2011...

After an extremely long hiatus, we're please to announce our return to Odes2Odes. Stay tuned for new blog posts, vlog posts, pictures posts and posting posts. *

* Cute disclaimer: We can't promise that we'll blog more than twice every three years.

Ode to Ypsilanti and Maxi Pads

(Warning: If you are at all grossed out by menstrual cycles, maxi pads, PMS, or KFC famous bowls, this entry isn’t for you.)

I would like to begin this blog with a riddle of sorts: What has wings but cannot fly? Simple – a maxi pad.

The other day as I was walking to class and I encountered a horrific sight. As I approached the intersection of North Hamilton and Olive Street, I came across (and almost stepped on) a used bloody maxi pad on the sidewalk. My first instinct was to cringe with disgust, the second was to recall all of the previous disgusting artifacts I’ve encountered on the streets and sidewalks of Ypsilanti: an empty two liter of Faygo Rock ‘N Rye full of what looked like vomit, a discarded pregnancy test (dear Jane Doe, you are going to have a baby.), used condoms (one of which was found in a church parking lot) and a pair of soiled underwear. The intrigue stems from the fact that if there’s so much crime in the city of Ypsilanti, then why on earth are the inhabitants of this great city leaving so much DNA evidence strewn about town? These hippies, college students and crackheads (or gypsies, tramps, and thieves as I like to call them) really need to get their acts together, and dispose of their excrements in a proper, sanitary way before the entire community contracts some strain of hepatitis.

This morning I saw something that I hadn’t seen in quite some time. On Huron and Michigan Avenue (right by Puffer Reds and The Liberty Income Tax place) I saw a woman with feathered hair, probably in her mid 50’s hitch hiking. The woman looked haggard, almost as if she has drank six boxes of wine, fallen down three flights of stairs and woke up in a sewer. I could tell by her acid washed denim jacket, lycra pants (with stirrups) and floral print blouse in fluorescent colors, that this woman liked to have fun. I had no idea what destination she was attempting to hitch a ride to; as I watched her through my rearview mirror, I asked myself “This is the year 2008. Who the hell hitchhikes?” We’ve all seen the horror films and slasher flicks where the serial killer is a hitchhiker with a duffle bag full of heads, and most of us have been educated never to take rides (or give rides) to strangers. The only conclusion I could draw from this situation is that she was probably headed to the Family Dollar or Big Lots to get close out deals at close out prices, and while I didn’t know exactly where she was headed, I did know the location of her soiled undergarments.

Residents of Ypsilanti, I encourage you to improve your sanitization efforts, and whatever you do never give rides to strangers. Because you never know, five years from now – it could very well be Malorie Evens standing on Huron and Michigan Avenue sticking out her thumb for a ride, as she discards a used maxi pad she stole from her grandmother onto the crooked sidewalks… don’t be like Malorie.

M -

When M said to me, “Hey, let’s play a game. Ask me a question.” I got an instant wave of fear and excitement. It was the thesaurus game, you ask a question, and at random you get a one word answer. After asking at least three questions in which his response to each one was “No, not a good one,” he finally did what I knew he would do from the second he told me to play…he would ask one himself.

“How does Malorie look?” was his genius question. I sat there, awaiting anxiously, to hear how the Gods above thought I looked. “Haha, expansive,” was his response. Expansive? Really? Of all the things for the thesaurus to call a woman, this dusty ass, yellow-paged book, decides to call me expansive? Fine. I’ll lay off the late night snacks, whatever. Although I was feeling a little self-conscious at this point, M got a kick out of it of course. If you know him like I do, then you’ll know he gets a little excited when someone’s self-esteem plummets to the core of the Earth because it makes him feel as if he’s better. Which reminds me of the time he decided to boost my ego by telling everyone I stole maxi-pads from my grandmother. Before I got upset, I remembered, “Hey, this is Ypsilanti, we’re all friends here.” Okay, so that’s not entirely true, but what is, is the fact that here in this town, there are no secrets.

With that said, I think it’s safe to assume that it’s no secret that women in close proximity of each other sync their “cycles.” Like most of you, I used to have my doubts on this. But, these things take time to take effect. I mean it took an entire year of living in Ypsilanti and spending all my time at the Ugly Mug, but now mine and Zak Rye’s cycles are spot on! (and believe me, when this is happening, you should stay at least 100ft. away from the mug. Me and Zak are at each other’s throats more than a recently-divorced couple who didn’t fill out a prenup as it is, just imagine us PMSing.) We are both extremely touchy and M likes to take full advantage of this. Everyone knows, when a woman is surviving the bleeding week, they are extra sensitive, meaning you should try to be as empathetic as possible. This is not a characteristic of M’s. M loves to ask: “Malorie, are you on your period? Because you’re being a bitch!” or even better, “Are you on your period, because you look like shit.” (also, I just want to add that 95% of the time he asks this, I’m nowhere near being on the “P.” Imagine how that makes me feel.) This just goes to show, M may be a good writer, but he’s a terrible girlfriend. (not in a romantic sense, but in the way black women use it.)

Speaking of black women, Ypsilanti can be a scary place, I know. Too many times to count have I roamed the streets far later than I have any business doing. The funny thing is, I can’t remember a time where I was afraid of getting jumped or raped. What I did fear was the lady that has the audacity to wave cars down three blocks ahead of her in hopes of getting a ride somewhere. Don’t know who I’m talking about yet? Imagine a floral-printed dress and a voice so high pitched that you’re balls crawl back into your body when you encounter it. The other day she came up to my car window asking for a cigarette, and then three dollars. Who knows what she was hoping to buy for three dollars. I felt like telling her, “Listen lady, the year is 2008. You can’t get anything for three dollars.” And, this would be almost completely true if it weren’t for off-brands. Buy your Meijer brand Cocoa Puffs if you want, or your fake Mr.Clean magic erasers from the dollar store for all I care. I know we are all guilty of this, myself included, from time to time. I must admit, sometimes I have to buy the Walgreens brand vitamins when the pocket is a bit pinched because every time the hippies decide that Fish Oil is “in” again the prices sky-rocket. Just please, for the sake of mankind, do not buy the store-brand feminine hygiene products. Those pieces of work are almost as unreliable as the idea of getting your appetizer before your entrée at Aubrey’s any given day of the week. Plus, they pop out as fast as they pop in as if they are coated with WD40, which can be terrifying when you have a brand new pair of Gap underwear on the line. So, when you are walking home late at night, let this blog be of comfort to you. Because, no matter how scary Ypsilanti is in the dark, it’s never as scary as thinking you put a new tampon in, without taking the other one out first.

Ode to M, Malorie and Orca Whales...

The concept for this blog stemmed from a hastily left voicemail, in which Malorie Evens asked me out on what seemed like a date. To quote in verbatim "i just got one of the best ideas i've ever had in my life, and it involves me and you, and this is not a date." naturally, i was mortified (not just because it was one of those voicemails that was mysterious and not very telling, but also because i seriously thought Malorie Evens was asking me out on a date, despite the fact that she actually said she was not asking me out on a date.)

When we met up, she tried to explain that she wanted me to co-write a blog with her -- at first i wasn't sure what she was saying, because i was to involved with cramming a vegetarian hot dog into my mouth and all i could see were her lips moving. She the proceeded to tell me that I never listen. I asked her to repeat that last bit, which escalated into a near violent confrontation that stemmed from my selective hearing, rude behavior and social norms and when and where it is appropriate to litter.

After taking charge (as i normally do) i decided that i would in fact take part in the co-blogging effort; on the terms that she would not be stealing my jokes, taking credit for my talent and that she would continue to let me eat whatever falls off of her sandwich as we write our blogs. The terms were simple, and the terms were accepted. Contracts were signed, toasts were made, and we signed on to co-author this blog as well as one season of 12 video blog episodes... however i have a feeling that i'll be meeting with my legal team and find some loop hole that will allow me to break my contract.

now, without further ado, i introduce to you my partner, malone evens.

---

This morning I woke up, an hour early for class, prepared to buy scantrons, get my morning coffee in attempt to stablize my mind and body, and study for an exam I had in my second class of the day. Everything was right on schedule. I only hit the snooze button once. I brushed my teeth, packed my notebooks, telephone, cigarettes, and Orbit "sweet mint" flavored gum with a large chunk of time left to cram the information on my flash cards into my brain. I thought, "no problem, great day!" I arrived at school, and started on my scantron mission still, right on time. I reached into my bag for my wallet, and after some frantic finger searching of the bag, all I could think to say was, "Oh, dick." It was now 8:45 am, and it was clear as day that my world was slowing crumbling down at my feet. I had to do something.

It was after this that I realized I had to make some sort of move, I needed money, and fast. I attempted to call a friend of mine, Sean Wray, to see if he could let me in his house to find my wallet. No Response. I already knew not to try to call Nick Sands because I was well-aware he wouldn't answer the phone due to him being in a temporary lack of sleep coma. Secondly, I tried calling M because I knew he would be arriving to school the same time I did and he is a man of luxurious tastes, so I figured he had $5 I could borrow. I was so desperate that I thought of him as my only hope even though I knew it would take me a half hour to get through the million questions he had to ask me concerning the reason behind me needing this money. "Are you trying to buy another crack rock, Malone?" he would ask. Then he would proceed to tell me I couldn't have it because he already spent it on his day's worth of groceries (two red bulls.) Finally I called my friend Nadine, I knew she would pull through. While waiting for Nadine, I sat outide of Pray Harrold chain-smoking and looking at my flashcards and a rude man from a frat asked me if I was from the country while he was playing Guitar Hero on his cell phone.

After convicing myself that Fiction 101 wasn't a necessity for the day, I went to the only place I could think of for some peace and quiet. (and by peace and quiet I mean, away from the Broseph asking me if my tattoo was in fact, a real tattoo.) I had boughten my scantrons and coffee, and still had ample time to study. "This is great," I thought "I should skip class more often, I save so much free time!" It was then, as I was browsing various websites, that I got one of the best ideas of my life...

"Let's start a blog!"
"I already have a blog, Melanie."
"I mean, let's do one together! We can write about things like the Honorable Cat poems, it will be great! Right? Hey! M! Are you listening? Wouldn't that be awesome?! M, are you paying attention to a single word I'm saying to you?!"
"Where are the trays? And where are the veggie dogs?"
"You aren't taking this seriously, this is a great idea!"
"I'll think about it, hold my tray for me so I can put the condiments on."

I knew then, that this was going to be big. After trying to convince me that smoking while at a drive through window wasn't rude, and throwing things much, much, bigger than a cigarette butt out of my car windows*, it was clear that me and M had the dynamic the blog world needed.
And here we are, starting a new journey in life together. After clearing my mind to let the inspiration in, mind clear, and all I can think is, "This is going to be a whale of a good time."




*please do not throw your Minute Maid ice cream containers out car windows, not even in Ypsilanti. And don't smoke while paying your parking fee. It's rude.

**please ignore the previous statement, as Malorie has no idea what she's talking about...not just because she's a woman.