My B-side

posted by Melissa at 03:21 | 0 comment(s)

Phantasm

Last night I stumbled through a security check point and onto the set of Robin William’s latest work in progress. I must have been disoriented by the bright lights of Hollywood because I managed to walk right through a shoot of Williams performing a dangerously difficult stunt on a colorful jungle gym. When I came to my senses, I froze. The director began to shout obscenities at me. My best bet was to play dumb….deaf and dumb. The assistant director saw that I could not hear. He ran over to my aid. As he led me off the set he signed to me. I wonder how long it took him to realize my disability was a farce. Anyway, he married me a just a few short weeks later. Fast forward: 18 months. I’m lounging on a couch in the living room of an uber posh apartment; completely absorbed in People Magazine. On my belly lies a sleeping 9 month old baby; the chunkiest thing ever to wear lace and lilac. For a second my husband stops his mad dashing about and stares at the baby and I. He gives me this goofy grin, like that of a confused but happy foreigner. I long for him to grab my hand, if only for a few seconds. But he is off again, running around the house. I get the impression that he works at home. Fast forward: 5 years later. I’m in a doctor’s office, 3 months with child. The M.D. has just run a few tests on the unborn baby. She comes into the room with a grave expression. Here she tells me that the chance that this child will not be a stillborn case is less than 5%. She then tells me that it is certain my child, if born, will have a severe handicap, possibly many. I am advised to abort the fetus. Next day, my husband is hurrying me along. He takes our five-year-old daughter’s hand in his and leads her to the car. They are both dressed for church in extremely pricey apparel. I stand at the entranceway to the garage. After a moment’s pause, I scream, “STOP!” He looks up at me confused. “There are important matters to be discussed.” I then look to my plump stomach…. crazy dream.

posted by Melissa at 23:47 | 1 comment(s)

The New Fave

An excerpt from Amelie:

Amelie: La fille avec le de verre... peut-être ses pensées sont avec quelqu'un d'autre?

Dufayel: Quelqu'un dans l'image?

Amelie: Plus comme un garçon qu'elle a vu quelque part et a senti une affinité avec.

Dufayel: Vous moyen elle s'imaginerait plutôt concernant une personne absente qu'établir des rapports avec ceux autour d'elle?

Amelie: Peut-être elle essaye dur de fixer les vies malpropres d'autres.

Dufayel: Et elle? Sa propre vie malpropre? Difficulté de Who'll cela?

posted by Melissa at 02:14 | 0 comment(s)

posted by Melissa at 02:42 | 1 comment(s)

Being the "Lose-Lose Situation"

Diane sent me 77,000 hugs (I love you, Di), but not even embraces by the thousands could fill my void. Holding the paper numbly, I made a frank promise and to this I will hold true. Although this private declaration of independence proved to be consoling in certain ways, my anger still prevaled as the lead in My Emotions. So I ran a mile hoping to give myself a possibly better reason to feel like crap. In the end, I simply felt a double whammy of sickness. I can’t wait for the past to pass away.

Your lipstick his collar don't bother angel,
I know exactly what goes on 

 When everything you'll get is everything that you've wanted, princess
Well which would you prefer 
My finger on the trigger, or 
(me face down, down across your floor)
Me face down, down across your floor
(me face down, down across your floor) 
Well just so long as this thing's loaded
And will you tell all your friends
you've got your gun to my head 
This all was only wishful thinkin, 
this all was only wishful thinkin
And will you tell all your friends
you've got your gun to my head 
This all was only wishful thinkin, 
this all was only wishful thinkin
let's go... 

 Don't bother trying to explain Angel 
I know exactly what goes on when you're on and 
How about I'm outside of your window 
How about I'm outside of your window 
Watchin him keep the details covered 
You're such a sucker (you're such a sucker) 
for a sweet talker 

And will you tell all your friends 
you've got your gun to my head 
This all was only wishful thinkin, 
this all was only wishful thinkin 
(the only thing I regret is that I, I never let you hold me back)
And will you tell all your friends
you've got your gun to my head
This all was only wishful thinkin, 
this all was only wishful thinkin 

 Hoping for the best just hoping nothing happens 
A thousand clever lines unread on clever napkins 
I will never ask if you don't ever tell me 
I know you well enough to know you never loved me 
(why can't i feel anything from anyone other than you) 
Hoping for the best just hoping nothing happens 
A thousand clever lines unread on clever napkins 
I will never ask if you don't ever tell me
I know you well enough to know you never loved me
(why can't i feel anything from anyone other than you) 
Hoping for the best just hoping nothing happens 
A thousand clever lines unread on clever napkins 
I will never ask if you don't ever tell me
I know you well enough to know... 

 And all of this was all your fault 
And all of this 

(I stay jealous)
I stay wrecked and jealous for this, 
for this simple reason, I 
just need to keep you in mind 
as something larger than life 
(she'll destroy us all before she's through 
and find a way to blame somebody else) 
I stay wrecked and jealous for this, 
for this simple reason, I 
just need to keep you in mind 
as something larger than life 
(she'll destroy us all before she's through 
and find a way to blame somebody else) 
I stay wrecked and jealous for this, 
for this simple reason, I 
just need to keep you in mind 
as something
larger than life!

posted by Melissa at 00:38 | 0 comment(s)

I Bet Abe was a Grand Skier.

I celebrated my love for Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, and (of course) George Dubya swimming in a foot of fresh powder. Levi (from Evansville), Paul, Mary, and I drove up to Sundance at 8 a.m. (Take notice: the only time I’ve woke before 11 a.m. this semester.) The boys (both stellar boarders) grabbed their gear while Mary and I rented skis. I watched as five-year-olds soared down the mountain effortlessly and thought: “The snow is toast.” Then I put on skis. Needless to say, it all went downhill from here (no pun intended.) Paul had to pull me via ski poles through the lift line. Mary however, was pole-less and out of control. The three of us watched as she plowed through 10 people, knocking fifty percent of them to their knees. Most thought she was a vengeful line jumper, but changed their minds after watching her many attempts at peace with her skis.

It was our turn; the four of us stood side by side on a thick red line. I crunched my eyes tightly and prayed that my butt would connect with the seat of the lift. I’m sure it would’ve worked out had my poles not tangled with my skis. After almost losing it I made the boys exercise the safety bar. We hopped off at midway. Paul and Levi tried to explain the basics of skiing. I picked up half of it and then launched forward down the hill. I was a bolt of chaos; my speed must have peaked at around forty.

The last thing I recall: Levi screaming, “SNOW PLOW, SNOW PLOW!?!?!!’’

I never got the snow-plow (a.k.a. stopping) technique down. The result: My body twisted itself in ways that I cannot describe. I laid lifeless in the snow. Paul flew down the slope to my rescue. With much awkward effort I was back on two skis. I took off again and ran straight into the bank. I peeled my mess of existence off the snow once more only to crash five additional times before ever making it to the bottom. Mary stayed at the top, helplessly edging down the hummock. Paul and I headed back for another go. I glided down the hill in a more orderly fashion.

After the third round Paul and I rode to the top of the mountain. He pointed at a ninety-degreeish slope, “Let’s do that one!”

Ha, funny. I convinced him that the blue square could easily be more adventurous than the black diamond. So, down Old Bear Claw we went. Just give me an E for effort.

At one point I braved a steep decline, no force could stop me. I felt hopeless and screamed for my life as the guardrail-less bend neared. The gap between me and the-point-of–no-return was drawing to a close; I violently chucked myself at the snow. My method kicked the-snow-plow’s trash as far as effectiveness goes. I removed the ski wedged in my back and laughed.

Paul came rushing over, “Are you ok!!?” But, I couldn’t stop laughing. He caught the infection and exclaimed with amusement, “That was the best one, yet!” I never topped off that fall, thank the Lord. I walked away (just barely) from Sundance with a beautiful goose egg, vibrant sunburn, and a broken body. It was an incredible day off.

posted by Melissa at 23:07 | 1 comment(s)

What the H! ?

posted by Melissa at 03:52 | 1 comment(s)

posted by Melissa at 04:08 | 1 comment(s)

It's me and the moon.

I asked the hired hand for his opinion on the design. “What’s up with the rabbit costumes? Does it have some sort of link to the band?” (It was a bit Donnie Darko.)

“No, no. Nothing to do with us really; some artist just got a little creative.”

I laughed, “Um yeah, I’d say so.” Woah, wait...he said US. “And which bunny are you?”

“That one.” He said pointing to the warm, fuzzy drummer. SCORE!

“Well, nice to meet you.” I reached out to shake his hand. I know, I know. I’m forever branded 'dork.'

“I’m Mark.” He smiled. “And the bunny shirt is hot.”

So, of course I bought it and got a few pics while I was at it. People were packing in; we found a spot near the left speaker and anxiously awaited what was to come. The Academy Is served up a high energy screamo performance. The moshing began as did the apportionment of my small group. I was pushed into the middle; I hated this part of concerts. I’m always left to fend for myself, its times like these I wished to be that of an Olga complex. Nevertheless, I made do and enjoyed the music. Prior to Armor for Sleep’s entrance, I was able to fight my way back to Mary; for yet another round of body smashing. We dominoed to the ground, twice. A few songs later I found myself laying dead center in a mosh pit. I have no idea how I got there, but a random guy dove in and carried me out. I thanked him via hug. All in all; the band sucked. Their music served little consolation for the stampede like torture plunged upon me. After the umpteenth song they closed with the only one I recognized. It was eye-level with par. This brings us to the moment we’d all been waiting for. At least the moment I’d been waiting for. (I came to the SoCo concert for the opener, Straylight Run.) I knew every song, making sure those around me were well aware. It came to a perfect end, Existentialism on Prom Night. Yeah, you would kill for this. Who wouldn’t? It was lovely. Something Corporate was ready to wrap up the evening. I worked my way to the very front and embraced the barricade for cherished life. Waves of people crashed into me, but the feel-his-sweat closeness easily drowned out pain. I recalled lyrics to a whole five songs; Cavanaugh Park, Down, I Want to Save You, Space, and the beloved Konstantine. Lights were dimmed; Andrew sat still at his upright. Given the first three notes I knew it was time for my favorite so-raw-it's-bleeding love ballad. The beauty of the sound that filled the leaking venue could lull anyone into submission. I was no exception, and stood rapt. Andrew left his piano after the third verse and sat on the edge of the stage. He began to intertwine lyrics from a local Indiana band, Mock Orange, into Konstantine's magnificence. I continued to sing along (and alone) through the new addition. My reward; an Andrew smile. There was no encore; much deserved, yet unnecessary. We drove home spent but satisfied. Luckily, rush hour had long ended. I’d lost the verve to cross four lanes in five seconds, and my motivation was a quarter way to Vegas.

Concert Pics

posted by Melissa at 05:05 | 0 comment(s)

The Art of Toothpaste

posted by Melissa at 04:03 | 2 comment(s)

Youth's the most unfaithful mistress.

posted by Melissa at 02:37 | 0 comment(s)

Here, have a smile.

Little Leroy came into the kitchen where his mother was making dinner. His birthday was coming up and he thought this was a good time to tell his mother what he wanted. "Mom, I want a bike for my birthday." Little Leroy was a bit of a troublemaker. He had gotten into trouble at school and at home. Leroy's mother asked him if he thought he deserved to get a bike for his birthday. Little Leroy, of course, thought he did. Leroy's mother, being a Christian woman, wanted Leroy to reflect on his behavior over the last year. "Go to your room, Leroy, and think about how you have behaved this year. Then write a letter to God and tell him why you deserve a bike for your birthday." Little Leroy stomped up the steps to his room and sat down to write God a letter. Letter 1: Dear God, I have been a very good boy this year and I would like a bike for my birthday. I want a red one. Your friend, Leroy Leroy knew that wasn't true. He had not been a very good boy this year so he tore up the letter and started over. Letter 2: Dear God, I have been an "OK" boy this year. I still would really like a bike for my birthday. Leroy Leroy knew he could not send this letter to God either. So he wrote a third letter. Letter 3: God, I know I haven't been a good boy this year. I am very sorry. I will be a good boy if you just send me a bike for my birthday. Please! Thank you, Leroy Leroy knew, even if it was true, this letter was not going to get him a bike. By now Leroy was very upset. He went downstairs and told his mom that he wanted to go to church. Leroy's mother thought her plan had worked as Leroy looked very sad. "Just be home in time for dinner," Leroy's mother told him. Leroy walked down the street to the church on the corner. Little Leroy went into the church and up to the altar. He looked around to see if anyone was there. Leroy bent down and picked up a statue of the Virgin Mary. He slipped it under his shirt and ran out of the church, down the street, into the house, and up to his room and sat down with a piece of paper and a pen. Leroy began to write his letter to God. Letter 4: God, I'VE GOT YO MAMA. IF YOU WANT TO SEE HER AGAIN, SEND THE BIKE. Signed, YOU KNOW WHO

posted by Melissa at 02:23 | 0 comment(s)

The Notebook (composition style)

posted by Melissa at 04:28 | 1 comment(s)

Mates of State

I’ve lost all hope in BYU heads. They walk around campus, fake smiling into each other’s eyes. PUH-Lease. I want to red rover right through their death grip handholds. You might think I’m bitter, or lonely? No. I’m mad at them for settling. It’s like these people are so (I’m talking 3 week courtships for some) anxious to get to the temple they don’t care who they are kneeling across from. (If you don’t believe me just look around at all of the mismatched couples on campus.)

So, I used to couple-watch in the airport. While waiting for a flight I’d pick a couple and analyze their chemistry. After thorough scrutinization I would either dub them soul mates or settlers. I know the theory of a soul mate is less realistic than the existence of Santa Claus, but every once in awhile I get this feeling that the world may, in certain moments, exist solely to bring two individuals crazy love... such a delicate balance. I have yet to witness this so called crazy-love on campus.

And has anyone noticed the parent-like kiss BYU heads pass?? Honestly, if my husband was going to be stuck in class for 5 hours I’d give up a hecka lot more than a peck to hold him over. 5 hours is tough!! Stop pecking, you aren’t birds.

I’m not trying to thump the idea of being married in college. Honestly, I think it’s the greatest suggestion ever. But I wonder if those living the idea think it so grand? They don’t act like it, and it’s giving me little to look forward to.

Where’s the passion kids!?! Maybe they save it all for Wymount, who knows?! Urban Legend: Paul witnessed a woah-kiss in front of the MOA. Crazy art kids, good for them!!

Call me an advocate for P.D.A. but if you’re going to be together for an eternity at least act like you enjoy each other. And set the example for underclassmen! We are the future BYU heads, afterall.

Ya know what, don’t listen to me. I have Relationship A.D.D. making me a very uncredible source.

posted by Melissa at 04:40 | 1 comment(s)

Your Love is Like...WOAH, Please Stop!

“Valentine's Day is a holiday invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap.” I’ve never had a good one…not even a decent one. I guess I’m not much of an advocate for love. It’s funny…I oft pose as one of those hopeless romantic types. (Sucha cynic.) So in effort to keep up the façade, I decorated my door with cheesy heart cut-outs and sleazy velvet roses. Perhaps I’m subconsciously inviting cupid into my home via an excess of red glittery things…or maybe I just got THAT bored. I broke Rachel tonight; I got her to say that I once had cute love. I had to dig deep for that one though. What satisfaction…she’s like a frozen lake. So, I rethought my cute love and realized it’s about as fake as the flowers that decorate my entrance. So much for a possibly decent Happy Valentine’s Day. Oh well, no need to break any traditions. I’m perfectly content with eating excessive amounts of chocolate while I sob into my build-a-bear as Meg Ryan tells Nicolas Cage that he was in fact what she liked best about life. Where’s MY Nicolas Cage, dang it!?!!?

Anti-Valentine Fun!

Settle

Chocolate

Cupid

Heart

posted by Melissa at 16:37 | 0 comment(s)

Be Careful with those Baked Goods, Girls

At home evening the next night, Rachel made sure she didn't sit next to Dave. Jordan, a freshman girl with the reputation of being willing to bake cookies for any guy in the ward, did sit next to him. After home evening, as everyone was leavin, Jordan said to Dave, "I'll bring you cookies in a few minutes!" "What a tramp," Rachel complained to Vanessa under her breath.

posted by Melissa at 03:43 | 0 comment(s)