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 ;)