the fat bi-polar girl blues.

“How are you going to respond to it?”

A lot of people who read my blog have been wondering how I’m going to deal with the recent hate comment I received, which I deleted when it inspired a follow-up from a girl I used to know in junior high, who I have barely spoken to and only seen in passing for the past decade or so.

I can’t be upset about this kind of thing because I used to delight in mocking people on the internet. It was a thrill to look people up and find ways to inflate my already sizable ego. Gossip is a fun hobby, addictive, and the more you do it, the less high you get from it, so you need to become more mean spirited to get that rush back.

I have been working hard on an internal make-over in the sense that I’ve begun to admire people for things I once made fun of them for, and I’ve prioritized the people in my life not by how hip or hot they are, but by what they bring to my life. I am slowly learning to be affectionate with these people, to be generous and let them know how I feel about them. Through this life-edit, I’ve found that I see the world through kinder eyes.

What’s interesting is that the eyes you use to view others are the same you use to view yourself, but I digress.

What I find interesting about those who criticize me is that it is usually for things that I completely agree with and write about on a regular basis. This blog is a scratch-pad for ideas, some that I abandon with as much passion as I dreamed them up with. I don’t consider it important, but a lot of my friends tell me they like to read it either on the way to work, before bed, or when they need to make a sizable bowel movement. I’ve never aspired to much more than that, and a chance to work on my writing skills.

I contradict myself often, and there is a lot I still wish to accomplish. I do have trouble maintaining balance a lot of the time; physically, mentally, and spiritually. There are many things I do privately to help with this, though it is a process and always will be.

I am touched that there is an entire group of people floating around out there who worry so much about my mental health, and I am also impressed that they took the time to diagnose me. That being said, I hope they will be comforted by the fact that I am not, in fact, bi-polar. I do have loved ones who struggle with this very disorder, who have gone through hell to find medication, therapy, and a social group that works for them. I would never want to belittle anyone who has gone through such a thing, but really, thank you for your concern.

These kind souls also spend a lot of time thinking about how I never finish what I start. I did worry about this a lot for a long time, but then I got busy with freelance writing work, using thousands of dollars in grant money to film a television pilot, those comedy shows I keep getting asked to do, my popular web-zine, and the plays I’ve written and had produced.

I got so busy with these things, in fact, that I didn’t have time to buy that house or stop being so fat. I’m going to get right on that, though, as soon as I start giving a fuck.

So, there is my official statement. The funny thing here is that I’ve already told you what’s “wrong” with me: I’m a god damned narcissist. All press is good press and I truly get off on any attention I get, so thanks for the memories.

Bad for Good

In the past few months I have gained stress weight, gone into crippling debt, and become shitty at things I’m normally good at. It hasn’t been fun, but the substantial blow to my ego has helped me rebuild myself in a way that I hope is stronger than in the past.

Comedy-wise, I started to slack off. I would leave shows knowing that I wasn’t memorable in any way shape or form. In this respect, sometimes bombing can feel better than simply coasting along with a few soft chuckles here and there.

Health-wise, I got very busy and started to eat whatever was available, then go home and make a giant fatty meal before going to bed. I am the heaviest I’ve been in a while and though I am confident enough to reconcile with that fact looks-wise, I am not happy with the fuel I’m currently running on.

It wasn’t so much the weight that bothered me, but I suddenly forgot how to be hot. I started just wearing my work clothes every day and putting my hair into a default lazy ponytail, letting it fade into a color that can only be described as “meh.” I used to be good at posing for pictures, but suddenly found myself shy around the camera and not knowing my angles, plus the new eyeliner I bought is really smudgy which can be upsetting.

Romance-wise I started to feel very “meh.” I would get giddy about someone briefly, then think about all the work involved and watch a re-run of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” instead.

I usually know myself as someone with stage presence who gives people health tips, gets crushes worth writing songs about, and strikes a pose at any opportunity. Not being that person felt weird and I didn’t know how to change it, but it turns out that simply observing it helped me become a stronger person.

Getting caught up in the “hows” and “whys” is depressing, but I can reign myself in when I lose control by just knowing that the life I am currently living isn’t the one I want.

I started to ask myself what I can change right now.

And the only thing I could do was write, really.

I stepped up my physical activity a little and tried to eat more consciously, but as far as getting into the kind of routine that would help me lose this weight, I accepted that for a while it just wouldn’t be in the cards. I, for the last few months, have owed every single moment of my time to somebody. When I did have a spare moment, I knew I could go to the gym, but I also knew that I had sleep to catch up on and friends to see, which feels like a healthier priority to me.

I think we all get concerned that the only way to be “healthy” is to be ripped and I mean, more power to you if you put that much effort into your appearance, but sometimes all I can do is maintain a basic level of “can lift heavy things/climb stairs” which may not look like much, but is all I really need to survive.

As far as romance, I see that my last relationship turned me into a different person. I can feel for someone, but not in the self sacrificing “be all/end all” way that I used to. I met someone who I really liked, and he is the kind of guy who I’d like to have a relationship with, but it’s not going to happen right now or maybe ever. It’s hard to say, but I cant sit around writing love letters and lamenting that he is “the only one for me,” because I know now that I’ve felt that way before and I’ve always survived, always met someone new, and always regretted losing myself for some dude.

I’m shifting, the things I value are changing, and I think I might be closer to figuring out how to be a grown up/make things happen for myself.

I wrote, I did some yoga (which I had also lost a considerable amount of skill for), and I just watched myself be less good at things for a while.

Then it happened. In a week I had some fun dates, went to see plays/comedy shows, did a great set, and started filming a pilot for the TV show I wrote with my best friends. I look at snapshots from that week and realized that I was living the life I’d always dreamed of.

I once read about this acting coach who had his students walk around blindfolded through the forest. His basic principal was that you could only start to make good choices when you knew how to be lost and give up everything you know. That’s when you start moving on instinct, and that’s when things get interesting.

So maybe I, chubby and unco-ordinated, will take off my blindfold soon. Maybe I’ll see all my dreams come true, or maybe something better. Til now, I’ll just try and get more leafy greens and hope that someone worth making out with comes along soon.

Obligatory end of the year reflections…

I started writing this a few nights ago, but I had just seen my ex-boyfriend Christmas shopping for his not-so-ex girlfriend, so I wasn’t in the best mood for such things. Here I am again, having killed the brain cells that hold that memory.

Well, it’s that time of the year huh?

Last year I was in Vegas. I’ll never forget it because in Las Vegas I felt, for the first time, completely happy. That sounds corny and unrealistic, but it’s true. I feel happy every day, and blessed, and all kinds of warm fuzzies that I’m well aware the average person doesn’t get to feel… but I can never stop that little voice deep inside that puts the focus on what I don’t have. Love, financial security, a hot clue on what my future involves… those little things.

In Vegas I bought tickets to a fake concert from a con-artist, had a meltdown in the middle of a casino (a story for another day), and completely lost my voice by the last day. It wasn’t perfect, but I couldn’t stop looking around me in awe, and the only time I felt lonely was when I thought about what was (or wasn’t) waiting for me back home.

I know I haven’t traveled much and I probably had a textbook case of wanderlust, but I’ve visited other places and been fairly content to come home. When I see something that reminds me of Vegas, something inside of me feels wrong. Like I should be there.

Maybe “there” is the mind-set that I have tried so damn hard to covet over the years. Being the stylish girl who talks to whoever she wants and doesn’t give a shit if she looks silly. I’m coming around to it, but I get bogged down in the hows, the whys and I end up spending my nights eating late night junk food, dissecting past relationships with girl friends. I guess in Vegas I’d be doing the same thing eventually, but I could be wearing a pink wig and enjoying a cocktail that a Beatlejuice impersonator bought for me while I did it. (That’s a true story. He was also available for Brett Michaels impersonations, which made me really want to see him sans make-up and stripey suit…)

I know I have more to offer than being the perpetual single girl who will take any opportunity for a good pine session; but being in Vegas I saw myself be more than that girl for the first time in a long ass time. Maybe because the place felt so ripe with possibilities (I was literally approached by a cute guy at least once an hour) that I didn’t feel the pressure I feel here.

Anyway. Here’s the thing:

I’ve been hinting at this for a while and I’ve probably said it before, but it isn’t going away. I don’t… believe in all that love stuff. Not right now, not for me. I don’t mean to sound like I’m so special with my special pain, I’ve just looked for so long and felt hurt for so long that I’m kind of done.

I get excited about cute guys and go on little adventures sometimes but the inevitable always happens and I’m back where I started. The only thing I’ve learned is that for me to be with someone right now I would either have to

a) change who I am

b) uproot my entire life

c) settle for something less than the feeling I want to get when I am with someone

…and I’m just not willing to do any of those things. Not for the kinds of people I’ve done it for in the past. I’ve explored this topic previously, but I’ve been the knight in shining armor and I’ve lived the epic love stories. I want something simple and comfortable that no one else has to butt in on, and the only lasting relationship I’ve had of that nature is with my dog.

I’ve had the long distance thing, the old high school crush who comes back, the falling in love with my best friend, the falling in love with a co-star, the finally getting the crush I’d held out for, the painting his wall in his old shirt, the wining and dining, the letters, the passion, songs written on the spot for me, poems, tears, kissing in the rain, late night phone calls… and none of it really meant anything in the end because it was all exactly the same in the end.

What is there to say really? I’ve lived all the love stories… and now when I get even a whiff of one I run the other way or sabotage it into my familiar pattern. Except for that time when… (here’s where you get your old fun Melanie back.)

The other day I was at work (beauty supply store) and I helped a really cute guy pick out a bar of soap, some shampoo/conditioner, and aftershave. There was something about him that lifted me from my complacency. He was handsome and his voice cracked at one point when he spoke to me. He seemed embarrassed about it in a charmingly goofy way. I get a lot of cute guys coming in the store to buy gifts and what-not, but there was something about him. I meant to ask him out, but he left before I could say anything.

He was there holiday shopping with his parents, who were still in the store, and I told them their son was very cute. They giggled, and that was about it really.

The girls at work all took notice of my exchange with him and told me that he had later walked past again and looked in the store. I, of course, had been in the back room when this happened.

That would be fucking cute, right? If he came back to talk to me or something. It would probably turn out that we have nothing in common, that he is gay, or that he finds the way I scratch my nose irritating.

I wouldn’t need to marry him or even date him… but if he comes back, if I see him again somewhere, I’ll believe in fate and romance and all that jazz again. I mean, I’ve seen it happen to other people, but I’ll believe in it for me.

If not, I don’t know. I can’t say I’ll never get a crush again and I can’t say I’ll never have another love story, but here’s another thing:

I function well in relationships. I get a lot done when I stop thinking about boys. If I’m done with love stories for the time being, I’ll have to get those things done anyway. I want to shoot my pilot, do a good job on my web-zine, write my fringe play, do more comedy gigs, get more acting work, finish school, get back to Vegas… and maybe those things will give me enough stories all on their own.

Last year on New Years Eve I had a handful of crushes to choose from and the “winner” ended up breaking it off with me in a Boston Pizza on the night before my final exam, our month-iversary, and Valentine’s day. If that’s all that love has to offer in 2013, well… I’d rather not.

But then, if this soap guy turns out to be my future husband I’d probably be able to get a book deal or some shit, so I win either way.

Romance, I’ve just hit you in the face with my glove.

The Blonde Roast

When I was in grade 8 I dyed my hair for the first time. It was the end of the year and we got to have a formal party on a riverboat. Life was pretty exciting, and I did “formal” the only way a 13 year old Spice Girls fan knows how. I dyed my bangs/random chunks of my hair blue, put on a floral polyester dress, and rocked my best pair of platforms. For a touch of class I added a black sweater to the ensemble. With feather trim, naturally.

That summer a lot of important things happened to me. I won a candy eating contest, shot down a boy I really liked because I was scared of feelings, and saw myself as a blonde for the first time. I had spent the week swimming at my friend’s cabin, and eventually all the blue dye had worn out. One morning I looked in the mirror and saw a yellow, chemically damaged mane up against my young, hungover-stained eyes. I felt sexy and kind of gross, a combination that I’ve always found alluring in a woman.

The funny thing was, with the blue hair no one really paid much attention to me. I was just a shitty kid making a shitty statement. Blonde however, blonde was powerful. Blonde could make somebody hate me before they even knew me. I can’t say I didn’t get off on that.

Throughout the years I’ve tried a lot of looks. There are over 1000 photos of me on facebook, and sometimes watching myself change throughout the years is a fun activity on a narcissistic afternoon. My weight fluctuates, my style of dress changes, I change ethnicity (with my on and off addiction to tanning beds)… but I guess my most noted quality is how often I change my hair.

I’ve looked a million ways and for the most part I enjoy the sight of myself, but nothing makes me feel cooler than having long blonde hair.

What’s funny is not that some people prefer me as a brunette, it’s how violently they react when I say I might go back to blonde. Men, women, doesn’t matter. Objections to lighter locks aren’t based purely on aesthetics. There is something about a bottle of bleach that can stir up a whole mess of impressively passionate emotions.

I find the polarizing topic of fake blondes rather fascinating. When I walk around with my platinum locks and black eyebrows, I can catch about 100 facial expressions as they flicker across the faces in the crowd; admiration, lust, hatred, and sometimes an intriguing mix of the two.

I don’t hate being a brunette. I don’t want to be someone else, I want to be me. Only I want me to have ridiculously/fabulously/outrageously fake hair.

Blonde is universally accepted as sexy for pop culture icons, but it is frowned upon when a mere mortal makes that choice for herself. Do we worry that she is sacrificing her identity to fit in with a narrow minded perception of beauty? Maybe. Or is it that blonde, fake blonde to be specific, is just such a bold choice that we quake in its presence?

It’s a tantalizing topic of conversation, but one I need not get into at this late hour. How about a top five, because OH you pretty things, I love to post your pretty pictures.

Sarah Jessica Parker made me do it: Blondes that launched the 1000 hours I’ve spent in salon chairs.

Judy Jetson- It starts. The blooming feminist in me was really bothered by how women were portrayed on this program, but damn if a high platinum ponytail and bangs ever goes out of style.

SJP in Hocus Pocus- For most of my younger years I thought she was the most beautiful woman alive. My sensibilities still lean toward the goth side and while my corsets mostly stay tucked away, I’ve been known to light a candle and howl at the moon on occasion

Gwen Stefani- Man, in high school I thought I invented the “gothic valley-girl” thing. Looking back I remember a time when dark lipstick and an angsty scowl topped with retro hair was a hot trend. I miss how looking sexy in the 90s also meant looking kind of stupid. I will credit Lady Gaga and Nicki Minaj for bringing back this notion.

Most anime characters- I used to wear large baggy jeans with swirls on the side and accessorize with either cat ears or goggles. I wish I was joking. I hope it’s becoming apparent how little my attraction to blonde hair has to do with mainstream sex appeal.

Betsey Johnson- Like me, Betsey has an inner child that refuses to die. Unlike me, she spends most days being a filthy rich clothing designer. I’d like to close that gap in some way. Maybe damaging my follicles has something to do with it.

Well reader, that’s about it. I think there are different kinds of fake blondes in this world, and even I’ve judged girls that fall into certain categories from time to time. Thing is, someone who makes a noticeable choice is drawing attention to themselves. Someone who makes the noticeable choice to be blonde is allowing you to view them in a certain way. You might see them as a bimbo or Blondie, but they paid good money knowing you’d be making those judgement calls. And they didn’t care.

And that’s kind of spiffy.

Movember Mo problems

Well, Golly. I’ve done it again. An off-hand comment I made on facebook created internet drama. I am going to clarify everything that I said because it makes for good blog, but please bear in mind that I really don’t think of myself as the be all and end all.

I have some opinions that I’ve cultivated over the years, but I’m also writing this on a $150 used laptop in a fuzzy robe while I eat my first meal of the day: a bowl of honey nut cheerios (with almond milk!) I started this blog on a whim and it turns out that people like to read it while they take their morning dump. That isn’t a responsibility I take lightly, so here goes.

It’s Movember, or what I like to call “perverted gym teacher month.” There is a lot about this that I don’t like, and I’ll start with my main objection:

Mustaches Are Gross

Of course there are exceptions to this rule, but for the most part sporting a mustache makes anything you do seem perverted. It’s like the equivalent of how bar stars make every Halloween costume slutty. You can be the perverted accountant, the perverted guy who works at the mall, the perverted cop… there is no end to the perversion when you grow a mustache.

I AM NOT condemning all facial hair. A well groomed beard or goatee can be quite appealing on the right face. Sometimes a beard makes a previously less attractive man look better, as it makes his facial features stand out.

I REALIZE that people should not style themselves to suit my tastes. I have chosen some looks for myself that I knew would be unappealing to most straight men, but I felt they looked good on me.

If you truly love how you look with a mustache, then have at it. You are probably one of the few men who can pull it off.

MY MAIN OBJECTION is that men who grow facial hair to be “funny” are making themselves into a novelty. They are sending a message to the world that they are not to be taken seriously, they are to be laughed at. There are better ways to go around this, like for example being a funny person. Making yourself the butt of the joke is kind of not going to get you anywhere.

I recently saw a comedian who, as part of his act, wore a ridiculous neon shirt. It was hilarious and really added to the persona he created on stage, but I noticed that after the show he had changed his shirt. He may be funny, but he’s also a successful touring comedian, not a joke.

Are you “raising awareness” for anything?

It took me a long time to find out that Movember is about prostate cancer. I know maybe one person who is actually involved with the campaign and raising money.

The only thing Movember seems to have succeeded in raising awareness for is mustaches. At my work we sell mints in a mustache shaped tin. There are mustache necklaces, t-shirts, and most hot girls on my facebook have at least one picture of them with a fake mustache on. (Guilty, but mainly because my friend had extra velcro. I also did angry eyebrows)

None of the aforementioned items raise money for, or are affiliated with prostate cancer. They are from companies who saw a bunch of kids getting hopped up on mustaches and rushed to create appropriate merch.

And if it did, as in the case of some of the official breast cancer merch- does paying an extra $20 for a pink blender mean you’re a compassionate person, or did you just want the pink blender?

Why aren’t we talking about the actual cancer?

I used to think I really liked the breast cancer awareness campaigns out there. Slogans like “save the tatas” “I heart boobies!” and “I love moterboating!” started appearing on t-shirts, jelly wrist thingies, and even shoes. It seemed like a way to raise awareness/get some money while having a bit of fun. Seeing men on sports teams in pink was cute, and I never really thought much about it beyond that.

When I worked at Hooters (gasp!) we had a campaign going where people could buy pink t-shirts from us to raise money for breast cancer. A feminist objected to the campaign (double gasp!!) She said that using girls with conventionally attractive bodies and great big boobs would alienate most female cancer patients. We Hooters girls tossed our perfectly styled hair, scoffed, and said she was over-reacting.

Still I couldn’t quite land on the Hooters side of the issue. Something was bothering me.

Breast cancer has become about being cute and sexy and “saving the boobies.” So, in the end, we aren’t upset that women are dying of cancer, we’re upset that they are losing their breasts to it. We have found yet another way to define what being a “woman” is, and ladies who can’t fill out their baby pink “save the tatas” tank tops are left feeling… well, deflated.

Big breasts may not be everyone’s… er… bag… but they are fairly often recognized as a desirable trait.

What about mustaches? I know some of you like them, but most of the people I know who are attracted to men are not attracted to mustaches. Like I said before, most guys don’t even think they look good with them.

It’s funny that for breast cancer women are jacking their boobs up and inviting us to “motorboat for the cure”, while men do something that makes them look gross to most people who would consider having sex with them.

Why isn’t November about men wearing super tight jeans and having everyone ogle their butts? Why is breast cancer a “sexy” cause while prostate cancer becomes a bro-bro campaign?

Furthermore- when football players are applauded for wearing pink, it isn’t because they are supporting the cause. Its because they are wearing a color that is traditionally considered feminine. We call them “brave”, which is basically like saying that by wearing pink they have demeaned themselves.

I guarantee you if I stopped getting rid of the peach fuzz above my lip for the month of November, I might get attention, but I wouldn’t get a lot of men swooning over my “brave” choice. I’d also be doing something that made me feel unattractive to be “ironic” and “funny”.

Homie don’t play that.

Friend Zone Decorum

I love when people talk about not wanting to “define” a relationship. In my experience, regardless of semantics, situations take on shapes in our minds. To purposefully avoid discussing your dynamic with someone probably means that you’re afraid your pegs don’t fit into their holes, so to speak.

Most of the time, we’d rather settle for something that is half-way satisfying than risk “ruining” it by expressing what we feel.

I say go ahead and ruin it. Rip it to shreds. Lay everything out for all parties to take a look at and if someone’s unhappy then you both save yourselves a lot of unrest.

So this friend zone thing. I was recently in a tricky situation with it. I wont go into detail, but I will say that I got to pin yet another “you’re so amazing but…” speech to my inner bulletin board.

The thing is, I didn’t play games or decide that I’d find a way to trick this person into liking me. He already thinks I’m pretty cool, so whatever I’m missing is obviously out of my control.

It sucked, but we got it all out in the open and I was relieved to have answers to the questions I’d had about the whole thing.

I wasn’t sure how it was going to go down the next time we hung out, but I figured it was worth a try.

It turns out knowing where I stood made it easier to spend time together than it had been when we were in a gray area. We had a great time and I even ended up giving him some advice about his current girl troubles. He repeatedly called me a “good friend” and I guess I could have twisted that into an insult, but when I thought about it, I don’t think less of any of the dudes in my friend zone. When I say they are great friends, I mean it.

I’d already called this guy on some confusing shit he pulled with me and I knew he felt bad about it, so all there was left to do was enjoy each other’s company.

based on this and other experiences, I present to you:

Melanie Dahling’s Guide to Friend Zone Decorum

1. Make your situation known asap

If you are spending a lot of time with someone who could be interested in you based on your gender/their orientation, you should probably find a subtle way to let them know that it aint gonna happen. If you are currently attached, work the significant other into the conversation at some point. If you are just not into someone, you can be pretty point blank about it and say something like: “I’m not assuming anything, but I just wanted to let you know that I see you as a friend.” I’ve said this a few times and people are usually grateful.

I do have dudes in my life who I never had to say that to, but you can usually use your common sense and figure out what is an organic friendship and what might be misconstrued as a date situation. If you are wondering about your dynamic with someone, chances are you need to say something.

2. Be Consistent

Ok. So in “500 days of Summer”, both characters are pretty flawed. THAT BEING SAID: Summer sends a lot of mixed messages. It isn’t enough to SAY “I want to be just friends” or even “I want this to be casual”. Asking someone for their friendship and then treating them like your significant other is not cool. Even if you have a sexual thing (which I do NOT recommend by the way), there is a way to keep it from becoming relationship-y. Don’t use someone else’s feelings for you as a security blanket.
Chances are someone is going to get attached, act “fine” about it, while waiting for you to realize how great you are together. If someone is “just a friend” keep it that way.

Furthermore: If you have told someone you want to be “just friends” then they start seeing someone and things magically change for you, please try to let that person be happy. You don’t know if your new feelings will go away when they become available, and it’s a pretty big risk to ruin a potentially great thing for them. I have been in this situation and my basic m.o. was to leave my friend alone then assess my feelings if the new relationship didn’t work out.

Sometimes seeing a “just friend” with a girl makes me realize my “true feelings”, but most of the time I’m just jealous because they don’t have me on a pedestal anymore.

3. Don’t play dumb

If this person WAS someone you were flirting with, but something changed, THEY WILL NOTICE. You can’t just suddenly start treating them like a pal and talking to them about your new love interest (probably the reason they dropped out of favor). You need to address the situation. It’s as simple as saying “hey, it felt like we sort of had a thing going for a while there, but I think it’s best we stay friends.”

4. Be the bigger person

Sometimes people can totally handle being “just friends” or “casual dating friends,” and sometimes they can’t. I can usually tell if someone is having trouble being around me because of something like this, and I try to limit contact for a while so that I don’t basically torture them.

Not everyone has the wherewithal to say “my feelings make it hard for me to be around you”, so sometimes you just have to help that person out a bit by creating some distance. If the person seems truly hell bent on making you their lover and you don’t see that happening- EVER, maybe it’s best to walk away.

5. Be excellent to each other

Having someone in your life who you could date but choose not to? Seems kind of lame at first, but it’s actually pretty great. Friendship break ups are far less common, plus having someone to give some perspective on your dating woes comes in handy.

At the end of the day, you are just two people and no one can dictate the kind of relationship you “should” have. Everyone in your life is going to love you in their own way, and it’s a waste to try and mold that love to suit your own purposes. Just enjoy the fact that someone cares about you, because you really can never have too many friends.

…I just wish I was getting laid