Hello. My name is Melanie. My middle name is Ruth. My last name is super-duper confidential. I was bald until after my first birthday. I was late getting teeth, and in losing them as well. However, my wisdom teeth came in when everyone else's did, so I guess I caught up.
I am 5'4" and weigh blah blah blah pounds (I actually don't know how much I weigh, because I haven't weighed myself in a couplefew months...but I am feeling rather fatty of late. However, my pants very well just might be shrinking *cough*). I have dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. I have ruddy, slightly olive skin that is mainly oily.
When I was younger, I wanted to become a teacher when I grew up. Then I wanted to be a dentist. Then I realized I'd have to endure other people's mouth grossness and chucked that idea. I still like teeth, though. I brush my teeth a lot. Like 3x/day for like 4+ minutes at a time. Also, I'm a little obsessive. I wash my hands quite a bit, but I'm not freaky about it.
I drink coffee every morning. I take pills so I'm not a depressed mess. Oh, and I take pills so I have a regular period. And so I don't get pregnant, but that's rather secondary at this point in time.
I like glazed donuts and donuts with chocolate icing, but not the dense "cake" donuts. And absolutely nothing with filling. And I hate when donuts is spelled "doughnuts." I don't like danishes or coffee cake-type nonsense.
When I was a teenager and got like two little pimples, I thought I was acne-ridden and couldn't wait for the day when I would be a grown woman with grown-up skin. I am now a grown woman and have the worst skin of my life. Also, when my life's a mess? My skin's a mess! Imagine!
When I was a preschooler, I was obsessed with the song "Delta Dawn" by Bette Midler. I have a recording of myself singing along with Bette on a reel-to-reel tape. I have the reel-to-reel player my dad bought overseas while on R&R from Vietnam. I'd like to find out a way to get his recordings from tape to digital.
When I was little, my dad used to let me stand on his feet and we'd walk around. I listened to Cat Stevens with him, and Elton John, and Billy Joel. I went to my first concert with my Dad...it was Whitney Houston...in the fifth grade. I also saw Aerosmith with my dad. The teenage girls behind us got drunk and puked on the back of dad's seat. I was embarrassed because I was a teenager and a girl as well.
Most of my teenage years were spent being annoyed with and embarrassed by my dad. We butted heads a lot. Apparently, I inherited his stubborn personality. One time, I got majorly lost and took the wrong entrance ramp and ended up on the wrong expressway when I was sixteen. Ended up in a shady part of the CVG. I used the pay phone at a grocery store to call my dad and he came and rescued me. I gave him a huge hug and said, "I love you, Daddy." We didn't do hugs, and I never called him Daddy. But I felt vulnerable. He seemed uncomfortable with my display of affection. And then I followed him home.
I still get lost easily. But I can usually find my own way home now.
When I was in the fifth grade, I was on the math team. We went to competitions and had little buzzers and figured out math problems and stuff. I felt like the dumbest person on the team. Then, that part of my brain shut off and I became mathaphobic. Except, when I grew up and got a job that I loved, it was all numbers. Much crunching. Much math. Funny, huh?
Now, I don't have a job. Or a home. My future? A big question mark.
When my son Lucas Joseph (who is named for my dad, and who is EXACTLY my dad all over again...so much so that it leaves me in awe much of the time) was born, he had a knot in his umbilical cord. Except it wasn't a typical knot. It was a "true knot." True knots only happen in like 1% of pregnancies. Here's the story: my first son, Cam, was born, my labor was induced because I was a week late. Also he weighed 9 lbs, 6 oz. Anyway, my stupid cervix stopped dilating at 6 cm, plus Cam was having some heart decelerations, so I had to have a c-section. Fast-forward to my pregnancy with Luke. I was all set to try to deliver him vaginally, and my OB was cool with that...as long as I could go into labor on my own...no inducing...blah blah blah. At 38 weeks, my body was all "no way am I letting that baby out." At 39 weeks, it was still "nuh-uh! Tightly closed I'll stay, bitch!" So, another c-section was scheduled. When they pulled him out, all the medical people gasped. They actually gasped. Then my OB explained the true knot deal. If I had delivered him vaginally, it could have been super-fatal. So.
When my daughter, Claire, was born....via c-section, of course, guess what she did? She reached her little hand up...before they even got her out...and nicked one of my abdominal arteries with her fist of fury. It's what they call "a bleeder." As in, "We've got a bleeder here!" Blood was everywhere. Fun times, fun times.
When my son, Cameron, was born, the entire time I was in the hospital? I didn't sleep more than two hours. Because I was afraid he'd stop breathing. I couldn't believe those people thought *I* could be responsible for a BABY!
When I was in the 8th grade, I think I had a variation of a mullet. I'm just saying.
Earlier this evening, I got stuck in my friend Bob's bathroom. I got panicky for a few seconds before I figured out how to unlock the door.
To be continued...
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