We all know that clowns creep me out, right?

This one especially. He's scary. He wields actual Miami city government power, that's even scarier than his diminutive drunk-ass self.

Check this out. This guy means business, and I like him.

The Assclown Strikes Again

And this time it's even better than just his usual behavior of being a belligerent asshole. Take a look at this quote and then click to read the article it's taken from: “I think it’s a disgrace that a commissioner would get himself in that position — it looks bad for the whole county.” — Barbara Schwartz, former assistant U.S. attorney.

He's gone way past the point of being tolerable. He has got to go. The people of Miami need to get him out of office. As if I needed another reason to be glad I don't live there anymore. In case you didn't see my previous rant about him, here's my personal backstory with this idiot. His picture is a bit different, no?

It's nice to know that some things never change - Johhny Winton is still an assclown.

Hurry up and wait... not the most promising sign

I had the interview today. It was scheduled at 2:00. I was there at 2:00 sharp. I filled out their application (pet peeve: corporations that require applications to be filled out when they have your resume and all the info is right there, I understand why they do it, I still hate it), gave it back to the receptionist, and sat. And sat. And sat. The first 20 minutes went by and I thought "they're just busy, no big deal, surely someone will come get me soon". Then it was half an hour. Then 45 minutes. At the one hour mark I started to pack up my stuff because I had to get back to work - I was going to see if they could reschedule my interview for a more convenient time - just then the HR lady came out to bring me back to the offices. Nice.

She's strange. She's frazzled and obviously stressed out, she's repeating herself a lot, she's tripping over her own feet on the way to her office. She's wearing a long, pleated, polkadot dress a la my mom in 1989... and not in a cool retro way. She mentions to me that it's important to be flexible in this office at least 5 times on the minute-long walk we take to the other side of the floor. She never apologizes about the wait. Remember, it's been an entire hour.

We get to her office and sit down. 2 minutes later, right as she was about to actually ask me a question about my background, she closes the folder that has my application and resume in it and says we need to move to another office. She didn't get a phone call or a knock at the door to tell her that, she just abruptly moved us apparently due to a sign from god that I wasn't privy to. Either god or the voices in her head and at this point I'm betting it wasn't a heavenly intervention. So, we move. We start the process again. She leaves. She just gets up and leaves. She's gone for a couple minutes. She gets back and says, "So where were we?". No explanation of why she left with no warning or where she went, she's just ready to pick up where we left off.

Long story short, I finally met w/the production manager (who would be my boss) and she was cool. We only had 20 minutes together, but she seemed impressed with me and interested. All signs from her point to a second interview. All signs from the HR lady point to the sanitarium. Out of 2 hours I spent there only 20 minutes of it were productive. Let's hope they were productive enough to get a call back. Let's also hope that if they hire me I'll have no reason to interact with HR lady again.

Power Tie

I've got an interview. The organization is a good one, from everything I've read. I'm excited about the prospect of working for them. I hope they don't suck and that I impress the hell out of them when I get there tomorrow. I've got a great ensemble planned out (I'm going to look like I mean business and have killer style - which is 100% true), I'm feeling good about my abilities and skill set, I've got a good resume (which is being tweaked, man it's nice to know designers) and I'm feeling confident.

All that said, I'm having a tough time because my patience for the job search is wearing thin. As I told one of my wonderful sounding boards today, if I don't get a job - a real job that makes me feel worthy and skilled and valued as a professional (no offense, coffee job, but I've got mad skills and customer service is not my chosen field) - I'm going to be suffering from a severe case of ego atrophy. It will be bad and will require more recovery time than I can afford to give.

So, tomorrow around 2:00, send me good vibrations and positive energy if you have some extra just lying around. Really, one of these times it's bound to pay off, right? I'll be looking good and feeling good and presenting myself in the best way possible. Hopefully that will add up to an awesome job offer. My fingers, toes, eyes, and heartstrings are all crossed in anticipation.

Stolen

I'm stealing this from Beebs because it's too good not to steal.

"And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

- Anais Nin

So very true. Words, aren't they just magical things? I told Beebs that she was the guardian angel of my psyche today because I needed to read that quote at the exact moment I jumped over to her blog.

Eggplant?

I fully realize that my nose is not the size of an eggplant. I know it's just fine for the rest of my face and fits well with the other features I've got. But this picture screams nothing but "eggplant nose" to me. Not "cute freckles", not "nice flower", not "funny angle", only "eggplant nose".

Why is that? Why are we so self-critical? Why do we allow our own body images to get so out of whack that we don't see ourselves the way everyone else does? It's bizarre. I can sit here and get frustrated with Nicole Richie and Lara Flynn Boyle for being so stick-skinny - "they're so unhealthy, why don't they know they should be happy with themselves they way they are, someone get that girl a sandwich!" - and yet I have myself convinced that I have an eggplant nose. I'm aware that there is nothing eggplant-esque about my face, but try and tell me that when I look at this particular picture and I'll tell you my nose is massive.

Women... can't live with us, can't kick us in the head.

You just call out my name

And you know wherever I am
I'll come running
Just to see you again...
You've got a friend

I've got good ones. I know that. It's easy to take things for granted, but my friends are the one thing that I always try to keep at the top of the "I'm grateful for..." list.

Kristie sent me a card last week that was the perfect expression of a friend. She mixed genuine care for my well being with encouragement and a healthy dose of ass-kicking protective-ness. It's the balance of what a best friend does - she loves you and makes you laugh and threatens bodily harm to anyone who makes you feel bad. I've been having a great time since I've been back in New York, but there are things that have gotten me down, and I know I can count on her to pick me up when I'm being dragged down by my own emotions.

Coming back to this city has reinforced that feeling of home you get when you find the place you belong. It's remarkable to me that I can feel such an intense connection to a city that did not raise me. A city that adopted me as much as I adopted it. I feel that New York is part of my identity and always has been, even before I knew it. So, while I feel all of that wonderful positive energy for where I am, I have a hard time with it because it's not where Kristie is. Something I admire about her is that she can make you feel like she's right there in the room with you even when she's 4 hours away. Whether it's a phone call, a card, an email - she always makes me feel better when I'm upset, lighter when I'm weighed down, accompanied when I'm lonely. That's the mark of a good friend. She's on the top of my "I'm grateful for" list.

You don't fit in this seat...

... because I'm already sitting here.

FYI to the woman who sat on me on the train this morning - I was sitting there for a good 5 minutes before you got on. I didn't sneak beneath you just before you were about to lower yourself onto the seat. When you stepped onto the train and didn't look around before you sat down directly on my lap it startled and hurt me. I don't mean in an emotional way - I mean that when you sat down it physically hurt my legs because you weigh more than twice what I do. Also, for future reference, it's customary to stand up very quickly once you realize you've sat on something you shouldn't have, whether that be a pair of sunglasses, a sandwich, or a person. You must not have known this because you remained seated on top of me while looking over your shoulder with a look of disdain upon your chubby face. Not my fault that you're oblivious. Not my fault that you sat on someone. Next time don't take a good 30 seconds to stand up, huffing and puffing the whole time.

Here Are My Opinions Because I'm Very Important

www.nataliedee.com. The woman is a genius.

Blogging is a strange thing, isn't it? For me, it amounts to this: I think things. I think things and I like to spout off my opinions. What to do? Blog. Simple plan.

It's an outlet. It's a dumping ground. It's a sounding board. It's a mirror. Is it more than that? I'd like to say no. I'd like to say it's just my little tool I use to get out whatever's rattling around in my noggin.

Ay, here's the rub - I've made friends in the blogosphere. I've met some of them in person. Quite a few, actually. Who knew Brooklyn was such a hotbed of blog activity? I missed 2 chances to hang out with a group of them this past week, which bites donkey balls, but I'm sure there will be more opportunities. Not only have I made friends, but I've discovered new people, new businesses, artists I admire (go check out my comments from the last post and click Karrie's page... this woman likes MY blog. What? Wicked cool.), writers that make me stop and think.

So blogging has become more than a journal for me. More than a vehicle to purge my psyche. Amazing. As a brilliant musician I know likes to say, "A-maz-ing." Right on.

P.S. Can someone please help me get "Freedom" by George Michael out of my head? I mean, I love that song (underrated artist), but days on end is enough.

I wonder

I wonder where the road will lead. Will I follow it no matter the path? Can I branch off and start anew? I have before. I will again. I keep telling myself it's all about the journey. I know that's true, and yet, my patience for the outcome wanes.

Instinct

When someone shows you who they are, believe them. The first time.

If only it were that simple. Such a good principle. When someone shows you their true colors, see them for what and who they are. Are they vibrant? Muted? Shades of grey? Whatever that person's palette is, just see it. Believe it. Know that your eyes and instincts are not fooling you. Trust your gut.

I'm going to start doing that more often. Lately I've found myself disappointed in people and I think it's because I honestly gave some of them a bit too much credit. I extended the hope card a smidge too far. I'm a hopeful person. Sometimes you can't tell by the things I write on this blog. I'm sure I seem cynical and jaded and downright nasty at times. The underlying thing about me is that even in the darkest times of despair I retain hope for the situation, for people around me, for life in general. Unfortunately that hope in people has been tested a number of times lately.

From here on out I'm believing people when they show me who they are. When someone's intentions see the light of day I'm going to look head-on and take note of what they might be. Then and only then can I chart a course of action.

Ah, memories

www.toothpastefordinner.com. Brilliant.

Ever feel that way in gym class? Personally, I could never climb that damn rope. Still can't. It's a coordination thing that I just do not possess. Can't do it. Can't shimmy up a pole, can't climb a rope. Sit & reach? Now there's a test I can kick ass in. Push ups? Chin ups? Let's not get carried away. No need to go crazy with the cheese whiz, kids.

Happy bloody Monday and stuff. It's raining in my fair metropolis.

PSA: Because I'm Annoyed

Women: If the clothing you have put on requires constant adjustment, shifting or maintenance perhaps you should find another outfit. If your jacket is so snug that it requires a strong tug on each lapel every 37.8 seconds to keep your ample bosoms from spilling out you should realize that it does not fit you. I'm sure it's a very nice jacket... for you when you were 17 or for someone 4 sizes smaller than you. If your skirt needs to be tugged down to avoid your booty cheeks peeking out - that skirt does not fit you! Please, my sisters, wear clothing that makes you feel good, that you feel comfortable in. That is the only way to really pull off a sexy vibe. Your fidgeting is distracting and annoying and actually embarrassing. I don't like it and neither do men.

P.S. I despise you even more when you're making all the afore mentioned adjustments while leaning on the subway pole so that the rest of us have to subway surf our way to West 4th.

PSA, because I care

Men: combovers make you look ridiculous. Please cut that crap out.

Sad news

A friend's mother has passed away. She was the epitome of vibrancy. Funny and smart, a great mom and a damn fine woman. Not only am I sad for him and missing her, but her death is making me appreciate and fear my own parents' mortality. Today is a tough day.

On an upnote: Kristie's back from vacation. I'm glad, I missed her.

Oh right, this is what life is

I've had a day today. You know the kind - things happen that make you think something (maybe several things if you're lucky enough), breathe a little deeper, squinch up your brow and open your eyes a bit wide than they were before. One of the thought provoking things to happen to me today consisted of a phone call from a man upstate who wanted to order some coffee (oh yes, my little temp job is still around, doing it's duty until I step back into the corporate fray). He's been a regular customer for years, but this time it had been several months since his last order. You see, he couldn't call in his normal order because he was in the hospital.

He had been thrown from a horse and broken his back and arm. He was in the hospital for 3 months and is now back home recuperating nicely. He suffered no lasting paralysis, no serious permanent damage, his prognosis is good. All that after almost dying.

He is also blind.

He told me that people have asked him, "What the hell were you doing on a horse if you can't see?" His response to them was that they had a good chance of being thrown, too, since a horse is rather larger and stronger than any human, sighted or not. Sight wouldn't have helped him land better, in fact it probably would have given him a good idea where to put his hands to break his fall and get his other arm broken, too. He doesn't want to sit home and mope about being blind - he wants to really live his life, he wants to be an active participant in the world. The man is happy to be alive. He told me that he's lucky and every day he wakes up with a headache is better than not waking at all. He's so right. What a simple, glorious concept. We chatted about life and love and what it means to live your life, not just go through the motions. We spoke of tragedy and trauma and how sometimes real beauty comes from such a dark place - I know a lot about that after this past year or so. Sometimes a small dose of perspective can really change your outlook. He helped realign mine today, got me back on the humanity train.

Now I'm home, watching a great special on TLC. Jamie Oliver (he's the most yumtastic chef around - I met him once and he's even more adorable and lovely in person) is going to schools in poor regions of England in an attempt to get the children better quality lunches. Their schools prepare terrible, processed foods every day and sometimes school lunches are the only meal they get all day. Here in the land of fat and gluttony I often forget that other "civilized" nations have poverty and health problems. I'm actually upsetting myself quite a bit just thinking about people in my own neighborhood who have to go hungry. I know they're here, right around the corner, living on my street, living on your street. Parents who skip meals to put food in their kids' mouths. Kids who say they're not very hungry to make sure that their younger brothers and sisters have dinner. I'm choked up at the moment and can't articulate my thoughts very well.

There is wrong in the world, and there is right. The wrong surrounds us, yet so does the right. The blind man with the broken back looks for the right and tries to do his part to get rid of some wrong along the way. I can only hope that I do the same. I think I do. I try. I think we could all do with some more trying.

Settling in, little by little

This is one of our stained glass windows. Pretty, isn't it?

This morning I got up at the buttcrack of dawn and went to the laundry. Took a walk, put the laundry away, unpacked 5 boxes, rearranged the sewing studio furniture. Realized I need to get a sewing desk pronto.

There's something cleansing about a new space. A fresh start, a new chance to organize yourself better, a change. If only that change didn't involve the addition of a screaming toddler every morning at 6:15... it's OK, if that's all I have to swallow for living here I can deal-a-meal.

Funny neighborhood moment: I was sitting on the stoop (best part of Brooklyn - the stoop) earlier talking to my friend, Renee, on the phone when a man walked past. As he passed, he said, "Oh my god, a sexy girl in my neighborhood! When did this happen? Nobody told me." It was actually funny. Even funnier since I was the biggest grub bucket this side of the Mississippi. A few hours of laundry and unpacking layered on top of a an unshowered, sweatpant-wearing Melissa doesn't make for a pretty sight. But hey - it's in the eye of the beholder, right?

I'm still here

I swear. I've just been crazy busy and this week has been a pissah (read that w/a thick Boston accent and you'll nail it).

We're all moved in. We love it.

I'm still waiting to hear from the job. Ugh

I've got a new hobby.

Tomorrow night I'm going out w/K Lance, L. Britt & Tuckergirl and we're gonna shake it 'till they say to us, "Damn, they don't make 'em like that anymore!"

I'll write more when we actually have an internet connection at the house (long story, has to do with the very convenient smooth move of our previous landlord to "forget" to give us our router back).

Smooches & smacks, y'all.