Things confused people say

Thoughts on The Work of Friendship

2008-07-31T20:42:00.000-07:00

How many people know you really well? How many people do you really know? Most of us can count an acceptable number of friends listed as our email contacts, but with how many people are we comfortably intimate? That long list of friends we have on MySpace proves that we are just social enough to know a lot of people, without really knowing any of them and with even fewer of them really knowing us. As a generation, as a people, we are uniquely capable of being in touch with each other, but not deeply.

When did the idea of closeness and intimate relationships, even platonic ones, suddenly get so intimidating? We are more capable now than ever before to stay thoroughly involved in the details of each other’s lives, yet most of the people I know consider themselves to be somewhat lonely.

Is it simply business that preoccupies us from doing that awkward, self-revealing relational work with another soul? The average person holds down a job, maintains a home of some kind, occupies themselves with a hobby and maybe even indulges in a spiritual existence. Our world of connectivity and rapidly advancing communication technology should allow for us to do even more without missing one relational beat. With each text message, with each increasingly mechanical attempt at intimacy, I believe we are finding ourselves as relationally undernourished as someone who only eats Lucky Charms at every meal.

I recently became intrigued with a Facebook utility that tracks and lists the music listening habits of a Facebook friend who might have added this feature to their page. It allows the user to view and interpret a friend’s current musical interests and habits without ever having to actually inquire. This mechanism supplements the need to actually communicate interests or passions directly to another human being. All one must do is passively put your activity out there for anyone who might be interested to see and hope that someone may notice that zealous spark in your eyes through their computer’s monitor. It’s as if we are searching for a needle-shaped shred of connection in a fiber optic haystack.

The indulgence in superficial relationships has left us starving for something real! We are blinded by our hunger to the point where we equate openness and honesty with pressure and expectation. For real friendship to be possible, apologies and accountability are an absolute necessity. Unfortunately both of those things are very difficult to do, so perhaps we’ve simply abandoned the attempt at closeness in favor of a fast-food version that only leaves us starving when we need food the most.

Loving with depth requires sacrifices from time to time, but that kind of depth cannot be replaced by any other substitute. We can subsist for some time on whatever fills that void, but inevitably we will find ourselves overloaded in superficial relationships and going to bed starving for something real. Perhaps we would be alarmed at just how easy is it to mistakenly assign importance to unhealthy relationships when we are at the point of desperation.

Nevermind that we all tend to feel that longing for relationship, but as generally stressed out people, shouldn’t we be seeking depth in relationship as a stress reliever if nothing else? Recently, a friend’s child was very sick and in her illness had a seizure. In the days of continued sickness that followed, what that mom needed most was to not be alone in her fear. Through discussion and company, she could maintain her normal rational mind and proceed as the capable mother that she is. Without that contact, fear overwhelms and overtakes its victims.

Have we reached the point that we’d rather be entertained constantly that do the work of relating to one another? Were deep relationships more inevitable years ago when we had more time and had fewer hang-ups? Did that time ever really exist?
We are made to need each other. We should not feel ashamed to need love and companionship, and we shouldn’t shy away from offering it to each other either, yet we do. We reach out weakly in an attempt to fish for the opportunity for more. It bruises no egos and it offends no one. It just leaves us wishing we had the courage to generate the relationships we need in order to live the satisfied and fulfilled lives we desire.

http://www.sixwise.com/newsletters/06/05/31/the_serious_health_risks_of_loneliness__amp_the_healing_power_of_friendship.htm

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1559723432/

XX

2008-05-28T09:04:00.000-07:00

We had the big envelope opening at Cinderella's Castle at Disney World’s Magic Kingdom on Sunday, May 18th!

I helped Jager tear open the envelope and he happily pulled out its contents. We immediately saw the little “girl” flashcard that we had become so familiar with while teaching that word to Jager. Of course, as practiced, Jager blurted out “Gerrr!” informing us of the baby's XX chromosomal status. I had to study the actual ultrasound photo that was wrapped up in it to make sure the tech hadn’t made a mistake with the wrong flashcard. Studying the ultrasound photo that read simply and quite unromantically, “girl parts” didn’t help me believe it either though. I’ll put it this way, boys are much easier for the untrained eye to detect in a 2D ultrasound of a fetuses nether regions.
So, I’m having a baby girl! She is due in late September and she already has a bunch of pink onesies and a few hats. Poor baby is just going to miss the summer, so hats are very important. I can’t imagine what our daughter will look like. I keep imagining Jager, but a bit smaller and with longer hair. That’s probably a fair assumption. :)
It's a strange enough of a feeling knowing your about to have two kids, but knowing you've got both sexes to learn about it a bit overwhelming. I thought I was going to be a mom to all boys--forced to finally learn the rules of football and relagate my good clothes to the back of my closet. Now, I'm going to have a little fashionista living me who will beg me to braid her hair (memo to self: must learn how to do that) or who will nag me to wear something more stylish. At least that's just based on what I've inflicted on my own mother. :)
Well, wish me luck!

Congratulations, it’s a…

2008-04-29T13:04:00.000-07:00

Today was our 18 week ultrasound.

For those of you who actually read this and didn’t already know, I am pregnant again. This whole pregnancy has gone by so fast and so far, has been the easiest one of my life. Yeah! Well, the time has arrived for the dreaded anatomy ultrasound (the one where most people get all excited about finding out their baby’s gender).

I hate this test because they check for all kinds of abnormalities and problems too. It makes me so nervous that today; I actually broke out in hives for the first time in my entire life! My chest looked like I had poorly sprayed sunblock on it then spent the entire day in the Egyptian desert—a blotchy red mess! I only noticed it this morning. As soon as we left the OB’s office and sat down to breakfast, I realized that my chest was clear again. What the heck was that about!? I don’t think that even happened to me the last time I had this ultrasound with my son. Wow, my anxiety must have been off the charts today.

From what the ultrasound tech told us, our newest addition looks normal and healthy. I couldn’t ask for much more than that. Oh, except to know the gender maybe. This is where it gets fun. First of all, "Number 2" (what we call this baby) was not feeling particularly cooperative today in this area. He/She kept it's hand over the parts we needed to see. The Tech could not get a clear picture until after I emptied my "full bladder" and did a few jumping jacks. I was stopped just short of doing a handstand. Long story short, Number 2 finally cooperated after that.

Believe it or not, we (being Jason and I) never even intended to find out the gender today. I find the test too stressful to enjoy that particular moment lying on my back with gunk on my swollen belly. We asked the tech to put the photo of the gender parts (nice term, huh?) in an envelope along with a copy of a flashcard we’ve been using to teach Jager the words, “boy” and “girl.” We asked her to toss the superfluous card and seal up the envelope for us to open later. We are going on vacation to Disney World in May so we thought it would fun to have Jager open it there somewhere and hope he’ll pull the flashcard and announce the gender of his first sibling to us. I know, I know we are totally cheesy parents, but everyone likes to have a fun story attached to their beginnings. For example: I am often reminded on my birthdays that I was “created” in a VW bus while on safari in Krugerland. Gross yes, fun… well, yes. I spare my offspring the dirty details of that very special… moment and simply make a big deal out of discovering a big part of who they are.

As the carrier of this child, I do have my feelings about what he/she is, but I’m keeping them to myself for now. I’ll let everyone know what it is when we find out. Until then, let’s keep it neutral, okay? :)

Revised Church of Oprah

2008-04-08T20:52:00.001-07:00

Poor Oprah. How confusing her spiritual life must be. To so believe the lie that we are inherently God-like (in terms of our power and metaphysical makeup) that one feels they have to create spiritual truth as they go along must be totally exhausting.

I have no problem with the acknowledgement of our unique and powerful nature as human beings in the spiritual realm… even the Bible illustrates this in the first chapter of the first book. In the end, we are the creations of a most high God who, however much we might despise the fact, is a greater power over us (even though we might be elevated to god-like status in earthly terms). No matter who we are or what we’ve achieved, we must all one day deal with the reality that without God, we are as insignificant as dust in the desert and far more finite.

We can’t decide what we are anymore than we can decide who our unborn children are or will be. It’s all a silly, pointless, pseudo-philosophical guessing game without God or His Word in the equation. Only God’s Word can guide us to the real ultimate truth—that we were created by a far greater power (whom many call God) for reasons not completely known. We are designed to need Him and He has longed for us since the beginning of time. It’s not about power in God’s eyes; it’s about Love and always has been. God created us out of love, he set us up in this world out of love and humbled Himself to become our savior out of love and we can rest assured that his plan of redemption and peace for us is not over yet because he loves us more than we could ever love him back.

Oprah (and others), you don’t have to be equal to God, and you don’t have to negate God or Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross to have strength. You seem like a searcher and I doubt you’ve reached your ultimate conclusion on this subject. May God gently reveal His true nature to you that you may experience the only peace there is to be had in this world—the assurance of the love of God for you. You never walk alone. Even in your doubt, as epic as it may be, God is there.

101 Dalmatians, 101 Times.

2008-03-18T13:15:00.000-07:00

The Pongos watching their favorite television program.

Clearly, I am not one of those overly ambitious mothers who attempts to shut television and movies out of my son’s life. We enjoy movies and it seems only natural that he would too. It’s a convenient mutual interest and while we are careful about content, and faithful to watch with him, I don’t fret about his occasional study of the many delights of the boob tube.

As he has grown and developed, so have his entertainment preferences. Baby Einstein’s digital board books only interest him in that he likes to yell out the names of the things presented on screen and I believe he enjoys the music. It’s more like baby Muzak to him—it’s good in the background while building Mega Lego towers.

Lately, my son has been going through these obsessive phases with different movies. It all started with Elmo and that dreaded Sesame Street segment, Elmo’s World. That opening tune of “La la la La, La la la La Elmo’s Wooooorld” threatened to take out all my last living brain cells in a Kamikaze style bombardment of the mind! His need to watch Elmo’s World every night and day thankfully morphed into an interest in other shows as well. It wasn’t long before his nightly cries of “Couch?!” meaning Big Comfy Couch, began the steady invasion of catchy Canadian kid’s songs about hurting your doll’s feelings, and learning that “it’s the thought that counts” into my already weakened, under challenged mind. At least it offers an intellectual step up from Elmo’s simple repetition of the day’s theme word to the tune of “Jingle Bells.”

Finally, my son has graduated from the world of TV on DVD to discover the endless world of children’s movies! In my opinion, this is the most significant media related developmental milestone yet, at least for me, the co-watcher of all! It began with Toy Story. He found the DVD box and as any observant child would, he immediately related the brightly colored drawn figures on the cover to something that should belong to him. He demanded we present him with the contents of the box and only moments after inserting the Pixar classic into the DVD player, we created an animation addict.

He is now working his way through a retrospective of classic Disney animation. Currently we are fixated with 101 Dalmatians, a movie he refers to simply as “Doggie.” Watching him watch this movie is like watching Lucky, the would-be stillborn Dalmatian puppy with a spotted horseshoe pattern on his back, watch “Old Thunder” defeat his villainous foes on the dog’s favorite television show sponsored by Kanine Krunchies… of course.

This embarrassing notation of the details of 101 Dalmatians brings me to my point. If a two-year old boy can watch this movie twice a day without a waning interest, how do his parents manage to endure the onslaught without losing all mental function entirely? The answer is that a keen ability to pick up all movie minutia develops. You become that person who writes entire blog entries about the film’s plot and scene discrepancies as well as the fact that the human, Anita, who is the “pet” of Perdita, the Dalmatian wife of Pongo, our hero, has shockingly similar mannerisms and speech patterns to that famous animated housekeeper turned princess, Cinderella.

You might wonder why then do I actually watch this latest filmic obsession with my son when he would happily watch it alone. The truth is that one of the greatest simple pleasures of parenthood is to be able to snuggle up next to your skinny, long-legged child and hold him next to you as you “discuss” the events of the story. While he still loves and wants me to join him, I’ll never turn down the opportunity to do it.

My response to being Tagged.

2008-02-06T09:24:00.000-08:00

"Once you have been tagged, you have to write 10 random things, facts, habits or goals about yourself. At the end, choose 10 people to be tagged, listing their names and why you chose them. Don't forget to leave them a comment ("YOU'RE IT") and to read your blog (or post a comment on my blog for those of you how don’t have them somewhere like Myspace or blogspot). You can't tag the person who tagged you. Since you can't tag me back, let me know when you've posted your blog so I can see your answers"

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1.My favorite song lyrics of all time come from a (generally stodgily performed) hymn called, O Worship the King. “His chariots of wrath the deep thunderclouds form, And dark is His path on the wings of the storm.” Thy mercies how tender, how firm to the end, Our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend.” You realize just how safe we really are when you hear these words.

2. I hate it when groups of girls go around together looking just like one another—same flat ironed hair, same short shorts, same way of walking, same facial expressions… I find it more offensive than the most pathetic display of deliberate individuality.

3. I wish everyone in the world could walk around wearing name tags. The world would be a much friendlier place if everyone around us was humanized by having a name that we knew. “Oh, hey there, Rob. Please don’t mug me… I’m on vacation and your mom, Joyce would be very disappointed in your behavior!”

4. I think the church is often an institution of good-hearted people that inevitably becomes an unChristlike fraternity based on a hierarchal system of perceived faith. I believe that when that happens, the mission of the church becomes little more than an aspiration to pat ourselves on the back. I aspire to be unacceptable as a traditional Christian—I want to be a reflection of the REAL Jesus Christ, the boat rocker and crazy lover of mankind!

5. Whenever I’m pregnant, I cry at the drop of a hat. Everything moves me! The odd thing is that I actually enjoy the heightened intensity and appreciation for things more than I feel embarrassed about crying for seemingly no reason.

6. I honestly believe that there are two phrases we can never say enough. “I love you” and “Who the heck cares!?”

7. I am embarrassed when service people do things for me that I can do for myself—like picking up my plate at a restaurant, or making my bed at a hotel.

8. I imagine my dream home with such clarity that it feels as if I’ve been there before. It’s a craftsman style, two-story house with tons of floor to ceiling windows that is nestled among hundreds of tall trees and within a short walk to the ocean. You can even see the beach from a desk nook in a room on the second floor… and that window is always open.

9. My heart hurts when I think of other places in the world; I want to be there so badly.

10. I have to sleep with my feet sticking out of the covers, no matter how cold it is. My Gran and my mom do the exact same thing! I also shared an identical birthmark with my late Gran. It makes you wonder about how much say we have in who we are.

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Ok... 10 people...
1. Jason – “because I'd love to see if he can come up with something I don't already know.” (Explanation stolen from Dacia)
2. Christina – just to challenge her for the time to do this
3. Stacia – because she’s never boring
4. Jay - because only he could write longer explanations that me
5. Emily A. - because I miss her unusual way of seeing things
6. LadyMac – because her words are always refreshing
7. Krystin - because she has a fresh perspective as a busy new mom
8. Mom - because I feel like seeing if she can figure out how to do this
9. A2 – …so tell me something about yourself
10. Kim – just get your head away from work for a while

Feelin' It

2008-01-07T20:34:00.001-08:00

I was going to blog about something totally different, but now I'm just not feelin' it. Maybe later.

Instead, my attentions were radically redirected by and email from a friend. I feel like writing my Manefesto De Noemi, my intentional purpose in relationship with others and my approach to life. If this all sounds a bit too Oprah for you, feel free to detour over on down to my favorite internet escapist haunt, Dlisted.com. Michael K. will serve you up right.

My motto is quite simple really--Life is short, so love passionately, speak openly and take risks! Forget your hangups and decide that you will bring joy to joyless situations. Don't hold back for fear of hurt or rejection--be a fool. Be what is missing!

Was that "quite simple"? I don't know. I realize that everyone has had some serious pain in their lives. Some of you have had some seriously awful, messed up things to deal with and life isn't fair. Trust me, I know. I've just come to really admire those who have risen up out of their pain and decided to be something stronger than they were before--to act fearless even if they still fear. To rise up at all is an act of fearlessness. I have lost too much to pretend I don't need people. The people I love and need are simply flawed human beings the same as everyone else and even when I don't understand their motivations, I will be willing to "creep within and feel [their] beating heart"--to try to understand for their sake.

I honestly don't care if I appear cool, or aloof, because am rarely either and it is too much work to attempt to appear otherwise. I am just a poor, wounded, stupid thing and I wouldn't change that for the world.

South Africa: The Facts

2007-10-17T10:26:00.001-07:00

I am a white South African living in the U.S. and I was born during Apartheid. Growing up in the U.S. during the the 1980's, when it became common practice for the average American to protest the domestic policies of other nations, was a very difficult reality of my childhood. The anger began welling up in me at a very young age when I was first slapped in the face with blind ignorance at the hands of a schoolmate who called me a "bleached bushmman."

Now I am a woman with a zealous interest, even a passion for my homeland. The province of my birth was called Natal at that time, it is now called Kwa Zulu. These types of name changes are evident everywhere--just check out the Johannesburg International Airport for example. The need to change these Dutch and English names to African ones is important in that people have a desire to move beyond the past and embrace names that remind us of the great achievements against hate and seperation. At the same time, the decision to change these names is a grevious stripping of the history of my people. Whites are told to stand by and watch as our monuments are torn down and our forefather's achievements burned from the pages of history books in the name of affirmative action. We are being disrobed of our postion as a People. Finding work in South Africa has become so difficult for whites, and fear of racially motivated crime cripples all from living freely.
Sound familiar?

When my uncle first started teaching me about South Africa, he told me something that I've never forgotten, "Apartheid's fatal mistake was in its becoming official." Apartheid is a Afrikans word that means "separateness." Separation is a natural human response when cultures mix, but official separation is unnatural and stops progress when it is right. My fear for my home country is that the same mistake is being made again. It won't be called Apartheid, but in time, it could have a Xosa word with a very similar meaning.

The result of this tug-of-war is a humanitarian crisis the likes of which none of us have ever witnessed in our lifetimes. The facts in the video above are very real. The ethical debates, the bitterness and fighting over a place so beautiful are nothing in the light of the tear-stained faces of hundreds of thousands of new orphans or the pain of a person suffering, unmedicated, from the ravaging affects of HIV/AIDs. Politics, and ideologies aside, our purpose is to try to ease the suffering of others. It's no coincidence that those that suffer, do so in a land riddled with corruption, crime, poverty and one being propelled violently by revolution.

South Africa is truly in need. Does anyone else ever feel so helpless that it hurts?

A New Look

2007-10-15T21:31:00.000-07:00

As you can see, I've employed a new look here. It's the same blog with a new image and a bit of dropped dead weight--nothing much though. Anyway, I hope your eyes don't protest against my strange color combinations here. Enjoy and I'll talk to you soon!

Oh No You Did NOT!

2007-09-21T09:19:00.000-07:00

On occasion I like to come to Panera for a bit of relaxing coffee/tea drinking and internet surfing. It’s pretty much the only time I can browse a few sites or get something done without a 3 foot red-head pulling on my pant leg.

I have a favorite little nook here at the Panera on N.W. Expressway. I’m relatively tucked away in this seat, but I have a good view of the door and can hear a lot of what people say. Perfect for my nosey ways. Well, I can hear a lot, but apparently I’m also something of a captive audience too. Last April, I was just talking to my mom about travel plans since I was browsing for flights. A woman who had clearly just wrapped up some kind of meeting kept looking over at me and finally made her way over to me, forcing me to remove my headphones in order to hear her. She was apparently involved in some sort of direct marketing travel business, an independently marketed business if you know what I mean. Yes. It was like Arbonne, but for travel. Crap! So I was dumb and gave her my real phone number. I’ve now learned my lesson. She called me so many times, literally nagging me to get involved with her junk business that I actually saved her number under the title “travel hag” just so I’d know when to ignore the call. Finally, I guess she gave up.

Today, it happened again! This is why there are no soliciting signs guys… read!! I’m sitting here once again enjoying a very limited amount of time to myself, not bothering ANYONE when a woman in group of three people in front of me who are also clearly having a meeting starts paying too much attention to me. Today the lead-in was my laptop skin—a burnt orange homage to the University of Texas of course (thanks Jason). So this lady chats with me for a moment about OU versus Texas and I’m happy to indulge her in a bit of mindless chit chat… until she stands up to introduce herself. I'm thinking, either you are lesbionically attracted to me which is unlikely considering I look awful today, or you are trying to sell me something. Oh no! I know where this is going and you can just sit back done missy. Honestly, I’d rather you hit on me than pull your crap to get me hooked into your lame scheme. But as her partner fetches me some information on this health drink thing they’re pedaling, she gives me her best knowing look and says, “I feel like there is something going on with your health and you should know about this product. I don’t know if it’s god or what…” I didn’t capitalize God there because clearly her god communicates through bizarre health related psychic messages sent through extremely unhealthy looking strangers!

You know, if she hadn’t just been having this meeting not three feet in front of me where I could hear every word, she might have shaken me up a bit. What bull! This makes me so mad I’m actually having a hard time not letting her read this exact blog post! Why do all these scams attatch God to their marketing strategies? Is it just good business to have the Almighty endorse your product and/or services?

I am involved in a direct marketing business myself. Only one business and it is the first and only one we’ve ever become involved with. Oh, you didn’t know that? Well, that’s because I’m not going to tell you about until I’m convinced it’s in your best interest. I can promise you that.

Oh, I hate being manipulated like this. Now, I'm going to have to make an appointment with my doctor for a physical because I'm paranoid. Stupid woman! :)

Taking Tea

2007-09-15T17:30:00.000-07:00

Originally written on a rainy day a few months ago.
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Another day of rain inundated her car windows as she drove toward her favorite coffee haunt with determination. Upon arrival, the place was busy and once again, out of nearly everything. Instead of going someplace else or becoming irritable like the last time this happened, she opted for less flash and more satisfaction in the form of her old, nearly abandoned favorite of steaming hot Earl Grey tea.

“Even this simple, do it yourself beverage is overpriced here,” she mutters to herself as she succumbs to a to-go cup instead of the thick white mug she was looking forward to holding in the palm of her hands. They were out of those too.

“Hot tea!” yells the girl from behind the counter. Hot tea? This was a large cup of steaming water. She picked two tea bags from the Earl Grey jar since this was an exceptionally large cup of near boiling water. She headed to the fix-it counter and collected her sweetening agents. She sat down at her table inserted her tea bags, stirred and replaced the lid in order to let it steep properly. She looked out at the rain strewn window as her computer booted up and realized that this accidental cup of tea was a much needed retreat from her constant emersion in noise, sights and fast, explosive flavors.

As she watched the steam slink up the sides of her cup and whisper upwards into oblivion, she was launched into a memory about thirteen years prior. Her first cup of Earl Grey tea was in London at a simple lunch counter. That had been a real lesson in tea! After ordering Twinnings Earl Grey because a character on a beloved television show always drank it, she was surprised to be presented with a tiny metal teapot with scorching hot water in it, a tea strainer full of Earl Grey leaves, a selection of sugar, saccharine, honey, lemon and milk as well as a tea cup complete with saucer and spoon. She tried a cup with nearly every choice and decided she preferred hers with honey and nothing else.

She smiled at the fact that her preference hadn’t changed in all these years, while blowing the steam off the top of her current to-go cup full of aromatic memories. She pulled the cup closer and heat floated to her face bringing with it the uniquely citrus scent of Earl Grey leaves. She pulled out the tea bags and used the spoon to squeeze them tightly against the side of the cup, extracting every last bit of essence from it before setting it aside. Next she added the honey—the best part. She stirred it slowly allowing the cold honey to merge fully with the steaming tea. Finally, all one must do is let it cool enough to take a sip without burning your tongue beyond usefulness.

The first sip is the test. You examine its burnt amber color and wonder, is it cool enough now? Is it sweet enough? Is this brand too acidic, or more lemon than orange? When it is right, it is comfort, relaxation and warmth in fluid form. You open your eyes a little less fully and you look beyond a thing and see only its color and movement. It is only a few moments stolen from the day, but the right sensory experience can clarify the mind and foster creativity. Taking tea is indeed a necessary luxury.

Your Firsts

2007-09-14T09:00:00.000-07:00

1. Who was your first prom date?
It was Christmas Banquet, but his name was George.

2. Who was your first roommate?
Melessia Camille, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how you spell her name. Freshman year, Hatley Hall.

3. What was your first alcoholic drink?
A white Russian.

4. What was your first job?
A hostess at China Coast. “Ni hao, and welcome to China Coast! Smoking or Non?”

5. What was your first car?
’80 Honda Accord. I called it Rusty.

6. Who was the first person you texted today?
No one yet.

7. Who is the first person you thought of this morning?
Jason since he was saying goodbye to me. Then Jager.

8. Who was your first grade teacher?
Ms. McIntyre. I’m pretty sure she was psychotic, and would be fired if she did that stuff today.

9. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane?
To the U.S., Oklahoma specifically

10. When you snuck out of your house for the first time, who were you with?
I never really snuck out. If I had, I’m sure I would have been with Christina though.

11. Who was your first best friend and are you still friends with them?
A girl named Miriam Merbaba (sp?). I don’t know her anymore.

12. Where was your first sleep over?
My house most likely and probably around 2nd grade.

13. Who was your first?
boyfriend? Jason Luper.

14. Whose wedding were you in the first time?
Charmaine’s, one of my sisters

15. What is the first thing you do in the morning?
check the time

16. What was the first concert you ever went to?
Probably Carmen or something, although, I vaguely remember some kind of outdoor show… but I don’t know more than that.

17. First tattoo or piercing?
ears, I think I was about 11. Tattoo, I was 17.

18. First foreign country you went to?
The U.S.

19. First crush?
His name was Adam and I tried to kiss him on the round rug at preschool. :)

20. When was your first detention?
I can hardly narrow it down. Probably 8th grade.

21. What was the first state you lived in?
A province, not a state and it is called Natal/Kwa Zulu.

22. Who was the first person to break your heart?
A boy named Jason (not my first BF, or my husband… I just have a thing for Jasons).

23. Who will be the first to repost?
Like I know!

Songs That Always Make Me Cry

2007-09-05T10:45:00.001-07:00

Jacob’s Dream – Alison Kraus and Union Station

No song in the English language manages to cut to the heart of a mother quite as succinctly as this one. The song is an extremely sad gothic sounding folk tune about two boys who wonder into the mountains to find their dad. Instead, they get terribly lost in the freezing temperatures and the whole town is filled with dread as they search for the lost boys for days.

The chorus reads,
“Oh mommy and daddy why can't you hear our cries
The day is almost over, soon it will be night
We're so cold and hungry and our feet are tired and sore
We promise not to stray again from our cabin door.”

Even typing those words brings tears to my eyes. No mother can handle the image of her child suffering in the cold, hungry and scared and to ask the mother why she can’t find him or hear him is even worse. You know time is of the essence yet you are utterly helpless to even comfort the person you love most in the world. Death is a better fate for a mom in that situation.
The song goes on to tell about an old, sickly man in the village who dreams of a location in the mountain where he dreams that he sees the two boys huddled near a tree by a swollen stream. He dreams this for many nights before his wife finally persuades him to tell someone about it. When he does, the men recognize that location and head there immediately. When they arrive, they find the boys frozen to death in the exact position described in Jacob’s dream. AWFUL!!! All I can think of at the end of that song is “JACOB IS AN EFFING MORON!! He waited for three days???!!”
As the song says, “For two more nights the dream returned this vision sent from God,” for what purpose? To torture their poor parents at the fact that they might have been saved!?
The song ends, with a reinvention of the crushing chorus, remade to make us feel a sense of peace as this awful story comes to a close.

“Oh mommy and daddy, look past the tears you cry
We're both up in Heaven now, God is by our side
As you lay us down to rest in the presence of the Lord
Know that we will meet you here at Heaven's door.”

Oh, Alison. I know you love to sing sad songs, but this is just too much for my heart.

To hear a sample (track 3):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=011661055520&itm=1

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When God Ran – by Phillips Craig and Dean

I suppose I am especially moved by the idea of the prodigal and equally so by the love of a parent for a child. They are intertwined. This song was originally written as a unique perspective on the parable of the Prodigal Son. This song details the part of the story when the son comes home to his Father’s house and plans to beg for a place in the home as a servant, knowing that he no longer had the rights of a son. Instead of the reception he expected, he is greeted by his Father who not only happy to see him, but openly running at full speed toward him—a social faux pas in that day. The Father’s love was so great that the forgiveness was given before it was requested and the wrongdoer was reinstated to his previous position of privileged by the man he had most wronged… all because of unselfish love.

The P.C. & D. version of this song is kind of lame—lots of synthesizer and echo effects added to the vocals to add intensity. The song elicits enough awe all on its own, so the original recording falls victim to typical 80’s indulgence (although it has been redone). Last week at church, a few guys from our music department got together and performed this song during the service. Of course, the pastor had been talking about the story of the Prodigal Son and even referenced a painting by Rembrandt of the same name. Before the service began I was in the choir room and heard the guys practicing this song and in a flash I was transported to my parent’s living room, watching my sister, Melanie practicing the exact same song (unfortunately, the Phillips Craig and Dean version). She sang that song in church and all over the place so many times that I actually knew the words to it. She loved it. I can’t believe I forgot this song! I especially couldn’t believe how it didn’t come to me while planning her funeral or during the many many hours I’ve spent since her death coming to a startling realization about God’s love in her life. This was her song and she had always known it! This is how her story ended too and in an even more perfect way. The shock of realizing my sister knew how her own story had to end caused me to weep openly as they sang this song last Sunday.

Almighty God, the great I am
Immovable rock, omnipotent, powerful, awesome Lord
Victorious warrior, commanding King of Kings
Mighty conqueror, and the only time
the only time I ever saw Him run

Was when He ran to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice He said,
“Son do you know I still love you?”
He caught me by surprise when God ran
The day I left home I knew I’d broken His heart
And I wondered then if things could ever be the same
Then one night I remembered His love for me
And down that dusty road ahead I could see
It was the only time – it was the only time I ever saw Him run
And then He ran to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice He said,
“Son do you know I still love you?”
He caught me by surprise as He brought me to my knees
When God ran – I saw Him run to me

I was so ashamed, all alone and so far away
But now I know He’s been waiting for this day
I saw Him run to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice I felt His love for me again
He ran to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son”, He called me Son
He said, “Son do you know I still love you?”
He ran to me and then I ran to Him
When God ran

I’m sure everyone around me was thinking, “Poor prodigal girl… perhaps she shouldn’t be leading music if she’s gone astray.” :) That thought alone made me laugh enough to stop crying.

To hear a bit of it (track 14): http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=094638191025&itm=1

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Bring Him Home– “Jean Valjean” from Les Miserables
from the album, Les Miserables - The Musical That Swept the World (10th Anniversary Concert at the Royal Albert Hall)

This song makes me cry, but it doesn’t make me emotional. Instead it pushes and inspires me. What makes it so powerful? It could be that you get the sense that Valjean is crying as he sings this desperate song about a boy he loves like son. It could be the way it builds in intensity without the singer ever straying from his original pleading tone. While the subject is moving and the delivery, poignant, it is the song as a whole entity that makes me weep. I cry for the overwhelming aesthetic perfection of this particular version of “Bring Him Home.” In fact, to say that this song overwhelms me is a bit of an understatement. I usually begin with goose bumps and progress into a minor case of the shakes. By the chorus, when Jean Valjean begs, “Bring Him Home” to God, there are hot tears streaming down my face. I look like a right fool, but I feel privileged to be able to be moved by beauty in this way. It is too easy to breeze past art and not be affected by it. This song shows me that I am still sensitive to the awe inspiring sensations of good art performed with a sense of obsession.

Bring Him Home
God on high
Hear my prayer
In my need
You have always been there

He is young
He's afraid
Let him rest
Heaven blessed.
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.

He's like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son.
The summers die
One by one
How soon they fly
On and on
And I am old
And will be gone.

Bring him peace
Bring him joy
He is young
He is only a boy.

You can take
You can give
Let him be
Let him live.
If I die, let me die
Let him live, bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.

To hear a tiny version that doesn’t do it justice (disc 2, track 10—not track 11):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=766927332623&itm=1

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I Can Only Imagine - MercyMe

I realize how totally cliché it is for me to list this song among those whose lyrics, memories and shear artistry move me to tears. This song was built to get to you—that is its purpose. I hate that I am subject to its carefully orchestrated emotion seeking lyrics. Gag!

With that said, this song makes me feel peace about the deaths of those I have loved and I am overwhelmed by the truth of its words. For someone who truly loves their creator, this song is a great love song sung by the prodigal lover to the faithful lover. These are the kind of words any parent would die to hear come their children’s lips—it is love finally requited. It’s the opening gasp of desperately happy cry, of relief, of pure unerring and perfect joy. The song paints a picture of someone finally getting God’s love and showing it by immediately throwing off their restraints and running toward that eternal unknowable obsession—the love of a master for his creation, of a parent for his child, for a lover for the object of his passion.

My uncle always gave some version of the same Easter sermon except once—the Easter before he died four years ago. It was the most unusual Easter sermon most in that audience had ever heard, so much so, that the District Superintendent, who was there that day, ordered a copy of it on C.D. Three months after giving that sermon, my uncle (whom I admired and loved) died suddenly in South Africa after spending a week comforting his cousin who had just lost his own son. At my uncle’s funeral, that D.S. spoke in hushed tones about the sermon my uncle gave at Easter. His awe was palpable as he began playing the last five minutes of it for everyone there. Without warning, the sanctuary was suddenly filled with the sound of my uncle’s voice saying these words…
“I can only imagine what it will be like when I walk by your side. I can only imagine what my eyes will see when your face is before me. I can only imagine, surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel. Will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still? Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I fall? Will I sing hallelujah; will I be able to speak at all? I can only imagine.
I can only imagine when that day comes and I find myself standing in the Son.
I can only imagine when all I will do is forever, forever worship You. I can only imagine.”

To hear although, I’m sure everyone already has (track 5):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=080688613327&itm=7

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Be Thou My Vision – Celtic Call, a local duo, or any other version done in the Celtic tradition

If I focus on this song, I will tear up for every reason mentioned previously, not just one of them. I immediately fill with joy and expectation as is only fitting considering this is our love song. I walked down a grassy aisle toward to my future husband to a live version of this very song by Celtic Call. The husband and wife duo that performed this at our wedding consists of a harpist (the wife) and a bagpipe, fiddle or any other kind of pipe player (the kilted husband). The harp opened the song and played for several minutes as the anticipation mounted for me to enter that garden. Just when I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest and my breath would stop all together, the piper said, “It’s time,” and began playing those first few shocking notes of his segment of the song on his bagpipes. I walked, clinging to my dad for dear life, just steps behind the man “piping me in.” The bagpipes are an extremely powerful and emotional instrument. That was the only time they were played at the wedding. I wasn’t paying attention to the crowd at the time, but when I watched the video later, the look on the faces of that congregation as those pipes began was never to be forgotten. They looked almost as awestruck as I felt. Yeah pipes, you did your job well!
The lyrics of this song are so beautifully written. The rhyme and meter is elegant and the words themselves betray such unerring devotion and admiration that it transforms this simple Celtic melody into something quite innocently powerful.

To hear a different version (track 4):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=083616392929&itm=7
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What songs move you?

THAT’S ENOUGH! : I Love My Red-Heads

2007-08-28T15:52:00.000-07:00

Lately, I’ve been made aware of an unknown (to me) prejudice towards people with red hair, or as those who feel this hatred most acutely put it, “ginger hair.” I have read so many hateful things in my research on this subject! I am honestly embarrassed for these idiots. I’ve read everything from "fire" jibes to insinuations that red-headed children should be “put out of their misery.” Holy crap! Get the hell over it people! Seriously, do you not have anything better to do than make up inane reasons to dislike an entire group of people? Wow.

Here is a brief example of this stupidity. The first definition is what I'm taking about but the last two sound like something I'd write. These are user submitted definitions.

1. Ginger
A human, characterized by pale skin, freckles and bright red hair. "Gingers" are generally considered to be inferior to their more melanin-rich brethren, and thus deservingly discriminated against. Gingers are thought to have no souls. The condition, "gingervitis" is genetic and incurable.
Ron Howard is a ginger.

Carrot Top is a good example of why gingers should be discriminated against.

3. Ginger

A ginger is, among other things, a person with red hair, freckles and pale skin. Some darker skinned or non-ginger haired persons feel compelled to denegrate gingers out of jealousy because a ginger's look is unique.
Men typically love ginger women.

4. Ginger

A ginger is a person with red hair.

All previous entries can only be explained by the extreme likelihood that they were written by mentally-handicapped and racist children, who walked in on their mothers having extra-marital intercourse with red-haired men. Recently, magazines such as tatler, vogue, and numerous newspapers have heralded this the age of 'the ginger' and have called it the new blonde. Such articles published a list of numerous celebrities who have dyed their hair red as part of the trend.
Damian Lewis, Nicole Kidman, Lindsay Lohan, Phillip Seymour-Hoffman are all what would be called a 'ginger'

This list does not include celebrities who have recently begun dying their hair red as part of the 'new-blonde' redhead resurgence.

From:
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=ginger

Personally, I am an unabashed lover of the Ginger. My Gran was a red-head. My first boyfriend (kind of) was a red head (strawberry blonde). One of my first ever best friends was a red-head as well as one of my current best friends. I married a red-head and to prove my unfaltering devotion, I then gave birth to a red-head. I am blond and always have been some version of blond—so my love for the Ginger is quite pure. This is one of those things I really just don’t understand.

Honestly, I had always believed that red-heads faced a sort of innocent, teasing type of persecution. It never crossed my mind that this particular brand of prejudice came in such sinister forms as physical abuse, disgusting remarks and incessant taunting. Now I am beginning to understand why my Gran hated being called Ginger or Red-head. She insisted on the word, “Titian” (say, tee-shun). Well, I have my Gran to thank for handing down her Ginger gene to me. Thanks to that gene, I am freckled and naturally fair skinned. Mostly, it enabled my son to look the rare and intriguing way that he does. I’ll have any of these haters know that in a group of children, he is ALWAYS singled out as the one to receive exuberant praise for being so adorable with his floppy curly Ginger hair.

Before and After: It Is Time part #2

2007-06-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

After much debate about whether or not I, a mother, should get tattooed... again. I finally just decided to ignore the protests and just do whatever I wanted to do in the first place.

The next battle was with myself. I kept going back and forth between the basic concept of how I would modify my existing tattoo (my starting point) and how I would pay homage to my sister at the same time.

Finally, after consulting with Dave Bruehl, the tattooist I eventually chose, I decided to go back to my first and probably purest thought. He took my few requirements and drew exactly what I had envisioned in the beginning--a beautiful representation of my sister's tattoo encircled by the most organic looking tattooed wings I've ever seen. Since I wasn't too thrilled about the traditional halo concept for a memorial tattoo, we opted for a sunset colored crown of light eminating from the top of the winged flower.

Each element of this tattoo is highly significant for me and while it's just another (albeit lovely) tattoo on the ankel of a stranger to most people, it is a great summing up of a very difficult reality in my life.

This photo was taken the day after getting the tattoo so it actually looks a bit better now.

The elements and their meaning

Small blue flower: This is the only original tattoo I got with my sister and it was only redone to make the color fresh and the lines distinct again. The smallness represents me as the younger sister and blue was/is a representation of my personality.

Large red flower: This is a replica of Melanie's tattoo that we got together. It is just like mine in shape. The larger size indicates that she was the older sister and the red represents her passionate, tormented nature. This was on her back, near her right shoulder.

The wings: They seem obvious (she's dead and therefore, floating somewhere in the heavens, blah blah blah...), but more than just that they represent her newfound freedom. Melanie was an addict most of her life and I feel she is free for the first time now. Her wings are her release and are a natural part of her--also that is why they are not white or angelic looking.

The direction of her flight: She is flying away from me and this world. The direction is evident by the size of the far wing--it is smaller as it is further in the distance and leading the movement in the opposite direction.

Those are all the intentional elements. I'm sure you're thinking, "that's a lot to say about a pretty straight-forward looking tattoo," and you're probably right, but that's what makes it poignant for me instead of everyone else.
Getting the tattoo made me very nervous and I'm not sure why. I've had two before, so I knew what to expect. Mel will have to explain that to me one day.

I'm so glad I've done this for her. I only wish she could have seen it, but then it wouldn't have made any sense. :)

A Rough Patch

2007-06-13T10:33:00.000-07:00

People say all kinds of things on the subject of marriage. Many comments and tidbits of advice are ridiculous, some are illogical and unlivable, but most are simply trite.

This coming August, we will have been married for six years. Six years! We are now closer to a decade of marriage than to our wedding day. There is no turning back now. After all that time, I’m beginning to realize that all my collected knowledge on marriage amounts to a hill of beans. I realize more and more that marriage is an enigma and to attempt to understand or simplify the institution into small chewable amounts of information is ludicrous.

A lot of married couples find it hard to admit when there are difficult times. I am generally one of those people myself, but lately I’ve found there is much more to be learned by sharing the difficult truths than by glossing over your everyday life and all the complex ingredients of which it consists. We aren’t a perfect couple and we aren’t guaranteed to make it to that invisible, unspoken finish line for which a marriage is meant to strive. The point is that there is no finish line—there is no goal as such. That’s what makes the decision to marry such an intimidating one. Nothing compares to the nebulous expectations and lifespan of a marriage. Even when you become a parent, there are little accomplishments along the way that you can expect. You can even conceivably expect to “finish” your job as a parent to some extent at the end of about 18 to 21 years (although most parents would argue that point). Marriage isn’t a task—It’s a lifestyle choice and from “I do’s” to “death you do part” is at once a tricky, unappreciated, ordinary, comforting and passionate journey.

I have always felt that my partner and I had very little in common in terms of our tastes, but even that begins to change as the years pass by. You begin to morph into each other a bit. He has begun to dress more the way I would dress a man (you’ll notice I said “more” and not completely). I have begun to embrace the silly and childlike in this world opting away from my more contemplative and sullen pursuits. We change and hopefully improve each other. Perhaps we are even refined by the process of building and repairing our relationship.

Lately, we have struggled with new issues that have arisen and have silently threatened our otherwise even-tempered home. To be sure, being a full-time employee, student and father is no easy task, but somehow a wife can still develop resentment after appearing to fall lower and lower on her husband’s priority list. In turn, a husband can get confused and frustrated by a wife’s change in attitude and sentiment and wish he could spend less time sorting things out and more time making love or simply getting on with life. Wow. We are strange and dissimilar creatures. No matter how similar you are in the beginning, your differences as men and women will catch up to you at some point and I have to believe that that’s okay.

How do the willing participants of a marriage address the pea underneath all those mattresses while still suffering from its ill effects? There seem to be more and more options available to a couple facing any number of issues. Most often we try letting the issue work itself out, after all, most issues are temporary and calm will be theoretically restored when the storm is over. If that doesn’t work, or in our case, that solution won’t come quickly enough, what is next? You can torture each other with hour long talks about the issue and resolve to attempt any number of complex methods that are forgotten as soon as the baby goes to bed and the T.V. is switched on. Repeat this step as many times as necessary before threatening each other with counseling. Counseling seems like this terrifying, last ditch effort to a lot of married couples. Not so. Third party perspective is often exactly the thing to turn the tables on a seemingly hopeless situation. Strangely enough, praying in each others presence also has the effect of speaking to a third party, when sincere. Often, it softens the listener enough to actually do the most dreaded of relational duties… accept responsibility! Then if things are going to work, we decide on the sacrifices that will be made for the sake of the union. Sticking to those sacrificial choices is the toughest part.

Why do all this?! Isn’t it easier to promise “to be together as long as we love?” Those are popular vows for a reason—it is easier. No honest married couple will deny that one or both partners have thought the dreaded “D” word at one time or another. We all know couples who chose this route with good and bad results. There is no doubt that in some situations it is the only option, but for most of us, it just isn’t. Obviously there have to be rewards to doing the hard work and getting through the rough patches. No matter what my emotions do, I really only love one man and getting over him would ruin me in a lot of ways. He is not just my partner, but my best friend and the father of my son—I could never loose all of those things without going completely numb. It’s not just the threat of loosing that keeps us doing the work—it’s the all too soon forgotten rewards of an awesome marriage that keeps us hooked on each other. I believe that the decision to marry someone is the bond itself—that you can never fully extract them from your soul.

While we have not had to deal with marriage crippling issues, we have our own set of difficulties that make us wonder and drift. We aren’t perfect, but in the end, we really care about each other more than ourselves and that is what real love is. Love is the ultimate motivator.

Accepting responsibility and making choices for the good of each other has made us closer than ever. I have to let go of my hang-ups for his sake and do those things that he needs from me. He communicates more and more and even sacrifices some of his own time to simply be with me or help me. It may seem excessive but our growing humility and concern for our relationship makes us want to do more—to get through a rough patch and find our way back to the bliss of our wedding day when we promised to love each other until death parted us.

More Bloggerhea

2007-06-13T09:03:00.000-07:00

You Are 27 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe.

13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.

20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences.

30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!

40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Not Bad! I act one year younger than my true age.

What Your Dreams Mean...

Your dreams seem to show that you're a bit disturbed... but nothing serious.

You may have a problem you're trying to work out in your sleep.

Your dreams tend to reflect your insecurities.

You have a very vivid imagination and a rich creative mind.

What Do Your Dreams Mean?

I'm disturbed, but not too seriously? Isn't that most people?

You Are 22% Evil

A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well.
In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.

How Evil Are You?

Thanks for trying Blogthings, but I'm a goody goody and I'm okay with it.

Your Famous Movie Kiss is from Spiderman

"I have always been standing in your doorway. Isn't it about time somebody saved your life?"

What Famous Movie Kiss Are You?

Cheesy, but I always like that one. Good call.

You Are Iceman

You tried to live a normal life, but it just wasn't possible
A bit of a slacker, you rather tell jokes than cultivate your powers

Powers: turning self and others into ice, making ice weapons, becoming nearly invisible

Which of the X-Men Are You?

Boooooooooooo! I wanted Rogue.

You Are Blonde Highlights

Men see you as flexible and versatile - you fit in to every situation
You've got the inner glow of a blonde, the intensity of a redhead...
And the wisdom of a brunette.

How Blonde Are You?

So my hair is... white?

You Are a Mermaid

You are a total daydreamer, and people tend to think you're flakier than you actually are.
While your head is often in the clouds, you'll always come back to earth to help someone in need.
Beyond being a caring person, you are also very intelligent and rational.
You understand the connections of the universe better than almost anyone else.

What Mythological Creature Are You?

This explaination doesn't make much sense to me, but I have always wanted to be a mermaid.

Star Wars Horoscope for Capricorn

You have a ton of ambition and inexhaustible desire to reach your goals.
You are very loyal, going to great lengths to help someone out.
You are a very social unit, winning the hearts of many with your cute personality.

Star wars character you are most like: R2D2

What Is Your Star Wars Horoscope?

I'm a droid? Even as a cute droid, I'm not doing so great today.

Your Inner European is French!

Smart and sophisticated.
You have the best of everything - at least, *you* think so.

Who's Your Inner European?

Don't you mean "you" instead of "*you*". I'm just saying, italicizing something to imply a stress is not even remotely similar to the purpose of an asterisk. What? Are French people snobby too?
------------------------------
Okay enough bloggerhea! Time for a real post now, Naomi!

Why I Love You

2007-05-11T10:29:00.000-07:00

After a discussion I had recently with a good friend, I decided I wanted to waste everyone’s time listing the specific things I love about the people I love. This is the result and I’m sure, a work in progress.
------------------
In no particular order…

Jason: I love your bravery, your vulnerability, your ability to forgive and care for others. I love your silliness and am always thrilled by your suddenly intense or poignant thoughts. I love your strength and your innocence. I love that you’re nothing like me. I love that you try and always hear what I say even if I can’t tell. I love the you I met, the you I fell for and the you you’ve become. I love spending all my time with you and I love that you love me the way you do. You’re my favorite person in the entire world. I love you period.

Jager: I love your smile, your tender little heart, your sense of humor and lack of fear (although that does scare me a bit). I love you from your head to your toes and from your skin to your soul! I love you for choosing me and for making me something I’ve always wanted to be… your mother.

Christina: I love that you’re always there, even when I don’t know it. I love your loyalty and your always bizarre sense of humor and its perfect timing. You are so and real and I love that about you. I love you for turning pain into laughter.

Jonie: I love that you never hold back and love so passionately not only your lover and children, but your friends… I love that I never feel like I’m struggling alone because your always a phone call away. I love you for rescuing me from myself. I love your humor, wisdom and bravery.

Mom: I love your encouraging spirit. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you to so selfishly draw faith from. You are strength to me and I adore you more every day. I love your love of fun and of life! I love your sacrificial nature and I love that you struggle with things and that you’re real. No one could ever replace you.

Dad: I love your intensity and intellectual nature. I love how freely you show how you feel and how you can’t hide a thing. I love the Dad you were when I was small and I love the Dad and Grandfather you are trying so hard to be in the face of your devastation. I love your tenacity and loyalty.

Jay: I love your passion and your searching nature. I love your humor and its irony in a person as intense as you. I admire your respect for others and love that you care and feel so passionately and so privately at the same time. I love watching you become a whole new man.

Dave: I love the big brother you’ve always been to me. I love your passionate nature and your ability to adapt and love intensely. I love that you reach for people when you need them and struggle to always do what’s right.

Clara: I love your honesty with yourself. I love how brave you’ve become in the wake of your greatest loss. I love watching you rise from those ashes and I love the woman you’re becoming. I love your passionate loyalty and for never hesitating to fear and suffer with others. It’s impossible to feel alone with you in the world.

Gavin: I love the independent and creative man you’ve become. I love your strength and ability to communicate with others. I love your sacrificial nature and your private generosity. I admire you above most others. I love how your father is reflected in you.

Melanie: I loved that you always loved me even when you hurt me. I loved how proud you were of your family. I loved your weird sense of humor and moments of genuine truthfulness and revelation of your fear. I loved you where honest and I loved my memories of childhood shared with you. I loved your passion and I respected your struggle to win your life back.

Charmaine: I love your innocence and that you love genuinely. I love that there isn’t a mean thing about you and that if I ask you’ll give of yourself until the end. I love your generosity and sweetness.

Jarrod: I love your displays of affection and desire to please even if you struggle with what you really want. I love that you let me love you back and your intense loyalty. I admire your strength to love even those who have hurt you.

Jody: I love that you let yourself be a sibling to me. I love that you share your time and knowledge so freely. I love you for loving the people that I love.

Marie: I love you for caring for my husband and raising him to be the kind of man that I could love. I love your tender heart and your ability to listen and care earnestly.

Jean: I love your desperate need to express how much you love others. I love the intense wave of thoughts and feelings that go through you every moment. I love your kindred heart and your restless spirit. I love that I recognize your soul if that makes any sense.

Butch: I love you for being a father to the man I love. I love you because so much of him comes from you and I love your loyalty to your family. I love the way you’ve loved your wife for so many years and making marriage look easy.

Jen L.: I love your carefree spirit and love of life, family and adventure. I love how you can simplify things and make a person feel comfortable anywhere and like they aren’t alone in the room.

Jen R.: I love your intensity and zeal for almost everything! I love your tenacity, your energy and your desire to pursue the truth. I love your innocence and respect your apprehension as well.

-------------------------
I'm sure there are others, but that's it for now...

Same In Any Language

2007-05-04T08:50:00.000-07:00

Sometime ago I met a Navajo,
In a parking lot in Tokyo,
He said everything wordlessly,
Wonderlust in my eyes he did see,
Oh yeah,
Oh oh yeah.

Those postcards I sent to Birmingham,
All the way from those windows of Amsterdam,
I copped a gram from Dappersam
Just to fall at her man in another jam,
Oh yeah,
Oh oh yeah.

It's the same in any language,
A brother is a brother if there’s one thing I know,
It's the same in any language,
Wherever you go.

I ran out of Jack in Tripoli,
Oh those freedom fighters they were good to me,
They asked me all about Tennessee,
And on one thing we all did agree,
Ooh yeah,
Yeah oh oh yeah.

Wherever you go,
Where are you going, to?
Oh oh no no no no,
Where are you going, to?
Where you going to?

Everything is...
Say say say say say where are you going, to?
So where are you going, to?
I say where are you going?
Hoo hoo yeah.

----------------------
I'm in some kind of withdrawal. Is this total bloggerhea? Yeah. Well, it's either that or I'm going to start singing really loud into an imaginary microphone right here in the middle of Panera. "It's the saaaaaaaaaaaame in any language. A brother is a brother if there's one thing I know. It's the saaaaaaaaaaaame in any language... wherever you goooooooooo." Seriously, I've done it before, I'm not above such behaviour. I make no sense.

Do you ever feel like your legs are dying to do something really remarkable, but you can't make yourself move? This is what happens to a poor soul who has no creative and expressive outlet.

Wanderlust in my oë hy het gesien. Wat nie hy sien? Hy weet my beter as Ek ken my. Ek makeer om te gaan êrens. Ek kan nie gaan tuis, so ons gevestig vir Disney Wêreld. Wat het daardie sê omtrent my? Is Ek alleen op vir 'n rukkie van pret? Indien so, is daar iets verkeerd met dat? Ek regtig nie behoort hier.

A Brand New Quiz by Me--Take It If You Dare

2007-04-25T09:05:00.003-07:00

Screw these stupid questions… I'm making my own quiz. If you feel like it, copy it and answer the questions too. I'm sick of reading about my friend's preference between diet coke and regular coke. I want to know the good stuff. :) Whatever, I'm bored and somewhat preoccupied with these quiz things lately. Endulge me.
Post your answers as a comment on here, or post in your own blog, myspace, whatever, I don't care. I'm just curious.

Quiz

1. What are you listening to now, EXACTLY?

2. What is your greatest secondary talent (based on a talent show my friends hold)?

3. What’s hotter: chocolate, vanilla, strawberry or neopolitan?

4. If you were "playing for the other team"... who would be your ideal person?

5. What is your favorite Subway sandwich?

6. What is your favorite album right now?

7. What do you fantasize about more: space, the past, the future, reinventing the past, or a foreign country.

8. What is your favorite vegetable?

9. Name your first born son. What is his whole name?

10. If you were to start a band today, what would you call it?

11. I prefer: sunny skies, rain, clouds without rain, storms, hurricanes/tornados, fireworks

12. What is your dream occupation?

13. What was your favorite ‘80s sitcom?

14. Describe your childhood in less than 30 words.

15. Who were you in your past life?

16. Grossest thing you’ve ever eaten (according to most people)?

17. Confess your darkest secret here, then delete it. …we almost read it!!

18. Which of your friends do you admire most at the moment and why?

19. Number 19 was harmed in the making of this quiz.

20. How about a bit of word association, stupid quiz style? Just say the first word that comes to mind when you read the following words. NO THINKING!
carrot:
green:
wallpaper:
simon and garfunkel:
nose:
weave:
abstract:
splenda:
Britney:
vestido:
red:
voice:
See… that was fun, right?

21. What is your favorite brand of shoes (whether you own any or not)?

22. What was your favorite Atari game?

23. How long does it take you to get ready for bed and what does your routine entail?

24. Guilty confession. What is the longest amount of time you’ve ever spent…
playing video games:
talking on the phone:
in the shower:
surfing the internets:

25. What is your favorite number?

26. What is your most overused word(s)?

27. Favorite song lyrics (right now)?

28. Stop for a second. Clear your head. … … … … … ... what are you thinking about?

---------------------------------------------

Of course, I had to answer them myself. I had to test them. I would never ask you soemthing I couldn't ask myself. I have no idea what that means.

1. What are you listening to now, EXACTLY?
The band, Air. The album Talkie Walkie. A track called "Alpha Beta Gaga"

2. What is your greatest secondary talent (based on a talent show my friends hold)?
Winning stuffed animals out of that claw game at arcades.

3. What's hotter: chocolate, vanilla, strawberry or neopolitan?
none. I'm thinking, sticky.

4. If you were "playing for the other team," who would be your ideal person?
Lucy Liu

5. What is your favorite Subway sandwich?
roasted chicken with extra pickles, spinach, tomatoes, olives and light mayo.

6. What is your favorite album right now?
Colin Hay's, Going Somewhere.

7. What do you fantasize about more: space, the past, the future, reinventing the past, or a foreign country.
foreign countries

8. What is your favorite vegetable?
asparagas

9. Name your first born son. What is his whole name?
William Jager... already did that. Will a second do? Johan Jason

10. If you were to start a band today, what would you call it?
On the spot? The Perfunctory Wave Mechanism

11. I prefer: sunny skies, rain, clouds without rain, storms, hurricanes/tornados, fireworks
all but hurricanes etc...

12. What is your dream occupation?
Music writer or travel writer... or both!

13. What was your favorite '80s sitcom?
The Cosby Show

14. Describe your childhood in less than 30 words.
terry cloth, freedom, trampolines, poodles, ataris, cousins, stairs, tape decks, ralph machio, jellies, swimming pools, riding bikes, neighbors, growing alfalfa sprouts, slip and slides, school lunches, smashing PB&Js, hidabeds, Crystal's, units, hearts, Lisa Frank, amazed by a remote control, no front teeth, hand me downs, small. Is that thirty?

15. Who were you in your past life?
Someone ordinary. A mom, a widow and a dreamer, but I didn't leave home much even though I wanted to.

16. Grossest thing you've ever eaten (according to most people)?
It's a tie between french toast with ketchup and raw tuna.

17. Confess your darkest secret here, then delete it. …we almost read it!!
...

18. Which of your friends do you admire most at the moment and why?
Aaron, my best friend's husband. He seems to see beyond the ordinary things and instead sees something unique and funny. He doesn't seem to care what people think.

19. A moment of silence for number 19.

20. How about a bit of word association, stupid quiz style? Just say the first word that comes to mind when you read the following words. NO THINKING!
carrot: baby food
green: energy
wallpaper: tacky
simon and garfunkel: mom
nose: ugly
weave: hair
abstract: art
splenda: yellow
Britney: sad
vestido: ropa
red: melanie
voice: singing lessons
See… that was fun, right?

21. What is your favorite brand of shoes (whether you own any or not)?
Christian Louboutin

22. What was your favorite Atari game?
Frogger

23. What is your nightly "get ready for bed" routine entail? How long do you take?
About 15 uninterupted minutes. I wash my face, or shower (depending), do the face regimine: wash, tone, moisturize. I brush my hair, put on something to sleep in, brush my teeth, take out my contacts, put on glasses, and listen to my ipod in bed. This was a boring question. Sorry.

24. Guilty confession. What is the longest amount of time you've ever spent…
playing video games: about 10 hours
talking on the phone: about 9 hours
in the shower: 1.5 hours
surfing the internets: an entire day's work... about 8 hours.

25. What is your favorite number?
3

26. What is your most overused word(s)?
"I" and "sorry"

27. Favorite song lyrics (right now)?
"Yo sé que en los mil besos que te he dado en la bocase me fue el corazón; y dicen que es pecado querer como te quiero, Quizás tengan razón."
-or-
"I know that in the thousand kisses that I have given you on the mouth my heart left me; and they say that it's a sin to love as I love you, Maybe they're right."
-Patty Griffin, "Mil Besos"

28. Stop for a second. Clear your head. … … … … … … what are you thinking about?
my answer to number 25. Crap.

Subjects Are For REAL Blog Posts...

2007-04-21T15:52:00.000-07:00

You Are Expressionism

Moody, emotional, and even a bit angsty... you certainly know how to express your emotions.At times, you tend to lack perspective on your life, probably as a result of looking inward too much.This introspection does give you a flair for the dramatic. And it's even maybe made you cultivate some artistic talents!You have a true artist's temperament... which is a blessing and a curse.

http://www.blogthings.com/whatartmovementareyouquiz/">What Art Movement Are You?

Your Preppy Name Is...

Quinney Larkin Higgins the FourthBut most people know you as Bunny

What's" Your Preppy Name?

What does this have to do with anything? Who decided that I'm to called "Bunny." POINTLESS! still slightly entertained...

You Failed 8th Grade Spanish

Sorry, you only got 5/8 correct!

http://www.blogthings.com/couldyoupass8thgradespanishquiz/">Could You Pass 8th Grade Spanish?

While this one is the most useful so far... it was totally boring. :) By the way, I'm a bit disappointed in myself.

You Are 80% Intuitive

You are a very intuitive person. And luckily, your intuition is normally right.You're wise enough to know that relying on intuition alone can be dangerous.When your intuition seems really off, you tend to ignore it - and look at the facts instead.

http://www.blogthings.com/howintuitiveareyouquiz/">How Intuitive Are You?

So what you're saying is, is that I'm both intuitive AND logical?

You Date Like a Woman

According to studies on dating, you date like a woman.You tend to take romance seriously, and you're not really out for a fling.
A mental and emotional connection always comes first for you.And rushing the physical stuff is likely to turn you off.
You're highly selective when it comes to dating, and some may say you're too picky.You know what you want, and when you find it, you're ready to commit.

http://www.blogthings.com/doyoudatelikeamanorawomanquiz/">Do You Date Like a Man or a Woman?

I have nothing to say about this, except, doesn't matter much for me.

You Have Good Manners 78% of the Time

Your manners are quite excellent. You are well versed in etiquette.Of course you have the occasional slip up, but you even apologize with grace.

http://www.blogthings.com/howareyourmannersquiz/">How Are Your Manners?

Now everyone knows.

Your Celebrity Boob Twin:

Carmen Electra

Who's" Your Celebrity Boob Twin?

Nice.

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Cult Classic

Quirky, offbeat, and even a little campy - your life appeals to a select few.
But if someone's obsessed with you, look out! Your fans are downright freaky.

Your best movie matches: Office Space, Showgirls, The Big Lebowski

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?

This is awesome! I kind of agree, whatever that means.

You Are 12% Capitalist, 88% Socialist

You see a lot of injustice in the world, and you'd like to see it fixed.
As far as you're concerned, all the wrong people have the power.
You're strongly in favor of the redistribution of wealth - and more protection for the average person.

Are You a Socialist or Capitalist?

Yikes. Don't tell Dubya!

You Are a Believer

You definitely believe in God - and you're very unwavering in your religious beliefs.
In fact, religion and spirituality are definitely big parts of your life.
Religion shapes how you view right and wrong, as well as the decisions you make.
It's hard for you to imagine how your life would be without your beliefs.

Are You an Atheist, Agnostic or a Believer?

The "believer" part is right, but the rest of that dribble is unneccessary and particially untrue.

Your Blogging Type Is Thoughtful and Considerate

You're a well liked, though underrated, blogger.
You have a heart of gold, and are likely to blog for a cause.
You're a peaceful blogger - no drama for you!
A good listener and friend, you tend to leave thoughtful comments for others.

What's Your Blogging Personality?

To the two people out there who read this on purpose and the one person who found it on accident... is this true? I'm a self-indulgent, lazy blogger... how about that? :)

A Funner Pilfered Quiz Post - thanks EMac

2007-04-13T12:10:00.000-07:00

1) What stickers do you have on your car?
The standard vehicle stuff and an SNU alumni sticker.

2) What posters do you have in your room?
None. I do have some pointless artwork to “tie the room together.” One’s a photo of long stemmed calla lilies and the other is a print of some white flowers in an urn… very classy. I also have a 4x6 photo of the three of us on the dresser—that’s the best one in the room.

3) What do you hear right now?
Alison Krauss and silverwear clanking.

4) If you could drink anything right this second, what would it be?
What I’m drinking… a frozen caramel cappuccino thingy.

5) Does anything hurt on your body right now?
Yeaaaaaaaaaaah. Thanks for asking. :) My neck, on the left… it’s giving me a headache.

6) Do you need a new job?
Depends who you ask. :) I think I’m good though.

7) What size ring do you wear?
6 on my ring finger.

8) Do you own a camera phone?
Yes. “the world’s smallest camara flip phone” too!

9) When's your birthday?
January 3rd

10) What was your elementary schools mascot?
Warriors…the native American kind, not the Roman kind.

11) What's your favorite bottled water?
Fiji

12) What's the next concert/show you're going to?
The next big one is Alison Krauss! The last one was Rod Stewart… not that you asked. And the next one (regardless of size of venue) is Grandpa Griffith.

13) What were you doing at 9 pm last night?
Eating dinner with two awesome guys.

14) What's your favorite Starbucks drink?
I can’t stand Starbucks…too bitter.

15) 2 door or 4 door cars?
Four doors are kind of a necessity now, not that they keep me from knocking Jag’s head every so often. :(

16) Did you attend your High School prom?:
We didn’t have a prom because we were a public school that was pretty much run by the Nazarene Illuminati. We had very civilized “banquets,” that were followed by parent sponsored orgies/dances in the dancehall of the same venue. And yes, I went.

17) Did you go to someone else's prom?:
Nope. No one ever asked.

18) Would you give your bf/gf a second chance if they cheated?
Yikes.

19) Something red within 5 feet of you?
A beballcapped woman’s patriotically red fleece jacket.

20) Favorite kind of ice cream?
It’s not my favorite… maybe cherry vanilla.

21) The weirdest thing you've seen this week?
1). My son laughing at my mom and I have a discussion that really wasn’t that funny unless you really thought about it… He really thought about it… he’s one!
2). A boring old man making his fun-loving wife sit down when she tried to dance for him at a concert. He’s probably frigid too.

22) Ever done the Electric Slide?
Never could.

23) How much French do you know?
Ze po-ta-toes and ze keessing… ah ze keessing iz nie-ees.

24) What made your day good today?
Mother’s Day Out and time alone.

26) Do you look good in yellow?
I don’t think so.

27) Ever sang in front of a crowd?
Often.

28) Do you dance?:
Yes, but really only for my son… to make him laugh. I am ashamed.

29) Least favorite color?:
I don’t think I have one. Maybe that crayon that is kind of mix between pea green and greenish yellow. That’s the color of nausea.

30) Favorite kind of pizza?:
Chicago style with the works… hold the onions please.

31) Ever had Dippin Dots?
Yes. No spoon necessary.

32) Ever make fun of a homeless person?:
Oh yeeeeeeeeeeeeah. I also routinely humiliate the elderly, injured children, blind dogs, crying people, amputees and veterans.

33) How old were you when you got your license?:
16.

34) How many driving tickets have you had?:
Countless.

35) Number 35 was sadly lost in the making of this quiz. Let's all take a moment of silence to remember... the Number 35.

36) Do you own your own car?:
Yes.

37) Do you want to get married?:
Been married for a lot of years now, and going on a hell of a lot of years.

38) At what age do you want to get married?
I always imagined getting married when I was 22 because that’s how old Kimberly Williams-Paisley was supposed to be when she got married in “Father of the Bride.” It was good enough for her, so it was good enough for me. So yeah, I was 22—but that’s really young, looking back on it.

39) Have you ever had to get a restraining order?:
Yes.

40) At what age do you want to have kids?:
44… oops, too late. How about 27, 29/30 and 32/33?

41) How many kids?:
One so far, but the oven is temporary locked at the moment.

42) Ketchup or Mustard?:
Ketchup

43) When is the last time someone deleted you from their space?
What does that even mean? Has this phrase usurped the place that the most used “talk to the hand” phrase once held in our society?

44) How many times a week are you on MySpace?:
About 2 or 3 times.

45) Ever been kicked out of your home?:
No.

46) Favorite character on Friends?
Rachel.

47) Ever have a crush on a teacher?:
No, but I’ve really fascinated by one before.

48) Favorite class?:
Shakespeare

49) Have a best friend?
Yes. I think I have more than one.

50) One place you want to travel to?:
Italy, Japan, South Africa and Disneyworld. :)

It’s Time

2007-04-11T10:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my sister's birthday. She would have been 31.

Ever since my sister died, I keep going back to an especially fond memory I have of when she took me to get my first tattoo. I was 17 years old and she lied about my age for me to the guy who had done her tattoo—so he agreed to ink me with the same tattoo she had gotten, only smaller and blue instead of a red one like hers. They were these simple little flower tattoos, but they spoke volumes about who we were as sisters. Hers was larger and bright red. She was the older sister and had a “red” personality—vibrant, outgoing, passionate, troubled and loving. Mine was small and cobalt blue. I am obviously younger by three years and my personality has always been calmer, funnier but just as passionate. They were easy to get, and easy to forget. I’ve gotten other tattoos since then, and at one time I felt this little blue flower was superfluous and I even considered getting it removed once. Thank God all I did was consider it. This seemingly harmless, pointless little girl of a tattoo is one of the realest things I have with which to remember my big sister.

Her bold red tattoo now exists in the form of ashes that are housed in a box on my mom’s dresser. I want that tattoo back. I want to transfer her half of that memory to my body. Now, I’m ready… now, it’s time.

I'll post pictures of my progress and of course, of the finished product.

-----------------
"... Ain't nothin' left at all in the end of bein' proud with me riding in this car, and you flyin' through them clouds. I've had some time to think about it and watch the sun sink like a stone. I've had some time to think about you... on the long ride home."

"I Love Him Too Much," she said.

2007-04-04T08:53:00.000-07:00

If you’ve never loved someone so much that you feared that you actually loved them too much—then you haven’t fully lived yet. That kind of love is terrifying but can only be given by choice. There’s no doubt that life is easier without caring about someone else (someone you can’t control) that much, but the pain of this kind of love makes you realize some big things about the world. My eyes have been opened by a boy of only 2 feet and 5 inches tall.

I wish I could say that I grasped the love of God my whole life and that I have called myself a Christian for all the right reasons, but that simply wouldn’t be true. I became a Christian in an emotionally charged and somewhat manipulated moment at church camp—a mass salvation. I don’t even know how old I was. I used to resent that set-up, and perhaps I still do a bit. The fact is that since that moment, I’ve been enduring someone else’s idea of faith. Through all the confusion and indifference, I know God knew the right way to orchestrate my coming understanding of His love and what He wants from me.

Just as it took the birth of a child to change the world, it took a child to change my resentment into understanding. Parental love is intense—one part emotional, one part biological. Whatever the recipe, it is the only time I’ve ever experienced true Agape (unconditional) love. Unconditional love is scary and for most people, a myth. This kind of love changes you—it makes you stronger, more confident and less self aware. It’s the medicine I’ve needed my whole life.

A Message From the Past

2007-03-22T11:48:00.000-07:00

My uncle’s former church is doing some remodeling in their sanctuary. Two weeks after my uncle and his family accepted the church many years ago, it burned to the ground in some kind of electrical accident. He pledged himself to its rebuilding and the new sanctuary is cavernous, modern and filled with light. It’s simple, but beautiful. He oversaw every detail of the project and he (among several others) took the opportunity to write on the concrete floor before the carpet went down.

The people of the church have since found two of his messages and have taken photos for us to see. The photo above shows a prayer he wrote just underneath where the pulpit would have been—his pulpit. “How will they know unless someone tells them. (Help me in this capacity Lord!)” The irony of his prayer is that he died while on a mission trip to South Africa (our home). He died after spending a few days with his grieving cousin (who just lost his son) and no doubt revealing the wondrous and freeing realities of Christ that are rarely shared from behind a pulpit.

My mom, dad and aunt went to the Brennen Manning conference this past weekend at a local Baptist Church. For anyone unacquainted with Manning, I could attempt to sum up his ideology by repeating the phrase, “wondrous and freeing realities of Christ.” He is a former Catholic priest who lives as a recovering alcoholic and frequent smoker. He also lives in the freedom and grace of Christ and his ministry is ground shaking. This is what the world is dying for—to know the truth about all this faith stuff! How many people (non-Christians and Christians alike) would be surprised to learn the philosophy of Jesus Christ as evidenced by his choices and teachings? Why don’t we look at this man sent to earth for us and see what is so clear—that grace and love sets us free—that a sinner can go to Heaven. Maybe I’m treading on some delicate theological ground here, but if sinners don’t go to Heaven then Heaven must be empty! So we ask for forgiveness? How often must we ask? The answer (I have learned since my sister’s death) is GRACE. Grace goes ahead of us and petitions for us. I don’t fully understand the concept of grace, but I do know that I am grateful for the one thing that allows me the privilege of freedom if I choose it.

My mom has continued to struggle with my sister’s death in a way that I have not. I have had peace and joy for my sister as strange as that sounds. I know that she lives without the bondage that isolated and defeated her. Her dreams were simple: to be free and to go home. She has done both and I feel peace for that reason; however, my mother is more bound by legalistic teachings that rob her of peace. I believe that legalism or whatever you call those things that alienate non-Christians from “religion” or faith—the rules that Christians (and others) live and judge by—are simply the complications we have made faith and an attack from that which opposes the Lord. Without the complications, we are left with a treasure that is worth giving your life for, something worth “telling them, so that they will know.”

A Sound I Can't Ignore

2007-02-28T08:56:00.000-08:00

I just used my voice recorder on my cell phone for the first time the other day. Being the kind of person I am, there was no way I actually wanted to hear the sound of my voice after I had recorded it, but eventually I did need to hear the message I left for myself so that I could get the information I knew I wouldn’t remember. I played that message twice and for a large portion of the message, I swear I heard my sister’s voice. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed that before. But there is a similarity between Mel and me, when you listen. I pretended that I was listening to her having one of long-talking episodes and I was simply waiting for my opportunity to respond. It’s funny that I would listen to my own voice over and over just to catch a glimpse of my sister. But I did.

Walk the Line

2007-02-15T13:18:00.000-08:00

I love the movie Walk the Line. I can’t remember the last time I cried when the guy got the girl. What a story. Great music, drama, sarcasm and real love--I love that movie.

My Birthday!

2007-01-02T10:56:00.000-08:00

Today is Naomi’s Birthday Eve. Tomorrow I turn 28 years old.

When I was about 7, I spent the day before my birthday at my Grandma’s house. I was so excited, maybe even hyper about my birthday the next day that my Gran even got into the act. Nobody has ever believed me but I promise you, my 60-something year old (at the time) Gran did cartwheels in her living room! We were laughing so hard when she dubbed this day, “Naomi’s Birthday Eve.” She wrote in on her calendar for years and I’ve always attempted to get everyone I know to celebrate the event of my birth for not just one, but TWO days! I’m so not vain.

This birthday is the first birthday I can remember where I am not terribly thrilled about growing a year older. I don’t know when becoming a year older became less of the focus of my actual birthday, but suddenly, I realize, that it isn’t the part I want to stress anymore.

I’ve also never enjoyed having a birthday less than two weeks post-Christmas and one day after New Year’s Day. Having said all of that, this year is the last year I choose to acknowledge January 3rd as my birthday. From now on, I hope to enjoy a quiet dinner with my family on my actual birthday in January, but celebrate it on June 3rd instead. It is exactly 6 months from my birthday and a much better time to party. No more forgetfulness, no more hangover excuses, no more brokenness! Weeeeeeeeeee. The only problem I face now is that my best friend’s husband has prior claim to June 3rd. Eh, it’ll work out.

Well, Happy Birthday to me! What ever shall I do tomorrow??

Moonlight Misery

2006-12-25T22:41:00.000-08:00

This Christmas day has been wonderful. Everything was beautiful, the gifts were great, the food was tasty, and the day was relaxing. I have no complaints. Why then am I going crazy with restlessness just after midnight, December 26th?

I want to get in my car for a night drive, but first I need to know what’s compelling me. Obviously, I seem to need to talk to someone, but unfortunately, everyone is asleep. My blog is awake, however.

My latest revelation came when emailing an old friend—perhaps; this is kind of about Melanie. I don’t even know. How weird is that? Death makes no sense. When my uncle died, I was just in shock and felt like something very valuable had been wasted. My gran died and I just thought of all the memories and realized how much I would miss her presence in my life. But, with Mel, I’m all over the place. I go from confident and content to lonely and climbing the walls. One minute, I’m amazed at my own resilience and the next, I feel like I’ll never put the pieces back together. I realize that loosing Melanie isn’t the worst thing that could ever happen, as heartless as that sounds. It just seems like I don’t know how to deal with this particular loss.

If you’re sick of reading about this, just imagine how sick I am of thinking about it all the time! What good does it do? I wish I knew that she could see me. Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel so alone without her.

A Warm and Fuzzy Christmas Post

2006-12-18T14:48:00.000-08:00

Almost nine months ago this coming Christmas Day, I was in a Hospital operating room, giving birth to my first born son. No stable, no manger, no virgin birth—just a normal human boy being delivered by a very ordinary mother.

Last Christmas, I was in a large Christmas program at our church. I was also 6 months pregnant with a boy. As we got ready for one evening’s performance, a woman asked me if I felt the significance of carrying my first born son at Christmastime. I hadn’t thought about it beyond the fact that my oversized angel costume could incite younger show goers to ask their parents some rather unchristmaslike questions that evening.

Eventually, we got to the segment of the program where Joseph and Mary are trying to get a room at the inn. I was one of twenty or so people on stage also pretending to need a room. Someone improvised the line, “but she’s having a baby!” and the Christmas timing suddenly hit me. I began thinking about Mary, heavy with a full-term baby, being forced to travel on the back of an animal and resorting to giving birth among animals in a building that was tantamount to a carport. As an expectant mother, I was moved to tears as I imagined the fears she must have had and the doubts about whether God was going to provide for them. I gave birth in a sterile hospital room. I had the assistance of a highly trained and experienced medical professional who had treated me since day one. Nurses stood by with oxygen, suction tubes, heaters, blankets and dozens of other things. Mary had to trust God to provide all of that. You might think it would be easier for her since, after all, an angel had come to her about this and told her of God’s plan in her life, but if I had been Mary, I would have seriously begun to doubt God around the time I packed my bags for Bethlehem.

It’s strange to imagine that my son had a more glamorous entrance into this world than the very Son of God. It wasn’t just modern technology that made it possible; there were cleaner and more honorable ways to give birth even then. Mary wasn’t given that luxury. Did God just want His Son to come in the most undesirable, uncomfortable way possible so no one could use that word, “privilege?”

I went to Israel a long time ago and we visited the place where Jesus is said to have been born. If you’ve ever seen it on a television program, you know how enshrined it is. It is gilded, marbled and smells strongly of incense. There is very little left of the humble stable it used to be. A large gold star marks the spot where Jesus was born. I have no idea how anyone could possibly have that much information from a supposedly obscure birth, but they claim to know that that piece of earth is It.

I’m convinced that it isn’t the actual location that matters, but the event itself. When Jesus was born, unlike any other birth to take place on Earth, there became a reason to hope. Our redemption was at hand and this great cosmic battle against the predator death was nearly won. That’s why we celebrate. Everything else is secondary to the fact that on that night, whenever it was, hope came to Earth.

More than just poetic, fantastic words; the hope that was born that first Christmas has lead to victory and victory to grace. That may seem far removed from daily life, but if you’ve ever seen a life redeemed by God’s grace alone, you would celebrate this Christmas with as much zeal as any of those who witnessed Christ’s birth.

Perhaps I’m a little gung-ho about God’s grace these days. I see it in everything from the timing of my son’s birth, to how it saved my sister from an eternity without hope. This is going to be an unusual Christmas for those reasons as well. Merry Christmas to all my friends and family—I love you all.

New Forms and Ghosts

2006-12-13T11:34:00.000-08:00

I never did believe in ghosts, but what is a dream of someone you can never see again? Isn’t that like a ghost?

Melanie haunts me when I sleep and I look forward to seeing her there. Right after she died, I had disturbing dreams about her flesh and bones—the decay that naturally comes, but in one dream that all changed. In that dream, she was on an operating table and from her tissue; she was being regenerated one step at a time. It was gruesome, but got progressively lovelier as death began to work in reverse. First, the tissue grew and was little more than a mound of red muscle and white sinew. Then the muscle pulsed with blood and took shape as bones formed within the mass. Next an inhumane gray skin began to cover the tissue and soon looked like a human form without distinction. From that point, she grew definition around her joints and her beautiful brown hair began to grow. Her face surfaced out of the shapeless void and even a healthy pink color replaced the pale grey. When the process was complete, she was even lovelier than she was in life—freckled, bright eyed and humming with life.

Now my dreams simply star her as a major player. She is sometimes my companion—experiencing what I do, talking or sharing with me. We laugh at our mom, cried over a dead sister and she even held my son.

I feel like I’m going crazy when I wake up in the mornings, but I enjoy our surreal moments together.

Naomi Through The Looking-Glass

2006-11-29T14:40:00.000-08:00

I have a wild imagination. For as long as I can remember I’ve played this game with myself where I imagine that I am being followed by two government-like agents dressed in simple dark suits. I’ve never known why they are following me exactly, but they are always just a few steps behind me and are never quite able to catch up to me. Every time I make a footprint in the snow or dirt, I leave them one tempting clue as to my current location. Their full-time job is to search me out for reasons I’ve never allowed myself to discover. All I know is that I have always imagined that perhaps their need to find me isn’t totally evil… perhaps I’m the last living person in an ancient royal family and I’m needed to bring peace and order back to my native country. Maybe, I’m the missing link in a fascinating and complex crime! Or maybe, my great great great great great great grandfather was a tomb raider and left me a cavern-full of gold Aztec coins, ancient royal jewelry and the Holy Grail itself!

Like I said, I have always had a wild imagination. At some point I outgrew that particular fantasy even though I do revisit it from time to time just for fun, but there is another ongoing imagining I’ve never been able to fully release.

When I was in seventh grade, I went to a private school and became a cheerleader for the first time. Every August the school had an orientation night before classes began and the cheerleaders were to come in uniform and perform. Before we went into the gym, most of the other cheerleaders and I were in the bathroom teasing our hair or whatever it is cheerleaders do. For some stupid reason, a few of us were doing jumps in the bathroom to warm-up. I was stupid too, and did a few jumps before attempting an “around-the-world,” which is something like a two touch, but your roll your hips out to reach your feet. As I came down from the jump, I lost my footing on the uneven tile floor and fell hard on my butt and hit the back of my head on the ground. I actually saw stars. I never understood what that meant before, but trust me; you actually see sparkling lights before your eyes when you hit your head that hard. I still think it knocked me out for a few seconds because when I looked up, all the girls were around me—a few looked concerned and the rest were laughing. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I’m only confessing this to illustrate the background to my most persistent fantastic belief. That night, it occurred to me to wonder if perhaps I still wasn’t conscious. Maybe I was still flat on my back on that bathroom floor, out cold and simply dreaming every moment that followed.

It has been almost fifteen years since that night and every once and a while I still allow myself to imagine that I’m laying on that floor and all the events of my life, of the world, have been nothing more than the dream of a silly young girl. If I ever wake up, I would be thirteen again and have the millions of inventions, stories and events stored in my head that I could share with the world. Everything that happened and everything I learned since that night would be new to that alternative world. I would either be committed or lauded as some kind of sudden genius!

I would start my own band and we’d be known for performing songs like, “Like A Rolling Stone,” “Where the Streets Have No Name,” and “Ring of Fire.” I wouldn’t pair up with a physicist and we wouldn’t create the atomic bomb. I would know the outcome to all kinds of sporting events and would win millions by betting on them (plot stolen from a certain movie sequel starring Michael J. Fox). I could have imagined the vulnerability of buildings like the Word Trade Center and been able to warn people of an attack by plane. I would write the Harry Potter books and dictate all fashion trends. That’s all if that timeline differed from this one. If they were the same—well, I’d be the greatest psychic in the history of mankind!

You know the phrase, “if only I knew then, what I know now.” Perhaps I don’t just imagine alternate realities—maybe I need to make them plausible too. I’m simply Alice staring through a looking glass; except this rabbit hole leads me to the here and now instead of a Wonderland.

Me too, me too!

2006-10-19T10:58:00.000-07:00

My Heritage
My Celebrity Look-alikes

Scarlett Johansson 74%
JoJo 61%
Heather Locklear 59%
Reese Witherspoon 57%
Rachel Bilson 57%
Dannii Minogue 57%
Jamie Lynn Spears 56%
Britney Spears 56%

I took down the actual image of this because it was messing up the whole page.

What To Do With a Day

2006-10-18T10:04:00.000-07:00

Someone somewhere had a brilliant thought--Mother’s Day Out. Love it. For a few months of motherhood, I thought I didn’t need this luxury, but I’m here to tell you, it’s awesome! For just a few hours, two days a week, I’m able to indulge in my thoughts, get a manicure, play a video game uninterrupted or even catch a movie! It’s shockingly easy to lose yourself in motherhood—to find yourself in paraphrased pajamas day after day, to forget how to apply mascara and learn your hair is in dire need of a trimming and worst of all, to forget you have independent thoughts outside your role as a parent. I’m relieved to discover that I don’t actually find Jager’s transition from stage 1 carrots to stage 2 carrots as exciting as previously assumed. I’m still me, just generally dirtier.
Currently, I’m sitting in the corner of a coffee shop with Wifi drinking a coffee and shivering with the speed of my thoughts and the fact that I’m sitting next to a huge window and it’s cold outside. I’m happy right now.
Later I’ll pick up my orange headed son and we’ll goof around until we have to be somewhere tonight. I’ll be happy then too.

Eulogy For a Sister

2006-10-18T09:45:00.000-07:00

I've debated whether or not I wanted to post this for a few weeks, but I want to get it off my hard drive and put it out there again. I need to do that so I can start writing/thinking about something else.
This was the eulogy I wrote for my sister and the song that inspired me to write it.
------------------------
Rain
by Patty Griffin

It's hard to listen to a hard hard heart
Beating close to mine
Pounding up against the stone and steel
Walls that I won't climb
Sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep
You think that you're gonna drown
Sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep
With all this rain falling down
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain
Its hard to know when to give up the fight
The things you want that will never be right
Its never rained like it has to night before
Now I don't wanna beg you baby
For something maybe you could never give
I'm not looking for the rest of your life
I just want another chance to live
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain

(Thank you Jay for recommending the song)
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I have tried to write so many things for and about my sister in the last week. My hands have barely stopped scribbling; typing or gesturing since the moment the nurse told me that my sister’s heart had finally stopped beating.

I will never be able to listen to a piano in quite the same way. Her soft hands lightly pressed those notes like no one I can recall. Her voice ringing over that sound is forever etched in my mind. The sweetness of my sister is something I cling to and will hold dear until the day I die.

It’s so easy for me to slip into deep grief about my sister’s circumstances—circumstances she chose for herself. Even now, I would give everything I own just to lie next her in that hospital bed, just to sing California Dreamin’ to her one last time. But as the song says, “It’s hard know when to give up the fight, the things you want will just never be right. It’s never rained like it has tonight, before.” The years of seemingly unanswered prayer, sadness, loss, grief, anger, frustration and bitterness came to a sudden climax and in an instant she was gone from our lives. To be honest, I am broken hearted and joyful at the same time.

I’ve been thinking about art lately. My mom pointed out that the scenery one views near the shoreline is what most people would find as an ideal subject for an artist’s efforts. It’s calm, symmetrical, without description and simply overwhelming. Having just returned from the mountains, she told me of the huge art community there and that she noted how many artists had found their muse in the rugged, multicolored terrain of those mountains and foothills. They saw the beauty of all that asymmetrical chaos. I’m sure her metaphor isn’t lost on any of you. Melanie wasn’t like me, she wasn’t like anyone I’ve ever known. She was meant for another life—her life could never be that shoreline, she reflected the mountains instead. God adored the glory of that chaos and always sought her beauty like a jealous lover.

I keep thinking about how many times in my life I’ve questioned the existence of Heaven and hell—about the existence of an involved and benevolent God. During painful times I have wished I could simply abandon this persistent belief and just react without regard, but God has spoken to me over and over again. The cynic in me is silenced by the voice of God. Melanie experienced that same annoying persistence in her tumultuous relationship with her savior-to-be. Her innate defiance put her at odds with the ultimate authority and she challenged God as perhaps Job challenged God. Many times she pushed Him, but He was unmoved. She cursed Him, and He spoke words of love. She raged against Him, and He listened to every word.

Melanie’s struggle with addiction was no secret, or at least, it shouldn’t have been. From the age of 12, this war waged within her—an epic battle between substance and love. In the end of her life, LOVE won out. God never left her side, he never stopped wooing her and he proved a jealous and faithful lover. I know that God didn’t let her slip into eternity until he had her safely in his arms and today I say with no small amount of joy that she has been delivered by the fire directly into his loving arms. Without her flesh, her faith has been perfected.

They say the artist never finishes his work, but simply abandons it. Thankfully God is a creator and not an artist. His work is finish-able and He is faithful to complete it. We prayed for my sister’s salvation from her demons, from addiction—we prayed for total and complete rescue from the torture she had made her life. In the most gallant gesture, her Creator has completed His masterpiece and she now plays her beautiful, otherworldly music for Him.

That's When I Miss You

2006-10-06T19:13:00.000-07:00

The official grieving events are now over. Today, we held my sister's official funeral/memorial. The first service was in Florida where she passed away and were held the day we saw her. I still can't believe I went into that room. I saw her lying there and walked to her slowly. Normally, I'm terrified of bodies at funerals etc, but I couldn't keep my hands off her. I played with her hair, traced the line of her nose, fluttered her eyelashes, touched an old scar on her right hand, touched her feet and put something into her hands. After a while, I even asked to be alone with her. There I was, in a room alone with the body of a deceased person... not just any person either, my sister. I think that's the best chat we've ever had. :)

I wrote her eulogy on a whim one morning, but couldn't find it in my heart to recall every memory I had of her. Instead, I wrote something very uncharacteristic for me. But now that the funeral is over, I keep thinking about the good memories. What a crock! We didn't even have that many great memories and those are the only ones my crazy mind is choosing to recall?! With that said, I keep remembering the songs we would sing together, the silly moments that turned into outrageously hilarious moments, her sitting on me until I would go get her a glass of water, her daring me to do things that would most certainly get me killed, our clandestine stroll along a beach of the Mediterranean Sea in Tel Aviv when we were 8 and 11 at 2am! She was nuts and I was gullible. She took me to get my first tattoo and lied to the guy for me about my age (I was 17) and even held my hand. We had the same tattoo in two different colors. My only defense as a small child was something I called "baby bites." Basically, I would just whole-handedly grab entire fistfuls of skin and fats and pinch lightly. She would laugh hysterically and eventually run away from me. I was small, but crafty.

Inevitably, I end up remembering the bad times too, but with much less zeal than I would have two weeks ago. It's like her sins against me are forgotten and all I want now is to have that one person back with whom I shared a childhood. I'm not lonely, but something about me feels abandoned and alone in the world. She was paired with me and we were meant to share something in this life with one another. Perhaps, we have. I just wanted so much more.

The memorial was beautiful and I'm so relieved that it went well and is now over. Jason and I planned the whole thing and I just wanted it to be a big deal for her. She always did love a fuss over her.

If you don't know me very well, you may have begun to notice that I tend to linger on subjects for long periods of time. Apparently, I heal by writing. That's one thing I've learned. Just rest assured that I will most likely find something else to write about in time. Until then, if you have the patience to keep reading, you'll learn more about this girl called Melanie and her silly sister than you might have wanted to.

I'm So Sad

2006-10-05T22:23:00.000-07:00

I keep thinking I'm going to look up from burying my head and see my sister standing next to me. It's creepy and comforting at the same time. This sucks. She missed so much of my life, but I can't help but feel like a huge piece of me has died and will never return. All my hopes for a "Bennett sisters" relationship with her are dashed and I'm grieving as much for those lost hopes as I am for her. What's wierd is that I'm not even crying that much. Well, except for right now. I'm sure in 15 minutes I'll get a glass of water and watch a Tivo(ed) episode of Futurama and forget about this wet nonsense, but right now it just hurts... so badly.

You, Who Were My Home

2006-10-03T18:21:00.000-07:00

It's funny how often you write about the same thing but in different ways.

8/29/06
Such a long road we’ve been walking on
And I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my sister standing by
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
But sister you know I’m so weary
And you know sister
My hearts been broken
My mind is too strong to carry on
When I am alone
When I’ve thrown off the weight of this crazy stone
When I've lost all care for the things I own
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you, that's when I miss you
You who are my home
You who are my home
And here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this...
In your love, my salvation lies

8/14/06
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Three days ago, on the phone with my sister.

12/14/05
So many things are still unresolved: my sister’s fate still seems so uncertain and her insistence to pretend like her life could suddenly become normal never ceases to amaze and annoy me. If I’ve learned anything in from the death of three people I adored in the last two years, I’ve learned that there is something beautiful about finally facing the harsh reality you’ve been dealt. My hope for her in the coming year is that she can bravely stare down her demons… and overcome them. Maybe then, her life can become normal in the way hers has the nature to be.

10/19/05
To add to our drama, my sister, the one who has recently been spending lots of time with “Kiki from the penitentiary” is set for release in about a week. My mom is driving there to “claim” her and take her to her next destination—a non-mandatory thing that I don’t fully understand.

10/11/05
She has been in and out of jail for about three years. She was released on a probationary status a little over a year ago and sent to a half-way house. Shortly after that, our grandmother died and I assume she hit bottom (again). She disappeared on a Thursday and we filed a missing persons report within two weeks. My mother had to negatively identify two bodies over the phone before my sister finally resurfaced (alive) three months later. At one point, we believed she was dead. This disappearing act was in direct violation of her parole so while she contacted us, she continued to hide from her fate. After several months in relative hiding, she was turned in and is now serving the rest of her parole time in a prison outside this state. She will be released later this month.As long as I can remember, my sister has had issues that I didn’t understand. I won’t go into the details because they are her’s to share, but suffice it to say that I have always hoped for the best and been forced to face (close to) the worst. In fact, it’s quite remarkable how your definition of “the worst” can change. :) As long as she breaths, their will be hope in my heart for my sister.

5/06/05
During these past two years, fate has had it’s ironic payback—I lost my uncle and mentor in 2003, my grandmother in 2004, my sister in 2004 (in a different sort of way) and a twin pregnancy at 11 weeks. Something about loss and sadness permanently changes you.

--------------------------

On Wednesday, September 27th, 2006, my beloved but tortured sister was taken to Heaven. She was only thirty years old. Hers was an epic battle between substance and Love. While substance played a part in claiming her body, Love won the war that always waged in her soul.

She was the living personification of Snow White. Her eyes were big and blue, her skin pale and soft, and her hair was long and dark. She was enormously gifted in music and words and wrote hundreds of love songs to her Savior-to-be. I believe she knew how her suffering had to end and she was just ready to go Home. Her music was strange and lovely, like it belonged in another world. Like her music, she belonged there too.

I’ll never fully understand her struggles, desire or demons, but I will always cling to the lessons she has taught me about life, persistence, expression and the Love of God. Her legacy will live forever in my heart, because I will never allow that light to fade.

I know where she is now and she is more beautiful than she could have ever hoped to be. She is forever young. She is innocent once again. But most importantly, she is finally Free!

We loved you all your life. We will miss you all of ours. Kisses.

At 2:35 am…

2006-09-14T01:38:00.000-07:00

You really mellow out. You create playlists for entire years of your life (post to come later). You start writing 4 different things at one time. Everything gets supernaturally quiet and you can think long luxurious, indulgently contemplative thoughts. No one interrupts you. There’s not much on T.V. You carefully dissect the difference between insomnia and just not sleeping. It’s fun to watch people sleeping. Eating cereal tastes better. Song lyrics become especially poignant. It’s lonely. You have amazing ideas! It’s easier to write. Mess doesn’t bother you. Your bare feet get cold faster. The muscles in your legs begin to ache. Everything seems like a good idea (like this post). Perhaps you just care less. Grammar is more of a hindrance. It is the perfect time to remember something in detail. It is not a good time to make resolutions. You find yourself tucking people in. Your dog looks at you like you’re keeping her up. You worry that not sleeping now will cause problems tomorrow, which only makes avoiding sleep that much more inevitable. You check on your children. Noises like, turning on a lamp or the ticking of a clock are a lot louder. You remember every dawn you’ve ever seen. Sleep becomes an object of lust and like lust, it only gets more seductive with each moment you deny yourself.
Goodnight.

Boring Answers to Questions

2006-09-14T01:29:00.000-07:00

I totally stole these from Jay’s blog. I’m bored, what can I say? Don’t you just love these and what they say about how self-obsessed we are? With that said… :)

1. FIRST NAME? Naomi
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? I was supposed to be named Julia, but my dad had a emotional moment in the book of Ruth after I was born, now I’m named after an old lady from the Old Testament.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Three days ago, on the phone with my sister.
4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Depends on the pen… mostly, yes.
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? salami, but I never eat it.
6. KIDS? Seeing as how I currently smell like a mix of stale milk and baby lotion… yes and I love every minute of it too.
7. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Probably not.
8. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? Not right now.
9. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? I laughed out loud at Jay’s response to this question. As for me, yes, or at least I used to. Someone else tell me.
10. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. That’s a weird question.
11. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BUNGEE JUMP? In theory, yes, but I have this fear that my knee will dislocate when the cord catches me.
12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Cookie crisp, but I hardly ever eat that anymore either.
13. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? I don’t usually wear shoes with laces.
14. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Lower body… yes. Upper body is getting stronger all the time now.
15. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Cherry Vanilla.
16. SHOE SIZE? 6.5 17. RED OR PINK? um… red I guess.
18. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I overanalyze and turn into a hermit.
19. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Gabriel
20. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? I’m not sending it to anyone.
21. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? bright blue and none.
22. LAST THING YOU ATE? popcorn
23. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Trespassers William, Lie In the Sound. What a great mental image. I’m not listening to anything, I’m lying in the sound.
24. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Aquamarine and sometimes Jungle Green.
25. FAVORITE SMELL? Sunblock, rain, old books and baby’s neck.
26. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? my mom
27. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? Smile
29. FAVORITE DRINK? Diet Dr. Pepper
30. FAVORITE SPORT? Poker
31. EYE COLOR? Hazel Green
32. HAT SIZE??? I have no idea.
33. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Yes
34. FAVORITE FOOD? Sushi, cheese, olives, tomatoes and any kind of fish
35. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? not scary movies, but all kind of endings work for me… depends on the story.
36. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED (IN A THEATER)? An Imax movie about Greece
37. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? I’m wearing two. One gray, one white.
38. SUMMER OR WINTER? Autumn
39. HUGS OR KISSES? kisses
40. FAVORITE DESSERT? Anything with strawberries in it.
41. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? I’m not sending, remember?
42. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND??? I’m getting tired of answering this type of question.
43. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? The Moon and Sixpence by W. Somerset Maugham. Studying? Beth Moore’s Study on the book of Daniel.
44. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Don’t have one.
45. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST Night? Project Runway
46. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Led Zeppelin
47. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Where I am right now.
48. WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT? I can grow human beings in my belly.
49. WHERE AND WHEN WERE YOU BORN? Republic of South Africa, ‘79
50. WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? No one. I pilfered it from Jay’s blog.
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1. What time did you get up this morning? 7:15 with the baby
2. Diamonds or pearls? I own both, but I love sapphires the best
3. What is your favorite TV show? The Cosby Show, Project Runway, Futurama, Star Trek: TNG, The Office, Freaks and Geeks and the Wonder Years. Notice how few of those are actually still on TV?
4. What did you have for breakfast? Nothing
5. What is your middle name? Anne
6. What food do you dislike? Potatoes, carrots, celery.
7. Your favorite Potato chip? I don’t like potatoes in any form
8. What is your favorite CD at the moment? I’ve been listening to Helen Steller a lot lately.
9. What kind of car do you drive? Toyota Camry, but I don’t feel properly illuminated by the kind of car I drive… actually that would be really sad if that summed me up.
10. What characteristics do you despise? Just plain old ignorance and superiority
11. Favorite item of clothing? A pair prepregnancy jeans, I just got back into.
12. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? This is impossible to answer because I’m always fantasizing about other places… it’s my curse in life. Okay… Japan, Italy, New Mexico, Costa Rica, South Africa, somewhere where it rains a lot, Switzerland, New Zealand…
13. What color is your bathroom? Light green and the other is purple
14. Favorite brand of clothing? Anne Taylor and J. Crew
15. Where would you retire? Someplace near the ocean16. Favorite time(s) of day? Dawn and twilight
17. What laundry detergent do you use? Lately, Dreft, a baby detergent that’s dye and fragrance free. It’s nice… I smell like a baby all the time.
18. Are you a morning person or night owl? Total night owl even with a little baby. It’s an illness.
19. Do you have pets? One poodle with A.D.D.
20. Any new and exciting news you’d like to share with your friends? Most definitely, none. I’m okay with that.
21. What (who) did you want to be when you were little? Everything from a brain surgeon to a nun. But, the only thing I’ve always wanted to be is a mom so even with the glaring lack of professional success to my name… I guess I’m still doing okay.
22. Favorite Candy Bar? Hershey bar23. What is your best childhood memory? Only a few… My mom picking me and Christina up from school on a snow day. She rented the cartoon version of the Lion Witch and the Wardrobe (a childhood favorite) and we sat on the floor and ate chili and drank coke from a glass bottle. I still have a thing about glass bottles. Another is when I used to pretend that I had fits in my sleep to make my cousins laugh. Riding on the back of my dad’s motorcycle, making entire living room sized tents, playing puppies, playing with my cousins “boy” toys whenever we visited. So many… childhood was the best.
24. What are the different jobs you have had in your life? Yuck. Um, waitress, spokes model (no laughing), secretary, administrative peeon, substitute teacher, writing tutor (if you can believe it).
25. What color underwear are you wearing? Pink
26. Nicknames? Nomi, Nomsie, Sugarlump (that one was from my Gran),
27. Piercing? A few, only the traditional earlobe ones were a good idea.
28. Eye color: hazel green
29. Ever been to Africa? Yes
30. Ever been toilet papering? Sadly, yes31. Love someone so much it made you cry? Yes, and at first sight too.32. Been in a car accident? Several
33. Croutons or bacon bits? Neither
34. Favorite day of the week? Well, mostly Saturdays, but I like most for different reasons.
35. Favorite restaurant? Tokyo, Ironwood Grill, Tim’s in Bethany for Dr. Peppers or old roadside places… love that.
36. Favorite flower? White Calla Lilies37. Favorite ice cream? Cherry Vanilla
38. Disney or Warner Brothers? Matt Groening
39. Favorite fast food restaurant? Taco Cabana, Chik fil A or anyplace with great burgers… mostly local stuff though like Bunnies.
40. What color is your bedroom carpet? Beige-ish
41. How many times did you fail your driver’s test? None
42. Before this one, from whom did you get your last e-mail? Blockbuster. Hoot is on the way.
43. Which store would you choose to max out your Credit Card? Any home store, Best Buy, The Mac Store, Christian Louboutain, a Volvo dealership. :)
44. What do you do most often when you are reading? read… am I missing something?
45. Bedtime? Don’t have one. I love the feeling of exhaustion when the world is asleep.
46. Who are you most curious about their responses to this questionnaire? Not sending it to anyone, just stealing an easy blog post idea from someone else.
47. Ford or Chevy? Yikes, neither.
49. What is your favorite color? White
50. Lake, Ocean or River? All. I’m obsessed with water, but ocean comes to mind first though.
51. How many tattoos do you have? 2
52. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Chicken, duh.
53. Red or White? BLUE! What kind of question is this?
54. Where would you go for a guys/girls weekend get-a-way? A very secluded spa in Arizona maybe.
55. What would you do if you had to select another career? Seeing as how I don’t really have much of a career, all options are mine. In an ideal world, I would be a music writer.
56. Republican or Democrat? Democrat, but I’m open minded.
57. Favorite Family Vacation? Someplace with water. When I was 10 we drove to California with my cousins and aunt and uncle. We hit Amarillo, Albuquerque, Vegas, Flagstaff and everything in between. That was awesome.
58. Favorite Movie? Oh, there are so many… Amelie, Life As a House, Whalerider, Monty Python and the Meaning of Life and I have to agree with Jay here and say most Cameron Crowe movies.
59. All Time Favorite Concert? So far… Steve Miller Band when Big Bad Voodoo Daddy opened for them in Dallas. My dream concert though (and it’s just never worked out yet) is sitting on the lawn in the twilight while enjoying an aural orgasm courtesy of James Taylor.

How It All Began: Christina

2006-08-29T15:23:00.000-07:00

Every kid looks forward to their first day of real school (first grade) with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. On a warm August day in 1984, a day perfect for riding bikes or jumping on the trampoline, I began my academic journey at Western Oaks Elementary. My teacher, Mrs. McIntire, was the violently encouraging type who, had she taught ten years later, would have been fired and lost her license because of her convulsive approach to teaching phonics.

I had one real friend going into that first day, her name was Rose Winkler. I honestly can’t remember why I already knew her. In fact, all I remember about her was that she was very smart, Catholic, she had a mean sister and she was a great Barbie playmate. I was elated that we had been placed in the same class and couldn’t wait to sit right next her all day for a whole school year! My mom took me to school early that first day and I took a seat at the front of the class, secretly reserving the seat to my left for Rose. Fortunately, Rose was late that day and a platinum haired lady wearing tight Guess jeans, led her prissy looking daughter, with a mile of light brown hair, right to Rose’s seat! I was immediately obligated to dislike the princess to my left and her annoyingly adorable navy and white sailor dress. Her name was as sickeningly pretty as she was… Christina.

Honestly, it might have hours, days or even weeks before I got over that princess’s audacity but at some point, I clearly did. The turning point came at Kennard’s (a long since closed grocery store in Bethany). I was there with my Mom and Gran. While they took eight years to shop, I was doing what any kid would do when faced with long, empty narrow aisles—I was running like Flojo, up and down over and over again. Suddenly, I came face to face with an older woman and my arch nemesis, Christina. I assume I was over the desk stealing incident because we immediately began flying up and down those narrow aisles together. I remember thinking, “I’m like reeeeeeeeeeeeaallllllllllly fast!” It’s possible I even told Christina that. We had such a great time and weren’t even close to expelling all our youthful energy, so Christina asked if I could go home with her. I went. I don’t remember much about what we did that afternoon except that I met a very large brown Chow whose name I can’t recall.

Seeing as how we already sat next to each other and were both in Reading Group B (B, meaning, “Bad readers”), it didn’t take long for us to become best friends. We lost our front teeth together, we played house in the intertwined tree roots of the playground, I teased her about her budding romances with the various first grade hotties, and we had a billion sleep-overs and went trick or treating on Halloween. We made pretend radio show tapes on my Dad’s karaoke machine (she still has a passion for radio) we crank called boys, we went on Church youth trips together and always got in trouble. One time we traded places so we could both go on a choir trip, an act that even got us suspended together. Christina and I grew up together and because of those laughs and all the others that came later, she became closer than a sister to me.

Fast forward eighteen years or so, Christina drove all the way from Austin in one night, to be a bridesmaid at my wedding. I remember the day I told her I wanted her to be my bridesmaid… we were about six and about to slide down the swirl slide. On my wedding day, her bizarre sense of humor drove away my anxiety as it always has and watching her rock that wedding march was a highlight in our friendship. Twenty-something years after wanting to smack her for the first (but not the last) time, she is married too and is still my best friend as well as a never boring Godmother to my son.
--------------------------------------------

Ah Christina, maybe now… you’ll pick up your damned phone once in while!!

How It All Began: A Series

2006-08-29T15:12:00.000-07:00

Not that anyone reads this blog, but I thought I'd introduce a series of entries I've been wanting to do since I wrote Jager's birth story. These entries will generally detail how some of my relationships with friends, family and others began. I love details, so I will relate more than you'll probably want to read. For example: you can't just tell me that "he looked at you," you have to tell me exactly how he looked at you. Details, see?

Not all these entries will be very long as some relationships are newer than others or I just have less to say about them at this point. You may wonder why I wrote some of them, but try to remember that it's nothing personal, and doesn't mean anything other than what I will very clearly say it means. I prefer to keep my relationships as obvious as possible, so don't look for double meanings.

Okay, with that said, I'm in the mood to reminisce.

Orange Sky

2006-08-29T06:28:00.000-07:00

Orange Sky
by Alexi Murdoch

Well I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
Yes I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my brother standing by
With my brother standing by
I said Brother, you know you know It’s a long road we’ve been walking on
Brother you know it is you know it is
Such a long road we’ve been walking on
And I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my sister standing by
With my sister standing by I said
Sister, here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this.. In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
But sister you know I’m so weary
And you know sister
My hearts been broken
Sometimes, sometimes
My mind is too strong to carry on
Too strong to carry on
When I am alone
When I’ve thrown off the weight of this crazy stone
When I've lost all care for the things I own
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you, that's when I miss you
You who are my home
You who are my home
And here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this..
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
Well I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
Yes I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my brother and my sister standing by
With my brother and my sister standing by
With my brother and my sister standing by
---------------------------------------------------

I never said this was brilliant song writing, but when it's right, it's just right. You know?

The Great American Road Trip

2006-08-20T15:11:00.000-07:00

Miles of corn stalks, rusty self-service gas stations, an ice cold coke in a glass bottle, the sound of wind at 70 miles per hour, the feeling of hot air as your hand cuts through the night sky, the resolution to try new things and embrace the solitude. The Great American Road Trip is a uniquely American right of passage for many of us. This wanderlust forces us into wide open spaces and asks us to let go of the comfortable and reach instead, for the unfamiliar just for the sake of the journey.

Christina asked me recently if I thought the road trip was a uniquely American experience. I’ve had past road trips on the mind lately while a few of my friends were setting out on their own. One could travel from anywhere to anywhere, but when I imagine this road trip it’s usually on old Route 66. Traveling west for the purpose of experiencing the journey is, in my opinion, a right of passage for any American. In that sense, yes, I think the road trip is a uniquely American experience.

How many books, movies and songs chronicle this journey or another one like it? There is the obvious, Jack Kerouac’s, On the Road--a rambling story without plot that revels in the American Road trip experience. Even the Food Network is embracing the road trip with a new show called “Feasting On Asphalt.” In fact, I think the kind of Americana that can only be experienced on a road trip of our highways and byways is experiencing a resurgence. These cultural reminders make me crave the open road in an almost inappropriate way.

What is it about wide open spaces that draws us? The sun that burns every day, now warms as we sail above the asphalt and the stars that go ignored every night, force us the dream of all the other unexplored areas in the universe. “What else is out there,” you ask yourself as you drive stoically down a deserted highway in the dark, or through a whispering ghost town in the middle of the desert. Out here, it’s easy to realize that the whole process is nothing short of mobile meditation. Can we remake ourselves on the road?

Why is it cheap motels with buzzing neon signs appeal to us when we’re on the road, but not in the city? Why do we guzzle burgers in our daily lives, but savor them in their white paper wrappers when they’re purchased from a tiny roadside diner? I think we are revealed to ourselves in our errand-free loneliness. The road trip is an almost intimidating symbol of freedom because, when all you have is a map, a full tank of gas and few great CDs, it seems anything is possible and you can be anyone you wish to be.

Standing In the Open

2006-08-13T22:37:00.000-07:00

It’s late. I’m awake. I feel like I’m always awake. Today marked the end of a very long trip to the in-laws. I’ve been on the road for days and not in a good way. The baby probably needs to eat, but I don’t know if I should wake him up.

The problem is, I can’t get some things out of my head. Does that ever happen to anyone else? I can’t stop imagining a golden field at around twilight. Something like Alexi Murdoch’s, Orange Sky sets the tone, but I’m aware of nothing but the smell of dry grass and the breeze blowing my hair. I’m captivated by an imaginary place… an imaginary moment. There’s something wrong with me.

Life is good, but I’m pulled so strongly to solitude and escape. I often wonder if it’s okay to just disappear for a week or two alone so I can breath and live someone else’s life, just for the experience of it. The problem is that I am rooted and happy. Ah shucks for me, huh? I wish I could put my index fingers together, like this show about a half alien girl I saw once, and just stop time for a while. Then I could disappear to my field and never miss a beat in real life.

Why can’t I just have simple thoughts?

My New Favorite Thing to Do

2006-06-29T07:54:00.000-07:00

Having a newborn means you have to be very scheduled. They eat about every three hours so you have to plan your day around those times. For example, do you know what you’ll be doing at 3:00 in the afternoon this Saturday? Well, I do—I’ll be sticking a bottle in my baby’s mouth.

One could find that kind of monotony boring, but I’ve found a way around that. See, just before boy eats at 11pm, we get into bed and watch Family Guy together. If that’s not on, we just watch whatever is on… the other night it was Fast Times and Ridgemont High. Just after his 9am feeding, we usually go to the gym and walk a few miles. Well, I walk a few miles and he either gets pushed in a stroller or bounces along while strapped to my chest (an extra tough workout for me, let me tell you).
You still have to be able to be flexible though. If I can do something else, I’m all for it, but baby still gets hungry when he gets hungry. I’ve just learned to get over it and feed him wherever I have to—like he cares.

Having a baby his age is partly like having an accessory that needs lots of attention and partly like having a buddy around all the time. He laughs at my jokes, he sleeps when I’m sleepy (we’re lucky on that one), and he wins over all my friends. Nice.

Irritated and Still Myself: Another Stupid Introspective

2006-06-24T20:45:00.000-07:00

Lately, I’ve become more and more aware of things that irritate me. Everyone from the selfish woman who accidentally whacks me with her huge purse to the damn cop, who gave me a ticket for doing what everyone else does all the time, is getting up my nose in a major way. I honestly feel like I could breakdown at some point just because… oh I don’t know… someone at Wal-Mart bumps my ass with their cart… again.

Okay, in fairness, I am not in a good mood right now. This has been coming on all night partly because I’ve been spending the entire evening hoping I’d have something to do this Saturday night. Well, it’s 10pm and I’m typing this tirade, so you do the math. That and I got another damn ticket tonight!

Seriously, when did we all become so self-involved? Why do we assume things about each other without even asking? Why do we try so hard to fit into an idea of what we think we should be instead of just feeling the way we really feel?

As anyone who knows me is aware, I just become a mom. I’m thrilled and feel totally blessed. Let me just say that just because I’m a new mom doesn’t mean I don’t have anything else to talk about, or that I don’t have a need to have friends. Oddly enough, I’m so lonely right now, it’s ridiculous. For example: I’m a very unassuming person, to a fault even. I never want to intrude, be a third wheel, overstay my welcome etc… but lately, I’ve been totally willing to bypass my own preferences on this issue because I’m desperate for a laugh with some friends! I’ve been lucky enough to meet some other chicks with kids lately who have generously invited me to spend time with them. I love them for that, but I must say, sometimes I just want to goof around and see a movie, grab some dinner or even read trashy magazines on the floor with a good friend.

I’m not a shy person normally but lately when I’m around anyone other than the four people I’m still comfortable around, I say the stupidest things! I put my big foot in my mouth, stumble over my words or simply get my facts wrong. It’s like being freaking thirteen years old and at a new school all over again! I’m so afraid of boring people with mommy talk, yet at the same time; I’m also dying to talk about something else myself. It’s like I have to get through the mommy stuff first. Who knows?

Don’t misunderstand me, my son and I have lots of fun… genuinely. I’ve found out that a few of my sillier voices make him laugh a lot. He smiles at me in a way that lets me know that the time spent crossing my eyes, and doing fake French accents while talking about poop is time well spent. I just miss my normal moments too and I don’t really have to feel that way.

I’ve learned that most people freak out on the subject of children. Don’t think you do? Well, I am here to tell you that yes, yes you probably do in your own way. It must be this misconception that one gives up all their leisure time or identity when becoming a parent. Maybe some people are willing to give that up, or perhaps people are just afraid of loving anyone else that much. If anything, fear the latter. I have not lost sight of who I am nor have I neglected to find time to enjoy myself. I still watch movies, play video games, listen to music, shop, write (not that anyone would want to read my latest), talk to friends, learn and of course, find new things to bitch about.

I suppose if I have to sum up, I’d have to ask… is it possible that we can lose sight of who we are because others have?

White Noise: Jager's Birth Story

2006-05-23T11:56:00.000-07:00

William “Jager” Lipscomb was born on March 25th, 2006 at 8:11am. After discovering that he was fully breech, we scheduled a Cesarean section for the following Saturday. Yes, they do C-sections on a Saturday. The evening leading up to that procedure was the most nerve wrecking of my entire life. I was nauseous just thinking about it. The prospect of a spinal block, being cut open while conscious, having things taken out of me and replaced and of course the fear that something could go wrong was enough to make me wish I could take two Xanax and go to bed. Of course, being preggers, I had to tough out the fear, drug free. Instead, I took a one hour shower and blew out my hair with the precision of a largely pregnant woman with O.C.D. After all, one must always look good for your OB. J Little did I realize at the time that that would be about the last time I could be so indulgent with the time spent maintaining my personal appearance.

We were at the hospital when it was still dark out—I hate that. We checked in late, as usual. The drive to the hospital was surreal to say the least, everything looked normal on the turnpike… normal people going about normal business early in the morning. But for us, we knew in just a few short hours nothing would ever be the same again.

After miles of paperwork and three painful attempts at inserting an I.V., I was finally ready. My mom and dad came in to my room one last time to wish me luck. The nurses came and wheeled me into the operating room. I was freezing and shaking like a leaf. My doctor still hadn’t arrived so I had to wait with the catheter of the spinal block hanging out of my spinal cord. I couldn’t move in case it shifted and damaged my spinal chord causing… oh I don’t know... PERMANENT PARALYSIS! I had to stay hunched over on the operating table (with a huge belly, by the way) for about twenty minutes. Finally the doctor arrived and they began extremely quickly.

Jason came in just as they began and sat next to my head. We had made an arrangement that he would talk to me about basketball since March Madness was going on. I just wanted to hear about anything other than what was happening. Being conscious for your surgery is bizarre enough, and it’s best to escape the horrors going on beyond the curtain if possible. My doctor was only too happy to engage in this basketball discussion and he, Jason and two nurses began chatting happily about Duke’s chances a national championship! It was to this subject, young Jager, that you came into this world.

“Okay, are you ready? Here he is,” the doctor said. Suddenly everything went quiet in my head.

-There was my son.-

There was buzzing in my ears. Now separate from me, his pink body moved through the room without me. I cried like I’ve never cried in my life—the most intense mixture of tears and hysterical laughter I’ve ever heard. I don’t remember anyone else at that moment except that I told Jason to leave me and go with the baby, which he did. Finally, I regained thought and asked what color his hair was. The doctor studied him, and finally laughed when he said, “I think it’s red!” That was it. That was the moment, the greatest moment of my life. I could have died right there with happiness. I don’t think it’s ever fully possible to describe the overwhelming joy, fear and shock of that moment. It’s better than Christmas, it’s better than anything.

After weighing (7 lbs, 12 oz), and measuring (19 ¾ inches) and a number of other things, Jason finally brought him to me. I touched my son for the first time by kissing him on his lips. I was shaking and unsteady, but his tiny lips were warm and wet.

For those who aren’t parents yet and wonder why people you know and even like suddenly turn into love struck puppy dogs when they have kids, I’ll tell you. You find that you can and do love with the intensity of two years of longing and 9 months of waiting in one blinding instant. You finally understand what it means to love someone else enough to beg to die in their place. It’s overwhelming and suddenly very real. His smile makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time. It’s like looking at every good thing about yourself and the person you love and realizing that you’re responsible for this little piece of perfection in front of you. The pride is so overwhelming it chokes you. Yes, there are negatives to being a parent, but something about this new person makes you want to be someone you never knew you could be. You’d do anything for him and anything seems possible.

You would assume that the most powerful moments are intensely emotional, but I have found that they can be hilarious and filled with laughter too. The first time Jager smiled at me on purpose, was that kind of moment. I was popping in and out of my closet holding up a different shirt every time and asking him what he thought. He was staring at me and by the third shirt he had a huge grin on his face. I instantly started laughing hysterically at our mutual amusement and kissed him all over his face and neck. My stomach actually flipped when I saw him smiling! It was the same nervous excitement you feel when someone you like holds your hand for the first time.

Sometimes we just find ourselves holding him and staring at him. How did we create something perfect?! There are my eyes, and your dad’s lips, your uncle’s widow’s peak, and your grandpa’s ears. We are so unbelievably blessed, and we never doubt it for a moment.

Today Is…

2006-03-21T08:10:00.000-08:00

Today, I might very well find out the date my son will be born. It’s not exactly the romantic vision of labor pains leading to a visit to the hospital and my husband freaking out that I had envisioned this whole pregnancy. I must be reasonable though. It is 2006 and doctors knowing what they know; know that I might have to be “encouraged” to have this baby. I’m thoroughly motivated to get him here, he on the other hand seems quite content to hiccup 14 times a day, dig his heels into my ribs, and shove his entire personage into my lungs when I sit down. Ah, parenthood.

For the past two months, I’ve made an unwilling habit of getting up 2 to 6 times a night to deal with various pregnancy related, sleep interrupting concerns. Lately, whenever I roll my largeness out of bed, I stop and look inside the awaiting bassinet beside our bed and realize that soon I’ll have to take care of someone before attempting sleep again. Last night, I realized in terror that he might not always go right back to sleep the way I do (or try to do). I could feed him but he may want to play… at 3a.m.! I’ve always considered myself a night owl, but once I fell asleep that was it. I love to sleep and baby, I sure hope you do too.

“So, what do you do?”

2006-03-21T07:57:00.000-08:00

I hate that question.

I aim to disappoint. My life is relatively uninteresting. I say this with a “I realize this fact about myself and accept it for the time being” kind of tone. See, I’m not what you’d call a big “go-getter.” I will get all ambitious when it suits me, but that generally only applies to my personal life, not my professional one. In short, my career is fairly nonexistent and I have only myself and my stupid need to make money to blame. When a decent paying job is offered to me, I take it without much regard for the impact said job will have on my career. As a result, I have been a highly paid administrative nobody since graduating from college. And no, you don’t really have to go to college to become an administrative nobody.

Unfortunately, the biggest problem with being an administrative nobody is that, in the end, you are terribly unimportant and easy to replace. That being said, when I became pregnant, my boss told me that I was terribly unimportant and now easy to replace… in so many words. Actually his exact words were, “this baby is really inconvenient for us. Toddles.”

What’s the lesson here? Oh, there are so many. 1. Never work for a man who is old enough to be your grandfather. You’ll be forced to work by his interpretation of a 1950s work ethic. 2. Never work for an office/company that employs less than 15 people (see the Civil Right Amendment poster in your break room at work). 3. Never sell your creative soul for a bigger pay check. Your muse will only torment you.

What are my plans for the future? Well darlings, I really don’t know. My personal life being what it is, I confess that I feel a tad overwhelmed and of course excited. The prospect of figuring out how to start over professionally doesn’t rank that highly at the moment. Ask me again in about three months, okay? All I do know at this point is that I’ll never be some secretary or administrative nobody again. I’m putting that out there into this great abysmal internet so the guardians of the WWW can hold me to that statement.

Wish me luck!

What I'm Listening To Now

2006-03-08T06:44:00.000-08:00

Have you ever noticed how your musical taste shifts, sometimes slightly, sometimes drastically with different periods of your life? Personally, I believe for a musical preference shift to be sincere and not coaxed by peers, it can be only a shifting indeed and not a total abandonment of previous tastes. For example, the one time I experienced a relentless hip hop preference it was admittedly due to boyfriend that I only had for two months. My taste for Ginuwine and Puff Daddy (as he was known back then), lasted roughly as long. While I still love R&B, rap has never genuinely entered the realm of my devout musical love.

Music was my first real love. I mean it. Boys were put on the backburner longer than normal probably because I could indulge in a passionate relationship with a CD without much moral input from others. As a result of this, my boyfriends have always been musicians—I just realized this. It was an easy transition I suppose.

When I think about when it all began, I start to get the feeling that the first memory goes so far back as to be nearly primitive. My mom started it all, by playing folk guitar while pregnant with me and introducing me to Simon and Garfunkel and Joan Baez at an almost indecent age. My dad on the other hand, always sung country classics and jazz standards to me. I knew all the words to Mona Lisa and You Are My Sunshine before I knew how to ride a bike. Those roots have eerily stuck with me. I am convinced that those influences exclusively inform my obsession with James Taylor and lyrically driven music regardless of instrumental execution.

In High School, I fell for U2, Chris Isaak, Sheryl Crow, Sixpence, Nat King Cole, Blues Traveler, Martin Page, Mazzy Star, Collective Soul, Enya, Jars of Clay, Tori Amos and lots of Jazz. Hip Hop and rap became really big back then so I liked a few songs, but my tape player rarely housed that genre. I would buy a single of some hip hop song and quickly realized that when my girlfriends were in the car, out came Tori and in went Blackstreet. I got over it fast. Looking back at what moved me so intensely then, I realize that I am still that same girl, just evolved.

In college I began being heavily influenced by a wider group of more open minded and well-traveled friends. My tastes became even worldlier, and I ventured deeper into the genres of existing preferences. Everybody experiments in college, I just spent my time fiddling with music and finding new ways to express the impressions it left on me. I wrote a lot back then and I began to realize around this time how much music affects your writing and really all of your creativity. Had I chosen to write this blog entry while listening to one of my high school loves this would be even more nostalgic than I meant it to be. Instead I’m listening to one of my current obsessions, so hopefully this entry is true to this moment.

Right now, I’m listening to Imogene Heap, Delays, Ivy, Ryan Adams, Clem Snide, Rufus Wainwright, Broken Social Scene and far too many others to mention. The most obvious thing that’s changed lately is the fact that my taste has gotten mellower and I’m going for more lyrical, more introspective and even sweeter sounds than I ever have in the past. At this moment I’m softening, I suppose.

So Now What?: Feminism Alive and Not So Well

2006-02-16T13:54:00.000-08:00

As most anyone who knows me already knows, I was let go from my job when my employer found out I was pregnant. My job ended in late December, but I’m not due until March. It has now been almost two months since I’ve received any income. As you can imagine, losing that much of your income without the hope of being able to replace it is not just an adjustment, it’s downright scary. The reality is that employers don’t hire largely pregnant women. I’m out of hope for work until after I have the baby. Unfortunately that is the time all moms take time off work to be with their newborns, not necessarily before. I was given no choice in the matter so the income-less crunch has hit us hard and long before it should have.

Today, I’m scared. Like most people, we look at our finances and make decisions about expenses, but now that my unemployment money has run out (my former employer didn’t pay in, so there is no money for me to take out now), we are forced to face the harsh reality that we just don’t make enough. We just got a house, but other than that our expenses aren’t that much greater than they’ve been in the past. With the baby coming very soon, we are looking at increased expenses that simply cannot be cut. Do you have a knot in your stomach, yet? I sure do.

So the search has begun. Perhaps it should have begun a while ago, but now I can delay no longer—I must find work! Unlike every American mother I will not be “entitled” to maternity leave—that is essentially what my former employer was protecting himself from. Way to go you puritanical asshole! I can’t go to a job interview, I can’t find a normal job—who would have me like this? Hell, I wouldn’t even hire me. I have to think creatively. How can I make a certain amount of income every month without having to go to work? What can I do and how can I do it? Talk about overwhelming.
It’s amazing to me that in this day and age that issues like this are still plaguing young women. Gloria Steinem was right, we have made progress, yes, but women are still engaged in a battle for their rights. Things look better, but perhaps these female prejudices just come later; perhaps they are now restricted to mothers more than women in general. You’d be shocked how much regression takes place in the mouths of modern thinking people just because you’re having a baby.

The impulse to tell a woman what she should do is seemingly uncontrollable, and the unconscious change in feelings towards a woman who’s having a baby is perhaps imperceptible to everyone except the newly isolated mother-to-be. It sucks. You probably wouldn’t even flinch to know the amount of times people react to the employment injustice I’ve had to face with words like, “well, at least you can stay at home with the baby now.” Wow. To be honest, my boss said that as well. As if, they even knew our minds on the subject in the first place. We didn’t even know our minds on the subject yet—we never got the chance before someone else’s opinions were imposed upon us—before our autonomy was violated in this fashion.

Long story and ranting cut short… what am I going to do? I’m open to almost any option that doesn’t involve selling my body :) or baby, or settling for someone else’s stupidly backward and automatic answers.

Do You Know What It Means?

2006-02-10T08:20:00.000-08:00

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
I miss it both night and day
I know that it's wrong... this feeling's gettin' stronger
The longer, I stay away
Miss them moss covered vines...the tall sugar pines
Where mockin' birds used to sing
And I'd like to see that lazy Mississippi...hurryin' into spring
The moonlight on the bayou.......a Creole tune.... that fills the airI dream... of Magnolias in bloom...and soon I'm wishin'that you were there
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
And that's where I left my heart

Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans by Louis Armstrong
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Yes, Louis. I do know what it means.

Even the idea of the New Orleans inspires a profound sense of loss within me. New Orleans was the purveyor of so many special experiences for me—my first strawberry daiquiri, the first time my husband told me he loved me in the middle of Jackson Square, my first wedding crash, my first win at a gambling table, and a few other wonderfully seedy, but pleasant experiences I won’t go into here.

Every once in a while I feel the call of other places on my spirit. Often I feel the call of home—South Africa has a distinct and powerful pull over her children. And sometimes the need to see places I’ve never witnessed is so overwhelming that I can barely breathe—lately it’s been Germany, Italy and Switzerland. For the past month, however, the humid, spicy spirit of New Orleans has sung its sad song to me. Many times, I’ve caught myself daydreaming about searching for airfare quotes to the Big Easy (always my first step towards an imminent trip); only to realize that the city I’ve come to both fear and love is no more. All those once in a lifetime experiences can never really be relived.

When Louis Armstrong first sang that song, do you think he ever imagined a day when just missing New Orleans because he couldn’t get there just then would be a fond memory? Today, the lazy Mississippi he spoke of has seemingly changed directions, those Creole tunes are sadly silent, and those ancient Magnolia trees are broken and splintered.

When New Orleans is resurrected, and I’m sure it will be, will it simply be a modern concrete homage or a Disneyland version of the thick aired, fragrant New Orleans of days past? Will the beignets ever taste quite the same in a rebuilt Café Du Monde? Call me pessimistic, but somehow I don’t think anything will ever be quite the same. Maybe that’ll be a good thing, so for me, a sense of privilege now dwells with those memories. In my mind, New Orleans isn’t just a city that met destruction—the moonlight on the bayou, those Creole tunes, those crawfish etouffee and magnolia smells conjure actual moments for me. Moments I’ll never forget, in a city I’ll never forget.

Not Easy, But Calm: Reflections on the Year

2005-12-14T10:36:00.000-08:00

So the official move took place on December 3rd, but we actually began living in our new house last Saturday. What a time the last few weeks have been! I feel like I’ve been living in a state of flux for over a month and so much is changing at the same time. What am I talking about—what a time the last year has been!

This time last year, I was attempting to dealing with three of the most heartbreaking events of my entire life while working quietly at a law firm downtown. My plans, my happiness seemed to be destined to fail and I was changing into someone I barely recognized and couldn’t seem to stop it. But now… nothing is the same. Life still has its way of surprising me both pleasantly and unpleasantly, but it’s just so different now. I wish someone could have told me how things can and will change in so many unforeseeable ways, so I could have seen past the haze for just a moment.

So many things are still unresolved: my sister’s fate still seems so uncertain and her insistence to pretend like her life could suddenly become normal never ceases to amaze and annoy me. If I’ve learned anything in from the death of three people I adored in the last two years, I’ve learned that there is something beautiful about finally facing the harsh reality you’ve been dealt. My hope for her in the coming year is that she can bravely stare down her demons… and overcome them. Maybe then, her life can become normal in the way hers has the nature to be.

Even with the tremendous losses we’ve been asked to endure and the unresolved issues, I still feel oddly blessed at this point. I don’t know where the next year will take me and quite frankly, I’m nervous about the endless possibilities. There is a renewed sense of awe at how quickly circumstances can change for good and bad. I know life seems uneventful for some, but I think that’s just for a time too. If you doubt that, look at me. This time last year, I thought I could never dig myself out of the darkness and purposelessness and this year my unborn son plays “I push, he kicks” games with me every morning as if he has been instructed to prove me how God can make something beautiful out of things that hurt so much.

There are about two and half more weeks left to this year—take the time to measure how much your life has changed and I encourage you to be grateful that things do, in fact, change at all.

I'm Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

2005-12-07T14:02:00.000-08:00

I am currently without home.
I work 9 hours a day without a lunch break.
I practice/perform for 4 hours a night, every night (for 1 more week anyway).
I haven't made dinner in three weeks.
I miss my bed.
My throat hurts really bad.
I am no longer capable of faking smiles.
I haven't done anything "fun" since the beginning of November (except for Harry Potter).
I really really need a manicure.
I hate my job a little bit more every single day.
I hate hearing myself complain.

I want to...
...stay home for three weeks.
...only go out for food, shopping or very fun activities.
...live in the varnish smelling house that has all my stuff in it.
...have everything working in the house and no longer smelling like varnish.
...cook a big dinner.
...get settled.
...make out with my husband
...have some friends over.
...put up my Christmas decorations.
...make my boss feel shame and embarassment for what he's done.
...and lastly, to get paid for doing something I enjoy, from home.

Aaaaaaaaand the Discussion Continues...

2005-12-04T12:02:00.000-08:00

I'm so sick of being the only slightly liberal member of my family! When we get together and the moment the discussion gets mildly political in nature, SUDDENLY everything turns into a discussion about religion. Why can't people see the difference between something being considered wrong Biblically and my not feeling it's right to suppress a person's freedom of expression? Is it just me or does any other thinking Christian out there see the scary reality headed our way on this issue--that if we insist on curbing the creative rights of others because elements of their fiction go against Biblical teachings, that we ourselves are just moments away from experiencing creative and political persecution.

Someone asked me if I felt television was influencing my view of homosexuality. My answer was no and I feel that way because on that particular issue and in my life, I find that art is simply imitating life and not the other way around. Sure, that's not true for everyone but again, my life... that particular issue. Then all hellfire came down on me because these "traditional, fundamental" call them what you will Christians can NOT hear what I've just said. Not once did I utter a word about my view on the issue of sexual orientation, yet somehow, the yelling began from every angle! I'm not even the most liberal person I know, in fact, I hate the labeling of political ideas period. I don't flip out when they don't agree with my ideals. I don't yell excessively until they relent, I don't start preaching, and most certainly don't put on that smug face of superiority because I believe my ideas are supported by the Bible. Why is that where they "go?" Is it not possible that true adherence to the teachings of God's Word circumvents the need for this type of discussion entirely? Clearly, both sides of this argument need to spend a little more time in study and a little less time trying to get other people's attention.

Thoughts on the New Legalism

2005-11-30T12:24:00.000-08:00

This string of thoughts was inspired after reading a post about Harry Potter book burning and the resulting comments in Ryan’s blog. I didn’t want to respond in a comment myself since the initial conversation took place quite some time ago.*

Legalism is still a hot issue in the Church at the moment. I still have the misfortune to work for a Church-related office and I can’t tell you how often the subject rears its ugly head. I hate to burst the optimistic bubble of some, but it is still a very real and very present reality. If I interpreted it correctly, the discussion turned to the idea of a new brand of legalism, the liberal elite of Christianity calling down fire upon the fundamental Christian Right. As is the case in most incidences of prejudice (because after all, that is what we are essentially talking about here) there will eventually be a reversal of those criticizing pointed fingers. I agree with that sentiment whole-heartedly as it is evidenced all over the world; however, I cannot say that the traditionally fundamental and intolerant are not still vying for control over many of our Churches and in turn, over our futures. That is the ugly reality.

This new legalism can be viewed as the reversal of traditional prejudices, yes, but I tend to view it as a long overdue backlash with some teeth. To me, it's the difference of a group of people who are considered the "new oppressors" by some, and a group of people who have made a practice of confusing and confounding others by inserting doubt into their hearts of a different kind. Their brand of confusion and doubt appears to make a good person wonder if they are prejudicing the "right" things enough to buy their way into Heaven! The "new oppressors" are simply the "liberal" believers calling the first set of over-opinionated, habitually oppressive believers out on their bull. Sure that can eventually reveal a complete reversal of past relationships, but at this point, it is the unchurched people who have been so long (and are still) at the mercy of those wielding the use of mystifying scriptures and mostly personally invented logic to support their collective distrust in things they don't understand.

At one time, everyone agreed that the fundamentalist’s once long-held prejudices were inappropriate, but now, these types of people find things that confuse us and make us struggle with issues of little importance that have been cloaked in the guise of being Heaven or Hell issues—and for what purpose? Which is more evil then?

*This is clearly an ongoing discussion that hasn't been fully developed. There are obviously so many tributaries of thought to explore when discussing something like this, but I'm not writing a thesis here. These are just some thoughts, however emotionally charged, presented as they come to mind.

Fanfiction and Fan Art

2005-11-30T11:24:00.000-08:00

I’ve been reading some Harry Potter fanfiction lately (yes, I’m that big of a nerd) and I’ve come to realize that while a story can be interesting and you can enjoy reading it—there is a huge and noticeable difference between writing a story and writing a story really well when it comes to fanfiction

An utterly, totally, 100% reliable resource called Urban Dictionary.com defines fanfiction as “a piece of fiction within a fandom utilizing characters and situations from a pre-existing work including (but not limited to) books, television programs, films, and comic strips.”

I would imagine that writing fanfiction is one of the most difficult yet completely self-gratifying genres one could attempt to write in. First of all, you’re writing about a fictitious world that already exists and that world, its characters and its creator already have fans of their own—the same fans that will most likely read your work. Those fans can be unbelievably grateful and positive yet others can quickly turn obsessive compulsive and nasty when the writer of a work of fanfiction fails to adhere to the rules of this preexisting universe. The tradeoff? You get to live out all your wildest imaginings about those preexisting characters and create the stories only you know.

After reading about three works of Harry Potter fanfiction, I am convinced of three things…
1. Most fans don’t know when or how to end a story even if they know how they want to end it (none were completed).
2. People love writing and reading about illicit sex between two unexpected characters. Take slash or het fanfiction for example: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Snape and Hermione/Snape etc…
3. Lastly, it’s painfully easy to recreate central characters most fundamental idiosyncrasies in order to effectively create an alternate storyline that appeals to our general opinions on the nature of good and evil. That departure from personality could, in my opinion, be the Dementor’s Kiss of all fanfiction. Out of the three works I read, the one that stood out as the best was titled “Forgotten” and attempts to take its readers to a future in the Harry Potter world most readers, and perhaps Rowling herself, would never have seen. Because of that bold sweeping move into what will most likely prove to be an alternate future, the story is able to stand alone as a separate work about characters we’ve already come to know. Also, the writer does what any good writer would do and draws from his/her own personal areas of expertise or interest to create an alternate fictitious universe.

Just in case the suspense is killing you, “Forgotten” finds Hermione several years post-Hogwarts and a few years after the great wizarding war we’ve all been lead to believe is inevitable. She has lost her two closest friends in the war and survived by escaping into the muggle society in which she was born and has become renowned in that world for her art restoration capabilities. In a very Nick Bantock-esque way, the writer throws us into her life just when she begins receiving mysterious and beautiful paintings of a clearly magical nature from a stranger. At the end of chapter three (the last chapter posted) the reader is beginning to realize who this very unexpected “stranger” might be and we wonder what role the stranger will play in her life: will this person deliver redemption or a final blow.

After reading some of this, I find that I innately want to marry the alternate worlds into the Harry Potter world that already exists. That could be dangerous as the series comes to a close… I might forget that Lily and James never got to see what became of their son, or that Harry and Snape never did have hot gay sex. :) You’ve been warned.

If you’re interested, I found these stories through Mugglenet.com

Pura Vida: Take II

2005-11-30T10:47:00.000-08:00

I have spent the last week in a foreign country. After a record setting four flights in one day, we arrived on Ambergris Caye in San Pedro Town in Belize. Hello again Central America! The last overseas trip I took was to Costa Rica about five years ago—I have some kind of obsession with Central America apparently.

Belize is gorgeous and has all that you would hope/expect a country like that would have to offer—white sand beaches, barrier reefs, geographical oddities, jungles, rainforests, ruins, and under developed cities. If you plan carefully, you can get a little of everything in Belize.

I learned the life philosophy of “Pura Vida” while in Costa Rica and while it definitely made more sense there, it certainly isn’t out of place in Belize either. The phrase translates as “pure life” and in many ways; there is no better way to describe the very moment when you find yourself floating effortlessly a few feet above schools of sting rays, shark rays and overly friendly silver fish.

The realization of where you are and the simple rarity of what you’re witnessing compared to the harsh and mundane reality that is your everyday life is quite simply put, a moment thoroughly infused with “pura vida.” Everyone should experience a moment in which they feel completely alive AT LEAST once a year. That experience throws into sharp relief, the difference between wading through your life and opening your eyes to the entire world. I love trips like this.

Ah Jeez, It’s Another Baby Post

2005-11-03T11:25:00.000-08:00

Yes, it is, but this is dedicated to someone else. Last Friday, my older cousin, and his wife had their first child—a boy also. Being foreign, you tend to grow very close to extended family. My cousins are, and always have been, like brothers to me. We make fun of each other, we talk often, and we advise each other, often without solicitation. My point is that the birth of my big cousin’s baby boy is big news in my world. Moving on.
---------------------------------------
This one’s for you Gav…

Gav, you were born on a Friday and five weeks before you were expected. You gave all of us quite a scare, to be honest. Your poor parents were so anxious about your early arrival, but alas, all turned out for the best and here you are, in our lives a few weeks ahead of schedule. Don’t make a habit of this though as you have been born into a family of late risers.

You are named after your Dad’s father and your Dad’s brother. Since you don’t know them yet, I’ll tell you a bit about them. Your uncle is generous, intelligent and tender-hearted. He is so pumped about you. One day, you’ll feel that way about him too. Your Granddad was the most brilliant, generous and brave person I’ve ever known. He went on to heaven two years ago, but I think he always imagined you, just the way you are. You are blessed to share a name with these two unique and wonderful men.

As for your birth… you were greeted by the anxious faces of your mom, dad, grandma C, and Auntie C. Yours was the first birth ever witnessed by any of them—way to help someone reach a milestone so early! Your dad taped the whole thing on the same camera your granddad used to tape all of our family Christmases for as long as I can remember. I can’t wait until this year and you get to star in your very first Christmas tape!

If you’re wondering about me, I’m your second cousin, Naomi. You will probably end up calling me Auntie Nomi, like my niece and nephew do, but you will always be special to me as my cousin, my blood. I’m thrilled about you and I think you look like a black haired version of your uncle Gav. That’s a compliment to be sure.

Welcome to the world B.G., we are so glad you’re here!

True Love

2005-11-03T06:28:00.000-08:00

Yesterday had all the makings of being a really bad day. Before I left the house, I opened the mail to find five new medical bills. I also had my monthly doctor visit and on the way, I got a speeding ticket that no amount of hormone induced tears could eliminate. Yesterday was also the day my evil boss was to come back into town, and he always makes the office his first or second stop. A bad day, by most people’s standards, to be sure.

Then something amazing happened. Still whimpering by the time I arrived at the doctor’s office, I was actually starting to become frightened that I might never be able to stem the never-ending flow of irrational tears. I went into the exam room and my doctor arrived. He had me lie down, then put the Doppler (like a baby microphone) on my belly and started rolling it around. Suddenly, there was a very loud crackling sound and I looked at him, startled. He just smiled and said, “That’s just him moving around.” “Moving as usual.” was my first thought, but then out of all the crackling there appeared a faint, but distinct rapid heartbeat—my son’s. The doctor usually holds the Doppler still for a minute so the machine can count the beats per minute. As he rested the wand there, all my concerns sort of melted away and I realized that hearing his movements, his little heart, eradicated all the wrongs of the day. From the first time I heard his heart beating its own beat; it was love at first sound.

I’ve been in love before—and am still in love, but for the first time, I realize that I love someone, “sight unseen.” To be honest, I was unsure the feeling would come and was getting a bit scared about it. But now, there is no doubt—this is true love. It is love without expectation

Random Ramblings Regarding Residences and Frivolity

2005-11-01T13:40:00.000-08:00

I don’t want to go anywhere. Am I weird? All I want to do is go home and lay on my couch. I want to flip channels, watch movies, play with my dogs, sleep and maybe make dinner later. Seriously, I only need about seven instances of major excitement in one year to make me happy. No thrill seeker dwells here.

Have I always been this way, or am I just more content now? I have no clue. Home seems to me, a perfect place to be. Lately, I’ve been daydreaming a lot about my new house. We move in towards the end of November. I can’t imagine my future in my current house anymore, everything that wanders past my mind’s eye takes place in a house I’ve only been in three times. Sometimes, in the morning, I wake up thinking about it too.

So at some point I became a total homebody. I think it happened before I got married too, which is what makes it so weird. Don’t get me wrong, I love going out; in fact, you could just as easily be reading a post about that. It’s just that I only need a very minimal amount of full-on going out to satisfy me. A perfect night out for me goes something like this: a long, laughter-filled dinner with Jason and other friends followed by a movie. The movie doesn’t even have to be very good, because that can occupy several hours of conversation too. Then go for coffee and sit outside while we have embarrassingly pseudo-intellectually philosophical discussions about the unknowable nature of life or some other nonsense. As you’ll notice, there were no night clubs listed there, no table dancing (although, I’ve done my fair share), no drunken debauchery (done my fair share of that too), just good company, and conversation. I’m boring.

Plus, I have a thing about the evening. Anything is better if it takes place in the evening. Don’t you agree? Coffee on the patio is much better without the sun, dancing spontaneously with someone who inspires you is much better by moonlight, and of course, there’s sleeping… ah sleeping.

A Reaction to Injustice

2005-10-27T13:13:00.000-07:00

I have spent the last two hours doing absolutely nothing. Yes, I’m at work. No, I’m not alone in the office. Why do I not care about how much I slack off in the company of boss and co-workers, I hear you asking? Because I don’t have a job for much longer whether I’m Suzy Kiss-Ass Perfect, or Slacker McSlackerson. I hate my job and have since day one.

As I’ve posted before, I’ve been “terminated” from my job, although the actual termination is still about 40 days away. The first conversation my boss had with me about this subject went something like this…
Boss: “We need to talk about your plans for when you have the baby.”
Me: “Sure. What did you have in mind?”
Boss: “Well, March is a really inconvenient time for us here and we want to replace you by December.”
Me: “My due-date is inconvenient?” “Um… well, I suppose I could substitute.”
Boss: “That sounds good.” “We hope to hire your replacement by November, so you can train her, and then you’ll be gone by December.”
Me: [total shock] “Ooooo-kay.”

So since this initial conversation and the two carefully worded letters that followed supporting his original reason (and several hours with his attorney talking about my letters), my boss now insists that my “being let go” has nothing to do with my pregnancy. His new story is that my job was always temporary and only meant to be for a few weeks. When I reluctantly took this job, I was about to collect unemployment from my previous employer after a mass lay-off and had my days to myself. Why would I have taken a job “for a few weeks” and give up all that freedom? Answer: I didn’t. I agreed to a permanent, full-time job with a review in 90 days that he chose never to have.

Long story short—my boss has lied to me, to my family and he’s done it to our faces. When I’m super sweet to him, helpful and put up with his yelling, constant frustration, bizarre outbursts and intolerance of questions, it gets me nowhere. When I’m a bitch, ignore him, act like a smart-ass, and goof around all day, it still gets me nowhere, but at least I get to enjoy my day a bit more. What would you call this attitude?

XY

2005-10-25T11:57:00.000-07:00

One second after the ultrasound tech put that wand on my belly; a fully formed baby appeared on screen. One big round head. Two long arms and two long legs. Lots of tiny vertebrae all lined up neatly and 20 fingers and toes. And an unmistakable penis. Yes, I just typed that. Long story short. We are having a boy!

My dad and Jason came along. That must have looked weird—one pregnant chick, her man and her dad. Little did I know I was in the company of all men at a very female place doing something only women have to do. :)

He was playing with his toes most of the time while turning from the direction of the wand lady. He mooned us twice and even attempted to cover his face with one hand. It blows my mind that I can know exactly what my baby boy was doing at that given moment. He probably doesn’t even know what I am, but I am so intensely aware of him. How can you love something so small and hard to see, this much?

Mine :)

I Miss…

2005-10-24T08:20:00.000-07:00

Coffee
Sushi!
Feta cheese
Warm baths
Advil
Coke and
Sleeping on my stomach.
--------------------------------
I have the big ultrasound tomorrow—the XX or XY ultrasound. This time tomorrow, I will know whether I will be saying the word “son” or the word “daughter” from now on. This is also where they measure the baby and check to make sure all its parts are where they’re supposed to be. In other words, it’s the kind of test that can make me pretty nervous. Just keep those prayers coming. :)

My Last On the Subject

2005-10-23T07:17:00.000-07:00

This morning, I was transferring files from my old computer to my new one. The old one is set to go to my cousin very soon. As I was deciding what to keep and what to trash, I came across the eulogy I wrote for my Gran’s funeral last year.
I could transfer it to my new computer, but I think it’s time to let it go. Instead, I’d like to just put it out there in some permanent fashion. I will post it here.
This post isn’t meant to be sad because the eulogy wasn’t really meant to be that way either. Well, you can judge for yourself.

For my Gran, Amy R…
When I was a kid, I would call my Gran every night. It sounds stupid now, I know, but I called just to make sure she would answer the phone, just to hear her voice so I would know that everything was okay for at least another day. We would end our phone calls the exact same way, “I love you.” **kiss** You know that smoochy, kissing sound… we would do that instead of a hug or a real kiss goodnight.
She would do cartwheels the day before my birthday because I was so excited. She called it, Naomi’s birthday Eve and put it on the calendar for a long time.
I love my grandma. She wasn’t perfect, she wasn’t even nice all the time, but she was funny and compassionate and she loved me. She was my Gran. That’s all. She’s my Granny. When this incredible sadness comes over you, I think what it boils down to is the realization that there is one less person in this world who really loves you.
I don’t want people to forget these little things about her. She can’t be just another lady on the obituary page. She was someone special to me. For those of you who didn’t know Amy R... as well as we did, I collected a list of some her idiosyncrasies.

She had some kind of obsessive compulsive need to collect recipes. She loved to cook.
She put lemon juice in everything
She made the best chocolate chip cookies ever, I try to make them now, but there not the same.
She proudly regaled us with her ridiculous tales of Trotter’s Jelly and Liza Longtoes.
She refused to say her hair was red, it was always Titian. Whatever that means.
She openly corrected bad grammar until the very end.
She always had a Kleenex shoved up her left sleeve. It was really gross.
She often kept a damp cloth in a plastic baggy in her purse to clean the faces and hands of any dirty children.
Her voice would get really high pitched and shrill when she got mad… which was pretty often.
She loves cheese and pasta, and even more together.
She loved all forms candy and chocolate as a chaser to the cheese and pasta.
She literally burnt out two television sets in the time I’ve known her. She really loved FoodTV.
She was really feminine, and loved things like lace, flowers, Victorian era dresses and dolls.
She could walk around a “shop” as she called them, for hours. She didn’t tire easily.
She never stopped dreaming. Not for one day.

The hardest thing is trying to make myself realize that I’m never going to see her again (in this life). I wish I could take her to just one more shop and watch her walk around for hours. But I do have the hope of seeing her again--in a way I’ve never seen her.
Actually I’m starting to feel like maybe we are all missing out on something really great. Like Heaven isn’t just an idea anymore. Now it’s this real place I’m starting to look forward to myself.
It’s a privilege that the lines of Heaven are wide open to us. Because of that, we are never far from Heaven and never far from those we love. We can live with the joyful expectation that we too will “wake to the glory of Heaven” and, ourselves, be joyfully reunited with these people we have enjoyed and loved.
I look forward to seeing my Gran again one day--to go to a shop with her, to see her bright and beautiful face and of course to tease her one more time.
I will remember you Gran, and thanks for all the laughs.

Raining, Pouring and All That Mumbo Jumbo.

2005-10-19T10:55:00.000-07:00

A friend posted in her blog that she hoped her reader’s lives were “less chaotic than [hers] right now.” Well friend, I’m here to tell you… they are not.

So, Jason and I have a LOT going on in our lives right now. For those of you who don’t already know, we are expecting an actual human addition to our household and not another puppy this time. Around mid to late March, our lives will be consumed with the omnipresent needs of a helpless infant. Ah, parenthood looms. So while I’m gestating I’m also planning, preparing, cleaning, and worrying like crazy. I don’t attempt to know when the intense fear will go away; if ever, so just keep your fingers crossed for us.

As if incubating another human being wasn’t enough… there’s more! We’re moving. Granted we are only moving about 5 miles away, the change is still huge for us. Our current house, charming as it is, is only about 930 square feet. We dance around each other in the kitchen and bedroom and have to stagger our bathroom time in order to avoid accidentally stabbing each other with our toothbrushes or razors. Our new place still has three bedrooms, but it has two full bathrooms, a gigantic living room, a big square kitchen with room for a kitchen table, a separate dining (see, our plans), a two-car garage and “ahhhhhhhhhhhh” a utility room for our washer and dryer! Oh, how such simple things bring me joy.

As you might expect, the trade off for such a ginormous, grown-up place is that the house needs some T.L.C., and by T.L.C. I mean destruction, renovation, building, paint, flooring and more. We have big plans. The dining room is lovely, but in a weird spot, plus we don’t even have a dining room table, just one for the kitchen. We aren’t formal diners anyway, so we have decided to try and enclose this superfluous space, add double glass doors and convert it into our home office. Lots to do, so expect calls for help.

Okay, so what have we so far… helpless infant, new house… OH, I’ve been terminated from my job too. Yeah. Well, just mere moments after returning to work after my first O.B. appointment, my boss told me that my due date was inconvenient and that he wanted to replace me by December. And yes, it is legal so, watch out. Being “heavy with child” as I will be by December, I’m guessing I’ll be an unlikely candidate for a new and rewarding position elsewhere. I have no choice but to attempt to work from home or temp (another subject entirely) until the summer. So, there’s that.

Ah, let’s see… then there’s the oft overlooked fact that Jason is likely to begin graduate school in February. We decided November was full enough already, so February is more likely.

To add to our drama, my sister, the one who has recently been spending lots of time with “Kiki from the penitentiary” is set for release in about a week. My mom is driving there to “claim” her and take her to her next destination—a non-mandatory thing that I don’t fully understand. Plus, my nephew who also recently spent some time in the clink is now living with my parents and a regular part of our lives. That part is nice.

Well, I could actually tell you more, but I’ll just let that digest for now. So, there is so much going on in my life right now: some is exciting, some is scary, and some is still up in the air at this point. That’s life, right?

Not mine. :)

The Stuff We Don’t Say

2005-10-11T14:41:00.000-07:00

It has been my aim, that my life looks a certain way to someone viewing it. Good stuff all around. But what about all the stuff we don’t say to each other? I’ve realized that I tell three people in my life just about everything and everybody else… almost nothing. This can only be explained as a blatant attempt to hide some of the less attractive realities of a person’s life, of my life.

I’ve got to tell you, it’s pretty hard to keep a current blog when you filter that much information. One of the most currently pressing issues in my life deals with my family. I just read someone else’s blog and they mentioned a similar issue so I will attempt to speak as openly.

I have two very close family members who are/were serving time in jail. The first is my sister. She has been in and out of jail for about three years. She was released on a probationary status a little over a year ago and sent to a half-way house. Shortly after that, our grandmother died and I assume she hit bottom (again). She disappeared on a Thursday and we filed a missing persons report within two weeks. My mother had to negatively identify two bodies over the phone before my sister finally resurfaced (alive) three months later. At one point, we believed she was dead. This disappearing act was in direct violation of her parole so while she contacted us, she continued to hide from her fate. After several months in relative hiding, she was turned in and is now serving the rest of her parole time in a prison outside this state. She will be released later this month.

As long as I can remember, my sister has had issues that I didn’t understand. I won’t go into the details because they are her’s to share, but suffice it to say that I have always hoped for the best and been forced to face (close to) the worst. In fact, it’s quite remarkable how your definition of “the worst” can change. :) As long as she breaths, their will be hope in my heart for my sister.

The second family member is my nephew. I have several sisters and the oldest has two older teenage kids. My nephew is 19, handsome, talented and suave with his fresh-off-the-boat accent. He also seems to live two lives and has a temper like something has utter control over him at certain moments. It was, I presume, his incredible anger that helped put him in his current situation—a fight that culminated into an “assault with a dangerous weapon” charge. He is out of jail, but now has to face this very serious criminal charge and his personal demons that brought him to this point.

It is profoundly embarrassing for me to admit these things. My family is big, loud, funny and encouraging, so things like this don’t appear to make sense in the context of us. The thing I’ve come to realize is that there is no recipe for “this type of person” or “that type of person”—people just make their own choices. When it comes to this particular issue, I have no real conclusion. All I can say is that I hope this encourages you to share your own stuff with your friends.

Anonymity

2005-10-10T11:42:00.000-07:00

If you’re afraid to list your actual identity and have chosen to hide behind the guise of anonymity, chances are you’re just scared of a negative reaction and everybody knows it. “Ooo my big toughts fwighten me.”

You know, some people may not like what you have to say, but who’s the bigger looser in that scenario—the person who got “told” by Mr. or Ms. Anonymous or the wuss who wouldn’t reveal themselves? You used to hide behind your mom when the cool kids came along, didn’t you? It’s okay, you can admit it.

The internet is a very cool thing. It enables a person to locate information in seconds, to purchase things you can’t find nearby, research all kinds of things before you have to act and even find the exact pair of boobies you want to do things to just when you want to do it. It’s brilliant! Why must you Anonywusses be such cowards and ruin it all? As old Tom Cruise would say, “You… you’re glib.”

Now remember kids…your big, frightening thoughts are neither that scary nor original, so just say it proud or don’t say it at all.

Bye Bye

--Let the anonymous crucifixion commence.--

A Killer Instinct

2005-09-29T11:46:00.000-07:00

My life, at the moment, feels a bit like an unfinished novel. To complete the metaphor, I am the apathetic author who is simply waiting for the novel to finish itself.

I mentioned to my mom the other day that I didn’t want to go after something because, “I’m just not a competitive person.” She responded casually, “yeah, you never have been.” What? I was under the impression that this was a discovery I had recently made about myself, not one that was outwardly visible to others. Apparently, when something is and always has been true about your character, people know it immediately.

Sports are thoroughly competitive—that is the entire point. Believe it or not, sport does have its appeal to me. To be honest, this appeal lies mainly in a game’s ambiance. You know, football means crisp fall weather, team sweaters, and miles of tradition. Golf inspires thoughts of a Scottish branch of my family and I remember how, in the fashion of true cultural loyalty, I should take up the game. I don’t love watching sports… I love watching sports movies.J I hate the competition of it even when I’m not the one competing! I’m a bit like my cousin, David, when I really care about a team or particular game, I watch most unpleasantly—teeth clenched, frequent bathroom breaks and cold sweats. Perhaps I don’t know the right amount of care to take about such things.

Unfortunately, the same truth about my nature applies to my career as well. I have plenty of ambition and talent (I hope) in my particular areas--I simply have no competitive nature to go for what I want. I don’t mind job interviews, but I hate the “rat race,” or the idea that 200 other people want EXACTLY what I want. If we lived in times when humankind hunted their food and ate it raw on the spot, I would surely go for the kill like every other hunter. The difference with me is that when I saw the other hunter in the reeds trying to thwart my efforts in order to get my kill… I’d simply give up the prize. Sadly, I would also probably die of starvation.

I say all that to imply that this “novel” that goes unfinished, may have something to do with this lack of competitive instinct. This is a world where others will happily take the reigns of your life to serve their own purposes. I find that I am all too often at the mercy of someone unfairness—that I am their kill. Perhaps now I am just starting to wake up to the fact that I have to fight when the cause is justified, but my nature always reminds me how much easier it is just to let them eat.

Nobody Believes You Hated When Harry Met Sally!

2005-09-06T07:31:00.000-07:00

You know what drives me crazy? Cliché. What’s worse than that though is a nuevo cliché wrapped in a quirky quality. For example: A 21 year old, female college sophomore ranting about how she “like totally hates Rom-Coms.” For those of us not in the know, Rom-Com is apparently a much needed abbreviation for the film genre, Romantic Comedy. What makes a statement and its subsequent supporting statements so damn annoying to me is the whole “nuevo cliché” aspect of it. First of all, she is either A. being honest about her distaste for watching handsome men fall for lovely ladies in an amusing fashion, or (more likely) B. she is just the latest and (latest) in a whole slew of young women who say things in a desperate attempt to appeal directly to young men. You see, shortly after she makes that statement about Rom-Coms, she follows up by saying how much she “totally got into the Die Hard series,” or even worse, she wants to be of the art-house persuasion and proceeds to pontificate about how much she really related to Donnie Darko or The Machinist. As a friend would put it… “Pah!”

I have known chicks like this since I started college. They annoy me. They are the types who feel expressing one’s femininity is tantamount to a putting on a floral muumuu and cloaking oneself in a man-repelling spell. They don’t appear to know who they are and feel they must adopt masculine interests while still maintaining a nice rack and pleasant girlie smell. They piss me off. YOU HAVE A UTERUS… GET OVER IT! I feel like telling these girls a few things. First of all, adhering to feminist ideals is not a new or particularly rebellious thing to do. Secondly, you don’t have to be everything to everyone, especially every guy you meet… I would have thought you’d have figured that out, being a feminist and all. Thirdly, in the end, most guys are like you--they end up wanting a woman to be a woman, just like you want a man to be a man and not Mr. Sappy Sensitivity ALL the time. Yes, women like sensitivity, but a when a man suddenly has a protective or masculine turn; it is pleasantly surprising and unbelievably sexy. I imagine men have a similar reaction to random femininity, like witnessing a girlfriend’s maternal instincts for the first time.

That was a bit of a rant, wasn’t it? Well this blog isn’t called “Things Confused People Say” for nothing. I think I used to do stuff like that myself and that’s why I recognize it and why it bothers me at the same time. It’s just kind of sophomoric, not to mention, just plain painful to witness now. Sorry girls.

A Sad Post

2005-08-30T08:43:00.000-07:00

I went to visit my Gran last night. She died just over a year ago and I went to visit her grave to make sure she had flowers that weren’t too faded by the summer sun. I sat next to her for about 20 minutes and dusted the grass clippings off her tombstone. You know how in movies, people are always talking to gravestones? Well, in reality, it’s a very difficult thing to make yourself do. One can’t help felling stupid for speaking into thin air. Perhaps, I feel this way because I do believe in an afterlife and I don’t suspect that my Gran is there to hear me. I suppose you can’t pray to the dead, but I do tell her things without speaking them—which seems crazy. I “told” her to make sure that someone with her knows how much I loved them.
I also find I can’t help but apologize for not being a better grandchild. I was one of the last people in my family to see her before she died. I bumped into her at a grocery store. She had red plastic roses in her cart, the kind with fake water droplets on them. She was always collecting things like that. She asked me to help her find iced-tea in a can, but I wasn’t sure what she meant. I pointed her in the right direction, but I didn’t go for her. If I could change anything about the past, I would change that fact. I would have loaded them up for her and even carried them into her room. When we found her in her bed (she died in her sleep) she had open can of it on her nightstand. She must have found it. I also found those red roses. I took them and still have them.
Sorry this is such a sad post, but I am a bit sad and perhaps even a bit scared. Do you ever think about all the endless possibilities of happenings in your life and feel overwhelmed or even frightened? I miss my Gran today, and I missed her yesterday. She was funny and mean and never held her tongue, but she loved me and loved her.

"I Don't Care"

2005-08-24T14:58:00.000-07:00

Are three words in the English language more infused with total apathy? There are none, except, of course… the words “total apathy.” So, what don’t I care about? This is going to sound horrible, but just cut me a bit of slack here. I don’t care about my Church woes anymore. The funny thing about total apathy is that eventually it forces you to move on because, I suppose, we like progress and vision. Blah blah blah. When your leaders are apathetic towards positive forward movement, it’s that much easier to find yourself in that condition also. Then again, perhaps “I don’t care” indicates that I’m simply giving up. Either way, this is where I am right now on this particular issue.

I grew up in a Nazarene Church around here. It has always been a bit of a “country” Church is some respects, largely due to the fact that for most of its existence, it has indeed been in the country. In the past few years, however, that area of town has started to boom both commercially and residentially. What that has meant for my smallish country Church is that we/they are now in a new/unfamiliar position to grow like mad. Unfortunately for us/them, churchgoers these days don’t care for one hour sermons, songs about raising one’s Ebenezer or lights on-full blast so you’re total display even during very personal, prayerful moments. Churchgoers also tend to go for programs that can speak to their needs more specifically. On that note, I tend to go for that kind of thing too. This is why we are now preparing to move on.

We have attended faithfully for about three years. I know I said I grew up there, but that also means this lovely church has a history in my life… good and bad. When I was about sixteen, my best friend and I decided to return on a Wednesday night after a brief hiatus. What we walked into changed my view of the church forever. Unfortunately we had chosen to come on a night when half the church was literally screaming at our pastor for intending to fire the youth minister. The reasons are sketchy as we had not been going for a while and barely knew this youth pastor. Whatever it was, it was profoundly disturbing for me, and I assume, my best friend. I refused to continue going to that church from that point on. I bounced around several other churches until I’d been married for about a year or so. Jason and I visited “my parent’s church” (my old church) and found we rather liked it. I remember us thinking that it had so much potential (as they had just built a new church building) and we really wanted to be a part of that growth. From that point on, we (especially Jason) poured ourselves into that place. He taught Sunday School, played in the orchestra, and until recently lead the music! I taught little children, taught music every year at V.B.S. and often counseled the college age kids when they felt totally alienated from this church. This past year, I started getting resentful. I’m not sure if it has something to do with where I work (also Church related) or not, but suddenly I’m tired of waiting for that “vision” to kick in. A month ago, Jason had his, “I don’t care” moment when he was told that the leadership has no interest in the music program right now… his passion and major involvement. It was the straw that broke the preverbal camel’s back.

With our minds about 80% made up, does that make us quitters? I hope not. We are growing increasingly interested in a very large, much closer church in the same denomination. We are ready and willing to throw ourselves into the work of the Church, because it has meant so much to us in the past. Their pastor is very blunt about having a crazy vision for his Church—so now we are excited again. Let’s just hope this time; other people feel like committing themselves as much we do.

Media Fast day #2

2005-08-11T07:33:00.000-07:00

As expected, I did almost nothing I had planned to do yesterday to assist my fasting efforts. I’m notorious for that kind of thing. With only a few hours left of my fast, I find that significant although subtle changes have taken place.

I didn’t go to church after all. I went home and immediately fell asleep (incidentally, this is often how I handle a food fast too). Unfortunately, I slept until 8:00pm! Must have been tired. When I woke up, Jason was starving and ready to go to dinner. We went to a fish place and had a nice time. He thought it would be a healthy idea to finish dinner with an ice-cream sundae, so we did that as well. When we got home, he (being totally addicted at this point) finished his sundae in front of the TV and Xbox. He played as the University of Texas in a devastating game against O.U. I believe the final score was about 115 to 0, Texas. I didn’t participate, but sat next to him anyway, and (you guessed it) soon feel asleep again.

Apparently, I missed several phone calls before I finally got up and got ready for bed. The problem now was, I couldn’t stay asleep for very long—waking up a grand total of four times. Actually, I officially woke up at 5:45am but still felt like I had slept in until around 10am! What a lovely feeling. Since it was so early, and I couldn’t watch TV, turn on the radio or launch myself back into the sixth installment of the Harry Potter series I happen to be in the middle of, I decided to go back to bed. But suddenly, my thoughts were plagued with concern, worry and fear. Nice instincts, Naomi. What was happening to me? Does this happen every morning? Do I just distract myself to the point were I stop noticing how negative my thoughts are? Without anything to escape into, I started praying. I prayed for an hour! It was like talking to someone I hadn’t spent much time with in several months. I’ve never prayed so thoroughly, or so specifically in all my life (I don’t think). Being totally unable to handle the weight of my concerns so early in the morning, the first thing I did was surrender my thoughts to God. I know that sounds churchy, and it is, but while I still realize there is a slight uneasiness, I feel a heightened level of peace over that.

It feels oddly silent without any media distraction. I can’t decide if it feels more like living in the past or like I’m locked in a padded cell. Ambient noises are so much louder than I ever realized. Do you know how loud an air conditioner is, or that every part of your body makes noise when it moves?! Sounds like, keyboard keys being typed on or knuckles cracking become strangely satisfying too. Weird.

I’m going on vacation next week and all of a sudden, I’m excited about it. I suppose that I’ve been so distracted that I hadn’t given it much thought—I haven’t even planned on what sights I want to see! My point is that, I think the way we tend to live our lives (or the way I live mine), so immersed in media, is a recipe for constant distraction or escapism if you prefer. I’m not trying to sound like some puritanical theorist here, I love escaping my life when I feel the need. I just realize, however, that perhaps we can only distract ourselves—perhaps true escape is impossible. What I did this morning was surrender, rather than escape. I’m not sure how a non-Christian would choose to handle their morning—I’d be very interested to know. Why did I instinctively turn to God? Was he happy to hear from me or was he annoyed at my selfishness? I don’t know the answers to all that. All I know is that, without all the distraction I clearly partake in everyday, I spent more time with my husband (even if I just watched him cream O.U. in a video game), I became more rested, and most significantly, I instinctively threw myself into God’s arms.

I recommend you try doing this for just 24 hours and see what happens.

Media Fast

2005-08-10T14:58:00.000-07:00

Today I am on a media fast. The reasons are not what I’m going to focus on here. Rather, I am cataloging this short, but surprisingly extreme experience and my thoughts as I attempt to cut out what has recently been revealed to be a major part of my life. This is a one day fast, as I’m not sure how long a fast I could actually handle.

The rules exclude the following; all television, movies, CDs and all other music*, games of any kind, books*, internet* and magazines.
Allowable media includes; email, telephone, Bible and devotional texts, some Christian music (just so I don’t loose my mind), internet use for work (as necessary) and for posting this.

*Bible, Biblical texts, some Christian music, internet for perfunctory uses only

The purpose of this fast isn’t stupidly religious, don’t worry. I just thought I’d exploit this time to foster a love for the things of God.

----------------------------

I began at 12:00pm. This morning, I listened to my satellite radio on my way to work. When I got here, I listened to my Ipod (Remy Zero) as I browsed a favorite website forum to see what was new. I posted several times before my fast began at noon. I find that the temptation to see if my posts have any new responses is close to unbearable.

As five o’clock nears, I realize that my greatest temptation is yet to come. When I arrive home, I will be greeted by my two dogs, and a brand new 37” television that has recently been hooked up with digital cable. That large screen and its 260 channels will be calling out to me like a siren’s song. The plan to resist is as follows; I will take my medication (which often makes me sleepy) and lie down with my Bible or a devotional book. It’s more like an Amish fast. I will read until I fall asleep, if I fall asleep. A short nap will follow. I hope to either make a nice dinner or go out to eat to help distract me from the Xbox in the back room or my computer in the office (also newly equipped with cable internet). After dinner I plan to attend church—a rarity for me on a Wednesday night. I decided a trip to my regular church in Mustang was more punishment than fast, so I’ve opted to attend another Nazarene Church closer to home, Bethany First Church. I enjoy the times that I’ve been there and I find the preaching to actually be informative and inspiring. I feel like I’ll leave there further inspired and ready to continue with my fast until tomorrow at noon.

When I get home after church, I have no idea what to do. I suppose I’ll be forced to get into the Word and pray for a while (longer than I tend to). I’ve been a Christian almost all my life and have gone to Church as long as I can remember, but I don’t think of myself as being especially religiously zealous. So, for me, this unavoidable emersion is actually going to be quite difficult at first. I could be wrong so we’ll see.

Lastly, I plan to take a long shower and go to bed a bit early. When I wake up I’ll have to head to work and I’ll be distracted there until after my fast ends.

I’ll let you know how all this goes tomorrow.

Anger, Bitterness, and Optimism

2005-08-05T11:35:00.000-07:00

You can tell already that this is going to be a sunny type of post, can’t you? If you read this blog with any regularity you’ll realize that I often have moments where I get “all serious.” This is probably going to be one of them. If you’re not in the mood, I’d skip this post. No sense in delaying any longer, I suppose…

Today, my sister’s former roommate, a woman named Monica called to pray for me. I am currently going through something and, once again, I am gripped by fear, grief and anger. Nothing final has been said to confirm my pervasive sense of hopelessness, but I seem to be resigned to preparing myself for the worst at all times. So today, a reason to fear has surfaced. If I were a positive type of person I would realize that from the surface, things aren’t that bad and I have every reason to believe things will turn out well. Being me, I am launched into my past—a particularly painful experience in my past—and I assume that a similar fate awaits me.

I guess the question I’m essentially dealing with here is what makes me the kind of person who reaches back into pain for a way to deal with the present and not the kind of person who looks ahead and sees hope in all situations. My best friend is one of the most positive people I know. She is always seeing ways for things to go well or inevitably work themselves out. She has a gift of optimism coupled with intelligence. In my particular case, I feel I can not be optimistic and realistic. Most people turn away from ugly things, and avoid empathy because, quite frankly, it takes time and it hurts to feel what others feel. I’m not that different myself, I often change the channel when NPR talks about the newly fallen Marines in Iraq—yes, I’m an ass. Who isn’t? But, I think when it comes to self-indulgent pity, I excel. The need to look towards the sun never occurs to me as I march dutifully into the mire.

So Monica called me. She had about ten other women with her there to pray for me also—this is her ministry; she’s like a Prayer SEAL. On a conference call with several women maybe a thousand miles from me, I began to feel exorcised. They knew all my bull before I could speak it. In her words, “God revealed your anger to us, he showed us how deeply you grieve and the confusion you feel about His ways.” I was dumbstruck. How could they know what I so desperately try to hide? Now, an hour later, I’m still scared and I don’t know what that means.
I have to face this fear today and I don’t know what to do. Do I envision the best and imagine the wondrous lightening of my heart, or do I brace myself for yet another blow?

What I Would Do Today If I Could

2005-07-29T07:52:00.000-07:00

I would sleep in until about 10-ish. It is the best feeling to wake up next to someone warm and realize you don’t have to get up right away. You can just crawl right back into bed, throw the covers over your shoulders and squeeze yourself up against your bed partner. Then of course, whatever happens… happens. :)

After my lie in, I would get up, take a luxuriously long shower (my third favorite thing to do in the world) and wash my hair and let the warm air dry it rather than spend an hour straightening it. I’d put on my favorite pair of jeans, a t-shirt and head out to breakfast. Lately, my favorite breakfast places are Panera and Mimi’s. This day I’d go to Panera. Of course, to make this a perfect day, I need company. I think I’d have my mom join me for breakfast. We’d have soufflés while we chat about things, and make plans. I’d finish with an iced caramel coffee and she’d probably have a half shot caramel latte.

After breakfast, I’d head off to the downtown library on Park Ave. and since this day is perfect, all the parking would be free. I’d go to the library alone, because what is the point of having company when your at the library. First, I’d peruse the new books just behind the security guard’s desk. Then I’d go browse upstairs through the travel books then art books and finally science fiction before heading downstairs to read a couple copies of Rolling Stone. I’d go by the CD section and pick out a few before heading to the children’s section. I’d run my choices through the fun self-check out thing and be on my way.

My next stop would be the Zoo. Jason would meet me there and we’d get in free (Zoo pass holders as we are). First we’d marvel at the entrance and smile at all the excited children and clueless babies. The first stop would be the bird pond area near the front where we usually hang out on a bench and discuss nature and traveling. Then we’d go to the Great EscApe, my favorite and hang out with the gorillas for a while. I’d sit on the ledge right up against the several inches thick glass and have a silent conversation with a brooding silverback as he picked his toes. We’d make our way around the park and make a special stop at the Aquaticus, my second favorite place at the Zoo. Our conversation would turn to all the amazing alien like creatures that live in the sea and we’d dream of living near the ocean. As we leave, we’d visit the pachyderm house where I always get a sudden, overwhelming sense of my home country. It’d make me a little sad, and inspire me once again to save my money for a visit.

Since I like his company, I’d probably take him to lunch--BBQ, his favorite. We’d go to the place near the Bricktown movie theater so we could catch a movie after lunch. It’s fun to watch him guiltily order something evil, like hot links. He acts like a little kid, looking up slyly at me to see if I noticed the cholesterol content of his order. After lunch we’d stroll around the River Walk a bit as we discussed what movie we’d see. Finally we’d agree to a double feature, one of his, and one of mine. We’d get our favorite seats on the first row—the one with the hand railing we use as a footrest.

After both movies, we’d head over to my mom and dad’s and have a few friends join us by their pool. Someone will have brought their guitar and we’d swim and listen until everyone got tired. Finally, we’d go home and crawl back into bed with the realization, of course, that the next day could be spent doing whatever we wanted again.

I also have...

2005-07-26T11:45:00.000-07:00

Many moons ago, a friend posted an entry in her blog telling her readers about what she has. I really liked that post, since I usually enjoy hearing things about people I like. Since, I don’t have much else to say today, I’ll follow in her footsteps and try to create something similar.

I have long wavy blonde hair
First of all, let me explain that I do not know the difference between the spelling blond, and blonde. With that said, I’ll continue. I was born with wisps of wavy blonde hair. As I grew up it turned to spiral curls and finally back to wavy. Although, my blonde has gotten darker as I’ve gotten older, I am still a true blonde (with a bit of help from my good friend Brooke). My hair has always been one of the few things I enjoy about the way I look—I’ll easily spend unspeakable amounts of money getting it carefully cut or purchasing high-end conditioner. It is my biggest splurge and why shouldn’t it be. Soon, it’ll turn gray and the texture will change—why not enjoy it now?

I have hazel green eyes
Inherited from my mom and she, from her dad (my grandfather). Green eyes of every shade run in my family. In fact, no one has ever been born into my family with brown eyes… ever.

I have freckles
Thank you Grandma, with your red hair and freckly skin, for your contribution to my skin tone. Every descendant of my mom’s family is littered with little freckles. As a kid, I remember hating them—they were on my face, arms, and worst of all, my knees! When I was a cheerleader, I used to try and pull my skirt down whenever I sat, so the people next to me wouldn’t have too much opportunity to see the constellation Leo mapped out on my boney knees. Now, I let them fade by faithfully wearing sun block and blending them in with makeup. I don’t hate them the way I used to, but I don’t think I’ll ever learn to love them either. I remember reading on a stupid placard somewhere that “a face without freckles is like a night without stars.” I remember thinking, “good luck finding a guy who feels that way.” Eventually, I did. He is more freckled than I’ve ever been. Our poor children.

I also have boobs
My friend covered this subject, so since I have a pair, I will too. She was right when she said breasts are part blessing, part curse. They are a blessing because they are fun—why deny it. They make your clothes look better, and they have a way of attracting attention. They are a curse because after they reach a certain size, they can hurt your back and because they can attract unwanted attention. A woman’s journey with her boobs is mostly embarrassing and amusing.

I have two tattoos
I got the first when I was 17 (underage, I know). My sister lied about my age for me at a Ft. Lauderdale tattoo place. We have matching flower tattoos—hers on her back, mine on my right ankle. I got the second at the same time and place as the friend who inspired this post—Austin, Texas, around the end of May, 1997. It is a 3.5 inch Celtic cross on my left ankle based on a necklace I was wearing at the time. I love them both.

I have four visible scars
All of them had stitches at one point and two are related. The first is probably the most visible—it is on my face between my nose and upper lip. I was born with a lateral cleft lip and palette, so the scar actually extends from the base of my nose to the back of my throat. That was a lot of stitches. Yuck. The second is from a gall bladder surgery I didn’t really need, back when I was in college. The third is related to the first and is placed perfectly on the ridge of my left hip. It was created by a talented surgeon who made me both a bone marrow donor and recipient in the same surgery. The last, I received by kneeling down on a piece of broken glass while I was playing when I was about 5. It is on my right shin (tibial area).

That’s all.

Thoughts on Aloneness

2005-07-22T09:23:00.000-07:00

Today I get off work early, at around 1:00. I usually do on Fridays. What’s funny is how Fridays often turn into the longest feeling day of the week. This particular Friday, however, I’m not especially looking forward to the weekend. Usually I’m aching to get out of here and go get a pedicure or eat lunch with my mom. Today, I want out of work, but I have no particular place to go and no one to do anything with—for the entire weekend. I’m one of those people who don’t have a lot of very close friends with whom I feel comfortable enough to just call up an and invite them to do something. It’s kind of silly really because if some random acquaintance of mine called me up today to go see a movie tonight, that random person would just have totally made my day. So why can’t I do that? Eh.
Normally, I do have company. I’m not a total loner or anything; I just tend to hang out with the same people most of the time. I’m very family oriented, so spending an entire Saturday with my mom sounds like a perfect way to spend a day. That being the case, my mom… and dad are out of town for another week. While I have a fun significant other, Jason, with whom one would assume I could spend all my empty time, he is and has been unavailable on the weekends because of a class. Then there is my best friend, who is always lots of fun no matter what the plans are, but she is most likely getting tired of me. :) She was kind enough to “baby-sit” me the other night, when my roomie/husband was out of town. So I’ve opted not to hit her up to entertain me this weekend. I have a few other close friends, but as the victims of Oklahoma’s mismanaged economy and poor job outlook they all moved away to seek out better fortunes for themselves and their families.
There have been several times in my life where I find myself, not friendless, but lonely. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized how many times those periods of time were 99% self-inflicted. I’m contemplative by nature, so not having plans or anyone to answer to often generates a sense of freedom in me. In other words, this alone-ness isn’t totally without its perks, however self-indulgent they might seem.
So, here I am trying to prepare myself for a weekend of relative loneliness. I don’t mean that in a “poor me” sort of way, but in more of a “this is who I am, so this is how it is” sort of way. It’s just kind of an interesting study into what different people will live with based on their personalities. I have no problem hanging out by myself; it just gets old after a few weeks. :(

Residue of Pleasure

2005-06-27T10:33:00.000-07:00

She lovingly tugs on the tab that peels the soft plastic strip away from the carton. The rest of the wrapper comes away easily. She crumples it up and sets it aside for disposal. She pops the white box top backwards and excitedly rips the silver foil-like paper to reveal 20 glistening, white, cylindrical cigarette tips. The first selection means everything—front and center and she may make too obvious of a choice while front and far left could mean good luck will come her way today.

Now for the moment to which all this has lead. She fingers the perfect white cigarette and places its tip tenderly between her lips. Its paper clings to the delicate, barely moistened skin like an autumn leaf about to descend from its limb. She flicks the lighter, once then twice until it ignites and brings the perfect flame towards the end of the cigarette. It’s an intricate process as she allows only the outer wall of the flame to make contact with the protrusion. It turns from organic brown to orange ember and black as she makes her first drag. The embers travel toward her slowly and she inhales the smoke and releases her hold on the lighter. Eyes close and a moment passes before she opens her eyes again to exhale a used light gray cloud.

This is it. This is why people smoke. Have you ever wanted to know? I am an ex-smoker and this moment is right up there with cracking open a can of Coke or popping bubble wrap—it’s a simple pleasure that cannot be overly examined. To do so would cheapen the experience.

I realize that smoking is a very political subject these days and a loving description of my first drag isn’t exactly tolerable, but a tribute must be made to an ancient and pleasurable practice. I won’t be launching into an essay about subliminal messages in cigarette ads or its presence in film and culture because it’s already been done everywhere else on the web (try finding the web address for Camel cigarettes from Google for example). This is a trip down memory lane, a way to curb my own craving today, or dare I say, just a celebration of the ritual and practice of smoking.

This morning, I watched several cigarette commercials from the 1950s and 1960s, available here http://www.roadode.com/smoke_2.shtml. Watch them. You will soon realize that smoking is not only a simple way to make any moment more peaceful, it is also truly nostalgic. Perhaps, more than the nicotine and tar, that is what makes smoking so addictive—the pureness of it. I never struggled with a real physical addiction, so I am able to see the lighter side of smoking. I miss it and still partake about four times and year. Smoking is a culture. Smokers know when to take breaks, they have no problem witnessing an entire sunset without getting up and they also know when to get back to real life—the cigarette is a kind of living alarm because when it’s finished, so is your moment of peace.

I will probably smoke one cigarette today before marginalizing the other twenty cigarettes to a back drawer and throwing them away next year when they’ve dried up and begun to smell like raisins. I will enjoy my one or two smokes and I won’t feel the least bit bad about it either.

Big Fat Isnob

2005-06-16T07:48:00.000-07:00

T.V. sucks

2005-06-07T14:17:00.000-07:00

I’m a little behind the times. I don’t watch T.V., mainly movies. About a year ago I discovered television shows on DVD. This is, in my humble opinion, one of mankind’s greater achievements. It’s TV for the movie lover! I’m sure you may be wondering, why I don’t watch regular TV.
There are, in fact, three reasons:
1. I don’t make appointments with my blender, why would I with my television?
2. I dislike waiting 6 months for some lame conclusion to a lame cliffhanger. Waiting for the following DVD to arrive in the mail is suspense enough for me.
3. I tend to rent things I wouldn’t normally think to watch on TV or am normally unable to watch because they are on a premium cable channel I don’t have.
As much as I try, I just can’t seem to make it on time to watch a show I would ordinarily love. I blame the networks and their time slots. You’ll notice that they never give a fresh, innovative show a premium time slot, like Monday or Thursday nights. Those times are reserved for tired sitcoms, more God forsaken CSI spin offs or pathetic remakes of British comedic brilliance. They set some of the best new shows up in times that set those shows up for failure. Arrested Development airs on Sunday evenings and I’ve never caught an entire show, yet I am currently drooling for the second season to be released on DVD—I love it. Freaks and Geeks, one of the best shows I’ve ever seen was cancelled after one season and when was it on? Oh, could it have been on Saturday evenings when most people were at the movies or at a friend’s house? That show as well as its casting was fresh, funny, poignant, intriguing and uniquely American, but alas, it got the bleeding axe.
Then there are the inspired programs on cable channels that somehow endure. A little advice to all you atypical television show creators… get your show on cable, so it has a snow cone’s chance of lasting more than one season. Plus, you have more creative license with the FCC focusing its fiery eye on the major networks.
So I’ve decided that all good TV shows get cancelled early on. It’s always the so-so ones or ones that milk only one story line that live on forever and go out in a blaze of well-advertised glory. We are all so dumb that we don’t even notice that these networks are making a major fuss over the end of a lame show. Take Everybody Loves Raymond, Friends, or Frasier for example. All had their glory days, but all went on far too long, and stopped being interesting about four seasons before the end. This is what a handy little website called Jumptheshark.com calls, “jumping the shark.” It means a show can end at different time for different people, but in the case of most NBC shows (for example), they end in our minds long before they even consider wrapping things up.
I know I know there are exceptions to the rule. Lost is a brilliant show that seems to be sticking around (note it’s time slot on Wednesdays), but just because twists and intrigue are so en vogue right now with every “Britney” declaring a Forensic Science major doesn’t mean that should dictate what creative work has a medium and what doesn’t.
Thank God for public television.

I hate my job

2005-05-23T14:45:00.000-07:00

I hate my job. I always hate my job. I just can't figure out if I hate my job(s) because I don't like working, or because I never have a job I like.
When I worked for a law firm, my days were bearable. I had lots of friends to work or take a break with. The best part was the fact that almost all my time was organized and overseen by me. I could just stop and think if I needed to.
Currently, I have what could be the worst possible job in the universe for me. It is saved from that title for the feeble reason that my job doesn't involve working with a lot of numbers. If it did, it would be curtains for me. My boss is technologically inoperable, yet he insists on using this technology all the time. I should say, he insists on me using the technology and printing him 14 copies before he gives it his stamp of approval, but oh wait... he still wants to make corrections regardless of the fact that a job now has to be redone 300 times, by someone who isn't him. That could easily lead me to my well-practiced (and, I'm told, insensitive) rant about older workers who are total unwilling to adapt to change/new fangled computers, but I'll save that for another post.
About a year ago, I took a really detailed aptitude test at this research based institution in Dallas. I spent a day and a half taking skills tests and having a discussion session with one of the proctors. After testing for everything from hand dexterity to memory for rhythm, I was given my results in another session. They had asked me to describe my current job. It was with a local hospital system and the only job I could get as a member of the first wave of post-9/11 college graduates. It involved numbers and a gossipy, passive-aggresive boss, so it was pure evil. The first thing the consultant told me was that I was not only in the wrong job, I was in the entirely wrong profession and I needed to get out ASAP. Duh. Like I chose clerical work as a profession anyway. That was reason enough to "get out ASAP."
In short, I was told that I was a part of a grouping called objective/musical personalities. My highest scoring apptituides were, Tonal Memory (the ability to quickly memorize tunes), Ideaphoria (the ability to "brainstorm" and write very quickly), Memory for Design (just like it sounds). They suggested careers in editing, writing, teaching and even sales. What I realize now is that my new job was tantamount to a major regression in my career satisfaction. I suppose I need to do something about then, huh?

A long time gone

2005-05-06T10:37:00.000-07:00

So it’s been a really long time since I last posted. I haven’t been that busy or anything, I just forgot my EBlogger password. You thought there would be an interesting story upon my return didn’t you? Sorry to disappoint.
Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of a pessimist. I hate that about myself. :insert irony here: Anyway, lately I’ve become kind of a hypochondriac with fun panic attacks. It’s not as fun as it sounds, trust me. Actually, I saw the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy last week and every time I read something I write I can hear Alan Rickman’s voice reading it in a very Marvin the Paranoid Android kind of tone. God help me.
To sum up, the past two years of my life have been the most difficult years I’ve ever known. Up until then, I thought of myself as a kind of lucky freak who, with the exception of one nasty breakup, never lost anyone close to me. During these past two years, fate has had it’s ironic payback—I lost my uncle and mentor in 2003, my grandmother in 2004, my sister in 2004 (in a different sort of way) and a twin pregnancy at 11 weeks. Something about loss and sadness permanently changes you. I’ve started becoming very aware of the effects of desire or dreams and how they are dangerous as they can lead directly to almost all negative emotions—forcing you to just live in them day after day. Does anyone else hear the theme to Star Wars?
Why am I telling you all this? If I’m going to host a blog and talk about anything in my life, it is utterly pointless if I don’t paint the background first. I’m a funny person who loves to wear wigs to the doughnut shop at 3 a.m., but that part of me is involved in a daily battle to win my sanity from the sadness that threatens to overtake me. Okay, well that’s a lot of information you probably didn’t need.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that, I change. More importantly, I’m counting on changing again, back into the person I enjoy being—the one who doesn’t take life too seriously. Don’t be surprised if suddenly you can’t hear Marvin the Android’s voice anymore when you read my posts. I’m anticipating hearing my own again soon.

I am a kept woman, and I'm diggin' it!

2005-02-10T21:01:00.000-08:00

I am unemployed… and I’m thrilled about it. No, it wasn’t voluntary, and no, I wasn’t fired. I was the product, nay… the victim of corporate downsizing; of first quarter budget cuts; of litigation lock; of a post-9/11 America. I feel so American right now—like maybe I should go down to the local pub… I mean bar and have a few pints… I mean beers to drown out the reality of my lost dignity. Nah. Instead I’ll just …WOOHOO, I got laid off! I finally get some time off! What shall I do with my stolen time? The possibilities are endless and so is my bank balance! Okay, I’m just wishing with that last comment. Either way, I’m a free woman to do as I please; go where I want to go for as long as I want to be there! Granted, I share living expenses with this guy in exchange for being a devoted, adoring wife… blahbity bloo, so I’m not overly concerned with my new status.
Of course, in my two days of unemployment, I have slept-in a grand total of one hour, worn my pajamas for an extra 4 hours, cleaned my house compulsively, produced one print ad and attended one job interview. I’m thinking I should take my unemployment a little more seriously. I’m not going to get any relaxed lazing about in while I’m rushing to job interviews and tidying the house! My word, the total lack of lethargy is shocking! I think… ahhhhh… I think I’m actually doing more work that I was before the big lay off!

Resolution: Will sleep until at least 9:00am everyday until returning to working life; will decrease overall amount of scrubbing and/or organizing in house by 50%; lastly, will say “no” to job offers that do not meet my need for satisfaction and purpose.

The Laugh

2005-02-07T10:48:00.001-08:00

Shifty thoughts from a shifty person

2005-02-04T15:22:00.000-08:00

I received an email from my Godmother today. Yes, I have a Godmother! Anyway, it was one of those encouraging, slide show emails. All the pictures were scenes from Pixar movies or short films and next to each one was a "thoughtful phrase." Insert rolled eyes here. Well, one phrase kind of stuck with me—partly because I wrote it down on a post-it and stuck it to my monitor in front of me.
Dream what you want to dream;
Go where you want to go;
Be what you want to be;
Because you have only one life
And one chance to do all the things
You want to do.
Besides the pseudo-stanza format and simple idea, I quickly realized that this "thoughtful phrase" kind of summed up what I'd been trying to explain to my friends and family about how I feel right now. It has recently occurred to me that dreams can be very silly things on which to spend your energy, due to the fact that they can be so easily crushed. Maybe I'm immature. Maybe I've suffered one too many losses in the past two years. Either way, I suddenly feel the intense need to live in the Now. I don't mean this in a "life is short, stop and smell the roses kind of way," but in more of a defeatist, give up and just get drunk sort of way. Hey, I don't want to be anyone's role model. If you're looking for wisdom in the face of painful circumstances, you've come to the wrong place.

* I hereby reserve the right to edit or disown any of my statements about life, as I find I have almost no knowledge on the subject and plan on simply wading through the process until I eventually kick it.

Things confused people say a.k.a. I am a pedantic ass

2005-02-04T06:14:00.000-08:00

Hi to all. I can't understand why anyone would read these, but thanks anyway Mom.
Well, I'm a very uninteresting person with a prolific flow of tired thoughts, many of which have already been addressed more articulately by better writers throughout the ages. As a preface, allow me to state for the record, that I don't claim (nor would I want) to be a writing or grammar expert. I find people who flaunt their mountainous knowledge of grammar were really ugly in High School, and have no other way to assert themselves in this miserable world. So, keep on studying those grammar guides guys--they'll get you far in life.
While I'm setting the tone here, let me say that I don't intend to be entertaining or necessarily thought provoking. If I am, it is merely by coincidence and don't assume too much about me. I'm actually a very shallow person and most of my deeper thoughts are brought on by an especially effecting piece of music or some type of hallucinogenic. Okay, I'm lying--I'm overly contemplative and it makes me sick. Damn.
Enough self deprecation let the frivolous ramblings begin!