Confessions of a Sexy Writer

August 25, 2009

I Am…

Filed under: Uncategorized — melissawrites @ 4:17 am

I recently taught a life skills class, and I assigned my students to write an “I Am” poem.  Here is the poem I wrote as an example.  Fun stuff.

I am a gruesome Halloween decoration, a horror movie in the dark, a bloody scream

I am hot chai tea latte on a brisk fall evening

I am a suburban neighborhood in West Texas college town

I am a homemade pink and red glitter heart on Valentine’s Day

I am using my knowledge and experience to shape other people’s lives

I am a master of literature and writing

I am a future Pulitzer Prize, Nobel Prize, National Book Award winner

I am screaming through the air at 120 miles per hour

I am a loving girlfriend, daughter, sister, aunt, and friend

I am basking in the sun reading a book by John Irving

I am standing in the ocean letting waves pound my legs

I am the twang of an old country and western song

I am red peek toe pumps and a little black dress

I am smoky eyes and red wine lips

I am a flash of lightning, a rumble of thunder, a torrent of rain

 

 

August 6, 2009

Tough Love for Mii

Filed under: Uncategorized — melissawrites @ 12:45 am

My Mini-Mii   A little over a year ago, I moved to a small Texas town of about 10,000 people. Although I was certain that I would curl up and die with the nearest Target 40 miles away from me, I actually grew to appreciate small town living. After all, there is no traffic, very little crime, and friendly people. I was particularly excited to see that there was a gym right down the street from my house. Being that the town is small, the gym was never crowded, with no more than five people there during my preferred workout times. No excuses, right? WRONG!

I had grown accustomed at my old gym to functioning equipment with individual televisions and cable. I also enjoyed luxuries like air-conditioning, a concept lost at my new gym. I found that the five people there to work out were all vying over the use of the one functioning treadmill. Young meatheads scoped out their spot in the weight room early in the evening so that they could dominate the air with their hipster music. To top it off, in an effort to save cost on the energy bill, this place was a sauna, even in the winter. This did not work so well for me because when I work out, I turn RED… I mean, red ribbon, red dress, “call the hospital, I think she is about to die” RED. In the right conditions, I can delay this phenomenon 15, maybe 20 minutes into the workout. In this ridiculous heat… two minutes flat. This further increased my workout insecurities, and eventually I found myself on the couch watching reruns of Rosanne every night instead of be-bopping across the street for thirty minutes of torture.

After six months of sloth, something had to change. I had to return to a life where I could enjoy both buttoning my pants and breathing at the same time. That is when Wii Fit entered my life. Initially we both had some hostilities. The little personified Wii Fit board would let out a painful grunt when you would step on him. Is it really necessary to be so hurtful Mr. Board? Suck it up! And then came the creation of the virtual Melissa or my Mii. I designed her, put a cute pair of oversized sunglasses on her, created her in my image. This was powerful stuff here, and I liked it. Then Wii Fit had to bring its hate again. You step on the board, it analyzes your weight and height, and then makes your Mii proportionally correct. So there stood my Mii: her cute sunglasses, pouty red lips, and her little pot belly hanging out of her shirt. Ouch! Seriously, so what if I have a little padding? That doesn’t mean that I don’t have enough self respect to wear a shirt that covers, if not camouflages, my belly. In my rage I almost altered my height so I could be super model Mii, but I paused. Wii wanted to make me angry. Wii wanted me to take my rage and work harder, and he wasn’t going to let me hide behind a belly covering shirt. Wii was giving me tough love.

Thus, I continue my love – hate relationship with Wii. Sure he tells me I am literally “unbalanced,” and my Mii’s belly still hangs out of her Wii little shirt, but it gives me that motivation to work harder. He is my own personal trainer… a mean, hateful, verbally abusive personal trainer, but I love him anyway.

August 4, 2009

Ice Road Truckers Epiphany

Filed under: Uncategorized — melissawrites @ 3:06 am
sexyback I had a revelation while watching Ice Road Truckers a couple of Sundays ago. There I was, lounging in my faded, flannel sheep pajama pants while devouring the remnants of my buffalo wing flavored Pringles. I looked over at my love sprawled Al Bundy style in the worn recliner, and it hit me like one of those eighteen wheelers had hit a moose on last week’s episode. I had lost sexy.

I used to be a sexy person: go-go boots and mini skirts, cheesecake pin-up pictures for my love for Valentines Day, my phone number written on a napkin for a flirty waiter at a market café in New Orleans. I was confident, interesting, put together. Perhaps it was my sense of adventure that held the most appeal. I quieted self-doubt long enough to satisfy my fervent desire to go to graduate school, (even though it meant leaving a comfortable state job) and served as president of the University skydiving club to boot. In the Turkish class I took just for kicks, I stunned my instructor with my baklava making skills and wooed him with such sultry phrases as “bu civciv güzel” (that baby chick is beautiful). Just weeks after learning how to play Texas Hold’em, I won a poker tournament at a local dive bar. I camped out near the highest peak in Texas one December night, temperature in the teens and no campfire. I dressed-up like Wonder Woman and jumped out of a plane for heaven‘s sake. I never turned down challenge and never had a regret. But somewhere between go-go boots and sheep pants, I let sexy slip away.

So it is time for me to pull out those boots again and crush the self doubt. From giving that indention in my couch a rest to pursuing my lifelong dream of being a writer, follow me on my journey to revive sexy me.

 

 

 

 

 

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