I won't deny the fact that I cried when I listened to this simply because I think crushes are the most powerful thing in the world when you're young. I know now that I'd take love over a crush...but when you're 10?? A crush IS love:



Who was your first crush? Mine was my next door neighbor Josh, I had whole diaries dedicated to the boy. I thought we'd grow up, get married and one of our parents would give us their house to live in, so that we could show our children the houses that we grew up in (true diary post right there.Thank goodness I threw them all away after re-reading them at 23). I also remember the summer when I was waiting breathlessly for him to kiss me and give me my "first real kiss". The whole summer I was constantly sucking on something sweet so that I could be assured that I wouldn't have bad breath. Seriously, I had a packet of Kool-Aid rolled up in my pocket that I would dip my finger in periodically so that I would have a peach-y fresh mouth! ha! The night he finally did kiss me, I had a mouth full of pretzels ...which I transferred to his mouth. Luckily, we both laughed about it, and I fell even more in love with him. But ultimately he was just a jerk.

One night, making out on his parent's front lawn on a blanket he told me that I had big arms (he wasn't lying, I've always had bigger arms than the average girl). Much, much later...the night that I had made up my mind that I was going to lose my virginity to him, he told me that I had big nipples (which they're really not bad! They aren't even close to bad (back me up John) They just aren't tiny) and I zipped my jeans up and my crush on him crumbled and was displaced by disappointment and hurt. But to think about that first crush, before that night is lovely.

No, I haven't fallen in love with KFC so much that I haven't posted...in fact the damn place hasn't even opened yet. They were supposed to open on Tuesday now they aren't opening until next Tuesday! Bastards!

Anyways, posts to come...busy life right now since it's Homecoming Weekend here in the Cornfield, and I am involved in ALL the festivities.

Hopefully, John and I will get into some kind of mischief. And, I hope that you will as well!

You know that you live in a small town when everyone in the Cornfield are all a-buzz about the fact that we got a KFC/Taco Bell combo restaurant and it opens tonight.

Good thing I'm going to the gym now...

...because I know I'm going to want KFC later.

Hopefully, the novelty will wear off quickly.

Four years ago we didn't even know each other on your birthday and then on Christmas Eve I was doing my final gift run and I passed the pet store in the mall. I heard my mother, my friends and even my mailman's voice saying to me, "You can't get a puppy from a pet store!" and I wasn't even planning on it. But then I saw you. A tiny little ball of pure chocolate velvet. I ran into the store and asked if I could see you. The large man grunted and said, "That one? That one hardly moves...". and then he handed you to me. You looked at me with impossibly beautiful jade green eyes and you cautiously sniffed my hair as I held you close to my face. I set you down on the ground and crouched to see you wobble on tiny little legs. You peed on my sneaker. The man who obviously hated dogs and more particularly you said to me, "Sorry lady, want me to take the runt from you?"

He reached to grab you and I instictively grabbed you off the ground and held you tightly against my chest. "I'll take her. Here's my card. Francesca and I are going to need a collar and a leash so that we can get out of the mall."
"Who the hell is Francesca?" the man inquired.
"This beautiful little girl" I replied nuzzling you with my eyes closed and probably looking like the biggest loser in the world.
"Hmmpf", was his reply and I think I heard him mutter about how I named you within minutes of knowing you. We left the store quickly. I held you tight against me as we weaved in and out of holiday shoppers, stopping only to allow small children to coo over you (it was the holiday season after all). We made it to Nordstrom and you were grunting like a little pig and so I let you waddle next to me as we closed in on the door that would provide us freedom from retail hell, when I noticed that you decided you needed to poo...and that you were already pooping on the floor! Leave it to you to wait until we're in the snobbiest store in the mall! But the women were gracious and they cleaned it up and played with you, even though I insisted on doing it. I scooped you up one more time and got us to the car. Your tiny snores made me giggle the whole way home.

The next day our lives were turned upside down. I came home from work and you were listing in your crate. I pulled you out of it and mucus was streaming out of every orrifice (not a very good look for you baby) and you were breathing so weakly. I called the vet in a panic. She told me that it was just "new puppy jitters" and that perhaps you just had a cold. I tried to explain. Then I just got pissed. I told the vet she could explain it to me when I got there. I tucked you into my coat and pressed you against my favorite sweater...your snot stained it somehow, it doesn't matter now and it didn't matter then. Racing to the office, they took one look at you and said gravely, "Take her to the emergency room, your puppy is on death's door!" Not exactly the words I wanted to hear, but as tears poured down my face I vowed to make you better.

Long story short, you nearly died of pneumonia that night. You see, you weren't a runt, you weren't lazy either...the fucking pet store hadn't taken care of you my sweet. Nineteen days in the animal emergency medical center later (several of those days you were in a oxygen tent...I had a Bubble Puppy!) I picked you up healthy as can be. Sure I had a brand new credit card that strictly held only your medical bills but I had you back, safe and sound.

They told me, "I'm sorry we had to give your Lab these medications that might possibly stunt her growth, so she's most likely not going to be very big..." and then they trailed off. I smiled and looked at your tiny little mug, so precious, so absolutely loving and said, "It's ok. Francesca...hmm, that's a big girl's name huh? Ummmm...." looking at you and trying to figure out if I should rename you, "Frankie...Frankie! and I are going to be just fine."

And we have been. Thank you for singing "Blue Christmas" whenever Elvis does, thank you for alerting me whenever the fire sirens go off, even at 4am. It's always better safe than sorry. Thank you for whining/crying at the door when I come home and showing me that you love me so much. Thank you for wearing the skull and crossbone shirt with the rhinestones that I know that you're not quite a fan of. Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for being my Cranky Frankie.

Love you baby! Happy fourth birthday my beautiful little dog. You make our lives a little nicer just having you around.

Love,
Mom and Dad

I am high on life right now. The Universe just opened up and said to me, "Melina, you're still hot...even at thirty and even if you do have a little double chin kiddo!" And this is how...

I was on my way to pick up a new book and I was following behind a bus full of middle school boys. First they waved at me, so I waved back. They looked at each other with excitement and bounced around with what I believe was sheer glee. Then one kid stepped up to the window and held a piece of paper against the glass. I leaned forward and squinted assuming that they had written every curseword they knew and were trying to impress me by telling me to "Fuck off bitch!" or something equally "cute". But no...

I couldn't read it, so I raised my hands to the sky and shrugged, giving them the universal code for, "I have no idea what that says!" and so the leader of the pack kid leans against the glass, smooches it, winks, and gives me the "Call me!" sign with his thumb and pinky while wiggling his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx. I couldn't stiffle my giggles.

Instead of them all busting into laughter as I expected, the other boys put their windows down and leaned their heads out and I heard four young voices screaming, "Do it! Do it! You're so fucking hot! Call him!" and they threw a ball of paper out the window (with presumably the digits). This must've been the last straw because the bus driver stopped the bus. He went to the back and from what I could see, he yelled at the boys. Then he got off the bus, picked up the ball of paper and said to me, "Sorry about these boys...they shouldn't be cursing out the window." I could only reply, "Don't worry about it, they're only boys." Very good, sweet, wonderful boys for making me feel "so fucking hot". ha ha...

I don't even know why my husband bothers to have a blog (don't look for it, I don't have it linked) when he doesn't ever post anything about me on it...sniff, sniff...especially when I do such nice things for him.

(First of all...let me say that you are reading my 1,000 post! That's not including my 5,000 drafts! Wooo! I'm so impressed with myself!)

John is a saint. It is very clear to me now that this is actually true and that I'm not just proclaiming it on the blog so that he gives me nookie. Sure, sometimes he's really bossy and he's always on me to be neater (which is really rough, I mean, my house is soo clean...and that's horrible right??!? Nope, I'm glad to be living with a neatnik), but all in all, he's pretty ok and here's why:

Picture yourself in a deep, deep sleep. You dream that you are in an exotic bathroom that is kind of like a hybrid bathroom/outdoor awesome bathhouse in the middle of the Amazon (I don't know, it was my dream and I can't even describe it). Butterflies are floating by you, and everything is verdant and lush. There, up on a mossy mound is a gorgeous toilet (? what constitutes a gorgeous toilet? I have no idea) and you sit upon it and...

...you are actually dreaming that you're peeing...which means that when you wake up you're actually peeing all over your husband!

Um yeah, that was me last night. Can't say that that has happened in about 25 years (not counting my drunken peeing sessions) but hey, it was a really engrossing dream and I gave John a golden shower without his consent. So what did he do about it?

John shrugged it off and moved to the floor with me, where we cuddled up and went back to sleep. Lysol and mattress flipping awaits me later. And yeah, I don't need to hear it...I put the gross in engrossing dreams. Seriously, yo.

PS. Sweetie, I think that means you get a couple of blowjobs and no dishes for a week :)

Growing up I had blonde hair. I had white blond hair until I was about six and then it transitioned into golden blonde and I loved it. I would get sent to my room because I would sit in front of my family's wall sized mirror (yes, a whole wall that was a mirror!! weird, no?) and brush my hair and murmur, "You are sooo pretty!" Apparently, my parents didn't want me to become a vain asshole...so that behavior was frowned upon. I was sent to my room a lot. They had little to worry about, I was just looking at photographs and I'm constantly shying away from them...I guess this is the punishment of being a cute little kid.

When I went to college my golden blonde darkened up a little bit and I couldn't have that! I decided that I could only get prettier if I went blonder. I decided I wanted to be Gweneth Paltrow blonde, trying to get back to my roots, so to speak. Then Gwen Stefani came on the scene and hey! I liked ska, so what the hell! I decided I could only be prettier if I died it platnum. Let me tell you that at the time, I was pleased as could be with the results...I blame this solely on "my experimental college days" because looking at the photos, I can honestly say that I was never more hideous in my life than when I decided to have white hair that would break off constantly. Seriously, it was ridiculous...much respect for Gwen but you have to be a super millionaire to keep up that look!

Trying to class up my life a little and perhaps, attempting to channel her body as well (since mine was decidely...hmm..5'5" and rounded), I decided that a reddish brown like that of Helena Christensen would suit me perfectly. I did not immediately lose my hips and become angular and gorgeous as Ms. Christensen and I learned that I absolutely hate having red hair. Like Blondes, Reds require extreme maintanence. The only money I had in college was expressly reserved for parties. The red had to go. What next? A light brown of course!

My roommate and best friend from home decided that she could help me in this endeavor. For the first time in my hair dyed snobbish life, I decided to use a box. This time my inspiration was Alyssa Milano, and this time it was even more of a failure...mostly because of the red that was still in my hair and partially because of the mushrooms we had eaten before she started dyeing my hair. I remember saying that I looked like a Leopard Seawitch...because, well, I was under the influence of psychotropic drugs and because Tash had failed to completely died all my hair...there were patches that were the original red color.

And finally, I've gone from black to every spectrum of brown you can imagine. To where I can say that my hair most resembles Ms. Gylenhaal's, which is probably the celebrity that I resemble too...which is to say, it could be any collor brown of any person because it is decidely a generic brown. The funny thing is that I went to dinner with my mom and she touched my hair and said, "You should stop dying your hair so dark; you should let it go back to natural." And I thought I had, because I haven't dyed it since April...and I've never been so miserable. I'm stuck in a hair rut and for the first time in my life, my little shoebox of celebrity hair clippings from college can't help me.

The irony? Both Cr and my sister in law are hair stylists...

From me after John did my statistics work for grad school and emailed it to me:
:) Thanks! I <3 U.

From John: Love you too! PS. Did you still have $ to put in the joint account?

From me: Yes. PS. You wouldn't have sent me a "love you too" email except that you had to remind me to put money in the account. Jerk. ;)

From John: I wouldn't pay your bills if I didn't love you.
:) <---- smug grin

From me: :) <---- Crying on the inside with gratitude (and sarcasm).


Can you feel the love, people?? Can ya?

I don't know how this story slipped my mind...but somehow John came away unscathed because I hadn't posted this story on the blog--and we can't have that, now can we?!? Hells no!

Last weekend John and I got a bit drunk on our deck while listening to Bob Dylan, munching on some grilled foods and sipping on whiskey. Somehow, I managed to get myself more than a little tipsy so I excused myself from a drunken game of wii golf that we always end up playing when we've had a little too much, and I sneaked away uptairs to sleep. Eyeing up my options, a nice cushy queen sized bed or the floor as sleeping choices, I picked wisely. I chose the floor as the ideal place for slumber, I grabbed my pillow from the bed and I happily closed my eyes...and this is where the story gets interesting.

Apparently while I was sleeping, a certain drunken Johnny came upstairs and beheld his naked wife passed out, ahem, sleeping on the bedroom floor. The drunkard thought to himself, "Hmm...you know what Melina probably wants right now? I bet she wants to be tied up!" (I picture him scratching his beard while coming up with this bang up idea). So drunken husband o' the year sets about looking for things to use to tie me up with. All the while I'm just snoring away, blissfully unaware of what he's doing.

From his account of the evening's activities, John said that he wandered around the room and settled upon my pink robe tie and a pair of flannel pajama pants. The pants he tied over my face as a "little blindfold" because (as he chuckled) he didn't want me to wake up and see him (Oh of course not, because he knew that I would've probably decked him!) He managed to expertly get my arms behind my back and well...tie them up with the pink robe tie. Ok, so this story might be sexy if I had been awake (if you're into that), it might've been a little more perverted if he hadn't fallen asleep in the empty bed, but the story just turns out to be plain old funny because...

John passed out on the bed, leaving me to wake up the next morning wondering why I was blind and why I couldn't move my arms! After a long struggle, I managed to free my hands and then get rid of the damn pair of pajamas that were tied to my head. Call me Melina Houdini...if you will. You can imagine that I was more than a little confused because I damn well knew that when I put myself to bed I left off the blindfold. "Hmmm...who could it have been?", I thought to myself. Looking around the room, I quickly recognized the culprit who was sleeping the sleep of the guilty, alone in the bed while I had been naked on the floor with nothing for warmth but a robe tie! Of course, I woke John up to find out what the hell he had been up to but he just mumbled sleepily, "You looked so cute on the floor, I tied you up!" and with that he gave me a sweet smile and fell back to sleep leaving me scratch my head and rub my wrists a little wondering who the hell I married.

Watch your back Johnny boy, I've got a little of duct tape that has your name all over it...I'm just saying...

1. I think I'm delirious at work. I think I have a new sleeping sickness...I NEED sleep, all the time now! I remember the days when I'd sleep for three hours and then go to work. Now I whine if I'm up past 10:16pm...perhaps I'm just old? Nah, it has to be some sort of sleeping sickness.

2. I believe that my deliriousness is only adding to my quality of life because it keeps me laughing. Today I was reading the paper and I did a double take when it said, "Jesus Makes Thighs Look Skinny!" which would've been a far more awesome feat than that water into wine shtick. Of course, when I looked at that paper a second time, it really just stated, "Jeans Make Thighs Look Skinny!"...not quite as much fun when I thought some kind of thigh-master-miracle- Jesus was on the loose!

3. I've learned that I have secret statistics skills I never knew that I possessed. Last week in my night class we were given a pre-test. I started to sweat because I suck at tests and quite possibly at life. I tried to reason out each of the questions even though I didn't know a single term and everything seemed to be encrypted in some secret/stupid language. Right before we got the results yesterday a girl smugly told me that I didn't understand the difference between the "independent variable" and the "dependent variable" in some study that she was describing. I admitted, "I'm sorry, were you talking? I can't concentrate on these variable thingamagigs". She laughed and said, "I bet you put D. "I don't know" onall the answers on the pre-test, didn't you?" Obviously, she doesn't know me...I'd rather guess than admit that I have no clue about something. For once, this skill totally paid off because I somehow pulled a 100% out of nowhere (on a pre-test that means absolutely nothing) and I was able to gloat to Miss Dependent Variable when I saw that she only received an 80%!! Yay! I love gloating!!

4. I love living in a world where my friend describes something known as a Candy Corn Hershey Kiss...this is a world of morals, principles, bravery and sacrifice. Actually, I just LOVE CANDY CORN!! Thank you Hershey for making my dream into a reality.

5. Finally, I heart Tim Gunn! So, when I found out that my friend from college was going to be on the show I was incredibly jealous. Go watch Becca tonight at 10 pm on Bravo and be prepared as she told me, "Bring some wine because there's going to be a whole lot of cheese!" I'm so excited...now if only T.G. could get out of NYC for a second and come help me with mywardrobe crises