A Reaction to Injustice

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

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…

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

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.

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

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

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

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!

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

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"

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

T.V. sucks

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.