For the last 24 hours, I’ve been a mouth-breather. You know why? Because I have a cold. It’s the kind of cold where your voice is hoarse and not sexy hoarse, and you need to keep wadded up toilet paper in your pockets for you faucet-nose.

Two nights ago, Steve rolled over to me in bed and tried to cop a feel and I said, “Ibe siiiiiick.” It was so hot, I tell you.

It’s a little like I was flaunting my non-sickiness what with my vowed avoidance of flu shots (they only make you sicker!) and when in the comments on Chris’s post about how you don’t catch cold from washing your hair, I wrote this: “True dat. My throat is sore and I never wash my hair…” It’s true, I don’t wash my hair very often because it’s curly and color-treated as the shampoo bottles always so delicately put it.

But here I am, mouth breathing and swiping at my face with toilet paper. Today I removed Archie’s cloth diapers from his room and now they are called rags and I thought for a long moment about abducting one to use as my faucet-nose wiper. But that’s wrong, right Internet? It’s wrong to use diapers to wipe my nose.

I think. I mean it’s clean. And smells fine. And my son poops roses and gold, just so you know.

I also realize that paragraph number three makes no sense, but whatever. My nose is running and my diaper toilet tissue has reached its maximum density.

I’ve met Rod Stewart. He’s a ponce.

Hello Fan Club,

Two days ago, I received an email from an cellular telephone company saying that they would send me, MELISSA LION, a cell phone if I would blog about it and tweet about it. And because I’m a greedy, greedy person, I hit reply and started typing out my answer, which was YES! But, Fan Club, I’m all about the self-improvement and self-reflection and when I have this reaction to things, I’m trying to sit tight a moment and improve and reflect and not just jump up and wave my hand around. So I let it rest and I went about my day abusing orphans and eating fast food reviewing books.

And in the afternoon, I opened a new email to a friend who is wise in all things giveaway and I began typing this email, “[blank] wants to send me a phone so I’ll blog about it and the thought of doing this makes me feel like a whore, and not in a good way.” I didn’t even hit send, because I had my answer, which was no for those of you who don’t believe I could feel bad about feeling like a whore (you know me too well).

So I sent the nice woman at this company an email saying I am a professional writer and my blog is for my personal writing, and while my personal writing might be done for free, it’s led to paying work and so if there was a project that they needed professional writers for, this is my hourly rate and my dollar per word rate.

She’s not emailed me back.

Here’s my point, Fan Club, I did it for you, I don’t want my blog being a playground for corporate America, I only want to shill for things I like and care about and can you imagine me suddenly lurving a cell phone? Like I love my four-inch heels that Zappos.com gave me a phatty discount on?

So with that in mind, I’m reading this book right and loving it.

Here’s the Greatest Poetry Book OF ALL TIME.

Register for my class here.

Back Fence tickets here.

And, LG if you want to send me this washer and dryer, I will film myself tongue kissing them and, I don’t care if my clothes smell and look like 3 day old barf after being washed in these things, I will change my blog’s title to LG Makes My Panties Wet *get it?* for ONE WHOLE WEEK.

Love,

Melissa

I totally relate to today’s Back Fence PDX post. It’s by Geoff Kleinman author of On PDX, which is a great Portland blog. The writing is clean and tight and the stories are always news to me — love it!. His story is about not being a holiday person. I am not a holiday person, Internet. If Christmas never happened again, I wouldn’t even notice. Thanksgiving I like, because I like cooking, but I’m always confused about the whole “we can’t eat until the big dinner, which happens at 2:14pm, because uhhh, I don’t know why.” You should know, Fan Club, that I eat a lot. A lot. And when I eat at 2:14 and am expected to then not eat until the next day, well, I think that’s lame. Really lame and it makes me grouchy.

Where was I? Oh yes, clean writing. On PDX is totally awesome. And I’m a big fan of Geoff’s writing. Especially when he compliments me. So go check out his story at Back Fence PDX.

We’re selling tickets to the next show here.

And, please register for my class on 12.13. If you liked my Ignite presentation, this is the extended remix, with free lunch thanks to Rick Turoczy.

Steve and I have this thing where we go as long as humanly possible without going to the market and we have to eat every last thing in the house and by the last day we’re staring at each other a lot like Bugs Bunny stares at Elmer Fudd (is that even right, I’m not a fan of cartoons. Don’t even get me started on my pure, white hot hatred of Tom and Jerry) in the life raft. (Like a big old ham bone, for those of you who did not grow up in So Cal on a steady diet of Saturday morning KTLA.)

(And while I’m on the topic of Southern California, let me just say that I was on a friend’s blog looking at her comments and someone is talking about boycotting In-n-Out because of the Prop 8 lameness. Now I’m not even sure In-n-Out supported Prop 8 or what, but give me a mother fucking break. PLEASE. Boycotting In-n-Out? They pay their managers 80 grand a year, all of their food is fresh, not a single freezer or microwave in the place, the food is cheap cheap cheap and they often have the only clean restrooms on very long car trips. I think we need to choose our battles, people. Boycott actual shitty establishments that do actually commit grave human rights abuses, contribute to poverty, obesity, and illiteracy and not places that may or may not have contributed to a political campaign, but for the most part, have one of the few decent business in a landscape that is now COVERED by multi-national chains. Boycotting In-n-Out is lame.)

Anyway, we did the thing where we didn’t shop for many moons. And we haven’t had any bread in the house for days. And so, gentle reader, I looked in my pantry and I had everything I needed to make wheat bread. FROM SCRATCH.

IN YOUR FACE IN-N-OUT BOYCOTTERS. AND PROP 8 SUPPORTERS.

Isn’t it pretty? I’m going to put some of my homemade peach jam on it too. Because I’m rustic. And down home. And main street-y. And a lot like a pitbull in lipstick (see above rant).

1. A good recipe for orange marmalade. I’d like marmalade recipes for blood oranges, grapefruit and Meyer’s lemons. The recipes need to be superb because I love orange marmalade. I like it bitter and I like to smear it on a baguette and put some sharp cheddar on top. I like marmalade out of the jar and on a spoon and I’d probably just stick my entire face in a vat of it if it was bitter and sweet and citrus-y. I have the canning equipment, I just need the recipe. Internets?!?

2. My headache. When you grow up an only child, you have make believe friends. You talk to the voices in your head because, more often than not, they’re the only people speaking to you. My headache, which I’ve had since Monday, is like one of my only-child-made-up friends. I took a fancy prescription pill for my little friend (I don’t actually have a prescription, but my friends are fast and loose with the pills) and it helped for a day and then my invisible-headache friend returned and was like, “What. Is. Up. melissalion???” And I was like, “Whoa, you are very persistent.” And he (yes, this headache is male) was like, “I’M YOUR BEST FRIEND FOREVER AND EVER AND YOU LOVE ME.” And I couldn’t say anything because this headache has gone all Single White Female on my brain and I’m scared, Internet. *hold me*

3. Thanksgiving is drawing near and Stever’s family is coming to visit. I am making the entire dinner from scratch because I’m a controlling perfectionist.

4. On the flip side, I’ve had no inspiration in the kitchen lately. Two days ago, I sauteed sweet potatoes and soyrizo, warmed up some corn tortillas and called that dinner. Last night? Nachos. I told Steve that tonight he should look forward to cheerios and milk and maybe some sugar on top if I’m feeling FAB-U-LOUS.

5. I have very good friends. Online and in real life. I started crying in the car yesterday when I thought of all of you. I don’t know how I got so lucky.

6. This headache has made me soft.

7. I think Ignite Portland burned me out on myself. Is it possible to change my name for a few days

8. Other stuff.

9. Maybe I’ll get a complete night of sleep during Obama’s presidency? Maybe? I hope.

10. My new project.

I have no idea what happened last night. I know I saw a bunch of friends, I stood on stage in painful shoes. I gave a speech and yet, I didn’t come home to find oodles of kitchen gear. Odd.

I did come home to a 3 year old with a fever who didn’t sleep at all, and that headache that’s been like such an attentive lover — always on my mind — is back and in full force.

I got to reconnect with a woman I went to college with — so much fun. I might be a little in love with her and I might have sat at the bar with my hands under my chin batting my eyes and smiling my pretty smile. Is Portland ready for two Sassy California Melissas? We shall see.

Here’s my presentation. The mic wasn’t working for the first few slides and I was so deer in headlights, I couldn’t work out what to do. I was also the first one up after the intermission. The organizers kept saying to me, “You’re a professional. You’re a professional. You’ll be great.” I don’t know what gave them this impression — it was my first time ever opening Power Point, and I’ve never ever spoked to a crowd that large. But whatever. I’m a professional. You can see for yourself.

Tonight I’m going to stand in front of 700 people and talk about narrative. For five minutes. I have a wee slide show that will show behind me. The slides move every 15 seconds. DO YOU KNOW HOW FAST 15 SECONDS IS? I wore my 4″ heels yesterday for two hours. Afterward, I felt marvelous.

At 4am, I woke up like this:

4am That second deer would have been Steve if I hadn’t kicked him out of bed earlier because I NEEDED TO REST.

I’m good in groups, Internet. I’m extremely charming in groups. And I laugh like this, “oh-hahahahah!” And I put my hand on the person’s arm and let my eyes convey the message, “You, dear one, are the most compelling, charming human being I’ve ever met,” and by doing this, the other person actually believes I’m the most compelling, charming human being ever.

True dat.

And so, will MelissaLion (that one was for you, Shelly) fill the whole 700-person auditorium with her radiant charm, energy, frankly disarming personality?

FUCK. YES.

Thank you, Internet. I needed that pep talk.

I also made this vimeo for you with my neeeeeeew camera. It’s a little like what’s going on in my head right now.

*Warning: if you have a shoe fetish, an ankle fetish, or feel like Prince’s “When You Were Mine” might just break your heart, you may want to wait to watch this at home.*

And I still can’t figure out how to make it not-skinny. This time I did not put the camera on its side. Little help. But wait, it’s not skinny, it’s hotdog. Or whatever. Still, little help??

Four of our storytellers are up, plus a link to buy advanced tickets in the side bar!

The week’s Back Fence PDX story is by The Underblawg. Yes, you all know he’s one of my favorites. You’ve heard it a million times. And yes, this story is just beautiful. I don’t know how he does it. How he writes so beautifully every single time. But it happens.

Boys like the U-B break your heart. They break it sweetly so you don’t know until long after the words have stopped that you’ve been thoroughly crushed.

(See, U-B, I can do it too!)

And here are the jars of cranberry sauce I made last night. I’m fancy. And domestic.

Let me tell you that nothing NOTHING says fun like having a migraine and taking care of a three year old for twelve hours. Oh god, if every day could be filled with the delicious beauty of trying not to barf while holding my forehead so my brain doesn’t burst forth while keeping the scissors and knives away from a small child… You should all try it — priceless.

But the thing about having a migraine and a child is that the show must go on. So we went to the park before going to the Baghdad theater where they’d be running through the Ignite slides. On the way to the park, Arch fell asleep in the car and didn’t want to get up, so I lay on my passenger seat and contemplated lobotomies and tried to sleep too but *the voices!* and I was able to observe this, the world’s largest mushroom.

(It’s a good thing I had my neeeeeeeeeeew camera)

Seriously, what is up with that mushroom? It was bigger than my aching head, and I’ll have you know, I have a gigantic head. Does anyone know anything (legal — *ahem, Ken*) about mushrooms. Like what the hell is that thing? Is it proof that aliens walk among us, or what?!?

The comments section is open for anyone who can riddle me that.

Here’s a shot of the Baghdad from the stage. There’s a balcony too, of which I couldn’t get a decent pic. This one I had to fiddle with, as you all know, my neeeeeeeeeeew camera would never deign to take such a grainy pic, unless I asked it to. The Baghdad holds 700 people. They went through 550 advanced tickets in 3.5 hours. They’ll have general admission the night of the show. Info here.

It occurred to me while I was standing on that stage that I’ve never been in front of 700 people before, and that most people will never in their lives stand in front of such a huge audience. It’s a good thing my migraine prevented anything so silly as emotion to crowd this single thought.

I got home and found at my doorstep a new treat from Zappos.com. Big shout out to Zappos, who, just because they lurve me, upped my shipping for free so that my shoes would come the next day. Oh Zappos could you sell groceries and childcare and internet service and cell phone plans and also may I have a writing job with you too because I love, love, love Zappos.com.

This was the best I could do for a shot with my shoes. Those are Naughty Monkey brand shoes, Wild Ways is the style. Linky here. I didn’t get the Guess Borda’s because Crissy was right, I wouldn’t be able to walk in them, but the 4″ heel was calling my name. These have a platform and a 4″ heel making them seem a little shorter than they are.

In a word — yummy.

And here’s my full ensemble for Ignite. That’s my pink cashmere jacket and quite possibly the only reason I left California — so I could wear it. I love this jacket.
And here’s what I’ll be wearing on stage. Simple black sheath dress and my new shoes. Classic and sexy.

If you’re coming to Ignite, I recommend you read that link I put up above. There are going to be some amazing presentations. My top picks — Cami Kaos, Amber Case, Betsy Whim, Katherine Gray, David Kominsky and ME! of course.

Okay good. So, I’ll see you on Thursday. And the Melissa Lion Street Mug Recognition contest is so on for that day. First person who comes up to me who has never met me before or emailed me wins the mug. It. Is. On.

I just thought I’d do a round up of recent things I’ve experienced at the play park with Arch.

Girls Playing Mother May I

Mother, May I say what a fucking douchie game this is? Oh my god, listening to these eight year old girls reminded me exactly of that tone that the rich Santa Monica mommies had all the time — “Maria, May I have a decaf non fat vanilla soy latte for little Brunhilda here and a non fat decaf Pinkberry extra berrie no cal berry soy yogurt for wee Rexibald as well?”

Seriously, listening to this made me want to kiss Archie’s Y chromosome.

The Lady with the Dog

The other day a woman was at the jungle gym, with her kid and her dog. She turned to me and said, “Does your boy run toward dogs?” And I said, “well, he’ll run toward the jungle gym where your dog is tied up.” And she said, “Well, he should stay away from my dog. She’s unpredictable around children.”

Teenagers

Dudes, I totally know you ditched class and I totally fucking wrote two books about teenagers fucking, but like could you hang out in the parking lot of the Pizza Hut like we used to. And seriously, girls, if your guy doesn’t have a car — ditch him.

Cigarette Butts

I’m thinking these are left over from the teenagers who come to the park at night, but seriously, ew gross. Children are like magpies. They will pick up those butts and turn them into airplanes or dollies or mommy’s little helpers because kids have imagination. IMAGINATION, remember it, people? And because when I go to the play park, all I want to do is sit on the bench, knit, read my book, sleep behind my sunglasses or if I had an iPhone, look at porn, I do not want to worry that my kid is going to become addicted to nicotine at age three. I’m saving that for four and a half.

Dog Shit

Hi, dog owners! Hi, how are you? I’m Melissa Lion and my kid, until last week, wore diapers. So he wouldn’t crap all over the place. See how that is? I don’t let my kid drop his drawers and crap in areas where the public is allowed. So, maybe, just maybe you can clean your dog’s shit up?

Parents Making Small Talk

Please don’t. Please god, please don’t speak to me. I don’t care how old your child is. I don’t care that your ex left alligators in your basement because the two of you had an alligator rescue service and kept the alligators you rescued and now she’s gone and you’re stuck with a toddler and several adolescent alligators (true story, Paying Members of the Melissa Lion Fan Club). I don’t want to discuss any of it. I just want to sit on my bench and be quiet. And antisocial. And quiet. AND QUIET. And plus, other parents frighten me…with good reason, as you can see.

One more thing that is NOT park related — ARE YOU READING THE UNDERBLAWGER? Just go there now. Stop reading this crap here. GO! But come back, ‘kay?

Next Page »