August 2nd, 2010

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Melissa's Catastrophe Club

At book club yesterday I was sharing my boa constrictor in the house story (it had just happened and I was still shaking), and the girl I was telling the story to just said, "We should just not call it book club. We'll called it Melissa's Catastrophe Club, the MCC." It's kind of appropriate - I've missed book club for various reasons - hospitalizations, emergencies of all stripes and colors, near death experiences.

On that note, I'm now taking applications for club members. Conditions for membership include the ability to laugh despite snakes in the house, emergency organ removal, financial meltdown, and a string of disappointments. Laughter is key. So are cupcakes.

There are times in life when the shit that's wrong with you will seem so much worse than the shit that's wrong with other people. You won't get what you want, illness will strike, your nail polish will chip, you'll be sweaty in front of good looking men, there will seem no end to the bad luck coming your way at 100 miles an hour. 

Yeah, shit happens, and when it does, it happens. Life is terribly unfair like that. Catastrophe Club Members do their best to push through, see the bright side, remember the good things in life that balance out the bad. Have yourself a good cry if you need it, but when that's done put a lot of extra frosting on your next cupcake, or put on the plastic tiara and walk out of the office you just got laid off from waving like royalty. I did it, so can you.

Club membership granted by my my mercurial whim and showing an excess of awesome in the face of disaster.