May This Be a Lesson

It isn't very often life throws me a lesson. The few times I can count on my fingers. Once was when I threw out my old Units leggings only to realize in 1997, 2001, 2003, 2005, and 2008 that spandex is a girl's best friend after a Cheetos dinner. Bonus, it's apparently trendy again. Lesson learned: Do not throw away any article of clothing ever. Put it in storage or in your brother's closet unbeknowest to them if you have to. Then when you dig them out for the fifth time, dust off your "Get in Shape Girl" tape and accompaning baton and work out the pain of life. Another, don't make bets. Not for dollars, bragging rights, or the last diet Worthers Originals. Inevitably you will lose. And having to watch a friend crunch down on buttery goodness while your stomach trembles in sadness and hunger because you are trying to lose weight for an event that will suck anyway is a torture I think no one should experience. Lesson learned: Don't make bets. Other than that any lesson that God pushed my way I totally ignored and instead basqued in the glow of the general malaise of my generation. Follow after the jump.

Ike, however, had a different plan. Yes he did. He wanted to teach me the lesson to end all lessons. So he did by essentially slapping my face and whisper yelling, "Listen little girl, a day of reckoning is upon you! And that day is like right now at 5:30pm on Saturday September 13th, 2008." The cruelty of this very important lesson involved not one but two cans of Coke Zero. You see, I'm a panicker. I panic about even the minutest detail of everday life. I panic when I mistake a blonde hair for a grey hair, I panic when my tivo cuts a show off before the preview for the next episode is complete, I even panic when my puppy shits green. But aren't all shits green? Yes. To a degree. But money green and forest green are different and mean something. Dog owners understand. So one can only imagine the state of panic I was in Saturday at 1:30am when Ike stormed my city and raped it a new vagina while leaving its citizens with an understanding of how people lived way back in 1860 with no power. Eliza dear...how arrgh yew?...Needling thusly mama by the blaze of this ebolliant candlelight....aw how vary refreshing dearest...shall we take a turn about the room?...Yeah, like that shit.

When it was all over, the real fun began. I can only describe it as akin to having one's eyes dilated and then being forced to stare at the sun for seven hours. We surveyed damage, cut down tree limbs with our bare hands (totally true) to remove the blockage in our driveway, and talked to each other. Ugh. But alas a ray of hope was near. At about 3:30pm Centerpoint Energy restored electricity in my house. Humanity rejoice! Hoorah! Why so blessed? I dunno. Sometimes life just is. Ooh but Ike was not pleased. How could he be when he had a day of reckoning to give me at 5:30pm on Saturday September 13th, 2008!!! Enter two shiny cans of Coke Zero. Technically one, but total two. As I had stated upthread I'm a panicker and in situations such as this, i.e a hurricane the size of Texas barreling towards my backyard at breakneck pace, the panicker tends to make plans and prepare. Part of this so-called preparation included the idea of rationing. The rules were as follows, ration batteries, ration food, and most imperative ration caffeine because in my life caffeine is only second, or even at times too close to call, to Jesus of Nazarrene. So in the Friday debriefing with the family I stated that Monique's Hurricane Preparation Plan stipulated only ONE Coke Zero per day per family member with asterick. Asterick being that the little one, Ximena, got none because she's the baby and also lazy and if one had to be disposable you take out the weakest link and well...all I'm saying is that China and Sophie would approve.

This was the plan and it was approved by all but the little one who was then bribed by $20.00. But someone inevitably broke rank, and that someone was me. When the power came back at 3:30 on Saturday September 13th, 2008, I said screw it. Life is too short!!, live a little sassy!!!, get a second Coke Zero!!, celebrate!!, the power is back on!!! Subconsciously I knew it was too good to be true, but I was cocky. So eventhough the plan in plain terms stated ONE Coke Zero per day until the family could assess the current situation, I busted that refridg open, stared its contents for longer than the prescribed 2.5 seconds also stipulated in Monique's Hurrican Preparation Plan (remember, the less you open up the refridg the longer the food stays cold...the more you know), and pulled another iced one. Not two hours later Ike cut off the electricity again. The exponential tragedy of it all? I wasn't thirsty. Lesson learned: Don't be an asshole. Side lesson: Stick to the plan. I didn't and am paying justly for it. I should have waited until the next day and the post ops family meeting to announce Monique's Hurricane Preparation Plan for 2008 as a success before attempting a two-fer but I was too cocky. My family is convinced my taking another Coke Zero plunged us into the darkness we're still living in today. Sadly, they're right. Sorry dudes. So as I sleep at my friends house again for the second night in a row I reiterate to you dear readers...don't be an asshole, stick to your plan.

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Hurricane Ike

I may die. That is all.

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Review and/or Abused: 90210

**SORRY** A WEE BIT LATE...

I'm not going to go in depth here. I know you know I can but this series premiere was two effing hours long and I just don't have it in me to spend a day reveling in the lameness, therefore I'm just going to dabble in the low points after the jump, kay?

Let's see where do I begin? Oh yes, let's begin with the opening. Coldplay, Viva La Vida. Qu'est-ce que ça? I thought that one time I heard you on a teen soap, CP, you were just like doing Josh a favor. Half-truth? Hell, it's a nice surprise but also oddly uncomfortable. Is Colp aware there is no free trade on the little network that maybe can but probably won't? Or that people tuning in also like The Chris Daughtry and Hoobastank? My little Napoleonic drummer boys...are you getting too commercial on me? Am I going to see whopper flashing like strobe light technicolor set to the chorus of Clocks in a week? Do-do-do-do-do-do do-do do-do-do-do-do do-do, whopper, whopper...Sorry my brain got stuck. It took the state of the lovely ladies of West Bev to snap me out of it. I will only say this: If Mamma Cass were alive today she'd have easily mistaken them for knitting needles thusly sparing them from their fate as a ham sandwich. Also this: Do I need to send the CW the E! True Hollywood story of Tracy Gold? God, did anyone remember that? When, in the last episode ever of Growing Pains, Tracy was supposed to eat a piece of pizza but she was too far gone in her anorexia so she would tear of little bits between takes to ensure the taste didn't enter her tongue? No? Well I saw it and it scared the shit out of me. It scared the shit out of every chunky high schooler in America!

Waifness aside, other surreally disturbing things caught my eye. Like the fact that the supposed jock with the sensitive heart got a blow job from someone who wasn't his bitchy girlfriend in the first oh, fifteen minutes of the show. Or the fact that said bitchy girlfriend was parading around in the sporty Chanel bag used by Madonna and other uber celebrities back in 2004. It's 2008 sweetie and even reality stars like Audrina Partride fake live with CC bags so it's time to find a more unobtainable designer. Goyard perhaps? Also, it's preferable that you choose a style that wasn't offered when Lohan was a heterosexual size six. If this show is going to survive on clothes and a soundtrack at least get those elements right. Right? Oh and one more tiny insignificant thing. Chanel is meant to be worn sporadically in one's ensemble. Do NOT go matchy matchy in the pearl Chanel earrings AND the long pearl Chanel necklace. We don't want to be confused for Euro, ok.

Back to the jockstrap with a heart of gold. How is this going to work here. So because the man feels deeply sad inside about letting some unassuming freshman blow him in his Yukon while his gf forwent a hair straightener we hope and pray and wish upon Edward Cullen that he eventually gets with Annie, the Kansas bred singing sensation that will melt our heart with her anorexia deteriorated ergo cosmetically repaired smile that is too white and too big because her face is too pulled because of said anorexia? In a word, no. Because that would be sending the wrong message to our young. The devil is in the details my friends.

And I'm not understanding the point of Dixon, Annie's adopted African American brother. Why is he black again? Are we trying to be different here CW? Like, "See America, just because we canceled practically all of our African American counter-programming doesn't mean we don't LOVE black people! Dixon is black! See!! We LOVE Black people!" If it fits the story then hey man fair play, but let's be realistic. It makes no sense whatsoever that he's African American. The family is from Kansas for Heath's sake. Finding a Dixon in middle America is like finding a decent celebrity at the Republican National Convention. Are we going to have to suffer through the very special episode where Dixon gut wrenchingly hears a racial slur? Newsflash: we're past racial now, current trends favor religious persecution so it's Navid's story to lose frankly.

Also, what is with Silver, aka Erin, Kelly and David's haf-sister, and her blog. Its pretty effing lame. Is she attempting to be West Bev's Jib Jab? Or I dunno...Gossip Girl, who in my mind automatically wins in a throw-down because Kristen Bell's voice is a fierce bitch. Its so been done a thousand times already 90210, get with the program. Why can't Erin's hobby be like Future Daughters of the NRA or something equally right wing, like Junior Acheivement. She can pass out those bic pens to homeroom and talk about fiscal conservatism. Why did it have to die with Alex P. Keaton. Why?!?!

The only reason to watch this show is for Lucile Bluth. For her and to find out who Kelly's baby daddy is. And in that regard I'm banking on Dylan or that other lawyer dude who's name escapes me probably because I stopped watching when Kelly got shot in Hawaii on that vaycay with Brandon. It could be Brandon though. Let's not discount Brandon. Because while Dylan did sort of have a moment there with Kelly at Donna and David's wedding I, in my heart, know Dylan belongs to Brenda. He just does.

Anyway, I'll stop here. I could go over how all the songs chosen I'd already heard, or how Hannah Zuckerman Vasquez got the shaft but whatever. This post is past its prime.

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Well this is annoying

About two months ago a couple of non-memorable So You Think You Can Dance contestants danced to a catchy groovy hip hop song titled, "American Boy". The song is by a British artist by the name of Estelle and features some fantabulous Kayne infused rap. I liked it alot and said to myself at the time, "ohh, I need to download that". Well, up until yesterday night that task was still on my to-do list, but of course since God punishes the lazy I find out this morning that WB Music has decided to pull Estelle's only real hit from iTunes in the hope that people will buy her album. The kicker? It was literally pulled last night. And damn it if I didn't contemplate at 6:30pm, 30 minutes before the premiere of the stellar Gossip Girl mind you, to download that particular song and The Beach Boys' Pet Sounds album. (more on that in another post). Kids, this goes to show that whenever you need to do something do it. Except sex in that dangerous two week period that may or may not leave you with the title of "mommy" or "daddy".

In reality this doesn't really make a difference. If I want to find the song I'll find it for free, which I have and will post here for shits and giggles. No, I'm concerned about the tactic. Who does that in this day and age? Who removes a surefire thing in the peak of its prime? Oh wait. I know. (more on that in another post) I may be wrong here, yeah hardly, but wasn't the invention of iTunes partly as a revolution against crappy albums with only one good radio friendly song? Like, in essence holding recording artists accountable for the crap they put out? Call me concerned if that was only a trend. I don't buy full albums unless they're instant classics and those are few and far between so you befuddle me WB Music. You really do. Don't make a habit of this you hear.

In any event I have the song because I'm awesome. Enjoy

Estelle featuring Kanye West: American Boy

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The Genius of Facebook

So say I haven't seen you in ten years. And say neither you nor I ever really talked when we did see each other those ten long years ago. And lets say in those ten years of muteness I also forget your name but remember you wore those rocky mountain jeans that should only be worn by no one. So why should I now give a donkey's brain as to what you're up to or feel compelled to ask you to be my friend? Well, because I saw that small thumbnail size picture of you with a newborn on facebook and I thought to myself, wait...she just had a baby? And this my friends is the genius of facebook. It brings people together who had nothing in common before and most assuredly have nothing in common now except for the standard, whoa...what the ef happened to that dude mentality. The sheer novelty of the discovery is way too hard to resist.

So yeah I joined. I have no idea what applications do, or why I'm addicted to sending makeshift buttons called flairs with stupid catchphrases and young nubile actors on them just so I can add more flairs to my box, but it's an exciting time. I mean, just recently I reconnected with someone who I didn't even know existed in high school but I now know they're married, with two kids, living in the subs, still rocking the Adidas soccer sandals and they in turn know I'm still single, nerdy, and as unphotogenic as always. How awesome is that!

So here's to you genius facebook, you've made me realize that those I meant to forget really are forgettable or pregnant and those I've always admired still have something to talk about.

Cheers!

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Seven Years Late to the Party

This is a clandestine post. Repeat. This is a clandestine post. I'm actually at my office right now feigning smartness and workingness. I could get fired for this, if, well, people knew my name and what I actually did here. But it's all worth it to be able to say, "clandestine". And fine, I'm kinda making that up. Not the "clandestine" part, that word is how babies are made, for reals, but rather the whole name part because it is true that yesterday I got a, "Hey Hollywood, when you movin' to L.A.?". And later, from the same, tae kwon doe jedi master, or whatever he's called besides Mike, the office supply guy, "Hey Punky Brewster! Don't she look like Punky Brewster? Yeah, you're Punky with a little Evangeline, you know, that chick from Lost mixed in for hotness. Ain't dat right? You know eyez am gurl" I wish I was making this up, or that I did look like a half Punky half Evangeline mut. Either way I'm off topic.

The point of this clandestine post, however, is to comment on the lastest fandom explosion. But before I touch upon said fandom explosion I thought it would be in my readers best interest to sort of give youse guys a sprinkle of backstory as to what the fuck is going on here. So why don't you be a dear and follow me after the jump.
Hmmm...let's start with four or five months ago when I began reading the Twilight Series. Yes, yes, that one. Again. Just please..just, just,... just don't go there, ok? I have enough esplaining to do in my life as is, what with the singledom, the eating vanilla icing out of the tub, and the Venus five blade razor that I swear is giving me more leg hair, so can we simply and without getting out of hand focus here. Alright?! DON'T YOU JUDGE ME YOU!!! Breathing...Where was I? Ah yes, so I was reading the saga, mentalizing how my therapist would spin the obsession...No Monique, what we are dealing with here is an obvious attempt to forgo a real life with real relationships and goals. A fictional boy will not love you back. He can't... when I realized that I had no one to talk to about this, besides my therapist who would inevitably attempt to pry the books from my short stubby hands. I mean, not even one person of my acquiantence who would take five minutes to indulge me on how Edward's love for Bella was like a meteor in a moonless night. It was crushing to say the least so I did what any other respectable twentysomething would do, I bargained with a friend. The deal was simple. She would, under the cover of night and possibly in disguise, read the book in exchange for something else. That "something else" would be determined at a later date. I agreed on the spot without even thinking about the risks of my action. I figured, what the hell could she force me to do, go to a bar with her and discuss my social ineptidude? Oooh, scary. So in conclusion, I shook her hand and it thusly changed my life. Not a week later my friend dropped something off at my house in a plastic bag. It was colorful, heavy, and thick. It was books 1-4 of the Harry Potter Series. Checkmate, Monique, Checkmate.

I had to hand it to her, she outsmarted me fairly and squarely. She had been telling me to read these book for awhile but I had adamantly refused because I don't do books that don't involve ripped bodices or some sort of main character with slight mental retardation/drug and alcohol problem. Alas I knew this was going to be rough, especially because there are seven of them and they seemed ridiculousy long and complicated with words like "muggle", "quiddich", and "wingardium leviosa" It's levi-O-sa, not Levio-SA. Thank you Rupert Grint. Also because there are seven of them. But a deal is a deal and I don't back out on deals, which is why, coincidentally I don't make deals. Ever. Except for that one time I made a deal with my father that I would stop wearing a toe ring if he stopped insinuating that said toe ring was a gateway to drugs. Anyway, I began. And then, poof, in an instant, I was done with all 7 of them. Words can not describe my exhilaration in reading these books, nor the complete emotional rollercoaster I felt during that time. With every last page of every book, I started sweating wondering what JK would do next to shadder my poor, frail muggle heart. NOOOOO Sirius NOOOOO!!!!!...Dumbledore? Wa? Can you hear me??Dumbledore?!? Dumbeldore?!?! Wake up!! Wake up!! NOOOOOO WWWWHHHH-EYYYYYY?sob...sob..sob..Dumbledorrrreeeee!!!!!!!..*faints*...Dobby what are you doing here?...Dobby, listen to me! It's dangerous... Be careful!!....DOBBYYYY not you too!!! NOOOO!!!Tear..sob..snif...you you you...bastard JK!!!...

...A moment of silence....

Anywayz,I am happy to report that Harry, Ron, and Hermionie are now my fictional besties. YAY! Fantastic isn't it? Yes, it so is. As it was for the rest of the world, like in 2004. Apparently Severus Snape jokes are so lame now. I'm like the aunt who just got the Rachel haircut. Whatever. Also, Gary Oldman is still the hottest man alive. Done and Done.

But this again is not the point. So what is the point? The point is...you wanna guess? Ok, fine, don't be so touchy. The point is that the sixth installment of the franchise, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince was supposed to arrive in theaters November 21, 2008, but WB had other plans. Warner Bros thought to itself, "why we gonna waste deez-tentpole? (said as someone would say deez-nutz). Dark Knight essentially got us laid for da whole year so lez piss off da whole world! Yes Yes! (Don't ask me what the accent is, only my brain can do it) However, may I supplement with a translation: WB moved HP6 to July in order to ensure the bottom line for 2009. Since 2008 exceeded even its most ludicrous expectations they didn't want to waste another bonafide box office success on an already stellar year. Was that a smart move? My business background says yes, my muggle heart, however, says NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I will wait it out though and so will you.


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OH NO THEY DIDN'T!!!!

Flames...Flames...on the side of my face! I have no words. Many of you know that Clue is hands down my favorite movie of all time. I'm not kidding. Favorite song? Yeah that's a toughie, always depends on my mood, but movies, there are no doubts. And if you didn't know it was my favorite movie, well then, now you know, and knowing is half the battle. Anyway I was perusing ew.com and I came across the WORST news EVER. Well, not, not ever. This disaster in Russia is appauling, and Darfur is a mess. Plus, Katie Holmes is still parading around in those butch jeans, but this is some really shitty news. For me. Turns out Hasbro is remaking the Clue game. The game that spawned my favorite movie of all time. The game that I would still play had I not lost half the weapons and the confidential manila folder. But seriously can you believe it!!!! Yeah. I KNOW!!! I can't. Just can't. And it would be fine if it was just a redesigning of the game board. Let me state for the record that I was still adamantly opposed to the idea but I understand shoulder pads on Ms. Scarlett wouldn't seem sexy anymore. However, Hasbro hasn't just decided to re-design characters, they re-made characters. Coronel Mustard? Nope, gone. Replaced by a the "Colonel" a famous ex-football player. Yeah. I KNOW!!! The lead pipe? Finito. Replaced with three new weapons of slaughter, an axe, a trophy, and a baseball bat. Yeah. I KNOW!!! An axe? Really? Who has an effing axe just laying around. And how the hell is that supposed to fit into a little black box with light blue ribbon to be opened in the library? And finally, one now has the chance to die in the spa room, or a theater. Yeah. I KNOW!!! This is just eggregious. I feel like I should start some sort of campaign. I can't just sit here and let this happen. This is my childhood for God's sake. Who's with me!! And here is the rest of it.

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