It's The Little Things...

I cut my bangs and now look a little too much like I'm trying to channel Bettie Page, I'm not. I was going more for Tura Satana but whatever, they'll grow out. Not especially interesting to anyone but myself. Isn't that a kick in the cunt, Melody Lee being all self involved again?

Speaking of vagina, I have had it with that douchebag Edward from Twilight! What a disgustingly pussified excuse for a vampire. As I am fairly certain that he has a cunt, I say here and now that I would love nothing more than to kick him in it. Man up, pantywaist!
Christ, I feel saddened that millions of girls are even now fantasizing about this dildo, saddened and embarrassed that my gender could be so ridiculously pie eyed over that sullen chump. He's like a vegan Vampire, stop and think about how stupid that is...Twi-tards ugh, grow up! I know that I'm going on about something that is completely fictional but I can't help it, his weird, sappy face is everywhere, it's unavoidable.
And on the topic of unavoidable, I assume everyone has seen the commercial for the Men's Shake-Weight? Ohhhhhh Myyyyyyy Gawdddddd! If seeing dudes pant and sigh whilst manipulating an obvious handjob training apparatus wasn't enough, throw in the fact that they all look like they dabble in Ukrainian gay porn. When I saw one flinch as though he were expecting a wad in the eye, I was sold! I felt I must purchase one for Maniac immediately! Did you know they deliver that bitch in like 3 days?
The look on his face was priceless! I haven't laughed so hard since I heard Wynonna Judd was selling her new album exclusively at Cracker Barrel! It's the little things that make life worth living, don't you agree? I chose to ignore his threats to bludgeon me with the thing, I like to think it was just his way of saying thank you. I especially enjoyed filling out the card, which detailed the many benefits he and (his undercover lover) Rainman could expect once he began his shake weight training.
As Maniac still vehemently denies any such relationship exists, he was less than pleased . R-man just shook his head and laughed, though his new girlfriend seemed a bit put out by the whole thing. I loathe new girlfriends, they're always so uptight and serious.
Why can none of the guys I know find a girl that is less of a drag and more like, well...me. Haha, I'm an amazing girlfriend, especially if you're a heroin addict. I will never argue about drugs, unless your sheisty ass is trying to get over on me and I am second to none when it comes to hitting ridiculously difficult veins. I will shoot dope into your IV at the hospital so you don't get sick and I will even pack gauze into icky wounds after they get sliced by the doctor.
No hysterics when you come home covered in gore and ask me to help disassemble, burn and bury gun/blade/clothing etc and I can always be counted upon to lie to your parole officer. I will even put money on your books and bring you “packages” as often as I can and as long as I myself am not wanted. What more could you want?
On the other hand, I suppose I have been a holy fucking terror of an old lady to all those fools who thought they could reform me. They shoulda known better, I did. There's only one fix I'm interested in and it ain't gonna save my soul.
OK, so maybe I’m mouthy and a pain in the ass and should you ever try to discipline me with your fists I will most likely cut your junk off but aside from that? Haha...
OK, all fun aside, here's my PSA for the year: If you read about me doing something that sounds utterly reckless and abominably stupid, it stands to reason that it would be best not to follow my example. I am not the most careful person in the world, I do irresponsible shit and I really don't weigh consequences. I'm technically a mess, I just wear it well *wink*. I don't want someone pushing up weeds because they read about something I barely walked away from and they aren't as lucky. DON'T DO IT!
I stopped turning people onto H a long time ago, right around the time I realized that it's not always the funnest thing in the world to maintain. It's hard work and you need a willingness to do what it takes, whatever that might be. Not everyone can manage it and not everyone wants to, again, I'm not special, just lucky and maybe more than a little obtuse. Like I said in comments God looks after morons, babies and assholes and I'm no baby, so y'all connect the dots.
Alright, enough with the preachy shit, it's so not me but I felt I must because Gleds brought it up in regards to his own comments and it made a helluva lotta sense. I said it, I'm done and that's it til next year, haha.

~Melody Lee, over and out.

The San Ysidro Incident or As Seen On T.V.

So we were at the Hilltop gas station, me, Frances and the hippie. He said that his name was Coyote *rolling eyes* but that seemed so ridiculous that I refused to call him by it. I called him Prairie Dog (which he hated the moment it left my mouth) and anything else that happened to pop into my head. It's a gift.
We had all gotten out of the car, the pina colada/wet dirt dump aroma was too much and cold though it was, it beat the fuck outta that smell! Frances was gonna pay to have my car cleaned if it was the last thing he did. I poked him and asked if we could leave yet. I was told that we were waiting for someone to show up and that it should be mere minutes...yeah right! I didn't see why we couldn't just leave the hippie to fend for himself, I said I'd bring him to HT and here we were, job complete. I was outvoted which I think is unfair because Wombat shouldn't have gotten one but whatever.
I did appreciate being able to breathe freely however and as long as I stood upwind from P.D. it was aces. I made sure to do so at every opportunity and tripped Frances in the process when I jumped away from Mr. stink bomb a little too quickly.
"So Prairie Dog, what's the deal, where's your homeboy at, I don't have all night, tick-tock."
"Don't call me thaaaaaaaaaaaaat maaaaaaaaaan, my name is Coyoooooo.."
"Uh yeah, whatever" I interrupted, "I wanna beat feet outta here, those truckers are giving me the eye and I ain't in that line no more."
Frances laughed and gave me a look but I kept on, "So unless you feel like explaining to those large gentlemen over there that you are not in fact my patchouli permeated pimp and that they will not be enjoying the pleasure of my company this evening, I suggest you GET THE FUCK ON WITH IT!"
P.D. eyed the truckers and began to text furiously. I told myself I'd give him 10 more mins and then I was gone. A couple minutes later he tried to approach me but I yelped, "That's close enough, tell me from there! Enunciate Weasel, E-NUN-C-ATE!"
He sighed and asked if I could “Maaaaaaaaaaybe, poooooosssibly” take him as far as San Ysidro? I didn’t even answer, I turned on Frances, “San Ysidro Frances? You just came from Bernalillo, you know just how long it takes to get to FUCKING SAN YSIDRO!” I was in a yelling kinda mood, I guess.
It takes approx an hour and thirty minutes in case y’all didn’t know and I was not in the mood to do it. Even the way I drive it would be an hour each way and that was too damn long, especially since my car reeked of dirt-fruit-crap cocktail.
Frances shrugged apologetically, knowing that despite my issues with our companion's fragrance, I wouldn’t leave him stranded in the cold. That was nail #1 in fat Cyndi’s coffin.
“The guy who’s house we’re going to is a good connect, after this we can score from him instead of driving all over this *pinche state.” *fucking
I sighed and got in the car, it was gonna be a long night.
Driving in 20 degree weather at night with the windows down is not the way I had envisioned my evening. I was cold, pissy and generally not a nice person to be around. I just wanted to get all this shit over with and get back to the house so Frances could get me high in comfort.
P.D. sat silent and shivering in the backseat, knowing I was in no mood to deal with him or anyone else. Frances nodded and chain smoked, though how he could stand the taste I’ll never know. He slept through most of the drive and when we got there I was extra gratified to wake him up in the manner of my choosing.
“Fraaaanceeesss” I whispered...right before I flicked his ear, “WAKE UP!” He jerked and dropped a lit cig onto his lap, prompting him to move faster than he had all night.
“Don’t burn my seat, cabron” I cautioned, climbing out of the car to stretch. We were parked in front of one of the ramshackle houses that is typical of San Ysidro, I was not impressed. Nail 2 Fat Cyndi, nail #2.
We followed the hippie up to the front door, he knocked and we heard a muffled, “Come iiiiiiiin.” I was steeling myself for some kind of retarded scene inside but even I never could've guessed what was waiting for us behind that door. Have y’all seen Hoarders? I’m betting you have, I’m also betting that you’ve never been in a house so inundated with cat piss that it literally took your breath away and refused to give it back.
There were stacks of magazines and newspaper everywhere, some as high as my head and I’m 5’9. We maneuvered through, using the little trail between the piles to get us ever closer to the voice calling from somewhere in the back. Everything was obscured by crap and all you could see was a light and the flickering of the T.V. set. I tripped over what I think was a cat and stepped in what I can only assume was cat shit. It woulda been nail 3 but it was so old it had dried into concrete and crunched when I trudged on through it. Had it been fresh Fat Cyndi would be in the fucking ground right now!
I took some satisfaction in the fact that Woodchuck was having problems with the smell, ahhh sweet irony. He coughed his way to the back and we finally met our host.
George was sitting in a recliner swaddled in yards of fleece that seemed to have hearts, spades and diamonds all over it. The only things showing were his hands and head. The thing looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place it.
Beyond him was a kitchen and seated at the cluttered table was a brunette girl of indeterminate age and abundant size shoveling snack cakes into her maw. And I mean shoveling! Bitch was double fisting those bad boys and horking ‘em down like she was getting paid. She was dressed in some sort of tight blue dress that showed an excessive amount of flesh and was completely inappropriate for one of her girth.
I leaned over to Frances and whispered, “She looks like a sausage about to burst it’s casing.”
He sniggered and whispered back, “Chorizo bomb. I hope I take some shrapnel in the eye cuz it ain’t gonna be pretty.”
I bit my lip to keep from cackling and nodded in agreement, not pretty was an understatement. She turned her head my way and gave me a look I didn’t care for at all. She hadn’t heard us, I suppose she was just being territorial, for all she knew we were there abscond with her delicious (gag) snacky cakes.
“Geooorge” she whined, showing off an overbite and buck teeth with a gap you could drive a Lincoln through, “Why are all these people here? Why is that girl here? You know I can’t stand girls like her.”
“Like what?” I asked, doing that thing where I don’t quite mumble, "Girls who aren't one step away from mainlining buttercream frosting?”
“Geooorge, tell her to leave, she’s bothering me. She looks funny”
I was at a loss as to what exactly I was doing since I was just standing there but whatever.
“Be cordial Gloria” he whined back, “She can’t help who she is.”
I was getting agitated, “That heifer could bite a hog through a picket fence and I’m the one who looks funny? Fuck that shit.” I started to move towards her, fairly sure that size would triumph over tenacity in this case but caring not a whit.
Frances grabbed my shoulders and stopped me, putting his mouth next to my ear he said, “Calm down, we’re almost done here. That *marrana is his sister and if you piss him off it’s back to ‘Spania when you want quantity.” *sow
I looked over at our effeminate, whiny host and decided I didn’t care, so not worth it and wow, I could find another hook up. Before I could say anything George instructed his sister to show P.D. the guest room. The hippie said his goodbyes and left us there surrounded by mess and stench.
I opened my mouth to launch into some sort of tirade about the myriad smells and insults I had endured thus far but I didn’t get a word out.
It seemed that George was in a hurry to say something as well, “You really think you’re hot shit don’t you honey? There’s no need to be so bitchy *lowering his voice to a loud whisper* is it that time of the month?”
Nails 3 through 103! I heard Frances sigh and it was on. Plus I had finally identified what he was wrapped in.
“I’m bitchy? What I really am is too annoyed to put up with a simpering jackass in a Snuggie who is too stupid to realize he has essentially paid money to wear a robe backwards!”
“It’s not a Snuggie, it’s a Slanket! It’s called Sleavin’ Las Vegas” he sniffed as he smoothed it, “I wanted Slumberjack but they were sold out...”
“ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME??? I barked at Frances, “First I hafta play nice with Not So Little Debbie back there and now this?” I turned back to George, “I’ll wipe my ass with your Slanket you prissy..”
“HEYYYYY, lets go outside and smoke a *frajo” interrupted F, cutting me off before I could get any more complimentary. He took my elbow and led me through the forest of paper goods and out the front door. *cigarette
I was busy muttering to myself, so it took me a moment to notice that Fran was doubled over in silent laughter. When he came up he was streaming tears and trying to catch his breath. “I can’t believe you called him out on the Snuggie. Not so little Debbie...” He wheezed, unable to go on.
“It’s not a Snuggie it’s a Slanket!” I pouted, doing my impression of George, “Fran! You know that bitch must’ve inhaled at least a box and a half of Zebra Cakes in the 15 minutes we’ve been here, two at a time no less! What the fuck else was I gonna call her? And that smell, don't get me started on that smell!” I was begining to giggle.
“Y-you g-got schooled b-by an asshole wearing a b-b-b-blanket” stuttered Frances trying hard to get himself under control.
“Hey fuuuuuuuuuck you.” I replied, setting us off all over again. It was time to go home, I was so over the whole thing.
On the ride home Frances said, “A box and a half? That’s alot of fucking cakes!”
“Ya think?” I asked sarcastically, “Those things are nasty besides, if you eat one and drink milk it makes lard on the roof of your mouth, it’s sick and wrong.”
“I guess that explains the ‘Not so little’ part huh?”
“It’s definitely not helping the situation, I know that much.”
“Wipe your ass with his Sl-Slanket” He choked out, “Damn girl...”
“Yeah, I know, I ain’t right but at least I’m funny and that almost makes up for it.”
I drove us home, my car smelt of hippie and putrifying fruit but I sustained myself by counting all the ways in which fat Cyndi Lauper would pay for this evening’s idiocy...pay, pay, pay.

Questions Answered, Comments Addressed and Blah.Blah.Blah!

OK, I'm gonna answer some comments with this post and continue the saga of fat Cyndi Lauper next time. Hope that is acceptable and if not, tough tittie said the kitty when the milk went dry. Haha...in no discernible order, here we go!
First off, I so-so-so appreciate Andrea coming to my defense but it's totally unnecessary. I can see how a friend might be upset by that shit but I welcome it. What could be better than for someone to dislike me in the extreme, yet feel compelled to see what I do next? They love to hate me and I love them for it. Negative attention is still attention, que no? I adore you Andrea hit me up tonight, k?
Anna your linking is for shit, just e-mail me that stuff from now on!
I need to check the dates for Lora, then I will put up the R.I.P. I miss that crazy bitch something fierce! Bako wasn't the same without her.
Hello to Lucy, I'm glad to hear from ya girlie, I hope you're still tearin it up and doin shit your own way. I'm happy to hear you were amused, I live to serve, *wink*.
Also stoked to hear from Michelle and Kelley, hugs n kisses sweethearts.
Now for Prince Charles! You'll hafta come find me, the hunt is part of the fun and don't forget the Chloroform, with those ears you're gonna need it handsome. Oh and can Camilla watch? I'm weird that way, haha.
Oh man, I am so fucking good at phone sex it's almost unreal. I have no probs owning up to that at all. I give amazing phone, no doubt about it. I think it's more than the voice though, it's because when some depraved fuck calls me and says, "Will you do a home invasion/rape/torture/mutilation/snuff fantasy?" I say, "I'm gonna find us a real pretty piece of ass in there, string her up by her ankles and have a little batting practice. I'll break every bone in her fucking body...I wanna hear them cracking and grinding together while you fuck her. I'll carve a nice, tight virgin hole in that bitch's gut so you can stick it in her." And that's the super mild version. I can do all the other shit too, don't get me wrong. I'm beyond great at the standard moan and groan but I really excel at the twisted shit. Blow torch, curling irons, phone cords, box cutter... it must be the thwarted serial killer in me. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that I'm good because I never say no to anything, I take all the calls other bitches are too squeamish to do and it pays off. I need to get back to it, I've been slacking and my perverts are getting impatient *wink*
So Gleds...Christ amighty dollface! Those comments are hard to unscramble sometimes but I wouldn't have it any other way, you're purely you and I love it. I'm not sure I'll get to all of your questions but here's an answer to the most important ones of the lot, the drug related ones,of course.
The bags here are done in a very basic way and if you're lucky they'll be over but mainly a dime=$10=1/10th of a gram. Some dealers won't sell dimes because it's a drag but it's how you make the most money off your cache. Sell point for point and you get $100 a G instead of say $80 because you sold quarter bags for $20 instead of $25. I sold dimes on up to quarter ounces and it's always the higher the quantity, the bigger the price break. I'm not sure what % of purity the tar here is but it's decent, in Cali it varies. I went to O.C. and got G's for $40 but you had to bang 2 of them just to get well. In my hometown you can get Dope that will put your dick in the dirt off a 10 dollar bag...you can also get burned like a motherfucker, so I guess it's like anywhere else. I did some there recently and we were loaded for days n days.
I don't know how different it could possibly be from state to state but here we cook the Dilaudid for just a second to really break up the pills. I'm talking like no longer than it takes to get that first crackle and boil on the spoon. Then you toss in the cotton and draw it up, pretty as you please. You also wanna go back and pound the cotton to make sure you got it all. It doesn't burn but it does cause a weird ache if you start to miss, it's hard to explain but it just...aches. The liquid we just draw out of the vials and shoot as is, it's ready to bang, straight from the gate *wink*
Oxy doesn't burn either but you don't cook that at all, just crush it and put the water on, alot of water. Anyone trying it better have a 100 unit point ready because there's so much damn water you may need to do it twice. It's really a hassle but when you need that rush and nod and there's nothing else to be had, it seems worth it. They have tried to gel up the pills here in the states but so far there are still water soluble goodies to be had.
The only thing I've done that really burns is Morphine. It burns no matter what and you feel it crawling up your vein until it disappears into your circulatory system. It's so short acting and lame but you know, when there's nothing else...
I hit the E- room this weekend because my feet were doing that weird thing where they look like they belong on a corpse, (plus I was bored and couldn't find any Opies). It didn't hurt, though it sometimes does, but it looks so freaky that when I go to emergency, they take one look and start pumping me full of all sorts of yummy things. They really believe that I must be in indescribable pain to let them IV my neck in order to get some relief. If the only knew, haha, besides, sticking my neck once is soooo preferable to getting poked a gazillion times everywhere else.
I got several shots of Morphine and 3 of Dilaudid in the 4 hours I was there. Doc was amazed that I was perfectly coherent after the first few and marveled at my tolerance, haha. If he only knew how I built it. Anyway, off topic, Morphine burns Dilly don't.
Shane you are divine, thanx for the compliment. Thank you to Tatyana (I probly bungled the spelling, sorry), Sweden, Sids and all the others that have started reading or are just happy to see me back, cheers my darlings, much love to ya.
Oh and Military School? I can't begin to imagine how bad that blows! Like sucking off dogs for beer money blows. I'm not sure if that makes sense right now, Lyrica, haha. Anyway, glad to be of use and out of curiousity, is this an Up The Acadamy kinda place? Haha... I fucking LOVE that movie! SAY IT AGAIIIIIIIN! Sorry, this shit is kicking my ass and making me feel retaaaaaaaarded, in a good way of course.
Oh, about the background...damn! Every time I try to pretty up my page it's too hard to read *sigh* gimmie a few days and I'll see what can be done.
I better go now before I start to make even less sense than usual...I am currently sense-less, haha.
XOXO~ Melody
PS. SO jealous of whoever has that soundtrack record!I would cause some serious damage for that thing, no lie.

I Introduce Frances and Fat Cyndi Lauper

So this is a bit more recent, like a few days ago recent. I had been tied up with shit all day and it continued into the night. First, Frances’ brother Julio show’s up and he’s sooooo fucking gakked I could hardly stand to look at him. That fool had to have been up for at least a week, the tats on his face stood out in bas relief he was so pale.

I’m thinking that these names are unfamiliar, maybe I mentioned Frances at some point but he didn’t figure too prominently in my day to day until the past few months. He’s an H head I met through Cam.
Little did I know that opening myself up to Frances would mean welcoming his extensive and equally drug addled family as well. They’re hella cool, it’s just that they have no concept of boundaries and if they happen to be walking by my door at 4am, well they think it’s an awesome idea to stop and knock on it. I don’t bitch too much because getting woken at stupid hours is made a lot more bearable when the dudes waking you have lots of drugs. I’m so easily coerced when it comes to shit like that, not always but mostly, yeah.
So back to last night, Julio was in my living room using the phone, the tweeker broad down the street had booted him out and he was looking for a place to hole up. As much as I like J, I wasn’t offering up any hospitality, that fool is running from some serious shit and even having him in my doorway puts me in a bad spot. So as I don’t fancy getting shot and/or arrested, I try to keep his visits short and sweet. I would probly do a lot more for one of my friends back home but lets get real, I’ve only known him for a few months, not quite ready to go all out for a casual acquaintance.
I sat back and watched Julio geek out, listening to him clear his throat over and over without even realizing he was doing it. A sure sign you’ve been up too damn long. He was trying to get Frances on the line, calling from my phone because F was ignoring his cell (for good reason no doubt) and he always answers when I call.
He was out of range and J went out back to smoke and bullshit with Casey. Casey was having one of those rare good drunk moments and was more that happy to smoke and listen while Julio told the story of his cheating old lady and her whoring ways. I’m sure they had a lot to talk about haha.
Frances called while they were out there and I found out that he was on his way back from Bernalillo with some H. He wanted to know if J was gonna split so he could come by and share. He loves his little bro but he also would like to avoid getting shot/arrested. Julio is a raid waiting to happen and nobody likes that, especially a Dopefiend who just came up big time.
I told him I was working on it and that he should cruise by as soon as he got into town. About 10 mins later he called back and told me to meet him at the VFW. I was reluctant and told him so; whining, "I don't wanna go to the VFW, it's musty in there, it smells like 'Born on the Fourth of July!' "
"I'm supposed to know what that smells like?" He asked impatiently.
"Amputees and broken dreams."
He laughed and said, "That ain't right girl, you ain't right!"
"Yeah, that's what they tell me and just cause it ain't right don't mean it ain't funny. So what's at the VFW and why do I hafta go there?"
"Well me and the chiva for starters and my ride needs to go there to talk to her homeboy."
"Stellar, how long?"
"We're on the Bisti, give me 20."
"Fucker." I grumbled.
He laughed and hung up.
I got ready and slipped out the door, I had quietly told Casey where I was headed and that he should keep the info to himself as long as Julio was around. If he found out I was meeting up with Frances, he would be right there with me and that would be inconvenient.
I started the 10 minute drive to the hall, it was around 8pm and I wasn't looking forward to getting there first, so I took my time. When I finally pulled up, F was leaning against a white car waiting for me. As I got closer I noticed he wasn't so much leaning on the car as it was holding him up. Fool was wasted!
He was so loaded he still had the rig tucked behind his ear from the last shot. The girl he was riding with had already gone inside so we went to my car and fixed up so I could get a taste while we were here. It was decent, not bad at all and by the time we walked through the door I was feeling pretty damn good. So good that Lieutenant Dan himself could've peed on my foot and I wouldn't have cared less.
He looked around and then led me towards the back where his friend was talking to some guy in the corner. She looked like fat Cyndi Lauper and he looked like he had just missed the last bus for the Phish festival. That's right, a hemp wearing, dreadlock having, putrid patchouli smelling hippie! All except the patchouli are tolerable on their own but together...yuck! And it's because Patchouli smells like someone took a dump in wet dirt, in case anyone was wondering.
Well this numb nuts had been bathing in the stuff, I dared not get closer lest the odor transfer itself to my hair and clothing, it has a way of doing that, nasty stuff! He had that stupefied drawl that comes from smoking copious amounts of weed, kinda like Matt T (anyone who knows him understands). It's a cross between a surfer and a stoned goat, it has a weird baaaaaaah-ing sound whenever certain vowels are introduced. Like Matt and his,"Whaaaaaaaaaat's Uuuuuuuuuuuup?" This guy had the same thing going on.
So I leaned against the wall and tried to ignore everything but the feeling of well being coursing through me. So much so that when I was asked if I would drive the guy to Hilltop, I uh-huh'd without knowing what I was agreeing to.
Frances shook me into a semi-awake state and walked me outside. Little did I know that my soon to be passenger was right behind us. Once we stopped moving, the smell gave him away. I poked Frances and asked him why! Why was wet dirt dump following us?
“Because you said you’d drive him.” He replied, looking at me like I was stupid, “Don’t sweat it, I’m coming with.”
“Oh, that changes everything. It’s ok everyone, Frances is coming with.” My previous good mood was fast disappearing.
I got a dirty look in return and we all climbed into the car. My first thought was that I was never gonna get rid of that smell. I considered making Frances remove his coat so Phish fucker could sit on it but the look on his face said I needn't bother asking.
I lit a cigarette and was dismayed and disgusted when it tasted exactly like, yeah you guessed it. I was not happy! I pulled out of the dirt lot and we were on our way, I had to roll the damn windows down because the heater was making it so much more pungent. We drove towards the casino and the back road that would deposit us a couple miles away from Hilltop gas station.
Not 10 minutes into the drive I heard, "Heeeeeeey maaaaaaamaaaaa, can you roll up the windows? It's cooooooooold."
"Nope" I replied, leaning my nose ever closer to the rush of cold air blowing in on my side.
"Aren't you freeeeeeezing?" it asked.
"Not so much as I am gagging on your par fume." I didn't quite mumble.
Frances, who had been drinking chocolate milk, snorted, shot a stream of it out his nose and had to scramble in the glove box for a napkin. I felt somewhat jealous as the burn and smell of Nesquik would have been a Godsend at that point .
"My whaaaaaaaaat?" questioned my new friend.
Fran snorted again and I gave him a snarky look before I said, "Your odiferous aroma, it's vile."
"Whaddaya mean maaaaaaan, I'm clean, took a shower this morning."
"Well you shoulda gone easier on the Dead head hair tonic"
"What's...huh?"
I gave up being polite and said, "The smell of your essential oil is scorching my nose hairs, hippie! How much clearer can I be? You smell like a musky fart."
He had no answer for that.
Frances thought to better the situation by spraying the small can of car freshener I kept in the console. It did not. It was so noxious that even with the windows down we all started coughing.
"Fran, you asshole," I sputtered, "Now it smells like someone shit a patchouli pina colada!"
This brought on a fresh coughing fit from all of us but luckily we had reached Hilltop and what I thought was the end of my association with our malodorous passenger. Not so, good friends, not so. Before the night was over I would be cursing the existence of fat Cyndi Lauper and swearing vengeance on her bulbous blond head.

Needles and Pillzzz-uh.

Adrian was worried that I would hate his idiotic (but very nice) ass after his fuck doll went retarded and maimed my car but I know better than to blame one person for another’s stupidity, even if that person wasn’t exactly in her right mind. Yes, he took her to R-man’s place and got her super duper geeked but it was the faulty wiring in her head that told her to come fuck with my shit. I’m a big believer in taking responsibility for your actions, no matter how fucked up you are at the time. It’s still you making the moves, not the gak.

So though he had been coming by less often, he decided he needed to try and buy my good humor and affection by bringing me lots of goodies i.e. candy, coffee, various mili's of Dilaudid pills etc. He didn't hafta do it but he kept insisting so I was like," If you must you must."
He had spent most of the last week plying me with substances, hanging out and riding around (in my newly fixed auto) with me while I did this and that. I even had him as my sidekick on trips to Albuquerque and 'Spania, showing him my fav place(s) to stop and fix over by the Abiquiu Dam and at the Apache just outside Cuba. It was fun in the way such trips are when you have plenty of drugs, decent company and an unending supply of kickass music to keep shit going.
Unfortunately, the system in my car had gone pffft and until Maniac put it back together all I had was AM/FM Radio which as anyone can tell you sux monumental ass unless it's Underground Garage. It was not.
What we had was a nauseating stream of "Adult Pop", pseudo metal and indie...baaaaad indie! I felt I must be trapped in some kind of Nickleback nightmare and it seemed like another shot might be just the thing to rid me of the migraine brought on by the sentimental, tepid rubbish that was coming through my speakers.
I pulled up at the Apache and started lining everything up on my leg. Points, cap from the water bottle, lighter, cigarette (for the cotton) and last but not least, a good sized chunk of H. As I was putting it all together Adrian was fucking around with the tuner, trying to find something decent to listen to.
He got nervous when he saw me put the flame to the plastic cap but I assured him that I was not an idiot, we may end up injecting some kind of toxins released by the hot plastic but I definitely wouldn't turn it all into a melty mess. Toxins schmoxins! This bitch has shot up with water from a public toilet at the greyhound station, plastic don't scare me none.
I finished what I was doing and loaded the rigs, one for him one for me. As usual he went all gentleman-like, pulling off his belt and offering it to me. I declined as it was way too much trouble to try and hit a vein in the car, my veins are notoriously temperamental and hard to find. Instead I wasted no time in unbuttoning my jeans so I could pop it in my hip. It burned like it always does but it was that good kind of burn. The kind that you craved and waited for and when it was just right it let you know that in seconds you'd get that warm, semi-nauseous feeling in your gut that says you're gonna feel extra good in 5-4-3-2-NOW.
I did what I always do and left the point stuck in me, it was an old habit from back when my hips were so hard from muscling that pulling it out too soon would mean all the dope would come gushing out due to pressure. It's no longer necessary but it's comforting in the way that drug rituals usually are, so I always let it sit a minute.
I burned the ragged bit of cotton off the filter and put the cigg in my mouth, lighting it up and taking a big drag. Leaning my seat back, I slowly rolled my head against the headrest until I was looking over at Adrian. He was having a bit of a struggle and had gone from arms to hands and was now pulling his shirt off so he could get at his neck. In retrospect I should've known he was up to something because you don't need to remove your t-shirt to see your EJ's, it's not like the fucker was wearing a turtleneck.
All this was lost on me because I was too busy getting glassy-eyed and gazing at the mess he had left running down his arms and hands. My weird blood/needle fetish was making itself known and watching him stick the point right between the Black Flag bars on his neck was just too enchanting. As much as I am against hitting the neck, I will admit he looked damn fine doing it.
He adjusted the mirror and dug around again, finally getting it to register and shooting it in. I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding and took another drag. I met his eyes in the mirror and watched them pin and glaze over, an adorable, lazy smile on his face.
He flipped the visor up and leaned his seat back, the rig forgotten in his hand as he let the high wash over him. It's so voyeuristic to watch someone when the H overtakes them, it's like you get to see the softest side of their soul for split second. Being me, I watched anyway.
At some point my eyes closed and I nodded for a few minutes, waking up to Adrian's hand on my cheek, his face just inches away from mine. He had that look and for just a moment I wished I could go with it. He pressed his forehead against mine and I felt his hand sliding up my half covered leg. When his fingers found the dart in my hip he pulled his face away and asked, "Can I?"
I said," Whatever." trying to sound nonchalant, like his hand on me had no effect whatsoever. I don't think I was very convincing but at least I was giving it the old college try.
He plucked it out of my skin and leaned down like he was gonna lick the tiny bit of blood that was trickling down my leg. I was 99% sure that I was going to let him do it and conscience be damned but then I noticed something that had been nagging me from the sidelines.
The whole time Adrian had been orchestrating his blood-licky seduction, Marilyn Manson had been croaking out "Heart Shaped Glasses" on the radio. It was unacceptable!
I pushed his head away and said, "Are you kidding me with this song? Blegh,! This is SO not happening!"
"Huh?" he looked confused.
"I refuse to let myself be led astray with this dreck playing in the background, it's insulting."
"What? Are you serious?"
I pulled up my jeans, "Angel, I’ve never been more serious. It's time we get back on the road."
"What?"
I was starting to question his intelligence, what with all these snappy rejoinders, "Are you retarded?”
He opened his mouth to reply, looking more simple by the second, that blank stare still firmly in place.
“Say ’What’ or ‘Huh’ one more time” I dared him, getting annoyed.
His jaw snicked shut and his expression was an odd combination of humor and befuddlement. Befuddlement has never looked so fucking good!
We drove in silence for a few minutes, I had turned off the offending radio for the time being. A ways down the road I heard Ade start humming to himself. It got louder and more coherent until I could make out the words, “Little girl, little girl you should close your eyes, that blue is getting me high, making me low...”
I gave a disgusted snort, “Barf! ‘making me low’ what does that even mean? And MY eyes are brown.”
He laughed and broke into the chorus and I came back with, “I don’t mind you keeping me on pills and needles...“
He gave me the raised eyebrow and said, “I think it’s pins, not pills.”
“Hmmm, I wasn't aware of that.”
“Is that what I’ve been doing?”
“Absolutely, feel free to keep it up.” I turned the radio back on and managed to find a station that was playing 50’s and 60’s stuff. We rode the rest of the way listening to Jerry Lee Lewis and the Shangri-Las singing about a Big Legged Woman and Walking in the Sand.

When Action becomes a Necessary Evil.

Sometime in September…

I was having a somewhat quiet night in, doing my best to ignore the stream of texts that were being sent my way by a gleeful Maniac and an agitated Adrian. It would seem that things had not been going smoothly over at Rainman’s house that night.
Against all advice, Ade still had that lame ass girl trailing behind him like one of those cartoon stink clouds and had taken her with him to while away the time with the homies and some of R-man’s latest. It soon became apparent that little miss cheerleader wasn’t up to the task…she lost her fucking mind!
She had become increasingly paranoid as the night wore on and according to Maniac she was, “Making that naaasty ass noise in the back of her throat that sounds like she’s gargling mocos!” *boogers
My God I almost peed when he passed along that info, he does have the damndest way with words doesn’t he? That had been the last time I answered the phone and now I just had a buttload of texts coming at me.
I finally took a look and saw:

“Crazy bitch headed ur way” (Maniac)
“Can u please just kill her so she will never come here again” (Rainman)
“Pick up” “She’s lost it. Is on her way to your house. need to talk to you” “Fuck, I’m sorry. Will ask about a ride & try to get there first” (Adrian)
“HAHAHAHAHAHA, We’re getting in the car, ain’t missing this shit, no way!” (Maniac)
“Staying home please, thank u.” (Rainman)

(I’m as lazy about deleting texts as I am about everything else)

I was already exhausted just from reading that shit, I really didn’t want to deal with it in person. I wasn’t in the mood to scrap with some tweek retarded, Mall Betty Barbie that couldn’t handle her shit. I had already done all I could to discourage Adrian from rubbing our acquaintance under her perky nose, what more could I do? The right thing never comes all that naturally to me, so the fact that I was trying counts for a lot! I could’ve just sat back, laughed and watched her fall apart because she couldn’t do anything about it.
I’d like to say I’m not that mean but really I am or I can be…I have been in the past, ask me about Lauren sometime, heheh. It's usually only when it was someone I cared for (see: wanted really bad at the time) or possibly just to piss off some bitch I couldn’t stand the sight of. What can I say? I wasn’t lying all those time I said I was a cunt.
Anyway, point is I tried but if that ridiculous twat was gonna come pounding on my door I was through trying. I so wasn’t in the mood to smack her straight but if it came to that well, I do what I have to.
It wasn’t too cold that night so I’d been laying around in a wife beater and jeans, barefoot with my hair in Pocahontas braids. I looked adorable, if you didn’t get that already. I wasn’t really dressed for a catfight but hey, bitches scrap in Jell-O wearing nothing at all, so I suppose I was actually ahead of the game.
Casey was asleep, having to work the next day and had no idea that something stupid this way comes. It was all mine to deal with and I guess that’s only right since it was my dumb ass that set the whole mess in motion months before. Seriously, what the fuck is my damage? My mom has been trying to answer that question for years, haha.
So I was expecting a knock or possibly screaming (perhaps a bitchy cheer along the lines of U-G-L-Y you ain’t got no alibi?), something to let me know she was here and needed to be dealt with. Instead I heard screeching brakes, slamming car doors, multiple raised voices and then…SMASH!
It was a muffled yet glassy sort of smash, the kind of smash a car window makes when you throw A BIG HONKIN ROCK THOUGH IT!!! That gakked cow took a mini boulder from the neighbor’s lame rock garden and put it through the rear window of my car.
I haven’t moved so fast in years. I was out the door, hands reaching for her throat in seconds flat. I took no notice of the fact that I was stomping barefoot through auto glass, instead I concentrated on putting my knee in Adrian’s balls so I could get past him ( he made the mistake of trying to stop me) and throttle his girlfriend.
Bitch’s eyes were so big she looked like a spun weasel, I guess my mellow attitude in the past had lulled her into thinking there would be no consequences if she fucked with me. Bitch was mistaken.
Maniac was doing nothing to keep me from her (if he had been any giddier he would’ve been hopping up and down clapping his hands) and Ade was on the ground relearning how to breathe. She ran down the driveway towards her car and I was right behind her. She was halfway in when I grabbed a handful of her bouncy blonde hair and jerked her back out. When she spun halfway around she caught me in the mouth with her elbow...as usual. I don't know if it's a sign from God (telling me to shut the fuck up) or my serious case of DSL but anytime a tussle ensues I get it right in the fucking pie hole! Yeah, hilarious ain't it? Fuckers!
She lurched forward trying to pull away and I used the momentum against her, introducing her head to the open doorframe until she stopped struggling. Don’t worry, she wasn’t unconscious, just a bit stunned, haha. I jerked her flailing arm up behind her back and using her hair as a handle, I steered her back towards my driveway. I turned her head this way and that so she could see the full scope of damage she had done. I then shoved her face down towards the mess of glass on the pavement, telling her to take a good look.
She may have been under the impression that I was gonna rub her face in the broken glass because she started throwing her free arm back in my direction. I twisted my fist in her hair, wrenched her arm up and said, “Bitch, I will end you.” That settled her right down, well she had started to hyperventilate but she wasn’t fighting anymore so, yeah she settled down.
Maniac is sure that it was her idiotic inability to handle R-man’s product that brought it on and I’m happy to go with that, making girls gasp for breath isn’t that important to me unless it’s with my knee in their neck haha.
So while I had her in my grasp, I instructed Adrian to get into her purse and remove whatever cash she had. It wasn’t much so I sent him to the ATM with her card so he could bring me back the $350 I’d estimated it was gonna cost to fix my window.
By the time he got back she was sitting in her car. She’d gone kinda catatonic on me, so I’d buckled her into the passenger side and gone back to the front yard.
My feet had finally started to throb and I was sitting in the disco mobile’s headlights picking glass out of my soles. It was a gross bloody mess and it didn’t feel good at all. Maniac had fetched the water hose and was trying to rinse them off so we could see where the bleeding was the worst.
Somehow I had managed to keep the damage to a minimum, car glass isn’t made to cut too badly…unless you happen to grind and stamp your way through it, which I did. I had just a few pieces in the ball of my left foot and some little ones buried in the area under the toes of my right one. It was…unpleasant. Some of them are still embedded and will likely never come out. The price you pay huh?
I made Adrian take her home, Maniac stayed to man the tweezers. I drank the rest of Casey’s whiskey and took some Percs but it still hurt like shit. Next time I will be sure to wear shoes.
I heard tell that she squawked about pressing charges but the meth in her system kept her from following through. She should know better than to try, we had our little disagreement 200 feet away from 3 different police residences, what the fuck does she think they’re gonna do about it? If they can’t be bothered to come outside and intervene (and it was LOUD), why would they care the next day? I suppose they might but the law here has a terrible fear of extraneous paperwork.
Not what I’m used to but I ain’t complaining! Besides, she would have to charge Adrian as well and that’s not gonna happen, she’s in loooooove, moron! She needs to open those china doll eyes a little wider, maybe then she’ll see how badly she’s getting worked over.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore Adrian, especially when he’s doing wrong but he’s a dick! How does she not get that? He has used her in so many ways and does nothing to hide it, not even a little. His excuse is that he told her up front how and what he was…that sounds oddly familiar.
Does that make it her own fault for getting fucked sideways by that cute little monster? I've always said it did when I used that excuse for myself, now I’m not so sure. Lets just say it makes the blame a bit harder to place and leave it at that.

~Melody Lee

The Lazarus Effect or I'm Baaaaaaaack! Something Like That.

Before I get started, a quick note on my hair....oh my godamned hair! It's long, very black and very...Christ how to describe it? Anyway, the pics I took were on a night where I decided to indulge Casey's Rockabilly/Pin-up girl fetish and that's it! I already got an earful from Anna for jumping on the RB bandwagon and Regina, who loathes Rockabilly-ish girls is gonna kick my ass. I'm back to myself and am making plans to wreck my Black Dalia look even as I type this. Normal never lasts long around here but how normal is it to look like a broad that got bisected and filleted back in the day? Well it counts for normal in my household and it needs to go! I won’t get started on the emo (ugh emo), pic in the mirror thing or the crap camera I used to take it.

So It’s 15 degrees here right now, roughly 9 am and I decided it was finally time to break my silence. It hasn’t been by choice that I’ve left everyone to wonder about my whereabouts, I really haven’t been able to take care of anything for a long while. I had a couple people check my e-mails but no one responded to anything in my inbox. I dictated some stuff to my facebook (ugh facebook) friend and that was about it.
I’m not gonna get into what I’ve been up to, it’s complicated but it was obviously not an OD/death and it wasn’t jail...or a psychiatric hospital either smart asses. It’s good to be mysterious sometimes and hey, maybe I’ll spill all the gruesome details next time, you never can tell, right?
Before I go any further I’m extending a sincere “sorry to have worried you” to everyone who thought I’d taken a dirt nap. I hate to worry people needlessly, I’m selfish but not that selfish. I was just caught up in something that took the better part of a few months and was basically incommunicado to just about everybody but the people in my immediate vicinity…and Anna, haha. She, along with a few others can always track me down. She’s not my best girl for nothin’.
I love the way that sounds, no one has said that since like, 1965 and it’s a bit creepy and so delicious. It’s sounds like something your weird uncle would say just before he asked you to show him your new Rainbow Brite panties, “Now you know Uncle loves his best girl…”

I like to be a little creepy now and again, it keeps people off balance and that can be important when you’re a “manipulative heroin addict.” *rolling eyes* Those are not my words if you couldn’t tell. I can manipulate with the best of ‘em but I had that notch on my belt long before drugs were involved. Back to creepy.

One of my favorite things to do when bored was to wait until there were a bunch of rookie junksters (that didn’t know more than my name and evil rep) hanging out at Nicole’s. I would climb on Casey and we’d put on a serious display of public affection. After they got an eye full, I would give them a very loaded smile, turn to my darling and whisper (LOUDLY), “I wonder what they would think if they found out we're actually half brother and sister?”
I would usually tell them the truth if they lasted more than a few weeks but some of those kids are still walking around today, visions of junky incest dancing like sugarplums through their muddled heads. Fuck it, like that’s the worst that has ever said about me? Brother fucker wouldn’t rank too high on the list, haha.
So I hear that I’ve been dead since August? Fancy that and here I thought I was just missing in action for a bit. Not for nothing but sometimes shit comes up and sometimes it’s just me being a self involved cunt and then other times it’s a nasty combination of the two. Anna is quite obviously an asshole (though I do adore her for just that reason) for re enforcing the belief that I had become a statistic. I did feel bad and miss everybody horribly, if that counts for anything, it probly doesn‘t tho.
I did not OD…EVER! Well not in recent history anyway. In general I try to avoid it as it seems a deplorable waste of product and really you can only get so fucked up before you either go into a temporary mini coma and can’t enjoy it or just plain die.
Both of these are crap options in my opinion as anyone who has ever OD’d (and lived) can confirm. It’s not so bad on the way out but waking up sans clothing in some random (COLD!!!) shower with various people slapping the bejesus out of you and ice in your nethers is kind of a buzz kill. I know, I know, this kind of moderate attitude is so not like me but in true Melody Lee fashion there are purely selfish motives at work.
I used to have a much more gluttonous view when it came to doing ridiculous amounts of dope but in recent years I find that I would rather do a teensy bit less and enjoy it a whole lot longer. That’s just me though, if you want to gather up every crumb of smack and bang it all in one go, have at it. I’ve been there and I know there’s something glorious about estimating just how much dope it takes to not quite kill you.
Sometimes being almost dead is just what you’re after.
The problem with this is that the purity fluctuates so frequently that tonight’s perfect shot could likely be tomorrows overdose and that just takes us back to the subject of misuse. Waste not, want not, at least where H is concerned.
I’m told that a “meant for better than this” attitude denotes severe Narcissism. I am also told that I am Narcissistic to a fault. So it should come as no surprise when I tell you that I should have been famous or at least infamous. Either would’ve done beautifully as long as it meant scads of attention and absolute wads of money to waste on lovely, trivial things and the drug of the moment (any given moment).
Unfortunately the main thing holding me back has been the lack of any marketable talent whatsoever. *sigh* Not one single God given skill or the motivation with which to acquire a self taught one. I am simply too lazy to bother, my ingrained sense of apathy has won out. Moving on…to something else about MEEEEE!
I really hope that when rumors of my August OD were floating about, no one dared think that it was a deliberate act on my part. I hate to think that I was chalked up as a mewling suicide because my last post had been somewhat disjointed and depressing. That is so not never, never, never gonna happen! I may off myself by accident one of these days but not on purpose.
Dead bitches can’t shoot dope (at least not from what I’ve heard) and I intend to enjoy that luxury for as long as brotherfucking possible! Maybe it’s not the best way to look at things but if you don’t like it you can keep your eyes on your own damn paper , no one would ever believe you came up with these answers anyhow. Life is one big multiple choice test or didn’t you know?
Oooh hoo! I am so profound this morning! Haha…
Sleep deprived is closer to the truth, I’ve had a negligible amount of sleep in the last month and I believe it’s catching up with me. Of course you would never know it to look at me, even this fuckered up I can still sparkle like one of those ridiculous Twilight Waaaahmpires.
Christ don’t get me started on Edward and his ultra-sensitive vagina, I could go on for days.

I had intended to regale you with some of the things that took place just prior to and during my disappearance but it would seem that I’ve already written quite enough for one post. I should go now.

Sleepy, sleepy kisses,

~Melody Lee (resurrected)