Author: Monica Nevi

Seattle Arena Deal – All the Ladies!

On May 3, 2016

I’m disappointed. Like any other sports fan from Seattle but this is going to hurt female sports fans and athletes more. If you haven’t heard or didn’t care, the Seattle City Council voted against vacating space on Occidental Ave today which again thwarts the hopes of building a new sports arena that could house new NBA and NHL teams. Why am I bringing up gender? It’s the cool thing to do of course. It was quickly brought to my attention that 5 of the 5 no votes came from female council members. Thus throwing anyone with a woman card under the bus for this because the internet.

I am personally disappointed because females with power should be looked up to and relied on by the women they represent and I think that 5 out of 5 women voting no to anything that would bring a team back to Seattle is a poor representation of women in Seattle. Unfortunately, that is exactly what all sports fans are seeing. Women hate sports! They want to ruin the plans to bring a team back. I am of the belief that we should be doing anything we can to get a team back in Seattle and I know I am not the only one. Some dudes will tell you stories of how much the Sonics meant to them and how they used to go to games with their dads. I have those stories too. I used to watch every Sonics game at home and if we were lucky enough to get tickets we would go. It was the reason I became an athlete, the reason I stayed in school, the reason I have a college degree. Why would it matter as much to a girl? Because there was no WNBA when I was little. In 1998 I went to Sonics Basketball Camp, the first of a million camps I went to. I was this little white girl that they couldn’t find a jersey to fit. I had a hard time in school when I was that young, terrible at paying attention, never did my homework, got in trouble quite a bit. When those guys talked you could have told me I was on fire and I wouldn’t have flinched. After I found basketball, everything changed. The Sonics were the only reason for that. I came out of Sonics camp with ambition, doing agility drills at home with all my Dr. Suess books set up as cones and the most awkward polaroid ever taken of a tiny, tiny Monica Nevi with very large Dale Ellis’s arm around me. I wanted to be Gary Payton, I still have posters of him in my room to this day, it’s how I weed out the gentlemen callers I want to date or not. I still rather be Gary Payton.

Basketball made me who I am and the Seattle SuperSonics started this mess. Yes, I am a Storm fan as well and I think opportunities in sport are one of the most important things for women in the future. Getting an arena would be amazing for the Storm as well, so that’s a non-issue. A friend of mine even suggested that I use Seattle Storm players on my wnba fantasy team, I haven’t done it yet but I have been thinking about it. I know there are many women just like me, who love sports, love playing them, love watching them, put their kids in them, met their spouses at them. Conversely, I know there are a lot of women who may not care either way. Seattle is one of the greatest, smartest and most supportive cities in the world. As a comic, I love performing there and as an athlete I loved playing there. Bringing an NBA team back to Seattle isn’t about having a team to support, it’s so much more than that. It’s about the little girls and boys that don’t know what they are supposed to do. It’s for the girl that would have given up on everything if she didn’t fall in love with this game. It’s for the kid that feels all alone until he finds his place on a team. It’s for the girl that wants to be just like Gary Payton, so she went home to do her homework and practice her ball handling because he told her to.

It’s not just another team to support. It’s an organization that creates a future for everyone. Seattle has produced from great NBA and WNBA players that come back home and give back their communities each year. Get a team here to keep that tradition going. 5 out of 5 is a poor representation of how women in Seattle feel about getting a team back, don’t blame us. It was those specific votes that kept this from going through. I’m asking you not to blame all the ladies in your life, just those ones. There are plenty of women who would have voted yes or would gladly carry an NBA player’s baby to keep the tradition of great players coming out of Seattle. Also, this is the only thing Portland thinks we are envious of that we actually are. I don’t care much for Portland anyway!

Follow Your Dreams #2

By Monica Nevi

On May 1, 2016

In Blog Entry

I have extremely vivid dreams, that are super weird, all the time. This is a short story based on a dream I had so that we can analyze what they mean and how that will help me in a journey for a more successful life. Every dream means something important, I’m sure. I also read an article that connects vivid dreams to mental illness. Names have been changed, except for two that I think are important (one is me).

THE START

It was a Friday night in Los Angeles, dark enough to know it was showtime but warm enough to forget a jacket. I was dressed in a leather vest, with a white v-neck underneath and a gold star badge on the vest. Sheriff Nevi had arrived. I walked up to the venue on Santa Monica Boulevard, an awesome venue I had wanted to work at for a long time. I walked up to the venue and it was FULL of people! The inside of the room looked cooler than anything I had ever seen, extremely inconvenient for comedy but super awesome looking. The stage was basically an island in the middle of the room but it had a wall in the middle so there was essentially two sides of stage. If you were performing on one side the other side of the room couldn’t see you. However, there were TV screens on either side. Both sides of the stage were slanted and full of people in the seats and sitting on the floor.

There were three bars inside and one that was outside of the venue on a porch area. I walked up to the outdoor bar and no one was there. So I did what anyone would do just started making my own drink. Using any of the equipment that was unnecessary. There were two different containers full of ice, one was crushed and the other was in these little cute thimble shapes. I put some of the crushed ice into the silver tin thing, added orange juice, champagne and vodka. I shook it up accordingly and strained it into a glass. As I poured it out of the tin the amount that went in the glass was less than you could drown in. Confused and frustrated I began to pour the same ingredients but triple.

As I poured a sufficient drink amount into my glass my best friend Barbara came out of the venue, he hugged me and without asking any questions of why I was behind a bar I did not work at, asked to have one of whatever I was having. I began to pour the orange juice, champagne and vodka into the tin as his face began to show low levels of disgust. “Here” I said “I call it the Rich Stepmom.” Although I felt like the true rich step mom needed some sprinkles of Xanax and cigarette ash, I handed it over and started into the venue to find the show producer.

“Hey, Rich! Place looks packed, do you have an order for the performers, so I know when I am up.”
“This is just what we do, you know that” Rich said “there is no list but there will be.”

Rich didn’t make eye contact with me the whole time he spoke to me and then he walked away into the blue and purple lights of the packed house. I looked up and the show was starting. Having no idea when I was on I went outside to try and find a hat to go with my rural Sheriff’s outfit, hoping to run into the other performers that could tell me more of what was happening. The performers were wearing costumes but no one in the audience was so it couldn’t have been Halloween. I was looking through buckets of costume accessories, trying to find something that would work. Another lady was doing the same thing and found a hat that would be perfect. I looked at her as she put it on. Two weird things happened at that moment, we looked at each other long enough for me to realize she was Last Man on Earth‘s Kristen Schaal and then we realized we were dressed as the same character, only she had a ballet tutu on. She smiled at me condescendingly and introduced herself. She didn’t seem to like me but we were “wearing the same dress.”

I ripped off my badge as I walked away toward the outdoor bar. What was I going to be now? I needed another Stepmom. As I approached the bar I realized Barbara was now behind the bar making everyone drinks. Selling Rich Stepmoms left and right. I walked up to the entry way of the tending area but as I began to pass the break in the bar a conveyor belt took its place and began to rotate breakfast foods around the bar. Mostly pancakes at this point but soon enough hash browns and sausages would follow. Confused and flustered I told Barb I would be back to which he didn’t respond because he had a line and was now also serving breakfast. I went back over to where Last Man on Earth‘s Kristen Schaal was in order to find something else to wear. She was still there and as I approached she reached down into a bucket to pull out a new outfit idea for me. Or so I thought. Next thing I knew something sticky hit me in my face and in my hair. Last Man on Earth‘s Kristen Schaal had thrown a syrupy pancake at me. I wipe as much off as I could and Last Man on Earth‘s Kristen Schaal looked at me and said “I love you” with a big smile. She did like me after all and even more lucky there was a bucket of syrup with some pancaked in it right next to me. I reached in and we started a best friends pancake throwing war. We laughed and giggled and finally she said she knew where more of the costumes were and we should easily be able to turn my outfit into a pirate. I wish this was the end but it is not.

NOT THE END

We entered the venue and went into a greenroom area that was full of buckets of costumes and we started to vigorously look for some pirate gear. As I was looking we noticed the performance list had finally been posted. There were two performers, Last Man on Earth‘s Kristen Schaal and then it would be my turn. I went to watch some of the acts on stage to see how the oddly configured room would work for performance. The TVs showing the opposite side of the stage worked well, so if that performer wasn’t on your side you could still see them. The crowd was awesome, the side watching the TVs was just as enthralled as the side with the performer on it. I turned back to look into the buckets and become a pirate. Right as I turned around I heard “your next comedian is blah blah blah she is the greatest blah blah… Monica Nevi” I looked up from the bucket completely shocked, grabbed a Mariners baseball hat I brought with me put it over my syrupy hair and ran to the stage. I got up on one side and realized it was the wrong side, so I around to the other side and I was still in the wrong place. “Monica, where are you, we’re over here” I heard over the speakers. Furious at this point I ran to the back of the venue where there was more seating and an alcove that had the host, another comic and a two corn hole boards set up, ready to play. “What the fuck is going one right now!” I thought to myself.

I finally made it over to where I am “supposed to be” and stand next to what I assumed was my side of the corn hole game. I am ready to swear up a storm and really throw out some low blows during this game. I fucking love corn hole! Giggle all you want. Quick recap, now I am ready to play this game against some nondescript white male beard in front of a ton of people under blue and purple lights where I thought I would be doing comedy 20 minutes from that time. Right as I look at my opponent in the eyes and am ready to yell out whatever obscenity comes to mind my high school health teacher, Ms. Blocker, leans forward to say she finally came to a show and that her husband and their two VERY young children were there with them. Full family leans forward and waves to me as I try to keep the horror inside my head off of my face, I wave back. Immediately I start to reevaluate what I was going to say and then my whole life. There are kids here, I can’t run around with my syrupy hair yelling swear words! Or can I?

I win corn hole, by a lot, grab that wireless microphone from the host and start running around this oddly shaped venue, in my syrupy Mariners hat, high-fiving anyone and yelling inappropriate things into the microphone.

Best set I have ever had. Mic Drop.

THE END

Although the meaning of all of this is still lost on me and any ideas you have would be helpful. I think the moral of this dream is always have a wireless mic.

Follow Your Dreams

By Monica Nevi

On April 19, 2016

In Blog Entry

We’ve all heard that phrase “follow your dreams” and I assume we all have tried to do that exact thing. I believe your mind does some weird stuff up there and it is more powerful over our actions than we even know. Therefore here is the dream I just had (in story form) and I am SURE it means something very important and makes sense but I need help figuring out what (names and locations have been changed for the safety of those involved):

THE BEGINNING

She looked like Ron Swanson’s mother from Parks and Rec, Tammy. She was a very nice lady though and she invited me in the house where I was supposed to be helping her do some work. Her name was Sharon and her house smelled like cats and cigarettes but it was oddly reminiscent of a combination of grandmothers I had met over the years. Except she was only 50 years old. As I am helping her with some house work she keeps stopping and staring at me. I was reaching up in the cupboard to put something away and Sharon slowly peered around the corner and looked at me intently.

“Hey” I said.
“Hi” she said.
“Is there anything else you need help with?” I said.
“I don’t think so, but I got you a gift” Sharon replied.

She brings out a Nike box of brand new basketball shoes. They were awesome, I was super excited! I thanked her and she told me to wait one more second. Sharon walked back to her room and then emerged holding another bag. This one was filled with a pair of black and teal yoga pants and a tank top along with another box of running shoes. I was taken aback by this as I didn’t really understand why she was giving me so many gifts. Was there more to this story? Was she making up for not having children? Did one f her daughters die? Was she trying to have sex with me? All relevant answers to the question. I asked her if she was sure she wanted to give these things to me and she said it was the least she could do for having me help her.

Finally, a third time she goes back to the bedroom and brings back full arms of other workout clothes and shoes. Maybe she was telling me I needed to work out? That seems rude but she had been watching me closely all day, so she would know, I thought to myself.

She set the pile of clothing on the couch near the previous gifts. As I looked at this pile I realized it was not new items they were used and looked like they had come out of a laundry basket. Each item I looked at seemed more and more familiar until it hit me that these were all my clothes. Sharon, this seemingly nice middle-aged lonely woman just brought me a pile of my own dirty clothes, as a gift. She smiled with one of the most terrifying grins I had ever seen and then turned to walk back to the bedroom again. I was panicked and couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening so I gathered up as much of the pile as I could, new or old and ran out of the door to my car. I don’t know what happened to Sharon because she didn’t make it out of the house before I could never look back but somehow she had gotten my clothes from my room and I didn’t get it.

There I was, breathing heavily and driving away, trying to put together any part of what just happened. I arrived downtown and thought to myself I couldn’t go home right now because she knows how to get in there. I stopped to grab some coffee and as I was walking back to the car I noticed one of my friends from college getting into a cab.

“Hey! Lizzy! What’s up? How are you?” I yelled.
Lizzy stared at me with dead eyes as she slid to the farthest part of the car she could and said “Not great, I am doing a lot of things I used to do. Being more of an Elizabeth than a Lizzy.” She was speaking almost too softly to hear and very slowly pressing herself as far into the cab as she could manage. I had very little idea what she was talking about, she had confided in my once that she had gone through some issues with an eating disorder and I thought maybe that was what she was talking about.
I told her “I hope you are ok, I will call you later tonight to catch up.” She stared at me blindly as the cab door closed and she took off.

I thought to myself that was weird and something had to be going on today that I just didn’t know about. I figured the best place to go was to my mother’s house. I called my mom, Pan, to make sure they were home. She said she was but she was afraid that she had lice. I assured her that I could check for her when I arrived, I had a lot of experience looking for lice on the children I had worked with over the years. There is a technique.

I got to my mother’s house and she was already sitting in a chair in the middle of the kitchen waiting for me to check her head. She really didn’t greet me when I entered the home, she just stayed in the chair and waited for me to come to her. So I did. I walked over to her as she sat frustrated and nearly defeated.

“Okay, let me check” I said.
“I can feeling them moving, it has to be lice” she sheepishly announced.
As I combed through her hair and looked directly at her scalp, there was nothing to be found. No small black lice moving, nor white eggs on the hair. “I am not seeing anything” I told her as I started in the front of her scalp.
Pan reached up and touched the rear top part of her head and said “It hurts right here.”
“Hurts? That seems weird, I don’t think it is lice” I replied.

I parted her hair in that spot to reveal two medium sized cockroaches embedded in her scalp. They weren’t moving enough to change positions but they were kind of running in place on their sides and their antenna were moving freely. It was appalling and unexpected but I was able to keep calm. I put my hands on her shoulders and said “this is something else and since they’re painful let’s go take you to the doctor, just in case.”

At this point Pan would have followed you with this blank stare into the ocean if you asked her to. I walked her into the hospital and checked her in as she had done for me many times before. I was aware of the role reversal but wasn’t clear enough in the mind to think about it. Something was happening and I only knew we needed to figure it out. The doctors took her back and would not allow me to come with her. Three hours later I was outside of the hospital on the phone with Lizzy, who seemed totally fine and almost oblivious to her behavior earlier in the day. As we were saying goodbye Pan came strolling through the sliding doors of the hospital. As she walked out she had this big smile on her face with her purse at her side looked me in the face and just said “ready to go?”

THE END

I will gladly following any interpretation of what that dream is supposed to mean.

What is Lost

By Monica Nevi

On April 16, 2016

In Uncategorized

Here is the new website. I like it a lot and have worked on it hard in the last couple of days. Like all of the whole days. It’s beautiful, it has fun new pictures, my calendar is updated, they let me name the tabs (obviously) and you can send me messages on the Say Something Nice page! But gains cannot come without losses.

“It’s only when we have lost everything that we’re free to do anything” -Chuck Palahniuk

Yep, I can do whatever I want. Like quote Fight Club. Unfortunately, the beauty of the new website does come from the sad, sad loss of all of my blogs from the past. This one hurts the worst because I was very proud of some of the things I had recently written and was also in the process of writing a multi-part story about my birthday. I will have to start over, much like moving, am I right? Not going to do it.

“Everyone smiles with an invisible gun to their head” -Also, Chuck Palahniuk

Same book. Look forward to hearing from you.

Monica