Top 200!

I googled "Surach" to see if there was any porn named after me and found out that I placed in the top 200 for a screenplay contest I entered over a year ago, when I thought my life was going nowhere. I was right. I almost ate a rat for breakfast today.

I entered with a short comedy named La Poseure Preciouse and figured I was just a loser.

I was right, but only by 199. This is the proof. If you scroll all the way down and squint your eyes, you might see my name misspelled as Melisa Surach.

I'm now googling different permutations of the letters of my name in case anyone owes me money.

Google insisted I search for Melissa Crouch instead. I did and this is what she looks like:


We have the same complexion.

Every Friday in JC isn't JC Friday

But next Friday is.

This is what I'm doing. It's Art House's creepy variety show. I'm doing my creepy classical music/morbid joke set.

My bank account grounded me, should I eat my new dog?

Sorry guys. I can't go out anymore. I don't have any money.

And I need to go to the doctor soon before I get HPV and I think I have a melanoma wanna lend me $300?

I'm busy writing and getting new stuff together and practicing piano everyday, but I'm broke and unemployed. I'm doing a photo shoot with kittens this weekend. Doesn't that sound adorable? Can someone give me a grant for being Melissa?

How about Melissa food stamps? Stealing food from my parents makes them distrustful of me.

I hope you won't think any less of me for writing this post. Sometimes I get really depressed when I can't afford vodka.

I found a dog a few weeks ago (before Flower went to heaven). He was wandering around in circles peeing on things on the corner of Jersey and Newark. I snatched him up before anyone could stop me and named him Dirty.

His favorite foods are:
1. Rabbit Poo
2. Period Pads
3. Roasted Turkey.

He won't eat canned dog food, no matter how expensive or vintage it is.

Yesterday he had to get his second distemper shot and Dr. Kim, the cheapest vet I could find and who I think is only licensed to practice in Korea ca. 1955, vaccinated him for rabies twice.

Today, PSE&G almost shut my power off because, after ignoring them for so long when I DID have money, I've forgotten that I still have human bills.

I don't have any pictures of Dirty because I need to get my camera fixed, but he's a tiny little mutt. He's gray, and he looks like a puppy and an old man all at the same time.

He poos worms.

I barely have train money to get to New York. I wish I could poo trains.

:(

BlackHole is the only comedy show in Jersey City that you won't get shot at!

Comedian Donnell Rawlings was shot at after his set at Jordan's Fish and Steakhouse on Newark Avenue by David Murray, that crazy gun store owner, on May 3rd. I have proof!

The day before the attack, on May 2nd, my friend Kerri and I went on an 8-hour-long drinking binge. Five hours into the binge we went to the gun store, bombed out of our faces, demanding to play with guns.

After indulging us, we got a speech about rapists and a 4-page-manifesto on the 2nd amendment, by the NRA and Mr. Murray, about the right to form citizen militias, even if, in Mr. Murray's case, the militia is comprised by only one man.

THE ONLY SHOTS AT BLACKHOLE ARE OF CHEAP GRAIN ALCOHOL!

I hereby extend my invitation to Mr. Rawlings to stop by BlackHole anytime and get a shot on me.

So I didn't go to my first day at work. Does that make me a bad worker?

I decided not to employ myself and never went to work on Friday, which was my first day. It's not because I'm lazy, but because I am broke and couldn't afford a cute outfit for the first day, and also because I'm lazy.

My resumes are pasted below. Please feel free to hire me.

Despite my best efforts, I've been employed.

I got a job. The party's over.

Since all my pants disintegrated into long-legged thongs, which are inappropriate to wear to job interviews in this society, I had to wear a skirt.

I had to use depilatory creme because my hair was too long to be shaved off in a timely manner. This made me smell like burnt tires and my armpits started bleeding.

I don't really have any nice shirts, and I tried on several hideous outfits before I settled on the most stylish one I could find, which was from about 5 years ago on average, and cost about $15 altogether.

I thought that something was amiss when I was repeatedly sexually harassed, once by a cop, on the way to the interview. During the interview, the manager told me that he was hiring me based on my "look," and proceeded to describe what outfits I should wear on Friday and Saturday. "More conservatively than you're dressed now," he'd stressed, and I looked down and realized that I'd forgotten to wear a bra.

Sample questions on the application:

"What kind of grape is in a red Burgundy wine?" To which I replied "Concord."
"What is a CPR kit used for?"
"CPR"
"What is your worst quality?"
I looked at my pit stains, and wrote, "I can't seem to quit smoking."
"Why should we hire you?"
"I'm awesome."

He told me he'd yell at me if I put a fork crooked on the table.

Now I have to go buy new job clothes at Good Will tomorrow before I start. I won't even have time to wash them.

I HATE NEW YORK.

Poor Girl Pants!

I was on my way to a job interview the other day when my pants totally split across my ass and my butt cheek was hanging out. Even though I had time to go home and change, I didn't, partly because I enjoy being unemployed, but also because I had no other suitable pants. You're probably thinking, "Melissa, any pants with a butt would be more suitable than pants without a butt," but a lot of people think that my butt is better than my resume, and that's true.

I was on my way to a job interview today, in my best pants, and my fly kept going down and then I got a hole in the crotch when I was two blocks away from my house. I took this as a sign from the pants gods that I should not get a job, especially not at a chain restaurant in Times Square, and turned around and went home.

Should I have continued on to the interview wearing sweat shorts? Sweat shorts that kind of smell a little like two-week-old sex? Maybe. Maybe I should brag about getting laid at job interviews more, maybe then they'd think that I was cool and hire me.

Basically I wrote this to tell everyone that I GOT LAID!

Flower's Online Memorial Part 1: His illustrious, yet short-lived modeling career.

As many of you may know, my bunny rabbit Flower passed away last Tuesday, May 1st, 2007.

I first got Flower in a pet store in Montreal in early November of 2002. He was only 8 weeks old and $20 Canadian Dollars. He was a mutt, but mostly netherland dwarf, and he fit in the palm of my hand.

That first year we got into so many adventures together. He liked to dance around my feet and once he peed in my hair while I was sleeping. He was so small and his ears were so weird and tiny that sometimes people didn't believe that he was a rabbit and thought he was a disgusting rodent. RABBITS AREN'T RODENTS THEY'RE LAGOMORPHS! That means that their scrotums are in front of their peniseses.

Shortly after, I forced him into modeling for my various projects, just as I plan on doing to my children and the disabled people I plan on meeting in the future.

I was editor of Red Herring at the time, and I got him on the February cover.



Later in the year, for June's art issue, I put him in my Red Herring art photo essay.



I don't remember why I thought that essay was funny. Notice the stiffness of the layout--it's the publishing magic of Adobe Pagemaker, which was all the school's budget would allow us.

Flower and I would cross the Canadian-US border many times that year, as I took him home for American Thanksgiving, Christmas Break and Reading Week, or as I called it, Loving Flower Week. I graduated from McGill soon after and we moved back to Jersey City.

I thought that Flower needed to get laid, so I bought Flower a girlfriend and named her Butterscotch in November. This is a picture of Butterscotch from when I first got "her".



They got along very well the first few weeks. This is Butterscotch and Flower eating pellets and hay together from the same bowl.



At first, I was concerned about all of the face-humping, because Butterscotch was just a baby and had a tiny face, and I was grossed out when I had to clean their faces afterwards.

Six months later, Butterscotch went through puberty, and tried to kill Flower for the first time. Then I found out that Butterscotch was a late-bloomer and had to get neutered, and then they had to be separated for Flower's health. It was a relationship gone sour, and I couldn't help but blame myself for yelling at them and squirting them with a water bottle all those face-humping times.

For the upcoming GynoCult photo shoot, we chose Butterscotch to be the rabbit in it. Flower was just not as photogenic. His coat was camouflaged and he would fade into the background, whereas Butterscotch's pristine white coat meant he would die instantaneously if left outside, and was optimal for pictures.





However, I'd chosen Flower to make a Christmas card. These are some test-shots for Christmas 2003 or 2004. I don't really remember what year it was.







The most promising picture was the last one, but I ultimately abandoned the project because I thought that it looked like animal abuse.

Flower didn't model again until my calendar, which came out in January of 2007. I will post those pictures tomorrow, when I retrieve them from the computer at my old job.

Good Bye, Flower

Flower died last night. I buried him in Liberty State Park.