There once was a girl named Starr that I had the displeasure of being an aquantaince of. She was one of those loud, bleached-blonde types who was perpetually getting burned at the Fake-N-Bake (ie: the tanner's).
I guess she was perpetually getting burned in other areas of her life too, namely her family. This is not surprising seeing as they were the ones that gave her a stupid name like "Starr". She never quite knew where she would be sleeping next (or with whom, people said snidely), and this showed. She was loud, risque, and dangerous. You swore by her or swore about her. I was a member of the latter.
She moved, suddenly, towards the end of last semester. Some said she went to Georgia, others to South Carolina. Theories developed about her removal. No one could decide if a) she was pregnant b) she was at a boot camp c) her parents kidnapped her or d) some combination of the three.
Whatever the cause, I silently and guiltily rejoiced at her absense.
Today I was at the mall. I went for three specific reasons. One was to find a new pair of dress shoes. Two was to find a new bathing suit that did not have a tropical theme print- no, we were out for color block stripes. And three was to find some cute guy in the food court and talk about his cuteness en francais avec mon amie. Preferably he would also know French, overhear us, and cutely embarrass us by saying something like, "That's very sweet of you, but I'm really not all that."
I was trying on a dress for formal (yes, I got sidetracked) when in walks Starr. Upon seeing me in the store, she immediatly rushed up to me and gave me a hug.
"I'm back!" she squealed.
Well hello to you too. Nevermind that we were never friends. We made small talk for a few minutes, me cautiously asking where she had been and she replying "Maryland" without an explanation.
As she was turning around to leave, she said, almost as an afterthought, "That neckline really looks horrible on you."
Fresh squeezed by melly at 6:07 PM
Friday, February 14, 2003
Melly: I LIKE SPAGHETTI, OK?!
Friend: YOU EAT SPAGHETTI WITH A FORK, NOT A SPOON.
Melly: I HOPE YOU EAT YOUR SPAGHETTI WITH KNIVES.
Friend: I HOPE THAT YOUR PARMESAN CHEESE MELTS ON YOUR SPAGHETTI TO A POINT WHERE YOU CAN'T TASTE IT.
Melly: I HOPE SO TOO, BECAUSE PARMESAN CHEESE TASTES LIKE YOUR MOMMA
Melly: YOUR MOMMA.
Friend: I HOPE YOUR MOMMA TASTES SO GOOD SHE IS GRATED BY RANDOM INDIVIDUALS!
Friend: WITH THE LOW QUALITY PLASTIC GRATER.
Melly: at least she isn't imported from EUROPE. (Ed. Note: Melly loves Europe. Very much. Friend, however, does not.)
Melly: know what that makes you?
Melly: EURO TRASH!
Friend: YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MAKES YOU?
Friend: THE FLY THAT CIRCLES AROUND EURO TRASH.
Friend: YOU MAGGOT PUSHING BAJILLION EYED FLY THING.
Melly: you are the anthrax on that fly.(Ed. Note Numero 2: I was rather insane at this point.)
Friend: AND YOU ARE THE SLIGHTLY BALD OVERWEIGHT MIDDLE AGED MAN BUYING A STICK OF TRIDENT GUM IN THE SUPERMARKET THAT THE FLY SAW ONE DAY.
Friend: IN A SUPERMARKET.
Melly: how can i be the fly and the man?
Melly: melly wins! melly wins!
And just for future record, I will someday contruct a sensical conversation using only words from those little candy hearts.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 8:42 PM
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
I had a bad dream last night in which I was staged to be on this "Dream Wedding" show and all they had were really ugly dresses to wear and it was a fill-in-the-name groom.
Then I woke up, walked outside in my pajamas, and decided that the sky smelled decidedly like half-cooked pasta. Cold half-cooked pasta, mind you, as there was a wind chill of about negative ten. My pajamas and I meandered back into the heat of it all.
And I wish there was some day that I could spend the whole day in my pajamas just meandering and sniffing pasta smells, but there's never enough snow.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 7:15 PM
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
This morning I had that Beatles song on repeat in my head the chorus just repeating over and over just repeating. I wondered how you were supposed to take a sad song and make it better, because in my opinion it's the sad songs that are the best. They seem more genuine and they are the ones you can sing and really mean it. You can sing it and mean it and sing it so sadly and it just keeps repeating in your head so sadly and in a way it makes you oddly happy but it's still very sad. And then I realized that if my name was Jude maybe I'd be sad too. Jude is a brisk name, rough around the edges, especially for a girl. It's a hard boys name too, 'cause there was that guy Judas in the Bible and now he gets such a bad reputation because people only know what is written and he didn't write it and now he's looked upon badly and he can't do anything about it because he is dead. If I had to die I'd first get everyone to call me a pretty name like Elyn or Mikaela or Wesley and then be nice to everyone so that I'd have a good reputation and there would be nothing I could do about it because I'd be dead. I wonder if John Lennon thought that too, seeing as he was the cute one and the rich one and the popular one and then he got shot and that would have been kind of frustrating to die. But then there's Ringo Starr. He had a cool name and he's still alive. It's a shame to waste a name like that on a television show like "Thomas the Tank Engine" even if you do get to be the conductor. I wonder if he gets to wear the hat. I'm glad I'm not John Lennon, but I could tolerate being Ringo Starr if only I got to wear coveralls and a hat. I'm just Meredith, which is not a pretty name for a girl either and it's a little rough around the edges. I guess I could be mad at my parents for not naming me something pretty like Elyn or Mikaela or Wesley but I'm not because I'm not pretty like that. This is kind of sad that I admit I don't live up to my own expectations but it's ok because it can just repeat in my head and repeat and I will be subtly happy like Jude in the end. I just want to write and write and write without interruptions of the bell or the "hey, girl!"s or the whirring of the fan or the people reading behind my shoulder I just want to let whoever it is I'm supposed to into my heart so then I can start to make it better.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 6:37 PM
Monday, February 10, 2003
Why is it that I get at least 3 visitors a day from the search words "Genevieve Gorder pictures"?
I don't think I've ever mentioned such a thing.
(Now, of course, I have, and this will triple the amount of people coming for that very thing, which is kind of evil in a way, because I have no Genevieve Gorder pictures, only hideous run on sentences such as this.)
Fresh squeezed by melly at 8:35 PM
It is really depressing when a six year old argues that Dr. Suess is for babies when you secretly loved "Green Eggs and Ham" and "One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish".
Then again, who didn't? Who doesn't? This one has a little car, this one has a golden star! That's poetry, folks. It speaks from the four year old soul in all of us. Not the six year old soul, obviously, but the four year old in me definitely was feeling it. I hope that the said six year old is just going through a phase. Sam I AM, yo.
It's funny how we see the world differently as we grow up. We can be blinded by the things surrounding us when we're little. We have nothing to compare them to, nothing to differentiate against. You'll be amazed by what other people will see when they look through your family album. You see cousin Kelsey and Grandpa Davies, they might see Squirrel Girl and a man that looks stuck in the 1970's. And belieeeeve me, the results can be hilarious. You've never seen your family in this light. There might've been a good reason for that, but you know you're now curious. Go on. Try the green ham, no matter how rotted it might appear.
Activities can also be seen in different ways. To the untrained eye, volleyball is a totally different game than it is to the players. (And I'm only using this only because of personal experience). I am totally mystified on why I ever had a crush on that guy in Social Studies, and I wonder why it took me so long to realize that Jennifer Lopez is not all the J.Lo. she's cracked up to be. I can look back now and think, "GOD I WAS A MORON". But that's kind of refreshing, because it shows that you've progressed from moron-hood. You're now a totally nifty weirdo, and there's no need to tell God about it. Hell, God knows more than God wants to. Especially regarding the J.Lo. incident.
Notice the political correctness of the second-to-last sentence in that last paragraph. Not a "he" in it. GOD, I AM SO GOOD.
Well, ok, I'm not so good. I've abstained from posting for four days. Count 'em. If you come up with anything other than four, it's probably time for a caffiene boost on my part. Either that, or my math grade is lower than it should be.
It's probably both, considering the hectic factor of this weekend. I think I netted roughly 15 hours of sleep for the entire three days. This is due to the combined effect of a volleyball tournament, church, homework, cleaning, practice, babysitting, and feeding times.
And I know it's really pathetic that I need excuses for not posting, but that's what I just did. This will provide me with a future exclamation of "GOD I WAS A WEIRDO", in case I'm perfect in the meantime.
Oh yeah. My porridge is way too hot for you, Poppa Bear!
Fresh squeezed by melly at 8:07 PM