perds.

you knew it would come down to this.
you all knew. one day i was going to steep soooooo low.
so low as to write an entry about periods.
are you surprised?
i'm not.

quite simply put. menstruation is the most REVOLTING
disgusting
annoying thing any girl has to experience.
and OBV men out there have no idea what im talking about so.
imagine having to take a poo.
endlessly. for a 4-8 days strait.
and you can't sit normally because it feels like you have to take a poo.
and you can't concentrate on stuff like work and making people explode with your eyes cause it feels like you have to take a poo.
but you DONT ACTUALLY HAVE TO. and that's the worst part.
oh and also. you cant go anywhere without thinking you're hemorrhaging and there's blood all over your pants and everyone is staring at you.
this whole week of shitballshit revolves around paranoia and continuous peristalses.
and boils the size of your fist. on your chin.

and then you have those tampon commercials where women are doing the impossible.
like walking around.
playing lacrosse.
shopping
its like newsflash.
the simple act of moving during those times is a miraculous feat in itself.
while on my menses i can usually be found sitting vegetatively in a hammock in my underwear. flies circulating.
and then my mother passes me stuff like food. coloring books and knives.
using a sling-shot from various distances inside my house.
we call it "pin the random crap on the puta" or to be more PC. "mother-daughter bonding time"

thats why.
if i were to write and direct my own tampon commercial it would go a little something like this:

Me (duh)
jogging pants.
no bra.
dirty hair.
walking around screaming "FUCK YOU and FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU"
to ever person i see.
(including and especially including pre-schoolers and the elderly)

fuck.
you know what. i dont even want kids.
i don't need to deal with this bull shit.
why should i have to suffer once a month when my reproductive system is pretty much the "sleeping beauty" of reproductive systems.
it has been sleeping peacefully for about a hundred years but it still manages to look like a 21 year old.
im pretty sure if you took an Xray of my lower torso you'd see this:



my uturus is a scene from tim burton's the nightmare before christmas (the same little skeletor man dances on my fallopian tubes.)
and sperm knows this.fully aware.
i hope tim burton is aware of this too.
i'm writing him a letter as i write this post...

"to whom this may concern,

provided is the image given to me by my GP regarding recent Xrays taken.
does it look familiar?
i'm sure it does.
plagiarist.
you owe me 32 million dollars.

sincerely
Melissa Nudo"

my own personal hell. take 2.

CUBA.

the communism, the travelocity discount.
the hilarious hotel staff.
the dolls that look like aretha frankin performing at a televised charity benefit.
dirty toronto people named Yanni. yes. THAT yanni.
no wait. i didnt actually meet yanni the pianist.
i met a "dirty toronto people" named yanni (MUCH less inspiring).
oh! and john tesh.
anyway.

all i remember from that trip was:

pineapple express in spanish.
that trippy cartoon.
vane on the bowl doing "the editorial pose"
the "shut up guy".

it was literally hell.
it was so fucking HAT (not "hot"...it was "HAT" cause it was so hot that you would pronounce it "HAT"...kinda like a pimp would say it.)
even the hilarious hotel staff (or the HHS as the cool kids call it) were saying that july is the worst possible time to be there because it feels as if you're being boiled alive.
i remember thinking to myself:

"if you dont move your ass and get some fucking water in your body you're going to have a heart attack...you are going to go into cardiac arrest and you are going to fucking die. you are going to be dead.
95% naked (approximately).
face-first in the beach chair.
and when they turn you over your face is going to have towel marks on it."

THAT bad.
quite possibly the #1 answer in the "thoughts you shouldn't be having while on vacation" category on family feud....

we also got to experience one of the plagues from the bible.
mosquitos URRRRRRRRRRRRvrehwurrrr.
call PETA.
because that shit.
was my own personal "annihilation of the mosquito population of cuba" mission.
i would have doused myself in bug repellant and lit myself on fire if it meant keeping the mosquitos away from me.

then the food.
holy
fucking
shit.
you know what. cuba is EXCELLENT if you want to fit into your wedding dress.
its like. go there. and expect to get off the plane on the way back and your parents tell you you look as if you just got back from guantanamo bay or the island from lost.
because for 7 days strait:

white rice.
bread.
(i swear to god).

it was good. i came back looking like the black ally mcbeal.
(which just so happens to be my ultimate goal in life)
or posh spice but no...because
did anyone ever realize posh spice looks a lot like this:



well not exactly..but lets imagine if she were to be animated at any point in her illustrious career of sucking her cheeks in.
like. a movie about animals. specifically bugs.
she would probably be the praying mantis.
praying mantis....posh....coiincidence?
le non.

but i doubt they would make a character that is an insect recognized notoriously for ripping off and eating its male counterpart's head after mating.
sucks to be you, posherella.

dear producer of television show about vampires.

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my displeasure in pants: part 1.

there are a lot of things that i dislike.
this whole entire blog is based on the fundementals of my hatred for things.
and people.
and more things.

things like pants.
the clothing. not the band.
i dont know if there is a band called pants.
but if there isn't there should be. and if that name isnt taken yet 5-4-3-2-1
its MINE.

in my house, there is a strict "no-pants" policy.
a rule that i made up and exclusively follow.
if you're at my house. you know its me because i'm the only one in the pants without house.
im serious.

the journey begins at the door.
i unlock the door. open door. step inside house. close door. lock door.
and immediately BOOM (just like that) off come the pants (all my pants have snaps on the sides to facilitate the latter).
then i leave them at the entrance and walk upstairs to my room.
its gotten to the point where my dog doesnt even recognize me with pants on.
she automatically assumes i'm a stranger and attacks me.
that and there's a wicked mountain of pants in my entrance (my mom threatens to sell them then i threaten to kill her. thats how it goes).

pants are uncomfortable.
i dont think i can stress this any more than i already have.
my legs are not use to the conformity that is material hugging the thighs (see previous post).
i wish i could start a club.
a "NOT a fan of Pants" club.
unless they're polazzo pants (ew) or leggings, movement is primitive.
and you know how 95% of my time these days is spent in spread eagle position.
that and doing airborne splits just in case there's a photographer who's job is making the tectonic for an off-broadway rendition of "Rent".
you NEVER know.

i also have quite the sophisticated fear of camel toe.
i don't think i've ever had camel toe. but the fear abides.
nobody wants camel toe. especially not moi.
camel toe should remain an artform practiced by rappers girlfriends and rappers girlfriends alone.
i BY FAR cannot compete with rappers girlfriends because:
my boobs arent that big.
my thighs arent that thick
i'm not orange.
not blonde
and i refuse. but ABSOLUTELY refuse to take in in the ass.

my ode to cats.

NOT the musical.
for humans disguised as felines impress me not.
and coming from someone who is VERY easily impressed.
that constitutes as a big ass FAIL on your part, mr. andrew lloyd webber.

k so along with old people in motorized wheel chairs going high speed down random boulevard i am ALSO on.
the german language
and THIS! //www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYn_hOALyTQ.

the thing that tops the list of things that make me laugh is:

CATS (the animal brand)
cats are the most entertaining beings in existence (beating out cute babies and gossip girl by a landslide)
they're so mysterious yet comically genious (especially with a fake moustache held up to their face)

when i have my own place. i'm going to have like 14. not only to keep my brother away. but just because i've already came up with the best names ever for ezampole:

Mr. Jinglepants
Jesus
Niles
Frasier
Papier-Macher
Mortimer
Fyvush Finkelcat.
Meowshole
Benzoyle Peroxide
so on and so forth.

along with this. the appartment itself will be seething in feline paraphernalia.
like calendars from 2006. and this:


blown up on silk screen large enough to cover the entire wall from ceiling to floor.
the same wall that my bed will be leaning against.
because nothing brings a smile to my face quite like pointing a gun at a frightened cat.

and nazicats.

who do they think they're fooling here (not me)
the resemblance is too uncanny. those asians are smart.
get a cat. put its arm in the fascist salute. dip it in porcelain. paint it red and TADDUN.
nazicat.
i should make instructional videos for that shit.
it'll be like a lady gaga music video. minus product placement and sex appeal.
because no one wants to pay or see me advertise anything.
not even drano.
not even if i'm drinking drano in the ad.

and then there's these sluts:
//www.youtube.com/watch?v.

tooooooooooooooooooooooooooo good.

now. why isnt there a part in this song explaining why they cant drive faster than 40 km/h without breaking unexpectedly and slowing down to merge into your lane without ever using their flasher?

suppose i were to lose a bet.

of course, i never lose anything because i am god and god doesn't lose(except losing my keys. ALL THE TIME).
but lets say. hypothetically speaking.
if this bet consisted of NHL hockey statistics or my skills as an equestrian for instance.

This idea came to mind while i was on the metro.
ideas for the perfect humiliation or punishment someone could impose on my very nature if the impossible WERE to happen.

1) one can perhaps force me to get my eyebrow pierced.
if you know me. you know how i refuse to let anyone touch my face. let alone touching it with their needle hands (you heard me, edward needlehands!)
There is nothing more deliciously quebecois than an eyebrow piercing.
that. a pack of macdonald cigarettes, a case of boreal beer and TVA.
also that bitch from RDS with the rotten hair who covers habs games.

2) Force me to walk around one entire day with an ankle bracelet.

i would rather donate sperm every day for 3 months strait as opposed to wearing an ankle bracelet EVER.
because once again. there is nothing more deliciously quebecois than wearing an ankle bracelet.
anecdote time!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
okay. seriously.
i once had the opportunity of a lifetime to witness the most enchanting specimen of female god ever created with his own hands...or his feet..god created this one with his feet. she was that good.
she had:
-platinum blond hair.
-self tanner.
-white crocheted top (SHEER).
-denim shorty shorts.
-make-up applied with spatula perhaps. in earthy tones. and by earthy tones i mean blue eyeshadow like the sky. and pink lipstick like tubed yogurt explosion all over patio set. EARTHY.
to top it all off her ankle was embellished by the finest piece of ankle bracelet any jeweler at the dollar store could ever make.
god made this woman and then he had to stop himself in his tracks to scream "DAIIIIMMMMMM!!!!!" then he went on conge-maladie because creating this bitch was so intense he had a mini-burn out where they discovered he had borderline personality disorder.
he has since been seeing a therapist once a week.

3) make me watch the movie "my girl" over and over for 3 days strait.

if you ever dreamed of seeing me in an emotionally numbed state. this would be your your once in a lifetime opportunity.
That movie contains everything that haunts me in life:

- death
- dead bodies
- dead mccauley culkin (as quite possibly the most adorable thing you have seen in the history of your life.)
- dan aykroyd's face.

this movie is so fucking sad. i cannot stress how sad it is. and how much i BLUBBER when i watch this movie. it's not so much crying as it is the act of having a REALLY ugly facial expression with tears pouring out my eyes and nose. human beings over the age of 9 should not be allowed to cry this much in one sitting. poor guy. all he wants to do is impress "my girl" with his bad ass mood ring retrieving skills. he doesn't know he's allergic to bees...

and this is why i vow to kill every bee on earth.
a vow to avenge the death of mccauley culkin.

then i saw party monster and i was like "HE'S ALIVE!!!" (but he looks like a corpse)

yeah...
so if you know anyone who has the sudden urge to kill copious amounts of bees.
my bee killing stuff is on craig's list.

eyebrowce,

nothing moistens my panties more
than partaking in a heated discussion surrounding the art of eyebrow maintenance.
now i have to start off by saying how i refuse to touch my eyebrows at all costs (sup vicky!). this is not because i get tweezer happy but leaning more towards the fact that i am so fucking lazy that i only end up doing one eyebrow half-assed and end up leaving the other one chupacabra styles because. well. fuck that.

so far. the 5 people who read this blog can tell that i'm VERY easily amused. even more so by women and men with funny looking eyebrows:

"The Eyebrow Weave"

I saw this video on youtube and died. went to heaven where i was given 40 virgins with which i was instructed to do whatever i please. The best part is that the first 30 seconds i was like "is that a man?" and the worst part is that its a sheeeee. and she thinks she looks so good. why doesnt the gay man tell her she looks like a jack-o-lantern carved out in the shape of jack nicolson's "stoned" smiling?
why does the gay man lie?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wi6rStWXFZQ

"The Surprised Look"

these eyebrows are having a party.
and no one is invited. not even the forehead.
the eyebrows just kind of invaded the forehead without the forehead's permission. kinda like like the whole israel-palestine shindig (EXACTLY like that).
the forehead is PISSED.
there can only be 2 valid explanations for this:
1) this person was attacked by a pair of psychotic tweezers attatched to an esthetician who's just been shot in the stomach.
or
2) they want to go around town with an expression that screams:
"YOU RAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG?!?!!??!?!?!"

"Mantastic Eyebrows"

PLEASE. why do you do this? call me old fashioned by unless you are a furby.
there is no justifiable reason why men should be getting their eyebrows did.
or any hair removed for that matter.
There's this one guy i can think of.
who i will forever refer to as "eyebrows"
I guess he's good looking if you've been blinded louis braille style
ie. stabbed in the eyes with a needle used to pierce aged leather. (HAHA. man this is more accurate that anyone will ever know)
However if i recall correctly, the first and last thing i said to him ("eyebrows". not louis braille) was "holy shit. you're eyebrows are nicer than mine"
followed by him giving me the eyes of death (which looks about 96% less threatening in this case)
but its like. whatevs.
at least i dont look like a mediocre eurotrash atlantic city casino performer who's face has been mauled by the endangered siberian tiger he rapes.
just saying...