In honor of Mel

Melody, aka, Smelody, aka, Smelodious, aka, my office-mate for a year-and-a-half, aka, my partner in snarkiness, aka, Statler to my Waldorf, aka, discoverer of Demetri Martin.

I must obligatorily add that, in searching for a pic of Statler and Waldorf, I discovered they have a myspace. I really am the only person in the world who doesn't have one.

So. Mel's favorite dream of mine:

I'm at home--the house I grew up in--and Mel and I are roommates. We're sleeping in my living room, but it's a bedroom--and Mel and I have separate day beds about five feet apart, and we're sleeping with our heads on opposite ends. The alarm goes off, and we both wake up and look at each other, neither wanting to get up yet. I decide to get up and use the bathroom first (there's only one in the house) so Mel can sleep a little more. I hurry, so Mel can get in, but only as quickly as I operate first thing in the morning (which is pretty much the opposite of "hurry"). I get out of the bathroom, and come back to our room ... but Mel's not there. Hm, where'd she go? I think. Since our bedroom is actually my living room at home, the kitchen is an adjacent room ... so I assume she's eating breakfast, and go in to let her know the bano is free-o.

There's no good place to start a new paragraph. So I just did. Back to the action. I walk in the kitchen, and look toward the end of the room, where the kitchen table is. There sat Marty, who, in real life, is my (and was Mel's) supervisor ... but in my dream she was kinda like our mom? But they aren't eating breakfast. Instead, Marty is combing Melody's hair and Mel is smoking a cigarette. They look so happy and peaceful.

Mel, we heart you. We miss you. We salute you. But, most of all--Melody Pugh, we like what you dugh.