Saturday, November 15, 2003

Holly Golightly
Harsh plastic moveable type form the words “winter formal december 6th” on the outdoor sign; black-on-white-on-brick.
Oh shit.
I like to look pretty. I dislike shopping for/purchasing/wearing dresses that cost hundreds of dollars for one use only.
I like to feel pretty. I dislike shopping for/flirting with/using boyfriends that cost lots of time and energy and emotions for one use only.
Quick fixes call for little black dresses from thrift stores, Audrey Hepburn photos, telephone calls to friends, and some aspirin.
Sometimes, I wonder why someone doesn’t call me and offer me my own sitcom. I could be the skinny, white, underage, uncharismatic version of Oprah.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:16 PM

Friday, November 14, 2003

Divas and Boy Bands and Psuedo-Punks, OH MY!: Melly's Mainstream History
Preface: I figured I needed something to cringe about in my old age. This is just bits and snapshots of memories; compiled. Long live Top 40!
Note Regarding My Coolness: I solemnly swear that I don't consider any of what is mentioned below as actual music.
Now, to commence:
1995-Listen to Whitney Houston's "Bodyguard" soundtrack constantly during car trips.

1997-Receive first cassettes: Spice Girls and Savage Garden. Contemplate redecorating room with Posh Spice theme.
-Titanic is released; Whitney Houston switched out for Celine Dion
-Receive first ever ceedee for birthday: "Bewitched". Neon orange disc filled with Disney-fied girl group fare.
-Attend sleepover, hotly contest Nsync vs. Backstreet Boys for BEST EVER boy band. Remember remarking, "Nsync (dramatic whisper) sucks BUTT!"

1998-Become avid Britney/Nsync fan, but not cassetes, Mom! You are totally not cool.
-Realize that I myself am not cool when I can't sing Christina Agueleria songs verbatim
-Also, the Spice Girls are no longer cool.

1999-Spend a whole sixty dollars on Britney Spears, Christina Agueleria, Smash Mouth, and Eiffel 65. Debate if lyrics say "I'm blue dabeedeedabeeda" or, "I'm blue, I will eat french fries."

2000-Spend month in France singing "Mambo Number Five" and "Hit Me Baby One More Time" with the natives.
-Two words: Destiny's Child! Oh wait, and Pink. And the new NSYNC ceedee! OMG! IT'S GONNA BE ME!
-I opt for Nelly Furtado instead of just Nelly. Promise or hopeless cause? You decide.

2001-Spend month in Great Britain listening to nothing but Dido and watching my father eat lamb. This may or may not have been directly linked to my ensuing depression/vegetarianism.
-No Doubt is the coolest! Like, I totally respect Gwen Stefani. Like. Yeah.

2002-Am convinced by best friend that Coldplay is so deep, so awesome. And did we mention Chris Martin? Very yellow, indeed.
-Also, Matchbox 20. And Vanessa Carlton. So deep, so awesome, yet remarkably less yellow.
-Am convinced by white hip-hop wannabe crush (Did we mention Italian?) that the band Dispatch is cool, for not being "wack".

2003-Convince self that I have snapped out of it, though I have not. Walk into Mall of America, hear Maroon 5, consume consume consume!
-Andre 3000 and Big Boi rock my socks!

Fresh squeezed by melly at 11:19 PM

Thursday, November 13, 2003

This American Life
My hometown’s new slogan: “Yes, there really is a Kalamazoo—this is where half of the Righteous Brothers died!”
Ahh, our claim to fame. If the name doesn’t kill you, Western Michigan University will.
Things not to do while pissed:
-Watch Hitchcock’s “The Birds”
-Talk to hotel maids named Maria via long-distance
-Write down a Christmas list weeks ahead of time on “5/3 Bank Shopping List” paper
-Listen to Counting Crows
-Watch the snow fall
Thing to do while pissed:
-Sing Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” song, but alter the words to say “Hold me close now, Tony Danza”
-Watch mother chase random cat off porch by screaming "OOGABOOGA"
-Apply toenail/claw polish to decorative ceramic roosters

Fresh squeezed by melly at 6:15 PM

Monday, November 10, 2003

Pornography Of Road Trips
Introductions; calling “not it” for riding shotgun; I lose. Twenty minutes in, boredom in the Explorer and a blast of air from the heaters chafing my cheeks. After that, back pain from turning around in my seat to get in on the action. Unsuccessful. Also, no applesauce. Searching for radio stations (me), hot girls (them), and highway exits six hours down the road (driver).
Darkness and a walkie-talkie connection to the other van. Road rage. Hear Outkast’s “Hey Ya” on radio for eighth time. Pass sign on road for “Bong Recreation Area”. Giggles, etc. I’m just being honest, hey ya.
Hotel in Milwaukee—Hospitality Inn. Magnetic card keys and Wal-Mart skanks provide after-hours entertainment for would-be felon (armed battery, pre-trial tomorrow) and Indian friend (representin’); fear and loathing rage in girls’ room (“how COULD they?”). Also, egg rolls and nerf balls soaking in the sink. Retaliation not carried out, but talked about until three ayy emm. Me, still nursing the back.
Four-thirty ayy emm wake-up call accidental, minus shower. Seven-thirty departure time complete with heels and ties and groans was most definitely planned. Carefree panic and teasing eyes.
Enter all-womens college. Mad search for bathrooms of the correct gender commences for the others. Carefree panic has turned into careless panic.
Tournament begins. Realization that I’m in Wisconsin surrounded by those who say things like “thirty-eighth parallel”, “ample cross-examination”, and “Bush”. Briefly consider developing amnesia. Also, that albino kid. Looks like what Bill Clinton wants to be, except pinker. Watch the clock and the shadows on the table.
Stand up, sit down, fight fight fight; words and scorecards and revenge of the nerds. OhgodOhgodOhgod. Make a speech, obsess, rinse, repeat. Mark Twain sure says a lot of shit.
Lunch involves shoplifting by felon (grilled chicken sandwich) and pointless mockery of fat guy #1. Not because he’s fat. Just that he’s offensive. ‘You don’t need to eat anywhere more often, ooooooh.’ Resulting chauvinistic backfire ignored.
Back in action and more bored than ever. Um. Like. Um. Mark Twain says, “Time’s up!”
3 “free” pizzas and an awards ceremony for other people later, the Matrix is reloaded. I missed the second one outright; the third one by dreaming in the dark.
(side note)The purple fur rocking chairs that outfitted the theatre were wicked cool. (/side note)
Spoons and Styrofoam and tin foil burn (not my microwave). Wal-Mart skanks return to room (not my room). Come this close to seriously having ass busted (not my ass). Watch Law&Order, receive one-in-the-morning calls of false importance.
Get up, share strained shower. Nick self with razor. Water stings the cut. Watch the blood slink away down drain and tile before screaming for a band-aid.
Haul suitcase back to the Explorer and begin speaking/not speaking again. Do so until I arrive in twelfth place with a medal made of metal. Climb back into Explorer to be with suitcase and the engine starts to hum.
Listen to Tenacious D and Thirty Odd Foot Of Grunts. Celebrity bands these days. Fall asleep, ironically enough, to Ludacris’ “Go to Sleep Ho”; protest. Wendy’s food fills the void well enough.
Ponder all-out race war, drunkenness, and love. Walkie-talkie priviledges revoked due to the infamous "you're mom's a whoooooooooooore" comment. Ceedees stolen.
Return home. Number asked for; given. Shit. What a weirdo. Sleep drugs me. Drink some applejuice, and quick!
I can’t find my shoes anywhere.

Says she's got it all.
I don't wanna be the one to tell her that she don't.
Late night, in a lonely city...
So hard, she tries to look pretty.
Boys don't even notice her though.
She's in need of attention so...
Lost and naked in the city again.
Intoxicated by a quarter to ten.
Lost and naked in the city again.
Begging for a piece of their attention.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 4:24 PM