Frozen Hot Dogs

So... you've been talking to a girl who you really admire, and you would REALLY LOVE to ask her to be your girlfriend, BUT, upon asking, she gives you a response you were not expecting: she "only sees you as her friend." 

You mentally weigh the pros and cons of this fate, and come to the conclusion that since you're so completely head over heels over this chick, a role as a "friend" is better than nothing. So you set up camp in this position and decide to stake it out in the hope that one day she will come to her senses and see you for the nice, great guy you really are. 

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. You've endured more "friend" things than you can bear - not to mention, your ball sack is about to self combust. You think if you just hold on long enough that "she'll cave in one of these days" and "finally see me for the nice, great guy I really am!"

 

NOPE. I'm sorry to break it to you, but she is never going to be interested in you on your terms, and I'm about to tell you why.

For her, a "male friend" is a "frozen hot dog." 

Let me explain.

Let's say she goes grocery shopping and picks up everything she wants.

At the last minute, she decides to grab some frozen hot dogs thinking, "Well, I already picked up everything I wanted. But frozen hot dogs might be good to have around. I mean, I definitely don't want to eat them every night, or unless I have no other option." 

Who knows how many she has stocked in her freezer. Maybe she's some kind of frozen hot dog hoarder, hoarding every preservable substance in sight, simply because of the sheer convenience they provide.

But one thing is certain -every time she opens her freezer they'll be there saying, “Yup. We're still here! We'll always be here! You can eat any one of us if there’s nothing else to eat! You will always have us in an emergency…”

And one day she will inevitably end up feeling really hungry.  

She's going to walk over to her fridge and see there is nothing (she likes) left to eat.

And then she'll remember, "Ohhh yeah! Frozen hot dogs!"

In other words, she just wants to have her frozen hot dogs and eat them too, and the biggest part of this cycle of madness is YOU! You need to stop participating in this frozen food bonanza! You are better than this! Thaw yourself out of this mess and move on, my friend. Sooner or later, you'll find the bun that's right for you. 

Good luck. 

Have a nice day.

xo Mel

The Pizza Story

Some love stories begin in a crowded place -he's walking through a sea of faces, and your eyes meet each other for the first time. Or, he walks into a room, and you just know there's something special about him. Others begin through the means of technology -love at first click (or fiftieth).

My love story begins with a pizza.

And no, this is not one of those stories where food will be personified as my significant other -there is a human involved in this one (although, if you are in a serious relationship with food, please know that you have my sincere blessings and understanding towards the love you harbor for your special one).

This is the tale of how I scored the man of my dreams. This is The Pizza Story.

Love is a strange force that has the tendency to manifest a series of "attention seeking rituals" within us.

Some girls will drape their bodies in unique smells.

Others will paint their faces to grasp the attention of their desired male.

Some may laugh at their jokes in a "louder than average manner" in order to express their romantic interest.

And the remaining may regurgitate various spiritual quotations in order to demonstrate their high sense of self-awareness towards the male specimen in question.

My female instincts pushed me to bet the man of my interest $20 that I could eat an entire large pizza to myself (including the crust) in one sitting.

It was a calm spring night. My friend had invited me over to her boyfriend's house to watch a UFC fight in his basement. Upon our arrival, I greeted the boyfriend and his friend -a visually attractive male whom I had met once before.

A few months prior to this, her boyfriend, alongside the handsome friend, had come to pick us up from a downtown party. It was the first time I had met him. On the ride home, we had decided to make a late night stop at McDonalds. As we all announced our orders to the drive-through speaker, I extended a special request for a packet of honey alongside my "Double Quarter Pounder Meal."

You see, I thoroughly enjoy eating honey with my fries (something about the combination of salty and sweet goodness really hits the spot). This peculiar request seemed to spark the interest of the handsome friend. It was there that the first seed was planted.

We made our way down to the basement. Moments after we sat down to watch the fight, the doorbell rang. The boys exclaimed that they had already ordered a couple of pizzas for us before hand. As my friend and her boyfriend went to retrieve them, I was momentarily left alone with the handsome friend. He spoke to me:

"I've never met anyone who eats their fries with honey." he said.

"You remember that?" I responded in shock.

"Of course! It was a once in a lifetime thing to witness. And the way you devoured that quarter pounder burger -I was impressed."

It appeared that my ability to consume food in grotesque amounts had impressed him. Maintaining my cool stature, I proceeded to speak:

"Yea, I love food. I don't hold back. I order large pizzas and eat them to myself in my free time."

It was not a lie. From time to time, I would treat myself to a whole pizza, just because I wanted to. And I'm not sorry about it either. It seems like in today's society, some women feel they have to explain, justify or apologize for the consumption of "high calorie foods" -or in some cases, any food in general. As humans, we have the God given right to put yummy food in our tummies. No apologies necessary.

Intrigued by my statement, he raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe you. I think you're talking smack. There's no way you can finish a whole pizza on your own. You're lying to me right now.""

"Believe it," I challenged him. "I speak the truth."

As our verbal tennis match proceeded, my friend and her boyfriend returned to the basement with the pizzas in hand.

He looked me in the eyes, "Ok, if you think you're so tough, let's make a bet. $20 says you can't eat one of these large pizzas on your own, crust included."

"Bring it on." I accepted.

On the outside, I appeared confident, collected, and cool.

On the inside, my stomach was screaming: "YOU JUST HAD A FULL DINNER BEFORE YOU GOT HERE! WE CAN'T DO THIS! ABORT! ABORT!"

Now, under any other circumstances, I would never have entertained a challenge such as this one. I mean, I was never the type of girl who felt she had to prove anything to anyone (especially a guy) in order to appear "worthy" or "special." But this guy wasn't like any other guy. This guy was a special guy. This guy gave me butterflies when he spoke. I was certain that it wasn't the feeling of my prior pasta dinner digesting in there either, they were legitimate butterflies fluttering about.

Sometimes you just know. Sometimes, some things, just feel right. And right at that moment, what felt right, was to impress the guy I liked by eating this entire large pizza and attaining his romantic validation along with his $20.  

So, despite my stomach's silent objection towards the plan, my heart and I proceeded to take on the challenge. I reached for my first slice.

"This is nothing for me," I said as I began pecking away at the pizza.

"We'll see." He responded.

Slice after slice, the handsome friend witnessed me consume the massive object. Each time I reached the crust, I would skillfully pause for dramatic effect.

"Slowing down?" He asked.

I looked him in the eye, and, without blinking, devoured the crust whole as he watched it disappear into my mouth in complete awe. He smiled. I felt like the sexiest woman alive.

As I reached the end of the pizza, however, I began feeling defeated. The vacancy in my stomach was slowly running out. Sensing my heavy breathing, he began expressing great concern and sincerely suggested that I stop. But I was too far in to turn back now. I was a woman of my word.

"No, this is nothing for me," I heaved as I smashed the now cold pizza down my throat. And with that, I finished the entire large pizza (crust included).

"Wow, I'm seriously impressed. I really didn't believe you were gonna do it!"

I smiled at him in silence. Mostly because the "itis" was preventing me from forming any sort of comprehensive response. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. I began shaking my head in objection, insisting I couldn't accept his money.

"It's ok," I said, "I'm already a winner."

The handsome friend laughed, "A bet is a bet!" And after his tenth insisting offer, I accepted the $20 bill.

And that's how I scored a free large pizza. And the man of my dreams.

True love begins with honoring and loving yourself. When we do this, a light begins to shine from within. The more you love and honor yourself, the brighter you are shining your unique light into the world, and the easier it becomes for your special one to find you.

Love is the sweetest, selfless and most meaningful force that will ever grace your heart. I am lucky enough to have found a partner in my life who shows me that degree of love every single day. There is no measure I can use to weigh how much I love and care for him back.

In other words -best $20 I ever made in my life.

Have a nice day.

xo Mel      

Let People Do Whatever the Fuck They Want with Their Faces: and Other Ways to Be Beautiful

For me, makeup isn't a "cover up." There's no "real me" hiding under here. It's not like the moment I smear flesh colored goo on my face, color my eyelids, and paint thin black wings over my eyelashes, that my soul suddenly leaves my body. I don't disappear. I'm still present -makeup or no makeup. My makeup is only an extension of the complex soul that harbors my body. My makeup makes me feel good. Stop asking me "how long" it takes me to do my makeup. It takes me as long as it needs to before I've decided that my face has taken on the mosaic I wish to enter the world with. I can't give you a time frame. What I'm trying to say is:

If I want to put makeup on my face, let me do it. But on the other hand, if I don't want to put makeup on my face, let me do that too. I'm so tired of the world presenting us with guidelines on how to apply makeup in "lesser amounts" in order to attain a "natural looking face." Here's an idea -how about if you want a natural looking face, you just don't put any makeup on your fucking face. Let's just give it another name, like "the light makeup look." Don't fuck with my head.  Life is about choice.

And on that note, I've made up my mind -I'm choosing to always stay beautiful. Some say that "beauty fades over time." Screw that shit. I'm going to stay beautiful forever. And I'm not implying that I'll be injecting fat from my ass into my face or any other variations of cosmetic surgery in order to "stay beautiful" (however if you do, as I mentioned before, you should have the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want with your face). All I'm saying is that I refuse to let the world define my beauty any longer.

Fuck your anti-aging campaigns. No sale. I will not allow my age to put a limit on my beauty potential. It's completely psychotic to presume that beauty equals a youthful appearance. So, if I can't maintain looking like I'm 21 for the remainder of my existence, then I've essentially failed life? Fuck that. If and when I get wrinkles, they're going to be sexy as hell. I'm going to be so confident with myself that 21 year olds are going to WISH they had wrinkles. #sexywrinkles #timelessbeauty #wrinkleswag

I once competed in an international beauty pageant (in Europe). At the time, I saw it as a stepping stone towards an acting career in the country I was competing in. Despite the fact that it was a "beauty" pageant, it was the ugliest I had ever felt in my life. I first walked in there feeling like "hell yea, I made it to a beauty pageant." I was so confident with who I was. But then, they literally told me to starve myself. They told me to eat solely for survival, and nothing more. During our intensive month long preparation for the pageant, we were held hostage at the Hilton. Sound nice? They denied me bread at dinnertime, and imposed meal portions that were the equivalent to one quarter of a kid's happy meal at McDonald's, all because they claimed the camera "added ten pounds." If the camera is adding ten pounds, then maybe the flaw doesn't lie in technology, but in the lens through which you are using to judge me (in other words, your judgy eyes). Why do I have to shrink myself in order to appear to be a "normal looking proportioned person" (under your standards) on your television screen? Don't change the person, change the game.

And speaking of body image, let's end this whole "eat a sandwich" comment thread attack that's been plaguing the internet. There are skinny bodies in the world, as much as there are bodies with curves, tummies, arms, legs, noses and butts. Stop comparing the size of one butt to another butt -at the end of the day, they all pass gas the same way. Do not marginalize one body type in order to make another feel more empowered. We should be supporting each other, not bringing each other down based on our physical appearances. We're all damn fine, so just stop it.

Beauty is not something you attain. It is something you realize you had inside you all along. We're all just a bunch of beautiful, delicious cream puffs. The good stuff starts from the inside and seeps out into the world.

You are all beautiful.

Have a nice day.

xo Mel