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I've never been so thrilled with myself for saying no before in my life.  :)
"Babe, are you sure you don't want to head out now?  We'll find the bathroom on the way"
"Not a chance, we might miss this"
"What exactly re we going to be missing"
"I have no idea...but it's gonna be good"
And...it was.
AEROSMITH.   AEROSMITH and JOHNNY DEPP.  AEROSMITH IN HOLLYWOOD WITH JOHNNY DEPP...AND I GOT TO SEE IT!  BOOM.
The show over all was great.  As a fan of these guys, watching them in person rock out is always fantastic to see.  To hear?  Yes, of course, it's rock and roll baby c'mon!  But these boys are more than typical rock, these men are rock solid.  They have tunes that people have loved since before I was even born.  It's always made me wonder though, how come they all seem to be aging appropriately, except for Joe Perry?  Don't get me wrong, they aren't drastically horrifying to look at, Steven Tylers had his share of "work done", he's also been to hell and back, along with the rest of them, with regard to drugs and alcohol.  But Joe just looks good.   He doesn't have a stupid crows foot.  And he also doesn't look pumped full of botox...and yes, even I've done that once or twice.  But really and truly, he looks good.   And not "for his age".  He looks like he did thirty years ago.  Maybe not as sickly, as again, addictions can certainly make one look ill.  So anyway, when at the very last second, Steven Tyler announced something about hearing that Depp was "in the house", I just about fell off the chair...that at five feet tall, I was standing on.  Well holy shitstix in heaven...Johnny Depp came out to jam.  With the already awesome energy of Aerosmith.  And I was there to see it.  I think I can almost die happy now.  If Slash was there too, I'd be buried already.  :)
Peace, Love, Rock On.  Mel

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Here's a thought provoking twist in everyday fate.    
The baby gets away with everything.  
It's assumed the youngest family member lives on Easy Street...  But what happens when the baby grows up?
I've been sitting here since 8:45 pm.    As a child, I'd say a prayer every night, to please let me die first.     Ironically being the oldest, I'm not nearly tough enough to ever be the baby.    Even now, the first thing I say every night, is a prayer to please let me die first.   I'm supposed to, because I'm the oldest.    
Yesterday evening,  I saw pain in the eyes of a grown up "baby".  She's the youngest of four girls, and a boy.  After decades of four sisters strong, three have died just this year.  
The baby suffering today, is a girl I'd give my own heart too.   My mothers mother.   My first ever best friend.    Needless to say, we hold a strong bond, one that'll never be broken.  It's selfish I can't seem to steady myself, but the intention is kind I guess?  
The baby doesn't have it easy.

The baby endures pain like no other must.
The baby brings centuries of family together, and reminds us where we've come from.  It's through her, that a hundred years from now, none of us will  be forgotten.   Stories become legends, and laughter and love, and so often it starts, with the baby.


Quite Kindly,

M



~ A ~ E ~ B ~

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  Yesterday I got a check in from Green Eyes.   In response to a post on some social media something somewhere not in the land of OZ, was the following.
ME:  Tell the mess of a mind your waiting for, that this is you, and you don't wait.  Done.
G.EYES:  Perfect...You're so right.
ME:  Duh.
(Yes, I actually, for the first time in my life, said duh).
G.EYES:  You're actually a pretty good adviser...Maybe you should be an agent/writer!
ME:  I can do anything Mr.(Green Eyes) ~ but you know that already, otherwise you'd not be wasting time on me.
G.EYES:  True enough...Keep writing!

Truly, have I ever really not?

FYI, because it's my blog and I can.  
On a plane, if you don't put your oxygen mask on first, you'll pass out, and be worthless to everybody else.   The healthier you are, the more you have to offer.  

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Part of my "assignment" from Green Eyes, is to continue blogging.    So, hello world, how is today?  Oh me?  I'm doing lovely thank you, just trying not to melt.  My aches from falling last week, are completely gone.  Of course they've been replaced because when do I take it easy?  Right, so I decided to re-arrange my studio, by myself, moving antique wooden furniture with my own two, small,but strong, hands.   As of last night, my neck down hates me.  Again though, this is me, I'll figure it out.   I always do.  Oh yes, and I have a brand new friend...his name is Tyler, and he's a giant lizard that hangs out at the window  here.  I think he's trying to grow himself into the size of the wooden crocodile that's currently guarding my house.   The last several days, have been a little hazy, I'm tired, and typing non stop.  But better be busy than bored I suppose.
Peacocks, Coyotes, and Lizards...  Oh My.
Quite Kindly,
Achey, but Smiling
Mell

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Willing the floorboards to buckle, seemed appropriate, after falling so far from grace.

Green Eyes, while gorgeous, turned out to be a gentleman.   He was genuine, even concerned, offering to help me up. 

Up, because finding yourself at the bottom, it’s the only direction to go. 

After the momentary lapse of consciousness, I stood.  He gave me a hug instead of a handshake, then for a solid two hours, advised me, informed me, and explained the tools I would need, to move forward.  It wasn’t the most eloquent of introductions, but where’s the fun in that?    The jeans, my nerves, and my doe eyes are all simply part of my charm. 

Boom. 

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I wanted to launch myself clear through the roof.

Next mess.

The severity of my ridiculous “slip”, decided to educate the rest of me, at the very moment my jaw suddenly felt it imperative to dive into my ankles.    Not wanting to miss out on the fun, my vocal cords ran for the hills, after packing up any pounce of vocabulary.     I might have pulled a simple “hi” out of the air, had my arms not fallen out of the sockets, now missing from the general shoulder area, all the while my hands wondered aimlessly in ignorant bliss.  My spleen was still MIA,  my neck was laughing so hard at the rest of me, that my head was now on it’s own, balloon like, floating around in the room.  I think.  

My remaining parts were screaming in pain (fucking slip), except for my eyes that had fallen from grace just before the rest of my body abandoned shop.

Bye Boom.

Tall, devastatingly handsome, stellar in form, styled to perfection, and  quite possibly amused at my current state of profound stupidity, he stood there.   And I was there.    And my ass was, stuck to the chair.  Shoot.

Boom gone.

This epic masterpiece of a man, surpassed anything even G.Q. might dream up.   His eyes, I credit with unraveling the cellular structure of anything in a six mile radius.  Green, piercing, vivacious, they were fascinating, and curious, wildly strong and dancing with wisdom.   Electricity poured out of those eyes.  

Him who was there to meet … me?  In a sweatshirt?  Oh fuck fuck and double fuckstix.  Shit.  To my defense, the sweater, cost more alone, than the jeans, Uggs and tee combined.  Boom a little?  No.  Really not. 

My sisters voice rang through my ears.  Oh ears!  Yay they still worked! 

“When have you not gotten whatever you wanted?  Your there, go get it”.    My sister, a force of natural intelligence you do not want to fuck with.    “Go get it”.

I’ll try.

Boom… A little.

Quite Kindly,

And determined to find boom,

Me. 

PS- Peanuts. 

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Staring at denim covered knee caps, I suddenly felt like Andy.    The interview-esque meeting wasn’t for Runway, and Prada isn’t intimidating.  Still, that last minute “oh fuckstix what did I do” feeling sunk in...hard.  Shit.   I thought I’d swallowed my spleen.

As usual, in traditional me fashion, moxie came back, swept through the scene, and set the stage.

A divine little coffee house, near the water, in the town I was born in.   No worries.

So, eco- happy gift bag (olive branch)on the empty wooden table.  Black (lunch-box) “work bag” on the chair to my left.  Classic Chanel quilted tan bag, with leather and silver handle displaying appropriately (but subtly) the CC logo.  And me.  Honestly, un sure any meeting would really happen,  with knees tucked to chin. 

Jeans, Uggs, Def Leppard concert tee, (washed out and black), a diamond ring set on one hand, aqua and topaz design on the other and my ipad nestled on top.   Breathing is a must if one hopes to accomplish life let alone a may be interview-esque meeting.

I dropped my pen in the dirt when I slipped on my way out the door this morning.   Fuckstix.  I can’t sketch?  Oh holy hell I can’t even write.  Of all the times in my life, TODAY I don’t have a writing utensil, really?  SERIOUSLY?!  Wait, don’t panic … type darling.  Bingo.  

Scene set, let’s see what I have to say.

I'm waiting for somebody.  I’m good with people, even the most obnoxious excuse for one, yet here I am, starting to quake like a sitting duck.  Fuck.  I don’t remember the moment I swallowed my spleen, but I absolutely have.  It isn’t necessarily him that’s flipped my spinal column upside down, rather it’s what he represents (potentially).   Probably.  It’s very likely this man is the beginning of my next chapter.   

So what do I represent?  I’m shy, but I’m here.  Strength.  My legs are jelly, but I’m here.  Confidence.  Snagging an hour of this man’s precious time?  Courage, balls and audacity.  Nice Mell!

A musician, business man, cool guy, great husband, dad of the century  etc etc etc.  Today, to me he's a well respected, writer.   Ambitious.   A get up and make it work man.  Though it isn’t about money, it’s about credit where such is due.   It’s taken almost a year.   E-mails, voice mails, a text here and there, matched on both his side and mine, accompanied by my sweet natured get up and go, have resulted in now.    I hope? 

Yesterday “the” song came on.  It’s on my iPod, but I kid you not, it disappears from time to time.  At seemingly random moments it plays.  Startling me, yet teaching me timing.  I pulled into the driveway, hopped (literally) out of my Jeep, then calmly but with intention, I sat down, counted to ten, and sent the following message.

“You don’t have to get me a job.  I’ll do that.  And you don’t need a sob story, but you’ll kick yourself hard if you pass on mine.  Confidence is as much a virtue as patience.  (This I know)  Lucky for you, I don’t have anybody else smart enough (or worth said patience) to hound.  So, bark.”

Less than a second later, he called and said he’s coming to LA.   Stay smart Melissa.  “When?”.  Tomorrow he replied.  Shit shit shit… “What time do you arrive, I’ll be at the airport.”  I’m sorry who jumped in and took over my vocal cords??  How …assertive?  Whoa.  Wow.  Go little Meliss.   The kicker is he didn’t argue.  He didn’t?  Really?  Nope.  I didn’t give him the chance.  He told me the ETA, and the last words were mine.  “I’ll see you when you land”. 

Boom!  (did I mention the silent fist punch into the air?   There may have also been a cartwheel)

Sans sleep, I unraveled myself from the sheets, showered etc, then put myself together, looked ok (all things considered don’t ask), and … that’s when I lost my pen.   It wasn’t a  “slip”, I kind of passed out-ish.   Boom indeed.

Found a handful of pride hanging on a near bye tree branch, went back inside, ate something, drank a Vitamin Water, dusted myself off, jumped into jeans, and transformed back to the real me. 

In this technological world of apps up and out the wazoo, the only meaningful energy source has dwindled it’s way down, to me. 

My sisters just called.  "Don't be nervous.  Well c'mon, it's you. 

When have you not gotten whatever you wanted?  Your there, go get it". 

#NuffSaid

Quite Kindly,

Possibly lacking a spleen, but not on my knees and fully clothed,

Me.  Little…But Oh My Indeed. 

iHope

PS – He just walked in.  Crimany, I’ve forgotten how to speak.

Twitter:ohmymelli So many times, I've wanted to call him on it. Literally just call him right up and ask flat out. " What in the hell were you thinking!!???". Though the thought is knocked clear across the room by logic. If I did that, alarm bells would ring, lights would flash red, sirens would sound... It would not be good. His fear is worse than mine. Only he has absolutely no idea...At all...About any of it. My own clarification is recent. The extent of it rather. I suppose the only person that kept me in the dark, well, was me. It's human nature. Survival instincts. I have two kids that make my world spin. And for them, I cannot let the monster from my childhood free. For them, I'm in automatic survival mommy mode. How could I possibly keep them safe if I'm not safe? Right I can't. So the bigger question becomes, how do I get me safe? Each time I sit down to type this, a new set of questions unravels. It's like in the cartoons, one of those never ending scrolls. 1) How come nobody knew this was happening? That's the #2. 2) If they were truly medically certified, how come nobody told me this was happening? That's the next #2. 3) 2+2=??? Right. It equals #4. So then why in the world did I not say anything? Honestly you still don't know? I said it already. THE CARDINAL RULE OF BEING A FUNCTIONING HUMAN BEING??? SURVIVAL INSTINCT. And I'll tell you in truth, once the files of my mind were so violently shaken out of order, (car accident) in my efforts to survive, as something other than a vegetable, it is again up to only me, to sort through the mess, and clean it the fuck out. Not to mention the fact that it's all way beyond terrifyingly disturbing. I've found myself understanding things that hit me so hard, like the pieces of stories, movies, etc, that've stuck for seemingly no reason at all. The growing comprehension of who I am, is crystallizing, and kind of remarkable really. The trauma though is vicious. Every beautifully painted masterpiece I'm able to hang back up on the wall, is in combination with a heinous cobweb. I'll figure it out though. I always do. To whomever is reading this, while I'm not in any way, shape, or form, yours, I do thank you quite kindly. Melissa... Oh My.

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Am I ‘eccentric”?  Maybe.  Do I get points for admitting it?  Yes.

Everyday, after school, I’d look up into the sky ~ and plead for stupidity to reign down on me, for ignorance to take over my mind, and for shallow, lackluster  emotion, to encompass my very being.  Please.  I beg you ~ help me be a dumb ass. 

Despite being able to always, (indeed I do mean ALL WAYS, ALWAYS, and IN EVERY WHICH WAY POSSIBLE), figure out how get exactly what I (or another) wanted or needed, the whole, being a crack head, wasn’t something I could manifest.   I’m not a stupid idiot.  Unfortunately, my demise is my kind heartedness.

The me that lures the world into my arms, is the me I’d run far away from at a moments notice.  

“Compassion is stellar in it’s frantic, yet seductive, creation of pain”. 

"If It Aint Broke ~ Don't Fix It". But what if it sucks?

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"If it aint broke ~ don't fix it"... but what if "it" sucks?
     
         In "The Devil Wears Prada", Meryl Streep states simply "That's all".   Despite the calm,  even civilized tone of her voice, you can't help suddenly feeling like a giant, wrought iron, gate has been shut, locked in twelve places, and will forever remain so.  The possibility for other opportunities is struck down, and upon hearing either of the above statements, most will continue going through life's motions ~ with no emotion at all.   So what if it's not broken?  What if it sucks, or it's too large, or too small?  "Just because it isn't broken, doesn't mean it's working properly for YOU".   The question transforms then into a choice.  Your choice in which you give yourself the right to seek out something better.  My jeans don't fit properly, they aren't torn, old, too big or small, they just don't fit.
        SELL THEM, TOSS THEM, GIVE THEM AWAY ~ AND GET YOURSELF A PAIR THAT WORKS
 "If it aint broke ~ don't fix it".    If truly it sucks though, figure out how to change it.

Stay alive, stay passionate, be safe, respect yourself, and don't ever tell anybody to kiss your ass ~ don't give them the pleasure.
Quite Kindly,
       Melissa
    

Helicopters are from Mars.

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HELICOPTERS ARE FROM MARS, AIRPLANES ARE FROM VENUS.

Airplane #1
"I'm so so so going to be so so mad in about two minutes!!!"

Airplane #2
"Oh tell me he didn't say something about your wingspan ~Again?!?"

Airplane #1
"He so totally did!! As a kind of a lift off before work to make me smile he said. I'm sorry make me SMILE??!! Is he kidding me are you serious? Am I being stupid or am I right in being so friggin upset?"

Airplane #2
" Woman I can see the smoke starting to come outta your engines. You better relax before you full on take off. Although man the wingspan...AGAIN? Yeah girl I'm with you...what an bunch of useless metal!"

Airplane #1
"He is so going down I'm done that's it...what an ass!!!".

Airplane #2
"Be careful sweetie... Fly safe I'm with you in spirit. In hanger 6 when you get back..."

Airplane #1
Screaming as she hustles down the runway. "that good for nothin metal madness ... What'd I ever see in him anyways...oh my gosh what was I thinking...ok ok ok deep breathing..."
Calms down...wheels gracefully glide upward and take their place in her belly.

Helicopter #1
"Dude you really me turned her wingspan again? Youn going down today you mow that right?"

Helicopter #2
"Cheers to another day off in the clouds bro! Later!". Sun is out, slight ocean breeze, he lifts off, without any drama, and goes about his day. ;)

I rest my case. I much prefer the helicopters. Or more accurately, (an exception holds true for every rule) I prefer the "Mellicopter". No drama, no extra nonsense... Just get up and go go juice.

Chateau My Melli ~ Hoot N' Anny Home

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               And...Fire, Ready, Aim!  Kaboom!   I waved my wand and "poof" we're in the new house, I have a new Studio space...and already, puzzle piece's that've  so very long been absent, have begun to sneak into their proper places.   I've somewhat drifted into the enchanting air that has encompassed this house.     It's completely intoxicating.   While getting up in the morning is easy,  forcing myself to leave  has become ridiculously difficult. 
               There is a shop my sister discovered, one truly unique in it's atmosphere.  It's an antique shop...but there is no clutter.  There is a sense of something wonderful that calls silently to you the moment you open the door.  It's fantastically creative, yet it's one hundred percent logical, and every piece, every display, each table top is perfectly functional.  The kicker here, is the owner.  This woman is like a fairy godmother...   She can literally wave a wand, snap her fingers, say boo, and in ten minutes, she'll either completely transform your space, or tell you exactly how it can be done.  Your style, your desire, and even your budget.   She's creatively witty and quicker on her toes than a cheetah.  She just moves.  She's stealthy in her calm ways.  Things all of a sudden look different but more so, the entire space, from a tiny bathroom to a giant ballroom, will feel different.  The mood is different.  It's soothing, yet workable.  It's been said that artists look like their subjects.  They bare a resemblance of sorts.  They bring forward their own energy into whatever it is they are using it toward.  When Jennifer uses this outrageous talent, naturally,  the air will feel  different.  Better.  More relaxed.  You will feel and be, more composed, more capable, and more productive.   The most fun part is the glow you'll absentmindedly carry around with you.  It's truly like magic has happened.     So, I bought one book from her, and went back every day for the next three weeks.  It's like a sweet siren this store.  You should absolutely take a peek.  www.HootNannyHome.com is the site.  The store is in Southern California, so if your around, give Jennifer a call, and see...Trust me.  ;)  (818) 575-9011.
Below is a handful of photos.  The first set are a combination of pieces from Hoot N Anny and yours truly.

This second set is just a handful of sketches I felt like sharing... Also the first few I've done in my new Studio.

The next handful are just me...before, during and after the move.  :)
First one...ok deep breath...

Next one, I'm almost done packing...So close!

And last one, I'm here!  Totally wiped out...not nearly done unpacking...pre-Jennifer :)

On that Pearl of wisdom...Good night, Dream sweetly, Good morning, it's ten after four here...oops.
Quite Kindly, Meliss

Roxy, Reagan, and jeans...because I can.

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    "That one, " he stated, quite obviously, pointing to me.  " The little one in the silver top".  His friends all looked.  "She's the cutie".    He continued.  "See the one's behind her though ... those are the hotties".    The Roxy on it's way to closing this past Saturday night/Sunday Morning.   "The little one's got a gorgeous face... her body could be cool, but she's in jeans".     Between the brilliance of his mind,  lack of functioning brain to mouth filtration system, and the slight buzz, it would in fact seem, this guy had been honest in sharing (loudly) his opinion.    As approved by his friends,  I'm little, cute, and have a gorgeous face in jeans.  Mini skirt and tube top?  You couldn't pay me.  Why?  Because I can do it in jeans.
    That night, lead singer, Reagan Browne wore a pendant I made for him.  On stage.  At the Roxy.  On THE Sunset strip.  In Hollywood.   Rock on.

Check out ReaganBrowne.com