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The Best Birthday

Posted by melagee on February 25, 2013

I wanted to write some of this down, because I want to remember it as best I can. It’s not going to be pretty, but that’s okay because it’s not for you, it’s for me.

I was on a week long cruise in the Caribbean for an event called JoCoCruiseCrazy. Attendees of this crazy water house music convention are called Sea Monkeys. My birthday happened to fall within the cruise and maybe MAYBE it was the best birthday ever.

On the morning of my birthday I had lots of bacon and sausages. I had horrible coffee, but decent tea. I went with friends to see That Yoda Guy, and basked in the warm sun and the panicked chattering of Sea Monkeys who may or may not have been lost. Afterward, I ate pizza with friends and demanded birthday hugs.

The demanding of birthday hugs was an all-day event, really.

In the afternoon I got a birthday card with monkeys on it (but no poop, thank god), which was signed by many many people, both famous and not. I also received a Captain Marvel dogtag, which I LOVE. I put it on right away, even though it did not match my outfit.


At a ninja concert by Molly Lewis, I reminded people that it is my birthday. I didn’t want anyone to feel bad about missing it. Lar deSouza loudly acclaimed his surprise at my being another year older, and Molly sang happy birthday to me. THIS IS A TRUE THING THAT HAPPENED TO ME. I then struggled not to fall asleep during Molly’s show, and felt like SUCH A JERK for being so sleepy after she had sung to me. I’m sorry, Molly! I was the most tired fan in the world!

That evening I had a buffet dinner with wonderful people. I ate so much food, you guys. I wore my favourite dress, which is brown with pink polka dots. I had two different trifles, and a banger. Those are just food highlights. A waiter brought me a piece of peanut butter chocolate cake with a candle in it, and I made a wish. I always wish for the same thing, and it usually comes true. Sea Monkeys sang happy birthday to me in multiple languages. A couple celebrating valentines day stopped by and gave me an ADORABLE stuffed monkey and some chocolate. I named the monkey Lil’ Storm.


That evening was Open Mic night, which meant I got to cheer on the most amazing and talented people. On the way to the venue I saw John Roderick. “JOHN RODERICK!” I yelled, “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!” I don’t remember what he said, but he hugged me. I legit did not want to let go. A handsome man with a beautiful voice enveloped me in birthday hugs. THIS HAPPENED TO ME.

At Open Mic I heard so many wonderful songs and jokes and recitations. It was beautiful. At the end of the show I approached Mike Phirman and told him it was my birthday. He made the room sing happy birthday to me. He also hugged me. TWICE.

On my way back to my room I stopped and had a tiny sandwich with friends. One beautiful lovely lady stole a rose from the cupcake shop and gave it to me. She committed a crime for my birthday, you guys.

The next day I thought it was over, but it was not. At the Doubleclicks show that afternoon, Angela and Aubrey sang the Birthday Song for ME. MEEEEEEEEEEEE!! AND IT WAS RECORDED ON VIDEO!


Missing from the end of this video is the fact that I kept clapping for like 20 seconds after everyone else had stopped. I was so elated, you guys, you don’t even know. They deserved all the applause.

This was my birthday. And it was maybe the best birthday ever, except for the one where I was born which is kind of responsible for starting this whole crazy thing off.


Posted in Buds, Essential Melanie, Nerd Talk, Plans of Fun | 2 Comments »

Farscape Fan Music Videos

Posted by melagee on October 26, 2012

I’m going to be super fangirly right now.

Back at the turn of the century, when Farscape was on television and I was loving every moment of it, my roommate-at-the-time found these fan made music videos and we would watch them over and over. They are every bit the epitome of cheesiness now, but back then I thought they were amazing. To be perfectly honest, the beginning of My Immortal still makes me choked up, but that’s really more about the fabulousness of Farscape than anything else.

At any rate, without these fan vids I never would have discovered the beauty that is Tom McRae, so I am sharing these wonderfully cheesey things with you.

Spoilers for all seasons, but not for the Peacekeeper Wars.

Also, if you haven’t watched Farscape yet, good god get to it.


A video about John and Aeryn ❤

The two Crichtons.


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Some Thoughts on Being Fat

Posted by melagee on October 15, 2012

My friends are so beautiful, and it makes me horribly sad to see them hate on themselves. I understand the feelings – I empathize with them. I have spent so much time hating various parts of myself, and learning to love me has been and continues to be an uphill battle. I hope that someday I and every one of the wonderful people in my life know what it’s like to fully love every part of ourselves effortlessly.

Once I wrote a blog about trying on a bra, and at the risk of repeating myself, I am going to tell a similar story.

This past weekend I went to a clothing sale at Cherry Velvet Plus. They are mostly an online retailer selling pretty dresses for plus sized ladies. Because they’re not an actual retail outlet, the changing areas are really just portable screens, and don’t necessarily provide the full amount of coverage that you might like or expect. I was down to my underpants, wiggling into pretty dresses, and I was only hidden from about half the room. At one point the designer asked if I would mind if she came over to my side of the room for something, and I said “Sure. I don’t mind if other ladies see me in my underpants.”

This is true. Well, it’s mostly true. It’s about 80% true. But the part of me that said “Noooo, she will see how fat I am!” was squished down by the part of me that is stubborn and knows better and refuses to be cowed. The fact is, I know I am fat, and the dress designer knows I am fat, and everyone who meets me knows that I am fat. Whether another person sees me in my underpants or not makes no difference in how fat I actually am. Whether I see the photos taken of me or not, whether I allow photos to be taken, it doesn’t change who I am and what I look like. And I am okay with that.

Well, I am about 65% okay with that. But only because I know that trying not to be fat only makes me more miserable. Depriving myself of the things I enjoy, or forcing myself to do things I hate: that is not the way I want to live my life. I would like to get my emotional eating under control, but that is because I want my mental health to be strong, not because I want to be thin. What I want, more than anything, is to accept me for the way I am, whether it is fat, REALLY FAT, or not so fat. And I cannot reconcile being okay with my body with also trying to lose weight. I can’t. Maybe other people can, but I cannot. So I am making no effort – ZERO EFFORT – to be thinner or lose weight in any way. I am taking effort away from spin classes and dieting and putting it into convincing myself not to give a fuck if I take up more than my allotted space on the bus. I am telling myself that I can have back fat and cellulite and still wear nice things and be pretty. I am doing this, and I have been doing this, because I love the person I am inside my body, and I want to love who I am all over. And I deserve that, and fuck it even if people think I don’t deserve it I WANT IT and I will have it.

I’m not going to spend the rest of my life trying to change who I am. I’m not going to wait for life to begin. My life is happening right now, and I’m determined to enjoy it as much as possible, which leaves little-to-no time for hating.

I will still hate horrible people, though.

My friends are lovely and wonderful, and I want them to see that I understand how they feel about themselves sometimes, and I want them to see how I am fighting it, and I want them to fight it too, and maybe if we all fight it together, (in whatever way works for you) it will be so much easier.

I am full of optimism.


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Some Brief Items About Europe (Mostly London)

Posted by melagee on July 18, 2012

I paid extra for my flights to and from Europe, and it was completely worth it. It wasn’t the fanciest class (premium economy), but there was lots of leg room and really yummy food and free champagne and wine. Also, we get a little kit with a blanket, eye mask, neck pillow, socks, a toothbrush, and ear plugs.


People told me Brits think peanut butter and chocolate is weird and you can’t find it except in specialty stores, but I saw Reeces Peanut Butter cups in every convenience-type store I went into. MORAL: People are big liars.


I do not understand why people take photos of museum artifacts. I went to the British Museum and admired the Rosetta Stone. I stood there for about 15 minutes while small children crowded around in that obnoxious way that only small children can really master (I assume their brains have not developed the ability to not be assholes), and I didn’t take a single photo. Flashes went off all around me, bouncing off the glass  case in which the stone sits.

Hey, look what I found:

Language slab.

It’s a photograph of the Rosetta Stone! Taken by a professional photographer! Without a pane of glass in the way! Shocking, right? I found it on google. It took me about five seconds. It was the first result. Now if I want to remember my time spent looking at the Rosetta Stone, I have this google image to help me. Why on earth would I or anyone else want to take a photo of the stone in the museum?


I went to the theatre many times in London, and so did every other north american tourist. Here are the shows I saw:

  • Singin’ in the Rain (magnificent!)
  • Top Hat (very good)
  • Sweeny Todd (well acted)
  • GATZ (8-hour production of the Great Gatsby; worth it in the end)
  • Henry V (actually left half-way through. not one of my favourite Shakespeare plays, and I really just wanted to see the Globe)
  • 42nd Street (so boring)
  • Wicked (love it, always)


I went to the cinema three times while in Europe. We saw Prometheus (awful) and Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (hilarious) while in Belfast, and the popcorn was HORRIBLE. Stale, old, awful. But we went to a cheapy theatre, so maybe the popcorn is better at a higher class establishment.

In Amsterdam we saw The Amazing Spider-Man, which I liked but I remember liking the Sam Rami Spider-Man more, so take that for what it’s worth (a lot). The popcorn at this theatre was boxed and put out for people to pick up. I saw people walking along grabbing handfuls of popcorn out of the open boxes. It was gross.


When I die, please cremate me and put me somewhere in Highgate Cemetery. I suggest putting me in the side with Douglas Addams and Carl Marx, because that side is free and you can come visit me whenever you want (+ cost of airfare to London). Also, I am really doing you a huge favour, because the cemetery is near a really fantastic pizza place called Al Parco, and you will love it.

There are also some cats wandering around the cemetery, and it was the first time in two weeks that I had the chance to pet a kitty (not a euphemism).

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A Nice Compliment

Posted by melagee on July 13, 2012

The nicest thing just happened to me.

I was sitting outside enjoying the sunshine, and I got up to go back into work. As I was walking, a strange man was walking in my direction. “Hey there,” he said, as he passed, “You’re really pretty.”

Aside from the fact that someone thinks I’m pretty, here’s what was so nice about this: it was a selfless act. The guy didn’t ask for anything, even in an implicit way – he didn’t even stop to gauge my response. He received nothing in return for his compliment, nor did he appear to expect anything. If he had even just stopped and waited for a response, the compliment might have seemed a little creepy, but he  just kept on keepin’ on.

This random compliment really puts into sharp perspective all the guys who cat call, objectify, and hit on strange women with the expectation that they will get a date, sex, or just our eternal gratitude out of it. The nice part of all this is the relief of receiving a compliment without any of the implied pressure of giving anything back. The sad part of all this is how much more awful the entitled dudes make me feel with their loaded compliments and objectifying cat calls.

Posted in Feminism | Leave a Comment »

Based on a True Story

Posted by melagee on July 10, 2012

ME: (searching bags and pockets) Have you seen my dinosaur?

HIM: (pointing to chocolate dinosaur lollipop) Is that it?

ME: No, the other one.

HIM: (pointing to rainbow t-rex hoodie) That one?

ME: No, the other other one.

HIM: (pointing to dinosaur wall stickers) Those?

ME: No! My tiny t-rex!

HIM: (pointing to stuffed t-rex)

ME: Okay, now I feel like you’re just trying to make a point.

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Happy Station

Posted by melagee on July 2, 2012

In Amsterdam right across from the train station (Amsterdam Centraal) there is a tiny little ice cream shop called Happy Station. One day when it was ridiculously humid and I had walked 40 minutes through mobs of sweaty people, I met Daniel at Centraal (where he had just come off of an airless train filled with sweaty people) and he said to me, “How do you feel about ice cream?”

First, that is a question that never needs to be asked. Second, I feel pretty good about it. Third, I would go to a place called Happy Station if all they were selling were used socks.

This is a cup of ice cream from Happy Station:

Contains actual Happiness.

The actual ice cream is hidden from you, because you could not handle the sight of its deliciousness. But let me tell you something, people, it is delicious. They make an ice cream concoction that is something like a blizzard or a mcflurry, but instead of filling it full of chocolate and caramel and freeze dried fruit (all fairly tasty things in their own right), they fill the ice cream with fresh fruit!

…okay, and chocolate and sprinkles and stuff, if you actually want it. Whatever, there’s fresh fruit and it is magnificent. I was in Amsterdam for five days, and I went to Happy Station three times. Each time was happier than the last. My only regret is that I never had the opportunity to try the fresh pineapple. Also, that I did not go about ten more times. Also also, that I could not take it home with me. Also also also, that I do not have a pony.


Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments »

I Rode a Bike!

Posted by melagee on July 2, 2012

Listen, have we met? Do you know me? Because if you know me at all, you probably know that I am kind of afraid of bicycles. I don’t think they’re going to come to life and try to eat me, I’m just afraid of falling off of them if I try to ride them. I rode a bike when I was a wee girl, but as I got older my balance started to go to pot, and I became more afraid of smashing my teeth on the pavement or cracking my skull on the curb, so I stayed away from the things. I have always thought that I would be willing to ride a tricycle, though, as they have their own built-in balance.

It was with that thought that Daniel and I went into a bike shop in Amsterdam(ish) and asked if they had any trikes. The shop owner was nice enough not to look at me like I was insane, but he said no. However they did have a bike that was built low to the ground and with the pedals slightly forward, like this:

It’s called a “crank forward” bike. No, really.

I tried it out and Holy Crap, I could ride this bike. My feet could easily touch the ground, so if I started to tip one way or another, I could just plant myself and stay upright. So we rented the bike and I RODE. Brother, did I ride. We were riding bikes for about 3-4 hours.

I was crazy! I started out all shaky and nervous, but by the end of the day I was all turning corners and avoiding cars and people, and being my badass self on a bicycle! I had went up hills (and down hills), and tiny dirt paths, and on the street! Where the cars go! Me! On a bike!! It was amazing! I was amazing.

That afternoon gave me a horrible sun burn, awful aches in my arm muscles, and the first really good reason to live in Amsterdam. The infrastructure for bikes there is unbelievable; I think there are more people riding bikes than are driving cars. There are dedicated bike lanes Everywhere, often with built up dividers between the bikes and the cars. Daniel told me ahead of time that bikes were so very very commonplace in Amsterdam, but it really didn’t prepare me for the reality of it. The idea of being able to ride a bicycle anywhere you want and not worry about being mowed down by traffic is awfully appealing. I think about riding a bike here in Vancouver and I am terrified at the thought of being caught in traffic. And if you think it’s no big deal, then hooray for you; to me, riding a bike in Vancouver traffic is a big deal. Riding a bike in Amsterdam traffic is carefree and liberating. It is a supremely tempting thought.

As a side note, Daniel’s house is actually in Bussum, a lovely little town about a 30-minute train ride from Amsterdam, and that’s where we rode our bikes. Riding in Amsterdam proper would have been a little scarier,  but only because it’s so much more dense (with bikes). Bussum is delightful, and I liked it much much more than Amsterdam.

Another aside, I named the bike Paul. If you know me at all, you’ll know why.

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I’m not saying too much.

Posted by melagee on September 15, 2011

Sometimes it bothers me that I don’t blog as much as I used to. I would like to blame my lack of writing on the fact that I am so very busy lately, or that I don’t have anything interesting to say, but the truth is I have always felt busy and I never have anything interesting to say. Neither of these things has ever stopped me from blogging in the past, so why do I have so little to say lately?

Well, duh: it’s Twitter. Now that I can so quickly and so easily drop one-liners on the internet, I have little-to-no patience for several paragraphs of blogging. I can rarely be bothered to take the time to open up a browser and compose a more in-depth commentary on my thoughts than 140 characters would allow. Sometimes I will begin to compose a blog post in my head, and by the time I have my hands on a computer that is suitable for typing, I am bored and already wondering if there are any new cat pictures on the internet. Twitter has ruined blogging for me. Worse than that, Twitter has ruined the reading of other people’s blogs.

All of the things I just said about writing blogs? That goes for reading them, too. When I can quickly scroll through my friends’ tweets while sitting on the bus, I feel less of a need or desire to read their more drawn-out thoughts. Entertain and inform me, but please do it in the 5-10 seconds it takes me to scroll past your name! It’s horrible, and I end up missing out on a lot. Only today I found out via Facebook status update (almost as cool as Twitter) that a friend of mine had ended a long-term relationship a couple of months ago and just recently begun a new one. My friend had been blogging about the events of her life as they unfolded, but they didn’t tweet about it so I didn’t know. People are trying to tell me (and, well, everyone) about their lives, and I’m not listening. I feel like an ass.

This blog post is less about solutions and more about me identifying the problem for myself. I didn’t even know I was going to write about this when I started typing. I thought I would ramble on about my day and try to be funny and all the usual wotnot that I used to do. Instead I am realizing that I miss writing and reading and I resent being part of the YOU’RE NOT GIVING IT TO ME FAST ENOUGH demographic. I will have a think on how (or if) I can change this.

Posted in Buds, Essential Melanie | 1 Comment »

Fuck That

Posted by melagee on August 5, 2011

I went for a bra-fitting today. My bras always tend to feel snug, and I’ve heard enough stories of revelation from other women who went for a fitting and found out they’ve been wearing the wrong bra for years. I’ve never been fit before, so I was prepared for a revelation of my own. And I got one: I’ve been wearing the wrong size. But that’s not what this is about.

A woman took me back into the fitting room and measured under my bust. She eyeballed my cup size and brought me a couple of bras to try on. The fitting room was small and there was no one else there when I started my fitting. The stall I was in had no door, just a curtain, and no matter how much I tugged on it I couldn’t get the curtain to close all the way.  Not that it mattered all that much since half the time I was there the curtain was open so the woman fitting me could tug at and adjust my bra.

I am not a thin woman. I have rolls and bulges and extra chin. I am not used to being partially clothed in front of people I’m not planning to sleep with. Yet several women saw me in my bra today. I was mortified. I wanted to hide behind the curtain. I wanted to leave the store and resign myself to painful, ill-fitting bras. I felt like nothing more than a disgusting lump of fat, and I wanted to hide.

And then I thought, fuck that. This is my body. It’s not the greatest body, but it’s mine and I love who I am. Who gives one flying fuck if my belly protrudes? Who cares if my inner-thighs rub together when I walk? Certainly not the woman who was politely and kindly adjusting my straps. Certainly not the woman in the next stall who was exclaiming over how large her cup size was. Not a single person in that shop even looked at me funny, and why would they? I was a woman in a bra in a lingerie store. I was in no way special to anyone there, and any body issues were my own.

I go through a minor version of this every morning. I get dressed, notice that my belly fat is still showing through whatever I’m wearing, wonder if I should wear something else, and think, fuck it. I know women who refuse to wear tank tops because they think their arms are too fat. Fuck that. If it’s hot, I’m wearing a tank top. I know women who refuse to wear skirts because they think their knees are too ugly. Fuck that. Skirts are pretty and I’m wearing them. I will wear bathing suits and yoga pants and knee socks and corsets and dresses both long and short and when I feel myself starting to worry that people will notice how dark my armpits are, I will say, Fuck that. My hope is that someday I will skip over the self-doubt completely, stop cursing so much, and get the hell on with my day.

Posted in Essential Melanie | 1 Comment »