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

bobbery

bobbery: a disturbance or a brawl

Drunk Alby and Just-Woke-Up Alby are surprisingly similar people.

"Do you want to go Chrrrrristmas shopping?" I knew it. I had called too early in the morning. Damn. She was talking in that silly voice again, "Do you want to go Chrrrristmas shopping dear sister? I just ate an entire bag of biscotee. Do YOU want to go Christmas shopping with me, your beautiful sister?" Fine. Fine. I will go Christmas shopping. Stop asking. Grumble grumble. I am only do this to avoid the bobbery that would ensue, like being punched in the boob.

The rest of the day was spent receiving absurd looks from other customers and cashiers.  Apparently, we talk about not so normal things in the checkout line.  My favorite was, "I'm like 20% lesbian already, so I might as well work on it." "Makes sense to me." Nervous chuckle from our cashier.  We also texted Mom a cascade of random photos of random things in random places; a taste of her own medicine.  She secretly loved it though.  And if I hear the words, "What should I get so-and-so" or "What do you want for Christmas" one more time...

fire, death, destruction. All will be black. Quit asking me for Pete's sake!

Here, here, here you go, these are my favorite things, these are things I need:

1. Costco-sized bag of Gold Star Jasmine Rice

2. Boise Opera Tickets/Seattle Ballet Tickets, if you really love me you'd get me a season pass :)

3. Wax skate laces from derbysupply.net (better yet, a healed ankle, you can fix broken bones magically, right?)

4. Miscellaneous kitchen things that are M.I.A. (pastry cutter, basting brush, cast iron pan, tupper wear/lunch box that Gill stole from me/I keep forgetting to get from him, knife set, don't even ask me how I lost an entire knife set)
5. New blow dryer, curling iron (both died on me, in a tragic accident)
6. When in doubt, anything with sparkles, a pin-up on it, smells like lavender/ginger, or was made 50 years ago, headphones too. I can always use headphones and socks! I go through these the most in life. Well that and crappy boyfriends.
7. Actually, this is kind of fun. I also like big pearl earrings, ice cream, root beer, ice cream and root beer together, I believe they call that a "float," those sea monkey pets we used to get when I was little, Eddie Vedder's hand in marriage, Bonnebell cherry lip gloss, green apple gum, Lion brand yarn, purple inked pens from Paper<3<3Mate
8. Scratch everything, if you can't do the following, don't even bother with a gift

just kidding. Sort of. I would be content making cookies in your company.

I have even put some serious thought into what I will be attempting to bake. see subsequent post to come.

All said and done, I accomplished most of my shopping. There are stickers involved. Lots of stickers. You have been warned.

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 ;)

verve

verve: energy and enthusiasm

My niece cracks me up. We were rocking in a big leather recliner, playing with my cell phone and its phone-shaped cover. Just relaxing, mostly. When all of a sudden my niece decides to “call me” (note she is two and a half). I pick up the phone and we start talking. Then, she abruptly interrupts me and says, “Hang on Aunt Monique, I am calling my boyfriend. I need to go to my boyfriend's house soon.” So I say, “Pardon me” and politely hang up the phone. She then has a full on conversation with her “boyfriend”… but eventually calls me back. She’s like a mini person!

Update 6/17/2011: today my sister Jess brought her kids over to see my house and I was playing Polly Pocket on my bed with my nieces when I decide to ask Madison (the two and a half year old) how her boyfriend is doing. She turned to me with a forlorn look and sighed, “Oh you know. We broke up.” So I quickly changed the subject and complemented her on her newly pierced ears, “your earrings are so beautiful!” I said. “I know, thanks” she says. Ha!

robot voice

robot voice: visual definition below...

Nothing is more entertaining than a three year old with sticky blue popsicle lips, shouting "I am a robot" into a giant oscillating fan.

Mom and Dave came to visit this past week.  Jess and I took them, along with my nieces, to the Main Street Auction. I didn't buy anything except for a gaggle of popsicles and ice cream bars.

we had fun though!

Marine friends!

giant marshmallows

the boat had a sign on it reading "do not sit or stand," I helped them get in!

commencement

commencement: A beginning or start.

Am I the only one bothered by the fact that the name for graduation (or the completion of study) is "to begin?" Oh bother.

I am also bothered by the fact that my graduation robe looks a little like a trash bag. And what are all these cords for? Why are there so many and what do all the colors mean?

Well, I'll tell you. So I got a green cord for graduating with Latin honors (cum laude 3.7 GPA), and a gold pin for being initiated into the honors fraternity Phi Betta Kappa, and multi-colored ribbons for studying abroad in Ecuador, and a hot pink ribbon just for being awesome. Woah. Way to be vain, monique. I apologize, but a little bragging was necessary. Here are some picture form my college graduation:

I drew this

wanna talk outside my van?

library worker's senior dinner...makes me sound old

phi beta kappa ceremony

apparently it was my goal to look as creepy as possible while packing

Les bois!

les bois: French for the forest, Boise, ID nickname in "the city of trees"

I spent spring break in Boise. It was...strange. The family stuff was normal and a healthy break from my thesis and the dreary Portland rain. We played Playstation Move. My obliques are sore. I'm hooked. I ate dinner at the Olive Garden with my sister Jess. Bread sticks and talking about ozzy osborne make a surprisingly entertaining combination.

But the other stuff was oddd.

I had a date with Gill (my tattoo artist). such a clown, that man is. We ate falafel (for Gill this was exotic. te he.) and we agreed that I will, from now onward, keep my eye out for a morbidly obese cat or a dog that's missing a leg (apparently Gill has a preference for the right front paw to be missing, oddly I don't find this preference weird at all, totally understandable).

Then there was my near-impossible search for an album that I was going to give to Nick (an old Mission of Burma compilation). Sadly, this search ended in me having a semi-frustrated conversation with the sales guy at the Record Exchange and then angrily going to eat a sandwich at the co-op.

Okay so that's all mild.

The real strangeness began later in the week. My stomach started to hurt nearly 24 hours before I was supposed to meet up with T. Probably not a good sign. Things just come unhinged around him. We did the normal stuff, got something to eat, became confused over his indecision, and then made out...three times (note that I pointedly asked if he was seeing anyone at the moment making extra careful sure, but there's still something I can't quite put my finger on about him). It took so long to feel okay and now it's like I am trying to rewind a movie that I only sort of liked in the first place...maybe. I don't know how I feel. I wish T would be decisive once in his life and just straight up tell me what to do. tough luck with that though.

Despite T, this trip has made me realize that I'd like to spend the next couple of years in Boise. There's something unusual about Idaho that I enjoy. so begins the battle to find housing :P

update: found housing, a roommate, and a job. go me!

let's just say...

I am a snapdragon according to this quiz.

Snapdragons have always been my favorite flower. It used to be my duty to dead-head them while working in my step-grandparent's garden. I'd be sent off, armed with a pair of scissors and gardening gloves that hung from my finger tips, extra fabric dangling and dirty, too big-for my small hands. I'd tromp around the garden looking for their long leafy stems. Once found, I'd pinch off the buds and make it look like the heads was eating something far off in the distance; snapping up a bee, or the bright sun. Overheated, I'd kapult back onto the thick grass and inhale the pungent aroma of ripe tomatoes and count the bird seeds as the fell from a nylon stocking hung in the cool, dark shade of the sycamore tree. My work was always rewarded with a sandwich, which I nommmmed down, pretending that I too was a snapping-dragon. nom, nom, nom.

there are days, no matter how far away my childhood may seem, that I miss San Diego with all my being.

on my mind...

read this on the back of a Luna Bar wrapper...

"Mom: Thank you for teaching me that curiosity and hard work are vital to success, and that life is too short to not be who you are."

So true. I would extend this thanks to the many mentors I respect and cherish. Anyways, I always read the labels and wrappers of things. Something about tiny letters and numbers amuses me immensely :)

missed my face

there we go

it look so GIANT! seriously, the things that crack me up. te he.

auld land syne

auld lang syne: is a Scots poem written by Robert Burns in 1788 and set to the tune of a traditional folk song "Roud." It is well known in many countries, especially (but far from exclusively) in the English-speaking world; its traditional use being to celebrate the start of the New Year at the stroke of midnight. By extension, it is also sung at funerals, graduations, and as a farewell or ending to other occasions. (Text courtesy of wikipedia)


There's another cover of this song sung by the Dropkick Murphys.

“Come on hit me. Hit me, I dare you.” Ha, as much as I’d like to say that this moment in my life was the inspiration behind Fight Club, it would defy all sorts of laws regarding time and space, and well, it just wouldn’t be true. The words here were spoke by my step-dad’s good friend (and sort of Uncle) Lyle. He wanted me to hip check him in the middle of our kitchen, while on skates. Note how prepared his stance looks. I think he was actually a little scared. If you could see my face, it has a big grinny smile on it. I did, indeed hit him. Bounced right off! I mean look at him, his like 300 pounds of snide middle-aged man. It wasn’t a fair match up.

Needless to say, I was home for New Years and my parents threw a party, like most years, except this year’s was bigger. I wore a sparkly dress, but couldn’t decide on shoes…so I wore my skates. Yet another big grinny smile. I had a date, but blah. I flaked. Sorry kiddo.

Anyway, spend a holiday with me and you will quickly learn that duels on skates and flaky dates are common.

claustrophobia

claustrophobia: fear of having no escape or being closed into a small space

six hours in a tiny room, bug-eyed in front of a cheezy job-training tutorial has taught me one very important piece of information- in 1941, President FDR moved the date of Thanksgiving to earlier in November, extending the holiday shopping season and allowing for more economic gain. God bless America in all it's materialistic glory! No seriously, if it weren't for this, Macy's probably wouldn't need as many seasonal workers during the winter, and I probably wouldn't have a job over break. So huzzah.

I start picking up shifts at the end of this week. And if this job is anywhere near as exciting as the training videos were, I'm going to have a blast selling people jewelry and blenders and department store trinkets. Look at this guy from part of my training on general safety,

he can walk over the top of government documents in cyberspace...like magic. Ooooh, ahhh. Experiencing this alone was worth the two hour drive between Portland and Olympia that I have made over five times in the last month.

My job training ended around 8:30pm and then I made (or attempted to make) my step-dad a birthday cake.  It was supposed to be German Chocolate, but looked more like Dilapidated Chocolate. Dad said it was delicious just the same.  Isn't he obligated to say that though, as a parent I mean? My ability to make savory and flavorful cakes that can't stand upright is a truly mystery.

black friday

black friday: the day following Thanksgiving Day, traditionally the beginning of the U.S. shopping season On this day, many retailers open very early, often at 4 a.m., or earlier, and offer promotional sales to kick off the shopping season.

Natalie Dee

every year, 4:30am. Knock, knock, knock. Switch. The light is too glaring to open my eyes. I all I can see are yellow blobs. My mother says with enthusiasm that only coffee can provide, "Wake up! It's time to go shoooooooping!!" I think she even claps her hands with joy.  It'd be better if she just said, "let's get ready to rummmble" (which I oddly thought was "rumbo" for the longest time) or something to that effect, at least that way I'd think, in my half-awake not-yet-cognisant morning haze, that I was preparing for an epic sports game or to go to war or something more worthwhile than shopping.  I roll over and groan.  Eventually, I get up and put some pants on and maybe a little makeup.  Despite the effort, I still look like the living dead at this hour in the morning.  You'd think by now my mother would have realized that I am the wrong person to take Black Friday Shopping. Despite my grumpiness, she brings me anyway. Think I'm bitchy during normal daylight hours?  Try making it 4am and adding six million annoying holiday shoppers. Oh man, my cynicism becomes particularly caustic, especially if I'm not fed.  Usually I end up getting a thing or two (I got a cute dress with skulls all over it) and tolerate knowing that I'll have to do this next year as well...so long as I'm compensated in I-hop pancakes.

After Friday, I got pesto pizza with Kayliegh, and we collectively decided that higher education is a joke.  I also had a sort of mini-date with my step-dad.  We watched The Hurlocker, my choice.  That's a damn good film. A sobering look at war from the perspective of three bomb-techs in Iraq. For parts of it, I clean forgot I was watching a movie.  I especially liked the grocery store scene, it rings true to all the experiences I've had with war vets. Next, I want to watch the wind that shakes the barely.



p.s. fuck, I didn't do any homework this weekend. well, I did, but it didn't make a dent in the amount of work I have to do :(

let's just say...

my niece is unbreakable. I never thought I would think a two year old was this awesome.

and

something about this doesn't fit. A motorized scooter outside a strip club? Last week I saw a mini-van parked near the front entrance. I am excited to see what next week has it store, the Pope-mobile maybe? Odd.

also...more on Bad Religion concert to come!

abhor

abhor: regard with disgust and hatred

So, my mom called today and after a brief description of her surroundings, she asks me if I want to talk to aunt Tina (who undoubtedly is intoxicated, and if you know me, talking to intoxicated people is not really my thing).  This isn't so bad, but she does it aloud, in front of my aunt Tina.  So, if I say no, my aunt Tina will hear and may become offended by my rejection to talk to her.  I love my mother, but she does this all the time.  She has good intentions but every time it's, "would you like to talk to so and so?" "No, not really." "Are you sure?" "Yes, tell them I'm at work (because usually I am)."  "Okay, here you go." And then she hands the phone over to whichever relative you don't want to talk to. I abhor this.

Side note, I love how my biological father's side of the family never gets together unless someone dies or gets married.  As an added bonus, usually everyone (except me) is intoxicated at these events.  You know you're a Halgat if you have excommunicated at least two members of your immediate family and have not seen the rest since you got totally smashed at so and so's funeral/wedding (but not both at one time, because that would be a abominable affair that I would avoid at all costs, although it has happened).

Okay, so this may seem a bit harsh, but my family has put me through a lot of shit in life.  I love each and everyone of them (or at least tell myself I do), for they are all unique and colorful individuals, but they (as do I) have things to wrestle with and probably don't need my snide commentary to boot.  I don't mean to cause any harm, but it's nice to vent every now and again. Thanks for listening.

p.s. don't take offense to this mom. first, you are not a Halgat and second you are just a friendly, gregarious person, that assumes everyone wants to talk to everyone. and that's okay!

novel

novel: of a new kind; different from anything seen or known before

so Fred and I moved into an on-campus apartment this semester. and as a house-warming gift, my step-dad bought me the most novel invention, a microwave egg poacher! This thing is the coolest!! Thanks dad! oh and one thing's for sure, I'm not allowed to go to nordicware website site. It's like the humane society website, I just end up clicking on all the cute puppies I want to adopt (or in this case all the kitchen gadgets I want to buy) and then woosh there goes two hours of my time.

blind date

blind date: a date between two people who have not previously met. normally not a good idea.

so my family set me up on a blind date last night. It was a double blind date. We ate fish tacos and went bowling.  A pretty decent time was had.  The guy they set me up with was super attractive, he had an infectious smile, strong stature, and freckles! He also had a wonderful personality, he was chivalrous, funny, laid back. AND YET...I felt crummy for the entire night.  At one point he was even sitting right there next to me on the couch and straight up asked if I wanted to make out, which trust me, I wanted to make out...but it would have been awkward.  I would have just thought of all the crummy heartache I've been harboring these days, and then the corners of my mouth would have sunk downward.  I wish you-know-who'd just leave me alone, get out of my head so I can move on and make out with other people, attractive other people who are sitting right there wanting to make out. I felt sorry for the guy.  I wanted to explain to him...so yeah I just had my heart ripped out of my chest by a person I felt deeply for...nothing against you, I just have emotional problems, surprise surprise! I'm tired of feeling like that though. I really don't want to be that girl again, the one with all the heavy baggage. Eff it. I should have made out with him. Wow, I sound like a 13 year old girl right now. Go me.

on a positive note much Social Distortion will be had tonight. AND if I can swing it, I'll get to go see my dear friend Gill drive in a Demolition Derby at Meridian Speedway tomorrow night. Wonderful. Not quite making out, but wonderful nevertheless.

update 8/15/10: to the author of the comment below I say, "trust me, I know"
update 8/19/10: see "on my mind..." post for 8/19/10 :)

regret

regret: : to mourn the loss or death of, to miss very much, to be very sorry for


I have many regrets I have in life, just opportunities I wished I had explored more.  I am not particularly mournful about missing these opportunities, just a touch disappointed. I mean, what if I had had the courage enough to pull myself out of the solid gray misery that I wear like a Kevlar vest, impermeable to humanity's crap.  I would have moved on a long time ago, forgotten your face in time to do what I should have been doing all along.  I would have gone to Henry Rollins and Mayhem Fest, I would have fucked (sorry for my vulgarity) that guy who works at the pharmacy, I would have started skating a lot sooner, I would have fly fished in the Boise River, I would have gone to more toastmasters club meetings and eaten a fuck load of macaroni n cheese, I would have DDed for Gill during Jaialdi and laughed at all the elated drunk people, I would have learned to square dance, I would have slashed your tires. Hummm, I did do quite a few of these things, but I did them while wearing my Kevlar vest, I did them dead on the outside, broken on the in.

Reflecting on this, insomnia has overcome me.  It's one of those nights where sleep has eluded every part of my being. I am antsy. My big sister is kind enough to sit up and she's keeping me company. Oh how she loves me! I mean, I could clearly see she is struggling to stay awake and yet she insists. Were sitting on the couch, the flickering light of a movie freckles our faces.  Now the credits are rolling, and I hug my knees to my chest, proclaiming with a yawn, "so this is it then? I vow never again to date a soul-sucking un-motivate jackass. THIS time I mean it."  Being the supportive sister she is, Alby just laughs, shakes her head, and sleepily says, "right, Monique."  I have a feeling she's being facetious.  I suppose I still have a lot of un-motivated jackasses (not saying that that's all you were to me, but in this moment that's how it seems) to go through in life. eff. and here I thought I already had my share. oh good gawd and to think that I've got a date with a tattoo artist later this week. but really, double eff.  I can see the truth of it all now. can I say triple eff? yup. triple eff! Next time I'll be sure to take off the Kevlar and make do and mend.  Inspired, I made a playlist before I doze off on the couch.  It's entitled "The Shit We Call Love":

0. "I Am Always the One Who Calls" Pedro the Lion 
1. "Blankest Year" Nada Surf
2. "What If" ColdPlay
3. "Roulette" System of a Down
4. "Self Esteem" Offspring
5. "Let's Go To Bed" The Cure
6. "Oildale (Leave Me Alone)" Korn (don't judge...I needed an angry song and this is the one I came up with)
7. "Keep My Picture!" Horrorpops
8. "Honest Goodbye" Bad Religion
9. "The Film Did Not Go Round" Nada Surf
10. "Old Friend" Rancid
11. "What If I Knew" Dino Jr
12. "Listen to My Heart" The Ramones
13. "Starting Now" Ingrid Michaelson
14. "Either Way" Wilco

14 1/2. "Must Be Wrong" The Rentals

eulogy

eulogy: classical Greek for "good words," a speech in praise of a person or thing, especially one recently deceased or retired, usually given at a funeral.

I went home this weekend for my grandmother's memorial service. It was a long weekend, but after reading the following eulogy, this weight I've been feeling lately lifted.

In memory of Joan "Joanne" Stacer:

As a granddaughter, you notice characteristics about your grandmother that others might overlook. To you all, my grandmother was "Joanne"; a supportive mother, a cordial neighbor, a compassionate friend, or even a dedicated community member. But to me, she was Grandma Jinx; a bounty hunter of bullies, an advocate for indulgence, a dame of determination, and a never-ending source of patience and motivation.To me, these characteristics were obvious, but then again not everyone was afforded the delight of following my grandmother around like her shadow for the majority of their childhood.  For this reason, I'm excited to elaborate on a few of my favorite memories...When I was about 6 and 1/2 years old, I convinced myself that a bully lived in my coat closet and if I opened the doors at night, the he'd come out and beat up all my stuffed animals.  So I began to sleep in my parents bed out of fear.  At first, it was only once every few weeks but eventually it escalated to every night and my parent's patience wore thin.  That's when I turned to my grandmother.  Not only did she let me sleep in her bed, but she also had the audacity and courage enough to enter my room late one night, open the closet doors, and sock-it to that bully, shooing him to a far away place where he couldn't ever harm one of my stuffed animals again.  After that, I started sleeping soundly in my own bed and I gained great insight into just how bold and strong my grandmother really was.  Around this same time in my life, one of my favorite things to do was go to the Discount Bread Store.  Now this doesn't seem like the most tantalizing way to entertain kids, but Grandma Jinx made it so.  At the end of every trip, she'd let my step-brothers and me pick out a treat.  From this small gesture, I learned that a little indulgence can go a long way and that my grandmother really knew how to enjoy and cherish the small things in life.  I'm not sure my step-brothers noticed this though, seeing that they inhaled their hostess cupcakes and coconut snowballs like vacuums.  Another favorite memory of mine wouldn't have existed if I hadn't gotten mono and missed nearly all of the 6th grade.  During my time stranded, sick on the couch, I was lucky enough to stay home and watch Murder She Wrote all day long with my Grandma Jinx.  I watched episode after episode of Jessica Fletcher solve murder mysteries.  I also watched, in admiration, my grandmother solve them first.  Her determination and persistence in this task was inspiring.  Some days she'd get so passionate that her TV tray would flip clean over and she'd boast with a little celebratory dance.  Above all, I noticed my grandmother was always my biggest cheerleader.  Whether it was a simple butterfly kiss or turning my light off after I fell asleep doing homework in high school, she was always there to motivate and support me. She loved me unconditionally and in celebration of the time I spent as her shadow and in honor of the woman I knew her to be, I hope now to do the same.  Who knows maybe I'll have a shadow of my own one day.  So thank you Grandma Jinx, I will miss all that you were to me