part 30 of 356

Things that keep Melissa alive

Part 30: The Funny


I love reading funny books.  And I love books that are autobiographical in nature because these seem to be the best forum for people to display their funny.  I don't read a lot of fantasy or science fiction because these seem to be the worst forum for authors to be funny.  Actually, it's more that they are a different kind of funny (aka, weird).

Every time I read a book that I feel is funny and clever at the same time, it makes me want to be a writer like that.  It's got to be easy, right?  My journal entries suddenly become more thought through.  I do everything I can to emulate the writing of these books in my blog, scouts and primary lessons.

I think my latest find has inspired me the most of any funny book I've read:

So many other books are supposedly funny but once I actually read them, I'm not impressed.  So here's my question:  Why can't other "funny" writers actually be funny like Tina Fey?  Right before I read this, I read David Sedaris' Christmas book.  Sometimes I do find him mildly funny, but I couldn't even make it through this latest one I read.  I found it too bitter and sarcastic.  Where's the funny, David?

It's true that Tina Fey's book isn't perfection -  It has waay too much swearing for my taste but the humor in it is a clean humor that made me cry on several occasions.

I dream of her writing a second, but what are the chances of that?  I guess I'll have to go back to the authors that are almost as inspiring like:

• Haven Kimmel
• Terry Tempest Williams
• Dave Barry

But I've already read most of their books!  So they better get cracking.

Here are some other modes of Funny that I like and you should try too, if you get the chance:

• Colbert Report
• Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me (NPR radio news quiz on every saturday and available for podcast)
• Wait, Wait Don't blog me - Sandwich Monday posts.  (I look forward to reading these posts every Monday.  Here is one of my favorites)

So now I need your help.  I really had lost to the joy of reading until I picked up Tina Fey's book.  So now what do I do?  I need to fill that large hole she left in the funny ventricle of my heart.  What are your favorite funny things/authors?  I need to get filling that void fast!

part 29 of 365

Things that keep Melissa alive

Part 29: someone to care for

I know you have a hard time being shocked by this, but I have discovered that I'm a little like a man.  I like to solve people's problems.  It's hard for me to listen to someone's problem and just sympathize.  I want to fix it!  I guess I like having someone to take care of.  Enter Snakey.

Remember the small lizard I had for approximately one week before the parenting anxiety became too much for me and had to return him to the wild?  He was just a warm up for the small snake that I obtained in July this year.  Much baby-snake talking has commenced since then.  I wonder if that ever stops...  Will I still be speaking to him in high, squeaky tones when he's in college?  Will he still cuddle on my lap when he's married?  I guess we can only wait and see.

I'm like most parents in that I think he is more cute than the neighbor's snakes.  And he's not nearly as whiny in the grocery store.

But, I realized this week that I have officially become one of those annoying pet owners that tell you the most boring stories about their beloved pet.  I have even started dreaming about him.  And these dreams may reveal a little too much about how dear he actually is to me.  The other night I had several dreams about him:  That he was grown-up and moved away from home.  That he actually spoke to me and thanked me for taking care of him (seriously).  Do I really secretly wish that he was grateful for everything I do for him?

When I really think about it, I'm pretty sure all that time that he spends "exploring and playing" in his cage is actually him trying to get away from this crazy lady that is holding him hostage and doesn't feed him nearly enough and stares at him creepily through the glass.  I guess I should be glad that he can't actually speak, because I can continue on in my fairy-pretend land where my snake loves me.  And that keeps me alive.

is you a girl

I don't have a good sense of time but I believe I have had my hair grown to at least chin length for around 2 years now, maybe more?  I keep thinking that instances that people mistake me for a boy will start to lessen.  But no.  So, welcome back to another installment of "melissa gets mistaken for a boy".

A few weeks ago, my roommate and I decided to crash the mid-singles ward fhe west of the freeway.  They were playing missionary tag but I think it should have been called dating tag or divorce tag or older couple missionary tag because in the rules it says that only a girl and guy can stand together.  Not two girls or two guys.  That must have been the first problem.  So coed groups of two stand around the field as one boy and girl chase each other.  The one being chased has a goal of hooking onto a coed couple on the arm of the one that is the opposite gender from them.  So if I were being chased, I would grab the arm of a guy that is already in a couple and then the girl that is attached to the other side of him would have to take off running and latch on to some other guy's arm (man, as I describe this it is just sounding more and more like it should be called affair tag).  If someone accidentally latches onto someone of the same gender they are automatically it and they have to start chasing whoever was previously chasing them.

After about 5 people had taken their turn being chased around, this girl ran up to me and latched onto my arm. I leaned over to her and mumbled "I'm not a boy".  And then in my mind I yelled "COME ON!"  It took her a minute of looking at me to realize that I was indeed not a boy.

People aren't the only ones mistaking me for a boy.  Apparently, even digitally I look like a boy.  What better proof can I have than from the machine?  For the second experience I point you to my friend Jeff's blog about google image searches.  I decided to try uploading a picture of me and of course the first image returned was the above picture of Brad Pitt.  The good news is that I look like a boy but I'm a good-looking boy.   Maybe I should stop combing my hair like that though.

I have learned my lesson from these experiences.  The main lesson being that a detailed analysis can make missionary tag offensive on so many different levels.

part 28 of 365

Things that keep Melissa alive

Part 28: Cheap houses


That's right, at the age of 32, I am finally nearing the final approach to the penultimate of being an adult:  Owning my own place.  You notice that I say 'nearing the final approach'.  I don't actually know if I'm really in the final approach because I just started looking, and let me tell you, it might take me a while to find exactly what I want.

Don't get me wrong, I have found plenty of houses that I like the inside of - but not the outside.  And plenty that are great outside and then horrible inside.  There have even been two that had the best of both worlds for me.  But one sold before I could even go look at the place and the other one is in Provo (need I say more...).  The best part is that since my price range is so low, I routinely come across houses that I'm not really positive actually pass for houses.  And some probably really are houses, but you'd never know it from their pictures.

Speaking of that, what is the deal with the pictures people take?  Do they not realize that the very success of the sale begins with the pictures?  I was browsing houses online this morning and copied a few of my favorite pics to show you:

Good news: Apparently this house has a floor - and it's some sort of wood substance.  Also, I hope they leave the existing curtains for me! 

This one I just like because they must have known me and my style.  This kitchen area makes me happy on so many levels.

extra bonus:  This house is in my current ward!  It was meant for me.

This house looks nice... to live next to.  That's right, this is some other house on the street.  What better way to sell your house than to deflect attention from it and focus on the others around?  (maybe these guys are smarter than I originally thought)

Apparently, this house comes with a computer and desk!  Either that, or they wanted to get a close-up of the nice paint job on the walls.

I may never find my dream roof to put over my head, but at least the searching process will keep me entertained until I do.  And that keeps me alive.

3 confessions to the spider

Dear spiders,
I know that you know how much I dislike you.  I think I have made myself very clear.  I arranged for our place to be sprayed to kill you.  I smoosh even the cutest baby spider on contact.  I will sometimes yell at you out of anger when you surprise me.  But I must confess a few instances where I have held off on my killing quest.

1 - Spiders that live in my tomato plants:  I spend quite a bit of time lately trying pick all my tiny tomatoes.  Sometimes, as I am picking, I will see that you have built your web close to the ground around some beautifully red tomatoes.  In such a case, I leave you be.  I don't really need those tomatoes, I think.  I am even so kind that if I am picking a beautiful tomato higher up and it falls to the ground beneath a shroud of tomato green, I will let it go - cause it's gone.  It is just not worth it to me to stick my hand into such a place.  I've seen enough episodes of the Deadly Dozen to know not to do that.

2 - Dear spider that is taking over the 4th step outside my door: I don't know why I have let you continue to expand your web across my stairwell.  I have seen you jump back into the corner of your web when I step outside and slam my door behind me.  I'm sorry to disappoint you, as you probably thought you were successfully hiding from me.  Be assured that I know you are there.  I also suspect that you are black widow.  You are different from the spiders that enter my house.  You stay in your web and you are jet black and spindly.  Maybe I left you because I wasn't sure how best to kill you.  Or maybe I figured you would meet your end when the spider spray man waved his wand at you.  And sure enough, ever since then, your web has been empty.  RIP, little one.

3 - To the basketball playing spider:  I wish you had just stayed in Australia where you belong.  What are the chances that you would be on the very pair of basketball shorts that I picked up at the athletic store yesterday?  I saw you quickly and put the shorts back but then had to take a closer look at you to see if you were a black widow.  But your red was a stripe on top of your abdomen instead of an hourglass shape on the underside.  I am ashamed to say that I left you there on that pair of shorts on the rack for the next unsuspecting person to find.  When I discovered that you are a poisonous spider in Australia, I called the store to let them know what I had seen.  The girl responded with: "what do you want me to do about it?".  I should warn you that they may be coming for you - but it doesn't seem likely.

part 27 of 365

Things that keep Melissa alive

Part 27:  The Style Fail

Welcome back to what I like to call the: 'Melissa has time to blog at work era'.  Today's topic is something I always secretly wanted when I was a little girl but now that I have it, I don't know how to handle it.  You may have figured out by now that I have been called as a Den Leader in my ward.  When I was 5-10 years old and had 3 older brothers all in scouts, I just knew I would look amazing and cool in a scout shirt... if only I could have one.  Basically, I was picturing the above picture.  Doesn't she look super cute?  To be fair to myself, I don't own a scout hat yet but let me tell you, things are not looking promising.

I was actually called back in March but it took me a while to get my shirt because I wanted one of the really really cute yellow ones.  It turns out they just discontinued those so I couldn't find one smaller than a size 52 (yeah, I don't know either) so I had to just settle for a really cute tan one.  I got word about a month ago that there was going to be a cub scout leader pow wow at the end of August and in the instructions, it said I needed to wear my uniform because some of the classes were going to be in the chapel.  That's when I finally knuckled down and bought their smallest shirt that came just in time for me to wear it.

I don't think I can adequately describe my disappointment when I put it on and realized that I look superbly lame in it.  No problem, I thought, I can just put on my army pants and army belt and tuck in the shirt and that will solve everything!  But, do you see how the ladies above look like cute den leaders with their outfits on?  I do not look like that with my 'outfit' on.  But I think I've figured out the problem.  I don't have a chest.  See how their shirt is appropriately tight in that area?  Mine doesn't do that.  I even sewed up the sides to make it smaller and it still doesn't even begin to look like them.  I just look like a boy with a chin-length bob cut.

That was not a good start to my day.  But when I got there, I realized that only the older den leaders were wearing their uniform.  All the girls that were 45 or younger were wearing their normal cute jeans or shorts and flip flops.  The obedient molly in me wanted to feel self-righteous that I had followed instructions, but I really just knew that I was officially a scouting nerd.  Can anyone help me?  How do I make my outfit cute?  You don't want to know all the different ideas that have gone through my head but I think chances are low that any of them would look good.  But that's ok because this is a challenge and it's the challenges that keep me alive.

R.I.P. my mom's metabolism

Here's a classic Melissa story from right before my mission:

My single's ward relief society had its retreat and all the single ladies met to go camping. Around the fire that night, I sat with all the rest playing get to know you activities. This particular activity was: Tell us your favorite thing about your body. Well, let's just say I didn't have a very good opinion of my body at that time (acne, gangly, big nosy and long toesies). All the other girls were saying things like: "my cuticles", "my nose", "my cute feet", "my smooth skin". As I looked around the fire at the other girls; a lot of whom were overweight, all I could think of to say was: "I'm grateful I got my mom's metabolism instead of my dad's" (cause see: my mom is skinny and my dad was bigger). Many years of heckling and persecution followed such an insensitive comment.

10 years later, I am finally saying goodbye to eating whatever I want, whenever I want. I feel like my life is over. I know, you all feel SO sorry for me, but I hope you will support me during this traumatic time. I'm not sure how my mom's metabolism's death was brought on. It could be the 5lb bag of candy bars that I ate in a week's period of time at work. Or could it be that I suddenly crave food ALL the time instead of just when I'm hungry? (What is that about?!)

Speaking of awkward Melissa moments. I had another one just yesterday:
I don't know how many of you knew that I was dating someone for a few months (pick yourself up off the floor). We broke up about a month ago. Yesterday, at church, these two older ladies that I love greeted me and asked if my special friend was still in my life. I said: "Oh, we broke up". To which, one of them said: "oh, good... good!.... will we be getting an announcement soon?"

I paused to study her face and bent closer to her ear and said: "WE BROKE UP". They then had a look of comprehension come over them but still said: "oh good... good!".

I just nodded my head in confusion for a while until the other one said: "so...did he move out then?"

No wonder they thought it was good!

part 26 of 365

Things that keep Melissa alive

Part 26: Butter, Spreadable Butter, Garlic Butter, and Margarine

Do you remember that part of the movie Elf where he tells elves 4 main food groups? (Candy, Candy Canes, Candy Corns, and Syrup) Well, I am the same way with butter. As an example, I have taken a picture of my fridge, as it is today:

Don't worry, the cheese is in the door. And that carton of eggs in the bottom right corner has one egg left in it. Everything needed to sustain Melissa's life!

Butter is pretty much good on anything - except maybe jello, though I'm not sure.

My friend Carla makes these yummy biscuits that she claims have enough butter in them, that you don't need to put any butter on them. My pardons to Carla, but her words don't even make sense. Everything is better with butter on it!

For proof, I would point you to this article I found a couple years ago, written by Matthew in North Salt Lake. He is also a true believer. I wonder if he's married....

If you are too lazy to read the entire article, let me quote the highlights for you:

"Some of my earliest and most fond memories are of me and my family sitting around spreading butter on stuff. Toast, baked potatoes, corn on the cob, hot dinner rolls, you name it – we spread butter on it. I remember when I was in Cub Scouts and my dad and I spread butter on my first Pinewood Derby car. I remember the time I came home after dropping off Stacy Peacock at her house on prom night. My dad was waiting up for me. He saw the tears in my eyes and before I could even tell him what was wrong, he was spreading butter on my face.

I love my dad for the butter he gave me and I hope that I can give that same gift to my children. It’s a hard world to live in these days, but if we just remember to believe in butter, i know that it can give us the strength to make it through anything."

So, apparently, even faces are better with butter on them. I can't wait to try it.

Amen, Matthew... A-MEN

my life just got 3.14 times better

Yesterday we all celebrated one of the fastest growing holidays on the planet (determined with statistics from a dow melissa poll). If I knew more about pi, I imagine would be able to make a lot of intelligent quips right now about the circumference of my waist the day after Pi Day. I do believe I am at least 3.14 times larger around today than I was yesterday pre pie ingestion.

Other ways I celebrated this important day:

• I hit my snooze bar 3.14 times
• Was 3.14 minutes late for work
• Had 3.14 for customers get mad at me
• Attended 3.14 Pi/Pie parties (3 parties plus a piece of pie in bed before I went to sleep)
• Met 3.14 new nerdy friends at each party - 10 total, but one was really small.
• Got stuck in the far left hand turn lane at a malfunctioning stop light long enough to bake a pie and eat it
• Successfully avoided making a pie for the 3.14th year in a row.

Thank you to all you people who did make pies so that I could eat them. Officially, I tried 6 different pies last night. I think that's a record for a girl with a body that would rather take a good soak in the great salt lake than eat too much sugar.

Part 25 of 365

Things that keep Melissa Alive

Part 25: Growing old with the old


As you know, I recently moved and started a new job. I also stopped working at the temple. Even though I continue to age, I thought that no longer working at the temple would make me less of an old lady; although I continue to play bridge (ok I played it once), eat poached eggs, avoid wearing heeled shoes, and enjoy family history.

I started going to a family ward and I love it! It is riddled with old people which makes for much entertainment. I find that the elderly are often like young children in that way.

For example: This last sunday, in RS, we had the last few minutes for testimonies. A sister with a walker stood up at the back to share her testimony from there. She was talking a little quietly but I didn't think much of it. About 5 minutes into her testimony, another older sister at the front of the room stood up (also where she was) and said rather loudly: "SISTERS, I'D LIKE TO SHARE MY TESTIMONY..." Across the room someone yelled "SHARON IS ALREADY GIVING HER TESTIMONY, SISTER!" At which point, the second sister apologized because she hadn't heard the first sister talking for that entire 5 minutes. Everyone then went back to their glazed looks like nothing had happened.

On Monday night, we had 3 older single ladies in our ward over so they could tell us about their month-long trip to Antarctica! We want to invite different people over like this but for some reason, we (maybe it's just me) are drawn more to the older ladies than the young families. Or maybe it's that the older ladies are more approachable and easier to be friends with!

My new job also finds me on the phone all day with many older people. From them, I also find entertainment, but mainly frustration. They don't know how to attach files, close a browser window, open a new browser tab, turn on their computer, or put their phone on speaker phone. It made me wonder if the older ladies in my ward that I love are also lacking these skills? I wondered how I can love these customers as much as I love my ward members? The solution is obvious: I need to go to church with all of them. Anybody want to join me on a road trip?

If I do the math, I'm not really as old as 'old people', but according to the cartoon at the top of this post, I am one.

I'm glad I have joined my people.