Just Slightly Rehabilitated

I can honestly say that at least half of the time I feel totally confident in who I am. I have days where I really look in the mirror and think I am pretty keen. Then, there are those other times.

I was just approached by a co-worker who said she had a question. For some reason, no matter how great I am performing, I ALWAYS assume if someone wants to talk to me at work, it's because I did something wrong. Usually, it is the opposite. In this case, she wanted to ask if I would sit on an interview panel for some candidates they are considering for their new staff assigned to school board items, and legislative bill analyses. I said, "Of course. I'd be honored!" What I wanted to say was, "Don't you people realize I used to knock people's teeth out 'cause they owed my friend drug money????" and then I want to run down the halls screaming that I'm a huge phony.

No matter how much I know I've changed, and even though I am working on being the best Melanie I can be, I will always be haunted by my past. I will occasionally get little glimpses of old Melanie which I have to fight hard to beat down. I know she's in there. I sometimes get the feeling that at any moment I am going to rip off these dress trousers, this button up dress shirt, and these sensible shoes and underneath will be a Melanie with blood on her fists, wearing jeans, converse, and a hoodie, ready to attack. I keep her well hidden, but I can still feel her sometimes trying to claw her way out, and it's maddening. Maybe I just watched too much of the Hulk as a child.

The days when she is nowhere to be found are the ones where I look at someone being ugly and I feel sorry for them. I explain to people, "God, they must be miserable. Just look how they are behaving. They need us to just smile and nod. They are in their own personal hell." I am compassionate. I am quiet and well-behaved. And quite frankly, I kind of bore the shit out of myself. I try and distract myself with stories about how this cleaning duster straw, if used effectively, could probably poke out an eye or at least fly far enough to cause a laugh. I draw stick figures of a bunch of people on a boat, who then lose all their paddles, but they don't care 'cause they're in good company and everything seems right with the world.

I smile on the days that good Melanie is here. I'm proud of her, even though she could learn to be a little more exciting. She sometimes walks past a conversation where someone says, "18 grams of fat is a lot" and the other person answers, "But that's for 6 pieces. So for 1 piece, it's only like 2 grams." I yell from already a teeny bit down the hall, "3 grams! Your third grade math teacher just turned in her grave. Unless she's still alive. Then she just silently snubbed her nose at you and thought, 'I knew he was never paying attention!'" I don't know if they laugh and found it as funny as I did, 'cause I'm like Andy Kaufman. My jokes are for me and I really don't care if anyone else finds them humorous. I'm a selfish emm effer, even when I'm good Melanie. Good Melanie is also obviously sexist, since the teacher was a her.

Deep down I know that I am for the most part, this new improved Melanie. But sometimes I still smile slyly as I totally realize, "I have them all fooled." I am glad this new Melanie would rather be at home watching dvr'ed episodes of Lost Girl than out at a bar raising a ruckus. I'm happy chopping garlic and finding the best lamb recipe is way more important than what is going on this weekend out and about. I am totally satisfied with the fact that going out with friends consists of a quiet mellow dinner followed by hysterical conversation, and not ending up god knows where.

It's confusing to some mornings wake up and think you are this really strong, amazing woman who has gotten her shit together and achieved all of these things she should totally be proud of. Then the next morning you wake up and wonder how it is your house hasn't fallen down on top of you yet 'cause you totally don't deserve to even have shelter. I once saw a shirt that said, "Won't you take a ride on my mood swings?" and I honestly thought, "Who would wear that shirt? Someone who obviously doesn't have REAL mood swings. 'Cause it is in no way cute or amusing." Then I felt like an ass, 'cause it totally WAS cute and amusing, and I should probably own one of those shirts as an immediate apology to anyone who has to deal with me on a daily basis. You are all fucking saints.

I mean, some days I get up in arms over things like Lady Gaga's Born This Way. Umm, no, you were not born weird. You are a mastermind marketer who copied club kids and made yourself this totally palpable weirdo that everyone laps up. We are the real weirdos. You, my lady friend, are an imposter! Okay, an imposter that can actually sing and play the piano, but your music is still sucky and hollow and your outfits are in no way shocking or original. Now give me some of that meat suit 'cause I want to bbq. But then some days I think, "Good work Lady Gaga. You got famous doing exactly what you wanted to do. Congrats, diva!"

I'm going to stop writing now as I think I've completely forgotten why I started this post in the first place. Oh yeah, I'm not stable, but I play stable on tv. A tv that no one is watching, but they should be, 'cause I'm terribly entertaining.

Happy picture of the day: one of my co-workers gave me this spork. At first I had named it Winky, due to the face drawn on the sticker. Then I realized a winky is the name some little boys call their penis, so that name simply wouldn't do. Her new name is Winkstyle McSmileymouth. I'm pretty sure she's an awesome breakdancer.