noel

noel: old English for Christmas; from the Latin phrase nātālis (diēs), "(day) of birth"

It's that time of year again when I watch White Christmas back to back 8 to 9 times and stay up 24 hours baking a shit load of cookies. Merry Christmas!

Never get's old!

Yesterday, I helped Highway put up x-mas lights. We don't have a latter, so I found her shouting to me, balancing on the fence trying to scale over the rain gutter. Bad idea. So, after an admonishing look from me, she got down and we called Candyman (derby announcer, lives near by), he loaned us his latter and bam!  Lights are up, looking sharp and sparkly.

These past few weeks have been nuts, and are about to get even nuttier.  I have a lot of posts to catch up on...those probably won't happen until after this weekend.  Why, you ask?  Well long story short this weekend there will be baking of a dozen or more holiday cookie recipes (I've recruited Gill for help), Raggedy's party, the wrapping of all presents, and Jesse's capstone dinner. Then on the 19th I'm headed home.  Weirdly, I've been feeling homesick for the sound. So visiting Oly should be a good remedy.

responsiblity

responsibility: adult shit

Just waiting for my car's oil to be changed. You know, being a "responsible adult." Something about hot coco makes everything seem so much bearable.

servile

servile: having or showing an excessive willingness to serve or please others

I think some folks (mostly fatherless women, in my not so humble opinion) are conditioned to be servile. Motivated by a fear of abandonment, they equate or at least correlate doing with receiving. There exists this inner dialog, "If I give, I will get."  And yet life is unfair; we don't live in a tit-for-tat world.  These lessons can be known, but not learned for most.  Perhaps, myself included.

That being said, I've been sitting on these poems for awhile now. Timid to share them, I decided first to read one to my sister.  She cried.  So, now seems like the time.  They come from not only my own experiences, but also those of my sister's, my mother's, my grandmother's, my girlfriends, and from the women authors and comics I've grown to love and loathe for their own honesty.  Now I give you mine.

--

Evolution of a Whore

I would have loved, I would have grown
I would have listened, I would have respected 
I would have held your hand, I would have kissed your lips
I would have been there, I would have missed it
I would have driven far, I would have been late
I would have talked, I would have learned
I would have helped, I would have believed
I would have moved to Maine, I would have tried to understand
I would have trusted, I would have let go
I would have had patience, I would have settled for less
I would have inked, I would have entertained
I would have married, I would have dressed our babies in superhero Halloween costumes
For you, I would have
But now I dress in sluty costumes, and let you fuck me in the ass
I've change, I've compromised myself and reshaped my desire for you
You could have, but I already did
If only you had been there for me, sober, unconditionally
If only you had been there for me bravely, honestly
If only you hadn't gotten drunk and high, hit me, buried me, ignored me, tormented me
If only you hadn't cheated on me, cheated off me, fooled me, disrespected me, given up on me, underestimated me
If only, I would have

--

Ferris Wheel

ferris wheels are funny
romanticized, honey
sitting on that swinging bench
to your biceps, I did clench
your face was elated
too soon to be berated
skin dotted with freckles
too thin for my sarcastic heckles
love is like g-force
it runs a rampant, intense course
not listening to my instructions
you threw up after that ride with all the suction
spinning round and round
your weakness, I did found
your hypocrisy was blind
when a stranger commented in the ticket line
"you two make such a cute couple"
If only I'd known I was looking for something more supple
no longer will I give out
my benefit of the doubt
without courage to pay the cost
it's your big fucking loss

--

To every fatherless woman that has ever had her heart broken, keep giving. You may never get, but you are beautiful for such generosity. Don't shut yourself off, you are the grace that the rest of the world takes advantage of.

quotidian

quotidian: of or occurring every day; daily; ordinary; mundane

I've started doing this thing with my nieces where I ask them what the best part of their day was.  Mad (Madison, 4) hasn't quite grasped the concept. The activity just fuels the fire of crazy and illogical that she has already judged me to be, regardless of my numerous  and very logical explanations. Take for example, yesterday I came over in the morning to watch the girls and Dean while Jess went to the doctor for a sinus infection. I was fishing all the marshmallows out of the lucky charms box while Mad was staring at me sleepily in her footed pj's. Our conversation went something like this...

Me- "What did you do yesterday, Mad?"

Her- "Nuh-thing."

Me- "Well, if you had to pick one thing, what was the best part of your day yesterday?"

Her- "Moneeek! But I didn't do anything yesterday."

Me- "You didn't do ANYTHING! Not even breathe or blink?!"

Her- "Pretty much."  Grabs a handful of marshmallows and tromps away.

Lol. Four-year-olds are my favorite people.

Ry (Ryleigh, 9) on the other hand loves this question. Her answers are usually saturated in elementary school friend dramatics and shaped by a change of heart every couple of seconds.  Our conversations sometimes lead to serious life realizations, the kind that you wish their hearts would never have to weather. For example, the other night we went to the pumpkin patch (pictures below) and Ry told me that her favorite part of the day hadn't come yet.  She was excited to carve the pumpkins.  It was late and I knew full well that we weren't going to carve pumpkins.  She teared-up.  Jess and I had to explain to her that disappointment is a huge, gigantic part of life, and that just because she's going to feel it form time to time, she shouldn't let it impede her from having hopes and getting excited.  Both Jess and I grew up with a lot of disappointment in our lives, to the point where it hardens you, turns you into a zombie (no Halloween pun intended), and it hasn't been until recently that we've both learned to be vulnerable to disappointment again. It's the scary shit (sorry, so many Halloween words up in here) that counts.  What's the phrase, go bit or go home.  Corny, but true.  You'll never accomplish anything if you live in fear of disappointment. I think it was Escher that said, "Only those who attempt the absurd will achieve the impossible." And that takes strength. Now only to get myself to fully live that.

Anyway, this questions is working to bring more presence into our lives. I ask both the girls and myself, helps me climb out of the pessimistic shell I can cower beneath. Focus on what I find good and alluring.

 

Dean think that headbands can be worn like sun glasses

let's just say...

What was cold, is now hot again, or is it still cold? Apparently, giving space leads to stronger feelings, but then those feelings turn right back around and decide they still need space. This is all sounding too familiar.  Like pulling teeth. I get it, I freak you out...but only on weeks that end in even numbered days? Fickle.

-AND-

Inconsistency drives me bonkers.  Sometimes I just let it run rampant and end up flopping around on the floor seizing in my own anxiety, despite the roommate or the best friend telling me to calm the eff down. Lol. I'm glad you all can find humor in my dramatics, I'm trying to do the same these days. You're such great friends. <-- not sarcastic

-AND-

I'm bloody tired of walking on egg shells. I promised myself the last go around that if I felt this way, I would cut my losses...

Wouldn't it be nice if it were that easy?

smitten

smitten: marked by foolish or unreasoning fondness; past participle of smite, which means to strike with a heavy blow

Dear Deb at Smitten Kitchen,

You read my mind. Making these tOdAy!!! pumpkin cinnamon rolls.

Okay thanks and lots of xoxo's,

Monique

p.s. if any one want to get me the new Smitten Kitchen Cookbook, I would be all up on that. Did someone say Christmas?

a-go-go

a-go-go: of, relating to, or being a disco; being in whirl of motion; being up-to-date — often used post-positively

a-go-go

Do you ever feel like you're sitting, when in fact, you're standing

I bought five books today

I do not feel okay

Zig-zags in my ears

Sounds all around

Too bad about your dad

Furious fad

Why do you think we rationalize

National ayes

Natural  eyes

I bought mauve mascara today

I seriously do not feel okay

Why don't we celebrate?

To myself, instead, I 'm inclined to berate

Pity party

Perpetually tardy

p.s. got a job at Whole foods, found out that public/community libraries are super competitive to get hired by. Apparently everyone and their mother has an MLIS. Shrug. Shrug. Shrugity, shrug shrug shrug.

blight

blight: infect, destroy

You know what clears a blighted head and heavy heart? A damn good concert and lesbians! Alicia, her new girl, and I went to Tegan and Sara at the knitting factory last night. It was nothing short of magical. I adore Tegan and Sara in a way that nothing can crush or diminish. Seeing them play live was soul renewing. I'm a little horse this morning because I shouted all the words to all the songs. But it's a small price to pay. What good fun. And the band that opened (Speak) were pretty darn decent. All I did was dance, dance, and dance again. There was a shit ton of dancing. So much dancing. Good gawd, I do love dancing. Horrible at it, but I love it. Much like golf and most things in my life.

pray

pray: to address a solemn request of thanks to a deity or other object of worship

My Uncle Danny told me recently that, "Some day there will be a time in your life that you will bow your head to pray."  Danny isn't a particularly religious man, but he does feel that no matter what your faith may be, there will come a time that you ask something greater than you for help.  I am skeptical of this-- mainly because there have been a lot situations in my life that one might see worthy of prayer, and yet prayer never helped, so eventually I gave up.  Asking an invisible friend or pandering to a dogmatic belief in nothing isn't going to help your crapy situation, and well, seems kind of selfish.

Thinking this way has made me a little pessimistic. Well, let's be honest, a lot pessimistic.  What I often forget though is that prayer without a deity comes in a very different form...prayer without a deity is ACTION.  You make the choice to do something, to give someone a second chance, to fix a broken situation, to perceive things differently, to react in an ameliorable way.  You have control, well maybe not always, but you have some shred of control over your actions and perceptions.

So with this is mind, I have been thinking a lot lately about if I were to pray, what would I pray about, when would I pray for it?  So, wanna know the only situation that I could think of so far? You're going to laugh. It was during the drive from Boise to Idaho Falls for a roller derby game, our car left late and there was a good chance that if we didn't make it in time we couldn't skate. Speeding along the freeway, I was thinking to myself, "okay if I were going to pray, I'd do it now. Good Lord/Controller of Whatever, please help us make it to the bout on time, oh please, oh please help us." When if fact, it was Highway's led foot that got us there on time. Phew!

Crazy, huh?  True, but I'd rather practice prayer through action.  In the future, I vow to better see the choices I have in sticky situations, I vow to take positive action when/where I can, and above all, I vow to let go of the things that I cannot control and instead change my attitude.

mercurial

mercurial: characterized by rapid and unpredictable changeableness of mood; of, relating to, containing, or caused by mercury

I once vowed never to blog about my love life. Ha. Ha. Ha ha ha ha. Well, that ship has sailed! Now...

You all know that I've had flowers sent to me, breakfast made, but it's never really seemed as genuine as the past few weeks. Then BAM! Out of nowhere, we hit one speed bump and nothing, nada, zero, zilch.

Oh these mercurial signals, this hot and then cold behavior, they are hard for me to understand. I am, for the first time, angry at such a situation because no mater how much I think about it and about his reasoning and his situation, know matter how many times I've been through this before, I just get frustrated. Wish I could just snap my fucking fingers and fix everything, but the more I push, the more they pull, when pushing to me is just a small nudge of encouragement, it probably comes off as a giant shove.  Damn, I'm tired of walking on eggshells and being the one who has to be patient. 

Ha! I was over at Gill's house this weekend talking about all these sorted affairs and he echoed the rules that Nick made for me some four years ago...

1. If you see a man in uniform, run the other fucking way*
2. If that man says he isn't interested in punk rock, run even faster

that's not saying that military men are bad people, they've just been bad for me in the past.  Apparently, I make them feel things they're not prepared to feel, that's the best way I can describe it.  Woah, that makes me sound bat-shit-crazy. Shrug.

Anyway, funny thing, yesterday I was talking to Amy at work. Just chit-chatting away, when she started talking about this guy she was seeing. She said that they had been casually dating for about three weeks in August and that things were going great...they had a marvelous time together, grant it he seemed a little clingy (sent flowers, made her picture the backdrop on his phone, introduced her to his fam and friends, called her "his girl" all in the first two weeks), but she gave him the benefit of the doubt and plugged right along.  When out of the blue, he stopped talking to her completely! Just plain old gave up. Lol. I chuckled and asked if perhaps we were dating the same guy. We weren't, but it's nice to know that other people are passengers in the same shitty boat. Misery loves company.



Moral of this sorted affair, "I'll bring home the bacon if you bring home the turkey." Please be patient with me, and I will reciprocate, trust me when I say I need consistency and will never be anything short of real with you, even if you end up running in the other direction, hands failing in the air, and I'll trust that you might return to my life. I guess I'd rather love with everything I have, be scary vulnerable, than tuck my tail between my legs and hide behind a cold shoulder and "picky-ness."

heteronomy

heteronomy: refers to action that is influenced by a force outside the individual. Immanuel Kant, drawing on Jean-Jacques Rousseau, considered such an action nonmoral. It is the counter-opposite of autonomy. Philosopher Cornelius Castoriadis contrasted heteronomy from autonomy in noting that while all societies create their own institutions (laws, traditions and behaviors), autonomous societies are those in which their members are aware of this fact, and explicitly self-institute (αυτο-νομούνται). In contrast, the members of heteronomous societies (hetero = others) attribute their imaginaries to some extra-social authority (e.g., God, the state, ancestors, historical necessity, etc.). (From Wikipedia)

in other words, what society thinks is "normal."

Normal. Uck. There's a word I loathe.  For a long time I tried, even longed, to be normal, but after so many situations gone awry, I finally decided that heteronomy is not really my cup of tea. I enjoy self autonomy too much...or maybe I'm just too crazy to fit into the conformations of the masses.

That's not to say that I'm wildly different than other people in my community, our society.  It is to say, however, that I have a little more courage than most people, courage to be genuine and unabashed, even if it goes against the grain.

So, the other night at work, Macy's, a little boy of about 8 years of age came up to the counter with his mom and started talking about his life goals. Love it! He asked me to ask him what he was going to be when he grew up, so I asked and what did he say?...he said that he's "going to do Scentsy!" Double love it! In a world where selling home candle warmers falls on the woman's side of heteronormativity, it's refreshing to see a boy justify wanting to work in such a profession.  He went on and on about how his aunt sells Scentsy and how you can be your own boss and how he loves all the different scents and wants other people to love them too. The best part of this was that his mom seemed supportive and proud...grant it he's only 8, but still I think the world needs more people to encourage autonomy, even in the face of adversity. So right on! March to the beat of your own drum.


The one thing I wish I could have told that little boy is that sticking with his unique courage to be unabashed will prove difficult.  People will right you off as crazy, people will even pull away from you because what you stand for, what you like, think, and feel makes them uncomfortable.  These people will break your heart, will let you down, and might even bully you. I have firsthand experience.  Don't let it eat at you.  Being your own person, thinking for yourself is a scary and courageous thing.  Stick with it and you might just reshape heteronomy a little, making it easier for future generations.

Speaking of Scentsy, look at the adorable warmer I bought! 

wend

wend: to direct one's course; travel, proceed


Mike, his dog Lennon, and I went hiking on one of the ridge to river paths Sunday morning.  It was breathtaking. We wended up the golden hills.  Never gets old, having such gorgeous nature just minutes outside the city. We went to Addies for breakfast afterward.  And as delicious as my corned beef hash was, I would have rather stayed up in the foothills for the rest of the day. I wish I had taken my phone or camera just so I could capture the view. I stole this one from another blog...

Beautiful! You can see the entire city <3 Next time, maybe we'll bike it.

space

space: a continuous area or expanse that is free, available, or unoccupied; a cowardly request when shit gets real...

Trix are For Kids
 
Silly Rabbit, happy endings are for people who deserve them

Silly Rabbit, good things like fathers and the ability to digest ice cream are for people who matter

Silly Rabbit, people like us, we get psychotic breaks before the age of 30, susceptibility to abusive relationships, and the ability to wallow in self pity

Oh Silly Rabbit, when will you ever learn

Start hopping fast, because you're burning all your bridges even faster

daze

daze: (verb) to make unable to think or react properly; stupefy; bewilder

There have been few, if any, "stand-still" moments in my life. Perhaps, I experienced the first just this past week while in Winco. I was getting groceries, buying oranges, mixed nuts, Reese peanut butter cups, bobbing along in my own merry manner.  Caught in thought, whizzing down the laundry detergent aisle, nearing the end of regimented plastic Tide bottles, my intuition knew before my senses could perceive defeat and overwhelmedness.  In front of me was a man embracing a woman, the woman had a scarf around her head, no eyebrows.  She was a chemo patient, cancer had taken her life and emotions and turned them tipsy-topsy. I can't tell you for sure what the hug was about, but I do know that it was a hug of sorrowful solidarity, a hug of mutual exhaustion. When I saw them there, my world stopped spinning, everything frozen in a daze.  Stupefied, I just stared.

manifesto

manifesto: a public declaration of policy and aims, esp. one issued before an election by a political party or candidate

When did it become an undesirable trait to have your shit together at a young age? Or to be intelligent. To use big vocabulary words and know their meanings. To think philosophically and be open to new ideas? When did it become a bad thing to be genuine and unedited.  To dress provocatively, but still be classy. To live with intensity, to feel and think with wholehearted and full-bodied emotion and reprise. To be yourself? I don't know, but these are questions I keep asking.

Hi, my name is Monique, but you can call me Lemon or Mo'$ or Meekers.  I am one fucking crazy, intense, educated, beautiful, emotional, real bitch. I call out hypocrisy and bullshit, I cry over crap that is important to me, I am sarcastic until the point of being a douchebag, I curse a fuck ton, I am a dirty, yet elegant, whore. I over think everything, I listen to my music too loud and ask too many questions, I jump to the worst conclusions and say that I don't like hugs or shrimp when I really do, I seek out organized chaos and rampant zen. I am not a follower, I make my own path, even if that means the risk of foolish and painful failure. Upon meeting me, you will think that I am quite, demure, reserved, a perfectionist. This is true some of the time.  I value and work towards balance. Upon knowing me, you will think that I have lost all my marbles, and have a marvelous natural high.  So long as you show me respect and consistency, trust that I have a good reason for everything, and be your true self, I will reciprocate. Also, bribes of sugar and sparkles wouldn't hurt.  If I give a big enough shit, I will be nothing short of genuine, loyal, honest, and sweet to you.  But you have to tell me if/when I am being a fucking intense cunt. Lol. If you want to know something or have anything to say, just ask, just speak, I will listen. I will not compromise myself, but I can be fiercely flexible. I am the storm before the lull, and this is my manifesto.

let's just say...

I cannot sleep, so I am (attempting to) bake bread.

No joke. This is happening!

Update, two hours later: bread turned out more like a glorified biscuit or flavorless muffin, but if I have learned anything at all in this short life of mine, it is that everything warm tastes good with butter on it!

I may have made whipped cream too...this was a mistake. So, one failed (wheat free, mind you) bread recipe and a bad tummy ache from all that lactose and sugar later, and I am still wide awake. Rosco (our small yorkie) on the other hand is looking at me sleepily, "like WTF, bitch?  We are supposed to be sleeping right now. This makes no sense."  Bless his little heart.  I should probably clean up the kitchen and try to get to sleep one last time.

sweet dreams? If you can have them.

I should change the name of this blog, to "shit an insomniac girl writes at 3 am in the morning."

second update 9/13/12: Sweet success is mine! I tried my hand at the bread recipe again and all went perfectly! It tasted so delicious I ate both loafs in 48 hours!! Lol.

yum!

foreshadow

foreshadow: a warning or indication of (a future event)

False Foreshadows

Your arms, tattooed tangles

My thoughts still mangled

Confidence embraces me

But maybe this isn’t the key

Lying here, pretending that everything’s okay

Not willing to spend the price these emotions ask me to pay

I can only see the end

Knowing, one day I might never see you again

let's just say...

let's just say...

don't test me, I will fail

all I really need is consistency

late night tv cures almost anything

anxiety

anxiety: a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome

Worry, worry, let it scurry.

I'm not sure where I heard this phrase first-- perhaps my Grandma, perhaps a Disney movie, both of which are big influences from my formative years. Regardless of the source, I wish the act were as simple as the phrase. It seems especially easy these days for me to go from 0 to 60 in less than a nano second; jumping to the completely worse and utterly most outrageous conclusion has become a true skill of mine.  It shouldn't be something that I'm good at, but I am and for surprisingly valid reasons.  And it sure shouldn't be something that the people I care most about have to deal with (sorry mom, sorry dad, sorry everyone I have ever dated), but lucky for them they get to sit there and try to tell me to "just breathe," when god knows this has and never will work.  Poor things.

Seems silly, but lately I've been using a tool called "the calm happy place."  When regulating breathing, counting, and rational thought fail me, I am to think of this place and it is supposed to ground me and bring me back to the present, away from these escalated, and quite frankly, ridiculous concerns of mine. It's sort of a classy way to say, "fuck you emotions!" So what's my clam happy place?  Well, I thought about it for a long time, but the one that works the best comes from a memory of clamming in the Puget Sound.  Muck-boots or weighters on, cold foggy air, tree-lined sky, early gray morning, eating a doughnut, pressing my booted toes firmly on the sand to see where each bugger has hunkered down and buried itself in the wet, murky water, sounds of light weaves crashing far off the shore, smell of salt and evergreen. This is my calm happy place.  Another one that works well is me skating on the smoothest and longest board walk ever in existence. Calm. Happy. Places.

Visit nataliedee.com!!

As a last hoorah, I will say that my emotional state has swung in vast angles of opposition over the past few years. Starting as an oak with branches rigid and stiff, ending as balsa wood, soft and weak, I am working to become a willow balanced, rooted, strong, but flexible, and just the perfect amount of tangled, complex, and messy.

So maybe it's less, "worry worry, let it scurry," and more, "worry worry, process it, react, calm down, be balanced."

Lol.

throw me a bone

throw me a bone: requesting encouragement, response, reward, reaction, or help

At first, I wasn't sure if I should title this post, "careful what you wish for" or "throw me a bone." And then these we delivered to my work...

thanks Josh!

I think it's safe to assume that sometimes, just sometimes I get thrown a super ultra magnificent bone, with the sweetest meat, and biggest proportions.

More on this later!

Update: So late late one night maybe a month ago I got this crazy whim to noodle on the internet, somehow I ended up on OkCupid, a free dating site, looking at a six two, adorable man's profile picture.  Said he was in the navy and I thought to myself, "Hmm. Guess I'll make a profile and see where this takes me." Mistake number one! Ha, I ended up talking to him (Navy guy) and a shit ton of other guys.  Damn near got 100 messages a day!!  So finally, I just picked the top ten and gave them all a first date.  Boy was that a crazy ride. Thai with Jackson, swing set with tall Mike, swimming with dimples Mike, lunch in Nampa with Chris, after practice chit chat with Jason, Friday night dinner with Peter, sushi with Van, Skype with Jarris, Harley ride with Seth, and last but certainly not least, breakfast at ihop with Josh.  Josh was the Navy guy I started this whole ordeal for, he ended up being the one I like most. Mistake number two :(  I quite fancy Josh, I do. I'm trying not to get too excited or make any expectations because so far we've spent a lot of time together and maybe things have moved a little too quickly. Dating someone new ha never given me this my anxiety before. Shrug.

on my mind...

dear brain and all your low dopamine, serotonin, and endorphin levels,

there really is no need to be sad in a world that has ska punk, ice cream, and roller skates.  Sometimes you forget this, so I thought I would remind you.

your crony,

monique


I don't own this content. No coprolite infringement intended.

bun in the oven

bun in the oven: slang for "pregnant"

...which I am not, thank gawd

hooray empty uterus

A handful of people in my life are pregnant right now, and it's driving me fucking nuts.  Truth be told, I can't stand pregnant people! I really can't. I've tried, I can't. That's awful, right? I'm an awful human being.  Well, seems as if there are others who share my frustrations. If I'm going to hell, at least I will have company.

The Truth about Pregnant Women

I must add to this wonderful article. If you plan to work while pregnant, there is no excuse to leave early and tell the rest of the office that you have a doctor's appointment when, in fact, you don't. This isn't just my hating-pregnant-people-b.s., this is you being an ass-hat while pregnant.  We get it! You don't have to explain one billion times that each pregnancy is different, and each person handles it differently.  Seriously, if you are going to make the commitment to work (or do anything actually) while carrying a fetus, at least be a tolerable human being. I was complaining about this to my own mother recently, and realized that she is a great example of non-douchey pregnant ladies.  She worked right up until two weeks before she had me, wore high heels, walked to work, didn't complain, didn't blame things on her "hormones." Go mom! Speaking of hormones, just because you have them doesn't mean you get to be a bitch to your husband/wife/partner, coworkers, and friends. These people are here to help and support you, but if you choose instead to treat them like shit, they won't be around for long.  Just goes to show that it takes a selfish fucker to have kids. I'm sorry if this is offensive, but it is how I feel and I needed to get it off my chest...because I'm pretty darn sure that punching a pregnant lady in the face would result in jail time and a restraining order. Blogging about seems to be a better option.

And I apologize in advance to the world if ever I am pregnant.  Actually, I give you permission to punch me in the face.  I will totally understand! 

catharsis

catharsis: the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions

My emotions are strong, but not repressed. Because of this fact, I found the time to write more mediocre poetry. I sincerely hope you enjoy.

Seedling

the green maple seed knows no sorrow
born crisp and alive
hugging tightly to branches of entirety
it cannot understand that it will brown soon
and fall to the ground tomorrow

it is attached, a full and confident extension of something that makes sense
unity

it is one with many
but like it's cousin, the lost penny,
the shock of self-identity and the responsibility of redefinition
bring grief and unwarranted power
for the fallen maple seed feels dead and knows deep sorrow

nothing can replace what it once lost
love

Applesauce

cherry picked
he's a dick
heart wrenched
thirst not quenched
flip-flopped
hat-topped
applesauced
we both lost
mish-moshed
squish-squashed

Fool's Gold

sometimes I write you
but then I throw it away
I am so foolish

Alliteration

really red roller skates
ravenous raccoons rumble
railroad Ringo Ranch

  

Teeter-totter

I'll pretend that you don't have a girlfriend, if you'll pretend that I'm not in love with you

I'll pretend that I am listening, if you'll pretend to be interesting

I'll pretend to be just like them, if you'll pretend to be normal too

I'll pretend to give a shit, if you'll pretend to be apathetic

I'll  pretend that I didn't see, if you'll pretend like it didn't happen

I'll pretend to be anything you want me to be, if you'll pretend that you have all control

I'll pretend not to be judgmental, if you'll pretend that you never cry

I'll pretend to respect you, if you'll pretend to have courage

I'll pretend that it's okay, we'll just be friends, if you'll pretend not to crush the people you walk upon

I'll pretend to care, if you'll pretend not to

I'll pretend that you are a figment of my imagination, a hallucination, if you'll pretend that you have no effect on anybody, ever

I'll pretend that I like relationships, so long as you'll pretend to do the same

Ode to my last relationship

girl meets boy
boy is coy
girl falls in love with boy
boy doesn't love girl
girl goes crazy
everything is hazy
girl gets sadboy gets mad
girl says goodbye
boy continues to lie
girls gets sucked back in
boy thinks he has the win
girl feels like she will drown
boy hides his frown
girl needs to move on
boy keeps running his con
girl pretends like everything is dead
quick, your draw
  

Blender

  rolling
        bowling soiling
    coiling
                                                                                   cold bold old
                                                      rolled
rolly polly molé            round
             frown upsidedown
                                                                                  drowned
                      in ice cubes           frozen fruit juice
               made fresh                                              I offer      just for you

let's just say...

Pomeranians are the cutest little fluff balls ever! Dee from Roller Doll Skates came to Boise a few months ago and brought her pompom.  The entire time, I berated her, "how much is your dog? Is your dog for sale?  Would you stop selling me skate gear if I stole your dog? OMG! Look at how adorable your dog is. Dooooogggie!" Poor Dee. Actually, poor anybody who has to put up with me when I see a cute animal. I extend my deepest empathy.

crestfallen

crestfallen: sad or disappointed, relates to the days of jousting, when the losing protagonist was knocked from his horse, along with his shield or crest

Get a hold of yourself!

This is a phrase I repeat often while laying sleepless, restless even, in my bed, 3am.  But tonight my chants against defeat were abruptly interrupted.  The night air whooshed into my room through the open window, forcefully blowing my feather weight curtains in a flurry, carrying the sound of gushing water, too strong to be a sprinkler. I was startled. Never before had I heard that noise on our street. Surely, this must be some sort of alien invasion! How can water just magically appear spewing out of the ground.  Okay, okay, so yes, geysers, hot springs, nature, I get it.  But through concrete and asphalt?  No way, Jose!  I shuffled to the kitchen, peered out the window, only to see a shadowy figure illuminated by the yellow street lights.  It was a man, a man from the fire department.  He had undone the hydrant to do some late night maintenance. Phew! My nerves subsided and I simply watched, listed, felt the cool aura of the water hugging my face.  It was almost pure zen, clearing my mind, calming my thoughts. And then BAM! Down the stairs stumbled my roommate and the dogs, baseball bat ready to swing, aliens ready to die. Gently, I explained to her what I witnessed, she drop the bat, and the dogs laid down.  together we watched, listened, felt the cool aura of the water hugging our faces.  It was majestic, allowing no room for discontent and crestfallen feelings, only glory and wonder.

So, thank you late night construction workers.  Tonight's sleep has been sponsored by you!

implode

implode: collapse or cause to collapse violently inward; utter or pronounce (a consonant) with a sharp intake of air

I haven't written a poem
or at least finished one
for quite the stretch of time
this is
perhaps
because all the poems
I'd like to write
start with
"fuck you"
and don't rhyme

I heard someone say
the other day
that all they want to do
is create
but I believe
creation leads to
mindless magistrates
people with no introspection
no intellectualization
no reflection
robots spinning webs of originality
but leading only to banality

what's the use in creating
if there exists no true reason
everyone, everything quickly becoming a leasion
what happened to self-indulgent compassion
to holy cows and dios mios

my life is lacking
heart self-attacking
I am imploding
this is implosion
what a shity ass feeling

revelation

revelation: a surprising and previously unknown fact; the making known of a secret or the unknown


I had a strange revelation tonight.  Well, less of a revelation, and more of a final clear understanding. Which is almost satirical considering it was explained to me, no unveiled rather, by a heavily intoxicated individual.  We were on our way home from Quinn's, a local bar in Boise that hosts our "post bout functions" for roller derby (a.k.a. after parties).  It was 2 am and I had successfully gotten my roommate, Highway, into the car without tripping or puking.  The streets were dark, except for the occasional ominous red glow of a stop light, or the flicker of a passing porch. The night air was rushing in through the windows, chilling my cheeks.  I was quite, Highway was sleepy, but chatting up a storm.  In her slurred speech, she started to talk about how our next bout is on mother's day weekend and how she was bad at mother's day.  "How do you mean?" I asked.  "Well I hate Mother's day, because I grew up with thousands of mother figures who all feel worthy of a card or a gift or a gesture."  Now remember, Highway, similar to me, was abandoned by a parent at a young age.  In the brief moment of silence that followed her explanation, everything clicked. The light in my head had turned green and I empathized, "yeah, as a kid who has been abandoned at a young age, you have to grow up quickly and as a byproduct adopt this mantra that the only person that cares or matters in your life is you...even if the other people in your life don't feel the same way." Highway nodded her tipsy head and replied, "It's a cold cold coping mechanism, but it sure as hell works, look at us, we're fucking amazing."  True.

Considering our lives, statistically we should have had a child at a young age, been addicted to some sort of substance, had an eating disorder, a gambling problem, or a number of other debilitating troubles by now.  But no, when you do things for yourself and by yourself, when you are your own world, you can accomplish a lot...like putting yourself through law school, like being the youngest historical records archivist in the inter-mountain west, like kicking ass at skating derby, like overall generally being amazing, beautiful, strong, confident, courageous, and intelligent women. I'm proud of who I am and know that I owe a large part of this to, well, myself.  Living life like this way is effective.  Individualism is fantastic means by which to protect yourself from disappointment and all the other shit life tries to through at you. It makes you resilient.  But it wasn't until tonight that I realized that individualism and resilience aren't always valued by other people, nor understood by them.  I have struggled to explain this to my mother, for example.  Through words, I couldn't ever tell her fully why I don't need/want any "help" or why I can seem "coldhearted" sometimes.  And surely, my "selfishness" and "intensity" have been an ongoing battle in every relationship I have ever had.  But now I get it, I understand why they don't understand.

So now the question is, do I change? Uh. Will I ever value codependency?  Or, do I simply need to come, prepackaged, with an asterisk explaining who I am and why I am the way I am. Ha! Like a tag with wash and wear instructions.  Best invention ever.

no use crying over spilled milk

no use crying over spilled milk: an English idiom meaning that dwelling on or being upset over past events is not productive

This is a silly idiom, like most idioms.  One that seems most silly considering the following post that I have been wanting to write for awhile now.

--

There is crying in derby.  Lots of crying. There isn't supposed to be, but there sure fucking is.  As a derby girl, you hear this idiom a lot.  You hear it while getting ready for a hitting drill, while huddled up after a shit-show jam, while in the locker room coddling an injury, while quelling your nerves before you face that first relentless whistle.  But don't let this phrase fool you.  Those words can be said over and over, repeated like a mantra, but they still won't change the fact that there is crying in derby.  In fact, some of my most beloved derby moments involve crying, and I'm not talking about one small tear, I'm talking about breaking down and flailing around on the floor like a listless fish.

The first time I cried in derby was the single most cathartic experience I have ever had in all my life.  It was scrimmage night, mid August.  Our practice space was hotter than fuck, I had just barely drafted as a league skater. Despite my novice skills, they jammed me three jams in a row. I back-blocked walls that did nothing but shut me down, stabbing me with hit after hit.  Determined, I kept getting up, and kept getting up, and kept getting up. When I finally broke through, the jam was called off and I hurled myself to the side of the track. Collapsing to my knees, I started bawling tears of release, tears motivated by that feeling of utter death.  I had given every fiber of my body to those three jams, all I had left to give were tears, so I gave those too.  A fellow teammate came over and put her hand on my helmet, "no more jamming for you tonight, okay?" All I could do was remind myself that this was emptiness I felt, I wasn't dying, I simply felt empty for maybe even the first time in my life. It felt amazing. Empty and amazing.  It was unlike any experience I have ever had.

The second time I cried in derby was after I broke my ankle during yet another scrimmage.  But these tears were not of pain.  In fact, they weren't even shed when the break occurred.  After I got hit into a concrete wall, my ankle dangling there, I knew I had broken it, but I didn't feel pain, I didn't cry. Instead, I convinced myself it was nothing, I was resilient, superwoman even.  No no, the tears didn't come until I was in the ER room the next morning and the doctor told me I would be off skates for at least four months. Nooooo! Fuck you, not four months, I would surely parish.  I cried in front of the x-ray technician, cred like a small child who just lost her desert privilege.  Worse, I cried like a grieving widow in anticipation for the guilt and depression that was building, only to crash like a giant tsunami.  How would I ever survive without skating for four months?  In that moment, all I could do was cry, anticipating the darkness.

Over the course of my healing ankle break, my tears of loss turned into tears of anger and frustration.  These tears sometimes return at the silliest of times.  I recall one crappy practice, when my ankle would not behave for the life of me.  No matter what I wanted to be able to do, my ankle was not ready, nor willing, and then is when I cried for the third time in derby.  I am still not completely heeled, so it is frustrating to desire a certain level of skating, to set standards for myself, but be limited by a crap-ass injury.  After practice ended that night, I had come off the track, sat down on the bench and stewed in my emotions.  Two of my teammates made a light-hearted joke, trying to converse with me.  I chuckled once and then started crying, angry. "Don't cry, why are you crying?"  My fucking ankle! "Oh. We understand. Cry all you want sister, but it will get better."

The fourth time I cried in derby was out of hysterics.  The kind of tears that come when you laugh so hard your stomach hurts and you almost pee your pants.  Actually, this has happened more than once, and I am sure it will continue to happen. Once was during a black and white scrimmage, I was jamming.  Sometimes when I jam, I get into these particularly sneaky and evil moods, were my strategy turns shady and I get a crooked look on my face, a look that can easily burst into maniacal and tear-educing laughter.  So, there I was, I had just broken through the pack, awarded the title of lead jammer.  The other jammer was hot on my heels and I knew that if she were fed back into the pack or if the pack would simply slow down, I could get one or two points and call the jam off.  So, what did I do, I yelled to the opposing team, "hold, Black! hold, slow down!" And sure enough, it worked! I came off the track, clam and collected. Then the other team's bench coach pointed out what had happened, and I damn near broke my face giggling, I was laughing and crying so hard, I fell backwards and my skate hit my ass.  Karma is a bitch, but at least I got two more points than the other jammer.

These are just a few of my own tears.  Ask any derby girl, she'll confirm that there is crying in derby, that she too has shed tear after tear. There are tears of joy, of sorrow, of anger, of triumph, of depression, of love, of damn near anything.  Crying is one element that makes derby so real, so powerful.  Without crying there wouldn't be tens of thousands of passionate women (and men?) out there, rolling around on eight wheels, kicking ass and taking names.  Fuck idioms. There is crying in derby. Fuck tons of it.

on my mind...

Earlier this week I was headed down Fort Street, past the VA hospital campus on my way to work, when I noticed an odd sign at the entrance to the Elk rehab facility and VA outpatient care. It was a large sign, a giant boulder actually.  Etched in stone it read, "The Price of Freedom Can Be Seen Here."  So here's a question, what idiot didn't think this through?  To me the underpinning message says, "look over here at all or poor, broken, decrepit veterans.  We have to fight wars and ruin all these peoples' lives and then give them shitty retirement and medical/mental health care in order to be free.  Aren't you proud to be an American?"  Bad choice in wording, I must point out.

Also, why is it that most contact sports are male dominated?  Hi, my name is Monique, I am a woman, I play a semi-professional full-contact sport.  I am not a delicate and rare bird, stop staring, and don't look so surprised when I tell you off for the following...I made my way out to Ice World to but a pair of waxed hockey laces for my derby skates at their pro shop.  When I got there, I went up to the counter and asked for a pair of yellows, and inquired about the difference between the red and white laces (they keep the laces behind the front desk).  The attendant (a male) answered me by saying, "well, what size skate does he wear?" Oh no you didn't! Snap. I squinted my eyes, raised one brow and told him, "first of all, they're for me and my derby skates, second of all, just when did hockey become a sport that only men play, and why the fuck would I be buying my man hockey laces? He can buy his own damn hockey laces. and who the fuck are you to answer my question with another question." Grrrr. I am woman, hear me roar.  Funny thing is though, at men's practice the following Monday, I told Luke this story and he didn't sympathize because he feels that the same thing happens to him as a men's derby player. It's a twisted world people, don't assume anything.

moxie

moxie: Force of character, determination, or nerve

Typically our two year old lab, Mender, has oodles of moxie.  He is strong willed, energetic, and determined to play fetch twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.  If you have ever owned a lab you know this quality I speak of.  And you know that when you do sit down to rest or avert your attention elsewhere, they whine, "plaaaaay with me, come on, play with me! Look I have a ball, and a Frisbee, and a rope! I can get the little dog if you want. Pleeeeease play with me. sad face. come on, just play with me. Oh, idea! play with me!!" This is extra true, until you are unpacking from a trip out of the state, and a melatonin tab escapes onto the floor...rolling...rolling...rolling...spinning round to a stop and whooosh, in dives Mender, licking up the tab. TRRRRRREEEAAT!

Oh no. So, then I shout to my roommate, "Mender may or may not have eaten a melatonin tab just now. Don't worry though, it's perfectly natural, it will just make him sleepy."  Sleepy, that's an understatement!  When it was time to go to bed, we reached the stairs and he turned and looked at me, his eyes said, "are you kidding me, I'm not hiking that huge mountain, I can barely even wag my tail." He turned to lie down right in that very spot, and instead, crashed into the garage door. Bang, his head hit, but he was too cracked out to even notice. We, yes both of us, had to push 80 pounds of tired up the stairs, lift him into bed and hear his snoring for hours.  Apparently, we learned this from doggie WebMD, melatonin is used as a sedative for pet with debilitating anxiety.

on my mind...

I've been actively trying not to fall in love, but I think it's slapped me in the face, again. I hate my heart.


Interview / The Hunger / Beat Your Heart Out / Drain the Blood
Live at Reading Festival 2004 HQ
BrodyDalle.Webs.Com

let's just say...

"and better isn't always doing well, I know because I am better now myself...I wish I didn't love you quite as much" -Wye Oak

There are two parts to the quote above.

--

First, I can't sleep, again. I got nearly 6 hours of sleep Friday night. Big f-ing deal, right? Unfortunately this means that awake will be my state for the next 72 hours.  This might also mean it's time to give Ambien a second shot. Uck.

Have you ever seen those sleep aid commercials with Abe Lincoln, an astronaut, and a beaver?  Their catch phrase is something practical like, "your dreams miss you."  Well funny thing about that is that I have determined the cause of my insomnia (or at least one of the main causes) to be avoidance of my dreams.  When I do sleep I have been having horrific nightmares about being trapped, chased, robbed, or murdered.  Come to think of it, I wrote about this in an earlier post.  Moral of the story is that your dreams may want you back, but you might not want them back. So, that ad campaign can suck it.  I don't know what it's going to take, but boy would I sure love to make a change in my sleep patterns and mental health, a genuine non-drug assisted change.  If I had dreams filled with Abe Lincoln, astronauts, and beavers (so long as they were not actively trying to hurt me), I wouldn't be an insomniac, guaranteed.

Hmm, guess the campaign won an award.

--

Second, some heartaches will last a life time, this I have decided from firsthand experience.

snowball

snowball: (verb) to increase, accumulate, expand, or multiply at a rapidly accelerating rate

Umm. This post started out as a small idea.  Three, four pictures tops. But instead, it has snowballed out of control. Not just a small snowball gently tumbling down the hill; this is a frinkin' avalanche and it will engulf you in your entirety. Prepare for it!

Before I scare you away, I should tell you the reason behind this post-- according to the Library of Congress March is national women's history month. In celebration, I knew I wanted to post something pertinent. But what? Well, in full disclosure I have these growing crushes on women musicians, so I decided to post a tribute of sorts to all the women musicians I respect and adore to pieces.  As I alluded to earlier, I thought this number would be relatively small. Again, three maybe four as most. Oh, no. I was ghastly mistaken. Apparently, I have a thing for girls with guitars and microphones. Go figure.

JENNY LEWIS (RILO KILEY)

EMILY HAINES (METRIC)

 

KIM SHATTUCK (THE MUFFS)

love, love, love, extra love!

WANDA JACKSON (GODMOTHER OF ROCKABILLY)

still going strong at 74

REGINA SPEKTOR

 

MIRANDA LAMBERT (PISTOL ANNIES)

NEKO CASE

KATHLEEN HANNA (BIKINI KILL, RIOT GRRRL)

ANNIE CLARK (ST. VINCENT)

DEBORAH HARRY (BLONDIE)

COURTNEY LOVE (QUEEN OF GRUNGE)

NATALIE MAINES (DIXIE CHICKS)

2 links! One with Eddie Veder, that's just how badass she is.

MIRAH

this video was taken at my alma mater!

MIA

you know, for some reason inner city British kids and I, we get along. Weird.

BRODY DALLE (THE DISTILLERS, PUNK ROCK PRINCESS)

If I could make babies with anyone, despite their biological sex, it would be this woman

 

I take no credit for this GIF, thanks for whoever made it!

that smile kills me, my heart just melts

TEGAN AND SARA

okay, okay, I cannot express to you enough how much I love these Canadian twins.  They are hilarious, and adorable, and like to banter in concert, and I highly suggest you stalk them on youtube. Seriously, people! Also, if you have a sister, you will totally understand.

"I gotta take my jacket off, I'm hot"