Stories of Singledom: Pierre

Posted on May 8, 2015 by melhmel

I have the best, worst dating stories. I may share some of the harmless, more amusing ones about relative strangers from time to time. Names will be changed to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent alike. And I will employ gifs to illustrate as much as possible. Enjoy.

The other night I went out with a colleague whose last day at work is fast approaching so we were going to celebrate. We met up with another colleague and random friends of her friends and went to reggae night at a joint I have never been to before. I HAD SO MUCH FUN. The music was amazing – I was in my zone and just grooving.

And there were SOOOOOO MANY HANDSOME MEN THERE. Soooo many. Like. A distracting amount. At 10pm on a Wednesday night. WHO KNEW THIS WAS A THING?!?! I certainly did not. Which is why I was wearing a dress befitting a toddler and my rhinestone cowgirl boots from Limited Too – I do not kid you and I don’t know why they fit me, but they do.

Anyway – handsome men.

I was in my neo-hippie-dance-zone and thinking I looked like a baby, so was not trying to do that whole flirting thing…but a fancy French man who we’ll call Pierre approached me. Now when I say French, I mean that he just moved to the States and this city somewhat recently. He chatted me up on the dance floor and after 20 minutes or so, asked if he could buy me a drink. Which apparently meant champagne.

Honestly, Pierre’s personality was such that half the time we were talking and dancing, I felt like I was hanging out with this guy…

… which – while slightly confusing because he was obviously interested – put me off my guard in a good way. I was relaxed and just existing and enjoying chatting with a new person without stressing about him hitting on me; plus I love meeting new people and Pierre leads a fascinating life while being very relatable.

My colleague and her friends eventually headed out for the night but I was having a blast and music was still going strong, so I decided to stay behind. Pierre and I broke it down on the dance floor for a bit longer.

Towards the end of the night when I said I was going to leave, Pierre kissed me.

This is where I should say that I am typically unfazed by kissing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice, but I have had to kiss so many people in my life because of theatre that kissing isn’t often a big deal – and when it is a big deal, that’s when I know I’m in trouble. For example, in the recent past I was hanging out with three of my friends after a show; when my scene partner for the current show said something about my lips, the other two jumped in with their comments BECAUSE I HAD KISSED ALL THREE OF THEM IN SHOWS AT SOME POINT… which I had completely forgotten. My unfazed-ness also means that in adult scavenger hunts with my non-theatre friends, I’ve always been the one to check the “kiss a stranger”/”kiss a bartender” box off my team’s list. Because if I don’t care – then why not?

2010 Scavenger Hunt: Complete Stranger; All The Points.

So … getting back to Pierre, he kissed me and I was all unfazed and like “OK! Nice to meet you! It’s 1:30am so I have to go home and feed my cat now! But you have my number if you want to see me again!” (this is not verbatim but is pretty close…God help me).

And then Pierre said he was going to kiss me “in ze French way”….

And he licked my face around my mouth. Brad The Bad Kisser style. 100%. And I was shocked and appalled and started laughing so hard because IT WAS SO WEIRD. If I had myself together more, maybe I would have been somewhat tactful or kinder. But I literally laughed “BAHAHAHAHA!”-style *into his mouth* and backed up. Because WHAT?!

I think he was insulted. Understandably. And I did feel slightly bad. But also it was 1:30am and I was too tired to try to mask my feelings on the matter. AND SERIOUSLY. WHO TOLD YOU THAT WAS OK, SIR?!?!

I recovered and reiterated that I was going home to feed my cat (not kidding); he said he was leaving, too, and suggested we share a cab. I said OK. Because while I’m awkward, I’m not a monster and I did enjoy his company for the bulk of the night. And it’s just sharing a cab. As we were getting in the cab, Pierre said he had a “surprise” he wanted to show me and that it was on the route back to where my car was parked. Now a red flag presents because I am no dummy and I know that often when a man tells you he has a “surprise” to show you in the wee hours of the morning, it relates back to one thing…

I cut that short right quick and told Pierre that under no circumstances was I doing anything but going right to my car and to my home by myself. He assured me that he was *not* trying to take me back to his place and that the detour would only take 3 minutes. So, ever the optimist, I said (like the dummy I am not) “OK – then show me the surprise.”

He gives the address to the cab driver and it is absolutely on the way to my car – that checks out. Now I figure it’s going to be a statue or fountain – something very specific to the city, something that he likes or relates to and wants to show me. Which – cool, right? I mean I’ve lived here for 11 years, so I bet I’ve seen it before – but I’m game. HOWEVER I ask the driver if when we get to the location he can wait so I can hop right back in the cab and zip to my car post-3-minute-surprise. The cab driver says “Yes,” as we pull up to an apartment building. To Pierre’s apartment building.

“DUDE. PIERRE. No. Absolutely not. I told you I was not going to your place.” And he gives me a song and dance about wanting to show me his “rooftop deck”. So I give him a song and dance about how at close to 2am on a Thursday morning, I don’t need to see a relative stranger’s “rooftop deck”. Also I’m not that stupid and there is a good chance that he is substituting the words “rooftop deck” for

He kept trying to get me to let the driver leave saying that it would be too expensive to have the cab wait and that I should Uber after I see the “rooftop deck”. And I was not having it.

As we parted ways, something was mumbled about inviting me to a French dinner but that he wasn’t going to contact me because American girls always play him, so I’d need to reach out for the invitation…

I hopped back in the cab. The driver was shaking his head and said “He was being very pushy.” And I agreed. Which is sad because it was a fun night otherwise. But Pierre got shady. He took me to his apartment building and tried to get me in an isolated spot when I told him I wasn’t going for that. Not cool, yo. Add to that the mouth-licking….? So I think I’m good on the French dinner front. I’ve got me some morning star farms chick’n nuggets and frozen pasta meals at home. Plus I’m not really into foie gras so much.

I picked up my car, drove home, called my biffle to recap the night, then went to bed at 4am on a Thursday morning. Like the 21 year old I’m apparently aspiring to be. This is fauxdulthood at its finest.

#thisis29

(special shout-out to my lady CGriff for being an editor on this post and an encourager on the share-your-weird-stories front)

Darwinism is Dead: Or Why I Would Not Survive The Zombie Apocalypse

Posted on January 14, 2015 by melhmel

I’m going to go ahead and make a bold statement:

Darwinism is dead.

How do I know this? Because I am still alive after almost 30 years. I am walking, talking, breathing proof that natural selection is a fading, historical relic in the modern, 1st World.

I do dumb things all the time to prove that natural selection is not really a factor in my sphere of operation; if it was, I should have been picked off long before now. Case in point, this recent situation (which I posted to Facebook):

No. Words.

Clearly this was a joke. But shortly after sharing, I noticed a friend’s call for people to submit themselves as characters in something he’s writing by describing the role they would play in a Zombie Apocalypse. ~~And I was watching an episode of The Bachelor that involved a zombie themed paintball adventure.~~ * So I thought about it for a second; reflected upon the evening’s events and a history of behaviors/choices that one could label as anything from ridiculous to unnecessarily dangerous; and one thought popped into my mind: I would be DEAD.

I mean – I’ve seen The Walking Dead. And – while it’s not the Zombie Apocalypse – I’ve read THE ROAD. I am confident that I would not survive beyond the first month. Possibly not past the first week if I hadn’t gone grocery shopping and if there were issues with the water in my apartment. Because HELL TO THE NAAAAWWW would I be walking out of The Apartments of Eternal Christmas to go in search of things at the bodega around the corner. I would be a hunker-and-wait-to-be-rescued type. Which would most like evolve into a hunker-and-wait-for-death type. AND on the off-chance that a well-meaning survivor were to find me, what skills could I provide to a group?

Defense? Nope. Weaponry terrifies me.
Hunting? Nope. Again, weaponry terrifies me. And I’m a vegetarian for reasons relating to the killing aspect of consuming meat.
Growing food, then? Nope. I have a black thumb. While I’m anti-killing things, I kill cacti and succulents on the regular.
Practical survival skills? Nope. I have no knowledge of how to wire electricity, dig for wells, build a shelter, start broken-down cars, track things in the wild, sanitize water, or tie intricate knots.

Also – my body’s natural response to scary situations? To pass out. Normal confrontations of life, I’m cool with. I can get through those. But if I become overwhelmed by even the thought of being in an escalated confrontational situation – emotionally or physically – my body is like: “Hey cupcake! Imma make this real easy for you. We’re just going to stop working and we’re going to avoid this mess altogether! And if things get really bad, we won’t even know because we won’t be conscious! Are you near soft ground? Nope? OH WELL! HERE WE GO!!!”

No fight. No flight. Just lay down and play dead.

The few things I’d have going for me? I take direction well; I am typically a quick learner; I work well with animals and children and have a driver’s license (#specialskills); and I am told that I tend to provide a positive element to a group dynamic. Plus I’ve seen The Walking Dead and have read THE ROAD. All suuuuuuuuuper useful in a Zombie Apocalypse.

Read as: I would probably be the first to be eaten by the group when it got to that point or eventually be used as zombie bait.

Fabian, on the other hand, would be just fine, I’m sure.

And these, my friends, are some of the deep thoughts that occasionally plague my mind. You’re welcome. #fauxdulthood

* A long time ago, I was in an acting class with one of the contestants on this season and have watched the first two episodes. #thesearemyconfessions

Go Home 2014 You Are Drunk … And My Friends Will Walk You Home

Posted on September 2, 2014 by melhmel

*The original content of this post has been altered – sorry for the change. 10:00pm 9/2/2014*

I debated on whether to post about this topic. But I am blogging about my life and this is a BIG shift. I also don’t believe in being super vague and talking about things without talking about them – or therefore writing about things without writing about them. That’s just not who I am or what I do. So this may be uncomfortable for some in my social circles but here goes …

2014 needs to go home because it is drunk.

I am done with it. Seriously.

I have been dealing with a lot of personal stuff on and off for the better part of 2014. It’s been a rollercoaster ride of emotions and ever-changing next steps. Every time some new obstacle presents itself, it feels like it has to be the last twist or drop or loop-de-loop. There can’t be many more shoes to drop because The Man Upstairs has to, at some point, take pity on my clan and lighten the load. And I don’t believe God to be a footwear loving octopus – the shoes have to run out at some point.

Then a few Saturdays ago, after a little over 4 years of knowing each other and 3 years and 9 months of togetherness my boyfriend broke up with me out of what seemed like the clear blue. Granted we were not perfect – no relationship ever is because humans are not perfect – but I thought we were both in it to win it and in love. I was in it and in love. But through no fault of anyone’s we were not…not fully. And we hadn’t been for a little bit of time on and off. As kind and caring and respectful as the conversation was handled once it began, this is hard news to process. Even harder maybe because you can’t hate someone for how they do or do not feel – that’s no one’s choice and no one is to blame. It just is.

So I’ve been in mourning. It’s a death. It’s a loss. I’m grieving. And I’m slowly healing bit by bit. Emphasis on the slowly. I’m also learning a metric shit ton about myself and myself in relationships (in retrospect) and what I subconsciously knew vs. what I let myself be told or let myself believe because I wanted us to work . Because I had thought this was *it*. I’m also not a person who lets go of words easily – even when the words are said in midnight moments between young people newly in love before they really know what they have gotten themselves into. So shifting and adjusting my heart and my brain to life without the person who said certain words and was a daily part of my existence for almost 4 years and thinking of a future without him is just so ridiculously, overwhelmingly sad and hard.

Yippee skippy. A brand *new* rollercoaster to ride. A different kind of shoe to drop. Another reason why 2014 needs to go home and sober up.

But the thing that I have been so struck with and so insanely grateful for are the amazing people in my life. It can be hard to ask for what you need when you are at your most vulnerable but it can be even harder to answer that bat-signal put out by a heart-shattered friend. People are not always comfortable with vulnerability. And I don’t know if it’s because most of my friends are either artistic types or people who work with sick/vulnerable patients, but when I put out the bat-signal, my people rallied. For personal stuff and now for the break-up.

Sometimes they rallied at 3am. Sometimes at 11pm. Sometimes they brought bourbon or kitten toys and took me out for dinner or ordered pizza in and let me snot all over them without once wincing. They have told me not to apologize for anything I’m feeling or for crying in public. They have cleared my desk of relationship evidence before I returned to work. They have told me to take time off of work to take care of myself. They have distracted me when I’ve needed it and really listened to me when I’ve needed it. They have asked hard questions and given soft hugs and offered smart advice from things they’ve learned in their studies and life experiences. They have told me to “fuck off” when I say that I feel unloveable. They have encouraged me to wait a month on that tattoo and to not shave my head a la Britney circa 2007 (my face is just too round for that shizz) and to hold off on adopting a new cat and naming him Mr. Boyfriend. And when I start feeling guilty for reacting to a break-up so strongly when my family is going through so much, my family has told me not to minimalize what I’m feeling because it’s like comparing apples and elephants. They have checked in with calls and texts and e-mails and puppy pictures and continue to do so.

I hurt. I hurt big now because I always feel my feelings in big ways. But I am so very, very lucky in so many, many ways. And things will be OK. It’s just life. And life gets messy sometimes. And when it gets messy, it’s great to know you have good people to help you through.

So thank you, friends. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart and with my whole soul.

And though 2014 is drunk and needs to go home, my people are the good eggs who will walk 2014 to its doorstep and make sure it gets inside and to bed safe and sound with a glass of water and some aspirin waiting on the bedside table for when it wakes – hungover but feeling more hopeful for 2015.

**This article is not open for comments so please do not be offended if I do not approve anything you wish to leave on the wall.

These Are My Confessions: Sometimes I Have To Find The Happy

Posted on August 15, 2014 by melhmel

These Are My Confessions may become a series wherein I admit things that I should probably not put on the internet. But you only live once so…

I tend to naturally be a very happy person. I’m told that sometimes it’s annoying how happy I seem. My apparent ease with happiness has been viewed as a defining characteristic of who I am by family, friends, and foes since I was a little kid so it’s something that I have always defined myself by as well. But growing up – *really* growing up – it’s harder and harder to maintain that constant cheer. I don’t always view the world through rose-colored glasses anymore. And when I do, it’s often because I remembered to put them on before leaving the apartment.

Sometimes happy takes work and sometimes I have to go looking for it. Sometimes I have to find it. This was a “find it” week.

This week has been a really rough news cycle. There is a lot of sad and bad and scary going on in the world right now and I’ve been a bit out of sorts myself over the last few days. I’ve been very emotions-on-the-surface and it doesn’t take much to make my eyes well up and for a lump to appear in my throat; overflowing emotions could be brought on in equal strength by watching a little kid lick an ice cream cone OR listening to reports of what is happening in Ferguson. I’m a person who always feels big feelings. I’m grateful for that – I’d rather feel big than not at all and during marathons of Criminal Minds, it reassures me that I could never be a psychopath. But it can be unsettling and I try to look for the “why” when I find myself in this space.

Maybe it’s the antibiotic I’ve been taking to knock out an infection – I always have stronger reactions to medications than predicted. Maybe it’s that I’ve been watching Six Feet Under for the first time and I’m absorbing some of the heavier topics tackled in the series. Maybe it’s certain personal/family stuff. Maybe I’m too much in my own head. Maybe it’s because over the last week and a half, I’ve spent more time in the apartment due to the foster kittens needing attention and then Fab needing attention (because they can’t get attention at the same time) and as important as all of that is, it often means that I’m by myself. Don’t get me wrong – I cherish alone time; just not a lot of alone time. Luckily I had some wonderful friends stop by twice this week to help socialize the kittens (which is a real thing) but the invitations to help me with the cats are also extended to make sure I don’t go bonkers by being alone too much and it would be silly of me to not admit to that.

Or maybe I’m simply picking up on the distressing vibe the universe is putting out right now – because I do firmly believe that people can feel that shizz.

Honestly, it’s probably a combination of all of the above.

But because this week has been such a slog, I’ve been looking to find the good. Looking for the happy. And there is nothing wrong with needing a little external stimulus to jump-start the balancing out of emotions. So here it is…

A HAPPY LIST FOR A HARD WEEK

The Wumpus – the Wumpus always makes me laugh; this is a ridiculous video and I always find new things to giggle about plus it makes me think of some of my favorite Meg(h)ans who introduced me to it years ago. When in doubt: WUMPUS.
Fabian in snuggle mode – my mainkittenlady has been a snugglebutt lately which is rare and welcome … but also probably signifying that she is feeling insecure due to the itty kitbits… but SNUGGLES!
The Elusive Snuggling Faba
Gorgeous Gifs – these beautiful gifs created by the Smithsonian Library are so imaginative! I particularly like the elephant balloon.
Sunshine, blue skies, and fresh air – self-explanatory
Ron Swanson Dancing – you can’t be feeling anything but fantastic when watching this; you just can’t.
Visits with friends – I got to hang out with four of my lovely lady friends after work this week plus I got the added bonus of a ladies-who-lunch-from-foodtrucks-date with another favorite friend; I am so lucky to be surrounded by such smart, passionate, talented, hilarious, and caring women. Truly. I am.
Kanye makes it raaaaiiiiin with tots – my cousin did this today and I am so proud.
Kittens doing the (modified) ALS challenge – I got nominated to do this after “liking” a piece that brings up some issues with viral awareness campaigns but also after an exchange with a friend about why it has been awesome for her family; so though I had mixed feelings, I decided that it couldn’t hurt and will be donating a little bit to a charity as well. My twist was to do it with the adoptable kittens. Officer Fuzz Nugget wasn’t having it but Reese cooperated enough and it’s pretty adorable:
Weekend plans – I’ve got some fun stuff on the docket for this weekend: a big event at the shelter; some BFry time; an overdue haircut; seeing my Fairy Godmother; and more kittens.
24 Hours of Happy – I adore this site; watching people let loose and dance to a happy song makes me smile – I don’t care how many times I’ve heard this played on the radio, I will never get sick of this site.

So these are my confessions, my friends. I’m not always so easy with the happy. And that’s OK because life does not always bring the happy. But it doesn’t mean you stop looking.

These Are My Confessions: Bugs and Bedding

Posted on July 30, 2014 by melhmel

These Are My Confessions may become a series wherein I admit things that I should probably not put on the internet. But you only live once so…

I’m not going to beat around the bush here. My apartment has bugs. More specifically, my kitchen has bugs. It has had bugs for a little bit of time now. I say “bugs” but they are roaches. Which makes my skin crawl so I’m going to keep saying “bugs” so maybe you’ll picture ladybugs or fireflies or butterflies… which is not what I have in my apartment. I have ~~roaches~~ bugs.

When it became more than just one or two here and there (which is to be expected in an urban setting), I reported the issue to my landlord. This was back in mid-winter and that call resulted in The Apartments of Eternal Christmas being fumigated. It also resulted in an epic car breakdown with The KitBit* in tow and a Blanche DuBois style relying-on-the-kindness-of-strangers situation as I was on my way to the BFry’s to wait out the fumigation. It may have resulted in this Facebook post:

Sometimes/And Then Sometimes: A Personal Essay – posted to Facebook on February 17th, 2014; because I was blogging before I had a blog…

Bugs had never been a problem in the whole year+ I had been living in my apartment and I am not a dirty kitchen-keeper (because aside from the occasional tartlet I rarely cook) plus there was construction happening on the apartment below me so I had hope that this was a one-time anomaly. And things died down.

Literally. Bugs died and I would find them down on the floor.

Now, I’m a pacifist and the kind of person that likes to catch-and-release but finding bugs dead-as-a-doornail was oddly satisfying. Gross. But satisfying. And all was quiet on the apartment front for a time.

Then a few weeks ago, they started again. The BFry and I returned from a lovely evening out and immediately had an epic battle vs. approximately 20 bugs. 20 OF THEM. And because I can’t squish things, the BFry did all the swatting and smacking and smooshing while I stayed out of his way. My preferred method of bug destruction is to catch them in a disposable cup and then run to the bathroom to flush them down the toilet before they can crawl out, throwing the cup away afterwards. I don’t know what that says about me…

Anyway, I reported the buggy-ambush to my landlord and he sent someone the next day to put down traps. And about a week later, Faybsuh-laybsuh-little-layduh* and I had to evacuate to once again head to the BFry’s for what I like to call a Fumigation Vacation; Fabs* enjoyed herself, as you can see:

LUSH

I, again, had hopes that this would clear up the problem at least for a while. No such luck. There has been some calming of the issue, but not enough. Never enough.

And so on the evening of July 23rd, no longer relying on the landlord and armed with self-bought sticky-traps and cat-safe poison-traps, I waged war.

I am the 300. I am King Leonidas. And the bugs are my Persians circa 480 B.C.

This is what I look like in my head as I am laying those bug traps down. (© 2007 Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.)

After arriving home close to 9pm, I placed those traps around the kitchen. And in the process, flushed at least 3 bugs down the toilet. But I’m out of solo cups so have been using an empty paper towel roll and I trap bugs inside the column to then transport them to their watery fates which is MUCH harder than the cup method. It was rough. And I did it all in heels. Adorable Crown Vintage t-strap 4″ heels; who says women can’t do it all?!

After I was satisfied with the strategic placement of both kinds of traps and felt I had killed enough for one evening, I treated myself to a 2003- freshman-year-of-college-throwback whiskey-sour. Complete with star-shaped ice cubes, an orange glitter swizzle-stick – a #fauxdult move if there ever was one – and apparently a bit too much whiskey. I think this was somehow influenced by feeling like I could “do it all” and since “Do It All” was actually the motto of my conservative Catholic alma mater during my freshman year (I know, right?), I was feeling a touch nostalgic.

As I slowly became tipsy, I remembered that I wanted to get Faba-face* a set of bowls that sit off the ground so as not to attract buggy attention. And I started browsing Amazon because I have Prime and you can’t hate on free shipping. Then, just to check, I migrated to Overstock. And then I started looking at sheets. Because I was sent that bedding coupon…

And so it happened that in a full-on whiskey-sour fog of sweet-and-tart regret, I bought #ALLOFTHESHEETS. Seriously. I thought it was appropriate to purchase three sets of polka-dotted sheets in various pastel colors along with pillowcases and a food/water bowl set for my cat.

I mean – this is the kind of bounty a grandma would give her cat-loving tween granddaughter for Christmas:

3 pastel polka-dotted sheet sets, one cat food/water bowl system, and a set of white pillowcases for good measure.

So while some may get drunk and make booty-calls or call up exes, I imbibe in celebration of waging war on bugs and then purchase sheets ~~that no self-respecting adult woman would want to sleep on~~ and things for my cat.

These, my friends, are my confessions.

* The cat, Fabian Raven Ittameh Bittameh Kittameh The Duchess of Things, has many, many nicknames.

Update: since July 23rd, the occurrence of bugs has greatly decreased but I’m not getting cocky about it yet…

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