Last year I was determined to see her.
And just as I assumed we never did anything to try and salvage our friendship. She has a husband, child and career that take up most of her time, family has always been a priority of hers--especially her relationships with her sisters. Mending our old friendship? It was/is probably an impossibility. But even though I haven't seen or talked to her since last year (and before that-- 3 years!), I felt compelled to talk with her. Honestly, what am I supposed to do, just walk past her place of business and pretend that we don't see each other? I will never be that coward.

Yesterday I tried again. I was there, and there was no running away. Something pulled me into her workplace and this time it was less awkward and we (seemingly) picked up from where we left off. We laughed so hard for an hour and I remembered why she had been my best friend. She's the funniest person who knows me inside and out like no other person. I left her feeling so happy until I reached my car and realized that our friendship will only ever exist if I continue to go see her. I don't think she'll ever meet me halfway and I guess that's ok, but I really miss her. This was the worst breakup of my life.

We left off with exchanging numbers again and hoping this time, one of us makes the effort to call the other but I'm leaving the ball in her court.

True quote from John:
"I don't even remember having this much sex when we were dating!"

...and he sounded wistful.

Every year (um for me, that means the past two years) we go out for John and his sister's birthdays since they are only two days (and four years) apart...and every year we go to Red Lobster. This is what happened at this year's luncheon:

Along with other gifts, John's dad gave him a newspaper clipping of the Star Wars exhibit in the city. It was really cute because his dad took notes to show John how cool it will be for him. His dad was utterly shocked when I told him that John didn't want to go to see it! And then I went on to explain that John's "trying" to branch out and find more interests other than just Star Wars (which isn't really true...he already has TONS of interests other than Star Wars but I was trying to get everyone to understand that). I mean, I'm doing this for my own self preservation. I now live with a Darth Vader cookie jar, we have Star Wars chess, DVD Trivial Pursuit Star Wars edition, and a life size fathead of Darth Vader down in our bar***none of which was purchased by John***, but honestly? I don't really want to have to keep decorating around Vader. He's cool and all...but he doesn't quite mesh with my love of Crate and Barrel.

Good thing I stopped explaining the lessened interest in Star Wars when I did because just then, John's mom arrived with three lovely gifts. A plush Vader who inexplicably had a baggie of jelly beans tethered to his arm, a Vader coin purse in the shape of an egg and a Star Wars Easter egg decorating kit. The jelly beans were quite tasty, and I will use the Vader coin purse because I won't look as dorky as John will if I leave it in my desk drawer. I guess we'll have to make Easter eggs and post the pictures because...well...that's just what you do when you receive an egg decorating kit.

Our waitress looked very frightened of us and very new...this appeared to be a messy combination. She became flustered when dropping off the entrees and ended up spilling butter all down John's brother's back leaving a very greasy and ugly stain. Let's just say he wasn't happy and he quietly expressed his unhappiness with the rest of the table. But John can't let anything go, so he flung cocktail sauce on the shirt (I'm not sure why? But he did it with glee...that much I know), which led most of the people at the table to believe that the waitress spilled that too. John cleared it up to keep his karma slate clean and received glares from his brother and a bemused look from me...I'm still not sure why he was flinging sauces!

Because John's brother was so upset about his sweatshirt, both John's sister and mom went into what I call "Mom Mode" (you know when your mom does anything and everything to make something right, even when you don't want them to) and began plotting the demise of the waitress...OK, so they didn't so much plot her demise as they plotted on getting free meals out of the deal. In fact, in a very loud voice John's sister exclaimed, "You should at least get a free dinner for that, or maybe even three!" She, was just trying to be helpful and cheer her brother up but it was loud...and it was embarrassing! In fact, so much so that John and I ran away from the table just to get away from everyone and the whole sweatshirt debacle. We received more than a few glares on our way out for our temporary reprieve. Because we all love each other, all was forgiven when we got back to the table but of course, John can make a joke of anything so we heard this from his mouth:

-Man, crab legs are messy….. Miss? Could I get more of my brother's shirts when you get a chance?

The rest of the long lunch almost alludes me because between our Alotta Colada (insert alotta vagina jokes here...) , Red Lobster's code word for ENORMOUS pina colada shared Lady and the Tramp style between John and I and my belly full of food, causing us both to slip in and out of a food coma. I came to here and there listening to John's brother talk about the military, Iraq, shooting things and martial arts. Don't get me wrong, his stories are always interesting but I was too focused on how much longer I could keep my jeans buttoned without dying.

Lunch with the fam, obviously there's never a dull moment. Seriously, it was 3 hours of pure blogging gold but I couldn't take notes at the table!! Next time, I'm just going to do it!

Today's John's birthday but last night I surprised him (well, I might've surprised him a few days earlier) with tickets to see Daniel Johnston. He is a man who suffers from a whole slew of mental disorders but is a musical genius. Self taught he wrote and recorded his first album Hi, How Are You? and in his weird little way, introduced it to musicians, DJs and just about anyone who would listen to it. And although Daniel isn't known for his singing abilities (he's very high pitched, nasal and off tune) or his ability to play the guitar (he's amazing on the organ/piano but he's a little sketchy with the stringed instruments) there was something magical in his lyrics. People say he's right up there with John Lennon, that his raw talent is greater than Bob Dylan and anything that he produced with the Basement Tapes (this part is stolen straight from the documentary), but I don't think he can really be compared to anyone. Bands such as Nirvana and Sonic Youth (amongst others) wanted to take him on tour with them in the attempt to help him achieve commercial success but his mental problems always have been too strong to allow that to happen. If I can suggest something to you, it would be to rent the documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston, click here to see the trailer. Even if you're not a documentary lover (which I am), this movie will do something to you.

The Daniel Johnston we saw last night, is much older than the picture above. His hair is just shocks of white that hang over his thick, dark eyebrows. He's heavier now and his left arm shakes noticeably while he plays and sings; but his lyrics were just amazing and I was moved last night sitting in the balcony listening to him-- just as I was when I learned about his life, his struggles with depression, mania and the desire to be an artist while his family struggles to keep him happy, safe and on his medication which they know stifles his creativity. Believe me when I tell you that his music isn't everyone's cup of tea but there's just something that makes you want to listen to it, that makes you understand the sadness, the madness and the ultimate genius that is Daniel Johnston.

PS. Love you Babe! Happy 29th!

I'm not sure why they even bother giving us a national holiday because without fail John and I will drink away the day--you know, when we're not a)remodeling the house b)taking tests that affect our entire lives and c) whatever else important things we have going on. Oh sure, we'll play drunken wii and I will cry over Kurt Cobain being dead as we sing along to the songs (true story) but ultimately, we will fill our gullets with a bottle of Black Seal (I'm sorry, he made pina coladas, and I like pina coladas...a lot) in less than an hour and I will pass out on the couch while John attempts to service me. I am a classy wife.

Also, have you seen the KIA commercial about Millard Fillmore being an unknown president? Well, my mom has a weird sense of humor and she told John and I over lunch the other day that she was going to write a letter because it wasn't "right" to make fun a president and/or creating a soap on a rope in his image. John laughed later that he would kill to see a "draft of that letter" because I think he really believed that my mom is bat shit crazy (she is not, she's just goofy). So what does every thirty year woman do? She prank calls her mother as the "Millard Filmore Appreciation Society" and attempted to urge her to write letters and call KIA...the whole time I kept losing it and lapsing into fits of laughter...so I gave up the ruse. I was amazed when she said, "Mel? Is that really you? I thought it was some CRAZY person!". Then she asked us if we were high since we were cackling like morons which spurred us to take pictures of John with a pot on his head and send them to her cell phone. This "hilarious" idea also backfired because we had to teach my dear mother how to retrieve both texts (she just found one that John sent her in October inviting her to the movies with us) and pictures. PS. we were sober for all of these antics.

The comprehensive exam is over...I went in and conquered the hell out of it. Honestly, I tuned out the sounds of other typists banging away on their own keyboards and I focused completely on my own screen as I lightly typed. Honestly, who are these people who bang on the keys to type?? Before I got into the zone I wanted to turn around and yell at the guy behind me because his hunt and peck method was seriously grating. Instead I just turned around and tried to smile sweetly at him, I think I managed a grimace and he probably thought I was hitting on him. I forwarded my answers to John (totally above board, we were supposed to send ourselves a copy just "in case anything went wrong" (something could totally go wrong because our "proctor" misplaced the test questions and the test got started 25 mins late) so he could check against my notes while I drove home so he could tell me his honest opinion on whether or not I passed.

Kisses and smiles at the door and the phrase, "You nailed it!" made me feel even more confident than I had when I left the testing area. We had lunch with my mother to celebrate...mind you, we were just celebrating the fact that I don't need to study any longer and now, we wait...
for weeks...
...possibly months...

but I'm ok with that but I think I'll be hearing some good news!

Thanks to everyone who put up with my madness of the past few weeks. Especially to you my blog friends because you shouldn't have been subjected to posts about tests but you handled it with grace.

PS. I was in the same grad program as one of my colleagues at work. He kept asking me for all of my notes for the past few weeks. I was happy to pass along information that I received from my study group, but my own personal notes? Dude! You have got to be kidding me! And get this kids...he was totally CHEATING on the test. You see, our computers had wireless connection and I guess it was the honor system because we were told weren't allowed to use anything except our brains when test day came...um, which is why I memorized so much that half my brain fell out of my ear. I won't tell on the guy because a) I'm not a snitch b) there's not a chance in hell that he's going to pass because as I was packing my things to go, he was checking out wikipedia--and that's just sad.

What can be said about a man who buys you shoes for Valentine's Day? (I love him!) Rediculously expensive shoes with a dozen creamy white roses to go with them (I love him!). Shoes that he picked out all on his own that made even the woman waiting on him, try them on in the back while getting my size! Shoes which he handed me and giddily said that he thought they would look great with a dress or with jeans. He actually said, "You're the type of girl who could rock $300 shoes with jeans in a bar as he rolled my jeans up to get a better look at the shoes...

Internets, he's amazing.

update: These are the shoes, and no they aren't stillettos, but he knows that I stand on my feet for seven hours a day!

Dear Cupid,

Let me thank you ever so much for hitting me with your lovely golden arrow and allowing me to see my special friend a few days early! I know I could've waited for a few more days but you are an impetuous little bastard!! It's just so fucking romantic to be ragging it on Valentine's Day. That being said, it is a good thing everyone has plied me with chocolate on this ever special day of LOVE. John, if you're still unsure of that "special gift" that can show me your undying love?? A box of Tampax would be perfect right about now.

Love and Kisses,

Melina

PS. No one make me these tampon heart earrings because they are kinda gross...even for me.

Day two of studying is done and we haven't killed each other yet. Of course, there were petty arguments over why John feels the need to destroy all of my paperclips that hold the myriad...no, the mountain, of papers from which I have gleaned all the information needed for studying tonight. I then spout robotically, speaking in a stunted manner as I batter the thoughts, trying to cling to them and I attempt to force these thoughts into my long term memory (one of the topics tonight! How to move information from the sensory level to the short term memory to it's final resting place--the elusive fucking long term memory) at John as he has to prepare his own dinner because damn it...I'm just too damn busy! But he's a saint and says nothing about his two hour commute (longer tonight because of snow) and just put check marks next to all the facts that I've listed and little evil minus symbols next to the information I've neglected to remember...oh how I hate the minuses.

He's a good little helper, I'm a good little studier and oh by the way, I am SO FUCKING OVER THIS TEST and would love to write about something else but I'm afraid to think about anything except educational psychology, Piaget, Vygotsky, Constructivism and all that "good stuff". Of course, yesterday's topics are still ringing in my ears. I will tell you, I was rewarded for all my hardwork by John later in the bedroom and I hope I pissed the neighbors off with our late night antics because I'm spiteful, I'm cranky and I'm nervous...ah, the joys of being a student. Apparently I look pitiful because my mother took me out to dinner to "stop stressing and to just enjoy a good meal" and she gave me forty dollars as we exited the restaurant so that I could "go treat myself to something nice when this test is all over". I love her.

Ok, this jarbled, jumbled, rambling rant is over for the night. And don't worry people...I will be far more exciting once Saturday is over!

After days of outlining and after lost days of studying due to the fact that I had to languish on the couch feverishly, sometimes crying (true story) over the fact that I thought I was hallucinating...I think I'm actually ready to see if I remember the crap I've been outlining. Because of this John's role of nursemaid gets traded in for the role of study buddy.

Many men wouldn't be excited to help their wives or girlfriends study but, once I pass this test I get a sizeable increase in pay (well, next year) and that means that I will panhandle from John less by the month's end! It's a win/win situation for everyone.

Now, here's the rub...John and I are completely different thinkers. John has an analytic mind, I tend to flit from here to there and back in about 10 seconds flat. When he tried to help me in December with my research study, I was resistent because I didn't like his methods and we both threw our hands up. I glared at him until he ran away and painted our bedroom...but later, we learned how to mesh our big brains and he helped me pull a big fat A out of my class--something that I can typically do alone when the classes don't require math, or the need to discuss descriptive statistics in a presentation. I was thankful for his help (particularly because it knocked three essay questions off the test!). So tonight, my study buddy and I will be discussing the fine topics of Jonathon Kozol, Henry Giroux, John Dewey and how they would react to some stupid article. We will also deeply examine cultural literacy, Afrocentricism and multiculturalism and how Diane Ravitch, Molefi Asante and Arthur Schlesinger, Jr feel on the subjects. To top off the evening, we will discuss the question of whether or not schools are used to solve social problems. Feel free to discuss these very burning questions with your loved ones tonight.

Well you might be missing me for a little while...I'm studying, and when I'm not studying I'm bitching about studying and railing against the injustice that I'm not allowed to bring notes to this test...C'mon, seriously? I have to memorize outlines for nine essays?!? Bullshit!

But rest assured, I'm sure I'll want to take a study break (study avoidance), so I'll probably post again soon.

PS. I'm hacking up a lung, John has been sick since Sunday and I've been his naughty nurse every step of the way so you do the math...how'd I get sick? If you see him in passing, stick a shiv in him, ok?

PPS. I totally look like that nurse over there every night that John comes home sick...disregard anyone who tells you that I'm wearing glasses, my hair is pulled into a ponytail and that I'm forever wandering around in my hoodie!

****this just in at 4:58 pm***** I just spilled Lea and Perrins ALL over my notes, why I left worchestershire sauce out, I'll never know but I do know that my stress level just spiked. Xanax anyone???

I woke up this morning to find that I had written a note to my drunken self to remember. Apparently, spelling is beyond me when drunk...also, I must've been quoting John:

Living with a woman is like [living with] a salamander
I just don't get it, but I do amuse myself.

Perhaps it was because I was stuck watching The Last Tango in Paris last night but I've got a little deviant streak in me and unfortunately for John, I've got the certification.

Breathe.

I probably won't sodomize him, but after forcing me to watch Marlon Brando rape a girl in the ass using butter for lubricant, I have to say, I have a hankering to do so.

Can someone tell me what makes this movie so "spectacular", so "top 100 movies you have see before you die" listworthy? I thought it was pure shit...I also thought the poor lead girl who was constantly naked while chunky Brando always had sex with his clothes on (except once), looked exactly like Marc Bolan (T. Rex). I love T. Rex, so that was the only bonus...I kept turning to John and saying, "I wish one of them would just get hit by a car so that I can go to bed!" Unfortunately, the conclusion took place long after the "last tango".