Glass-Eyed Grady's

My Obituary

2011-11-18T06:30:00.000-05:00

Melissa Dawn Dinsio-Miller died today from the funk that had been in her lungs since May, and the thought of getting a seven year-old ready for school simply overwhelmed her.

Melissa was born on August 23, 1968 in Youngstown, Ohio, to Amil and Linda Mulligan-Dinsio. She was their favorite child, which was really great during the younger years of Melissa's life because her parents never made her do anything. Unfortunately, though, being the favorite child came back to bite Melissa in the arse because she ended up taking care of her mother with Alzheimer's. Of course, Melissa died only ten days after putting her mother in a nursing home. That is the kind of luck she always had.

Surviving Melissa is her husband, Danny Dinsio-Miller, whom Melissa repeatedly married. She just couldn't quit. It was the weirdest thing.

Also surviving Melissa are her two daughters, Delaney and Emerson. Delaney is a freshman in college and is quite wrapped up in her own life there. She has always been a wonderful daughter, and will attend her mother's funeral if a sorority event does not conflict with it. But Melissa would understand, because Delaney gets fined if she misses sorority events, and that's just a ridiculous rule.

Emerson is devastated at the loss of her mother, but she will get over it. Soon, she will be calling another woman "Mom" and Melissa will become a vague memory. Melissa will be okay with that, too, because that's just the way she rolled. Melissa was really kind of cool that way.

Melissa is also survived by her sisters, Deborah and Amie. They were surprised at Melissa's death because everyone just assumed Debbie would die first. She was the oldest and the sickest, so it really should have been her.

Miraculously, Melissa earned a B.S.Ed. and a J.D. She rarely attended the classes or bought the books for them. The only way she got through law school is by becoming close friends with the three smartest people in the class. Later in her life, Melissa became a Licensed Nursing Home Administrator, which was her true calling in life. Too bad she didn't work at it very long, but, hey, that's just the way the mop flops (as her mother was fond of saying).

Overall, Melissa's life was kind of boring. She hated to travel and she had no bucket list. None. Pathetic, really.

Melissa's casket will be closed because Amie will look at her face and determine that Melissa should've had Juvederm and Botox injections, and no one should really see her face in its present condition.

Melissa's mother will not be attending the funeral because it will be too annoying for everyone to say every thirty seconds, "Melissa. Your daughter. She's the one in the box." Her father will not attend the funeral either because he is in prison in New York, and the authorities will not transport inmates across state lines for funerals. Even for those of their favorite children.

Despite how boring Melissa's life was, she enjoyed it. She loved her family and friends, and she saw the humor in everything. She was also addicted to Facebook, and someone really should have staged an intervention for that problem.

Melissa is not upset about her death at all. She was a Mormon, and had absolutely no doubt about what is on the other side of the veil. Currently, she is enjoying a beautiful reunion with family and friends who passed before her.

Interment will be in Jacksonville City Cemetery in Jacksonville, Alabama, even though she hates her cemetery plot. It is right up against the fence of a stranger's backyard. But that's what you get when you send your glass-eyed cousin, Grady, to find you a cemetery plot. Lesson learned.

Melissa's death is senseless, really. The whole thing could have been avoided if today were Saturday and she didn't have to get a seven year-old ready for school.

Trust Me

2011-10-18T11:11:00.001-04:00

Just some things for you to think about:

1. When you are stopped for a DUI, DWI, OVI, or whatever your state calls it, try not to literally sh*t yourself while doing the field sobriety tests. When the officer looks down and sees the contents of your colon (nice alliteration) running out of your pants and onto your shoes, it's a pretty safe bet that you'll be arrested. But that's not your only problem. The officers then fight over who has to put your smelly, poop-covered body into whose cruiser. That makes them hate you. Then, when you go to court for your DUI, you get labeled "Poopy Pants" and no one wants to listen to the half-assed defense I have to come up with for someone who sh*t his pants. And that makes me hate you.

2. Do NOT urinate in the backseat of the cruiser. Admittedly, urine is slightly better than poop, but TRUST ME, when you get to court, no one will know your name; you simply will be referred to as "The Assh*le Who Pissed Himself." That does not make my job any easier and, again, that makes me hate you.

3. Look, we all know Troopers look gay in their hats. They know they look gay in their hats. Gay-looking Trooper hats are just a part of life that we have to accept. So, when you tell the Trooper that his hat looks gay, you strike a quite unpleasant chord in him because, as I said, HE ALREADY KNOWS HE LOOKS GAY. You, my friend, are going to jail, drunk or not.

4. A cruiser is NEVER the appropriate place to masturbate, especially if you are unattractive. 'Nuff said there.

5. Do not tell the officer that you are going to beat his *ss. Really. You smell like a brewery, you can't stand up straight and you have bodily waste on your clothes. You're no match for the guy with the taser and the Glock who is wearing clean clothes and is sober enough to stand on one foot. And, of course, you will become someone that I hate. And you will do alot more jail time than the significantly smarter drunk that didn't threaten the cop. It's a simple concept, really.

With that, I hope I've helped to make your next DUI traffic stop go more smoothly.

More From Court

2011-09-30T06:49:00.000-04:00

I think that some things go without saying, but apparently I am wrong. So listen up, folks:

If a man chokes you to the point that you defecate and then he takes it and smears it all over your body, you don't have to stay with him because he has cable. EVERYONE has cable. Certainly, you can find someone that won't smear poop all over your body in exchange for the privilege of watching his HBO. And, for the love of all that is holy, DO NOT tell the police that his cable is the reason you stay with him. Comments like that just end up on blogs like this one.

Fyi--POLICE CARS ARE WIRED FOR SOUND. If you are ever in the backseat of a cruiser, DO NOT say anything like, "I told you to put the drugs up your p*ssy!" And NEVER say, "Tell them you got the drugs from a drug dealer--some other drug dealer, not me." You pretty much have no defense at that point.

When you beat your girlfriend/wife and you appear for court, DO NOT yell at her, for EVERYONE in the court to hear, that she better change or story or you will f*ck her up. Again, you have made sure that you have no defense.

And this may come as a shock to you, but your public defender is a REAL attorney. You don't get out of your last two periods of high school to go to your job as a public defender. You actually have to have an undergraduate degree AND go to law school, AND pass the bar exam to be a public defender. When you tell your public defender that you want a REAL attorney, you accomplish two things: you confirm that you are, in fact, a moron; and you make your public defender secretly wish that you get the death penalty for shoplifting.

Now that we have all that straight, carry on with your day, hopefully a little more informed.

More Of What I Learned In Court

2011-09-03T08:47:00.001-04:00

I like to keep you all informed, just in case you ever wind up in court or, worse yet, the slammer. So this is what I learned this week while carrying out my duties as a public defender:

If a drunken brawl breaks out at your house on your birthday, try to refrain from throwing your birthday cake, candles and all, at the police car that responds to your neighbors' request to quiet down the trash that lives next door to them. And then don't get mad when you're charged with disorderly conduct, idiot.

Do not EVER write in a police report that you only let your boyfriend/pimp have a certain type of sex with you on New Year's Eve and the Fourth of July. That is WAY TMI, and, trust me, the police report will get passed around to everyone who walks into the courthouse. Aside from that, it's just not very classy, even for a prostitute.

No matter how angry you are, do not smear your own feces on the wall of the holding cell. You are the one that has to stay in it and admire your artwork. Moron.

Try really hard not to scream "F*** you!" over and over again at the judge, prosecutor, bailiff, secretary, and anyone else in the courtroom. You can be held in contempt of court for a long time. Then again, if you're in court on bank robbery charges, contempt of court is probably the least of your worries.

Finally, on a personal note, tell your public defender that you bathed IN THE TOILET that morning BEFORE she shakes your hand!
____________________________
Thank you so much for all my sweet birthday cards! I felt so loved!

Just More Drivel

2011-08-16T15:58:00.000-04:00

This post is quite special, for a couple of reasons. First, it is my 100th post! Can you believe it? I have bored you guys with my ramblings and drivel 100 times now! Okay, some of the posts were funny, some were kinda meh, but some just downright sucked!

So, I have to ask: Why do you stick around? Why do you continue to read the nonsense that hits my brain and then the keyboard? Seriously, don't you guys have lives with exciting things in them???

This post is also special because it's the day I announce that my birthday is exactly one week from today! Yep, on August 23, I will turn 43, and I'm pretty proud of it. I truly can't believe that all my drinking and driving (many, many years ago), or one of the men that I screwed over didn't kill me. I guess it just wasn't my time!

So, this is how my birthday works at my house: I make a list of the things I want and I give it to everyone. I list many things, in many price ranges, and in many categories. I even list where to find the item at the store. I know that sounds so horribly rude, but I can finally admit the truth: I'M SICK OF GETTING USELESS CRAP I DON'T WANT!!! Can I get an "Amen"? Come on, I know you feel the same way!

And this year I am unabashedly stealing from the fabulous Kellie and soliciting e-cards from you for my birthday. Really? Really. Don't you want to make a girl feel loved? You can send the e-card to the address on the blog or to mdinsio@yahoo.com.

I'm so excited! I can't wait to see my cards!

Love,
Melissa

Payless Is Great

2011-07-26T17:57:00.019-04:00

Can you actually hack up a lung? I've heard that expression, but I never saw it happen, or met anyone to whom it has happened. If it is possible to hack up a lung, BE WARNED: I THINK MINE IS COMING WITHIN THE NEXT 24 HOURS. I would advise you not to stand in front of me, especially in your good clothes.

Even if you choose not to heed my warning, I promise, I'll find you a great pair of shoes that match lung.

So, I'm still sick. The doctor said I have asthma, bronchitis (Danny didn't think I would really tell the doctor that I've been using eleven year-old Biaxin to treat it), and pan sinusitis. I figured I had all those diseases and disorders; I mean any hypochondriac worth her weight in salt has all that diagnosed before she walks into the doctor's office.

But listen to this shiznit: HE THINKS I MAY HAVE A HEART CONDITION!!!! That kind of information can send a hypochondriac to an early grave. Okay, I have to write the obligatory letters to my children, husband, parents and sisters. I have to clean my house (not happening, but it feels like I have to at least write it), choose my funeral, get a mani/pedi, and have my hair styled and colored. I also have to find bone marrow donors.

The most important thing I need to do is write a post to my Internet family letting them know how much I love them.

Sheesh. Is someone with a heart condition supposed to work that hard?

The doctor interrupted my mental-list-making by explaining that he thinks I might have mitral valve prolapse, which is relatively benign in females, and that it is regurgitating my blood in the heart. (Yes, I do have blood, and sometimes it's even warm.)

So I did the only reasonable thing: I called my sister and cried because I know she has mitral valve prolapse, for which she is medicated.

As usual she was quite supportive about the matter.

She said, "Dumb ass, you already know you have mitral valve prolapse."

"Huh, what do you mean?"

"Yes, you ass! You got tested after I did and I remember your results so clearly because when I heard them, I thought, 'Can't I have a single effin' thing this bitch doesn't have also.' "

Well, I have some shopping for lung-colored shoes to do. Do you prefer Payless or Nordstrom? (Please say Payless, please say Payless, please say Payless......)

Please Help Me Get My Ear Back!

2011-07-12T08:24:00.011-04:00

The elfin ear depicted in the photo to the right------------> (just in case you're a real idiot like I am and you have to sit there and think about which way is right and which way is left) is gone.

It wasn't a Van Gogh-esque self-mutilation, and I wasn't attacked in a dark alley for the $.50 and the curiously strong Altoids I carry in my purse.

That ear has always been a family joke because it is a wee bit elfin-shaped. Until this year, I would never wear a ponytail because of it. Then I decided, "Screw it. You've got one foot at the crematory and the other on that filthy dirty kitchen floor of yours, so wear a pony tail, for the love of the Son of God," so I did. And even with my paranoia issues, I didn't feel like anyone was looking at me. (Yet another psychological breakthrough!)

Anyway, I was straightening my hair the other day, and I got to that part of my hair and I tried to be extra careful. But Beelzebub and Lucifer (my sister and my husband) were in rare form and distracted me, and I burned the elfin part of my ear off. OFF. It hurt so much I would rather have a baby come out sideways! Oh, the humanity!

And all I could think of was how mad my sister was going to be at me. She LOVES to torment me about that ear. Hopefully, there will be lots of scar tissue or it will heal worse than it was before and she can still make fun of it.

A girl can pray.

In fact, we all can pray. What are you doing Thursday at about 7 p.m. EST? What if everyone gets down on their knees and prays for my ear? That would be so kind of you! Thank you, in advance.

And if you're a member of one of those chanting religions, you can do it too. I'm not making fun of your religion; I just don't know the name of it. Oh, hell, I am making fun of your religion. Let's face it: I'm making fun of my own religion, so yours doesn't get a pass. But at 7 p.m. EST on Thursday, if you could just repeatedly chant, "Melissa's ear, Melissa's ear," I'm sure that would be ever so helpful, and I'm sure all of you, chanters and non-chanters alike, will amass a boatload of heaven points. I, on the other hand, have most assuredly guaranteed my way into hell with this post.

Oh, well, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get her ugly ear back.

Idiocy

2011-07-02T10:22:00.000-04:00

My doctor but me on a new medication and I've got idiot, like Scarlett's father in "Gone with the Wind". It doesn't happen when I'm speaking ' only when I'm writin, so I'm writing, so I'm writing this entire post without changing anything. I want you to see what this drug has done to me.

I soooo wiosh I could tell you everything that's been going on, but too many of the people involved read my blog and I don't have the balls to read handle the after math. Of course, they're all paranoid, so they will correctly thing it's about them anyway. Still, no balls.

My older baby graduated and my sister took her Europe. They went to Denmark, London, Paris, Gaermany, Switzerland and Italy. ( I wrote some cities and some states because I'm not smart enough to know which cities she talks about go with which countries. I shoul've paid attention more in high school. Turns out you really do need it. Only for a stupid blog, but nonetheless, you really do need it.)

Just to horrify me, I'm sure, they put a video of my sister 9 (really daughter(but I'm not changing anything, remember?) blowing a horn at the Moulin Rouge (soooo coool) on Facebook and titled it "Delaney Blows Swiss Wood". Yeah, I pretty much wanted to die.

I just found out I'm late for an appoint ment, so I fave to go.
Love you guys so much!!!!
Melissa

Some Friendly Advice

2011-06-24T09:46:00.000-04:00

After going to court yesterday, it occurred to me that some of you might need some advice:

First of all, if you are working your way through college at a strip club (because that's the only reason anyone ever works at a strip club) don't be surprised if some drunken man or a drunken co-worker tries to beat the crap out of you. I'm not saying you deserve it; I'm just saying don't be surprised. Also, don't be surprised if your co-workers try to steal your cocaine. Some people just have no morals.

Don't be surprised if your husband or boyfriend is beating you bloody and you are yelling for someone to call the police, and someone does. So try not to get too hostile with the police that were called at your request, or with the person that honored your request and called them. Perhaps a more appropriate outlet for your anger would be the douche that was beating you.

When you write a statement at the time of your abusive husband/boyfriend's arrest, please don't change your story when you go to court. Everyone knows you're lying. It happens everyday, and it does nothing but make you, your husband/boyfriend, and your husband/boyfriend's public defender look like giant idiots.

If you are going to steal a dozen or so items, try not to leave your wallet in the gym bag with those items.

Try not to call your public defender a bitch. She really is the only person in the room on your side.

Try not to hug your public defender. She is being nice, but she really is afraid of the lice she thinks are jumping from your hair to hers. Give her some peace, please.

Do not ever, ever tell your arresting officer that his hat "looks gay", regardless of how silly it really does look. You just have to trust me on this one.

Don't ask me for bus fare. I got burned on that once, and it's not happening again!

I'm Ba-a-ack!

2011-06-22T10:13:00.000-04:00

So here's my next report on being a sahm:

Still nothing. Zero. Zip.

I've stayed at home, and I've been a mom, but I've been sooo sick for weeks. I mean, I've been Black Plague sick. It's been awful. I just manged to kinda get my voice back on Thursday. All I could do for weeks was to go to Delaney and Daniel's graduation and graduation parties (cause I'm just THAT kind of mom). Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures to show you just yet because I don't know how to work the camera.

Oh, wait! Yesterday, I did manage to go to a mandatory cheerleading meeting for Emerson and then spray half a bottle of weed killer on the tall-as-my-knees weeds in my flower beds. That's a sure sign I'm on the mend.

I kinda don't want to be on the mend, though. I lost about ten pounds during this little illness, so I'm quite certain I could have the Black Plague everyday and be perfectly happy.

Love,
Melissa

I'll Be Sleeping With The Fishes

2011-06-10T14:55:00.002-04:00

Okay, it's time to report back to you about my first week as a sahm.

I have nothing. Zero. Zip.

This was Emerson's last week of school, so I gave her cold cereal for breakfast while in my pajamas, and I didn't have to teach her the wonders of the universe over noon-time lunches, and most nights I fell asleep before she did. One day I even stayed in my pajamas all day!

So I guess I failed. Surprised?

Well, I did have one MAJOR Pass that my brain turned into a FAIL.

I managed to dodge the PTA all week! They wanted me to chaperone a field trip at the zoo, but, darn, I had a doctor's appointment that day.

They wanted me to help out with Field Day, but I had company coming in from out of town.

They wanted me to help with lunch duty, but I had an appointment to take my car into the shop at that precise time!

Can you believe the coincidences?

I just plain wasn't doing any of that. There was a torrential downpour at the zoo and, well...it kinda smells like animals at the zoo. Out!

I hated Field Day back when I was a participant, and I can't even imagine what it would be like to re-live that experience. I would probably suffer PTSD and go kill my old gym teacher, Mr. Austin.

And the cafeteria thing--no way! The cafeteria lady scares me. All cafeteria ladies are mean, and this one does nothing but yell, even at the parent helpers. No way, no how was that happening! I had enough of the cafeteria lady when I was in school! These kids are on their own with her!

I was feeling smug and quite proud of my accomplishments until I realized whom I was dealing with: I WAS MESSING WITH THE P FRIGGIN' T FRIGGIN' A!!!!!!!

Now I'm scared.

Aren't the PTA moms trained by the Mafia, or don't they go to one of those guerrilla warfare camps or something? I think they try to hide it, but I've heard rumors. If you get one of them mad, you've had it. You end up wearing the cement shoes. The "dues" are actually payment to keep them from breaking your legs if you say no.

And I said no THREE TIMES in one week!

I know I'm waking up tomorrow morning with my cat's head in my bed.

Gratitude

2011-06-08T13:07:00.004-04:00

After telling HolyMama! that I was going to do it, I am stealing her idea for a post (because, as I teach my children, if you're going to steal something, you have to tell the owner first).

So, right here, right now, I am grateful:

for my family, friends, home, health, blah, blah, blah. Amen.

for the fact that my children are in school and Danny is at work, which gives me the opportunity to neglect my sahm duties in favor of blogging and Bejeweled Blitz.

for my pajamas, which I am still wearing, at 12:37 p.m. EST.

for my other pajamas, which I will put on tonight after my bath, when I finally take off these pajamas.

for my mother, who has not asked me in the last five minutes who I am.

for my mother, who has not asked me in the last five minutes who my father is. ( I always give her the name Amil Dinsio when she asks that question, but I then explain that she's the only one who knows for sure. I mean, am I right or am I right?)

for Benadryl.

for the fact that the spider bite on my right butt cheek is going away. It itched so much. I can't even explain how much it itched, it was so bad. It was one of those itches that causes you to look around to see if anyone's watching, then rub up against something to scratch it. (Stop looking at me like that! You know you've done it!)

for napkins, because we're out of toilet paper. (You're looking at me like that again! Stop it! You know you've done that one too!)

for Lexapro.

for HolyMama!, who doesn't mind that I steal her stuff.
_________________________________________

Thank you all for your comments about my pictures in my last post. The result: I'm still undecided. (Who didn't know that was going to be the result?!) If I have to get head shots taken by a professional, I will D to the I to the E! I hate pictures of myself! But, seriously, some of you said the sweetest things, and I cherish you for it!

Love,
Melissa

Sin, Sin, Sin...

2011-06-06T17:19:00.001-04:00

Isn't vanity one of the seven deadly sins? Is seven even the number of deadly sins? Clearly, I'm not brushed up on my sins.

But this post is ALL about my vanity, so if you don't want to be guilty by association, quit reading now.

OK...

Seriously...

I want you to tell me which picture I look best in. Really.

I'm even embarrassed to be writing this post, but there is a good reason that I need to know this information, but I can't reveal that information yet. (I'm a very mysterious person.)

Here are the choices that I've narrowed down from the hundreds (okay, eight) pictures that I have of myself:

This picture has been denounced by a close family member (my sister) because you can't see my eyes, and my eyes are allegedly my best feature.

The same sister doesn't like this picture because she says I look like an elf.

I don't have a full smile in this picture, so it's been criticized.

My face looks fat in this one.

I look like a soccer mom here. Btw, I AM a soccer mom!

So, there are your choices, sad as they are. Please let me know what you think.

But make sure you're wearing rubberized shoes so the lightning strike doesn't kill you!

Where Is The Craft Aisle?

2011-06-03T21:34:00.000-04:00

So, Monday will be my first official day as a stay-at-home-mom.

I'm thrilled about it, but I'm not exactly sure how it happened. One minute Danny was the one staying at home, and then the next minute it was me. I do recall some hormonal churning and crying on my part while blubbering something like, "She's my last baby and I'm missing everything."

I've never done this before, so I've planned out our days together, and this is what I have so far:

I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to get out of bed before she does, take my Lexapro so no one gets killed, and make her something like eggs and toast and get her a glass of milk. Giving her a bowl full of sugar-infused cereal and telling her to get her own juice box doesn't cut it when you're a SAHM, right?

While she's eating, I think I'm supposed to get some meat out of the freezer for dinner and put it in a crock pot. Or let it thaw. Or do something with it.

Then I get her dressed, right? Wait, am I supposed to get dressed before breakfast? Or do I do it before the meat thing?

Sometime during the eating of the eggs and toast, I put in a load of laundry.

Then I clean something--like the refrigerator--while letting her watch something educational on television. Educational programming is okay, right?

After I put the load of laundry in the dryer, we go for a walk during which I point out how a caterpillar becomes a butterfly. (I need to brush up on the wonders of nature by next week. I'm not really sure how any of that happens.)

Are we supposed to eat lunch on our walk and turn it into a picnic? Or do we have something nutritious at home after the walk? (Note to self: Learn about nutritious lunches ASAP!)

Then we do some craft project that involves popsicle sticks or gluing macaroni onto something. FYI, I am really screwed in this department. I need to buy LOTS of books about crafts because I HATE them. (But don't tell anyone that; I think you get stoned to death if you're a SAHM and you hate crafts!)

After the crafty stuff, I should make dinner, or stir what's in the crock pot, or something like that.

How am I doing so far?

Then Danny walks in the door and we all stand around him and sing, "I'm So Glad When Daddy Comes Home."

After the song, we sit down to a lovely dinner, during which Emerson will explain how a caterpillar turns into a butterfly.

I'm pretty sure that I clean up the dinner dishes while Danny and Emerson play lovingly in the living room.

Then it's bath time for Emerson.

Hold the presses! Why do I still stink? When am I supposed to take my shower? Is it during the eggs and toast? And if so, when is the laundry supposed to get washed?

Then it's bedtime for Emerson. I let her pick out a book and I read it to her while making funny voices for all the characters. I kiss her goodnight, and she says, "Thanks for a wonderful day, Mommy, and thanks for sacrificing your career for it."

Once she's asleep, I clean something else and go to bed, anxiously awaiting the next day when I get to do it all over again.

So, what am I really supposed to do all day?

And when am I supposed to blog?!!!!!

Seriously, people, I'm freaking out!!! I give this whole thing about 3 days, max.

Remember the name Emerson Dinsio. Someday you'll hear it again, and that time it will be associated with guns and clock towers.

And Matt Lauer will tell you it's all because her mother hated glitter glue.

Not So Boring After All

2011-05-28T22:59:00.000-04:00

Well, we've already established that there's nothing for me to do in Las Vegas. I don't gamble or drink and prostitutes aren't my thing, so the only other thing to do here is get married.

So I did.

Yep, Danny and I got married Thursday night at the Excalibur. And it was the most beautiful wedding $249 (tax and tip included) could buy.

I wore a $20 dress that I got at Target a year ago (if my mother didn't have Alzheimer's, she would beat me for revealing that), and my wedding ring hadn't arrived at the jeweler yet, so we used my mother's that I always wear on my right hand. Now, the ring my father gave my mother has extra-special significance.

Rather than walking down the aisle to Danny, we walked down the aisle together, symbolizing the partnership we've already created.

But the best part is that my girls, my sister and her fiance, and two of my cousins were already in Las Vegas for my sister's wedding, so I got to have them as guests at mine.

It truly was beautiful.

My sister is going to be so mad tomorrow after her $15,000 wedding when she realizes she could've had one just as gorgeous for less than two Franklins and a Grant (tax and tip included).

Hell

2011-05-27T08:35:00.001-04:00

I came face to face with the devil.

I always believed that Satan and his minions were all around us and could take any form they wished to entice us to do evil. I always believed it, but I never thought I would be a victim. I have a new opinion after my plane trip to Sin City.

Beelzebub and his sons of darkness were definitely on my plane with me. No doubt about it. They took the form of two children, their mother, and a flight attendant. (And I'm pretty sure one was disguised as a TSA agent, but I didn't spend enough time with him to be certain.)

I had the window seat, my two daughters were next to me, and Danny was across the aisle from us. Two innocent looking children and their mother sat in the row directly behind us.

In all the confusion that was going on when you board a plane, I went to take my medication and accidentally took three Ambien because I didn't bother to read the bottle before I opened it. Half a second later when I realized my mistake, I naturally assumed that I would spend the five hour plane ride in peaceful slumber. But, ohhhhh no, the devil wasn't having any of that.

It started before we even took off. The "kids" were screaming at each other about whose toy, game, book, and anything else you can think of was whose, and the screaming lasted the for five hours. I "kid" you not; I endured five hours of their screaming, and heard not a single "shush" or other word of reprimand from the "mother".

Maybe I could've handled that, but they were pushing me over the edge when they started kicking the back of my seat. That went on for three hours before I snapped.

I broke when the toys came flying over my seat and onto my lap. I grabbed one of the toys, turned around, and whipped it as hard as I could at the "kid's" chest.

Okay, I know that sounds really bad from a forty-two year old woman, but this wasn't a child. Remember, I was dealing with the destroyer of all humankind.

The enemies had me so frazzled that I started yelling at my own kids for no reason. Danny, who was three seats and an aisle away from me, asked, "What is wrong with you?"

I answered as loudly as I could, "Satan's spawn is sitting right behind me!!" Still, no reaction from the mother.

I needed just a few minutes away from all of this to regroup, so I stood up to go to the restroom. That's when the "flight attendant" told me that there were too many people in line and I had to sit down. I started to tell her of my plight with the devil, but then I looked into her eyes and I knew she was another one of "them."

People, I have been to hell and back. I have actually seen hell.

And let me tell you, lakes of fire and brimstone will be a walk in the park for me.

Hades, Here I Come

2011-05-25T20:24:00.000-04:00

I'm going to hell.

This is where those of you who know me laugh at the fact that I just figured that out. First of all, very funny. Second, I don't mean the eternal hell, although I have no doubt that pitchforks and lakes of fire and brimstone are down the pike for me.

I mean the thank-goodness-it's-less-than-a-week hell.

This weekend, I'm going to my least favorite place on the entire planet: Las Vegas. I am being subjected to this particular brand of hell because my sister lives there and she is getting married Sunday.

The whole fascination with Las Vegas escapes me. It is hotter than my eternal destination, and if you don't gamble, there's nothing to do. If I drank, I could buy a six-pack right here in Youngstown, Ohio; I certainly don't need Sin City for that. And prostitutes just aren't my thing, thankyouverymuch.

I will admit that the casinos are beautiful and I love looking at them; however (and this is probably something I should never tell anybody), I always get trapped in a random casino and can't get out. When I manage to find an exit door (two hours later), I take two steps outside and have to go back inside because it's 115 degrees outside! ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN DEGREES! And then the vicious cycle starts again.

One of the last times I was in Las Vegas, I called Danny from inside the MGM. Of course, I was stranded in there and my feet had blisters on them from the aforementioned escape attempt. On the verge of tears, I told him, "I hate this place. It's the most boring place on earth. There's absolutely nothing to do here!"

Seriously, why would anyone go to that hell hole voluntarily?

If only my sister lived somewhere good, like Gettysburg.

Wear A Cup

2011-05-25T00:11:00.003-04:00

Did you ever have one of those days where you just felt like kicking everyone in the crotch, but you don't because you just don't have enough energy to raise your leg that far?

Good. Then you can totally relate to how I feel today.

Work was an effin nightmare. It was worse than a nightmare, but I lack the vocabulary to adequately describe it. I have never felt so used and abused in my life. I feel like I should go to the hospital to get a rape kit done on my psyche. It would definitely be positive, and I'm sure DNA would be present.

I cried all day and then came home, got in my bed, and cried some more. Danny keeps coming in to check on me and try to talk about my day. He quickly retreats in horror, though, when I refer to someone as a cutthroat bitch or bastard. (Only true blue "House" fans will recognize that reference.)

Oh yeah. I'm a real gem today.

And speaking of gems, Bejeweled Blitz isn't loading right on my computer today. WTF??? I probably could lift my leg far enough to kick the effin cutthroat bastard that won't let the game do whatever it's supposed to do to make my life better! Doesn't he know it's all about me?

What about you? How was your day? Really, I want to hear something positive. Or negative, as long as it's funny.

Love,
Melissa

P.S. These people are not related to me at all, although this is something everone in my family would do. I just thought it was funny and wanted to give you all a chuckle!

Major Suckage

2011-05-23T06:42:00.000-04:00

I have been a writing fiend on my blogs lately. I love writing and I've just had that "bug" that's made me want to post all the time.

Too bad all of the posts blow!

I've wanted to write, but it just seems that there's nothing to write about (and I don't care that I ended my sentence with a preposition).

The last few days of my life haven't been boring, per se; they've just been unremarkable.

The weekend started off with my kids telling me how old I am. I put my hair up in one of those ponytail things where you don't pull it through the last time, so there's hair sticking out of the ponytail. (You know what I mean.) Anyway, I must've asked if I am too old to wear my hair that way because my younger daughter said, "You're not old! You're middle-aged!" About 10 minutes of guffaws ensued.

(It is completely beside the point that that I asked for it and that I am middle aged.)

And Saturday...Saturday...I'm so middle-aged I can't even remember what I did Saturday.

On Sunday, I went to church, really got a lot out of the talks (seriously), then I got offended by some sanctimonious douchebaggery, so we left early. (Yes, I got offended. It rarely happens--so you know the douchebaggery had to be really bad--but sometimes I DO get offended. I'm over it now, though.)

Then Danny and I spent the rest of the day watching Season 4 of "House", which I had to actually buy (used on e-bay--I highly recommend the seller 30deos--because I couldn't find anywhere that rents it; and nobody talk about Netflix because I'm not even close to being technologically talented enough to manage that).

The upside is that Danny and I had a great weekend. I think. As previously mentioned, I can't remember a whole day of it.

So, tell me, what do you blog about when you have nothing to blog about?

Seriously, please tell me! I really NEED to know!

The One, The Only...

2011-05-21T16:15:00.002-04:00

This is my cousin, the REAL Glass-Eyed Grady.

Grady was from northeastern Alabama, but he "has long since gone on home." Even though he has been gone almost six years, I sure do miss him.

Grady was such an important part of our childhood. He lived at a fishing camp when we were little, and we loved it there. We went there several summers during the eight years when my father was gone, and despite the fact that we have traveled all over the world, that fishing camp still tops our list of favorite places on earth.

If you look closely at the picture (that is Grady's home after the trailer at the fishing camp), you can see all the junk behind us. (Did you hear that rumble? Grady just rolled over!) He loved his "merchandise", a la Sanford and Son, that he bought at his flea markets. And he didn't just confine his "merchandise"to the privacy of the inside of the house. Lordy mercy, no, he couldn't do that! The outside of his home looked very much like the inside because his "merchandise" filled the yard as well!

Yep, Grady was the quintessential hillbilly, and I couldn't be prouder to have his hillbilly blood coursing through my veins.

Now, do you know what the inside of an eye socket looks like? It's thanks to Grady that I do know. He would pop out that glass eye any time he wanted a good laugh from the screaming kids. Halloween with him was an absolute riot!

Seriously, I do miss Grady and all the love and compassion he showed everyone who knew him. It was no surprise to anyone when Grady lost his eye because he was protecting a child. The boy's drunken mother pulled a gun on the boy, and Grady ran and grabbed the child and caught the bullet in his own eye. Grady never even learned the name of the child, and he never regretted his decision to save the boy's life.

That's just the kind of man Grady was.

You can read more about Grady in my first blog post EVER, here.
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Also, if you have some time on your weekend, please go over to "The Bank Burglar's Daughter" and read the new post there.

Have a great weekend!

Love,
Melissa

Blogger Doesn't Completely Suck

2011-05-21T08:02:00.000-04:00

When blogger went down about 10 days aago, it managed to lose my post, "Oh, Affair Schmaffair."

Well, lo and behold, I woke up today and my post was back!! But Blogger doesn't completely un-suck yet because MY COMMENTS STILL WEREN'T THERE!

I'm re-posting because the post was only up for a few hours. (This is where all of you who already read it can stop reading; it's exactly the same post.)

Seriously. I need your advice again.

Is it really (or really, really) strange that I don't even care anymore that Danny had an affair?

It means nothing to me, and I kind of even understand it.

He was depressed; she was needy and simply there. (That doesn't excuse his behavior; it's just an explanation for it.) He didn't love her anymore than he loved the man in the Moon. It was just a matter of a female being there and willing to give him some attention.

I should be mad and ready to rip his head off everyday, right?

I should hate her for her lack of moral fiber, right? (Although I think he is more to blame than she is because he had the commitment to me. Nonetheless, her lack of morality can't be denied.)

Despite the fact that the man does every single thing in the world for me, is willing to give up (and has given up) so much for me, and has taken and passed a polygraph to prove to me that was his only affair, I should despise him, right?

Except I don't. I don't any of it. I'm not mad at him, I don't want to rip his head off, and I don't hate her.

In fact, I'm planning my wedding to him, and I feel sorry for her because she now is trapped in an awful situation in her life.

Am I completely off my rocker for my lack of anger here?

Help me! All of you lurkers out there: Please de-lurk just this once and give me an opinion.

Clearly, I am in need of objectivity.

Have I told you guys that I love you? Well, I do. Internet families are great!

A Shout Out to Maria

2011-05-20T06:54:00.002-04:00

I've wanted to post about Maria Shriver, but I'm speechless. Almost.

Oh. My. Goodness.

Can you even imagine what that poor woman has to be going through? Whatever your political affiliations, if your heart doesn't just break for her, you don't have one. Sorry, but I calls 'em as I sees 'em.

Her heart has to just be broken into a million little shards of glass. And I hope she uses every single one of those shards to poke him in the eyeballs, or something much lower.

I will tell you, though, that the whole situation is one of the best things that ever happened around this house: It makes what Danny did seem so inconsequential. It's like I can't even get angry or upset, or even make a joke about it.

So, Maria, if you happen to be googling yourself and you come across this in the bajillions of entries for you, know that I pray for you to have strength and self-esteem. This whole thing did not happen because of any inadequacy on your part; it happened because of two weak, troubled adults who were grossly lacking in moral fiber.

And know that there is an entire country full of women who just want to put their arms around you and tell you it will be alright, because really, everything WILL be alright.

Nothing

2011-05-17T06:20:00.003-04:00

I want to grieve. I want to cry. I want to feel something.

My mother-in-law smoked from the time she was a teenager until shortly after she was diagnosed with stage one lung cancer. She had a lobectomy, but the disease progressed quite quickly to stage four, where it has remained for about three years.

When my husband called me that day in June four years ago and told me that his mother had lung cancer, I wanted to want to sob, but I couldn't. All I could do was tell him the truth: "I'm so sorry for you."

My mother-in-law despises me, and I don't know why.

We've had disagreements that might logically lead to hurt feelings, but not hatred.

When I began dating Danny, I wanted to love her and I longed for her to love me in return. I was even excited at the thought of a "second mother". Instead, I got forced conversations and obligatory Christmas gifts, which gradually led to no contact at all.

I want to be imagining all this. I want it to be all in my head. But, sadly, I cannot. She has told my husband, "I hate your wife and I can't be around her."

I have tried to apologize to my mother-in-law for whatever it is that I have done to her to cause such intense feelings about me, but my apologies have fallen on deaf ears. She wants no relationship between us, and I've finally accepted that there's nothing I can do about it.

So, when the inevitable comes, when she finally succumbs to her dreadful disease, I will not grieve. I will not cry. I will not feel anything.

I will simply tell my husband the truth: "I'm so sorry for you."
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This was written for the "Red Dress Club.".

Happy Monday

2011-05-16T07:21:00.000-04:00

Check out the new post on "The Bank Burglar's Daughter." And I would really appreciate it if you could muster up some anger against those who teased me as a child!

And don't forget to ooh and aah over the banner Madge created for the blog. It is truly ooh and aah-able!

Have a great Monday!

Love,
Melissa

Randomness

2011-05-15T09:42:00.005-04:00

First of all, Blogger BLOWS. It went down for several hours a few days ago and lost my post, "Oh, Affair Schmaffair".

But that's not the worst part: It also lost the comments to the post!!! Now THAT really makes me mad! So many people took the time to write beautiful, heartfelt comments to me, and now they're just gone! So. to all those who commented, thank you so much for caring enough to take your time and energy to let me know your feelings.

And to Blogger: Find my stuff and get it back to me, or I'll...I'll...I don't know what I'll do, but you should just know that I know people who know people. Yeah, that's what I thought. You SHOULD be scared!
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And the big news of the day:

I won TWO awards from the amazing Madge at I-Madge-ine-the Twaddle! Thank you, girlfriend!

And, basically, all I have to do is tell seven things about myself. Gee, that's going to be really hard since I'm a very private person, but I'll try:

1. I haven't seen my real fingernails since 1996.
2. I can't wait to have cosmetic surgery done on my WHOLE body!
3. I had to stay home from school the day after Shaun Cassidy got married because I was so devastated.
4. I'm still in love with Shaun Cassidy.
5. I haven't seen my real hair color in 29 years.
6. I always wanted to be an actress.
7. I have no idea how to get the awards onto my page. Madge, oh, Madge, are you out there? This technological moron needs some help!

Now I'm passing the awards on to ten bloggers that totally deserve them: http://auntleliaslegacy.blogspot.com/
http://blokthoughtsnmore.blogspot.com/
http://granolasdodallas.blogspot.com/
http://thegoodthebadtheworse.blogspot.com/
http://undergroundagent.blogspot.com/
http://greetingsfromgauteng.blogspot.com/
http://marjorienrose.blogspot.com/
http://29goingon29again.blogspot.com/
http://holymama.org/
http://d-dawgblawg.blogspot.com/
http://theselittlewaves.com/
http://thechroniclesofa30something.blogspot.com/
http://girlrelocated.wordpress.com/
http://momoftheperpetuallygrounded.blogspot.com/

(Yes, I know there are more than 10 blogs listed. The rules say I'm allowed, since I'm an award-winner and all, ya know!)

Now, because I am a technological moron, you have to visit Madge to get your awards! Isn't it fun to get award from me???

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UPDATE: Madge says you just have to copy and past these! Who knew it could be so easy?

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Finally, I'm giving you fair warning about this, and I will be warning you all summer long: my birthday is August 23. I'm unabashedly soliciting e-cards for my birthday, and I'm just blatantly stealing this idea from Kellie! Isn't that a great idea? Feel free to steal it from Kellie too!

Have a beautiful Sunday!

Love,
Melissa