Sunday, May 31, 2009

SUNDAY Column: Summers R Us

Editor’s Note: This is the first of a two-part series devoted to bringing out your inner child this summer. Why? Because summer deserves more than one column.

The coming weeks will surely be joyous ones for students all across the country – from kindergarten to college. They’ll sit on the edge of their seats, poised and brimming with excitement. They’ll no longer be thinking about science or math or the capital of Mongolia; they’re done with all that nonsense.

Instead, their eyes are fixated as if they were in a deep staring contest with the clock. And they were. After all, each second that went by was a second closer to that bell of freedom. Literally. And when it ring-a-ding-dings? Well, just watch out.

Oh, the joys of being young and carefree again. To suffer through those torturous nine months, knowing those three months of sweet salvation are completely and utterly worth it. If only us adults had those sorts of luxuries. Granted, many jobs observe a more relaxed atmosphere from June to August (casual Hawaiian Fridays, anyone?), but the glories of summer days and endless summer nights are over once you hit 23 – nothing but a distant memory amidst the pile of papers on your office desk and calendar filled with meetings.

But do they have to be? Should they be? With all the stress and hostility found in the workplace these days, experiencing the joys of those lazy, hazy days of yore could go quite a long way toward improving our lives and our state of mind – both inside and outside the workplace.

Don’t believe me? When was the last time you even did one of the following?

Take A Picnic At An Area Forest Preserve
Our lovely little area of the Midwest sports quite the variety, many of them including walking paths through lush greens and the smell of summer flowers. My mother has an overzealous love of going to Afton Forest Preserve. I honestly used to dread these outings, but there’s something about being in nature that just makes you slow down. And we could all use a chance or two or three to slow down. The point is to get outside. Become one with Mother Nature; she, after all, deserves some major props for all the troubles we’ve put her through over the centuries.

Spend An Entire Afternoon Being A Goofy Kid
Remember how great it felt to run down the toy aisle as a child and fill up your basket with the essential summer supplies: bubbles, sidewalk chalk (in all colors, of course), a giant bouncy ball (they were always my favorite until I found out I was allergic to latex. What a sad, sad day that was). For added fun, why not take a color kite for a ride. This one is a classic that never goes out of style. My father was a kite man. Kites in all shapes, colors and sizes. There’s something incredibly freeing – and calming – about just watching a kite sway lazily back and forth against the white clouds and blue skies. But as in life, watch out for those pesky trees.

Prance Around In A Park
There’s nothing like feeling the wind ripple through your hair as you whoosh back and forth on the swings. Or how about getting dizzy going down the gigantic slide? Kids were on to something when they deemed this a fun activity; it’s a great stress-reliever and darn relaxing. And if you happen to go to Huntley Park, give that labyrinth a whirl. That mind-boggling maze gets me every time!

xoxo,

Friday, May 29, 2009

Have A Lovely Weekend.


TGIF, my darlings! So what are your big plans for this last weekend in May? Here's what I'll be doing: nursing a dreadful cold. The sore throat started yesterday, and it's all been downhill since then. Think of me this weekend, as I lay around watching my guilty-pleasure shows (90210 anyone?) read the only news magazine that really matters - US Weekly - and drink plenty of orange juice (a drink my father used to call "liquid sunshine" -- cheesy, huh?).

Cheers!

xoxo,


[Photo by Alicia Bock]

Freaky (Funny!) Friday (Part II)

Previously on The Melissa Diaries: Graduation night turned out to be more than I could ever expect or imagine. Yet I was just about to have the hug of a lifetime. Would it last? Hopefully, forever.




xoxo,

Thursday, May 28, 2009

And The Decoder Ring Says....?

The verdict is clear by now: I'm going to need a decoder ring (or at the very least, a translator fluent in Guy Speak) for all my future interactions with Crush Boy. Check out this response he sent me:



I could have just let it go at that. In fact, I should have let it go, but I'm Blair Waldorf and this guy is Chuck Bass to me. I. Can't. Let. It. Go. So what exactly did I do? no, I didn't ream him out again. After all, I apologized, remember? I am nothing if not a woman of my word, which, ironically, can sometimes be a bit too wordy as evidenced by my reply:



Lordy, what do you make of this? Or am I the one making too much of this? I'm starting to think that he and I are far more alike than either of us will ever admit - and that probably only adds tension and fuel to our I-don't-even-know-what-you'd-call-it fire. I call him out for being vague and aloof, but maybe I'm only so defensive because I see the same behavior in myself. I hate that I'm like one of those swirling helicopters - you know, the kind that keep hovering and moving in continuous circles in the air, but never land on target. Maybe everything I say is merely meandering around what I really want to say. I hint and hint at things, but what if I just came right out and said them, bare bones and nothing else (metaphorically, of course). Oh, shoot...there I go again. Damn my metaphorical brain!

But I will be blunt about this: If he wants to play these head games, I'm all for it. I'll play right back. Oh, it is so ON. Maybe he needs to start his engine....

xoxo,

I Need A New Journal.

I'm a big fan of writing, obviously. I've kept a journal since I was 9, back in the days when I used to buy the kind with the lock and key and called it a diary. It all made me feel very sophisticated.

I've since moved on to more mature-looking books in which to pour out my heart and soul (and eventually probably use it as fodder for Freaky (Funny!) Friday.

I've always said that it's all about setting the tone, and the right journal can do just that. Hence (gosh, I love that word), I've found myself unable to make that special "connection" with a journal in the last few years. Not to sound snobby, but none of them have spoken to me. The result? A combination of the economy (I can't justify spending #15 on those fancy hardcover ones at Borders anymore) and my journal-finding frustration has resulted in my using a Sharpay from High School Musical (yes, you read that right) composition book. I love Sharpay...don't get me wrong, but I've been looking on line. What do you think of these journals I found on Etsy?

Check out the photos below and cast your vote.






Should I get one?

xoxo,

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Dating With Disabilities: Guys To Avoid (Like The Plague)

Teaser: If you encounter one of these guys, I can't be liable for what happens. You've been warned.



Dating With Disabilities: Guys To Avoid

xoxo,


[Photo by Le Love]

Darn, Those Flood Gates.

So remember yesterday when I mentioned running into Crush Boy? Just as I thought, it happened YET AGAIN. Things surely weren't awkward between us, and maybe they should have been. Where is a good dose of awkwardness when you need it most? If things had been awkward, at least maybe I wouldn't have sent this email a day later:



It's OK. You can tell me what I've been telling myself for years. This is so pathetic. MOVE ON ALREADY. I think there should be some sort of special goggles you can wear when you're in the presence of "that guy." You know, the one you're sure, beyond a doubt that you're over him; and then you see him, and those annoying feelings start bubbling up to the surface yet again. I know I would invest in a hefty supply of said goggles.

What in the heck sort of power does this guy have over me? I'm an intelligent, independent woman, so why is it that every time I see him, I morph into that 13-year-old again? I'm pretty sure he doesn't think we're even remotely compatible, and franktly, I'm not so sure we are, either.

But you know what's even worse (or annoying....I haven't decided yet)? I think he may have been right, at least in part. Maybe my fear did stop me from seeing where things would go with him. After all, I had created this fantasy in my head for the last 13 years, and the moment I had a chance to see if that fantasy could turn into something even resembling reality, I recoiled. Yes, probably in fear. But don't we all do that? We're so scared that the fantasy we'd built in our heads is all we'll ever have (or want?) that maybe we'd rather just have that instead of, well, the inevitable heartbreak that would probably come with reality.

I guess I just love that damn fantasy too much. That's not fsir to him, I know, but how can you change the thought patterns you've had for 13 years? And again, maybe I'm just too afraid to try.

But then again, he never did even ask me on a proper date. And no, I don't consider the phrase "let's hang out and where it goes" not a good enough invitation for me, boys. Sorry.

But the question still remains: Why do I keep opening these flood gates? Desperation? Craziness? I'm not sure, honestly.

What do you think? Am I really as hopelessly hopeless as I think?

xoxo,

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #12

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:



Sometimes the shortest letters mean the most, don't you think? Until we meet...

xoxo,

Thanks, (cough*cough) Blago!

You all know I'm a very independent woman. I don't let anyone or anything stand in the way of my living my life, despite my physical disability. That's why, when I read in the local newspaper over the weekend that it's possible some of the services may be cut from the transportation services I use. Now, I don't just use these services to go places every once in awhile. I use these buses to go to work. I use these buses to get to and from medical appointments. And, of course, I use these buses to go to the grocery store - or any other store, for that matter. Sometimes I think people who aren't disabled forget that transportation isn't a luxury for everyone; it's not as easy as "hopping in the car" and driving away. Here's a newspaper columns I wrote a few years ago on this very subject.

If you feel as angered as I do about the potential service cuts, I urge you to send your letters to The DeKalb Daily Chronicle. What are your thoughts?


I'm famous. My big break has finally arrived. The clock has struck on my 15 minutes of fame, and I've set off running like a thunderous lion charging through the wild. I didn't have to spend years toiling in low-budget horror films. And I didn't have to live in desolate conditions in Greenwich Village as a starving artist, either. I'm thankful to say that my fame came Hollywood-free, but it was filled with tons of glitz and glamour.

You may have seen me riding around town in a little red and white bus. Now, I'm a busy girl, so chances are you've seen me tooling around on numerous occasions. It turns out that little bus is just one of 40 that are part of the TransVAC local transportation service. And on Sept. 26, I had the pleasure of being honored as their 3 millionth rider. I've never considered myself a big winner. Aside from a “Best Reporter” plaque from Northern Illinois University's Northern Star and a few other academic awards, I'm a pretty average girl.

That is, until I got a call from TransVAC last week. They were putting together a little open house to celebrate their milestone. And they wanted me to be their 3 millionth rider. I was shocked. Were they really talking to the right person? Apparently, they were, so I soon found myself on one of those buses. My destination? The DeKalb Community Center. My family will tell you that I've been talking about this incessantly for the past week. The anticipation kept building as we rounded the corner. I could feel the tires gliding along the pavement. I was almost there. Here came my big debut. When I arrived, my picture was snapped as I got off the bus. I was glad to see such a good turnout, and everyone enjoyed an open house of food and socializing.

During the ceremony, Tom Zucker, the executive director of Voluntary Action Center, which runs the TransVAC buses, said mobility is a right. And that's when it hit me: This is more than a simple accolade. It struck me directly in the heart, and I couldn't help but see the defining moment in the honor. What does it mean to be the 3-millionth rider? Why was it stirring such strong emotions in me? I was born with Freeman-Sheldon Syndrome, a genetically inherited bone and muscular disorder. The '80s were a blur of doctors in sleek white lab coats and hospitals that had sterile walls to match. I had 26 surgeries by the time I was 15, so I didn't have the typical childhood of carefree days swinging from the monkey bars or selling cool lemonade in the summer. My disability afforded me a certain dependency on my parents. They were my lifeline, and I'm so grateful for them. They were always there, and they gave me the best childhood I could ask for. I was a happy little red-haired girl thanks to them. During my childhood, I didn't think twice about being dependent on anyone, let alone my parents.

But then after my father died, I noticed a shift. I saw my peers going off on their own, living their independent lives, and I found myself yearning for that too. It wasn't that I had big dreams of running off on my own to Los Angeles or some obscure place. My goals were smaller, but they were still very important to me. I wanted to gain that life experience I missed out on during my “hospital years,” that day-to-day living that shaped my peers into the adults they are today. The bells of adulthood were chiming, and I wasn't about to let a little disability stop me from living. Enter those little red and white buses. They're small but mighty, just like me. I started using them a few years ago, and my life has grown by leaps and bounds ever since. It's almost like a whole new world has opened up to me - a world that I could finally control. With a simple phone call to schedule a ride, I could live life at my own pace. I found myself breaking through those tough barriers my disability had created, and for the first time, I could run free - metaphorically, of course. I had tasted freedom's sweet honey, and I was hooked. For me, freedom never tasted so good or sounded so melodious.

From that first ride, I've gone all over the place, from the library to restaurants to the post office. Most people never think twice about doing their weekly grocery shopping. In fact, most people dread it - long lines, hoards of people pushing and shoving, and little kiddies running around. I crave these shopping trips, and they've become a monthly ritual for me. There's so much more to the outings than battling the unruly crowds. I enjoy the quiet atmosphere of Barnes & Noble as I browse through every single row of the magazine section. Then I meander my way through the aisles of Target, with its shiny floor and classic Target smell. The most rewarding part is that I do it all on my own. I didn't have to have my mother drive me there - and I also don't have her yelling at me to hurry up! With each new trip, I'm feeling my independent self blossom.

Little by little, I'm growing into the adult I want to be. Granted, it's taken me a bit longer than my peers. But the point is, it's happening. For the first time, I feel like I'm living. The only downside is that I've now become my mother's personal shopper. But she was the one who gave me the strict instructions to never let my disability define me (thanks, mom), so I'm thrilled that I can do this for her. And if you ever see one of those buses go by, look for a little red-haired girl in the window. It probably will be me.

xoxo,

Monday, May 25, 2009

Man Candy Monday

I'm a fool for American Idol - take that any way you like. But, it's true. I've been one of those hard-core fan since 2002 when Kelly Clarkson wowed the nation with her powerful pipes. And this year, I fell in love with this guy right away. He's got that sort of rocker vibe that just makes me completely weak in the knees......Oh, and by the way: He should have won, too.

ADAM LAMBERT!!!!!!!!






xoxo,

Sunday, May 24, 2009

SUNDAY Column: Barbeque Masters...Start Your Grills!

I don’t need a calendar to tell me it’s Memorial Day tomorrow. I’ve got my mom and some good old charcoal to let me know it’s time to give a bow of thanks and salute the men and women who proudly serve in our nation’s fine military.

It’s a lovely day. So lovely, in fact, that I’ve christened it the Official Beginning of Barbequing Season. America and barbeques go together like, well, a good old baseball game and a hotdog. That’s how I see it. Maybe that’s how you see it too.

If not, you should, because, really, what’s better than ushering in the great grilling season than with family, fun and flames?

Now, if I’ve led you in any way to believe that I am a Grand Master Griller, I’m deeply sorry to disappoint. I’m not a Grand Master; heck, I’m not even the one who does the actual grilling. That’s my mother’s job, and until last year, we were reduced to having our Memorial Day feast on a Foreman Grill. The inside kind. Why? Because we just couldn’t seem to win in the battle of wits competition with our outside grill: a tiny Weber model.

The Weber may have been small (we, innocently, thought we could take it on), but it was mighty and a darn-near genius. It taunted us with its smarts for a whole two years before it finally relented and let us experience that charcoaled-taste goodness.

The first year, we couldn’t get those little charcoal pebbles to hold a flame. We both sat there on our small patio, two smart, competent, college-educated women, striking match after match. Before we knew it, we’d wasted an entire pack. So, naturally, it was time to bring out the big guns, we thought: The Aim-N-Flame. No luck. Neither the matches nor the “modern man’s” flame burned the charcoal, but it sure burned our egos a bit.

It was pathetic. Even our cave people ancestors figured out how to master fire, and they didn’t even have the luxury of the Aim-N-Flame.

We trudged back into the house that day, defeated beyond belief, and brought out the tabletop Foreman. Our egos were burned and bruised even more an hour later as we smelled a neighbor’s sizzling grill down the street. Maybe they had an even powerful Aim-N-Flame, we reasoned.

The second year, we went at it with a renewed sense of enthusiasm and determination. We thought we’d even perfected our routine. Light match. Throw match on top of charcoal. Watch beautiful orange flame spring to life.

“Do you see a flame?” my mother asked.

I looked.

“Nope,” I sighed.

“What about now?” she asked again after using the lid of the grill as a shield from the wind.

I looked again. I peered into the pit, only to see those limp, lifeless charcoal bits and what could merely pass as a flame go from sizzle to fizzle faster than an ‘80s perm on prom night.

“Oh, it’s hopeless,” I said as I began to feel the full effects of heat and hunger.

And just at that moment, when I was sure all hope was lost forever, we figured it out. Well, my wise mother did, actually. The little vent on the bottom. Ooops, we’d never opened it. It was like a Christmas miracle on that warm Memorial Day. The spoils of our victory (finally!) tasted even sweeter too.

We learned some very valuable lessons that day. Barbequing is, indeed, a big business. There are grills in every size and different types of charcoal (or so I’m told). There are tongs and forks and knives – oh my!

The pros cook with wild abandon. Sadly, I’m not sure my mother or I will ever feel that sort of fire (sometimes literally!). Honestly, in the world of the Barbequing Olympics, we wouldn’t even qualify for a bronze medal; and that’s assuming we even make it past the preliminary rounds. I’m pretty sure you have to be able to actually like a grill to make it past those early rounds.

But come to think of it, we could easily take the prize in the comedy category at said Olympics. Considering my mother’s deathly fear of a grill catching fire (well, at least she now has confidence that we can actually start a fire) after the flame has long been extinguished. On an average barbequing expedition, she’ll ask me more than 20 times, “You think those coals are all burned out, don’t you?” At her most fearful, I’ve found her standing at the patio door as if she were keeping guard to make sure that Weber didn’t try to pull any monkey business on us.

So go forth tomorrow, and grill to your heart’s content. But don’t worry about us. We only grill three times a year, after all: Memorial Day, the Fourth of July and Labor Day. What are the chances anything could go wrong, especially with my mother “on guard”?

xoxo,


Saturday, May 23, 2009

The Past 6 Months: Some Posts of Interest.

[Photo by ffffound]


Good morning! Hope everyone is having a smashing Saturday (I love writing as if I'm British!). For your own reading pleasure - and for a laugh or two, I'm sure - check out the best of the best blog posts from the past 6 months.

Come and bask with me in my awkwardness!

There was the time I blew my own 14-year secret

There was the time I had no shame in admitting a virgin virgin , and tha contrary to popular myth, it, SHOCKINGLY, had nothing to do with my disability

There were the times my Facebook footsies with Facebook Flirt help give me a much needed boost in the self-confidence department

There was the time I wrote a Letter To My Future Husband describing my Top Romantic moments, though oddly (and of course, awkwardly), these moments were a bit, umm, one-sided.

And finally...

There was the time I sent men a detailed memo on the best ways to approach me

xoxo,

Friday, May 22, 2009

Cheers To A Delicious Weekend.

[Photo by Le Love]



Happy Friday, my dearies! What are your plans for the long Memorial Day Weekend? I'll be enjoying a lovely BBQ of grilled goodness and hopefully lots of warm sunshine!

Live it up!

xoxo,

Freaky (Funny!) Friday (Part I)

Previously on The Melissa Diaries: It was all over. High school had finally come to an end. Life - my life - was moving on, maybe a little faster than I'd like. And just with my luck, fate would once again dash my hopes far too soon.

Note: Look for Part II next Friday.





xoxo,

I Love You More Than...Part II


Remember the cool site I turned you onto yesterday? Well, I checked this morning and they published some of my submissions! Check it out! Mine are the first 4 in the top row!

I *dare* you to submit some of your own---it's pretty fun!

xoxo,

Thursday, May 21, 2009

I Love You More Than...Part I


Check out one of the coolest sites I stumbled on in a very long time. I Love You More Than...Blank tags itself as "a small project with a big heart", and frankly, it's just pretty darn awesome.

How cool would it be to get one of these buttons and display it proudly? What would you want yours to say?

Mine...I love you more than I told you I didn't.

xoxo,

And Now....A Special Message.

[Photo by FFFFOUND]



I'm just saying...

xoxo,

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Pictures of How I Wish I Felt - Part II

Le sigh, Lovelies! I've really been enjoying looking at some great photos in the last few days.

What do you think of these? Can you tell I'm getting a bit impatient in waiting to meet Mr. Melissa Blake?









xoxo,

Dating With Disabilities: Welcome To 2009, Feminism!

Teaser: Feminism once had strict rules: Burn your bra. Shield your eyes from all guys. Then it met someone who dared NOT to settle for the status quo: ME.

[Photo by Le Love]



Dating With Disabilities: Welcome To 2009, Feminism

xoxo,