I’m Melanie, misunderstood by most, loved by enough. Thanks for stopping by my little corner of the internetz. Won’t you please stay for some tea?

I enjoy writing.
Affirmed is my favorite racehorse of all time.
I belong in the 1940s.
I am a hopeless (and proud) Monk aficionado.
I’m a total yerd (look it up).
My flyball dog can go from zero to twenty five in 2.45 seconds.
Horses and dogs are my life. 
Flynn Rider from Tangled sexually frustrates me. 
Peter Rabbit frustrates me (not sexually). 
I’m pretty sure I’ve swallowed at least seventeen ounces of fly spray in my life. 
My mom entered me in a cutest baby photo contest or whatever when I was a baby. I didn’t place. After my youngest brother was born, she entered a photo of him and he won third in the state. I kind of hate that bitch. 
I pretty much just want to be friends with everyone. Like I know people always SAY that, and then you try to tell them about the time you put licorice up your nose in an airplane (or something to that extent) and then they just blow you off. I’m not like that. We can be tight if you want. 
I keep buying maternity clothing on accident. Like I don’t read the tag or something…? It’s really embarrassing when I return it because they look at me all like ‘…she had a baby?!’ If I did it would be none of your beeswax, bro. 
I like to write and stuff. It was my New Year’s resolution to write two hours every day (between deadlines and random occurrences, this is not always possible) and I’ve stuck to it. 
My parents took a five o’clock flight to New York city on September 10th, 2001. My brother got pneumonia, so they took the next flight back (eight o’clock). This scares me every time I think about it. What could have happened? 
My mom went to U of M but once I told her that my MacBook had an endless battery. She believed me. Oh. 
I feel like I worry too much about what other people think. Okay, I know I worry too much about what other people think. If I tell myself ‘that photo I took iscool’ it’ll stick with me for about an hour. If someone I’ve known for fifteen minutes said the same thing, I’d beam about it for hours. I’d much rather prefer I had a method of self-appreciation. I don’t think it’s good to rely on others to get my fix of confidence. 
I lost my childhood friend last December. It’s especially odd because now there’s no one that’s known me all of my life (well, except my parents, obviously) so I could turn out to be a completely different person than opposed to if he was still around. I always worry if what I’ve turned out to be isn’t what he’d expect. 
I pretty much think everyone’s after me. I’m like the poster child for paranoia. 
My style is kind of like Nancy Drew meets Michelle Obama. I like to dress up with the latest fads, but then I like old clothes, too. I think the Nancy Drew side is more prominent, though. 
I don’t really have a role model. Who knows how to live your life better than you do?

One of the statements listed here is a lie.