byte me

byte: unit of digital information in computing and telecommunications that most commonly consists of eight bits

bit me: (slang) leave me alone

If I could, I'd like to say "bite me" to school loans, second jobs, broken cars, high taxes, and just generally, being an adult. This past 6 months both Jesse and I have worked hard and made a lot of grown up decisions...some of those decisions have been harder than others. For example, working 50-70 hours a week is driving me completely batty, but I'll have a nice plum savings account at the end of the year. Additionally, getting the food budget in check has been nothing short of arduous. Luckily, Jesse has sharp culinary skills and I happened upon Budget Bytes, a phenomenal resource for eating healthfully and deliciously on the cheap.

I will try to keep up the writing, but if you don't hear from me, it's likely because this "adult" shit has caused me to have a complete mental breakdown and Jesse has checked me into the nearest infirmary. Come visit, they will probably have free coffee and cookies!

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.

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?

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.

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!

portmanteau

portmanteau: a blend of two words into one; first explained by Humpty Dumpty in Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass

example- "vlog" = video + blog

I will probably come to regret this later. Here goes nothing!

update: yup, regretting this. I was not drunk when I made this, cross my heart hope to die. But I have since lost that amazing t-shirt :(

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.

on my mind...

on my mind...

So, today I had a doctor's appointment to get my cast off and I left work early. I had lunch at Baja Fresh and bam! there was the most recent copy of the Boise Weekly stacked tall in it's little wire press cage.  When I got it, I instantly flipped to the back and read the following horoscope:

"When I see your face, the stones start spinning!" wrote the poet Rumi, as translated by Coleman Barks. "Water turns pearly. Fire dies down and doesn't destroy. In your presence I don't want what I thought I wanted." I think you need to be in the presence of a face like that, Gemini. You've got to get your fixations scrambled by an arresting vision of soulful authenticity. You need your colors transposed and your fire and water reconfigured. Most of all, it's crucial that you get nudged into transforming your ideas about what you really want. So go find that healingly disruptive prod, please. It's not necessarily the face of a gorgeous icon. It could be the face of a whisperer in the darkness or of a humble hero who's skilled in the art of surrender. Do you know where to look?

seems beyond fitting.

espy

espy: to catch sight of

I found a new food blog!

http://www.heythattastesgood.com/

looks amazing so far.  I made the cinnamon rolls after work yesterday and they are bomb.  I came home and did not have the energy or motivation to make real food, so I baked instead. Stress has taken over my being lately and I seem to have lost my appetite.  I don't want to eat anything but sugary food stuff. Yesterday, for example, all I had was rice and three cinnamon rolls. Not okay.  I've also been watching a lot of stupid sitcoms; they are comforting.  Check out Last Man Standing, Melissa and Joey, and Suburgatory.

firecracker

firecracker: an idiom meaning a very intense, lively, and outspoken individual; spitfire

I must place a disclosure at the start of this post...the words below are not aimed towards anyone other than one specific individual, and it's probably close to a 99.99% chance that you are not that person. Despite this, please feel free to read on.

So last night, meh, I forgot to mention one thing while under the dim lights of Sonic, sitting across from your small skeleton on that cookie-cutting red bench which left imprints of evil ovals on my thighs. I forgot to inform you that you're the one who made the biggest assumption of them all. You assumed I was okay, silly really.

Que poem.

Firecracker

I am not like you
your face all smugged together,
vapidly dribbling, "pain's not necessarily a bad thing...
drifting through life is the right thing to do"
fuck that shit,
I never want to live my life like that again
if it comes to it,
I will make all things messy and difficult
I will feel, but not wallow
I will live with intention, and not suffer
I will be a wild whirlwind
I will swing my wreaking ball right into your heart
smash it into a trillion tiny flecks of ruby red
you will feel my wrath
you will have no choice but to bow in my presence
as I sweat sugary seven-7-up-sprite
and stomp in giant puddles of hyperactivity,
splashing you and all your pathetic lambs with exhalation and a natural high
I will firecracker through your life like an electric storm of
glittery gold and fiery yellow,
sprinkling down onto your skin,
seeping-in like the creeping ash and the flickering sting of a cigarette burn
I will not be compromised.

a murder

a murder: a flock, such as a 'murder of crows,' people in the dark ages were put in crow cages to be pecked to death by them as a form of execution...or so the myth goes

Nick! Nick! Nick nick nick...came to visit!

This has almost nothing to do with murders or flocks. But, nonetheless, I love Nick with all my heart. He's a stand up friend.

While he was in town, we went to I-hop and ate pancakes and eggs and bacon. I was a little sleepy and we ended up having some ridiculous conversation during which Nick accused me of killing small animals. So, naturally, I said aloud, "I don't just go around killing puppies" at the exact moment when our waitress walked up to ask if we wanted any refills. I slumped down into the plasticy booth seat and gave Nick a scolding look.  It's bad enough that we were in I-hop at 1 am, our waitress naturally assumed we were drunk (silly her), but now, on top of it all, she thought I was a murderer. I ate as quickly as I could and made Nick pay the bill while I scurried to the car so I wouldn't make myself look anymore foolish...like I had when we came in and I inquired aloud (I meant for it to be in my head) whether or not they cooked the rice that was holding a group of pens upright in a coffee mug by the cash register for later use.  It's perfectly good rice!

Nick and I also took his younger sister to see Attack the Block, which isn't really a "scary movie." I like alien movies, I really do.  But it did have disproportionately scary previews.  Nick and I had to cover our eyes.  We're REAL MEN when it comes to pansy things like zombies and possessed children. (meanwhile I am shaking my head to reflect the honest truth).

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.

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 ;)

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.

gregarious

gregarious: found of company, sociable, living in flocks

Most all bands are gregarious by nature. Like geese, they live and travel around and make noise together.  However, it is a rare delight when you go to see a show and they carry this same gregariousness onto the stage.

I went to see Ted Leo from Ted Leo and the Pharmacists at Backspace this past weekend and he had such a friendly stage presence.  He told us funny antidotes, he commented about his mom, he laughed, he cried, he even interacted with us common folk in the audience.  It was delightful!  Musicians like Ted Leo should we treasured.  Not only that, but he also put on one hell of a good acoustic punk performance.

Some other notes about the night: ate spicy chicken dumplings at Thai Peacock (the kind where your nose begins to run due to the heat), went to Ground Control and played four-way Pac Man (that sounds dirty, but it's not...just Sprite and arcade games), made plans to start a tumblr of all the phone numbers I found in public places (so far this list includes numbers from a prison cell, a rhetoric textbook, countless bathroom stall doors, and the table at which we sat waiting for the show to start).

four-way Pac Man

You can barely see it, but Carry and I carved the names that our parents would have named us had we been the opposite gender; so, Emily John...this sits next to a phone number advertising that if called, the person who answers is truly "well-endowed." he he.

it was a decent night. enough said.

can of worms

to open a can of worms: to inadvertently create numerous new problems while trying to solve an older one. Experts disagree on the origin of the phrase, but it is generally believed to be a Canadian or American metaphor coined sometime in the 1950s. Bait stores routinely sold cans of worms and other popular live baits to fishermen, who often discovered how easy it was to open a can of worms and how difficult it was to close one. Once the worms discovered an opportunity to escape, it became nearly impossible to keep them contained. Sort of like Pandora's Box. (wisegeek.com)


Feels as if I have three or four cans of worms open right now. Bull grunt. Wish I knew how to close them.


My scars are itchy and scabbed over in large part from trying to close all these cans of worms!


Practice was brutal this week.  We did a lot of hitting drills and pace lines.  I had a glorious hip-check, knocked a girl right off the track onto her butt! He he. Seriously, those two hours are the only hours in which I can immerse myself and think of nothing else.  It's nice...more than nice actually.

Thursday night was icky. Exhaustion was all I could feel, but Nick called and we went and got some doughnuts at Sesame.  I'm a fan of any place open 24-hours...especially when it has the world's greatest chocolate-glazed doughnut holes, 15 for less than $1.75

not my mini van, I promise.

Earlier last week, I bought Jeff Ely (my computer science professor) doughnuts from Sesame as a thank you for the innumerable letters of recommendation he has written for me.  We shared a wonderful moment, eating doughnuts with a fellow connoisseur.

the Sid's Special on top

As for now, I've got a lot of work to do. Namely, I need to get ready to present my paper/thesis at both the Gender Symposium and a Comm conference.  I'm also scrambling to start my full-time practicum at Roosevelt High School on Tuesday.  I've already been working with students there, preparing for a Mock Trial Competition, but I'm excited to spend more time in the classroom with them.

so here's to those can of worms closing on their own. fingers crossed.

surefire

surefire: certain to work or be so; originated as a military idiom

NOOOoooooooo! I-hop is supposed to be open 24-hours a day, EVERYDAY! Why isn't it open? It's 4:35am and I want pancakes. Well, what I really want is sleep, but I'm too tired to take my contacts out, so pancakes are the next best thing. But, noOOo. No pancakes for me. I-hop just had to be closed on the very day that I am scheduled to work inventory at Macy's from 6:45pm to 2:15am, but then inventory doesn't get done in time, so the managers lock us in and we don't finish till 4 in the morning. Locked us in...WITHOUT PANCAKES! Stupid I-hop.

frisson

frisson: a brief moment of emotional excitement, shudder, thrill

does anyone have a quarter? Anyone? I swear there was one in the bottom of my bag. Somewhere. Dammit,  I need a quarter...

I saw one on the floor across the break room and a sudden frisson overcame me. I clicked that quarter into the candy dispenser, down tumbled nine chocolate-covered ovals, like a multi-colored avalanche of sugary goodness. After seven days without sugar, eating a handful of peanut M&M's felt triumphant. It was truly gratifying. Detox is arduous, but I survived

update 12/24/10: I've got to re-up the sugar detox staring Sunday. I realized this upon baking marionberry shortbread today. Funny thing is, I think the only reason I bake is to eat the batter. Anything for sugar, right?!  There needs to be a 12-step program for this addiction. In fact, I went as far as to google if one exists, only to discover that, while in office, President Ronald Regan always had to have a bowl of jelly beans on his desk.  I'll try not to, but chances are I'll end up like Regan...or like Chief Johnson on The Closer who has an entire desk drawer devoted to sweets. oh bother. I'll let you know how it goes, again.

update 12/25/10: I mean next Sunday. I'll start on the 1st.  I worked retail the day after Xmas and it was too much for me to handle. so, I came home and had fudge for dinner. Rocky road fudge, to be exact. The next day, my family had asked who had eaten all the fudge...I blamed the dog.