Arm-Wrestling Will Win You a Man

If you told me it costs $20 for all-you-can-eat hors d'oeuvres and 26 people who are forced to speak with me for five minutes a piece, I'd be in heaven. Which is why you can completely understand why I decided to go straight speed-dating with a couple of friends. Nevermind that it's straight speed-dating or that I already have a partner. The important part is 26 people at five minutes a piece means 130 minutes of guaranteed conversation. I love it.

Unfortunately my speed-dating experience didn't start off with a bang. It started off with a bust. Or a bust-ed rather. So I try to fly under the radar using a fake name so that people don't know my real name. Since I'm a genius, I use my credit card which has a completely different name on it. The girl from the dating service busts me so I 'confess' that I'm nervous because I've never been speed-dating before. Works like a charm.

So it's an hour before the event and I'm in my bedroom looking through my drawers: softball t-shirt, flannel, softball t-shirt, Ani DiFranco t-shirt...hmm. Nothing suitable for pretending to look for a male date. I decide that since I need to look straight I'll borrow something from my roommate! She dresses me up in a black lacy cleavage-filled tank top with a cardigan over it. I put on my bootleg jeans with eff-me boots I bought for a sassy Halloween costume in 2006 and voila! Straighty McStraightster!

Speed-dating is actually a lot like the way it looks on TV. The girls sit on one side of a table, guys on the other and someone taps the guys on the shoulder when the five minutes is up and it's time to change partners.

So I'm taking notes on which guys I like for my friends (i.e. too dorky, too old, too douchy) and this guy sits down and stares shamelessly at my tits. So I say, "You should totally open a boobie bar. Then you could stare at girls' boobs and no one would care! Everyone looks at boobs, guys and girls."

I get into another conversation with a guy about arm-wrestling so we clear the table of the salt and pepper and proceed to have a match right in the middle of the table. I, of course, lose on purpose because I don't want to embarrass him in front of all those pretty ladies.

So at this point I'm warmed up and having a great time. I can say pretty much anything I want and who cares? I'm talking about jello wrestling and boobie bars and piercings and all kinds of trashy things (which in turn makes me think about my own white trashness since I have participated in all three of those activities). I'm not really looking for a date!

So afterwards Angela, Mari and Dave and I go back to our house to of course talk about everyone. The procedure after the dating part is everyone goes back online and puts a check by each people of interest and if there is mutual interest contact information is exchanged. Angela has this bright idea that I should check all of the guys just to see who's interested.

So 12 matches and 10 personal e-mails later I've gotten myself into a mess. What I realize however is between my jello wrestling and boobie conversations guys like complete trash! So I e-mail them all back and tell them that I recently got out of a relationship and thought I was ready but wasn't. In case you're thinking I'm a heartless bitch I did feel guilty.

So for all you guys out there reading this I understand you all want to date a lesbian. I mean, what's better than a jello-wrestling, boobie bar-attending, girl-kissing, intelligent and witty chick who can almost kick your ass in arm-wrestling but looks great in heels? NOTHING! But, I'm sure you can settle for second best and find yourself a nice, girl-next-door breeder. She probably looks better than a lesbian in jeans and eff me boots anyway.

The Best Karaoke Night of My Life (original post 2.25.08)

I had what one could call by far the best karaoke experience of my life. I know I'm only 26, but I believe that few could top this.

So I was at the Elks Club in Dearborn. Yes, I said Elks Club. For any of you who don't know what the Elks Club is and have seen the Flintstones it's like the Loyal Order of Water Buffaloes Lodge. If you don't know what the Water Buffalos are, too bad. Just keep reading; it's still funny.

I walk in and my friends Ve and Wendee are late so it's basically me, the bar tender and the karaoke guy. Finally my friends arrive and as I'm watching other people show up I realize they have something in common: they all have the potential to be my grandparents.

So we grab a drink (I should have had an alcoholic beverage) and start to look through the books for some good tunes. The first singer is a man who is (and I'm seriously not exaggerating) 78 years old. He gets up there and belts out "New York, New York", successfully completing the song without his Polydent losing it's grip.

Another elderly man, if you will, gets up to the stage and pulls out his harmonica to play a little jig for us. I'm telling you I haven't heard harmonica like this since...okay I've never heard harmonica like this because I'm not 84 years old.

Ve, Wendee and I sing a few warm-up songs and the total number of people actually singing karaoke is six (tops) so we are singing practically every other song.

Then my favorite act of the night comes to the stage.

You have to get the visual in your head. This woman looks about 60-something (even though Ve claimed she was in her early 50's) and got dressed up for karaoke night at the Elks. I put 'dressed up' in italics for a reason. This woman has a red velour shirt tucked into a (sit down for this one) leather mini-skirt which accentuates her well-equipped fupa. A fupa for you out there who don't know is the pouch under a woman's belly button. Your grandma probably has a nice one.

So this woman gets up to sing and already I'm excited for the potential of this karaoke number. Well, let me tell you she exceeded my expectations to say the least. She gets up there to sing "Hey Big Spender" and tears it up. Between being unrecognizably off key and practically performing a strip tease next to the prompter I was blown away. I'm poking Ve to look because she for some reason thinks it's important to continue to look for a song to sing with this incredible show going on.

So here comes my favorite moment of her presentation: she chooses one of the men and dances near them to sexually taunt him, right? He responds with a howl. Yes, I said a howl. A full on head-tilt-back, face-towards-the-moon howl.

At this point I am jabbing Ve so hard I think she might bruise but I know she'll thank me later and disregard the injuries for bringing her attention to this magnificent sight.

When Sex Kitten's song is over, I realize it will be a long time (if ever) before I have an experience like this one again. Looks like I'll for sure be going to the next karaoke night at the Elks. And I'll bring my grandma.

Roller Rink Pimp (original post 5.8.07)

I was excited when Sherrie's friend Brandon invited us to go to the roller skating rink for his birthday this past Sunday night. We did it old school; we got the cherrie Slushee as well as those brown house skates with the orange wheels.

So we're drinking our slurpees outside of the snack bar when this guy comes up to us and asks us to take them back inside of the snack bar. He was in his mid to late 30s, kind of short and had on a necklace with skates carved out of wood on it. Awkward to say the least.

So later on, it's 'couples-skate or skate backwards' time (which always used to piss me off because I could never get a date or skate any way besides forward). So me and Sherrie try to skate backwards. Awkward Roller Boy starts giving me tips and applauding my first-time skating backwards efforts. Again, a little weird. I'm also getting the impression that although he works there, he's not on the clock. He's not in the Skate World uniform and he's only patrolling our group of friends.

About 10 o'clock that night, he comes up to me and Sherrie sitting on the side of the rink. He starts making small talk about how I should get new skates and again how I did a nice job skating backward for my first time. I'm nice, so I continue the conversation with him. Sherrie of course is no help, looking the complete opposite way and leaving me out to dry. Then, he asks me if I want to couples-skate with him later. Oh yes, I said 'couples-skate'. No, I'm not still in sixth grade. So he completely catches me off guard and the only think I can think to say is, "I don't know how long we're going to be here, and..." He says to me, "Well if you're still here, I'll come find you later." I realize at that point I just told a 30-someodd year old man with a roller skating necklace that I will couples-skate with him. I immediately want to throw up.

So from there on it's like a trip back to middle school. Sherrie tells the group of friends we're with and they suggest I hide in the bathroom when the last song comes on. Roller Boy keeps circling the floor to show off his roller talents while staring at me every time he passes our group of friends. When the DJ comes on the mike to change up the skaters, I want to vomit thinking he's going to say "couples-skate".

So finally the moment I've been dreading is here. The lights go down on the rink floor and I beeline to a deserted location, hoping he won't find me. But, sure enough, like all roller predators he locates me within 30 seconds. He skates over to me, does a fancy stop and holds out his hand to whisk me away to Roller Heaven. I tell him he completely caught me off guard and that I was here with my girlfriend. And I swear if I didn't think I was on a TV show before, I'm expecting the camera crew to come out when he says, "Oh. I didn't know you played for the other team."

So although Roller Boy went home without a Roller Queen to spoil with lavish gifts of skate wheel oil and glow bracelets, he still has next Sunday. Maybe he learned his lesson about hitting on women at the skate rink. I have a feeling though he'll be trying to teach another girl how to skate backwards or on one leg. All I have to say is thank God it's not me.

Picture Imperfect (original post 11.27.06)

So being a teacher, I had the day after Thanksgiving off. I decided to get some things done and one of those things was laundry. I stuck a load of jeans and sweatshirts into the washer and got them into the dryer before Sherrie got home from work. When she got home, she asked me if I was drying shoes because something sounded like it was banging around in the dryer. I blew her off and told her I wasn't but she went and checked and didn't find anything. So we went shopping. After we got back, I went into the basement to fold the laundry and realized that Sherrie was right; there was something clunky in there. I pulled out all of the laundry, along with the clunky foreign object and I realized it was her digital camera. I had washed and dryed her $300 digital camera.

For those of who are thinking "How could Melissa be so dumb as to wash a camera," or "How could Sherrie be so dumb for dating Melissa," I completely understand. I ended up buying her a new one and she is still dumb enough to date me. Lesson learned? When you find someone who not only forgives you but doesn't even get the slightest bit mad when you wash their $300 camera, never dump them.

Extreme Love vs. Everyday Love (original post 10.24.06)

I don't usually do serious blogs, however the ideas swirling around in my head lately deserve print.

There's extreme love and everyday love. When authors write love stories or song artists write music, they write and sing about extreme love. They write about the most pain you can feel and the most pleasure that you can feel; the highest high and the lowest low. But that's not what we experience day to day. In fact, people probably experience extreme love only 10% of the time. If you mapped it out, comparing extreme love to everyday love would form a bell curve. Extreme love has been normalized because of all of the songs talking about that all someone needs is love or they are nothing without it.

So maybe what I'm getting at is that love isn't about jumping off of a cliff for someone. Couldn't love just be enjoying each other's company? Couldn't love just be knowing someone wants to work to better their life and yours?

I'm not pessimistic, just logical. I don't believe in love at first sight or soulmates. I believe in the power of a team, two people who work hard together to create, build and maintain a relationship. Relationships aren't a fairy tale land where people live happily ever after. It takes two committed people who dedicate themselves to bettering themselves, their relationships and in turn their partner.

So why did I write this? I believe we don't all deserve love. It takes a lot of energy and a lot of effort. Anyone not willing to invest doesn't deserve it.

Hell on Earth (original post 6.24.06)

So I did it. I didn't think I could bring myself to go, but I did. I actually went into the new Ikea in Canton. For those of you who aren't familiar with this Swedish phenomenon, Ikea is a gigantic home furnishings store with extremely reasonably priced items which, up until now, was only as close as Illinois and Pennsylvania.

Now for those of you who know me, know that I hate crowds of people and disorganization. But I love cheap shit.

I need some patio furniture, so I went to World Market and they didn't have what I needed. So I thought, "I'll just pop into Ikea and see what they've got." Well let me tell you there was no popping-in about it. First of all, I parked in the back of the damn lot and had to walk about 10 minutes to get to the door. But, no big deal, right? I need the exercise anyways. Then I get inside and I can feel the look on my face change to a deer-in-headlights expression.

I go up an escalator only to find an enormous open space with furniture EVERYWHERE. I'm no dummy, you know? I can navigate the Internet and program a cell phone without looking at any manual, so I figure I can find my own way around a home furnishings store. So I start. I quickly realize that I feel like a fish swimming upstream. Everyone is walking the opposite way that I'm walking. Is it a coincidence? I look under my feet and I see an arrow pointing at me. For a moment I thought it was alerting other customers of an Ikea virgin, but then I see that people are following these arrows.

So like a good cow, I go with the herd and even thought I heard someone 'moo' a few people behind me I kept walking. Okay, just find someone who works here and they'll get you to where you need to be. I find a younger good-looking guy and ask him where the patio furniture is. "We don't have any in yet." What? "But you can get some wicker furniture and stick that outside." I hate wicker. I thank him and decide that it's time to get out of there.

Okay, exit signs...exit signs. If I were an exit sign, where would I be? I start getting the idea that maybe that's how they make their money by just trapping people inside and you just keep buying things because you're stuck in there and bored. I'm getting a little bit anxious because I can't find any hint of an exit so I ask another salesperson and she tells me, "Just keep following the arrows." Damnit.

I'm following the arrows and they're not getting me anywhere! I'm still running around, dodging between carts and kids and couples holding hands (puke!) thinking that if I just get around this corner, there will be an exit. Oooh! Another corner. This has to be the last one! DAMNIT! More arrows! I'm feeling like I'm in a rat maze. Where's the cheese? Where's the damn cheese?!

At this point I'm trying to madly escape. If I was a person who had panic attacks, you could guarantee they would have pulled me out of Swedish Hell on a stretcher. So I'm still running around, faster now, getting my elbow or hip occasionally caught on a display or another person. No matter; a bruise or even a bleeding open wound is a small price to get out of this place.

I finally find the exit and even then it's about 50 yards to the sunshine and safety of the world outside Ikea. I escaped with my life, and that's all I care about. As for the patio furniture, I'm shopping online.

Trashy Moms (original post 5.22.06)

So I was at the Target in Ypsi and had an experience that immediately made me think, "ah...blog-worthy". A follow-up experience made me need to write it tonight.

Experience #1: I'm walking along and I see a cute little kid about 8 years old walking around the store with his mom and he's helping her push the cart while she puts milk into it. I smile at him and keep walking when I hear someone's cell phone ring with an especially explicit Ludacris song ("I wanna, lick, lick, lick, lick you from your head to your toes..."). Although I will admit I like that song and often sing along to it in my car, I was appalled to hear it going off in the store, especially near an 8-year-old child. I turn around and the ring is coming from his mother's phone.

Experience #2: I'm searching MySpace profiles and I come across this woman in Florida. In her primary picture, she is standing with her shirt off covering her breasts. Trashy, I know, but it gets better. So of course it's like a train wreck: I can't stay away from looking at the entire profile. I look at her page and there's a chick in a bikini in a provocative pose in the background. I get into the other pics of her and luckily there are no other half-nude ones. Instead, there is one of her and her son. Her friends have posted (over the provocative bikini chick of course) "Happy Mother's Day" graphics, complete with Precious Moments images.

So I guess the people I'm trying to reach in this blog is all of you mothers out there. Go on with your sassy selves! Don't let motherhood turn you into a boring, responsible woman! Or worse yet, a role model! Stay out at the bar until 3am! Put your boobs on MySpace next to the picture of you and your kid! Play Ludacris and Lil' Kim loud and proud! Just because you got knocked up doesn't mean you need to spend the rest of your life paying for it! Just don't be surprised when your daughter turns into a raging slut or your son ends up in jail. It's a small price to pay for your fun and freedom!