Date Archives September 2006

Freakity Freakity Freak Magnet

Yesterday, I drove to Seattle in the hopes of getting some of the free gasoline they were giving away in Queen Anne. As it turns out, doing a promotion which causes an even greater traffic frenzy during the already normally-frenzied rush hour is a STUPID IDEA. It lasted all of half an hour before getting shut down, well before I even found my way into the general vicinity. No free gas for Mellzah. At that time of the day, all southbound highways are essentially parking lots, and none of this part of the story matters except that it means I travelled EAST into Kirkland to pass time until I could go home.

And lo, time passed. Then came the self-reasoning: Since I’m already here, I might as well stay for karaoke. And stay for karaoke I did.

Well into the evening, an elderly Japanese man (80 if he was a day) approached the table I was sitting at, and started making small talk with Scott. He said he’d be singing some Elvis, and over the course of the conversation, he reached out and touched my cheek twice. A little strange, yes, but the bar is loud and perhaps he was just trying to get my attention. Even though it wasn’t a conversation that I was participating in. Nothing unusual there. Nosir.

Later on, as I was walking past him, he asked me if I’d ever slow-danced before.


“You….uh…can…uh…do now with me.”

So, I decided to humor the elderly Japanese man. Ne’er ye mind that I don’t particularly like being touched by strangers. He’s OLD. I cannot possibly say no.

All of ten seconds later, he’s slow-dancing with me. And not a respectful distance sort of slow-dance, oh no. As I am growing increasingly uncomfortable, he begins singing a song about the month of September to me. I wanted to call out the universal safe word (banana!) but no one in the vicinity seemed likely to rescue me, PLUS he’s OLD and I should humor him because he’s OLD and maybe I am being silly and he’s just trying to be a gentleman with zero creepy overtures whatsoever plus he’s OLD and it should almost be over SOON and THAT is when he whispers in my ear “oh you are-a so cute, baby, what are we gonna do about it?” and GRINDS HIS HIPS INTO ME.

He then asks for my phone number. Oh yes, old Japanese man. That is a lovely idea! Perhaps I could introduce you to my grandfather. You might recognize him from when you fought him in World War II.

I’d been meaning to write here about other recent Freak Magnet incidents–a stranger telling me that I had nice teeth and, by the way, would I like to suck his dick? and also the guy who kept rubbing my hand because he was trying to teach me about ‘Chaos Theory’. Unless the chaos caused is that of my other hand punching you RIGHT IN THE FACE, I’m not buying it, buddy. But I digress. BOTH of these stories have been trumped by the 80-year-old Japanese man grinding his hips into me and trying to smooth-talk me in broken English. I may never have a story that beats THIS story, ever.

Freak Magnet willing, however, I will.

Captain’s Log? Try Capn’s Blog.

Ahoy me foine buckos! In honor o’ this glorious day, that is, International Talk LIke a Pirate Day, I’m presentin to ye me new and updated Poop Deck…er, piratin’ bathroom. This room has a bit more count-arrrr space than me last apartment, so ye can see that I’ve made a few changes to make ‘er the most glorious Poop De–Piratin’ Bathroom tha thar evarrr was. T’only thing missin from this room ’twas in t’ otharrr room b t’ showarrr curtain as this one be havin’ doors. I be thinkin’ about cutting some window stickarrrs to t’ shape o’ t’ Jolly Rogarr and sticking them on t’ doors, but I needs to be making sure they’ll come off, lest t’ apartment managarrr make poor Cap’n Mellzah Rackham walk t’plank. bathroom Still in t’room but not appearin in these pictures be t’ matchin’ pirate garbage can and bath mat, along wi t’ mandatory Jack Sparrow Teen Girl Squad droolworthy poster.


New to t’room on t’port side be a treasure chest, complete wi’ a Lush Black Pearl and a Sex Bomb, sent to me by me matey Beth, t’ pirate mardi gras beads I plundered in Las Vegas, and a night light purchased from Ikea for the sum of one dollarrrr that didn’t start out as a skull, but ended up as one with some creative razorblading and paint application. Look how it lights t’room red like Blackbeard’s dynamite at night!



Also makin’ its first appearance be t ‘Here thar be robots’ treasure map and a magic picture that be changing dependin on which way ye look at it, yet ye can see both its faces when ye look in t’ mirror.


On t’ doorknob hangs a unique piratin’ artifact tive t’ me by Harrrrrgrove t’ Art Parrot o’ Tangrala, and as well as bein mighty attractive, it gives fair warnin to those who might be inclined to leave t’ seat up that they’ll be losin a hand in t’ bargain.

On the starrrboard side o t’ sink, makin its debut be t’ piratin rubber duck that Savage Scotty Seadog plundered from the depths of some retail environment and me new matey, Jaws t’fish. Don’t be fooled by his size, for truly fearsome he be. He bit a man in two fer lookin’ at him funny. That ship, lyin at t’ bottom of his bowl? He sunk it, so he did. T’ crew nevar knew what hit em, and evar since I made it me goal to capture him and forcibly make him part of me crew. T’battle raged for weeks, through waters fair and foul, but eventually he submitted to me might. Now me ship can sail unchallenged as her legend spreads far and wide–none dare to ride on the same tides as one under t’ protection of Jaws.


Tonight me piratin’ crew meets at t’ Jolly Roger in Ballarrrrd. Be there, or ye be a filthy stinkin bilge ninja whose mother I plundered last week.

Note t’ Johnny Depp: This be the third talk like a pirate day that I’ve asked ye o come shiver me timbers, lad. What’s holding ye back? Is it t’ robot costume? For I assure ye, it can be taken off. When yer movie came out this summer and all me mates were spouting horrible things about t’ quality of t’ movie AND yer actin abilities in one fell swoop, Mellzah defended ye. No one loves ye like Mellzah does! Come drink grog w’ Mellzah this piratin’ day and she’ll be making ye feel better.

And then Mellzah’ll ball ye until yer liver explodes.

9/11, Mellzah style

Life has been good and busy and slow and awful and icky and awesome over the last week. I have laughed, cried, and laughed some more, and walked out with a strong resolve to do whatever it is that needs to be done by any means necessary so I can just get all of it over with and stop worrying and start LIVING.

Monday I went to the Mariners game with Carrie, John, and Ginnie, as John had gotten free tickets from some mysterious source. Nothing seemed more appropriate on a day when all we could hear about was ‘America, America, America’ than to go watch our national pastime. Unfortuately, we lost to CANADA, which sucked pretty hard. This was made up for by unleashing my Shouty Monster, who resides not-so-deep inside me, and who sneaks out after a few beers or so. The horrifying things proceeding from my mouth were all punctuated by stabby motions with the hand holding the tiny american flag they gave to me at the door. Some, but not nearly all, of the things I shouted went as follows: “ABORTIONS FOR SOME! MINIATURE AMERICAN FLAGS FOR OTHERS!” “IF YOU’RE GOING TO WALK HIM, AT LEAST HIT HIM IN THE FACE!” (I was awfully proud to have started a chorus of nearby ‘In the face! In the face, motherfuckers!’) “SEND HIM BACK CRYING TO HIS POUTINE-EATING BROTHERS!” “IF YOU LOSE, THAT MEANS THE TERRORISTS WON!” “SHOW THOSE FLAPPY-HEADS WHO’S BOSS!”

I also called the ump a dicklicker, and started chanting ‘satan’ at some group of dillholes nearby who spent many minutes cheering for Jesus. Pft. Jesus doesn’t play for the Mariners. Last I heard, he got kicked off the team for running around with an unsavory group of people, including known whores, and for drinking water-wine in the dugout.

9 innings later, I was tired, my Shouty Monster was appeased, and we all went home, miniature American flags in tow.

I still need to write about the camping trip and the mini-road trip that Jez and I took–since the neighbor with the internet I’d been leeching has either moved or wised up and locked their network, I’ve been hard-pressed to update. So just so you know–I’m not dead, just mostly internetless!


Even though I’ve been talking about it for months, when my plane finally landed in Atlanta, I had a hard time believing I was actually there. The absolute newness of it all was exhilarating, and when the booze wasn’t present, meeting my friends in person for the first time was intoxicating.

It became all too real, however, when I called BOTH Hilton hotels in Atlanta, and neither one of them claimed to have a reservation in demonlet‘s name. If some undue stress and worry doesn’t occur, obviously it’s a trip happening to some person other than me. A subway ride and a few phone calls later, I found myself at the check-in counter of the correct Hilton, at which the smiling employee claimed to be perfectly happy to check me in, for the sum of (raises pinky)…one MILLION DOLLARS. I could almost FEEL Paris hovering over a rack of diamond-studded panties as said smiling employee eagerly reached out for my card. Not having a limit of anywhere NEAR what they wanted from me, I decided to wait until demonlet arrived until I checked in. Paris was mildly disappointed until she remembered that she doesn’t wear underwear, anyway.

While I waited for demonlet to arrive, I hung out with stationary_jew, and helped him, benma and a bunch of other Memphibians to set up their Dark Con table, a larp game that they played for pretty much the entire length of the con.

Shortly thereafter, mastergode arrived, with his friends keebler138 and cagexxx. I’ve been talking to mastergode for some three-odd years now, starting with a few chance games of Gunbound. He’s actually the person who convinced me to start a livejournal, so for anyone who’s ever gotten any entertainment whatsoever from my blogging here, he’s the one you should thank.

After we’d made our introductions, demonlet called to say she was there, more introductions were made, and thus began the saga of the best_roommates_ever. I couldn’t have asked for more fun people to share a room with.

On Friday morning, the con began in earnest, and we began wandering around, attending various panels, taking pictures of horrendous costumes, and weathering the muggy Atlanta air as best we could. First note: Out of the approximately 23487 people who insisted “COME TO DRAGON*CON, MELLZAH!!!!1one~”, not one of them bothered to elaborate with “You should bring a costume to the convention, because, frankly, you will be the one who looks out of place for dressing NORMALLY.”

A further note on cosplay: I understand that you are dressing up as one of your beloved characters, but when you pick something that’s closer to your body type, you’ll be able to pull the look off so much better. This means, that out of the 6 or 7 girls I saw walking around cosplaying Leelu from The Fifth Element, only one of them looked great, and the others ranged from ok to horrifying. You can’t just have a good body to wear that costume. You need to have a SLAMMING body to wear that costume. If you look in the mirror and feel even slightly uneasy about it, it is a sign from the Mirror Gods that you should wear something else. Also, just because you have a great body isn’t really an excuse to just walk around in your underwear, in the guise of wearing a costume. I understand that you love attention, but whatever happened to self-respect? There was more barely-legal, barely-dressed poon there than in a Girls Gone Wild video…and I felt kind of dirty for doing double-takes, but I honestly could_not_help_it.

Winner of the Skeeriest Costume contest: A girl with both ample body and bosoms was walking around, squeezed into a bosomless corset, with five stripes of electrical tape across each breast. The nipple itself? Covered. The plate-sized aureoles? There for everybody and their mother to gape at. Who looks in the mirror and says “Yes, this is a good idea, I think I’ll go walk about in public!”? Besides her, I mean?

This costume, however, was awesome.

Austin surprised me by having a freak magnet that nearly paralleled my own, as I soon discovered when he attracted this girl who believes herself to be a cat, and therefore pierced her face so the world could see her ‘whiskers’. s640x480 That day, Austin and Jordan filled me in on some of their in-jokes, one of which is after the end of a bad joke, or a drama-filled situation, or pretty much any time, really, they insert a bit from the “Duel of Fates” — the “Dun dun dununun!” bit. This was something that I latched onto immediately, and soon most things we said were punctuated with ‘DUN dun dununun!’ It continued throughout the weekend, and at the end, Annie went to Ray Park’s signing table and had him autograph a photo for Jordan with…well…just take a look. 000eqg99 When we showed it to Austin, he nearly died laughing. Austin naturally has a boisterous laugh, and this autographed photo took it to the next level. We were all shouting and crying with laughter…right outside some poor nerd’s door with a ‘do not disturb’ sign on it. That’s what he gets for playing D&D all night long.

At five on Friday, we went to see Voltaire’s first show. He played for about half an hour, and it was apparently during this time that dslartoo spotted me, though he didn’t introduce himself because I was surrounded by other people, and he didn’t want to be rude. Note to Phil: Next time, introduce yourself. I don’t consider it to be rude at all. 🙂

After Voltaire, I took a picture of what I consider to be one of the best costumes at the con–namely because I found out afterwards that this kid INSISTED on being Ash. asd The mini chainsaw worked. If I could have an awesome child like miniature Ash, here, I’d actually consider having one.

Friday night, we were invited to a party with an open bar sponsored by Van Gogh vodka. Hello free premium booze! And lo, we drank. And lo, we became drunk. And lo, I did my first shot out of a woman’s cleavage.

Shortly thereafter, Austin followed suit. 000ey4a8

000ex9gb We ended up leaving the party to go to Voltaire’s midnight show, and who did we run smack into in the hallway but Kevin Sorbo? Trashed, I demanded (and received) a photograph with him. 000er8qy I ended up bumping into him so many times at the con, I lost count, and I’m sure he must have thought I was stalking him. Only once did I have the presence of mind to clap and jump, ala the Nutty Professor, and proclaim loudly “HERCULES!HERCULES!HERCULES!”. I think, at that moment, Kevin Sorbo died a little inside. I was surprised, but I wasn’t passing up the chance. All that matters is that I was satisfied.

Voltaire put on a great show, and afterwards, when he came out to chat with Austin, he calmly walked over to me and licked my eyebrows. Yes. Licked my eyebrows. I think Laris said it best when she wrote (I’m paraphrasing, here) that I seem to be a lightning rod for insanity.

Oh, but the craziness was just beginning, friends. On Saturday night, we went to a Klingon party. Now, there is really only one reason to go to a Klingon party, and that is to make fun of Klingons. Well, that, and Free Booze. So…two reasons. The first thing we noticed when we walked in was that it was, once again, a party with an open bar. The second thing was that no one besides us was under the age of 40, and that was being kind. Being the refined sort of smartass that I am, I walked in, got a drink, and immediately asked loudly if anyone there spoke Klingon. A guy shuffled over, and began talking to me, stuttering so badly, I thought perhaps he was having a stroke. My first thought: Why would anyone who has so much trouble with their native language decide “Hey, I think I’d like to learn a second language, perhaps one that people will find even more socially debilitating?” My second thought: “Holy shit, he doesn’t stutter when he speaks Klingon!”.

Well, apparently, one of the great warrior Klingons perceived that I was not overall as interested in learning about Klingon as I claimed to be, and pronounced me to be what I can only presume to be a ‘dirty bitch’ in Klingon. They turned the tables on me! How could this have happened? Meanwhile, the stuttery Klingon was still going on and on about how he learned the language, and the various trek figures he’d spoken it with and I just kept smiling and nodding and making various interested noises. Jordan later said that I have my “I’m interested in what it is you’re saying” face mask so well composed that he had a difficult time telling whether I was enjoying myself, or hoping for someone to step in and make an excuse to get us out of there. I should really take the advice of my Animal Crossing bretheren more seriously: “Next time you find you’re stuck talking to someone, yell “Leave me alone!” and take out your net.” Luckily, Jordan guessed right, and we disappeared off into the night…

Only to run into my ‘friend’ Satyr. I’d gone through the art room earlier that day, and paused at his table for a few seconds. He looked up and greeted me, and then I felt like I had to look a while longer or risk being considered rude. He mentioned that he had recently done artwork for Blizzard, and I mentioned that I had a serious bone to pick with Blizzard. He then said that if I bought some of his art, he’d be my boyfriend. HAR HAR. I am not yet so desperate I need to purchase human affection, mmkay? I backed away from the table slowly and had forgotten all about it until he ran down the hallway of the Marriott towards me shouting “MELISSA!!!” OK. I will admit I was a little flattered that he remembered me. Then he started laying on the compliments so thickly that I knew something was wrong. Annnnnnnnd there it was. “Yeah, so I’m married with a kid, but it’s an open relationship, and you’re so cute…” OH THRILLING. I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE SOME RANDY ART DUDE’S LEFTOVERS, YES PLEASE, BECAUSE CTHULHU OBVIOUSLY THINKS I DIDN’T LEARN MY LESSON THE FIRST TIME, you know, the time I dated the guy who penciled for Marvel and neglected to mention that he had another girlfriend the entire time and then tried to blackmail me. This is not happening for a number of reasons, dude.

But he WAS supposed to be having a good party, and Jordan, Annie, and I were having a hard time finding a decent party to go to, so I decided to withstand his attentions in the hopes of future Absinthe. Do not count your sugar before it is burned, friends. We didn’t end up going to this party, and now some dude who calls himself Satyr has my phone number. Why, oh why? It is sort of like if one of the Hilton sisters was to almost choke on some thousand-dollar-an-ounce caviar–it’s potentially tragic…but not really.

One morning I woke up, and the Batmobile was outside my window. I called for Batman to carry me away, but I suppose shouts don’t carry well from the 19th floor. 000ekhc1 That same day, I met the man I am destined to marry. bender Who dares to say that it isn’t meant to be?

In the dealer’s hall, I paid fifty cents to see…..THE STRANGE THING. I have an awesome camera that easily allows me to take photographs from waist level, so without further ado, I present to you…THE STRANGE THING. 000ezy5c Right next to the booth with THE STRANGE THING, there was a booth with the world’s sweetest drag queen, who happened to be dressed as Ed Wood from ‘Glen or Glenda’. He said I was the only person who recognized what he was supposed to be, we ‘squeed’ a bit about the inspired genius of Ed Wood, Annie took my picture with him, and that was that.

One of the big highlights of my weekend was meeting Peter S. Beagle, author of The Last Unicorn. Although I don’t write as often or as well as I should, and I even more rarely write fiction, he has been a huge inspiration for me, and one of my lifelong heroes. To say I almost proposed to him on the spot would be only the barest of exaggerations. 000ephfb

Thoroughout the course of the con, I hung out with a lot of people I know from Livejournal, everyone I’ve noted above, in addition to storm_dancer, dayoff, and drspooky–plus quite a few people who said they had livejournals and I should add them but I was in too much of a drunken haze to remember their names. Perhaps they will find me.

Everyone was beyond awesome, much more than I ever could’ve hoped for. I’m sorry I didn’t get to spend as much time with some of you as I would have liked, and hopefully that can be remedied at some future time.

As of Sunday morning, I was having so much fun that I thought about and actually attempted to change my flight to Monday, but the exponential rise in costs killed it; not to mention that another night of drinking heavily would’ve probably killed me, as my drunk stomach loudly proclaimed.

Drunk stomach or no, Annie and I managed to charm Kavan Smith of Stargate/Battlestar Galactica fame so much that he forgot to press an elevator button and subsequently missed his floor. Would I have minded bringing him home? Absolutely not.

So, in preparation for leaving, and in anger that once again, Homeland Security had been rooting through my bag and had broken something (this time, a gift for a friend), I wrote the TSA a note.

Dear TSA: You have physically inspected my bag on my last 7/7 flights. I have had items broken, filed a claim, and received no response. I have had items stolen, filed a claim, and received no response. Frankly, my faith in the system is not high, nor do I feel any safer on airplanes as a result of your presence. Please stop breaking and/or stealing my shit. STOP BREAKING AND STEALING MY SHIT. I MEAN IT. Have a little courtesy, for fuck’s sake.

Well, I opened my bag when I got home, and I saw that I’d riled some Homeland Security monkey up so much that he/she couldn’t help but leave a response (indicating that once again, they’d found purpose to root through my bag and fondle my undergarments. I should really stop buying Hanes for Terrorists.) But I digress. This is the response I received:

Response: Have a little respect. For our sakes! Not everyone is a thief nor an idiot!

I’ll give you some respect when you start acting like you deserve it.

I do love that they couldn’t resist writing me a note back. I feel like an internet troll only 300 times more awesome. Also, the incorrect grammar used when claiming to NOT be an idiot absolutely slays me. It is so delicious I could eat it with a spoon. Dun dun dununun!