let's just say...

"I'm not sure what's worse, being hated or being ignored" -Cheeky*


*cheeky: insolently bold, impudent; also a kickass band from Long Island

here's the question...

why does popcorn have a higher caloric value when unpopped than once popped? This confuses me to no end.

So I read a little and have concluded...drum roll please...that I am still confused.

Since we are on the topic of microwave popcorn, I might take this opportunity to tell you that my new favorite snack to have at work are these 100 calorie popcorn bags. They are mini and adorable and, most importantly, delicious.

Hmm. I think I will bid adieu and go make some popcorn and watch Red Ridding Hood. I rented it yesterday and am excited because I quite fancy the lead actress. So adieu my friends.

limerence

limerence: is a term coined c. 1977 by the psychologist Dorothy Tennov, a neologism used to describe an involuntary state of mind which seems to result from a romantic attraction for another person combined with an overwhelming, obsessive need to have one's feelings reciprocated, a.k.a a crush

I apologize for the darkness of this picture, but if you squint you can see Ky as well as 4th of July fireworks in the background. I kept getting Ky in trouble because I challenged him to a spitting contest off the side of the BSU parking garage. te he.

Hey! Guess what? All my relationship troubles have been solved. While playing a rock skipping game on the Wii (side note, I kick ass at the space orientation game and some people, I'm not naming names, get a little too competitive...cough Tim cough cough) Jordan, a family friend's six year old boy, came up to me and asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend. Heck yes! So, news flash, I'm taken. Just ignore the 16 year age gap and things are golden. I love kids. They get a feeling and are confident about it, instead of cowering behind insecurities and leaning on mental crutches. Old people are like this too; they're unabashed. Damn it took some individuals that I know, again I'm not naming any names, two or more years of stringing me along until they finally backed down, afraid, or something. Shrug. Anyway, our friend has three boys (two 6 and one 5) and I'm pretty sure they all have a small crush on me, but this is probably because I buy them Silly Putty and apple sauce, and play light saber tag with them, and teach them how to count money and play slap jack. No actually, it's because if you minus the whole "being female" thing and shed off those 16 years, I AM a 6 year old boy. Case in point, I went to the lake this past Sunday with a new friend, Alisha and her girlfriend, and what happens? I make friends with the one unsupervised 4 year old boy on the whole damn lake. We compared scars and he built me a sand castle with hardwood floors and five bedrooms. no joke.

exterminate

exterminate: to get rid of completely usually by killing off

why are there beetles everywhere in my house? I am not okay with this. no one invited them. they were NOT invited! in an effort to extinguish the beetles, I bought a plastic iguana, but he has been ineffective at eating the beetles. this is either because he is plastic or because iguanas are herbivore. I'm not sure which.

Theodor the Iguana. I was going to take him to work, but he looks so content on my desk at home.

Seriously though, we finally got screens from our landlord, but the bug problem has just worsened. I always joke that someday the ants are going to take over the entirety of Boise because there are so many ant hills here-- one for every crack and crevice it seems-- but now, I think my comedy is turning into a deep and tragic reality.

praxis

praxis: practice, as distinguished from theory; accepted practice or custom.

Alby exaggerated the reach of her leg over the raft onto the pebbly river bank.  She slowly raised herself to her feet, lifted up her sunglasses, and leaned towards me. "Why didn't you tell me I was this drunk?" she demanded. I chuckled and told her that just because I am always DD, doesn't mean I am also required to monitor her alcohol intake.  She lovingly said, "oh, okay. I (emphasis oh I) didn't realize I was this intoxicated. I just thought it was the wavy river." Silly Alby.

Readers, if you have ever floated the Boise river sober (which most don't), you know that sobriety is always the most entertaining.  Every time I float the river, I always wish I had a camera or a little bird to back up the stories that I have experienced.  Cracks me up.  I spend the entire time laughing.  Drunk people trying to navigate a river on a small flotation device is the best kind of humor.

This time we went in the middle of the day and Shooter had convinced Tim, Alby, and Andrew that they were going to die in a tragic accident with a tangle of branches after a small (very tiny, almost non-existent) rapid.  Alby screamed, "FUUUUUUUCK! that's a huge rapid. We ARE going to die. Monique do something, you are the only sober person here!"  I took a sip of my Sprite, lounged back on my tube, and smiled evilly.  Then Andrew, his ego gets bigger with every beer, decided that he was going to move the entire tree and get us to safety.  Remember at this moment, I am calmly floating in the middle of deep green water, soaking in the tranquil sun...did I say calmly already?  Meanwhile, all four of them are in utter panic.  I lost it and started cracking up when Andrew got out of the raft, both hands up, and pushed the air to one side and then the other. "There guys, don't worry, everything is clear now." Fucking hilarious. I didn't even bother asking him what he thought he had just moved. I couldn't, I was laughing too hard. The rest of the float just got exponentially more ridiculous.

I'm at home now, aloe on my pink sink and the fan blowing on my tattoos. I drove everyone home safely without having to move any invisible trees. My burn will peel in a few days. But...it's worth it. I encourage you, if you ever have the chance, float the river sober and you will likely pee your pants. Wear sunscreen too. Actually, do everything sober, it's just better that way.  Everything seems more real and more genuine.

the straight dope

the straight dope: a popular question-and-answer newspaper column published in the Chicago Reader, syndicated in thirty newspapers in the United States and Canada; slang for the truth

question - can Monique have more than one rootbeer?

answer (a.k.a what i will tell you in order to trick you into giving me another soda)- sure, she's a grown adult and knows how to regulate her self on sugar

the straight dope (a.k.a what my family will warn you about) - no, in no situation, under no circumstance can Monique have more than two sodas, if it goes beyond two find a small safe place to hide and let the havoc ensure naturally, come out when all is clear and she has returned to normal

that being said...

they took me that candy store in Bown's Xing, I did not resist, but I did warn them what a horrible idea that was, (evil laugh)

I've had too much rootbeer! But if I recall my day correctly, I was bribed with flowers, set up with my bosses son, ate an apple sticker by accident, wrote a dear john letter, buried the hatched, played bingo and made sore snide commentary to the competitors surrounding me, kicked over a trashcan, made up a new word, and drove some wonderful ladies home in a far off mysterious land...also drove them a little crazy with my hyperactivity.  Drunk people and an extra hyper Monique make a good pairing, like wine and cheese. oh, and I now just took a quiz about which Muppet personality I am. Got Fozzie Bear twice and Kermit the Frog once.

That seems accurate.

 I don't know how to explain my reaction to sugar.  My body seems to be extra sensitive to, well, everything.  I pass out if given a half of a bendryl, half a benedryl people! Half!! I'm a lot like my youngest nice.  She is three and if you give her a piece of candy, in a matter of minutes she turns into a whirling tornado. The other day I made banana pudding, the southern kind, and after eating a cup (or two, don't tell my sister), she started to pump her arms in the air, making a wave like motion, as if she was charging up for what was to come. Once fully charged, she took off running toward the couch, pulled off the cushions and jumped over and back nearly 40 times.  She sang a few songs obnoxiously loud, my neighbors knocked on the door to ask if everything was okay, and then BAM! it hit her, the inevitable sugar crash and she was out. She might as well have been in a coma.  I carried her little curly and puffy pink self to the couch and let her sleep for the rest of the night. That's me, at 22, I still do the same thing, except with more crazy philosophical rantings.

Maybe there's a reason why people tell me I should never drink, and why I've been asked numerous times if I'm high.  Nope, not high people, I am not high.  These are just my everyday thoughts, this is just my normal crazy.  It will always be that way. You don't need alcohol to have fun, you don't need drugs to be crazy; that's what I'm gunna tell my kids. Te he.

p.s. I still owe Alisha a dollar for eating a raw macaroni noodle of the ground, she'll never remember considering the condition she ended the night in...

update - she remembered...

update Nov 2012 - I still have yet to pay her ;)

regret

regret: to feel sorrow or remorse for

With confidence, I have little to no regrets in my life.  I honestly understand; live and let live, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, no use crying over spilled milk. Frankly, there's a reason why I have the following tattooed on my body...

"the weight is a gift"

However, every now and again there is that one fleeting moment that I wish I would have done differently.

12;10pm. Ten minutes late for my lunch break.  The bright orange gas pump light on my dashboard blinked with indignation; I had neglected it for far too long.  So, we, my car and I, made a trip to the Shell station on Federal Way. Begrudgingly I got out, forked over my debit card, and shoved the pump into the tank. The day was bright, washing everything in yellow.  I put on sunglasses and tapped my foot, waiting impatiently.  I looked to the right and in pulled a small cloud of sunshiney dust. The cloud stopped, the dust settled, and an old Ford pickup materialized. Out came a man, a very handsome man, unconventionally handsome. He smiled at me, shook out a card from his wallet, and shuffled into the store. He was wearing slippers and eating a sucker. Not sure that even matters, but it was half the reason I smiled back.  For the first time, in a long time, my heart stopped.  I didn't die, obviously, for it was only a moment.  A moment during which I thought to myself, "post-it-note + my phone number + gorgeous old ford truck + cute guy = ...hmm?" My mind was ticking, percolating even.  Then the gas pump clicked and demanded that I answer that stupid question about whether or not I wanted a car wash when there isn't even a car wash at that gas station. I sunk back to reality, chicken-ed out, and got into my car.  As I was driving away, I pounded my head on the steering wheel and said aloud, "stupid stupid stupid."  I should have given him my number.

Sounds silly, huh?  Yeah, well I don't get "butterflies in my stomach" often, so when I do I trust my gut.  Remorse, yes a little. Regret, certainly.

And to you, Mr. Gas Station Man, wherever you are, whoever you're with, they are lucky to have your company.  Especially if you are generous enough to give them rides in your pick-up.

I want a truck. And a man (well that's complicated, but when push comes to shove, sure why not). Two for one would be most ideal.

p.s. did I tell you about the old rusty black Chevy pick-up that I see on my walk to work every morning? I pass swiftly with envy. If only I owned that truck.  It's parked across the street from that sing shop on Highland. Looks a little like this...

but with more character, sits low to the ground and everything!

superannuated

superannuated: too old for use, work, service, or a position; antiquated or obsolete


I spent my weekend restoring this antique chair that Alby and I found for $15! I mended two holes in the leather, put in all new backing, and refinished the wood in the same dark tint. I'm quite proud of my accomplishment, not to brag or anything. There really is something deeply gratifying about bringing new life to old things. In the same trip to find this chair, I also acquired a beautiful yellow glass-wear piece and a few old postcards from Atomic Treasures and Once Upon a Time respectively.

on my mind...

past week = stressful, life = stressful, being me = stressful...I'm often the root of my own problem.

Anyway.

roller derby = not stressful...I went to practice this morning and Cody asked me, "so are you excited to draft?" AM I?! am I? Oh ho ho, yes, yes I am. At this rate, my goal is to be bouting with TVR in September :) big giant toothy grin.

I'm not sure I have the words to describe it. Roller derby is so much more than just a hobby or a sport. It's a way of life (I swear I didn't join a cult, pinkie promise). It renews you in ways you never knew you needed rejuvenation. Take for example Tim. She's a league skater with TVR in her early thirties who recently had a stroke (not more than two weeks ago, cross my heart) and what is she doing now? Skating. Fucking SKATING! Two weeks ago her entire left side of her body was paralyzed and now she's back on skates, spinning circles to the left! Crrrrrazy. Derby is a magical, powerful thing that will make you teeth show and your heart melt. (My apologies, I got a little gushy there at the end, but it was justified, I'll play this game until I have to amputate a leg).

p.s. here's a documentary about Rose City, where I skated before. My favorite part is the scene in Voo-Doo where the rule of roller derby are explained using doughnuts <3

http://www.hulu.com/watch/256440/brutal-beauty-tales-of-the-rose-city-rollers

cop out

cop out: an idiom which means to avoid taking responsibility for an action, fulfilling a duty or meeting expectations

I'd write something terribly witty and insightful, but yeah, I have no excuse. I'm just lazy, or maybe tired, seeing as the time on my clock reads 3:47am. So I'm going to take the path more traveled and just blog my current life in pictures. I'm sorry for the cop out.

Essentially, I moved to Boise and got a job...and then another job...

I learned, once again, that some people are just crummy and will always be crummy, end of story. This seems to be a reoccurring lesson in my life, but it never soaks-in. Maybe I just have an overly sentimental heart. Anyway, I'm letting go, accepting that it's just been too much for too long. It's not my fight to fight anymore. I'm not sure I can muster the energy anymore. Oh resilience, why do you cling to me? I want to be happy, I sware (although at another time in my life this answer would have been different, no more wallowing) and with just one more push I'll be too apathetic not to be happy. what do they say ignorance is bliss, well apathy breeds happiness :/


anyway, as promised, I cut my hair on the very day that I didn't think or freight about the aforementioned heartbreak for the first time in what seems like the longest time...


and now I skate roller derby a super duper lot, and wash wheels instead of dishes, and buy tank tops that read "silly boys, trucks are for girls" (trust me, if you play roller derby this is hilarious).


and I walk to work or ride my bike most days, along the way I sometimes see something that makes me chuckle, like this bumper sticker...



The world would be a more bearable place if more people followed this statement.
I eat a lot of cereal too... in the big bowl.

and listen to the music Nick gives me...

and sometimes, I even hang with my sister and brother-in-law and we go to Hastings, poke around, only to rent and watch a really sad movie about love called Blue Valentine from the red box (it's right up there with "I Am Sam" and "The Land Before Time." I was depressed for like a fucking week after each of these movies, no joke).

oh and, my sister often orders for me at restaurants. She says, " 'scuse me, sir, is this gluten free?" She says this because I was recently diagnosed with a wheat/gluten allergy. More on that to come later. Promise.

oh and, this is going to make me seem like a bad aunt for not posting news of this sooner...but my sister Jessica had her third, a boy named Dean Derex Lee, two middle names. Who doesn't love a man with two middle names?! Weird. I have a nephew. We don't have a lot of men in our family, so this is new.

epistolary

epistolary: novel is a novel written as a series of documents. The usual form is letters, although diary entries, newspaper clippings and other documents

Books! They are everywhere. Slewed across my bed; piled high against my walls; tangled into my carpet; forming small islands and miniature skyscrapers, reaching higher and wider into the infinities of my living space and my imagination. This is my way of complaining that I own way too many books. It took five boxes and two bags to move them all. They now sit brashly around my room in messy stacks, ostracized without a bookshelf. Funny though, I find I’m making it through each new read more rapidly, what with the break from school and the urge to organize this disorganized soup of books. It’s like I’m slooooowly building a large tower of Lego’s in the corner of my room; I read a book and then stick it appropriately where it fits on the stack. One day, I plan to have a fort, no better yet a castle made of books.

Anyway, I digress. I’m not much one for writing book reviews, but my two recent novels (plus the end of a third) reminded me why I read. They’re not necessarily page turners, and they certainly aren’t very hefty (both weigh in under 200 pages, except for the third), but what some may say they lack in action, adventure, and attention, they make-up for in an effortlessness to be relate-able and yet completely foreign. If these two concepts seem contradictory, well they are. However…I am consistently and infallibly bemused and therefore captivated by this combination. Okay, so these past two and a halve-ish books have reminded me that I adore reading because it’s like being inside someone else's head, seeing from eyes you’d never get to see from if you limited yourself to just your own perspective. OHHHH. MAAAAN. This carries over into some many faucets of life and living and experiencing reality. Take for example Prisig’s explanation of reality in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (the third book I read). Prisig explains that we are always living in the past and we never really exist in reality, unless you are suuuuper good at being aware of things before you intellectualize them and imprint them as memories; before your brain filters out the Reality (capital R, if it even exists) and turns it into your own personalized version of reality (little case r). Reading is a glimpse into other individuals’ little r realities. If you, yourself, get a change to read either of these books (The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Apathy and Other Small Victories- which Nick gave me for Christmas) I highly recommend them. The first is about a schizophrenic high school-er in the early 1990’s, whose way of thinking is uncanny and deeply familiar. I’m not saying I’m schizophrenic, but the main character get’s these bouts of deep depression that are brought on by an over abundance of thought, and well let’s just say, I’ve been there, done that. And as for the second book, I’m still reading it. But so far I’ve never found another book that parallels my sense of humor quite as well as this Portland author’s quirky commentary. Perhaps my favorite line is, “this”

p.s. Julie and I were talking about remembering the book that got us into reading. I have two. James and the Giant Peach, as read by my step-dad Dave when I was in the third grade. And Regarding the Fountain, perhaps the best epistolary novel ever written for children!

damn, I loved this book. I think it was the first chapter book I ever read twice too!

on my mind...

big girl job-like things.

Today, on my first day as a Technical Records Specialist 1 for the Idaho Real Estate Commission, I learned that although they seem synonymous, "standard" and "basic" are actually quite different in meaning.

I also learned that I basically get paid a competitive wage plus benefits to listen to music all day. Ha! No, there is more to my job than that. Lots of little things to learn for now, but I am a fast learner and am catching on quickly.

Oooooh. AAAAnd. Gill agreed to decorate my lunch box for me! For those of you who are unaware, Gill ='s tattoo artist, friend, fellow NOFX connoisseur. I asked for a character of Fat Mike, but we'll see what I get.


My supervisor and office mates gave me a large bag of chocolate...I think I"m going to like this job :)