Dress For The Job You Want

One of the things I’ve been working on in my life is thinking before I act or speak.  I mean, not always.  Sometimes I just say whatever the hell I want.  But in situations where my gut response might be better replaced with my rational and well thought out response?  I’ve tried to get better at stifling my gut and thinking things out first.  But you know where I could still use some work?  The part of my brain that immediately reacts to my ridiculous wants.  That’s why, immediately after seeing a picture posted by a friend on Facebook, I had the following conversation:

Me: Is there any way that you will stop at Target and pick something up for me since you’ll already be at Wegman’s tonight?

Todd: Why so vague?  Is it drugs?  A certain vase?  How is it marked?  You in cahoots with someone?  What’s the key word?

Me: Space cat leggings.  I need them before they sell out.

Todd: Seriously?

Todd: You’re just trying to get a laugh out of me, right?

Me: I prefer a large because I hate tight waistbands and for some reason they always double up on the elastic in the waistbands on leggings.  But I will take a medium or an extra-large.  I will make any size fit.  I must have them.

Todd: Why?

Me: Because they are the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.

Todd: You will literally never wear them.

Me: Um, I’m pretty sure I will wear them ever fucking day.  They are LEGGINGS with CATS in MOTHERFUCKING SPACE.  Look at that sentence.  It’s perfect.

Todd: Where did this come from?  Are you just trying to look cool in front of your friends?

Me: Like my friends ever see me in person…I want them, okay?  I’m my only entertainment.  Those look comfortable and are entertaining.  You’re talking to the person who paid for rush shipping on a unicorn head.  I don’t need a reason.  The heart wants what it wants.

Todd: If they’re $20, I’m not getting them.

Me: I will pay up to $50 for those pants.


They were $15.  And they are delightful. 

I don't know what to say about these.  They really speak for themselves.

I don’t know what to say about these. They really speak for themselves.


Filed under Conversations with Todd, I'm just blogging my texts again, it's funny to me, this is why I shouldn't have friends

Sorry That I Like Me More Than You.

Preach on, Lucille

Preach on, Lucille

Hey, remember when I tried to have a contest to unload my unicorn mask?  Apparently Joel McHale’s signature fragrance was not something that interested that many of you.  So I have two questions.  1) What is wrong with you people?  How are you not remotely curious?  2) Now what in the purple hell do I do with this thing?

Those of you who tweeted the question to him have my undying love.  Those of you who googled and came up with a close answer but DON’T EVEN WANT THE MASK have some explaining to do.  In case you missed it, our friend Jessica came up with the closest thing there is available on the internet to an exact answer.  And the answer was: chili.  What am I even supposed to do with that?  He smells like CHILI?  Apparently I should have been more specific.  I wanted to know what cologne the man wears.  Not what he had for lunch.  And since Jessica does not even want the mask, I still have it.  I have a weird unicorn mask that is tied to illicit unicorn porn.  On my bed post.  I guess the universe feels that I still have more work to do with the mask.  I just wish I knew what that was.

In non-unicorn news, everyone seems to think I need a new therapist because I don’t require their constant company.  Entitled much?

Me: So, I realized something today.  I think people get the wrong idea when I say I don’t like people.  Because THEY ARE people, see? 

Todd: You think?

Me: It’s not that simple.  It’s not that I don’t LIKE them.  My brain just works better without them.

Todd: That’s not better. 

Me: I like people.  I really enjoy them.  I just don’t need them.  That’s not wrong. 

Todd: But that’s not normal.  Most people like seeing their friends.  You spend every day texting and emailing your friends.  Then they invite you out to lunch and you panic.  That’s not normal behavior. 

Me: You don’t get to define what’s normal.  I’m a human, and this is how I act.  Therefore, this is normal human behavior. 

Todd: But you don’t enjoy other humans.  That’s not being an introvert.  I don’t care how many BuzzFeed lists tell you otherwise.  Most people need people. 

Me: Just because most people feel that way doesn’t mean it’s the right way to feel or the only way to behave.  Check your privilege.  And you should be flattered.

Todd: I should?

Me: Yea.  You’re literally the only other human I want to spend time with.  I’m sorry that you need more than me.  But you’re all I need.  That’s very flattering. 

Todd: No.  No.  That doesn’t make it better.  I like spending time with you.  I spend most of my time with you.  But I also like my friends.  You like your friends.  You would like hanging out with your friends. 

Me: I like my friends in my computer where they belong.  I like hanging out with you.  And sometimes I don’t like hanging out with you so you need to leave for a few days.  I wrote our vows.  I know this was in there. 

Todd: Jesus.  Just…Jesus. 

So.  I need a new therapist or a new husband, apparently.  Because Todd doesn’t understand that being hermits is going to be the best decision I ever make for us.  We can wear leggings forever and never brush our hair again.  And probably develop a following of feral dogs and cats who will consider us their alphas.  I can’t figure out why this doesn’t appeal to him.


Filed under Conversations with Todd, Joel McHale, Mel is always right, this is why I shouldn't have friends, This is why I'm so fucked up

An Open Letter To My Neighbors (Because This is Better Than Actually Talking To Them)

Peter Ponsil's smile is a gods damned lie.   Photo Credit: kiddierecords.com

Peter Ponsil’s smile is a gods damned lie.
Photo Credit: kiddierecords.com


Dear Neighbors,

Hi.  I have something to tell you.  This may come as a surprise, but we’re actually not killing our kids in here.  I know that’s probably shocking, what with all the noises you’ve heard these past 10 days.   But seriously.  We’re not even attempting to kill them.  I just wanted to clear the air.  Remove your suspicions.  You know, since you probably are suspecting murder right about now.  Let’s back up a week or so, eh?

Remember last Tuesday when we left the house at like 5:00 AM?  We were bringing Johnny to the hospital.  We thought it was no big deal.  I had my tonsils removed when I was a kid.  I remember being given a record (a 45!) and a coloring book telling me all about tonsils and why they sometimes have to come out.  I vaguely remember the mask for the anesthesia being put over my face and being told to count backwards from 10.  I remember making a bet that I could TOTALLY get all the way to 1 and still be awake.  Then I remember waking up and crying for my mother.  My only other memory of the procedure was receiving a gift basket full of coloring books and pudding a few days after I got home.  Having been through this myself lo those many years ago, I was not concerned with Johnny’s ability to endure it.  Hey neighbors?  I’m so sorry about my refusal to listen to the doctors and the nurses who told me this would be a fourteen day recovery.  I just thought they were lying liars.  I thought my vague memories from age 8 were valid.  And I, as you know, was wrong.

So by using your context clues, you’ve determined that Johnny had his tonsils out last Tuesday.  His adenoids, too.  Full disclosure?  I’m still not really clear on what adenoids are.  Doesn’t matter.  They’re gone now.  Tonsils.  Adenoids.  Faith that he’ll ever feel normal again.  All gone.  When he woke up from the procedure, he made some hilarious comments about having visions of other worlds and then he went back to sleep again.  And again.  And again.  There was morphine involved.  Morphine!  He’s ELEVEN, neighbors.  Have you ever seen an eleven year old on morphine?  It’s funny and also sort of alarming.  There’s always that moment when you wonder if his brain has been broken.  Like, what if he STAYS this way?  So that’s alarming.  But then the morphine wears off and the pain comes on and you’re like “No, it’s cool.  Give him whatever narcotics you want to give him.  Seriously.  Make that stop right now.”  And they do.  And then they just send you home like you’re equipped to deal with this on your own.  And that’s what we’ve been doing since Tuesday.  Dealing with this on our own.

It’s a lot like having a newborn again, neighbors.  Our lives have revolved around his medication schedule, which requires that we rush to his side with three different medications every four hours, plus also ice packs and heating pads and desperate pleading to PLEASE JUST DRINK ENOUGH LIQUIDS SO YOU DON’T DEHYDRATE BEFORE YOU GO BACK TO SLEEP.  I’m sure you remember Wednesday and Thursday last week, just one and two days after the procedure, when he seemed to be doing okay.  We remember those two days fondly, as well.  They were the best, weren’t they?  Then came Thursday night.  And every day and night since.  There has been actual SCREAMING, neighbors.  But I guess that’s not really news to you.  That is, after all, what prompted this letter.  There’s also been fist shaking.  Quiet yet desperate sobbing.  Johnny learned to curse the universe this past week.  It has been one hell of a week, is what I’m saying.  But there’s good news.  Good news for all of us.

Neighbors?  Johnny seems to be coming around.  We know at least one scab is finally out.  We know this because he spit the giant thing into my hand.  It looked like a brain, neighbor.  Or, closer still, it looked just like the pictures of those tumors I saw that one time when I was worried that my ovarian cyst could be the kind with teeth so I googled “cyst with teeth” to find out just what that might look like.  After the scab was deposited in my hand, being the concerned mother that I am, I ran in circles with it in my palm saying “ewww, ewww, ewww, there are no tissues in here!” until I found a tissue.  And finally, taking an action I will regret until my final day on this planet, I looked at it.  I looked at it closely to ensure there wasn’t any fresh blood on it.  And I will keep that visual with me until my final day, as well.  Promise me that you will never look at a tonsillectomy scab, okay?  PROMISE ME.  Right, so, why am I telling you about scabs?  Because it’s a really good thing when those scabs come out.  It means he’s healing.  It means he’s almost through this.  It means he might be done with the random bouts of screaming in pain.  Did you notice that that didn’t happen even once today?  Yea.  Me too.  It was kind of the best day.  And did you notice it didn’t happen even once last night?  Yea.  That was even better.  There was still the waking of the parents to demand his medicine, but it happened without the usual blood curdling cursing of the gods.  And that, we can all agree, is just the best.

Anyway, neighbors.  I just wanted to let you know that we aren’t trying to kill him, and hopefully it will stop sounding like we’re trying to kill him really soon.  Also, I’d like to thank all of you for giving us the benefit of the doubt.  In your shoes, I would have called the cops and accused you of infanticide after the first day of this nonsense.  You guys?  You’re aces.  I’d like to say that I’m going to bake you some cookies or come thank you personally, but we all know that’s not going to happen.  Todd will drop by, as is protocol, to smooth this over.  But the next time you see me slip into my house when I see you coming so I don’t have to talk to you?  Please know that I did it a little bit slower this time.  I’ve lived here for six years now.  I might be getting used to you.  And after this?  I might even like you.

Warm(er) regards,


P.S. Please stop ringing my doorbell during the day.  When I say I work from home, I mean I actually WORK from home.  Plus also, I’d pretend I wasn’t here even if I didn’t have other stuff to do.  Sorry.  I don’t like surprise visits.


Filed under I should be taking this a bit more seriously, In the hospital. Again.

Joel McHale Smells Like Leather and Freedom

Pictured: Me.  Not pictured: A mature and totally healthy interest in smelling Joel McHale.

Pictured: Me. Not pictured: A mature and totally healthy interest in smelling Joel McHale.

So last week I had the pleasure of learning that “an odd cult of unicorn mask wearing porn stars” is a real thing.  I’m not thrilled.  I knew I’d have to drop the unicorn mask eventually, but I had hoped to replace it with a squirrel or pig mask, maybe.  But now it seems that masks aren’t safe.  Sure, it’s unicorns NOW.  But squirrels can’t be far behind.  Or maybe squirrel mask porn is already a thing.  It probably is.  I’m not googling it.  It’s been a rough week and I can’t add “discovered squirrel porn” to my list of accomplishments.  Not this week.

Why am I telling you this?  The most obvious is that I just wanted to explain why I quickly ran around changing my profile picture everydamnwhere.  The second is because I feel like I should DO SOMETHING with the mask.  It lives on my bed post currently, a fact that now seems even weirder and creepier than it did before.  I wanted to have a contest and send the mask off to the winner, but I couldn’t think of anything that I really wanted or needed the lot of you to provide to me that could occur in contest form and from which a winner could emerge.  Then Michele and I got to talking:

Me: I think I’ve run out of Joel McHale videos on the internet. 

Michele: It’s so frustrating when the internet isn’t the smorgasbord of content that people make it out to be.  Turns out, you CAN’T use it to find out what cologne David Tennant wears.  Why do I even have this useless “resource”? 

Me: I feel like David Tennant is just running on a teeny bit of aftershave and a whole lot of charisma.  At least now I have a new Joel McHale fact to google.  I have to be careful, though.  I don’t like stumbling upon information about his damned wife and kids. 

Michele: Yeah, that shit is dangerous.  Oddly, I do know what kind of hair product David Tennant wears, but that’s just because someone asked in an interview.  We started googling the scent thing because my roommate was joking about how much I love my TARDIS blanket and what would make it even better. 

Me: Well now my life is without meaning because I don’t know what Joel McHale smells like.  Thanks, Obama.

There you have it.  Want a slightly used (BUT NEVER USED IN PORN) unicorn mask?  Find me this information.  If you come up with David Tennant’s signature scent while you’re at it, that wouldn’t be the worst thing.   I could probably give you the unicorn mask AND write a haiku about your hair if you come up with both.  The first person to direct me toward the cologne in Macy’s that I can stand around sniffing with my eyes closed in a not at all creepy fashion wins.  And since it’s possible that this information really isn’t available on the internet (because we apparently NEED easily accessible unicorn porn but don’t need a searchable celebrity scent database) back up points will be awarded for your closest reasonable guess (ex. Joel McHale smells like leather and freedom.)  Put all answers and best guesses in the comments.  Game over on Friday, August 2nd.  Go forth and win things.

You could have this on your head.

You could have this on your head.


Filed under I'm just blogging my texts again, Joel McHale, Winning is for Winners

Scenes From The Gynecologist

One of our cars bid us a final farewell this weekend.  Along an idyllic country road, it decided it had enough of driving and wanted to stop doing that forever.  It croaked to the side of the road, allowing us to enjoy an unplanned hour sitting on the edge of a lovely farm.  And tonight my husband and children are cleaning it out so it can be scrapped.  None of this information is important.  But I felt like I needed to explain why my husband drove me to the gynecologist today. 

Todd: How much was your copay just now? 

Me: $35.

Todd: But I thought you didn’t pay for this?

Me: My annual exam has no copay, but for any other visits I have to pay the specialist copay. 

Todd: Half of the planet has a vagina.  How the hell do they justify calling this a specialist?*

That’s the whole conversation.  No punchline.  I just had one of those moments when he said that.  You know those moments?  When you feel really good about your life decisions and also really want to yell “HEY, DID EVERYONE JUST HEAR HOW AWESOME MY HUSBAND IS” in the middle of your gynecologist’s waiting room?  One of those moments.  Had one.  Sharing it. 


*I know this argument falls apart in like 30 seconds as soon as you realize that everyone on the planet has a heart and yet a cardiologist is billed as a specialist.  Shhhh.  It’s a MOMENT and you’re going to ruin it. 



Filed under Conversations with Todd, In the hospital. Again.

I Might Be The Problem

The way this mask appears to show emotion will never stop entertaining me/scaring the crap out of me.

The way this mask appears to show emotion will never stop entertaining me/scaring the crap out of me.

Of the people reading this right now, a handful of you used to read it before the internet knew it existed.  But you knew it under a different name.  You knew it as The Mel Show.  When I decided that more of the world needed to hear even more of my nonsense and opted to buy my url, I found that themelshow.com was taken.  And so off I went in search of a new name. 

I asked for input from friends (It’s Mediocre was the front runner for a very long time) and then one day, it happened.  It happened, as all great things happen, in a conversation with Todd:

Me: I can’t do that tonight because I’ve been invited to tea.

Todd: Ok.  Cool. 

Me: I said TEA.  I don’t even DRINK tea.  Yet I’ve been invited to tea.  I want coffee, quite frankly.  But I don’t know what the protocol is on asking for coffee if the invitation was for tea. 

Todd: You could just order coffee.

Me: Yea, but then I’ve been put in the position where I accepted an invitation for one thing and then turned it into something else.  What if tea has a different meaning than coffee?  What if “let’s go get tea” has one vibe and “let’s go get coffee” has another and I am ruining our plans by ordering coffee?

Todd: I think you could order coffee.

Me: I don’t know why anyone would put me in this situation.  Why not just say LET’S GO TO THIS PLACE AND HAVE THE BEVERAGE OF OUR CHOOSING?  Now I’ve agreed to tea and I don’t even want it.  What kind of person does that?  You know what kind?  A good friend who just wants to hang out with me but I’ve always got to make it into some damned thing.  I…I think I might be the problem. 

And there you have it. 

P.S. I ordered the coffee.  I hope I didn’t ruin it. 

P.P.S. This post is probably kind of a let down to all of the new followers I gained after my last post.  So listen.  Here’s the thing.  I do a lot of this.  There’s nonsense here.  Loads of it.  And in the past I’ve written many things that are NOT nonsense and then said “nope, that’s not what people want to hear from you.  Talk about your underwear some more.”   But you know what?  Turns out I don’t give a single fuck about what people want to hear.  So I’m going to keep saying things.  Some of them might be nonsense and some of them might not be nonsense.  Who knows?  Either way, thanks for being here and validating my weird world.  I appreciate you.


Filed under Conversations with Todd, this is why I shouldn't have friends