! was quite frankly a crazy and strange age. I didn't know who I was or who I really wanted to become. The only thing I knew was who I didn't want to be, which didn't help. I knew I didn't want to be alone. And I really didn't want to be scared anymore. I was very nervous. Nervous to have an opinion. Nervous to be myself. To say what I thought, and have an actual full blown personality and all the great and awful things that go along with it. Which brings me to where I am now. Seven years after I was so scared. I am not nearly as scared. But now I have friends who are going through those 23 year old things. And I see their fears, which scares me all over again. But Baby, regardless of the things that scare you, you are who you are... And it would take a lot of time, effort and therapy to change those things.
Dear 23 year old:
My biggest concern; the way you cover yourself up. Painting yourself with thick layers of synthetic skin, protecting you from the world outside. I know you're scared. I can see it in the measured way you talk. The ruler leaning against your phrasing. Taking the wind out of your sails. You deserve more from yourself, and it makes me sad that you don't think so. If you, a beautiful 23 year old don't feel love for yourself at the prime of your life, when you are the most beautiful, natural and lovely creature, what hope is there for the rest of the world? Including the 30+year old woman that I am now. Dear 23 year old, you are so amazing that watching you become a brave and idealistic soul is inspiring the people around you. Please understand that all the best people you know got their hearts broken by people who pretended to love them. That you're not perfect, and nobody expects that from you, except you. You are better than the way people treat you. Your high school friends won't be your only friends forever, and soon you'll get to choose a whole new clique, people who will be your family because they love you, not just because they live in the same school district. But being a grown up will be really hard for the few first years. Kitty says: Hang in there baby.
When I was your age, I was crazy. I couldn't get a grip on the idea of becoming a "member of society". Paying taxes and doing things like cleaning my own apartment. I lived with roommates; which teaches you how to suffer in silence. Grin and bearing dirty dishes and uncleaned washrooms. Girls are not easy to understand at the best of times. Twenty-somethings are even worse. With the climatic apex of living on their own and trying to be grown ups before they really understand who they are...Can I even tell you. I hated myself, I didn't need anybody's help, I covered myself with laquer and expected people to see past it. But you don't need to hide to be seen. You are beautiful and I know you can hear me. Please know when a 30+ says it's going to get easier, that it will. It doesn't stay crazy for much longer. Dear 23, you are young and beautiful, things get better and we will welcome you at our 30+ table because you help us to feel like we're helping:) And Sister Sledge, we are family, because you chose me.
Weekends suddenly make sense to me. I have been living day to day. Jumping from gig to gig for the past 5 years. Without a steady job- other than this... So, the weekend never meant that much to me. It was just 2 more days of the week that I could be working or waiting for the work to call or sweating that it had been 3 days since I worked, etc ad nauseum. But when you're booked into a steady Mon to Friday work week; the weekend is two days off. Back to back, days where I am my own boss. Not worried about when my next job is coming. It's coming Monday. Those 2 days are allocated to my whim. And with this my first Free Weekend I learned the following things in no particular order.
1. The Horseshoe Tavern is Toronto's best music venue- especially if the band has a fiddle
2. Bone marrow, horse meat and cow tongue taste amazing if the chef knows how to do it right
3. Free beer is the best beer
4. A DJ playing to an empty room doesn't take requests
5. My bike needs a softer seat
6. A rare book doesn't have to be old but it helps
7. Law schools are designed to inspire greatness in their students
8. Sundays are designed for Mommas
9. My Puppa loves me more when I smell like bacon poutine
10. Scotland has born some pretty wicked people
11. Lucy doesn't want to play the game "look I’m a pirate and she's a parrot" while standing out on my shoulder
12. Bye, bye Birdie is wicked- this I already knew but it’s important to be reminded
13. Baby Belle won't play herself and I need to practice
14. Coffee in Paris is cheaper at the bar than at a table
15. New shoes make me feel great and guilty
16. A change of facial and body cream are a gateway to better cheeks; which means better smiling
17. Sunshiney weather brings out my freckles
18. My bike basket is not an acceptable handbag
19. Most people yelling in the streets aren't talking to me
20. Queen St though busier is better than Dundas for now
21. Having reliable people around means you breath better
22. Having a slogan on your shirt; allows people to stare at your chesticles
23. Being dressed up and looking good with someone you love is better than being in comfys alone
24. Having a BFF who is pretty helps to see the beautiful things around you
25. A spring breeze is best when blowing through the new spring leaves
26. I will never stop loving Jelly shoes
27. Rose water smells amazing on me
28. Whenever you get something you actually need. When you get home you'll find you needed 2 of them
29. Freddie Mercury still rocks
30. Stopping to smell the flowers sometimes means actually stopping to smell the flowers
31. Painting your toenails navy; encourages one to hum the Village People
I know, I know these aren’t shocking and amazing revelations, but it sounds to me like I had a pretty informative weekend. I just wish that I was taking a weekend from this- and getting paid again Today :) Ah the dream! Happy Monday to all you daily grinders, and Happy non-specific day of any generic work week to all you freelancers.
When I was growing up my family wasn't rich. That's not to say we were poor. We always had name brand Kraft dinner and Koolaid. My Momma is an advocate for buying the products with accountability. None of that yellow pack No Name shenanigans. Unlike my neighbor who's mother made her eat homemade Mac and cheese- eww, poor thing. Being from a family with such high standards, it was hard for me to hear: No. And it was even worse hearing it when I really wanted something.
I used to think/wish/dream that if I was playing with a toy in a store somebody would see me; think I was adorable and give me that toy. Just give it to me. You know the way special and amazing things happen to everyday average people. Especially middle class blonde haired children from small town Ontario. It's supposed to happen all the time. It never did. Remember when Cabbage Patch kids were all the rage? I sure do. I loved my Norma Betsy in her blue corduroy overalls and sandy brown braids. We were inseparable- except if I was playing outside, she wasn't allowed out; she'd get dirty. My macaroni neighbour had 2 Cabbage Patch kids and I only had Norma Betsy. Life just wasn't fair.
Is there a parent out there who likes Toys'R'us? It was an exercise in patience for my parents I suspect. My little Brother knowing the only reason we went to Kitchener was to drive by the chicken giving the thumbs up to the toysrus- the way he said it sounded more like a dinosaur than a toy store- though either would've been cool.
While shopping I began pestering my Momma. Starting softly and steadily increasing my whining towards an 11. Momma telling me; "No. No-for the last time, ask me again and we're going straight home." I skulked off. Back to the Cabbage Patch aisle; the only place I was understood and among friends. Starring at their smiling chubby faces behind the shiny cellophane I started daydreaming: My Momma realizing the error of her ways collects my brother from the bike, trike and scooter aisle. Pulling him against his will, telling him: 'Your sister needs to have a little brother or sister for Norma Betsy. It was a beautiful dream until suddenly there was a pair of hands reaching past me; towards the wall of dolls, selecting a beautiful redhead with curls and 2 front teeth. With a quick inhale I let out a shriek! Joy! Surprise! Sweet and wonderful and all things great! I am twirling and I reach out for this hand- exclaiming "Oh yes! She's so pretty! She's perfect." Taking hold of that hand I turn to find strangers. STRANGERS! The worst thing in the whole wide world and I am holding hands with one. I snatch my 8 year old hand away from an equally surprised woman and start running down the aisle. Finding my Momma and Bro exactly where I knew they would be. Flushed and embarrassed and a bit scared I take Momma by the hand- a hand I know. Promptly bursting into unexplained tears. I didn't leave her side for the rest of the day; worried that strange woman would find us and tell on me.
That day I went home with a tight chest. Sitting in the backseat of our Taurus I couldn't even be bothered to keep my Bro off my side. I could have been an orphan like those Cabbage Patch kids- waiting for a home, but I wasn't. I had a Momma and a Papa and a Bro and Norma Betsy! I couldn't leave them. I still didn't have as many dolls as my Macaroni neighbour, but at least I didn't have to go home with new parents. Oh yeah, 2 months after this traumatic day, on my birthday Norma Betsy and I welcomed Austin Merle to our teeny family. A preemie brother whose bald head smelled of plastic and baby powder in a sea-foam green flannel onesie. It's true, you can't always get what you want but if you try sometimes, you just might find- you get what you already had... and a preemie. It turned out for the best, Norma Betsy has never really been a fan of redheads anyways;)
Name: Melicious Mona
Pronunciation: məlɪʃəs monə
Root: Melissa meaning honey bee, Melicious being a new word meaning delicious and sweet. Mona meaning moon, my lady and alone or unique.
Origin: Well, you see, there's this little movie: The Best little Whorehouse in Texas, staring this little actress: Dolly Parton playing Miss Mona, the quirky and tough as nails madam. And Miss D has deemed me worthy of bearing the moniker.
Variations: MM, Melicious, Miss Mona
Uses: "Hey Melicious, another beer?" "Oh, MM I missed you." "Oh how Melicious." "You look pretty Miss Mona."
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