Pocket Change

Lucky for me I'll have a little of that soon. I got that temp job with the coffee roaster I wanted. Yay! I train a couple days next week and then I go 40 hrs/week for about 3 weeks or so after that. I'm pretty stoked about it. It'll probably mean free coffee and they're not paying me minimum wage or anything, which is super nice for an easy temp job in a cool environment. Plus it's going to be weekdays from 9:00 - 5:00 which is perfect. I really don't know if I could have landed anything better for me at this very moment. The universe is helping me out, and I gotta tell you, it's a welcome change from the last several months.

Mmm, I can smell the coffee now. I am such a caffeine junkie. Everyone in my house keeps saying that it's great I got the job and all, but when am I going to get to bring home my first bag of beans? Yes, yes, I know - it's all about priorities. This is definitely a coffee and tea household. There's a freezer full of beans in all sorts of roasts. We have an entire cabinet devoted to tea and honey. Various kinds in various tins and bottles with labels written in various languages from around the globe. It's quite a sight to behold. Like I said, I don't think I could have landed anything better right now.




I miss this face. Even the tongue that goes along with it.

Hello, my old friend

Hangover. How I know you. We haven't crossed paths in quite some time, but our brief meeting this morning lets me know you still care. Your light touch as I awoke with a headache proved once again that no matter how long between visits, you still remember me and come to call every now and then.

It's funny that a few drinks can give me a headache the next morning. I'm no lush, I like a glass or two of wine with a good meal, a nice martini, a couple Hendricks and tonics now and then. I don't get smashed. Well, every once in awhile I admit to a drunken night. But last night wasn't one of them. My HS friend and I went to dinner (fabulous Italian - yum!), had a martini with our meals. Then we met some friends at Underbar (the bar at the W Hotel Union Square) and I had a few gin and tonics (no Hendricks, they were out, bah) over the course of about 3 hours. Plenty of time to metabolize the gin. I didn't even feel tipsy at any point. When I got home I drank 2 big glasses of water (my nightly routine regardless of alcohol intake, I just like to be hydrated), got a good night's sleep, and woke up with a pounding in my brain that apparently cannot be appeased with ibuprofen. Oww.

Oh New York, your welcome home gathering has given me the warm fuzzies and I'm so glad to be back. Next time, just conveniently forget to send the invitation to Hangover. No one really likes him anyway.

I think I got it

I'm pretty sure that I've got a job for April. I'll be working for a coffee roaster 40 hours a week in SoHo for about 4 weeks. Sweet! Can't beat the location (direct quote from the man). Can't beat smelling and drinking coffee all day long. It's a job that will pay my bills and I don't have to take any stress home with me. It's perfect! Hopefully I'll be able to confirm it tomorrow, but as of now all signs point to yes.

On another note - Jill Carroll was released by her Iraqi captors. Details are sketchy, but I can only imagine the relief that her family must be feeling right now. Good things can and do happen, people. Good things. I bitch and moan a lot about the nasties in life, but this is part of the good list and I'm happy to know she's alright.

Oh, I almost forgot! I got my hair cut today. For those of you who haven't been reading me very long, that's a huge deal. It's been a reeeeeaaally long time since I've let anyone else cut my hair. There have only been 2 exceptions in about 11 years. I cut it myself and color it myself and generally have a coniption at the thought of someone else taking scissors to my head. But I went to a little place on St. Marks today and a Russian dude cut it perfectly... for $6. WHAT? Yeah, I ain't lyin'. I got a haircut with tip for $10. He wouldn't let me give him any more money. I gave him a $20 and he made me take a $10 back. New York is freaking amazing. Now I've got to go shower and get dressed. I'm meeting an old friend from HS in the city to help him suit shop (he said he needs a professional to guide him - ha!), then we're going to dinner and later we're meeting up with some friends of his for drinks. A little night out on the town. How lovely!

This is for my homey, K Lance

I just had to post this for you. You can get it on a shirt. Right here.

And this is for me. Scroll about half way down and read the March 20/Miami entry. Yeah, that would be yours truly she's talking about. BTW - if you have any interest in being crafty and reincarnating your old t-shirts you should buy her book. She's way cool and she's got great ideas. I'm all about the Brooklyn Artist Babes.

Made it

I'm here. In Brooklyn, that is. Home sweet home. I got through airport security this morning in less than 5 minutes. I got out of the car, curb checked my bags, went straight through security (no line at all) and didn't even get patted down. I thought for sure I'd get flagged for additional security screening because of the one way ticket, but nope! I still can't believe I brought everything I need in 4 bags. That's including my sewing machine and shoes! It's truly a shocking accomplishment. This girl is pretty happy with her pared-down mindset.

What she's not so thrilled with is leaving the man and the Duke back in Miami for a couple months. I miss them already. But like the man said, he's sad I'm gone, but he's glad about it as well. Glad because it's forward motion, it's progression, it's getting us one step closer to both being up here and it gets me back in my element. All true and all valid. (it still sucks to be apart from the one you love)

Believe it or not, I have nothing to bitch about. Really. Nothing. Not even a little complaint is warranted. My travel was stress-free. The flight was smooth. Kristie kept me phone company on the ride from the airport and made me laugh like mad. I got to the house and had a delicious sushi lunch with my amazing roommates. I'm totally unpacked already. My closet looks fabulous. Both girls are out (J has rehearsal and S's cutie girlfriend is taking her on a real "date night") and I've got the house to myself. Just me & Petey the Super Turtle. I'm in my room, the lights are low, I've got 2 yummy smelling candles lit, I'm sitting on my bed and I'm relishing in all the charms of my life. I'm still unemployed and I need to find a house for us all and my man lives at the other end of the country, but all in all I've got it so damn good. I do. I've got love and support of friends and family who mean the world to me. I'm in the city that I adore more than any other. I'm 28 and healthy for goodness sake!

This picture sums up how I'm feeling in terms of intelligence right now. After all the excitement and fervor of the last couple weeks I feel as if my brains are slightly scrambled. I'm going to make a cup of tea and ponder what I want to have for dinner.

P.S. I may very well have landed my part-time gig already and I've not even been here 7 hours. I'll know tomorrow afternoon. *grin*

Bye Bye Miami

So this is my last night. I'm going to go spend some quality time with the man. Just wanted to let you guys know that I'll be back on tomorrow night. Probably posting about something annoying that happened on my flight or the cab driver or something else equally insignificant.

Moving. Leaving. It's all an upheaval even when you're prepared.

It beats flipping burgers

I don't have a job. I have bills. I'm moving back to NYC tomorrow. It will be my second move in 2 weeks. The man isn't moving up for a couple months. Once I get there my roommates and I have to find a new house to live in because our landlord is a horrid wretch of a person and we don't want to live under her roof anymore. Those things all add up to a relatively stressed out Melissa. But here's a bright spot or 2:

I saw a post on craigslist (the best site ever created) for a study looking for people who highlight their own hair. Long story short, I've got an appt. next week to highlight my hair at a facility on Park Ave. and tell them my opinion of the product. It'll take 2 hours and they're going to pay me $75 at the end. Pretty sweet deal. I also signed up for several focus groups, so you never know - my part-time gig during my job search my well turn out to be spouting off about my opinions. Wait - I do that all the time already, I just don't get paid for it!

Duke hasn't pooped in the apartment or attempted to in 24 hours.

Smiles all around. Happy Tuesday, folks.

Sigh of relief and grunt of disgust

I called the TSA this morning (after pouring through FAA lists of prohibited items for carry-on/checked baggage for flights) and asked if I am able to carry-on my sewing machine Wednesday morning when I fly back up to New York. It's not prohibited, it just needs to go through screening like all other carry-ons and I can bring it onboard with me. Phew! Big sigh of relief there. I was afraid they'd tell me that parts of it were considered weapons or something and they'd make me either check it or not allow me to bring it at all. I don't have a hard carrying case for it, but luckily I have a Samsonite tote bag that's the perfect size to fit it and some notions. Scissors and pins will have to go in checked baggage, of course, but my machine and basic notions can come into the cabin with me. I'm so happy about that!

Then there's the irritation factor - c'mon, you don't think I can go through a day without something pissing me off, do you? Let's not be silly, class. Last week I called my doc's office in NYC to refill a prescription for 3 months until I can get back up there and have my yearly appointment. The dude assured me it was no problem, he'd call it in. I gave him the pharmacy's # and all was hunky dory. Or so I thought. When I called the pharm yesterday to see if it was ready they informed me they'd never received the refill from the doc. Hmm. Okie dokie, guess I'd have to call again to have them call it in. AGAIN. I left a msg this morning. Then I called 2 hours later to make sure they'd gotten the msg and was told (with a chuckle), "Oh, we haven't even checked those yet." Alrighty then. Supposedly the chick is going to call it in today. Which is good seeing as my drop-dead date for picking it up is tomorrow.

Seems like a minor annoyance, right? It sure does, until you consider that this is the doctor's office that has not once in a year & a half called in a prescription correctly. Every time I've had to call back at least twice. What's more is that the doc (imminent TMI alert if you're squeamish or you're a guy and you'd prefer to be ignorant to the medical obligations of women) was so rough with me last year during my pap smear that she made me bleed. I was BLEEDING, ladies and gents. I had to stay in the ladies' room for 20 minutes before I left the office to make sure I wasn't going to stain my pants. This is not normal, in case there was any question about that. You don't need to injure a woman's cervix to get enough cells to send to the lab. When I called the head physician of the practice to let him know that one of his staff doctors had a less than pleasant bedside manner and was much too rough with patients he didn't ask if I was alright, how long the bleeding lasted, when my appointment was, who the doctor was - nothing. He was ready to hang up and I made him listen to me as I detailed it for him. I don't think he wrote anything down. Hell, it's hard to catch details when you're not really listening. Bottom line is I'm never setting foot in that office ever again, but I need them to refill my pill prescription until I can find another doctor. What ever happened to doctors caring about the well being of their patients? That's their job, right? I sure thought it was.

Happy Monday, everyone!

UPDATE: It's now 2:39PM. The pharmacy still hasn't heard from the doctor's office. I've called those poor pharmacists 4 times. I just called the doc's office again (also for the 4th time) and said that I needed this to be called in, I needed it today, and asked when it might be called in. This is what I got after giving the chick my info all over again, "I don't know. I just give it to the person who does that." "OK, well can you tell me if it will be done today? No offense, please understand that I know you guys are very busy, but you're the 3rd person I've spoken to in a week who assured me it would be called in. I'm calling again right now because it hasn't been called in. I'm sure you can appreciate my frustration here." "It'll be today." Sure. I believe that like I believe there are WMDs in Iraq.

There's a 1st time for everything

Including calling 911. Welcome to the world, baby girl, oh yeah I called 911 last night. I've never had to do that before. Right around 2:30AM I awoke to the melodious sounds of screaming and mumbling, then more screaming, grunting, banging, then screaming again. Once I fully realized that I was, in fact, awake and this wasn't the bad soundtrack to a dream the nerves set in. Screaming, hmmm. Windows are shut, so it's got to be pretty loud. OK, Melissa, listen closely and see if you can make out what the words are, if there are any. The words were surprisingly easy to understand. I heard them clear as day. They consisted mostly of a woman screaming at full volume, "C'mon! Let me in! Nigga, you best open this door! Open this fucking door! C'mon now!!" In case you haven't figured it out yet, this was no friendly exchange. I don't believe it was a sober one, either.

The woman's voice was followed by a man's, somewhat muffled, yet still clearly understandable. "Bitch, you ain't even gone act like that! I can't beleee you! How you even gone act like that? You don't want in here, bitch. I'll fucking kill you, bitch! I... will... fuck... ing... kill... you!"

Nice, eh? She kept beating on the door and begging him to let her in and he kept insisting he'd end her life. The fact that she kept trying to get in makes me immensely sad, but this is what women with no where else to go do. Well, that went on in one form or another for about 10 minutes and then it dawned on me - he might actually kill her. This could very well culminate with gun shots and sirens. Not really the way I want to spend the wee hours of a Sunday morning. This is going to sound a bit heartless, but there are several motels about half a block from the new apartment on Biscayne Blvd. that don't exactly have the most upstanding of clientele (dealers, hookers, you get the point) and if they want to shoot each other up I'm not exactly going to mourn their loss. However, it's the middle of the night and someone may seriously get shot half a block away from where I'm trying to sleep. I decided I'd call 911 to perhaps keep someone alive for one more night (until the next crack binge and fist fight) and maybe get a few more winks.

After putting me on hold for about a minute, the dispatcher takes the info, says they'll send a squad car, then tells me that if I'm able to get a physical description to call back. I replied, "No offense, but I'm not going out there." After about another 20 minutes the screams died down and the man and I both fell back asleep. About an hour later it started up again and lasted for about a half an hour. Then again at 4:15, but after that my body was so done with being awake that I slept through whatever else may have happened. There was never any indication that the cops came. Nice. Thanks, Miami's finest. It's one thing to be a resident who's sick and tired of the bad element in this city, but it's another to have a police force that blatantly ignores it. Protect and serve, assholes. Ever heard of it?

Fun-times Friday

This is what a very shameful dog looks like. Mr. Duke crapped on the floor last night... right after I took him outside. Shameful, indeed. It's amazing how fast a good stink can build up in a one bedroom apartment. Especially nice when you're smack-dab in the middle of cooking a lovely fish supper. *gag*

Welcome to the world's tiniest bathroom. Not only is it made for Lilliputians (according to the man it's got the smallest toilet ever created which makes him feel like he's got an extra-large ass, which he doesn't), but it's Pepto Bismol pink. Yep. Our towels are blue. The man said it's our "newborn bathroom".

This chick rocks. 'Nuff said.

Her name is Danielle. She's funny and smart and self-aware. Plus, she appropriately engages when challenged, which is a truly respectable trait. Read this post and the one she refers to and you'll see that she's got a great head on her shoulders.

This little exchange reminds me of how the real-world-woman known as the blogger L. Britt and I got to know each other. *warm fuzzies*

Catching up, tripping over

Yesterday I went to the beach and sufficiently fried myself to a lovely pink shade. This morning I found an ant in my bowl of peanut butter Cap'n Crunch... after I had already eaten half of it. I tripped over Duke when I was headed to the door to take him out and fell flat on my face. Today marks a full week of being unemployed. Which makes it interesting that Boss Lady called me at 8AM just to say hello. Um, it was 8AM and I'm not working. Why did she think that was a good time to call me? Truth be told I was awake and had been for a good half hour, but that's beside the point. It was 8AM!!! The only good part is that my new phone plays James Blunt's "You're Beautiful" when it rings and it's nice to be serenaded like that - at any hour.

I'm determined to make the rest of today a positive experience. I'll start by posting a few pics from my trip to NYC in late January. Then I'll get a cup of fresh coffee, unpack a few more boxes, and maybe walk to the grocery to get some change so I can do laundry later. Yay, laundry!





Year of the dog, yo! China town is so great. (Patti, just ignore the ducks in the windows)

I've made my peace with this place. I went there 1/27 and said a little prayer, took some deep breaths, and let out all my negative energy associated with the L.E.S. I can go there without the tight feeling in my chest now. I know Nicole was there watching.

I love the train. I do. It's the common denominator of the city. This is what you see as you come above ground on the F train headed into the city right before you can look left and see the Statue Of Liberty. I say hello to her every day when I'm there.

I hope he's going to like being a city dog.

Chicken bones, roosters and cornchips, Oh My!

I just took Duke for a walk. First, we walked past the apartment on the end where 4 Haitian women live with their 7 collective teeth, extremely loud voices and smelly cooking (the entire building shouldn't smell like cornchips at 10AM, it just shouldn't, but because of whatever the hell they're making it sure does). Then we walked past a group of young kids playing in the street (apparently no one cares that they're playing in the street and that they're not in school on a Tuesday). Then as we got further down the block I had to wrestle a chicken bone out of Duke's mouth that he found on the sidewalk (yuck).

Then we strolled past an ivy fenced yard where Duke stopped cold in his tracks. Although he couldn't see through the thick ivy, he knew there was something that smelled good on the other side. He wouldn't budge. No coaxing or leash yanking would move him. I climbed up enough to peer over the fence. Lo and behold, there it was. The source of the smell. The reason for the delay - a rooster. A white rooster in that yard. As we finally walked away it made the typical rooster "wake-up" call and I couldn't help but laugh. Little Haiti is an interesting place.

V for Vociferous

Which is something I've not been for the past few days, at least not in the blogosphere. In the real world I'm sure I've been yammering on and on as usual. It's been a busy few days. Wednesday was my last day of work, Thursday we packed, Friday and Saturday we moved. This morning Duke had his first trip to Uva 69, a fantastic little cafe just down the block from the new apartment that makes the best cafe au lait around. Today we're headed back to the house to do some cleaning and grab the last bit of stuff and then we're all finished. The sale will be final tomorrow and in a little more than a week I'll be back in Brooklyn.

Yesterday we took a little break and saw V For Vendetta. It's great. If you get the chance to see it, you should. It takes an interesting view on terrorism, patriotism, truth, self and love. Besides, the cast is killer good and it's a visually stunning piece of cinematic candy.

Off to scrub floors and dust window sills for a few hours. Good times.

Oh goodie goodie gumdrops, new neighbor girl is up. I can tell from the pounding bass coming through the wall. Again, good times.

Hiring?

(thanks to toothpastefordinner.com for the drawing)

This will be me. Well, except it won't be a beard, it'll be leg stubble. And well, I'll still shave, so I guess this won't be me. But, I will not have a job, so I think that might count for something.

Today was my last day. No more Cuban Lady being generally annoying and self-pitying (she should start a blog, I try to keep my pity parties confined to the internet). No more Texas Lady screaming insults at her husband. No more roaches in the kitchen or ants on my desk. Alas, no more paychecks. That's the scary part.

Tomorrow we move. We move everything to the apartment because we close on the sale of the house Friday. The man will stay down here for a few months and work, and next week at some point I'll fly back up to Brooklyn. Hopefully I'll get some nibbles on some interviews soon and I can get a job. If not, I've got to land a part time gig while I look for a full time one I want in my field. *sigh*

I've got stories to tell from my last day at work, but now I've got to order a pizza and get packing.

The Things Left Unsaid

List ten things you want to say to people you know but you never will, for whatever reason.

Don't say who they are. Use each person only once. Post is and pass it on.

Colin has thrown down the gauntlet for the little mission listed above. I think it's a worthy exercise and I'm going to try to do it justice.

1) I wish you'd stop complaining about him to me and get some couples therapy or something. At the very least, make a friend to use as a sounding board. He's my father, your problems with him are yours, not mine. I shouldn't have to know how much he disappoints you.

2) I hope you can get past this trauma. It's poisoning you and your refusal to get help is hurting everyone. We can't help you unless you want to be helped. Don't let this kill you, too.

3) You're beautiful, absolutely brilliant and astonishingly articulate. I'd like to be more like you and less like me sometimes.

4) You need to let go of your jealousy and start being true to yourself or you'll never be happy. Once you come to terms with your insides, your outsides will follow suit.

5) I hope you quit smoking sometime soon. I know I'm not the healthiest person, but I have fear that you'll get sick like Dana Reeve (who didn't even smoke) and be taken away from me at much too young an age. I don't know how strong I can be without you and I don't ever want to find out what it's like to live with only half a soul.

6) (sorry, this one is gross) I was at your house once and got really sick. I had explosive diarrhea in your shower and that's what took me so long to get ready - I was cleaning the tub.

7) I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance. I'll have some sadness about that for a long time. I'm also glad I didn't, because it never would have worked.

8) I compare every man to you. Most of the time they're much better.

9) Those jokes you tell don't really make anyone laugh. We all just feel bad for you.

10) I know you're gay.

So, there you have it.

Yes, I am. What's your point?

If you read my entry from the weekend you know that I went to a fabulous concert with 3 friends and that it was exactly what I wanted it to be, except for the part where I almost punched a chick in the grill. I'm not by nature a violent person, but on occasion I can be a nasty little thing when provoked. One of those occasions happened Friday night. Now, don't fret, there was no violence to be had. Just some words. Some lovely little amusingly insulting words.

So, we're at the concert enjoying every moment. It's about halfway through the set and two hipster chicks shove their way through the crowd and stand right up against me. Now, at this point everyone was having a grand time, we all had our own little comfy pocket of air to occupy (rare for a concert) and room to shake our money makers should we so desire. When these chippies decided to disrupt that fine balance it was a bit annoying. But, determined to keep my night as fun as possible, I decided to ignore their rudeness.

That worked fine until they both started bumping into me repeatedly. I still figured it would be better to ignore them, but after getting whacked with Hipster Chick #1's handbag one too many times I started to lose my resolve. And then it began... the chatting. HC #1 & #2 were conducting a full volume conversation in the middle of the crowd at a rather slow and poignant part of the song. Bad form, ladies. What were they talking about? How much they liked the music, that the band was great live, that the lead singer was cute and funky? Oh no. Airline miles. Uh huh. They were talking about airline miles. Resolve dissolved.

Very politely, I leaned over and said, "I noticed you guys want to chat, so would you mind stepping over to the back?" Nice, right? Non threatening, not rude in any way, not even a curt tone of voice. Then why was I met with, "Uh, haha, no. We're totally not moving"? Which I countered with, "OK, this is where I was polite and asked you nicely to stop disturbing the people around you and you shot back with attitude, I'd really appreciate it if you could back off to the side now."

Get this, HC #1 turns to me and says, "Um yeah, you're weird". Yes, I am. I couldn't figure out what the hell her point was. At this point all politeness was gone and my inner bitch was starting to bare her fangs. I let them know that they were being really inconsiderate and that everyone would like them to take their stylishly dressed behinds off to the side of the crowd. HC #2 (who really resembles a steel wool pad) says to HC #1, "Maybe she's so rude because she's ugly and has such bad hair." Uh huh. Oh yes she did. The girl with the mess on her head insulted my hair. Then one of them said, "We paid just as uch for our tickets as you paid for yours." This really doesn't say much since no one in that crowd paid to listen to Travel Talk With Ditzy And Mitzy.

I tell them that I don't understand why they immediately turned so rude when I had tried to be nice and they said I was a "rude bitch", which made me feel completely comfortable letting HC #1 know that she was acting like a "stupid whore". I did it, I won't lie, I called her a stupid whore. Maybe not the nicest thing to say, but I was past the point where I cared. We all know how my week was going and Friday was my fun time. I really, really needed my fun time. HC #2 gasped, "Uh mah gah! She just called you a stupid whore!!" My retort, "Yes, well, a duck's a duck." It was a bad scene.

I decided to ignore them once again and just listen to the band and have a great time. Which I succeeded in doing, despite all the comments said in my direction like, "Stupid old hag with her $20 haircut" and "maybe she's just bitter because she's wearing such a hideous outfit". It got to be quite funny on several levels. 1) My haircuts are free, bitches. Free. 2) Hideous outfit? How come I got asked where I bought my top? Tidbit: I made it, suckas. And I looked hot, get over it. 3) 28 isn't even remotely old. You might think it is, but in 7 years I dare you to tell yourself you're an "old hag". Have fun with that.

So, that's the tale of Melissa almost giving a Hipster Chick the what for, but then realizing that the little twit wasn't worth it. Fun stuff, eh?

A little Heidi, anyone?

K Lance, this is for you. Happy now???

Semper Fi, maggots!

I saw it on the plane back to Miami last night. I liked it. I was surprised. I was expecting 2 hours of nothing but utter shite, so it was nice to see the grit, action, emotion, hot men and humanity in Jarhead. Jake was good. Jamie was good. Peter was good. Plus, at points they were sweaty, shirtless and covered in oil. How could it be bad?

Google Maps is the best! True dat. Double true!

So, yesterday MT & I went to Magnolia Bakery. Yes, yes, the Magnolia of "Lazy Sunday" fame. The best cupcakes on the planet. Banana pudding and cupcakes, food of the gods. Well worth the half hour wait in line just to glimpse the lovely little bundles of cakey goodness. The weather was beautiful (MT was only wearing a t-shirt! In early March!) and we had a lovely day. Today it's raining and chilly. But hey, It's Brooklyn - how bad can it be?

The concert I flew up for was excellent. It was so excellent, it exceeded every expectation I had (except the part where I almost punched a stupid, little, early 20s tart in the face, but that's another story to be told at a later date). www.ilovemetric.com for band info. They rock, they're Canadian, they have a hot chick frontman, they're fun and high energy and appeal to a wide audience... I am now a die-hard fan. If they come to a city near you I'd suggest scooping up a few tickets as soon as you can. You'll have a blast.

I'm off to make some coffee. I'm in dire need. I fly back to Miami in a few hours and I don't want to pass out and miss my flight.

I didn't get it

The job, that is. I got this, instead, "We all loved you, you got rave reviews across the board, we just unfortunately went with another candidate that was somehow a better fit for the exact position." I don't really know what that means, but it doesn't matter. The VP actually sounded disappointed, as if she'd been overridden. I know it "wasn't meant to be" or else the job would have mine, but it doesn't take the sting out of the fact that the very best me wasn't good enough.

Right now I'm going to make myself a gin & tonic. Light on the tonic.

Square One, I thought I recognized you.

Did the sun just come out?

My mood is instantly lifted, once again by the lovely and talented Kristie. She sent me these pics and I must tell you - Jake Gyllenhaal is too fine for my own good. Too damn fine. Do men get any tastier than Jake is in these pictures? The camo, the dogtags, the aviators, the perfect body hair, the bulky muscles, the slightly sweaty feeling at the nape of my neck at the moment...

To my straight male readers, sorry, I had to share these. Maybe next week I'll post a fly honey for you. Right now, this is MY moment. Private shout-out to the man: he's fine, but you're fine and mine, and that's way better as far as I'm concerned.

String me along, I like it!

So, yes - it's Thursday. As Jenn commented this morning "Maybe they meant Thursday...". And Miss Fire said she'd kill them for me, which was wonderfully sweet! Well, as I sat here about an hour ago, trying not to be neurotic (and failing, as usual) my phone rang. It was the VP I interviewed with who wrote me the email telling me I'd hear from them on Wednesday. She apologized profusely for the delay (which was endearing) and said that getting all 3 of the decision makers to sit down with one another has been difficult because they've been so swamped (read: blogging too much, right Sandra?). They're now checking references, so would I be so kind as to send her a couple of names & numbers? I conferred with my references (meaning I called them and ordered them to talk me up) and sent the email. She said if I don't hear back this afternoon that I'll hear tomorrow. Hmm. OK.

It's good that they called, good that they're checking references. If I had been booted from the "possible new hire" list, they probably wouldn't bother to check me out. So now it's back to being neurotic. I'm so damn good at that.

It's on, IT'S ON!

WARNING: If you don't want to know who won Project Runway or you just couldn't care less about fashion, please stop reading this entry and peruse any of the 2 from yesterday. They're pretty good and entertaining. Have fun with the comments. Danke schoen.

Project Runway is on now. I'm on pins and needles. It's the finale. It's tense. It's hot. It's fabulous. It's frivolous. It's everything and it's abso-friggin-lutely nothing. It's my favorite thing about TV right now.

Daniel's my pet designer of the final 3. The last collection is on now... Santino - love to hate him, hate to love him, he's got talent. But he's not my fave. Chloe is great, but she's no Daniel V. (alas, none of them are Nick Verreos - I still love you, Uncle Nick!).

Let's see... pins and freaking needles. Critique is up next. My favorite (barf) Michael Kors (I have a problem with him. No, scratch that, I have lots of problems with him.), Heidi lovey dovey, Nina Garcia (another one I could do w/o), and guest judge Debra Messing are all poised and ready to attack. It's "go" time.

Michael Kors, I am bothered by you. You open your mouth and I get nauseous. It would be wonderful if you'd never speak again.

I hate commercials. I want the results. I want the winner. I want to KNOW!

OK, we're back. They're back. I have indigestion. HEIDI stop torturing me. Oh lord, Santino's out. Aw, I'm kind of sad about that. Wierd. Oh fuck. Chloe just won. Chloe. Chloe Dao. Daniel V. isn't the winner. Chloe is amazing, but Daniel... Daniel rally deserved it. I wish he would have won. Damn.

I'm emotionally spent. It's been a tough day, Project Runway aside. I'm off to bed. I'll try not to dream of missed opportunities and misguided "new hire" choices. *sigh*

Rage, Rage Against the Disappointment

The job folks told me I'd hear from them on Wednesday. Unless my calendar has been switched by a crusty, old, evil meiser with lots of hideous warts as a cruel, cruel joke, today is Wednesday. The time is now 7:26PM EST. Which means that for most business purposes Wednesday is over. The middle day of the week, hump day as it were, has come and gone with no word from the job folks. The job folks are making me question myself. The job folks are contributing to my uncertainty and insecurity. Should it be that way? No, silly me! I should retain my confidence no matter what, but the thing is - I've done well in the interview process and I've got a good shot at getting an offer... and I haven't heard from them yet. That part sucks balls. Stinky sweaty ones that really need a shower.

I want a martini.

Musicality

I've been tagged. Oh yes, K Lance tagged me good. That sounds awesomely dirty. Sweet!

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they're listening to.

1) Beautiful - James Blunt: Love and loss and longing for something that will never be yours. It's gorgeous and lovely and wonderfully, deliciously heart breaking. Something about the melancholy that accompanies unrequited love snares me every time.

2) Gold Digger - Kanye, oh Kanye West f/Jamie Foxx: I don't care that I have personal issues with Kanye, this damn song makes me shake my booty all over the house.

3) Cramp Your Style - Thievery Corporation: Again, another song that I cannot sit still through. Shout-out to the DC spinners, yo!

4) Because Of You - Kelly Clarkson: Uh huh. Deal with it. I love this song. I even love the beat thumping remix. The chick's got pipes.

5) Check On It - Destiny's Child f/Slim Thug: Any song that says "You can look at it, as long as you don't grab it" is a-OK in my book.

6) These Words - Natasha Bendingfield: It's happy. It's a downright happy song and sometimes that's exactly what I need to make me smile and sing along. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!"

7) Breath (2AM) - Anna Nalick: Once more, I love the melancholy of the song. I dig on her sweet voice and mournful lyrics. It's very indicative of last year in New york for me. "Winter just wasn't my season..." What a statement, what an understatement.

Tag time, yes yes y'all! Get ready, here we go (K Lance already tagged a certain Brooklyn babe) -

1 - Kristie (this way you don't have to think too much for your next entry)
2 - Colin (inject a little Brit taste, please?)
3 - ~S~ (c'mon, you Southern princess, let's have it)
4 - Miss Fire (Represent Florida, babe - do it up right)
5 - Jess (You know you've got good musical taste, share it)
6 - Patti (something to think about besides icky work stuff)
7 - Sandra (forget about the mental junk drawer for a minute and have some fun w/this)

Sister, why must you torment me?

I read something just now that made my head spin. Much like yesterday's experience with the pantsuit question, this particular article made me rage, rage against the dying of women's' sense of self. Oh, thank you, Dylan Thomas, for such a useful phrase.

Here it is. *hefty sigh* There is a woman protesting the Vagina Monologues because of her conservative values. OK, nothing too outrageous there, right? Conservatives protest, liberals protest, protesting your pet cause is a glorious right afforded us by our Constitution. It doesn't mean that I have to agree with her.

Let's look a bit closer for a moment at her ideas. To quote the article, 24 year old Monique Stuart said, "'It's disgusting. The play defines women as their sexual organs." Really? It does? The Vagina Monologues reduces women to the sum total of their sexual parts? This is where I wonder if Stuart has ever seen the play. Turns out - she has seen it. This is where I say WTF?

I believe that Eve Ensler created a medium for expression and empowerment when she collected the stories of more than 200 women to draw from for the stage show. Stories range from happy to sad, from glorious to violent, from celebratory to shameful. Yes, the vagina (not a dirty word, folks, and by the way - it only refers to the chute, if you're talking general area you might want to come up with something a little more catchy since saying "labia, clitoris, vulva, and vagina" is a bit cumbersome. That crazy woman from Show Dog Moms & Dads [you know you've seen the clip] who said, "My dog, he bite me in my vagina!!!" must really be a sick, sick bitch if she's letting her dog get all up in there to bite her IN HER VAGINA. Sorry, I had to get that out.) anyway... the vagina is a sexual part of a woman's beautiful body. But it is used as a tool in the play, not the end goal (anyone who sees it without the veil of super conservative thought will understand that). It is used as a conduit - a way of getting women to express themselves and embrace their senses of self, senses of sexuality, senses of womanhood. This womanhood is what's celebrated, not sex organs. Ensler's goal was to get women (and men) to walk away from the show thinking, "Wow, it really is a good thing to be a woman." What is so bad about that? It's not an overtly sexual piece. Sure, there are parts that deal with sex, masturbation, all that fun stuff - but it's not pornographic or sex-centric.

Ms. Stuart, (warning: catty moment approaching) perhaps if you'd loosen up a bit and embrace your own womanhood you'd look a hell of a lot more like a 24 year old than a 40 year old soccer mom.

Please, My Sisters, Stop The Insanity

I read Amy Joyce's column in the Washington Post every week. I also log on for her Tuesday chats. She gives good advice about the workplace and dealing with co-workers (I need help with that, we all know) and she's just generally fun and cool. It doesn't hurt that we're both late 20-somethings from Western PA. Anyway, the one question I see every week that drives me nuts is "I'm looking for a job, should I tell my current boss?" Let's think about that for a second. You want to interview elsewhere for whatever reason. Do you really think it would be smart to tell your boss that you want to leave your job? What the hell, people? The idiot factor is so high in the applicant pool, it amazes me that I don't have a kick-ass job right now. To seem head-and-shoulders above the rest of the drones really isn't that difficult to pull off.

That regular irritation aside, this morning I was faced with a frustration with my gender that pisses me off like few other topics. A woman wrote in thanking Amy for encouraging her to keep sending her resume out there, that eventually someone will call for an interview, just keep at it. Apparently the woman got an interview, it's all set for tomorrow - and then she asks this, "And is a pants suit OK in an interview for females? I know it's come up, but can't remember the verdict."

Is it OK to wear a pantsuit to an interview... if you're a woman. OK, deep breaths, Melissa. Perhaps this woman just stepped out of her magical mystery time machine from the '50s when women always wore skirts and dresses in every work-related situation - that is, if they were permitted to work outside the home. Maybe she just came from a culture where women aren't allowed to wear pants. The more likely situation is that she's my age. She's an American woman who still harbors the idea that a skirt suit is more appropriate business apparel than pants. What the hell, people??? This is a progressive generation. We are a forward-thinking populace. Why are there women, sisters of mine, who believe without even realizing it that they are expected to wear skirts in the workplace. That somehow, they will be more respected in a skirt than in pants. That maybe wearing pants is a way to let men know that you want to be just like them... and we can't have men thinking you're too tough, now can we? Oh no.

Women, ladies, sisters, listen to me now. I need you to hear me - if you want to wear a skirt, wear one. If you want to wear pants, wear them. Wear your hair up or down. Wear flats or heels. Wear whatever color your best suit is. But stop - stop - relying on apparel guidelines from 1953. Welcome to 2006.

I'm not out of the running yet!

Married to the Sea is the new site by Drew & Natalie Dee. They're funny. This new site is funny, too. The links to their individual sites are at the bottom of my "click this" list at the right, in case you want a laugh or twelve.



I was shutting everything down here at the roach and ant-infested office (I really, really wish that weren't true) last night and I decided to check my email one last time just in case the people from the jobby job wrote to me telling me how much they love and adore me (seemed to be the theme of this weekend, it was worth a shot). Lo and behold there was, indeed, an email from the very cool vice prez letting me know they're still in the midst of the decision making process and they plan on wrapping it up by Wednesday. She apologized for the delay and said she'd be in touch soon. The tone was very casual and friendly. I really appreciated that extra effort (most places don't keep candidates informed in the slightest), and I see it as a sign that I'm not entirely out of the running. Because of course I had myself convinced by 10AM yesterday that I would be getting a "thanks, but no thanks" call at any moment. Heaven forbid I give myself an iota of credit when it really counts, you know. The man made a good point last night - he said that she may not have even sent anything to the other 2 prospects, and that until she gives me reason not to, I should take it as a friendly little shout-out to let me know I've got a good shot. Whether or not it's true, that's what I'm telling myself. It lets me not obsess quite so passionately for the time being.

Work-related side note: Cuban Lady is playing Andrea Boccelli. Sounds like an innocuous musical accompaniment to the day, right? It's not - not when you consider that she's been playing it a bit too loudly since yesterday morning and I can't handle that much Italian operatic stuff for an extended period of time. She's going to lunch soon and I'm going to unplug her radio.

Work-related side note #2 (gem from last week):
Me: *sneeze, sneeze*
Cuban Lady: You sneeze like a little dog.
Me: (cheerful tone, smile on face) You look like you got hit in the face with a bat. We even now?

Recurring Theme of My Life

Balance. Yin and yang. Back and forth. Light and dark. Ebb and flow. If only it was as simple to achieve the balance I'm seeking just by following these concise, handy little instructions. Deep breaths, more sleep. Sure, that's all it takes.

This past weekend in New York was great (really) and awful (really). Great because I gave it my all at an interview for a job that I really want (still waiting to hear back from them - I'm so hopeful. I'm sure the good vibes from everyone did me good. Maybe I'll have good news soon.). Great because I got to see my friends again. Great because I love being in that city more than anywhere else. Awful because I had an experience with a friend that essentially killed our relationship. Long story short, he professed his undying love for me and then told me of his impending co-habitation with his new girlfriend who he's not sure he loves... Which basically means I can't spend time with him when I move back. It wouldn't be fair to anyone since I now know his true feelings - not me, not him, not her. So, our friendship is pretty much over and that hurts. It actually hurts more than I anticipated. He's part of my New York (everyone has their own, you know) so when I go back, my version of the city will be missing something.

I'm tired. I feel like a need a break from travelling, but this weekend I'm headed back to New York for an awesome concert that the man got me tickets for (fabulous valentine's present!). It'll be really good to go back, but this is going to be a busy week and I'm having one of those days I just wish I could sleep though. *yawn* I need a nap.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

That's me creating my own good vibrations. If you could all create some of your own (I know I've sent you all on a vibe kick lately, but this'll be the last time I ask for awhile, promise) I'd really truly super duper appreciate it.

2nd interview went well. The little creative exercise I was so freaked out about was actually something I've done before, and I think I nailed it. I hope I nailed it. I feel like I nailed it, so for now I'm going on the assumption that I, indeed, nailed it. Again, the people are great, the position is great, the company is great - and I WANT THIS JOB.

They said they'll be in touch in a couple of days. So now I wait. And what does Melissa do while she waits? She obsesses, of course!

In order to get me out of my own head for a bit, Julie and I are going into the city a little later to go to the MAC store. Makeup always makes me feel good, so a little makeup shopping, a little martini drinking, and I will be one happy camper. I'll let you know what crazy eye shadow color I end up with.

P.S. The man's father is in the hospital. He's having some tests run. Right now there's no way to tell what the deal is, we're operating under the assumption that it's not major, but we just don't know yet. Let me edit the above plea for vibes - send them to the man and the man's dad. Anything left over I'll take. That's a much better plan.

And you can tell everybody, this is your Song...

Let me just sing the praises of my favorite airline for a moment. Song rocks. They rock in every way. The schedules are great, the planes are new and nice, the in-flight crews have always been the nicest (it's hard not to be when your uniform was designed by Kate Spade), the food they sell is actual food (the fruit & cheese box is brie, colby jack, crackers, fresh grapes, strawberries, apples, and dried apricots - and it's good), the entertainment system in the seat backs is the best out there, and the prices are low. So why haven't more people taken advantage of this fabulous airline? As of May, Song will be folded into Delta (it's parent airline) and the Song fabulousness will cease to exist. I'm bummed out. JetBlue is the only cool, new, low cost carrier that's come out recently that has been able to stick around for more than 2 or 3 years. And there aren't any Kate Spade uniforms or fruit & cheese boxes there. *hrumph*

Enough about my airline rants & raves. (I love you, Song! You had me at "hello"!) I leave tonight for New York. My second interview is tomorrow morning - bright and early, at 8:30. Send some good, job-getting vibes to midtown when you wake up. I'll be in the 30s between Madison & Park.