Monday, June 6, 2016

How To Properly Visit a Prison

It occurred to me that since we never know what life will bring, some of you could end up visiting a loved one in prison.
And you will freak the hell out.
Just listen to me and it won't be all that traumatic. I mean, you're visiting a prison, for God's sake, so you WILL be traumatized to some degree, but my words will make it a bit easier for you.
Ladies, the most important things to remember are to wear your prison bra, to wear good underwear, and to have an entire change of clothes in your car. I will return to this advice momentarily.
About two months prior to your prison visit, start working on your cardio. This is absolutely necessary because your loved one will want his 35-pound food box.
Oh, that's no big deal, you say? Well, HAHAHA, the joke's on you, because you have to park your car in the "visitors' parking," which is ALWAYS on the other side of hell. That means that you have to carry a 35-pound box with its corners jamming you in the ribs all the way from the far end of the parking lot and into the prison. You will put it down on the ground several times so you don't die from the broken rib that has punctured your lung.
Let Melissa help you here. JUST KICK THE BOX ALL THE WAY FROM YOUR CAR TO THE PRISON'S ENTRANCE. When your loved one sees the banged up box, just lie and say the guards must have done it.
When you actually get inside the prison and fill out the appropriate paperwork, you will sit alongside the filthiest, scariest looking people on earth. You will contract tuberculosis or E-bola just from breathing the air they breathe. Still, TOUCH NOTHING.
Every few minutes the guard will say over the loudspeaker, "Shuqilmeraqueu." Somehow, everyone will recognize that as the last name of the person he or she is visiting.
When you recognize that as your name, the real fun begins. The guards will tell you that something you are wearing is not permissible in the visiting room, despite the fact that it is on the facility's list of approved items. Don't panic! Remember, you have an entire change of clothing in the car!
When you return from your car, you will walk up to the metal detector and put all your jewelry, your belt, ID, money and SHOES into a box to be searched.
At this point, you will be barefoot, and you will have to walk on the filthy, disgusting floor through the metal detector.
If you are not wearing a prison bra, you will set off the metal detector. You then will be ordered to go into the restroom, remove your bra, come out with the girls just flopping all over, and walk through the metal detector again.
The whole bra thing can be avoided if you wear a sports bra with no hooks and non-adjustable straps. You can get a pack of three for $5 at Walmart. It is the best investment you will ever make. Trust me. Sometimes, I am so brilliant, I just amaze myself!
In the event that you STILL set off the metal detector, you will be strip-searched. Twice, I have been strip-searched, and both times I thanked the good Lord above that I wasn't wearing my period underwear.
When you finally make it through all that, a guard will put on your hand a stamp that is only visible under ultra-violet light. THEY TAKE THAT STAMP VERY SERIOUSLY!!! You have to show the stamp as you leave the prison, and if it is gone, all hell breaks loose. I know this because, of course, I once washed mine off. The whole place went into immediate lockdown, no one was allowed in or out, and I was detained in a tiny room in a MEN'S FEDERAL PRISON until every single prisoner was eyeballed by the guards. (I had some self-esteem issues after that.)
Do yourself a favor and bookmark this post. Please, trust me here. Forty-four years of experience can't be wrong.

Friday, March 11, 2016

Does Anyone Want This Extra Pretzel?

My precious cousins, Steffanie and Michael, had their long-awaited and much prayed-for, beautiful daughter yesterday!  This is such a big deal to me because SO MUCH of my family sucks, but Steff and Michael don't. They just are genuinely good people.

The only down-side of the experience is that Steff had to have a C-section. I feel bad for Steff because she had a C-section. Well, guess what? I had a C-section as well, and I can't believe how similar our experiences were! Look at what Steff got to eat:
Hmmm, is that a smoothie made with Silk Almond milk, yogurt, peanut butter, and frozen, organic berries? Yes, yes, I think it is. There is just no way I could have eaten all that before I had my C-section, so when the nurse handed me my three pretzels, I could only eat two.
I have not yet spoken to Steff, but when the time came to actually go into the operating room, I'm sure Steff was rolled in a bed or a wheelchair for one of the most important events of her life. Steff, I don't want to make you angry, but I think that was just a little lazy of you. I think you would have been just fine walking down the hall all alone like I had to do while trying to hold the hospital gown over my substantial ass. (For those of you who don't remember, I gained 55 pounds with Emerson.)
I also think you would have been just fine mopping the floor like I did on the way to the operating room. (OK. That didn't really happen.)
However, even though you were rolled and I was walking, I'm sure it also would have been fine if a woman you had never seen before in your life screamed at you at the top of her lungs, "When you get to the end of this hall, make a right and then a quick left." (That actually DID happen.)
And that is so great that Michael got to stay with you the ENTIRE time. It was kind of like that with Danny and me too, except that Danny got to stay with me for approximately 6.5 minutes. (Right here, I was going to make a joke that he got to stay for the birth for the exact amount of time that he stayed for the conception, but I'm way past the point of hating him, and, besides, there are way too many women that can refute me.) Really, though, 6.5 minutes! The ONLY time I needed Danny in 13 years because I was scared to death, and I got him for 6.5 minutes.
So, Steff, I can't wait to meet you! The similarity of our birthing experiences already makes me feel so bonded to you!


Monday, February 29, 2016

No Cake For You!!

"She wants to have her cake and eat it, too."

That. That right there. I absolutely HATE that saying. Whenever I hear it, I just want to shake whoever is saying it. I want to shake her a lot. And I want to shake her really hard and for a really long time. I want to shake her until she needs to be hospitalized for Shaken Moron Syndrome.

That saying is quite possibly the most idiotic sentence in the entire known Universe.  You never hear anyone say, "Hey, that Melissa is great! She wants to have her cake and eat it, too. Melissa is sooooo cool!"

It always has a negative connotation, and that is precisely why it is so idiotic.

Are you ready for this? I'm going to let you in on something that is, apparently, a huge secret:

Eating the cake is the purpose of having the cake!! So, it's not a negative quality in someone. In fact, it's not even positive. It's just the freakin' reason people have cake. Cake is food. You're supposed to eat it!

I don't understand. I really don't. If it's wrong to eat the cake that you have, what in the hell are you supposed to do with it?

I know. The next time I go to the bakery, I'm going to get the best, most scrumptious - looking cake they have. Then, I'm going to take the flower arrangement off the dining room table and put the cake in its place. And we're all just going to look at it. We're going to look at it until it attracts ants. And I'm going to tell my kids that they better not eat any of the cake. If they do, I'm going to beat their asses with a belt because, apparently, it's really, really bad to eat the cake, and it might cause the kids to become juvenile delinquents. They will have zero chance of getting into a good college if they eat a cake that is clearly meant for show.

The next time I'm forced to go to some little kid's birthday party, I'm going to say that, yes, I do want a piece of the birthday cake. Then, I'm just going to look at it sitting on the stupid Transformers paper plate sitting on the matching Transformers paper tablecloth that some kid has already ruined by spilling his juice all over it. I will NOT eat that cake.

I happen to have fantastic hearing, so I have no doubt that I will overhear the birthday boy's mother say to another mother, "What the hell is wrong with Melissa? I swear to you, she said she wanted to have a piece of cake, and then this crazy bitch just sat there and looked at it. Seriously, she didn't have a single bite of it; she didn't even lick off the frosting that accidentally got on her finger. If she didn't want the cake, she should have just said so when I asked her. Maybe she didn't take her anti-depressant today or something, because, I'm telling you, what she did was some crazy shit."

And I'm sure my feelings will be hurt by what they say, but I'm just trying to be a good human being.

Why are people even allowed to have children if they don't know how wrong it is actually eat the cake you have??

My kids are definitely not allowed to play with their kids anymore. You can't be too careful when it comes to your children.