Look, I don't know who the F is reading my blog, but apparently, someone is.  This is despite the fact that I haven't updated in a month.  I am impressed.

Well, update your address books, because I am moving to blogspot. 

This is a stupid name, but I like it.

Maybe I will update more frequently now.

Friday night, I went out to Tinley Park with Kara, Molly, and Katie to see John Mayer.  You can say what you need to say (heh) about his music or his social life or whatever, I really enjoy him, if you have not noticed.  And the man puts on an amazing live show.  If we can be honest for two seconds (and I think we're close enough that I can be honest), I was a little disappointed in the bulk of the regular set list.  He was playing a lot of the songs I am meh on from "Room for Squares," and he was playing a lot of his preachier stuff from "Continuum."  But then?  He not only played a blues cover of "Mercy," but he finished up the regular set with "Vultures."  Most people who have heard my phone ring can verify that "Vultures" is in my top favorite songs evah.  So he closed out with all that, and then? AND THEN?  He came back out and played Van Halen's "Panama" while his guitarist sang.  Without a shirt.  I hate to be so trite and stereotypically twenty-something female, but I was literally mouth agape and weak-kneed.  Look, folks.  I have seen John Mayer rock Van Halen without his shirt.  It is going to be pretty hard for anything else to measure up.  I wish I were kidding.

Then he played "Gravity," which is not my favorite, but I was so pumped over "Panama" that I loved it.  And he closed out the evening with "Say," which, to be trite again, was just so lovely and joyous.  Seriously, a warm summer breeze on a night where rain had just fallen, and John Mayer playing "Say" on an acoustic guitar?  Without a shirt on?  I can ask for few better things.

Saturday I had a lovely little nap and worked out, which is always nice, shockingly enough.   Then Dice and I had a date to see "The Dark Knight."  I expected my mind to be blown by this movie, and while I was watching it, I was impressed at the action sequences, but not as impressed as I wanted to be during the actual scenes.  However, I walked out of the theatre and really can't stop thinking about it.  It was actually rather haunting, so I am rethinking my stance.  I really liked it in retrospect; I need to see it again.  I feel so heartbroken for Harvey Dent. 

Saturday night was Kara's birthday celebration, which involved Mexican food and dancing at the Holiday Club.  These two things are probably a bad combination, but we all seemed to have fun.  And there was flan!  Flan!

Sunday, I travelled out to Des Plaines (man, I was all over Illinois.) to see Ken and Becca and baby Hannah in their new digs.  Ken and Becca went to college with me and Curt.  They just had a baby.  Her name is Hannah.  Hannah is awesome.  I had only met Hannah once, when she was about a week old.  She slept through most of that visit, and also, she had just come out of the womb, so she didn't really seem to remember me too much.  I think this probably accounts for her eyeing me up suspiciously the entire time I was there.  Try as I might, I could not win Hannah's affection.  She simply does not think I am funny.  I like it though; she keeps me humble.  Gives me something to work for.  I will get that baby laughing one day.  In the meantime, you should totally hang out with Hannah if you can, because she is rad.  She's not around that much though, what with naps and all.  Oh, and Ken and Becca are awesome too.

On the romance front my luck continues, as this morning, Jose, the Mexican coffee guy who likes me, gave me a free cup of coffee.  I mean, what else can I ask for here?  Maybe today is the day the miracle happens, as Daniel Handler likes to say. 

This is my latest installation of "Why Mel is Inherently Mistrustful of Men," which I will one day publish in response to the works of Tucker Max.

Last night I was walking over to Matty's house for a delightful get-together with the Rabble before our show.  I was in a good mood; I enjoy the Rabble, I was smoking a cigarette, which is really one of the things I look most forward to in life nowadays, and there was the promise of pasta salad.  So I walked cheerfully along, texting bits with both Amy and Kara, swinging the plate of brownies I had made (from scratch, just for the record.)

As I crossed an alley, a gentleman got out of his SUV and stopped me.  He called to me, "Can I just give you a heads up?"  Being the worst-case scenario girl I am, I figured some sort of catastrophe lie in my path and stopped.  This is all very Little Red Riding Hood, the more I think about it.

This gentleman started out his spiel with, "It's not often that I am the second most attractive person somewhere..."  I immediately turned to walk away, and he got offended.  I said I was on my way, and he held out his hand for me to shake.  I gestured to my cigarette, the phone, and the brownies and said I had my hands full.  He said, "Oh, you want to know about hands being full?"  And he whipped out his cell phone to show me a picture of his three children.  That, he said, is having your hands full.  Then he asked me if I wanted to go on a date.  I said no, thank you, and started to walk away again.  He called after me that I had a nice bootie.  I kept walking.

This wasn't enough for him.  (MattG explained to me afterwards that divorced men are desperate, and will try and get with anything.  This didn't really help.)  He got in his car and followed me.  I was about a block away, when I heard him screaming, "Hey!  Hi!  You don't say hi?"  This was when he almost hit a woman crossing the street with a stroller.  His attention immediately turned to her, and he yelled that she needs to look for cars when she crosses the street "rolling that thing."  Then he remembered me, and yelled after me, "You don't say hi?  You ought to get beat." 

A charmer, to be sure.  I should have just gotten in the car with him.

Dear Grammy Award Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer,

Hi.  Tomorrow is the day we'll meet again.  Well, metaphorically, since we've never actually met.  But I mean, I'll see you and I am sure you will have some indication that a thousand screaming girls are there for you, so I guess that's the best we can do.

Look, I am not using my high tech secret code, because I totally need to get a message to you.  It is very important, so I hope you are Googling yourself and going to the fiftieth page or so, because there are clearly a lot of articles about you and Jennifer Aniston, but I am going to try just the same.

Grammy Award Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer, please play "Man on the Side" tomorrow.  Please.

I know this is just a pipe dream; I've looked at your recent set lists, and I don't think you ever play "Man on the Side," although you had to play it at least once, because the only recording I have is a live one.  I really like what you've been playing lately otherwise, and I'd be very willing to sit through "Clarity" or "Gravity," the only two songs I skip on "Continuum," if you could make it all worth my while with "Man on the Side."

Kara asked me what they should do if this dream does in fact come true.  I know it won't.  I'm having a crappy week, and all I want is you to play "Man on the Side," Grammy Award Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer, so we know it won't happen.  But, if we're going to indulge this fantasy for the moment, you do play it, the only outcome of this event is going to be me weeping.  I won't be able to help it.  Don't you want that to happen, Grammy Award Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer?  Don't you want to add "Makes women weep" to your heart throb resume under "Special Skills?"  Think about it.

Please, Grammy Award Winning and Multi-Platinum Columbia Recording Artist John Mayer.  I know "Vultures" and "Say" are pretty set in your set list, and since you're too good for "Your Body is a Wonderland" all of a sudden, please do this for me. 

Don't ruin this for me.

See you tomorrow.

Sincerely,
Melissa Kate Elaine Evans

It is a short week this week.  Those weeks tend to be the longest weeks ever in anticipation of the delicious, delicious long weekend, but I am thinking everything might be going just fine this week. 

For one, I decided to try on, just for funsies, some pants in smaller sizes.  This had the potential to ruin my life and wreck my self-esteem for quite some time.  And it almost did, but at the last moment, we pulled through, and came out with the glorious knowledge that I have the current capability to wear the smallest size I have been since high school (which, is the smallest I was ever.  I mean, except for like, when I was a child.  But in my adult life.)  I am not sure how much I weigh, since I don't do that, but I can say with certainty that I am the same size I was in high school.

I also found my gum.  This might not be a big deal to you; I, however, love this gum.  (It is Trident Splash in Peppermint Swirl, if you should ever happen to see it.  Please pick it up for me.)  I don't know if they are discontinuing it or what, but I cannot find it anywhere anymore. I found it today in a random Walgreen's.  I immediately bought four packets.  As in, I scooped them up, briefly wondered if I should buy five, and then went immediately to the register with them, as though hordes of people are looking for this wonderful gum and I would have to stake my claim as quickly as possible.  Victory!  My breath is delicious for a while longer. 

Amy and I are also going to see Taste of Broadway tonight, which will feature the touring cast of Spring Awakening.  I am ready to throw a pair of panties at the stage of a Broadway touring cast; that is how excited Amy and I are over this show.

In addition to all that, I didn't even have to use my AK (which, I mean, I typically don't, but I imagine it's always a good day when you don't have to.) so I would think this all combines to build a good day, right?

And it's only Monday! 

Just when things are getting bad and I am ready to dye my hair Crimson Sunset (or is it Crimson Sunrise?  Dice will correct me.), I got a little boost from Jose.

Jose is the guy who makes sure all the coffee is full at the 7-Eleven by work.  He is super into me, you guys.  He always makes sure the ginseng energy coffee is full for me, and gives me those little buy-five-get-the-sixth-free cards.  And he smiles awkwardly at me a lot. 

Well, this morning, when I was feeling like crap, Jose worked up the nerve to say good morning and ask how I was.  And on crappy days, the coffee guy who clearly wants a piece of that asking how you are can sometimes be enough.

Thanks, Jose.

Thanks to the RedEye (my major source of news) I found out today that Nicole Atkins and the Sea are playing at Lollapalooza this summer.

I love Nicole Atkins and the Sea.  Seriously.  If you came right from my MySpace page, you were just listening to her, and you should think about loving her too.  She is one of the two artists I have accidentally stumped across and immediately loved.  And then I find out she is from New Jersey, and most of her album at least alludes to growing up on the Jersey shore, and I am hooked.  I love her.  I loved her American Express commercials.  I loved her videos on OnDemand Music, until VH1 was so cruel as to take them down.

I don't know, though, if I can justify spending $80 on a day pass just to see Nicole Atkins and the Sea.  There just isn't anything I am thrilled over that day, even considering Kanye and Nine Inch Nails.  Well, maybe I would like to see Nine Inch Nails.  But I also have to consider that I would probably be in a ball cathartically crying if I should see Nicole Atkins, so I don't know how much I could appreciate Nine Inch Nails.  So...I have to study the schedule and see if I can figure out something that will make this work.

On a side note, I am sure that with my luck, Nicole Atkins will be Googling herself and end up reading this blog.  This has happened before, people.  I would not be surprised.

(Hi Toad the Wet Sprocket!  "All I Want" is my favorite song of all time!)

Apparently there is a coyote that lives in the cemetery on Clark and Irving Park.  One night during the winter, Amy and I were walking to do the Movie, and I saw it in there, just looking at us.  I said to Amy, "Is that a dog or a coyote?"  Amy said, "I don't know."  I said, "Walk faster."

I received confirmation that it is in fact a coyote last night.  I was walking on the opposite side of the cemetery, where there is a little playground.  A couple adults were talking while three little girls were playing.  (Apparently, that is cool to do at 10 PM because it is summertime, yo.)  The girls were pretending to be coyotes and howling at the moon.  I was unsure if this had to do with the actual coyote, the full moon, or whatever kind of song from the '70's these children had recently been exposed to.  I really wasn't worried, until one of the little girls suddenly yelled, "There it is!  There is the coyote!" 

Sure enough, there was the coyote just beyond the fence, frozen in fear.  The dog with the little family started barking and going crazy, while the girls greeted the coyote warmly and asked their father if the coyote had a name.  When Dad said he didn't know, the girls christened it Hannah Montana.  I am not making any of this up.

I, on the other hand, walked faster, figuring if nothing else, the coyote would be distracted by the delicious children until I was far enough away.  As I got safely away, though, I found myself actually pretty sad for the coyote, stuck in a graveyard in the middle of the city like that.  Also, its identity has been forced into the identity of a bucktooth girl with a Disney contract.

Update 1:

Since I posted my last blog about mulling a haircut, I have had several people tell me my hair looked good.  These people include, but are not limited to:  a drunk girl in Boystown; a homeless man panhandling in the Loop; and Kara.  I think Kara may have just been trying to be nice though.

Update 2:

It was pointed out to me that the wonderful improv team Jackie is actually from Washington.  Oops.  My huge bad.  If you are still interested in them (and you should be), why not go to their website?

Update 3:

The woman who sits outside Subway and calls me a whore has just changed corners.  This is a relief, as my mother and I were very worried that she was dead.

It is summertime again, and that means I am toying with the idea of cutting all my hair off.

Honestly, my hair in gross.  I need to get it cut anyway you slice it.  Near constant humidity does not help my hair's cause.  I am not a pretty girl might now, and I won't be until the barometric pressure decides to LAY OFF A LITTLE BIT or October, which ever comes first.

And so, I start thinking about just chopping it all off.  This poses a problem, because at least some of you may be lucky enough to remember when I felt a needed a big ol' life change and cut all my hair off back in the fall of '05.  Do you remember that?  I had just moved her, and decided it would be very punk rock to cut my hair off.  This resulted in the period of time which we refer to as the [Insert Offensive Word Here] Haircut.  That took a long time to grow out. 

As a result, I am kind of gun shy on this one, even though I hate to disappoint everyone who squeals, "Get a Katie Holmes!" when I say I am thinking about a haircut.  No, that is that haircut I had three years ago, and believe it or not, I couldn't pull it off. 

No one seems to really have any ideas outside of the Katie Holmes, and I feel if I cut my hair shoulder-length, I look like a Jersey soccer mom, what with all the layering and all.  It's hard for me not to look like a stereotype when I get my haircut, actually.  If only I had a stylist, or at least someone who would think about it and not just say, "Katie Holmes!" when I mention a haircut.

Let's face it though:  in all actuality, I will wuss out and get the ends trimmed and invest in some new hair ties.