Hillside Campus

This changed everything.

Ms. Cormet, Do You Sew?

"Melanie, Dr. Winters needs your help with a cat up front."

Hearing my name over the intercom has always made me uneasy. Like just before the gun goes off at the start of a swim race that I won't be winning.

"Be right up."

"Melanie, this is Ms. Cormet and she's veeeeery worried about Bobby Sox here, so we're going to take a couple pictures of the little baby."

Ms. Cormet already had mascara all over her face. She took the term "blubbering mess" to a whole other level. Also, I had not seen this much pink before in my life. Her hair was unreal. And fake. But, it worked because so were her lips and her eyes and her breasts and her Gucci cat bag and her so on and so forth.

It was 4:45pm. I'm off at 5pm.

I walked Bobby Sox to the X-ray room and put on my red lead gown and blue lead gloves. Bobby Sox was swallowing. Constantly. Hmm.
I took a shot from her trachea to her pelvis.

Nothing.

There's usually nothing. Which is nice, because then we can tell the owner, "It's nothing."
Now, occasionally I get this intuition. NOT the one they promise you when you're a little girl that's supposed to help you with men and cooking casseroles, but one that tells me "That is not a real Gucci cat bag" or "Take an X-ray of this cat's head." So...

"Holy shit!"
I do not use this exclamation mark frivolously.

Now I'm torn. Kitty has swallowed a sewing needle that is now lodged its little kitty head and is moments from disaster. I want to take another X-ray for my "personal collection" because this one will go with her to whichever clinic we refer her to. Effing conscience.

"Ms. Cormet? Do you sew?"

She seemed pleased by this question. I took a close look at her pink-on-pink dress and realized why.

"Yes. I do. *sniffle*"

"Come with me."

So, normally I would tell you that we sent both Bobby Sox and Ms. Cormet to the emergency center, respectively. But not this time. No, you see, Dr. Winters had just gotten back from vacationing "with the family." His huge hands needed some barehanded action in the worst way. It's why he's still working after all these years.

"Melanie, put the baby on the table."

"Ummmm..."

"Now hold on. Tight."

"Shit."

I couldn't explain it if I tried. Maybe if you think about those magicians who float and then make a taxi come out of your purse, it might help you get the picture. I mean, seriously, Dr. Winters has huge hands. Huge, Montana-bred, Vietnam Vet hands.

As Ms. Cormet walked out the door with Bobby Sox, I stood there with Dr. Winters and his mascara/lipstick covered face. We both smiled and sighed, then laughed. Hard.

I taped the sewing needle to a piece of paper, put it up on the wall, and told Dr. Winters he was crazy. And my favorite.

Hiding Out in the Open

Some days hurt
More than others.
I borrow trouble
And it fills my pockets
Until there's no room
For all my change.

A void sits down
And fastens its seatbelt.
Sad songs and old photos
Try to help
But I think
They just like my company.

I'll stay quiet, still
You know anyways.
It isn't nice
To pretend you don't.
Hiding is painful
And feels so much better.

Getting Real w/ Charles Bukowski

This is some of the most profound shit I have seen in some time.

Death Valley

I highly recommend bringing a small child here. Zabriskie Point, 5:30 AM.

Guessing Secrets

"Dad, I have something I want to talk to you about."

It took me a good 7 years to say this.

"Ok, Mel. Name the place."

We met at a Coffee Bean in the valley. Sherman Oaks, maybe. I think there was a Mel's Diner next to it.
He ordered a passion fruit soy tea latte.

I fidgeted. And smiled. "I don't know how to start."

"Ok, well why don't you start by telling Dad why you're anxious."---Sarah had come, too.

Dad put his hand on mine. "Listen, Mel. I already know. And it's Ok. I've known for a while. But I think it's important you say it. We can talk about how you feel."

"Really, Dad? Wow. Like, I mean I hid it so well. Um, like, nooooooobody knew. Oh my gosh, ok. Well, that makes this a little easier, I guess."

"Go ahead, Melbee."

We spent the next hour and a half talking about how i developed body image issues and started throwing up my food in high school. The table we were sitting at was so small and i kept peeling off the varnish as I told my Dad and sister the thing I swore i would never tell anyone. Ever. Deep breaths. Being vulnerable is a rush.

Our's were the only cars left in the parking lot.

"Thanks, Dad.......... Hey, how did you know?"

"Oh.......... Ya, I thought you were gonna tell me you were gay."

Getting Your Parents Back Together

When i graduated from college, both my mom and dad wanted to fly out for it.
They each independently asked my sister, Sarah, to get their plane tickets online for them.
Sarah called me a week later and said she had a graduation present for me.
She had booked their flights for
the same day
at the same time
on the same aircraft
in the same isle.
We wanted them together more than they wanted to be apart. Even thought it was 5 against 2, we lost. But sometimes, we win.
Here they are together in this photo, and on my blog. Ha.

Dogs in Space

Last week, Russians and space travel enthusiasts honored Laika, the first dog/earthling to blast through the atmosphere and go weightless, ever. She was plucked off the streets of Moscow and beat out two other dogs competing for the title. Sadly, she died two hours after takeoff from stress and heat.
Today, I am honoring Scout, the first dog on a rollercoaster, ever. She almost died just after take-off.

Sis

I have two older sisters. Sarah and Mary Lee.
Mary and I used to share a room. I was messy. She was not. Once, Mary got me moved out of our room and into Sarah's for a month. She used to put up tape dividing the room in half. This tape was not to be crossed. Berlin Wall-style.
Now, Mary lives in Manhattan in a 2-bedroom apartment with no roommate. When I visit, we sleep in the same bed.
Sarah used to tie me to the swing set...with jump ropes. Whenever we went swimming, she'd pretend to drown. After 10 minutes of struggling to get her to safety, she would "come back to life." I thought it was real. Every time.
Yesterday, Sarah told me that if anything ever happens to her, she wants me to raise her kids.
I'm glad they exist.
The photograph above is of my nieces, Elaina and Abigail.
They are new sisters.

bread and water

Ryan Bingham and Dead Horses made their network television debut Friday on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno.
Faces were rightfully melted.
They are effing insane.
Buy the album "Mescalito" and enjoy. Look at the cover shot because I took it. Me me me.
PS Me.

Free Dolls

There are some free dolls across the street.
No, really. They're free.
I mean, unless I totally missed the point and the little girl that lives there is part of some radical doll liberation front.
PS Free the dolls! (just in case).

Mara Guana

I just found this photo of me and my old Mexican gang. We were based in Guanajuato, at a park that sat at the foot of a 4 story building inhabited by a priest. We mostly sat on steps. There was the occasional assault, though. I was the obvious choice as gang leader. We called ourselves Mara Guana.
So, front row right to left: Chucho and Lalo. And back row right to left: Peluca, Gordo, Smiley, and me-Blanca. That gesture I'm doing was my signature. I always took that stance before I went in for the kill. It was more of an intimidation factor type thing.
Anyways, we disbanded when they realized my brother Ang was way cooler than me because he knew ninjas back in California.

grama hearts marshmallow

So, there's this dog here. She's little. She's white. She's fulffy. I'm calling her Marshmallow. One week ago, she was stray and running around a schoolyard in Van Nuys. Now, one week later, she's spayed and running around the house in Hollywood.
Marshmallow is sweet like candy. She's taken on the responsibility of making sure all the other dogs' ears are clean. I know, kind of gross, but when you see it happen, it's effing adorable. Also, her preferred method of sleeping is on my head. Again, gross, yet adorable. Everybody wants her and she wants everybody.
Her first day at the dog park, she positioned herself between my feet the entire time. This is no small task, as I spend a lot of my time there running after the other dogs while they run after squirrels that run up into the hills. Marshmallow's next day at the park was like watching Roberto Benini accept his Oscar; only cuter and less annoying. She managed to be in mid-jump pretty much the entire time, landing on various objects, including but not restricted to: bushes, dogs, coffee cups, people. They all seemed to happily welcome her arrival, though; even the bushes.
On Saturday, I'm bringing Marshmallow up to my Grama's house in Springville (2 hours away). Papa died last year and Grama needs a friend. And since Marchmallow never seems to have enough, they'll be a good match. I was explaining Marshmallow's eccentricities to my Grama i.e. her head-sleeping. She said, "Papa would NEVER have let a dog in our bed! Are you sure you don't want to drive up Friday night?"
I already like thinking about Grama and Marshmallow walking down to the river and laying on the rocks. Or Marshmallow watching Grama make pumpkin pie and fried eggs, and getting to be the official taste-tester. This will be all things good. And I already don't like thinking about Marshmallow not being here. *sigh*--like for reals. I think that 2-hour drive might take a little longer this time around.