This, my friends, is post #99 on the blog. I think it's only appropriate we celebrate by taking a look back at previous blog entries. At least that's kind of what I did for you. Here are some things I found amusing enough to share again. Enjoy!
50 Melissa-isms from the Blog
I should be proud of myself for coming this far. Unfortunately, my arms are too short to pat my own back. With a quick flick of my leg, I can kick my own ass, though.
I’ve never had an autopsy done, but I assume the Y-cut would be much less painful than the drive from Wausau to La Crosse for the first day of my senior year of college.
It was difficult, but I have successfully completed a full week of attending every class. That doesn't necessarily mean that I was present, but my body sat in the chairs, my head nodded occasionally, and my notebooks were opened making it appear like I gave a hoot.
I even speed sometimes. Just not to class.
I want to wear my pajamas all day and skip showers, skip meals, and drink coffee until I'm practically a peeing coffee pot.
I have the sleeping schedule of an infant, the patience of a toddler, the acne of a teenager, the wrists of a retired interpreter, and the memory of an Alzheimer's patient.
I called my chiropractor and apparently they don't do attitude adjustments.
I had to learn to pick and choose what to put my entire heart into and what to completely blow off.
I don't do anything half-assed. School skipping was certainly no exception.
Before the super duper senior can become nice and cozy in the pajamas that won't be removed for a month, the recliner needs to be positioned perfectly.
So, as I was sitting in the admissions office I was looking out the window staring at a cemetery. Life is short. Or, long. Depending on how much of it you've spent applying to colleges and collecting credits.
For some reason, this thought makes me happier than a fly on a shit pile.
We started the day off with cartoons and juice. I believe we watched Penguins of Madagascar. That has to be one of my favorite cartoons right now. A few episodes of Spongebob followed and I was ready to throw a pineapple at the television. So, we shut it off and played with Play Doh.
Seven years of college and I can't figure out how to use Shannon & Mark's coffee pot. I am going to go give it another try, or else today is just not going to be pretty.
It's not that I have been sitting on my ass-ignments doing nothing.
I did not forget to brush my teeth this morning. I simply chose not to. Toothpaste and coffee don't mix. My apologies to anyone who comes into contact with me today.
Well, I must leave now to go tour an animal research facility. I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will behave myself.
On another positive note, I signed the lease for my new apartment. I haven't seen it yet. I'm picturing dark paneling on the walls and orange shag carpet. Picture the worst and be surprised. That's my motto.
Seven years of college and I have finally narrowed down my "what I want to be when I grow up" list to three pages. (Front & back, single spaced!)
I don't get it. You go to school and bust your ass to get educated and to reward you, they dress you up in a cardboard hat and a curtain.
It took me about 45 minutes to decided whether it was Tuesday or Wednesday today. And then I realized that it doesn't matter.
As part of my sit-on-my-ass fest yesterday, I looked at job openings.
I'm feeling like a puppy that just left obedience school and has forgotten everything it learned. That's right, I'm going to pee on the carpet... chew on every pair of shoes I come across... beg for treats... and when I run outside, I'm not going to come back until I'm good and ready to come back!
America is about to lose Oprah, tornadoes have swept across the country, the new bachelorette gets her heartbroken early in the game, soap operas are going off the air, Lance Armstrong is accused of being one of those medically-enhanced athletes, gas prices are still keeping America driving instead of biking because we can't risk declining trends in obesity, and the only glimmer of hope we can cling to is that THE PACKERS ARE STILL THE SUPERBOWL CHAMPS!!!!
Okay, so I have accomplished a lot in my 29 years. Once I got a hang of that potty-training stuff, I was pretty much unstoppable.
I'm used laying around doing nothing and I'm actually pretty good at it. I'm also really good at napping, even though it never used to be something I enjoyed. Now, all I have to do is pretend I'm in a lecture, and I'm out like a bear in winter!
They say to prep you should read newspapers like The New York
Times. That shit is boring. I read the Onion and Facebook status updates. Tell me I'm not ready for grad school!
In the meantime, I should probably get myself a cup of coffee and a copy of the New York Times. If I get a puppy, it will need something to piss on.
AND. . . I am $15.37 richer today thanks to all the people that have digitally downloaded my music over these last two years. I think I'll put it toward my next CD. With only about $1,984.63 more to go, I should be able to put something special together by the time I'm 102.
Tomorrow will my mark my 30th year in this world. How cool is that? I've been watching friends and former classmates turn 30 for the last few months and completely understand why entering this next decade of our lives is somewhat terrifying. Growing older is a scary thing. So is the idea of Ben & Jerry's discontinuing Chunky Monkey or Half Baked, so it's important to keep things in perspective: Aging Is Not That Bad.
One day last week, I drove to three different McDonald's restaurants at 5 AM trying to hunt down an iced mocha. Seriously, why are they cleaning their McCafe machines in the morning? Luckily, the third time was the charm.
When I'm not doing all of that, I'm mentally swearing at the heat and humidity that has embraced us this summer and gaining incredible amounts of muscle mass at Anytime Fitness. I just never realized how squishy muscle was, which makes me wonder if I'm doing it wrong.
Actually, 2013 is going to be a fantastic year. After seventeen (long) months of sending out resumes, cover letters, and filling out countless applications (over 200), I finally landed a career in my field.
When I look at my blogger tracker thing, almost 90% of my traffic on this blog comes to my blog post about going to the ER to have stitches removed.
Within a minute or two, the nurse came around the corner.
"Are you Melissa?" She asked.
"Yes." I said.
"Nope -- it's not the actress!!!" She said loudly to let the other nurse know.
"Are you Melissa?" She asked.
"Yes." I said.
"Nope -- it's not the actress!!!" She said loudly to let the other nurse know.
Within ten seconds, my eye was twitching and started spewing water, the clamp was pushing everything upward, and the doctor thought I was crying. It was a beautiful moment that needed a camera crew. No, not really. It was awful.
Sat with my phone up to my ear for five minutes while in a daze. Thought I was dialing someone, but finally looked at it and my e-mail was open instead. And then I tried to swipe my debit card through the pen holder at the post office today. TWICE!
My eyes were crusted shut this morning and I sound like I've been a pack-a-day smoker for 20 years! It would be in everyone's best interest not to comment on my hair today.
First things first, I don't have a dog. My friends do, so I wasn't just some strange creeper with a camera that showed up at the dog park on a random Saturday afternoon. Although, it is probably much more acceptable to be dog-less at a dog park than child-less at a playground. People call the cops on that sort of thing.
The socially awkward of this group was without a doubt... Wookie. I don't even think Wookie knows whether he is a dog or a donkey. If I had my way, Wookie would forever wear a pink tutu and I'd change his name to Grace.
Just another day in the life. . . when I get those normal test results back, we'll go celebrate. And by "go celebrate" I mean we'll just leave our pajamas on and take a nap until I qualify for assisted living, a nursing home, or cooler space in the morgue.
Hopefully Santa's elves are good at making these [glucose test strips] because he'll have to sell Rudolph to pay for a pack of 25. They aren't cheap. Nor are they something someone would open on Christmas morning and be so excited that they leave a yellow puddle of joy behind. Except for Melissa. She'd do that.
You should not get someone test strips for their blood sugar without stuffing their compression stockings FULL of Kit Kats. Christmas isn't Christmas until someone's blood sugar is 450 and they are passed out on the couch with A Christmas Story playing in the background.
If you can, give yourself a hose-down before you go seek medical treatment.
And, yes, I wear granny panties, but I prefer to call them either granny undies or granny grundies because "panties" is my third least favorite word in the world.
And, yes, I wear granny panties, but I prefer to call them either granny undies or granny grundies because "panties" is my third least favorite word in the world.
There are certainly things I like to keep private, so I put those things on my blog because I know no one reads it. The rest goes on Facebook.
"My bladder is ginormous" never lets me down in a bar. And I've been in three bars this year.
As much as I'd hate to die before the age of 137, I have accepted that it could happen.
Test drive a car before you buy it. Apparently, this is common sense to some people.
I like to spend quiet time with myself. Googling more junk to pack in the trunk of my cerebral cortex.
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